#i will never get them to use my pronouns so why bother. but i sure as hell can get them to see me as someone they'd never ever want to fuck

[sanatomis]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 ── 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄!

a child is bound to feel neglected when they discover no one bothered to show up for their science fair, especially when all their peers have someone to dote on them. it seems fushiguro megumi is no exception.

content. female!reader with she/her pronouns, feminine nicknames (princess), established relationship with satoru, slight angst with a happy ending.

notes. nobody was there when i presented my end of the year research-project as a 14 year old, so megumi (age 7), baby, i'm gonna make sure there's someone there for you.

࣪taglist. | series masterlist.

Megumi never really cared about science fairs. To him, they’re just a regular afternoon at school that he’ll have to sit through until he’s finally allowed to go home. He may think of them as unnecessary—as he does not believe in a good reason for parents to come to the school and marvel at their child’s (very much mediocre) creation—but he has never had a strong opinion towards them. They were just. . .there. 

He didn’t pay them much mind, and that exact indifference turned out to be the motive behind the very serious crime of putting a flyer in the bin. 

“Look what I found!” 

There’s a sense of annoyance that bubbles up in his stomach when Satoru puts the invitation to the science fair in front of him. Megumi’s brows furrow, and he purses his lips—leave it to him to find something he doesn’t want to have found. 

“Hm?” You hum, and lean over to look. One of Satoru’s fingers taps impatiently on the flyer, as if it’s saying ‘look, I caught him hiding something!’. Megumi briefly contemplates biting the digit clean off. “Science fair. . .Is this yours, Megumi?”

While reading, you put the bowl of rice back down onto the dinner table, and Tsumiki gingerly grabs it upon return. You mouth the words as you do so, and the boy nearly gags when he watches Satoru’s lovesick gaze at your little quip. It’s so disgustingly sappy, he nearly forgets you asked him a question. Nearly, as it had induced just enough anxiety into him to make him remember. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, and pokes a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. 

You stop reading at his confirmation. There’s a sad look in your eye, it forms quickly and is instantly directed at him. Megumi doesn’t like it. Especially since he’s most likely the cause of it. “Why didn’t you tell us?” You ask, and he finds himself at a loss of words. 

Why didn’t he tell you? In all honesty, it just didn’t occur to him to do so. He has never cared about science fairs, nor has he had people who attended them for him. Most times, they are for parents only—so try as she might, Tsumiki was never allowed inside. Megumi eventually stopped bringing them up. He felt a little sorry for all the failed attempts his sister (very lovingly) made. But now. . .well, yes, why didn’t he tell you? 

He doesn’t know the answer to that. 

“Didn’t think of it,” he says eventually, because he knows you’ve been trying to get him to talk more; verbalising his feelings, is what you called it. 

You frown at his answer, and it makes him wonder if he said the wrong thing. A quick glance between you and the man at your side is shared. Megumi thinks that can’t be good. 

“It says it’s for tomorrow evening,” you tell Satoru, and push the flyer over back to his side of the table. “Are you free, then?”

Satoru pauses. He’s not free, Megumi knows he isn’t. Not because Satoru told him so, but because he listened to the phone call he had a few hours ago. It’s bad manners, he knows—he can hear you in his head, and he shouldn’t have done it. But, Satoru talks so loudly, he should simply quiet down if he doesn’t want others to hear. 

“I sure am,” he says then, and Megumi tries to hide the surprise on his face. He’s lying. Liar. Liar. Liar. It’s all that goes through the boy’s head, but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

He does wonder why Satoru lied, but he quickly gets his answer when he sees the happy smile that breaks out on your lips. “That’s great!” You say, and place one of your hands on his. Seemingly delighted, you look at Megumi. “We’ll be there.” 

“It’s nothing special,” Megumi says. His voice is clear this time, as opposed to his previous mumbling. Once again, he hears you in his head. You’re allowed to make noise. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” Satoru chimes. 

You continue his sentence. “We’ll be there.” 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

. . .So, where are you? 

Megumi isn’t too proud to admit that he’s currently desperately looking for the blabbermouth you call your boyfriend. It’s not because he’d rather have him here than you, but his white hair makes for a stark contrast among the crowd. It’s so very easy to find, and yet it’s nowhere to be found. He’s not here, and that, by extension, means you probably aren’t here, either. The realisation hits him harder than he thought it would have. 

For some reason, there’s a deep sadness. He thinks it’s a little silly. Nobody has ever shown up before, and he was fine with that. Being alone isn’t new to him. None of the situation he’s currently in is surprising, and yet Megumi has to fight off the tears welling up in his eyes. Why is he feeling this way? This hasn’t happened before. 

Megumi doesn’t care about science fairs. But, if that were true, then why do all the children and their parents suddenly make the room feel smaller? He swallows. All his classmates are darting around the room, chattering and motioning towards their projects while their parents gawk in feigned awe. As they always did. Except now, he feels something akin to resentment boil from within. His hand balls up into a fist. 

There isn’t a good enough reason for him to feel so disappointed. The position he finds himself in isn’t unfamiliar, and he knows Satoru was initially called-in for a mission somewhere in Ginza. Something came up, that’s all there is to it. Megumi knew better than to get his hopes up, or so he thought. How pitiful.After all this time, he still hasn’t learned.

And suddenly, he’s four years old again, and crawling into the crumpled bed sheets of his father’s ever-so-empty bed. He’s holding onto the fabric as if it’ll slip through his fingers, and stifling his quiet sobs with the pillow that doesn’t carry the same comforting scent any longer. It hasn’t for months now. Megumi keeps hoping that one day, it will. Tsumiki peeks into the room, and he pretends not to notice. He’s four years old, and has no parents, and absolutely no idea why his father left without him. 

Why was he forgotten? 

There is a lump forming in his throat. Its imminent appearance lulled him out of the faded memory, and into the present—the present, where he is, once again, forgotten about. Perhaps that is simply the tale of Megumi Fushiguro. 

“Mom, look! I added the glitter to it just as you said,” a girl speaks from the booth next to him. “What do you think? It’s pretty, right? Do you think it’s pretty?”

Her mother laughs, and pets her head once the girl starts tugging on her arm. “Mhm, it’s beautiful, darling. I’m very proud of you.”

Megumi doesn’t necessarily want to cry. Though, when his eyes water momentarily, there’s very little he can do about it; he feels even more powerless when his bottom lip starts trembling. He once read that blinking rapidly will make one’s tears disappear like snow before the sun, except that article mustn’t have taken the feeling of heartbreak into consideration. It doesn’t matter how much Megumi blinks, the first tear falls down his cheek a few seconds later. 

“Huh? What’s this? You really need to work on your handwriting, Megumi, your name is barely rea. . .” 

A part of him is convinced that the universe has it out for him. There is no other reason for the constant waves of misfortune that strike him. Sniffling, he looks up at the man in front of him—and the worst thought he has ever had surfaces. He is so very happy to see Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru’s eyes widen in shock upon seeing the water staining the boy’s cheeks, but even then Megumi can’t find it within himself to feel embarrassed. Not at this moment. With teary eyes, he blinks up at the tall man that snatched him up from the street like he was some discarded piece of free furniture.

“Where’s. . .” he croaks out, but gets interrupted rather quickly. 

“She’s talking to your teacher,” Satoru says softly. It’s a new tone of voice, one Megumi vaguely remembers as the one he normally reserved for you. This is making him uncomfortable—even a blind person would see that, but Satoru still tries. “Hey, it’s alright, buddy. She’s here.” 

The pat on his head nearly feels awkward. . .No, it does feel awkward. Satoru is petting him as if he were gently pressing a buzzer. It’s not even remotely close to the soft caresses you use when soothing him back to sleep, but it still brings him some strange sense of comfort. Megumi doesn’t swat his hand away. 

“There, there,” Satoru mumbles, and crouches down to his height. It’s a little silly to see such a man all folded up, his legs too long to look normal. “There was an accident a little further down the road. It took us a little longer to get here.”

Megumi lets out a shaky sigh. The petting stops shortly after. It’s quiet for a little while after—even if the room is filled with adults and children alike. Satoru looks at him, and he briefly wonders how you’re able to withstand looking into his eyes for as long as you do sometimes; Megumi thinks the blues will blind him soon. He gulps. For as annoying he might be when speaking, it turns out that Satoru Gojo is much more unnerving when he’s silent—silent, and looking right at you. 

Adorned with white lashes, Satoru’s baby blues pick Megumi apart at the seam. The boy has the brief idea to ask what he is thinking, but then decides against it. 

“Are you okay?”

The sound of his voice startles him. He hadn’t expected him to speak any time soon. 

“Megumi,” he calls out. “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? Megumi doesn’t know for sure. There are a lot of emotions he went through these past twenty minutes, and he isn’t entirely convinced that his brain was able to process them all. But for now—for now, he at least feels okay. 

Megumi nods. It’s all he does, not confident in his ability to verbalise his thoughts at the moment. He sniffs again. He’s okay, things are okay. 

“Good, that’s good,” Satoru mumbles, and his eyes dart towards the right side of the room; towards the door. He clears his throat, and one of his fingers carefully makes its way towards Megumi’s cheek. “That’s good. She’s here now, see?”

Megumi visibly perks up, and, while still a little shaken, starts searching for you. As soon as he lifts his head up, there’s a soft brush against his skin. He wavers for a moment, confusion on his face once he realises Satoru brushed some stray tears away. The two look at each other once again. Why did he. . .

“Oh, there you are, lovie,” you say, relief apparent in your voice. It never takes you long to embrace Megumi—you once said he’d be stuck in your arms forever if you had your way. The boy moulds into you, and his anxiety dissipates as soon as your perfume hits his nose; the scent comforting him. “I’m so sorry, there was an accident, and all roads were blocked, and. . .God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for so long.” 

You cup his cheeks in his hands, and Megumi suddenly feels under scrutiny. It’s as if you’re searching for any inkling that your late arrival had caused him unease. It clicks, then, why Satoru did what he did. He’s a buffoon most of the time, but it seems there are some working cells left in his brain—when it concerns you, of course. Megumi is very thankful for him now. Though, he will deny ever feeling so. 

“Alright, princess, let him breathe,” Satoru says, the usual light lilt to his voice has made a return. There’s a small smile on his face as he watches you fuss over him. “Don’t you want to show us your project, Megumi?”

The mention of his project catches your attention. “Oh! Yes, will you show us, Gumi?” 

One might think you’re speaking about some grand architecture design rather than a small, barely functioning science project. That is, if they took the look in your eyes as anything to go by. The boy glances between you and Satoru. Megumi then decides that, yes, he would like to show it to you—he always has wanted to show them. 

You weren’t his parents, but you were at his side. And when Megumi looks at the near-giddy excitement showing up on Satoru’s face, and the unconditional support on yours. . .he thinks that may just be enough. 

He nods, and finds his words again. 

“I—I will, yes. Follow me, please.”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

taglist [based off the last fic in the series, let me know if it’s no longer wanted]: @torusdoll @sad-darksoul

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[fir3ylolol]

double feature

pairing: Present!Johnny Cage x Younger!Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: you decide to take a night off from working at the special forces, ending up catching the attention of two men. well, technically one man. what happens when they turn their sights on you?

tw: threesome, vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex, a touch of eating out, face fucking, choking, double penetration, little bit of biting, dirty talk, overstimulation, cumming in you, cumming on you, afab!reader, NOW gn pronouns dom/sub adjacent, sub!reader, gentle dom!johnny, rough dom!johnny, you KNOW they're whining, mentions of drinking/partying, so much attention, TWO BIG MEN OBSESSED WITH YOU WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED, smut, shameless smut, porn with little plot

a/n: i've never written anything with more than one partner before, so i hope it's good. also, sorry if the names get a little confusing, i didn't want to say "younger Johnny" and "older Johnny" 200000x, it was getting annoying lol

word count: 2.53 k

Ao3

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up here, with both Johnnys staring at you hungrily. Maybe it was the party that had been going on tonight, members of the Special Forces were taking the night off before the big invasion. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had a night off in forever and wanted to wear the new dress you’d bought. Maybe it was the fact you forgot you were around your coworkers. Or maybe, it was Johnny, the younger one. Christ, he would flirt with a chair if it had ‘nice curves’. But that didn’t make his attention less appealing, lingering eyes along your frame as he walked through the crowded room to you. Sliding next to you at the bar, he looked at you with a cocky smirk, speaking over the loud music, “Didn’t expect to see you here, sweet thing. Figured you were too tight-laced for this scene.” Looking out of the corner of your eye and smiling, you yell out, “All you know about me is what my ass looks like.”

Putting his arms up in a ‘guilty’ motion, he lets them drop and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Hey, you wanna come with me to the booth over there? A lot more comfortable and quieter.” Nodding lightly, you grab your purse and stand up. He stands with you, lightly taking your free hand and weaving you through the crowd behind him. You reach a booth quickly, noticing that there’s only one other person there: older Johnny. You partially freeze, realizing you’re now trapped with a playboy and an actual coworker. But you continue, sitting down in the semi-circle booth first. As you settle in, young Johnny behind you, you try to lighten the mood slightly.

“So, what am I supposed to call you guys? I mean, you’re both Johnnys, and I don’t want confusion.” Younger Johnny wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning in close, “You can call me whatever you want, sexy.” Slightly bothered by his actions, older Johnny smacks his arm lightly, causing him to loosen his grip on you. “You can just call me John. He can be Johnny.” Johnny leans back, shrugging as he looks away from you. “Fine by me. But you still haven’t told me why you decided to grace us with your presence.” Pausing to think, you look between the two of them as you answer. “Well…I needed a break and I figured, why not?” Johnny decides that he wants to be closer again, resting his head on his arm, as he speaks, “Lucky us. Aren’t we lucky, John?” Expecting another smack, you turn to look at John, as he leans back and looks you up and down, finally speaking again, “Yeah, it seems like it. I’ve never seen you in civilian clothes before.”

You’re a bit embarrassed now, four eyes locked on you as you stutter out, “W-Well, I don’t have many chances to. Besides, this is new.” Johnny’s eyes light up as he leans in further. “Ah, I get it. There’s someone here you wanted to impress. Hoping to go home with some company, eh?” Now John reacts, brows furrowed as he leans into Johnny’s face, “Come on man, do you have to be so crass?” Johnny laughs at him lightly, managing to say, “You were thinking it too, I know you were! Like I haven’t noticed you staring just as much as me!” John rolls his eyes and scoffs at him, moving to stand up. “I don’t have to take this, you know. I’m just gonna leave,” he says as he stands.

Unable to even control yourself, you dive out, grabbing his wrist. Surprised, he turns around to see you looking up at him. He quickly looks at Johnny, and they both raise their eyebrows at your actions. John sits back down but scoots closer to you. You’re now sandwiched in between them, nerves radiating off of you. John brushes some hair off your shoulder, speaking softly, “What was that about, hm? Why do you want me to stay?” Johnny wraps an arm around your waist, whispering into your other ear, “Yeah, do you not like me or something?” You fluster at their proximity to you, their entire demeanor shifting. “I-I…uh…I dunno…I like hanging out with both of you-” Johnny cuts you off, lips against your ear as he whispers, “Both of us? How greedy.” John lets a hand drift down to squeeze your thigh, leaning to the other side of your head, “Very greedy, baby.” Your head is spinning, their touches make you forget to breathe. 

“Hey, what are you doing? A second ago, you guys were arguing.” You swallow your nerves as much as you can. John looks into your eyes, an intense stare into your own, “Just testing the waters.” Johnny smirks, starting to lightly kiss your neck as you shiver against him. He laughs against your skin, muttering out, “Feeling alright, baby? Or have I pushed too far?” Your eyelids flutter, and this attention is getting to you, “N-no…it feels nice.” Johnny continues, kissing against your collarbone and finding the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck, an abrupt whine escaping your lips. Both of them are happy with the sound, as Johnny continues kissing and sucking on the spot, and John’s hand on your thigh starts traveling in more. You tip your head onto John’s shoulder, whimpering, “This isn’t fair, doing this to me.” He lightly grabs your chin with his free hand and moves it so that your noses are touching. “Then do you want to get out of here?” Without hesitating, you nod, intoxicated from all the attention.

Suddenly, without even realizing it, you’re walking out the door, still in between them. You were so caught up in them that you were walking without thinking. All you knew was that you didn’t have any drinks, yet you lost all your inhibitions. And then you were there, in a nice apartment, in the bedroom, with two men staring at you hungrily.

John is the first to talk, still a few feet away from you. “You feeling alright? You seem kind of out of it.” You nod rapidly, managing to speak after being silent for so long, “Yeah, yes. I feel good. I was just a little spaced out. You guys are kind of… overwhelming.” Johnny closes the distance, both hands on your hips as he smiles wide, “See? I told you. Just lost in thought, thinking about what’s gonna happen, yeah?” John walks to your side, cupping your face as he leans in. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt into it, the delicious feeling flooding your senses. It’s cut off by a very loud whine from Johnny, clearly jealous of the lack of attention. As you turn towards him, he kisses you hard, a hand rushing to the back of your head to add to the intensity. It was strange, you knew they were the same, but they felt so different. Johnny tasted like bubblegum chapstick and smelled like expensive cologne, while John tasted like whiskey and smelled like fresh laundry.

Johnny’s kiss only lasts so long though, as both men start feeling at you. Johnny’s hands travel towards your chest as John’s calloused fingers dance down your legs. They lead you to sit on the bed behind you, Johnny starting to pull your dress over your head. You raise your arms to let him, forgetting embarrassment as you sit practically naked in front of them. Johnny smiles down at you, hand tugging lightly at your hair. “Can you help me feel good, baby?” You immediately understand, biting your lip and nodding as he undoes his pants. His cock springs out, free from the confinement of his jeans. You lick at the head, a hiss escaping his lips. But he’s impatient, lightly pushing your head down. You oblige, taking as much of him as you can before gagging. Suddenly, you feel John’s hands guiding you to go on all fours. But you focus on Johnny, letting him fuck your mouth.

You feel those familiar fingers pushing your soaking underwear to the side and a warm tongue connecting with your pussy. Moaning against Johnny’s length, he whines out in response, hips bucking and gripping your hair tighter as he goes further down your throat. “Shittt, keep moaning around my cock like that, you sound so good.” And moan you do, as John eats you out, tongue dancing against your clit in a maddening way. It doesn’t take very long before you feel your underwear being pulled down, John’s thick cock rubbing against your hole in the most teasing way. Slowly, he pushes in, the feeling of both men filling you up drawing another moan out of you. You hear them both moan, John grabbing your hips to stabilize himself. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Wrapping around my cock like that, it’s not fair.” Johnny speeds up, relishing in the tears prickling in your eyes, “Yeah? Do you like that? You like being fucked like this, huh? God, you’re so fucking hot like this.” He is fucking your mouth with almost no pause, while John is gentle, hips moving at half the speed but reaching deep enough to hit your cervix every time.

There’s something rough to both of them, the way they use you, yet gentle, and wanting, and it drives you crazy. You arch your back a little more, a deep groan coming from John, as well as looking directly into Johnny’s eyes. He meets them with an expression you can only describe as needy as he smiles down at you and wipes your tears away with his thumb. Before you can blink, his shirt is off, his muscles and tattoos a delicious sight. But you can’t focus on it for long as John leans forward, regaining control of the moment. You can feel his warm chest against your back and you can’t help but wonder if he still has the tattoo, as his hand wraps lightly around your throat. “You’re doing so good, baby, taking us so good like this. You look so pretty like this, fucked out just for us.” Johnny is unraveling more at how tight your throat is around him, only able to clutch onto your head desperately and whimper out.

It’s only a couple more seconds until he’s gone, cumming loudly down your throat with a loud whine, which finally lets you get a deep breath in. You sputter slightly, leaning down so you’re head is against the bed. John sits back up, a string of obscenities falling from his lips, “Shit, look what you’re doing to me. Thought you couldn’t get better, but I was fuckin’ wrong. Wish I knew earlier how good you look taking dick, yeah?” Johnny sits on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, but doesn’t waste the opportunity to remove the last bit of your, and his, clothing. You look up at him from the mattress, half-lidded and cockdrunk. 

And how can he resist that? He lifts your head with one hand, kissing your lips with a much more tender roughness than before. His other hand reaches down to toy with your clit, smiling as you jump at the feeling. “Feels good, right? I’ll make you feel so good.” You’re losing it now, legs wobbling as you get closer and closer to cumming. John grabs your hair tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head up, “Wanna see that pretty face as you cum.” That’s the final straw as you cum hard around John, loud moans as you tremble beneath him. He only lasts a few more seconds, loud and whiny seconds until he pulls out, cum shooting across your back. Johnny stands up next to him, both looking down at you as you pant heavily. “It’s like art really,” Johnny breathes out. John snorts slightly, “Yeah, a real Pollock.” He kneels to look in your eyes. “You feeling okay love? You wanna rest?” You manage to shake your head, pushing out, “More, please.”

Suddenly, you’re being lifted, strong arms around your waist, as Johnny lays on the bed where you just were. You feel a few light kisses against your shoulder as you’re set down, another pair of large hands grabbing at your ass. Johnny pulls you in for another kiss, as John wipes your back off. Johnny is getting handsy, touch traveling up and down the length of your body. “My turn,” he says with a smirk, one of his hands reaches behind your legs to grab his cock and sinks into you. He clutches you with a whimper, still as he adjusts to the feeling. “Ah- Damn, you feel so good, so fucking wet for me, yeah?” He starts moving again, gripping your ass tightly as he fucks himself into you. You’re so fucked out, your hair messy, and your eyes half-open, high-pitched moans pushed from your lips. You’ve almost forgotten about John when…

You feel it, his cock gently pressing below Johnny’s, the grip on your ass being used to spread them further apart. You’ve barely got time to think before he sinks in, stretching you out to the point you’re seeing stars. Both men whine at the feeling, of movement and your walls so tight around them. You feel so full, so good, with both of their thick cocks inside you. John starts to move, thrusting against Johnny. He reaches out and grabs your throat again, much less gently than before. This is a lot for them too, as Johnny writhes under you, cries of pleasure loud compared to your much more breathy ones. But it’s not long until he starts moving too, opposite to John. When one thrusts in, the other pulls out slightly, and back and forth for what feels like forever. If you weren’t being so tightly held, you would’ve collapsed much earlier. Johnny is much closer to cumming, head pressed against the bed and eyes screwed shut. He manages to get out a whiny, “Oh fuck,” before he cums, body curling into yours and biting against your shoulder for stability. He flops against the bed, letting his spent cock pull out of you. Now with free reign of you, John speeds up, at a breakneck pace as you bounce, eyes rolled back into your head as you bounce. Johnny manages to look up slightly, taking in the sight of you, a satisfied smile on his face. John tightens his grip as he sputters out, “Shit, ‘m gonna cum,” a final stutter of his hips as you feel it, the warmth filling you.

As he finally pulls out, Johnny helps steer you to lie on the bed. Both men stand over you, watching you pant and both of their cum drip out of you. Johnny turns his head to look at John, a wide, tired smile on his face. “I told you they’d be a great fuck.” Which earns him a smack on the head from John. “I knew it, you knew it, but you couldn’t have waited a little longer before speaking, dumbass?” Defensively, Johnny’s hands go up. “C’mon, it’s a compliment!”

[meltedheartz]

thinking about ftm!reader and mean!izuku who thinks it's so cute how they just can't defend themselves against him :((

tw : college!au, dub-con, condescension, mild bullying (in a way), chubby reader, reader wears glasses, reader's a bit of a loser, dacryphilia, creampie, no protection (don't be silly, wrap that willy!), mating press, izuku's a whore for reader, praise and petnames, don't care how big you are cuz izu's bigger, gn pronouns used :3

word count : wrote this on a whim, so i honestly don't know..

it starts when you accidentally bump into him, stumbling back yet he was barely even startled. you apologize profusely, and izuku just waves you off at first.

you think it's rude, before rushing off to wherever you were trying to get too—forgetting about it.

but izuku spots you around that coffee shop near the campus, sees you in the hallways with books nearly stumbling from your arms, watches as you take notes as the professor speaks.

a couple of people whisper about you, how you never bother speaking to anyone, and how nervous you seem when someone approaches you.

it's like cornering a bunny, izuku thinks when he decides to speak to you.

well, it's more like being passive aggressive than actually conversing.

"wow, you're soo smart. you must be real fun to be around, huh? your voice is really high pitched, are you sure you're alright?"

you tell him to stop being a dickhead, if he doesn't wanna be around, he doesn't have to be. izuku waves you off and laughs, says you're like a startled animal that thinks it's intimidating, and it makes you frown.

"you're an ass," you poke at his chest, before picking up your bag and adjusting your glasses.

"hm? where are you going?" izuku pointedly ignores your insult, but it feels more ticklish than insulting or hurtful.

you ignore him right back, attempting to storm out of his dorm room. of all the people you get to work with, you get paired with him. it's annoying—more an inconvenience, than anything.

izuku watches as tears well up behind those clear rims you wear, sees the furrow in your eyebrow and nearly laughs at it, wants to call you a crybaby for it; just like everyone used to do to him.

he can sort of see why they did it, and when it comes down to someone as soft and quiet as you, it's nearly impossible to resist.

"we're not done with either of our parts. you don't need help on yours?"

when you don't answer, izuku takes it upon himself to grab you hard enough to stop you, but not enough to hurt. it causes a slight discomfort, makes your breathing stutter a bit as you sniffle and try to pull away—but you physically can't.

izuku speaks again, looming over you with a small scowl. "why are you ignoring me? i thought you wanted to get this done, what happened to that?"

you just wanna slap him for asking that. he knows the answer — knows exactly what he did wrong and why you got fed up.

"let go of me. i'll work on my part by myself, dickweed."

"nuh-uh, that's not fair to either of us, is it?" izuku coos, grabbing your bag for you and tossing it onto the futon he has sitting just a little bit away.

you sniffle again, more tears welling up and threatening to tip over and down onto your chubby cheeks, and you can't even wipe them away cuz you're arguing with such an asshole.

you seem so frustrated and angered, but he knows that instead of yelling, you cry. it's pathetic, makes him wanna bite your cute face and boop your nose just to see you sniffle some more.

"you mad at me?" izuku asks, tugging you back into the small apartment that you stupidly decided to visit to get your joint assignment done.

"this is stupid — let me go, midoriya." he frowns at that, his grip loosening just a bit before it tightens again.

he clicks his tongue and drags you right back to his room, with all the superhero posters and expensive collectors items that can't be found anywhere else.

izuku sits you down but doesn't let you go—hasn't let go of your arm since he got a hold of it. "what happened to calling me by my name?"

"that is your name," you snark back. you watch as his eyes narrow a bit and he makes his way on to the bed, looming over you.

you feel.. small. it's not like you were ever bigger than him, he goes to the gym more times a week than you can keep track of and is over 6'0" — of course you aren't bigger than him.

"don't get smart with me honey. you know you don't wanna do that." izuku sighs and makes you lay down, and you feel your heartbeat speed up as your eyes widen.

you struggle and squirm, but he just smiles and puts more of his weight on you, making it near impossible to even move.

"m-midoriya—"

"izuku. say it," he breathes out, tucking his face into the crook of your neck almost forcefully.

he hears you hiccup, sees as the tears flow over and how your eyes get all glassy—all doe-eyed and he laughs.

"izuku, get off me—" you try to move again, you feel the grip around your wrist tighten more and it feels more and more uncomfortable as it does.

"i love you. you're so cute, what would you have done if it was someone else on top of you? hm?" izuku raises his head to look at you, and feels bad.

feels that guilt of actually making you cry, seeing how scared you are of him. "ah-ah, shh. i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make you upset, okay?"

that doesn't make the tears stop, but izuku thinks it's fine. the apology sounds genuine—more genuine than the usual sarcastic 'sorry' he gives you, more genuine than the mean laughs he gives you after making you throw a crumbled paper ball at him.

"i hate you, you're s-so mean," you hiss, wanting to kick and scream at him.

you feel the hold he has on your wrists loosen, but he doesn't let go entirely. but it's more than enough for you to wriggle free.

izuku smiles again, "i know. i know, 'm sorry."

the words that leave his mouth make you hiccup and stare at him, the typical scowl you always give izuku on your lips.

"you never show that you're actually sorry." you sniffle, and have to move to wipe the onslaught of tears the stumble down your pretty face.

izuku pauses when you say that, eyes grazing over your face before he lights up.

"how about i prove it, would that make you feel better?"

"s-slow down—"

"mgh—s-sorry," izuku gasps, but doesn't make any move to slow down, hips stuttering into yours as he watches you shake and clutch at the sheets.

it's been a little over thirty minutes, you think, but you're not sure. it's not like you can think when you can feel izuku's pretty cock all the way in your tummy—making sure you know he's actually sorry.

he spent all his time before this slurping at your pretty cunt, fingering you to completion as he sucked at your cute clit and made sure you felt good.

even now, izuku was trying to make sure you felt as good as you possibly could with him, watching your eyes roll back with every thrust into you.

"love you s'much, soo soft n pretty-" izuku whines, kissing you all sloppily yet so lovingly.

it makes you clench up around him, trying to close your legs but you jus can't because of the mean mating press he has you in.

"such a good boy for me, yeah?" the words paired with his dick stirring up your guts make you wail.

it's almost too much, but it's not enough as you cream around his cock—a milky white ring forming at the base of it as he pants and gasps right next to your ear.

he pounds a little faster—a little harder before his thrusts get sloppier and nearly lose rhythm. you can barely see his face without your glasses and the tears blurring your vision further.

but izuku makes sure that you can hear him good and well as he moans and whines, feeling the blunt tip press against your cervix as though it never wants to leave.

"shit, shit— 'm cumming," he gives short little thrusts as he does, cumming harder than he has in months just knowing that he finally has you.

you're both sweaty and you feel a little icky, embarrassed at all the crying you did. izuku kisses you—softer than he did before, wiping some hair from your face as he does.

"love you." izuku mutters. he doesn't care if you don't say it back, just as long as you know he loved you at the very least.

"i love you too."

A/N ; i haven't written smut or anything in MONTHS. i hope this is good in some parts, it's very rushed and not well thought outt :((

b4 anyone asks, minors are allowed to interact with my account. i don't care, as long as you aren't under 15. i fully understand that you guys have hormones, and the "minors dni" thing is straight bullshit to me. luv you guys, i will be making an account intro, but it won't be anytime soon cuz i'm lazy.. ＼(≧▽≦)／

[rustedhearts]

i hate you, baby (troubled!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve makes you pay for destroying his truck in an interesting way.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the sinner ✶ the library

tags: stalking (ish?); degradation; spitting; smut; toxic relationship/situation; they're so ultraviolence.

rural midwest. summer, 2008.

The morning sun blares through a pair of thin curtains left in the bedroom. You figured he needed them more than you. A soft orange hue melts over the bare, bronzed limbs of a slumbering Steve. They didn't do much to keep the heat out. Maybe that's why you left them. A gentle karma.

Mumbling his morning disagreement, Steve stirs under the sheets until they rumple into a ball near his feet. He stretches his arms, lips cracking into a noisy yawn, and finds his hand reaching for you. The side of your bed left cold and empty for three months now.

He had it coming. You stayed too long.

Steve’s eyes snap open when his fingers fall to a wrinkle in the sheets instead of your soft flesh. He jolts upright, the heel of his palm rubbing sleep away from his gaze. He had to get it together. He couldn’t stop waking up this way.

He had a cigarette for breakfast, smoked over a pile of unopened mail in the sink. Clutter covered every inch of the house. He hadn’t realized how frequently you cleaned. He hadn’t realized how much of the home was a credit to you. He never thought of how quiet it would be without you.

It hit him like a ton of bricks the moment you finally left. After years of threatening, ages of trudging back after a few sporadic days apart—you left. For good this time.

Steve cracks open a Budweiser and slings a mostly-clean shirt over his head, halfway through the can and reaching for his second by the time he flings the back door open and staggers toward his truck. Booted feet scuffing up gravel, he was far too concerned with locating the lighter in one of his jean pockets to inspect the details of his four wheeler.

Until he lifts his head to open the door.

"What the fuck?"

The left side mirror is hanging by a wire, tires drooped like deflated balloons. When he stomps to the other side, there’s a gnarly gash from the edge of a key slashed through the passenger door.

Steve's hands tremble into fists, and he chucks his unlit cigarette toward the grass with a tight jaw.

He knew just who was responsible for this—and you were fucking dead.

✶ ✶

"My fuckin' truck, are you fuckin' insane?"

A coffee pot clatters against the counter, the tassels of an apron swinging with the sharp spin of a body hurrying away from the door as Steve strides through it. The door smacks against the window from his violent push, and all heads turn to watch him make his way between the rows of metal tables.

"I thought maybe it'd get you to finally leave me alone," you grumble, taking a customer's empty plate and placing it on the dirty tray. "Clearly not."

Steve slides between customers, elbows pressing onto the counter. "Get a fuckin' restraining order if it's so bad, sweetheart."

"Already on it."

Steve scoffs, head shaking as he watches you feign nonchalance over a plate of sunny-side up and ham. You place it front of a middle-aged man, who leans back when Steve crowds over his chair to point an inked finger at you.

"You really know how to piss me off—"

"Jesus, Steve, would you get out of here—"

"Hey!"

Your head whips toward your manager, who came stomping behind the counter with her arms crossed. "Take it outside."

Tossing a glare Steve's way, you fiddle with the knotted bow of your apron strings at the small of your back and bundle up the fabric. It's thrown on the back counter on your march toward the front door. You don't bother to make sure Steve's following, hurrying under the dinging bell and into the stifling air.

The bell dings a few moments later with his hurried exit, and then his boots are clomping on the sidewalk.

"You're gonna pay for this," he spits at the back of your head, tracing your path toward the alleyway.

You roll your eyes, whipping wisps of hair out of your eyes when the wind picks up. The redbrick diner wall clings to the cotton of your t-shirt when you press up against it, foot kicked up to brace the sole of your sneaker. Steve's arms are folded when he appears in front of you, but you do your best to look anywhere but at him.

"You need to stop coming to my work, Steve. You need to stop calling me, and texting me, and showing up whenever you want—"

"I wouldn't be here right now if you weren't such a crazy bitch."

You scoff, flicking a strand of hair away again. The shade of the alleyway is a gentle break from the beating sun, but the heat still lingers. You hate being hot and sweaty, and you hate being around Steve.

Once you left, it took no time at all to realize how wonderful life was without him. How freeing it felt to make decisions for yourself. How at ease you were without the threat of another fight, or another crime, or more parole officers showing up.

But when he wouldn't stop knocking on your mother's screen door, or showing up at the grocery store, or tailing you on your way to work—you also realized how difficult it'd be to free yourself of him entirely. He didn't seem willing to let you leave quietly.

So lately, you despised the very sight of his stupid, handsome face.

"Yeah right," you snicker, mimicking his stance. "You can't seem to leave me alone, Steve. Don't you have other things to do? Like, I don't know, robbing some other piece of shit? Ruining someone else's life?"

Steve's jaw tightens, inked fingers cracking into fists. He lunges forward, pressing his palm against your throat. The pressure is familiar, but the sudden shift still pulls a gasp. You perk to the tops of your toes, pushed by his hold.

"You're still such a fuckin' cunt."

"Fuck you."

It's Steve's turn to gasp when a glob of spit smacks his cheek. It sizzles on his skin, dripping down his jaw and chin. He pauses, fingers still on either side of your neck. You swallow against his palm, hands clammy at your sides. There was no warmth quite like the kind that filled your body when you were frightened of Steve.

He fixes his head back into place, and you see it coming before it lands: his lips puckering, cheeks hollowing, his tongue touching the edge of his teeth before the sharp smack! The spit hits you just where it hit Steve, beading in a hot puddle across your cheek.

Your eyes pinch shut, breath hitched in your throat.

“Don’t like it, huh?” he grits out.

But when your eyes open again, they’re deliriously unfocused. Glossed with a cloudy daze, and steadied on his rosy lips. Steve’s thumb twitches under your jaw, chest heaving under a thin tank top. His arms were swollen with tensed muscles. You could see tufts of dark, coarse hair peeking over the collar of his shirt. He had his cross on, like he always did. Something about the way it shined in a streak of sun made you forget all about your spite and hateful ways.

Steve steps forward, taking you in over the slope of his nose. His chest touches yours, his sticky arms brush your skin.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but it’s so soft and breathy that it sounds like a love confession.

Steve swallows, head shaking. “I know.”

You tip your chin up and drop your shoulders, and it’s all Steve needs to smash your mouths together. A short squeak pips from your throat, and his teeth scrape your bottom lip hungrily. The fingers around your neck curl a little tighter, a little needier; you bring your hands to fist at the cotton thinned with sweat and suctioned to his sides.

His pelvis tips up, the sharp buckle of his belt and the hard outline of his cock pressed against your thigh. It sends a shockwave sparking down your spine—burrowing deep in your gut, lapping with desire. You claw at the hair near the nape of his neck, and his head tips with the desperate pull.

Steve detaches from your mouth with a grunt, pushing your head back by your neck. "Where's your car?"

You inhale shudderingly, resting your head back against the wall. "Back lot."

You stumble there together: his fingers plucking at the button of your jean shorts as you go along, your own freeing the buckle of his belt. He fishes your keys out of your back pocket and pulls the back door open, shoving you into the stifling heat caged inside.

Splattered flat against the seat, you whine into his mouth attacking yours through all his rough push-and-pull. He wiggles the jean shorts down your thighs, pulls the dampness of your panties aside to rub his thumb into the heat.

You scratch at the fabric of his tank top and push it to his chest, scraping through the slickness painting his torso. Popping the button of his jeans, guiding them over his hips and sinking your nails into the flesh of his ass. He grunts into your mouth again, hand balled at the top of your scalp to yank you away.

The look you give each other is frenzied and crazed. Your cheek is still wet with his spit, lips swollen with his attacks. Sweat gathers and collects along your throat, and he wants to lean down and lick it up.

"Fucking kiss me," you demand tightly, nails digging deeper into his skin.

Fingers still knotted in your hair, he gives your head a shake that stings—but his lips reattach themselves, anyway. Tongue swiping and swirling, teeth nipping and scraping, free hand cradling your hip to hold you down.

"God, you crazy fuckin' bitch...mm...fuckin' hate you."

You curl into him when his hot breath finds your neck, settling a suction on your pulse point that rattles your thighs. You let up on the claws, sliding your hands under the heat of his shirt.

"Oh," you moan, writhing on the vinyl of the seat. "I fuckin' hate you...ah....piece of shit."

He groans into your neck: guttural and animalistic, hips rocking involuntarily between your thighs. He fumbles to free his cock, swiping a sticky palm over the pulsing length of it before he feeds it through your legs. One deep push is all it takes, and the pair of you mewl together when it burrows fully.

His forehead clings to yours, nose brushing your cheek where he watches you falter and struggle to speak. You want to spew more insults, bite his head off a little more while you can. But you're rendered uselessly idiotic when he starts to grind his hips.

"Look at you," he breathes, and the air fanning your face smells like cigarettes. You feel nineteen and full of love again. "Hate me so much, but you're...fuck...lettin' me fuck you like old times."

"St-still hate...oh! Fuck, Steve—"

"Huh?" Steve rocks harder, skin slapping with force and perspiration gathering. The car creaks noisily under the weight of it. "What's that? You what? Tell me, sweetheart."

The lilt of mockery to his voice brings a new wave of pleasure to your veins, and your head slides back against the seat with a shrieking whine. You aren't quite sure that you do hate him anymore. Not when he's fucking you this hard, this good, this deep. Not when he's spitting words of anger full of so much love down at your beating face.

Steve snatches your jaw, pulling your head back into place. You can't quite see through the blurred haze, but you're sure his eyes are sharp with rage.

"Say it. Tell me you hate me."

His voice is steady but his leg are quaking where they're standing in the doorway, and his fingers are all but steady pressed into your cheeks. A vein along the side of his throat swells with exertion. He's just as effected by this. He's been driven just as mad.

Steve growls, picking up speed. "Say it!"

A strangled cry cracks through your throat, hands bracing his humming biceps. "I h-hate you, Steve. God, I hate you."

It sounds just like I love you, and maybe that's why Steve collapses into your chest and shudders. Maybe that's why you cling to him, wrap your legs around his hips and clutch onto all of him. Let him drain himself dry into you, pump all he has between your legs right there in the diner parking lot.

Maybe that's why neither of you say anything as you fumble for scraps of missing clothes. Silent even when Steve sits on the edge of the backseat, hanging halfway through the open doorway, and lights a cigarette. Wordless as he takes a long drag and glances at you sideways, still pink and swollen and catching his breath.

You pluck your keys from the car floor and slip them in your pocket. Use the rearview to fix the makeup smeared under your eyes and the frazzled knots at the back of your hair. Try to ignore the way Steve's eyes graze the sliver of flesh at your lower back when you lean forward.

Steve flicks his cigarette butt toward the asphalt. "Were you lying? About the restraining order?"

You settle back into the seat, sighing. "No."

He nods, thumb rubbing the cross on his knuckle. "Got it."

He pushes to his feet, and you pop the other door open to step out. The free air soothes the burning ache in your limbs.

Steve pulls another cigarette from his pocket and sticks it in his lip, crossing the hood of the car toward the street. He barely looks your way when he walks by.

"I'll bill you for the truck."

[opultea]

Where's My Kiss?

Genshin men see you kiss something, and can't help but want one for themselves... ft. Dottore, Zhongli

Fluff - Romantic - SFW - GN Reader (No Pronouns) - Drabbles

Warning: Very slight swearing in Dottore’s part

Part 2 - ft. Gorou, Wanderer

Dottore

Your husband had been on his official trip to Sumeru for some time now, and before his departure, he naturally left you and the segments to continue the work in the lab. Although you had been working with Dottore for years in his experimentation and lab work, it still filled you with pride to know he trusted you enough to leave the work in your hands for a time, especially with how commanding he liked to be.

Dottore was due to return today, and as thrilled as you were at the thought of seeing him again, you thought it best to throw yourself into your work until his homecoming. After all, the more you could complete before his inevitable inspection of your progress, the better.

You called on one of the younger segments today, many of the older versions of your husband away in meetings or on official business. You knew that some of them were not as happy as you to know Prime was returning, so you let them take their time away. The younger segment, Theta, looked just like your dear lover when he was straight out of being expelled from the Akademiya on account of manslaughter and the propagation of unethical sciences. Ah, what cherished memories.

The two of you set to work, yourself constantly and eagerly glancing at the clock, anxious about Dottore's return. Theta sees this but makes no comment, that is until about another five of your time-checks.

"Ugh, will you stop that! I can't imagine why you'd even be so eager for him to come back, it's not as if he cares about us!" The outburst felt rather sudden, making you step away from the machinery in front of you for a moment.

"Whatever do you mean, Theta?"

"It's not as if you of all people would understand, he wouldn't say a thing against you if you decided never to pick up a beaker again! But we just get all his tasks that he can't bother with, and then a scrutinous comment about how it should have been done! He never cares to acknowledge that we are just as intelligent as he is, that bloody-"

Theta saunters around the lab, raising his arms and yelling in frustration. Before he went too bold with his exclamations, you decided to step in and calm him down. Theta’s situation with Prime would only worsen if he came back in to find him insulting his name.

You stepped around Theta's tense form, gently placing your hands on his shoulders to ease them, moving slowly as you smoothed his coat down.

"Come now, Theta. He's not so bad, and I'm sure he understands exactly how much you are truly worth, he was you, at one time, you know," Theta melts a touch at your soft voice and caress, but holds his grimace.

"Hm. As if the ancient bastard remembers,"

"Hey, that's enough of that," You pout, causing the segment to tense his jaw and look away, crossing his arms with a huff. "Theta?"

"I... apologise," he hisses, but you smile even despite the delivery. You cup Theta's face and press a kiss on his cheek, the clone's face reddening and his body tensing back up.

"What in Teyvat are you doing?"

The two of you turn to the door, where a bitter-faced Zandik stood, apparently just having entered, and just having returned to Snezhnaya.

You immediately separate from the segment to greet your husband happily, although his gaze did not leave Theta's unmoving form.

"You. Leave. Now." Theta huffed at the order from the Doctor, yet obeyed all the same.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dottore turned to stand over you, his intimidating frame not quite so for you. How could you be frightened when the object of your affection was finally here?

"What was that?" he questioned harshly.

"He looked like he needed it."

A silence overtook you, neither of you needing to move nor speak for the conversation to continue across your minds.

"Do you need one too?"

"I do not need anything. Although I fully intend on taking what I want."

You hardly had a moment to process before the doctors hand firmly clasped the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his. You blinked, but eventually relaxed, allowing you and your husband to indulge in reuniting.

The two of you parted, and you smiled as you brushed his bangs away from his mask.

“Welcome home, Zandik,”

Zhongli

After leaving the Funeral Parlor for the evening, locking up and leaving behind a hard day's work, Zhongli's immediate first thought was to find you. His beloved partner, who loved him enough to step down from godhood alongside him, who had been loving him for centuries, and promised with a gold band never to stop.

There were only a few places you would be at this time of day, but Zhongli knew that with the bright sunset and cool breeze, you'd likely be gazing over the world at the height of Jueyun Karst. An old habit of yours that never died was to watch the world from above, especially as it turned dark and the stars took watch. As the god of clouds, it was natural that you had an affinity for the spires of rock that Zhongli had created in his youth.

You laughed bashfully when he told you many centuries after he’d made them that one of his motivations for doing so had been to impress you, and the other to have an excuse to be closer to your domain.

The memory made the former god smile as he walked through the plains of Liyue, admiring the scenery and the image of you in his mind. It wasn't long before Zhongli was stepping up the slope of Qingyun Peak, looking around expectantly, waiting for you to come into his view. And when you finally did, he couldn't help but stop to stare.

Zhongli let a sighing breath out through his smile, watching as you gracefully kneeled to inspect the bud of a qingxin flower. It seemed that the others around it were in full bloom, but this particular flower was falling a little behind. Zhongli watched with interest as your brow furrowed in worry before you leaned your head down, and gave the bud the lightest peck.

Even with your stepping down from heavenly grace you still held a great deal of power, and from your simple touch, the flower grew taller, its stem widening and leaves unfurling with its petals. Soon, the small bud had become a fully bloomed qingxin, shining pure white under the moon. Zhongli felt his heart expand in his chest at your action. It seemed that no amount of time spent with you could prepare him for how much he loved and admired you. His gaze was particularly attached to your lips, teasing him with the softness they portrayed when you blessed the flower with their touch.

It was at this time that you raised your head and spotted your husband, chuckling at his awed smile. You approached silently, head bowed but smile apparent.

"Hello good sir, what pray tell might you be hoping to gain by ascending the sacred stones of Jueyun Karst?" You tease, stopping just short of leaning against the man.

"Why, I had no intention of offending the kind, bewitching deity that resides in these mountaintops, although I simply had to affirm the legend of the god's beauty myself."

You hummed, taking Zhongli's face in your hands and caressing his cheek gently.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed," the former archon affirmed, bringing his arms around your back to pull you to him. "You are ever the most enchanting creature to have walked the skies, my love,"

You broke the flirtatious atmosphere with a snort, followed by a series of giggles, leaning against Zhongli's chest as he raised his eyebrow with a smile.

"Is there something you find funny, dearest?"

"I wasn't exactly expecting a pun, that's all."

"Ah, I had not intended..." Zhongli coughed into his hand to alleviate the embarrassed crackle in his voice. "Although it is forever true that you enchant me. Fully and truly. In fact, I would be honoured if you bestowed a blessing on me, perhaps the same one you have placed upon the lucky bloom?"

Your face warmed at the implication that he'd seen you kiss the flower. Somehow there were still moments of shyness in your relationship, despite its infinite length. However, you didn’t so much mind that your heart still fluttered around Zhongli. If anything, you found it quite comforting.

You placed your hands gently across Zhongli’s chest, leaning into him. In turn, the geo-wielder brought his hand to your chin to guide you into a sweet kiss.

Zhongli sighed into your touch, enjoying you thoroughly, yet smiling in the knowledge that neither of you would be satisfied with just one kiss.

[bakuslove]

IT’S IN THE LITTLE THINGS

﹒ॱ˖ 🖇️ FEATURING. pro hero!bakugo x feminine!reader

﹒ॱ˖ ☆ CONTENT. fluff, sfw, established relationship, pro hero!bakugo, no pronouns are used for the reader but they’re written to be feminine WC. 825

﹒ॱ˖ 💬 SYNOPSIS. Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Katsuki doesn’t say ‘I love you’ often.

In fact, those three little words never leave his mouth during the first few months, almost a year actually, that you’re together. No matter how much he wants to say them, he finds it impossible for them to slip off the tip of his tongue. 

He gets red in the face at the mere thought of how difficult it is to tell you the very thing you’ve said to him to months now and he’s convinced there’s something wrong with him. 

He’s been a pro hero for years now, facing some of the world’s most terrifying villains on the daily, but you... you still make his hands sweat like he’s some sort of stupid middle schooler too afraid to confess to his crush. Except now you’re his girlfriend. Of nearly a year. The hard part should be over now. Yet he’s stuck trying to say the words he wishes he could say from day one. 

But his inability to speak his mind around you doesn’t seem to bother you nearly as much, and that’s because you were able to witness the things he did for you and only you. 

Katsuki never needed to say ‘I love you’. Even if the moment called for it, even if the words scrapped against the inside of his ribs and clawed up his throat, even if they danced on the tip of his tongue when you looked at him like that, Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Every word he ever needed to tell you was in the little things. The little things he did for you without you needing to raise a finger or bat an eye or part your pretty lips to ask. 

From the very start, he found ways to work you into his schedule. From waking up just five minutes earlier than you so he could make your coffee just the way you like it to sorting your laundry by colors, whites, and delicates just like he does with his own. From making you an extra portion at dinner even if he wasn’t sure you were coming over to buying you your favorite fruits to keep as a snack at his place when you started visiting more often. 

It may have taken Katsuki almost a year of having you in his life for him to say those three little words, but you knew he loved you before they were spoken. You knew from the way his hand would find the small of your back in crowded spaces and from how he’d always make sure to pick up when you call no matter what he was in the middle of doing. 

Katsuki’s love for you was nestled in the corners and crooks of the littlest things he did for you. 

“Did you buy these?” you ask over your shoulder just loud enough to trump the sound of running water.

“Why the hell else would I have strawberry scented shit in my shower?” Katsuki mumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the doorway, watching as you undress for your shower. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you like me or something~” you tease, flashing him a smile before disappearing behind the shower curtain.

But it still isn't even the bottles of body wash or separate bar of soap -that you’re certain he bought for you but seems to be getting enough milage for you to suspect that he must be using it too- that proves his affection for you.

It happens after your shower when you’re getting ready for bed, applying that lotion that makes him crazy all while wearing that Dynamight t-shirt he gifted you for when you spend your nights with him. It happens when you let you a gentle sigh, leaning your head on his chest as his hands grip your thighs and pull them over his lap. His course palms are rough against the silky smooth plush of your thighs and your hair smells so, so heavenly, the words just slip from his mouth.

“I love you,” he breaths, eyes glued to where his other hand now caresses your own, the scarred pad of his thumb ghosting over your knuckles.

But you don’t squeal, you don’t laugh, you don’t cry, you don’t even get angry at him for taking so long. You don’t react in any of the ways he imagined you’d react in the hundreds of times he played out this scenario in his head before. Instead, you smile at him, soft and sweet like you always do, your pretty eyes shining in the dim lighting of his bedroom, and you press a lingering kiss to the stubble on his cheek

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even after he finally let himself say the words he’s been meaning to say for so long, he never stopped telling you just how much he loved you. Not only with words, but in all the little things he does for you each and every day. 

[stupidlittlespirit]

First Kiss

Rating: SFW, fluff Type: Drabble Tags: first kisses, alcohol, making out, no use of pronouns for reader, reader is wearing a skirt, slight Serizawa x reader, vague mention of vomit (nothing overtly descriptive), jealousy Word count: 4363 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3! Reigen gets drunk, jealous and kissed.

(This has been in my drafts since January and I figured you guys might like it :) )

Staff parties are just the worst. 

Well, they're the best, but for all the wrong reasons: They’re noisy and messy, and you get an excuse to spend time with handsome men under the guise of simply being colleagues.

You're exceptionally drunk, perched beside your team in a rowdy bar as you watch them misbehave.

Serizawa is flushed a happy pink, tipsy but still managing to keep himself together. Dimple, possessing his favoured security guard for the night, is plastered against Serizawa's side. Reigen, however, is much worse for wear. He's slumped over the table as Serizawa is speaking, eyes half-lidded and likely not paying attention. 

Wait. Serizawa is speaking. 

"-maybe that's why? I guess I just never tried..." He’s saying, a little forlorn but soft as always.

You shake your head and shuffle up in your seat, leaning over to nudge Reigen.  "What's he talking about?" You hiss, hoping you don't make it obvious. 

Reigen shrugs sloppily, his shoulder bumping yours as he lurches. "Dunno." 

"Dimple said Mob was talking about first kisses this morning," Says Serizawa, shifting in his seat to address you directly. He doesn’t look upset at your poor listening skills, more amused.

Clearly you weren't being subtle enough. 

"Then he asked if I'd had one, and I haven't. I’d like to, though.” He shrugs. “Maybe one day.”

Now that you're caught up, you gape at Serizawa. 

"So you've never been kissed?" You ask, leaning forward. "Like, at all?" 

He shakes his head but doesn't look bothered at all. It's more like he's stating a fact, but it makes you feel a little bad for him. 

Reigen laughs uproariously. "Never been kissed?!" He claps Serizawa on his shoulder from across the table. "That's gotta suck!" 

"I guess you can relate." Dimple smirks from behind the lip of his beer bottle. 

Reigen almost inhales his cocktail through his nose and you have to beat his back to stop him from choking to death. 

"N-not at all!" He cries, desperately waving his hands around. "I've kissed plenty of people in my life-" 

"I'll kiss you." You cut in, making Reigen choke again. “If you want one, that is.”

Serizawa turns even pinker and he looks over at you shyly. "R-right now?" He squeaks. “Here?”

"Sure." You shrug.

It feels bad knowing Serizawa has never experienced the joys of kissing someone, and you want to offer the chance in a comfortable setting. 

Serizawa looks excited and adorably bashful when he nods in agreement.

You’re a little surprised he’s bold enough to take you up on the offer, but you suppose with a few drinks in him, he’s braver than he might usually be in a social setting. 

Untangling yourself from your seat, you swap sides at the table to sit next to him, bumping Dimple with your hip until he acquiesces and moves to your seat.

Meanwhile, Reigen makes his grievances known. 

"This is so unprofessional-" He starts, brows furrowing.

"Yeah? What do you know about being a professional?" Dimple snips back, watching you and Serizawa closely. "Let the kid learn!" 

"You would say that, pervert." Reigen slurs. “And I’m always professional.”

Ignoring their bickering, you place Serizawa's hands where they need to be; one on the side of your face, and the other on your waist, and roll your shoulders back as though you’re preparing for some strenuous exercise. A first kiss is serious business and it wouldn’t be beneficial to him to fuck it up. You want Serizawa to relax, to learn that these things aren’t as scary as they might seem, so that when he does find someone he wants to try it with again, he won’t freeze up and ruin his own chances. From what you’re seen, Serizawa is pretty skilled at that. 

Beet red and wide eyed, Serizawa’s gaze darts all over your face, from your own eyes to your mouth and back again. He’s evidently already overthinking this.

"A-are you sure you're okay with this?" Serizawa asks, voice cracking.  

You nod feverishly.

Serizawa is very handsome and very cute, so it's hardly a chore to indulge him in the art of making out. 

You lean into his palm with a warm, encouraging smile, and dip your head until your lips meet his. 

Someone at the table makes a small, high pitched noise but you're not sure if it's Serizawa or one of the others.

The kiss is simple; you don't want to frighten him by adding anything too complex, yet he's eager and surprisingly natural in his movements.

Serizawa makes a content little noise and leans into you, hand tightening on your waist to pull you closer. He tastes like cheap beer and buttery edamame, a whisper of sweetness amongst the heavy alcohol. 

Much to your pleasant surprise, his lips part after a moment and you gently tease him into a slightly deeper kiss. 

Serizawa seems to be enjoying himself and you're happy to indulge him if he wants to try something more. 

When you pull away, you drag your teeth across his lower lip gently and he smiles, hazy, chasing your mouth with his own for a moment.

Dimple lets out a low whistle from across the table and leans forward on the table, chin propped in his hands as he watches with rapt attention. 

You break apart with a soft smack! and Serizawa looks over at you like you've punched him in the nose. He's dazed and his gaze is totally unfocused, but there's a little smile on his face and it’s clear that he’s quite happy with his demonstration. 

"Okay?" You ask quietly, face still close to his. 

Serizawa nods slowly. “Uh huh….”

You grin, squeezing his shoulder as he releases you, and you stand from your stolen seat to go back to your own. 

"There you go, it isn’t that exciting, really, but now you know." You shrug. 

Dimple laughs, elbowing Reigen in the ribs as he gets up. 

"Seems pretty excited to me!" He smirks.

You give him a good-natured shove on the way past before you drop back down next to Reigen. 

Now that your focus is back on the room at large, you notice that your boss looks like he's going through all five stages of grief simultaneously; Reigen is clutching his drink tight, gaze fixed on the table top with his jaw set tightly shut. He barely acknowledges you when you sit down again, looking like he's ready to burst at the seams.

"Are you okay?" You ask, giving him a gentle nudge with your shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, you better do it outside." 

Reigen glances at you from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t look pleased at all and you feel like you might have just made a mistake.

"'M gonna go get some air." He mutters finally, sliding out of his seat.

Reigen snatches up the half-empty box of cigarettes on the table and stumbles unsteadily off his stool without another word. He doesn't even have the grace to make up an excuse before he leaves.

You watch him go, hesitant to follow him. 

“What's his problem?” Dimple says, rolling his eyes. “He’s been so stuck up lately.”

It’s true; for the past week in particular, Reigen has been in a sour mood. 

The first time it had been noticeable was the Monday morning you’d worn your first skirt of the summer to the office. It had been hot and stuffy, and you weren’t about to bother with cloying tights or trousers, however Reigen had taken one look at you and gone to work in the spare room until lunchtime. He’d made a few quiet comments about dressing professionally as a woman until Dimple had told him that he’d wear the same thing if Reigen didn’t stop bothering you about it. Since then, he’d done nothing but sulk and avoid you.  

The general chatter amongst the three of you returns, until a few minutes of his absence turn into twenty, and eventually you realise you're going to have to go and fetch him. He’s either grouchy again or he’s passed out somewhere and aspirated on his own vomit, and neither seem like a pleasant end to an otherwise fun night.

You excuse yourself and pick your way through the throngs of suits until you reach the exit at the front of the bar. 

It takes a few seconds of scanning until you spot Reigen, bathed in the flickering light of the bar’s sign. His grey suit reflects the ugly neons, marring it an odd blue-green, and he stands out against the dim street. He’s trapped behind the ropes of the smoking section nearby, halfway through his cigarette and staring off into the night sky.

Silently, you come to stand at his side. 

"How long does it take to smoke?" You laugh, hoping to ease the immediate tension he gives off. 

Reigen shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth. 

You frown at his unusual silence, slightly concerned that he can barely even bother to dein you with a simple 'hello'. 

"Have I upset you?" You ask gently. 

Reigen's eyes dart to you, though he stays facing forward, and he clears his throat. 

"No, I just…" He sighs around the filter of his cigarette, shaking his head. "It's nothing." 

To his right, there's an old looking bench that's clearly been shoved into the corner here for the drunkest smokers to sit at. It's probably to deter people from sitting on the floor when they're wasted and making the place look untidy.

You take a seat on it and gesture for him to sit beside you, running your hands over your arms to ward off the chill of the night. 

Reigen looks uncomfortable at your offer but does as he's told anyway. He keeps a distance from you and focuses on puffing out a crude smoke circle so that he doesn't have to look at you.

"Reigen, if I've done something to upset you then it's not nothing." You press him for more detail, shuffling up to sit closer. 

You don't care if he doesn't want to be near you, you're starting to panic that you might have ruined a friendship that's extraordinarily important to you.

Reigen is a great boss and an even better friend. He's smart and kind, and he's the most compassionate person you've ever met. For all of his faults, he's an incredible guy. 

It doesn't help that you're a little bit in love with him, of course. 

No one else in the office knows. You've kept it to yourself and tried to ignore it; the affection you hold for him is inappropriate after all. He's your boss and if you were to confess, he'd only reject you on those grounds. You'd end up losing your job and your friends, and you can't stand the thought of that happening. It's better to just ignore it and admire him from afar.

At your side, Reigen sighs quietly and takes a long drag on his cigarette. He holds his breath for a moment and you can see the cogs in his mind turn as he weighs up if it's worth telling you. After a pause, he breathes out a long puff of smoke and flicks the ash from the end of it. The cherry glows red in the darkness.

"I'veneverbeenkissedeither." Reigen mumbles, ducking his head.

It comes out as a long string of words, barely understandable, and you frown. 

"Huh?" 

Reigen groans. His shoulders rise up around his ears and you realise that he's embarrassed about whatever he's trying to say. 

"I've never been kissed either." He repeats through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the distance.

"Oh." You breathe.

Oh. 

He's not angry, he's jealous.

“But you said-”

“I lied.” He huffs. “Obviously.” 

Reigen looks mortified the moment he admits it aloud, his cheeks turning pinker than they had been inside. He sucks in a sharp breath and cringes away from you, humiliated.

"I'm sorry," he cringes. "That was dumb- I shouldn't have said anything, I was just-" 

"You're kidding, right?" You say, unable to keep the disbelief from your voice. 

Reigen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, hanging his head as though he's ashamed by it. "No." He mutters.

You're genuinely a bit surprised. "Oh, I just figured…." 

"Figured what?" Reigen says, a little bitter. "That people would actually like me?" 

The way he says it makes your heart bleed. 

Reigen is quite the charmer. You had assumed he'd be very popular in terms of romantic partners. Sure, he's a little caustic at times but ultimately he's a good guy and had you been strangers, you certainly would have tried your luck with him. There's no reason that you can think of that anyone would turn him down, unless he’s the one getting in his own way.

"Reigen, don't be ridiculous." You laugh softly, leaning into his side. "Of course people like you. I like you! You're funny and sweet, and handsome and nice. Anyone would be lucky to have you." 

Immediately Reigen's head shoots up and he turns to look at you, face slack with surprise.

"You think I'm handsome?" He asks, his cigarette limp and bobbing about between his lips as he speaks.

Fuck.

The drink has made you slip up. It's probably not normal to tell your boss you think he's the best thing since sliced bread and you feel a heat crawl up your throat.  Now really isn't the time. You're both wasted in a public place, far from home and with other people, it's not an ideal place to confess to your boss how much you desperately want him. 

"Reigen, listen," you say, attempting to laugh off the accidental admission. "You're a catch!" 

You offer him a weak smile and tug on his tie gently. It's supposed to be annoying, but drunk as he is, Reigen leans into you instead. 

"I am?" He says faintly.

The warmth spreads from your neck to your cheeks and you're abruptly aware of how close his face is to yours. The cigarette's smoke wafts up between you both.

"Yeah." You shrug, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Of course." 

Reigen's dark eyes search yours for a moment, like he's waiting for you to say something else.

When all you do is offer him a tight smile, afraid that you've fucked up, he wrinkles his nose in annoyance. 

"Oh," Reigen says petulantly, smoke streaming from his nostrils. "So sweet little Serizawa gets a demonstration but I don't?" 

You struggle to keep the surprise from your expression. After his avoidance for the past week, whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that. 

You figure he must be annoyed at missing out.  

A moment of silence passes and then you tilt your head. "Do you.... Want a demonstration?" You ask curiously. 

Reigen glances away for a second, blatantly imagining the scenario in his mind. His eyebrows raise at whatever he's considering.

"I mean…. I might….?" He says finally, meeting your gaze again. 

There's a slightly hopeful look in his eyes and despite your shock at his interest, you bite down on an excited smile and shift on the bench to straddle the wood, facing him properly. 

His ability to charm you even at his most useless is quite something, you think, and you reach into the space between you both and pluck the dwindling cigarette from his lips.

Reigen makes a soft noise of interest and watches you stub it out in the ashtray. 

"Face me." You instruct him, gesturing with a finger to show him where you want him. 

Reigen does as he's told, a slave to your command in his drunken stupor, and swivels in his seat until his knees bump yours. He's so close that you can feel his body heat through your clothes and it makes you want to crawl inside his suit and stay there forever. 

"Put your hands on my waist." 

Reigen nods, swallowing thickly. "Yes ma'am." 

Something hot curls up inside you at his address. You hadn't ever imagined he might be the type to enjoy being bossed around, but you're very happy to work with it.

His warm hands take up your waist and once he's settled, you take a hold of his tie again and slowly ease him down, lower and lower, until you're half an inch from his face.

Reigen's breath smells like the sugary cocktails he's been knocking back all night and fresh cigarette smoke; you'd usually balk at such a scent, but something about it is distinctly.... Him. 

After months of yearning from afar, months of silent longing, you finally kiss him. 

Reigen's eyes flutter shut as your lips connect.  The tip of his nose is cold as it brushes your cheekbone, but his lips are warm and welcoming, and they part just enough for you to taste him.

Reigen gives a soft groan and leans forward a little more, pressing up as close as he can manage without dragging you into his lap. His hands tighten on your waist and he exhales through his nose, shaky and slow.

The kiss lasts for barely a few seconds. 

It's intended to be short and sweet, and then Reigen is dragging you closer again, chasing your mouth as Serizawa had barely an hour before, yet with far more need. His desperation to keep going is oddly attractive. 

This time, you risk the chance of overwhelming your subject. 

Reigen wants more and you're perfectly willing to give it to him. 

You lap at the seam of his lips until he parts them, slowly pressing your tongue to his. Reigen is clumsy and inexperienced, not as naturally graceful as Serizawa, but you do your best to guide him through, turning your head to accommodate him and deepening the kiss whilst he sighs and keens into your touch. 

One of his hands comes up from your waist to hold the side of your face, his thumb running along your cheekbone, while his other finds your thigh. 

Reigen works his fingers along the hem of your skirt until they just slip underneath the edge of the fabric, kneading the flesh there absentmindedly as he lets himself fall into you more.

You’re so caught up in the moment, all too happy to let him continue, that when the bar door swings open with a loud bang you almost jump out of your skin. It's an immediate reminder that you're still in public and the interruption is enough to make you pull away before things become even more heated.

Sitting back and attempting to catch your breath, you quickly glance over Reigen’s shoulder to check that no other patrons have caught the two of you in a compromising situation. Whoever it is doesn't seem to be interested in your activities, too busy clamouring with their friend about taxis and food as they leave.

When you turn back, Reigen looks like he's going to pass out; he's bright red but completely pale at the same time, breathing heavily and staring right through you.

Alarmed, you sit up straighter. "Are you-?" 

"I'm gonna be sick." Reigen chokes out, scrambling up from his seat like a fawn on ice.

You flinch away as he rushes to a bin on the far side of the smoking area. He barely makes it in time to vomit up whatever overpriced drinks he's had tonight, hunched over the top of the can as he coughs and splutters.

Gross as it is, you feel a bit bad for him. His hands are shaking where they clutch the edge of the bin and you go to his side, rubbing circles on his back while he gags. You smooth his hair back from his sweaty forehead and reach over to lift his tie and stop it from dangling into the unpleasant stream until he's done throwing up for all he’s worth. 

"Fuck." He gasps into the trash can, breathless and humiliated. "Fuck. I'm so sorry." 

After a few more minutes of retching, Reigen manages to choke out another weak apology and straightens up, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He looks terrible; his hair is ruffled and his eyes are glazed, and you hate how sorry you feel for him. It’s horribly gross and if it was anyone else you’d have left them to suffer alone. Yet your empathy for Reigen seems to know no bounds. 

"Don't mention it." You say with a smile, smoothing his hair back. "Do you feel better, at least?" 

Reigen nods a little, sorry for himself. 

"That'll teach you for drinking on an empty stomach." You tease. "Make sure you remember that the sick part was your fault." 

Reigen flushes again and ducks his head, bashful. His colour is slowly returning and he looks less nauseated than he had.

A beat of awkward silence passes, filled only by the general chatter of the patrons leaving the bar behind you both, and Reigen clears his throat.

“Listen” he sighs, toeing the concrete with the edge of his shoe. “I’m sorry about just walking out earlier.”

You tilt your head a little, waiting for him to elaborate. 

"I didn't mean to get weird about it." He admits, still unable to meet your eyes. "I just…. The kiss…. I wanted it to be me, y’know?”

“What?” You say with a tiny, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been ignoring me all week, I thought you hated me! I mean, for a second there, I thought you were gonna fire me for-”

“Fire you?!” Reigen says, a little too loudly. “Fuck, no! Never!”

“Then why have you been avoiding m-?”

"Because you're so pretty!" he interrupts, like it pains and infuriates him. "Ever since you started working here, I've barely been able to stop myself from-”

Reigen cuts himself off with a growl of frustration.

“Not to mention that stupid outfit, wearing it in the office like you didn’t know what you were doing! You're so- It's so- Fuck." Reigen takes a deep breath and then plows on, using his opportunity to spill his guts in a much more metaphorical way this time. 

"I had to avoid you last week, you keep wearing that little fucking skirt and it’s driving me nuts!" He groans. "I don't hate you, I just can't stop thinking about what you'd look like with it 'round your ankles." 

Your knees feel weak at his admission.

"Yeah?" You breathe, biting down on your lip. 

"Yeah!" Reigen says, visibly distressed and breathing hard. "And I know I'm your boss, and I know that's weird, and I really, really don’t want to get sued for harassment but I-!" 

“Reigen!” 

He’s working himself up and the last thing you want is for him to throw up again, so you clamp your hands on his face until he stops sucking in air like a dying fish and shuts up. 

“Take a breath.” You say, laughing.

Reigen swallows thickly and breathes in, then out. 

“I assumed you just wanted a kiss because you were jealous he got one.” With his face still between your hands, you nod back towards the building in reference to Serizawa, and Reigen shrugs. 

“I mean, yeah, that too.” He mutters, pouting a bit. 

You can’t hold back the surprised laughter that spills from your throat. This entire time you had  assumed he had absolutely no interest in you at all beyond being friends. You thought yourself alone in your longing, lonely in the assumption and upset by the notion that he’d rather move somewhere else than tolerate your presence. The avoidance, the grouchiness, the comments; none of it suggested to you that he felt any other way. 

You can’t quite believe your luck.

Reigen must misconstrue your silence for rejection because he starts to back off, reaching up to extricate himself from your grip, and you’re forced to clamp your hands down around his face to keep him still. 

“Why didn’t you bring it up?” You ask, ignoring the confused look on his face.

“What was I gonna say; ‘Look, I know I’m your superior but I think you’re really hot and kind and sweet, you wanna get dinner sometime’?.” He scoffs, as though it’s a ridiculous notion. 

“Reigen,” You grin. “I’d love to. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Reigen’s brows disappear under his fringe and his mouth opens and closes as he flounders for something to say, stunned at your response. 

“What?” He manages to choke out.

“I would love to get dinner with you.” You giggle. 

Reigen breathes a laugh, the biggest grin you’ve ever seen splitting his face in half, and he nods quickly. “You would? I can do that. Anywhere you want.” 

You join him in relieved laughter and loop your arms around his neck, tugging him closer until your bodies are pressed flush together. It feels so good to have him close like this. 

Reigen wraps his arms around your waist in response, his big hands wandering from your sides to the small of your back. 

“And if it helps,” You smirk, tugging gently on the back of his hair. “I’d also love for you to see me with my skirt around my ankles….”

Reigen groans softly. His eyes fall shut for a moment and when he opens them again, something hot lurks in his gaze.

“Oh yeah?” He murmurs, looking down to your mouth.

You can tell he wants to turn this into a new game and as much as you’d like to indulge him,  you’re acutely aware that only moments ago he was puking into a public bin. 

“If you’re waiting for another kiss,” you smirk, biting your lower lip. “You better go brush your teeth.”

Reigen releases you so quickly that you almost fall over with a yelp. He swiftly ducks under the rope that seals off the smoking area and starts to jog towards the lit up rows of shops down the street. 

“Stay here!” He yells over his shoulder. “The konbini doesn’t shut ‘til one! I’ll be right back!”

“Where are you going?!” You shout after his retreating form.

“Toothpaste!” Reigen says, turning around to throw you a wink. 

You can do nothing except laugh as you watch him leg it towards the closest convenience store.

[etheries1015]

Sorry, I overread it (It's currently 10pm where I live, I've been up since 4am, and my anxiety is kicking. Requesting things from people I never requested before is hard >.<)

May I request Riddle, Kalim, Idia and Malleus reacting to finding out their crush is trans-masc? Either by reader telling them or them finding out by accident

Never apologize for asking questions and sending asks! Please take care of yourself, get lots of rest, water, and sustenance <3

Finding out you're trans-masc

Featuring: Riddle, Kalim, Idia, Malleus

WARNINGS (please read): I'm a cis woman and I CANNOT stress enough that I may not be able to portray this as well as someone who actually identifies as such! I did do research ahead of time to make sure I try my very best to capture the essence of someone who identifies as trans-masc, but everyone's experiences are different. If I, in ANY way shape, or form, used incorrect terminology/representation or mistakenly offended anyone, please educate me so that I become more knowledgeable and can build my understanding. Other than that, I hope I did well in writing this for you to enjoy <3 Thank you for your time and for the request <3

Riddle

The topic came up during the first time you had gone to an Unbirthday party. Being misgendered by Riddle, you spoke up gently to inform him of your disposition.

"I'm...well, I don't use She/her pronouns." You shrugged. Riddle pursed his lips in frustration at his own confusion, he hadn't met someone falling under the LGBTQ umbrella before, he was incredibly sheltered and closed-minded for a long time due to his mother's teachings.

"I see..." Riddle nodded, "Then, please explain it to me so that I may not make the same mistake twice." He was eager to learn more about people and their experiences, especially learning about someone he found himself becoming more and more attached to.

Spends an entire night reading upon such topics- he was very quick to adapt and correct people around you whenever he found they did not address you properly.

"Does it bother you?" You had asked him once out of pure curiosity, and his response was with furrowed eyebrows and confusion.

"And why should it? It does not matter what you identify as. You are still (y/n). You are not your gender, and not your sex. You are..." He blushed deeply, you smiling to urge him on. You knew about his crush on you, of course, yet he seemed to be far too shy to admit it yet.

"You're..." He hesitated, "failing this class. G-get back to studying! quit getting distracted with silly questions or it's off with your head!"

You loved seeing him open his mind to many different concepts and treat you no differently than anyone else (minus some favoritism, hehe <3)

Kalim

It was actually Jamil who brought it up in conversation. The topic of "LGBTQ" came up, of course, Kalim understood the basics of people who identified as gay, however when the term "trans-masc" came up in regards to you, he was incredibly eager to learn more.

"Trans-masc? I thought they were (y/n)?"

"Kalim- no-"

It didn't take long for him to easily come around to the new terminology. You maybe gave him a 10 minute crash course before he accepted it face value.

"I see...so one day you're going to be by my side not as a queen, but as my royal spouse!" You were flabbergasted at his brazen comment. With a red face, you hadn't time to react before his hands were already around you in a deep hug.

"Haha! Oh, right! The pop club has a new song, wanna listen to it?"

He loves you no matter what. The most understanding and unconditionally in love person to exist, the definition of sunshine

Might overshare sometimes. He will bring it up sometimes to other people (if they misgender you) and give THEM a crash course on it! You love that he is so passionate about you, though. xoxo

Idia

He knew. He is chronically online, he knows all about it. When he first met you, he even asked what your preferred pronouns were.

I don't really know what else to say for Idia, he honestly doesn't care who you identify as. You play video games with him and give him love, that's enough for him!!

Can take it incredibly seriously If someone misgenders you or tries to bully you about your identity, his hair turns a fiery red and he turns gives them a whole one hour lesson while belittling that person calling them as intelligent as a soggy piece of bread.

The other person is crying by the end of it, but honestly nobody deserves to be treated disrespectfully like that.

actually how he confessed his crush to you, lol. In a fit of rage to someone who wasn't being very kind... "How dare you treat the one I love like that, you stupid normie piece of-" Realizes his mistake, face turns red, turns to you (whos face is also red)

"ummm.....Nevermind!" He runs away, but there was no getting away from you heuheu

even though he can be shy and kind of tsundere in public, he can be really passionate and will defend you at a moments notice and educate other people who are, as he puts, less than him.

In private? Sitting in his lap playing video games

Malleus

Actually, learned this from Idia. It was during class when the topic of LGBTQ came up, and when speaking among the students he over heard Idia telling ortho about your disposition as trans-masc.

Immediately came to you

"Child of man, what is 'trans-masc' and why did Idia use this term to describe you? Could you elaborate?" You two decided to take a stroll around the forest where you spent hours talking about all sorts of different people and the terms they used, explaining to him about dysphoria and how you discovered that the pronouns you were born with just didn't sit right with you.

Nods in understanding, but ends up purchasing a bunch of books Idia and Lilia recommended to him to increase his understanding.

Even though there are indeed things he will never be able to sympathize with properly and understand, such as the effects of dysphoria, but he will respect you full heartedly and not treat you any different despite still growing to learn about such topics.

All in all, it does not matter what you identify as. He finds himself completely enamored with you, loving how you teach him new things about anything and everything with humans- he will treat you the same as you treat him- impartial due to status, class, gender, pronouns, human or fae. He knew you were the one he wanted to rule Briar Valley next to one day- as his lovely spouse.

~~

I hope I was able to answer your request satisfyingly <3 Please let me know if anything needs to be changed and I shall update accordingly, I myself am always learning and growing every day! Please be kind <3

[irkimatsu]

AHHHHHH I love Husk and your content is by far my FAVORITE 😍 the sweet, the smut, the little bit of both...I love it all.

So I have a cute idea for this one. Neko!reader x husk. The reader isn't fully cat, but has the ears and tail, a cat-like face and of course the mannerisms. Husk is crushing hard and thinks that she (or they, whichever pronouns :) ) is cute and nonchalantly points out that it's adorable when her ears twitch. And then she's like, "And you wonder why we're always messing with you, eyy Kitten?" which makes him all flustered and he can't even say anything.

I can just picture them doing the equivalent of holding hands only their tails wrapped around each other 😚😚

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

I envisioned Reader as an anthro like Husk; I'm hoping that's what you meant with your description! Reader gets drunk and rants to Husk about cat instincts, Husk offers some advice, light flirting and flustered Husk ensues. I hope this is close enough to what you wanted! 1.2k words, SFW, female reader!

---

You’ve had way too much to drink.

It’s not like you’re inexperienced at drinking; you knew the hard stuff you were knocking back would be enough to get you wasted. That was the point.  Maybe if you got drunk enough, you could shut off the stupid cat instincts that hadn’t left you alone since the moment you died. The exercises you’ve been doing at this hotel for the past few months may have taught you things like not stealing and believing in the power of friendship, but there hadn’t yet been any lessons on how to stop swiping at your own tail every time it entered the corner of your field of vision.

You’re not sure if the alcohol has turned off the instincts, but it sure has turned on your mouth. Without thinking about what you’re saying, you’ve been ranting to the bartender for the past thirty minutes, barely pausing to take a breath. Surely he doesn’t mind, right? Not only are bartenders supposed to listen when their customers want to bitch, but he’s in the exact same position as you are as far as species goes!

“...and the fuckin’ hairballs!” is the latest thought in your stream of word vomit. “I thought mucus was bad! Hairballs! They get stuck in my throat, and they itch like hell until I can cough ‘em up!”

“They sell stuff down here to take care of that,” the bartender says, pouring you another drink without you asking. “It tastes like shit, but it works. I don’t get ‘em anymore unless I forget to drink it.”

“And what about shedding?!” you continue on as if he didn’t say anything. “It’s impossible to keep my room clean! It’s like the more I clean up, the more fur there is!”

“Niffty’s been helpin’ me with that since I met her. She gets pissed about the fur I leave everywhere otherwise. She ain’t gentle with that brush, though.”

You take another gulp of your drink and slam it down onto the bar. “Fuck, think I just swallowed some fur…”

“You haven’t even been dead for a year yet, right?” Husk asks. “ That’s barely anything. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to being a cat. Some of the bullshit never goes away, but it becomes part of you.”

“Do you like being a cat?” you ask.

He laughs at your question. “Hell no! But what choice do I have? There’s no going back to bein’ human for any of us. May as well learn how to deal with it.” He takes a gulp of his own drink, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. “If ya want, I can take you to a good supply place sometime. They’ve got good products if you can put up with the fact that it looks like a fuckin’ pet store.”

“Hmm…” you neither accept nor deny his offer. You only take another drink, swallowing more damn fur in the process. That’s definitely gonna lead to some late-night hairballs. “It’s so annoying…” you whine as you plop your chin on the bar. “Why couldn’t I have been something cool? You know I saw a giant lizard the other day? Lucky bastard…”

“Bet they have a hell of a time findin’ clothes,” he says. “Or even gettin’ into places to begin with.”

“And even you got wings…” you continue on.

“Yeah. Wings. I get to clean up after fur and feathers, and if I don’t find the perfect position while sleeping the fuckin’ things go numb.” He takes your glass away, but you’re too lost in your own self-pity to protest. “We’ve all gotta get used to our new bodies when we get down here, and I doubt it’d be any different if we somehow got into heaven. Just gotta make the best of it.” He turns around to put away some bottles. “Besides, it’s not all bad. At least you’re cute.”

“...what was that?” you say, not expecting that word out of Husk’s mouth.

“I said you’re cute. Everyone thinks cats are cute, don’t they? Even I liked ‘em when I was alive. I don’t want to be one, but you can’t resist their mannerisms, can ya? The big eyes, the soft fur…”

He turns around just in time to see your right ear flicking in annoyance from the condescension. “The twitchy ears…”

You smirk, knowing the weight of what you’re about to say next but too drunk to stop yourself. “So now you get why Angel and I are always commenting on your mannerisms, eh, kitty?”

“Whoa! Hey!” His fur bristles, and you know you shouldn’t find his own agitation cute, but you can’t help yourself. It helps you understand the way he was just talking to you, at least. “That’s different! You’re a young lady! You died at, what, 25? You’re supposed to be cute! I’m an old man who drank myself to death. Nothin’ cute about that.”

“You’ve still got the big eyes and the soft fur…” you continue on.

He groans in response. “If you were a stranger saying that shit to me, I’d kill you.”

“So what makes me so special?” Your tail waves playfully behind you, and he’s obviously following it with his eyes and blushing.

“I…” he starts, but never manages to come up with the rest of the sentence. “Jesus Christ,” is all he has to offer before grabbing a couple of glasses from the shelf. He fills them both with water, then carries them around to the other side of the bar.

“Here,” he says as he sets one of the glasses in front of you. “Drink this. You’re gonna feel like shit in the morning. May as well not be dehydrated on top of everything else.”

You stare at the cup as he takes a seat on the stool next to you. “How do you resist the urge to knock cups over?” you ask.

“Lots of self-control,” he says with a smirk before guzzling his glass in one go.

You place your paw on the side of the glass, originally intending to pick it up, but an overwhelming spark takes over your brain, and you start easing the cup toward the edge of the bar. Husk grabs it and places it back where it started before it can crash to the floor.

“You’ll get used to it,” he assures you. He’s finished his water, but for a reason you can’t determine, he’s still sitting next to you.

“How long have you been down here?” you ask. “A couple years?”

“Mmm… fifty?” he guesses. “Almost as long as I was alive, at this point.”

“Fifty years?!” you exclaim. “And you still have to deal with cat instincts?!”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it never goes away. Just gotta get used to it, take the good with the bad.”

“The good…” you repeat. “Like being cute?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says. “...but in your case… yeah. Like being cute.”

You finally manage to pick up your water without giving into the desire for destruction. As you take a sip, something feathery starts to tickle against your tail. You look over at Husk from the corner of your eye. He’s trying to be nonchalant, not even looking at you, but there’s only one thing that could be brushing against you right now.

Without looking, you shift your tail, allowing it to curl around Husk’s. Husk curls his around yours in turn, your tail tips forming a spiral that just barely reaches the floor.

It’s the closest he’ll get to flirting for now. You’ll take what you can get.

[arklayraven]

I can't sleep rn while this annoyed/pissed off. So time to remind people OM is canonly a queer game as hell and to tell the queerphobes and transphobes to FUCK OFF. (Seriously, why are you following me if you hate queer and trans people/characters? Get out of here.)

This is a official post by OM devs over the creation of OM and their MC. Read the left section well.

"OM isn't a queer game" many like to say.

The game, writers and characters beg to differ.

From someone kind who felt they knew all about the game and characters well, even tho they played it themselves.

Let's go back to that official post by Solmare about OM and this section specifically.

Hope you read that well, and the person(and many who think/believe this) learns how damn wrong they are.

Also...God don't bring up my Asmo and act like you know all about him. Another thing from that kind person.

Firstly, canonly none of the characters have set labels. But they are all in fact canonly queer. Whether you like to believe/accept this or not. It's fact, was fact from day one.

Asmodeus is the most openly proud queer boy in the series, and gender nonconforming too at that, even if he uses only he/him pronouns(but he's been shown to be fine being called princess, queen, etc. So he's clearly open to all gendered/less pronouns/labels I feel).

He drips of gender fluidity, and going against gender presentation norms(Babe has presented so fem and nonconforming for awhile now. Learn to look at him and appreciate him better). So take note of all of that, and never say again he's not queer, because that's a damn fucking lie.

Also I hate how bi is used as default for queerness as a whole for characters who are interested in more than one gender, and wish for the day people stop using it as so. (Use MSPEC or just queer if you wish to sound more inclusive of all possible labels/identities for a canon queer character with no canon label set.)

Second, back to what I said before, ALL THE CHARACTERS IN OM ARE QUEER. If you ship your MC or yourself with them, know that's a canon queer character you're pairing them/yourself up with. And you can't erase their queerness and identity. Especially if it makes you personally feel bothered or crap.

And before you say anything, dating them, as a straight woman, doesn't automatically make them straight now too. They are still queer, but are dating you, who happen to be a straight woman. (stop being damn queerphobic challenge.)

I'm already tired of this crap, so gonna end this now and fast.

OM is a canon queer game, and was made with a MC who is genderless to be inclusive of ALL PLAYERS. This opened the door quickly for men, nonbinary, etc players to enjoy the game too, and be part of the fandom as well. There's as much men and nonbinary players in the series like women are, but only difference is in the fandom mainly. Many people choose to see which fans or MCs are more accepted in the community, and which ones to show more love/attention too.

If you tried to expand your horizons more, you will surely quickly find people who identify as men, nonbinary, etc in the fandom as well. And learn how we're here, always been here, just greatly drowned out or ignored by a vast majority of people just because of who we are. (Lots of people with dislike for MCs who are men, or just plain damn queerphobia and transphobia in the works.)

The more people try to ignore the clear fact men and nonbinary people play OM too. The more easier it is for them say OM and its characters aren't canonly queer, and they can feel special/happy about playing the game. That they want to believe was just made to cater to women only. But in reality it was made to be catered to all players, no matter their gender identity or lack of, and same for romantic/sexual attraction.

Also another thing I forgot to add to put more facts that OM is a queer game to be inclusive of ALL PLAYERS.

Already, the undateables from day one are canonly queer too. If you need to be reminded and stated that as well.

That's pretty much it on this annoying tiring topic.

Enjoy playing OM, the canonly queer game made for ALL PLAYERS. <3

[pupcuck]

NOUVEAU GAULTIER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x reader x ashley graham

tags. leon is ashley’s dad, daddy-daughter incest, age gap, threesome, implied/referenced cheating, reader has a pussy, 1 tiny reference to an eating disorder, creampie, daddy kink, dub-con, reader gets cucked sort of, ex-president leon :3

notes. was gonna name this nouveau roturier like newly rich but thought I was soooo funny for making a designer brand pun and I’m not even french so it’s probably wrong like but idc omg I’m sorry!!! the timeline of this is fucked like idk but leon is old in this 50+ i’d say :3 i adore ashley with all my heart and she’s one of my faves but i totally bimbofied her in this fic so excuse that 😭 no pronouns are used but reader wears dresses/skirts and is shorter than ashley and leon calls them wife once, leon is ooc againnnnn I promise next time he will be getting pegged.. I am not happy w the smut in this bc it’s oddly put together but whatever not proofread ignore typos

You’re a social climber. Admittedly so. The minute you see Ashley, kitten heels clicking on the marble floor, shiny blonde bob, cat-eye sunglasses - you need her. Whether it be as friends or lovers, you need her. Her dad spent two terms in office a few years back, the name alone was enough to get people to vote for him, President Kennedy has a nice ring to it. Been tried out once, so why not again? He was super cute at the time too. Well dressed, soft-spoken, and Italian-American, but not Italian enough to make the general public go into a frenzy about how some foreigner snuck his way to the top. C’mon, look at those baby blues, that’s an American man born and bred. You wanna do the whole Happy Birthday Mr. President shit with him, bastardised JFK and Marilyn.

Ashley is easy, the sorority girls flock to her, use her till they get what they want. All it takes is some shiny shoes, a flashy handbag, and a pearly smile to get her attention. You go the extra mile, manage to snag a Miu Miu chino miniskirt after hours of bidding to match hers, put on some knee-high socks and loafers, saunter into class and sit right in front of her. Pull out your very authentic and vintage Vivienne Westwood pouch that you use as a pencil case, make sure she gets a good look at it.

She approaches you after class, flutters her fingers at you and asks you to wait up. “I love your bag,” she gushes, “I’m Ashley, sorry, I didn’t catch your name today.” Her bangs are clipped away from her face today with a crystal-embellished pin, matching the pendant that sits nestled in her cleavage.

You tell her your name, smile at her just as wide, tell her you’ve seen that cardigan in the Blugirl fall 2004 runway. She says it’s a replica, couldn’t get her hands on the exact one, but her daddy did manage to get her the bag straight off the model. Albeit a little busted from all the years of use. She’s too open, so willing to spill all her secrets to the first person she deems trustworthy.

It takes approximately three weeks before the two of you are thick as thieves. You feel like you’ve known her all your life. Ashley invites you over to her gilded cage in no time, located in the very back of a gated neighbourhood where all the old money is. Colonial mansions, lion statues, perfectly trimmed hedges, something out of the Stepford Wives. Gives you the creeps.

“Daddy’s home, but mom’s on vacation,” Ashley loops her arm in yours, greets the man who opens the door for both of you . He nods at her. “He’s probably in his office though, so he won’t bother us.”

The family portrait on the wall is too much. Isn’t that some mediaeval shit? Ashley looks like her mother, you note. Just kinder. She can never help the smile that reaches her eyes. Her mom’s a total bombshell, heels that make her taller than Mr. Kennedy, all tits and not much else. You always thought wealthy guys liked them small.

Her room is what you expect from Ashley. Tidy, shelves upon shelves of squeaky clean shoes, a handbag variant in fifteen different colours. Walk-in wardrobe that’s entirely colour-coded and sorted by brand. It’s a wannabe nepo baby’s personal heaven. The thing all your dreams are made of.

“Ash, this is crazy,” you find yourself opening drawers and cupboards, doing the complete opposite of what your parents taught you. Totally invading her privacy by playing dress up in her closet, and yet, Ashley doesn’t mind one bit. She lets you try on a Shushu/Tong dress, one that was tailored to fit her just right, so it’s slightly tight in the bust for you. A little too loose on the waist, she’s taller after all. Fatter ass too. Got that from her dad, you’ve seen how those slacks stretch uncomfortably far around his thighs. “It’s like a department store.” You wonder if she’s ever been in one. Probably not.

“I guess so,” Ashley giggles, helping you out of the dress with ease. “I’m glad I met you.” She wears her heart on her sleeve, can never lie to you, has to say it right there and then. “People are so mean to me ‘cause I have a lot.” Poor little rich girl.

“They’re just jealous, Ash,” you say breezily, fixing your hair in her full-length mirror. Framed by lights and everything. “It’s not your fault you’re rich, babes.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying!” Ashley tosses her arms in the air, “like, it’s not my fault, I was just born into it.”

“Exactly, you didn’t ask for it.” You coo, cupping her soft cheeks in your hands. God, you’d kill for China doll skin like this. Some people really do have it all.

“You just get it,” she sighs, bats her mascara-coated lashes down at you, “I love you like so much.”

“Aw,” you stand on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek, she doesn’t complain when your lip gloss stains it, “I love you, like, even more, Ash.”

Sleeping at Ashley’s becomes a frequent thing. Anytime she asks, you agree. What’s better than free food, a big comfy princess bed, mani-pedis, and a pretty blonde by your side? Literally nothing tops that. You’d do anything to leave your dorm, your roommate smokes too much and never airs the place out.

You’ve never seen her dad despite spending all this time over at hers. A second home by now. All the staff know you by name. Bow their heads and greet you like they do Ashley. It gives you a real rush. Don’t even need that pat-down security check outside the gates anymore. Dude just lets you straight in.

At the dining table is where you meet him for the first time. You and Ashley, in matching slips, hers minty green and yours baby pink, sit chatting away and picking at your breakfast the way rich people do. ‘Cause god forbid you actually eat, Ashley said her mom was bulimic in winter and simply starved in spring. Anorexia is totally in this season.

“Daddy!” Ashley’s off her feet throwing herself at him the moment he steps into the room. He catches her easily, and it really is heartfelt, till they kiss. On the lips. Like. Tongue and all, spit dripping down Ashley’s chin kinda kiss. It takes you off guard, you choke on the shredded cucumber you put in your mouth, serves you right for trying to eat. No fucking way. Her hand dips low between their bodies, did she just grab his fucking balls? A ball grab is sacred. No way this is real. Oh my god. Jesus Christ, lord and saviour, this is what you get for making friends with rich girls. You’d rather the family secret be murder, not incest.

“Hi, my princess,” he coos, whispers something in her ear and winks, Ashley giggles and slaps his chest. Ew. You need to get out of this place, stat. “Who’s this, Ash?” Mr. Kennedy straightens up when he sees you, face goes stern, makes him look older. You used to find him so dreamy. Face like an 80s pornstar.

“Oh, daddy, I told you already,” she says your name and it must ring a bell ‘cause he nods his head slowly in recognition, “We’re going shopping soon, so I’ll see you later, daddy.” Ashley wraps her arms around his neck, god, you’re going to throw up a breakfast that you didn’t even eat.

They kiss and it’s even worse than last time. His hands go from her waist to her round ass, gives it a squeeze and Ashley squeals in delight. “I love you daddy.” She chirps.

“Love you too, princess,” he takes his freshly brewed coffee from the counter and leaves like he didn’t just traumatise you. Like you don’t need years of intensive therapy to get over what you just saw. No wonder her mom is still on vacation.

you: i need cbt

claire: cock n ball torture?? why??

you: ?? BITCH?

you: need to get out of here like asap

claire: told u they r part of a cult !!!

claire: illuminati

you: worse i’ll tell u when i escape

claire: send me ur will :(

“Isn’t he so sweet?” Ashley giggles as she sits back down beside you. “Daddy can drive us to the mall today, he said he’s free.”

It hurts to smile. “Oh, Ash, he’s so busy, he totally doesn’t have to!” Your voice is strained, but she doesn’t notice. “I don’t mind walking either.”

“No, it’s okay, it’ll be fun!”

It is not fun. It’s the farthest from fun actually. ‘Cause all you can see is them kissing. The scene keeps replaying in your head anytime Mr. Kennedy speaks. A man you’d once found so handsome, all suave and suited up, kissing his daughter on the mouth. Just as weird as every other politician. Worse maybe. Biden don’t get down and dirty with his daughter.

He doesn’t pay much attention to you, meets your eye in the rear-view mirror a few times, and that’s it. Daddy doesn’t like you, huh? Whatever. Ugly freak. Ashley and her mom are too pretty for this guy. Poor Ash, does she even know that it isn’t normal to kiss your dad? The thought is making you nauseous.

“Wait, can I get out here?” You blurt it out after thinking too hard. Ashley blinks at you in surprise. “I feel a little sick.” You admit.

“Oh em gee, are you, like, okay?” She covers her mouth with a dainty hand, light brows bunched up in worry, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re kinda clammy, oh my gosh.”

“Yeah,” you smile at her weakly, “must be what’s going around college.”

“Daddy can drop you home,” Ashley insists, but you’d rather not let her see the state of your dorm building. The university does nothing to make it look pretty. Crumbling, old-fashioned brickwork, moss stuck to every inch of it. “He doesn’t mind.”

“No, I think the fresh air would be good for me, Ash,” you pat her shoulder, Mr. Kennedy pulls up near the curb, doesn’t spare you a second glance.

“Only if you’re sure…” She chews on her bottom lip, slender fingers intertwined with yours. Clingy. Ashley doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m sure,” you kiss her hand, “I’m sorry for cutting it short, Ash, we can go when I’m better, alright?” You tell her as you get out, she’s about to roll down the window and speak, but daddy drives off the second you shut the door. Fucking asshole.

Straight to Claire’s it is.

“I don’t believe you,” Claire laughs in your face when you recount your distressing morning. “You could've told me anything and I would believe it, but I do not think Leon S. Kennedy fucks his daughter on the low.”

“Claire, I’m serious,” you dig your acrylics into her arm, stomp your feet, “I fucking saw it, she grabbed his balls, like, like, she fuckin’ groped him!”

“Right,” Claire rolls her eyes, “Jill doesn’t even grab my balls ‘n we’ve been together since forever.”

“You don’t have balls to grab, bitch,” you’re shaky when you take the drink she offers, breaking out in a cold sweat when you think about it too hard. “Fuck, Claire,” you whine, “I thought you did journalism, can’t you like, tell someone? New York Times?”

“I’m in my second year of college, dude, I don’t think it works like that. No one’s gonna believe me when I say Kennedy kisses his kid.” Claire picks at her cuticles, she’s so over it already! Couldn’t this be her big break?

“Kissing your kid is fine, but not like that.” You keep grabbing and pinching her, trying to emphasise just how wretched it really was, but Claire tears herself free each time. “Like, that was porno shit, man.” To be fair, if Claire really did go to someone with your story, then wouldn’t they know it was you who leaked it? Then you’d be killed and it’d be framed as suicide, and so would Claire. Or a murder-suicide. They’d act like you were capable of such things. Claire might be, but you’re certainly not.

“Film it,” she shrugs, “then I’ll believe you.”

“No,” you shake your head, face grave, “Claire I couldn’t show you that, it would be too much, way too much.”

She laughs at you again, full belly laugh, pinches your cheek like you’re a toddler. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. I think you’re just not used to it ‘cause you’re not close with your dad.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” You elbow her in the tit, “Even if I was close with my dad, I wouldn’t have my fucking tongue down his throat.”

“Suppose so.”

“Dude, if you had a dad would you be deepthroating his tongue?”

“I’m not deepthroating any guy,” Claire retorts, “Dad or not.”

“Okay, then what about Chris?”

“Gross!” She elbows you in the gut to get back at you, “Don’t even go there you fucking freak.”

“Claire, I’m like, you don’t get it, I’m fucking freaking out right now.” You can feel the tension headache building already. All the pressure is ready to pop. Is this how you die? Spontaneous combustion? In Claire’s apartment? All over the back wall that reminds you of how T.G.I Friday is decorated. Weird ass biker shit, old rock band posters. It’s ugly and this sucks. Who even listens to Guns ‘n Roses now? Axl Rose isn’t even cute and girly anymore.

“Dude, film it and I promise I’ll do something ‘bout it.” Claire holds out her pinky, you wrap your one around it. Deal. Some fucking friend she is.

Acting normal around Ashley is so hard. The hardest thing you’ve ever done. Harder than any exam, harder than any cock you’ve sucked. Just looking at her makes your tummy flip. Luckily, Mr. Ex-President ain’t around today, so you don’t have to worry about any ball fondling. No footage for Claire.

“My mom has that,” Ashley says offhandedly when you show her the Jean Paul Gaultier gown saved to your Pinterest board of needs. She’s filing her nails, popping her gum, having a good ol’ time like she hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on you.

“Are you fucking serious, Ash?” You sit up in her bed, grab her by the shoulders, “I’m literally gonna throw up, can I see it?”

Ashley tilts her head to the side, and smiles cutely, “Of course you can, you can wear it if you want.” Holy shit. You’d kiss her on those gorgeous doll lips if she didn’t kiss her daddy with that mouth.

You knock her back into the bed when you hug her, “Ashley, I am literally going to take you home and put you on my shelf.”

“What?” She giggles again, “why?”

“Because you’re a fucking doll, babe, god, I could kiss you!” You could, but you won’t. Don’t really want Mr. Kennedy cooties.

Her mom’s wardrobe is significantly bigger than hers, there’s a single rack of suits that all look the same in the corner, obviously belonging to Mr. Kennedy. He gets a sad slither of space where he’s stashed a bunch of folded polos and slacks. That’s how it should be.

“I’m gonna shit myself, Ash,” you tell her when she pulls it out. There’s a fair amount of garments on the floor at this point, all costing more than you would if sold on the black market.

“Please don’t do that,” Ashley looks genuinely worried, she holds it to her figure so you can see the dress in all its glory. A lace bodice, sheer and naughty, delicate and subtle beading threaded into the patches of fabric. The skirt is sleek, sticks to the body like a second skin, but stiff like it’s unworn. Never been put to use. You’d be wearing this shit at every event no matter how small. Night out at the local bar? Yeah, you’re whipping out the Gaultier.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble, reaching out to touch it ever so softly like it could fall apart at any second, break apart like butterfly wings. “Are you sure I can put it on?” It sure looks good on Ashley, she’s lithe and slender in the way models tend to be.

“Duh, mom won’t notice anyway,” Ashley’s nimble fingers come to slip you out of your clothes, “it’ll fit,” she reassures you.

“Hi, beautiful,” you run your hands over the dress, it’s snug on the hips, loose on the bust. Opposite to how Ashley’s clothes fit. “Shit, Ash, I feel like I’m gonna pass out.” You can’t take your eyes off of it, the intricacies of the beadwork, the lace flora that stretches to your shape.

“You look so pretty,” Ashley fawns, “your tits look great.”

“Right?” You cup them, “I don’t even know how to thank you, Ash.”

She’s about to speak when the door to her mother’s dressing room clicks open. With his belt halfway undone, Mr. Kennedy enters, lips parting like he wants to say something. No god is on your side.

“Hi, daddy,” Ashley greets him with a kiss to the cheek today, thank fuck!

“Hi there, babydoll,” he rubs his cheek against hers, the roughness of his stubble making her cry out. “You playin’ dress up?” Good lord, get me out of here, you’re praying to whoever’s listening. The devil himself could answer and you’d take it.

“That tickles, daddy,” she clings to his arm, then nods at his question. “Mhm, doesn't it look pretty?”

Mr. Kennedy narrows his eyes at you. Alright, jeez, calm it, old man. You smile at him sheepishly, “Hi, Mr. Kennedy, sorry ‘bout this.”

“It’s alright,” he says coolly, “I’m sure it was Ashley’s idea.” He smiles at her fondly, eyes going soft and watery, he draws her in for a lip-smacking kiss.

It takes every morsel of your self-preservation to not cry out, run out screaming, take the dress with you and never come back. Move to Greenland. Meet some nice fellow and settle down with him. Are there hotties in Greenland? You stand there with a tight-lipped smile, bottom lip wobbling ‘cause your cheeks are starting to ache.

“It’s cute though, right, daddy?” Ashley’s lips are shiny with his spit as she makes her way back over to you. “Looks better than it does on mom.”

“Hm,” Mr. Kennedy raises a brow, looks you up and down. “Guess it does, Ash.”

“Will you help ‘em out of it, daddy?” Ashley asks innocently enough, she holds out her hand, “I don’t wanna break a nail if the zip gets stuck.”

“Sure, baby.” He agrees so easy ‘cause Ashley’s so sweet she gives you a cavity.

“No, it’s okay!” You turn your back away from him, reaching back to feel around for the dangling zipper, “I can do it myself, Mr Kennedy, there’s really no need.”

“I insist,” Mr. Kennedy steps forward, two strong hands on your hips and he spins you around to face the mirror. You feel his breath on your neck, the scent of his cologne wafts your way. Wearing so much you can taste it. It’s expensive of course.

You can’t stand him. Your knees go weak when his eyes catch yours in the mirror. Damn him for being so handsome. If he wasn’t such a freak, you’d do unspeakable things to him. Dip your tongue in his cleft chin, suck on his neck like a mosquito, grab his ass, his balls. Whatever he likes. He unzips it slowly on purpose. Or maybe it just feels extra long ‘cause this is so painfully awkward.

“It fits real nice,” Mr. Kennedy comments, his lips curl upwards, did he just pat your ass? Um, Ashley, hi, stop folding those clothes and control your dog of a father. “Wanted to be my wife or something, that’s why you put it on?”

“No, sir,” you say shakily, you’re so gonna vomit all over these cute heels.

“Might fit, but it don’t suit you,” the zip is open, you wrap your arm around your chest so you’re not left completely without dignity. “Low-class whores shouldn’t be playin’ house with my Ashley, alright?” He says it with a smile so blinding you almost thunk to the ground. Hold your horses, Kennedy, classism is so twenty years ago. “I know Ash likes you lots, but don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” Oh shit. C’mon Mr. Kennedy, you called her a bimbo once. That’s a compliment these days. Then you called her ditsy, airheaded, and a plethora of other things. Did he have access to, like, all the weird shit you’ve said?

“I love Ash,” you do, you really do. There’s no one in this world sweeter than Ashley. “She’s sweet to me.” You’ve got cottonmouth. Can’t get much else out.

“Did you get it off, daddy?” Ashley peeks over his shoulder.

“Almost, baby,” he urges you to move your arm, “lemme hold ‘em up so you can take it off, sweetheart.”

In your dreams old man. Never in a million years will he get to hold your prize-winning tits. Organic and homegrown on the farm that is your body. Okay, never mind, he’s holding them. You’re shaking like crazy, fingers hooking in the fabric so you can wriggle out of the tight skirt.

“Daddy, you’re so sweet,” Ashley flutters her lashes at him, so enamoured by this ugly creep. Handsome creep you guess. With a nose you’d like to ride.

“I’m sweet, huh? Shouldn’t you give daddy a kiss then?” Are they seriously doing this when you’re standing there ass naked with your tits in his hands?

“I’ll give you lotsa kisses, daddy,” Ashley peppers kisses along his jaw, down his neck, okay, she’s getting on her knees. Strangling yourself with that Hermés scarf sounds good right now. “Down here too.” She better not be giving him that ball squeeze. Trademark Kennedy ball squeeze.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, sweetheart,” Leon clicks his tongue, Mr. Kennedy was getting old and long to say. Fuck you, Leon. “Eyes up here, yeah?”

“Sorry, Mr. Kennedy,” you mumble, hear the sound of a zipper. God, she’s really going to town. Sucking and slurping.

“Step out of it,” Leon instructs, you do so carefully, leaving the dress pooled beside your feet. “Keep those on, darling.” Oh, only if you insist, daddy. You were going to run home in these red bottoms no matter what. “Why don’t you get those lips movin’, yeah?”

What in the fuck does that mean? Does he want you to suck him off too? He does. Right. You can do this. You’ve sucked every dick on campus, what difference does his make? It might be a little more wrinkly, balls might be more saggy, but plenty of guys have fucked up sacs. When you get on your knees next to her, Ashley takes your hand, gives it a squeeze as she works the shaft. Seriously, is this bitch leaving you on ball duty?

“Oh, you look so much like mommy, babydoll,” Leon tips his head back, runs his fingers through her silky bob. Does she find that hot? Being compared to her mom? If a guy said that to you, he’d be buried in a parking lot somewhere. Ashley takes him to the hilt, her button nose buried in dark hair, her throat bulging with his cock, and she’s not even gagging. She’s got skill. You gag a hell of a lot. But most of the time guys find it hot, ‘cause they start thinking they’re real big, brag that you couldn’t even make it to the balls. Really, you’re just not much of a giver. They taste weird, the burn isn’t pleasant, you just don’t really do a lot of cocksucking. Never got the appeal.

You make a meal of it still. Try to take his fat balls into your mouth, one at a time ‘cause they’re much too big, too heavy. Shouldn’t they be drained by this point in life? He’s like fucking old. Ashley and her daddy have it all. Nice cock, fancy suits, big car. Men don’t need much else. By the time you’ve managed to fit a single one in your mouth, suckling and licking along the seam, leaving him spit-slicked, Ashley’s making him cum down her throat.

She pulls off with a slick pop, cum drooling from the tip of his heavy cock, she puts a hand on the back of your head, forces her fingers into your mouth and keeps your tongue out. You feel the velvety head of his cock, dripping his salty seed in your mouth, he’s uncut on the fat. Cute. You like ‘em uncut. They look better that way. Like they’ve got a jacket. As he pumps himself, the head peeks out past the foreskin, nudges the tip of your tongue till he’s all done.

Ashley kisses you, swapping her spit and his cum into your mouth. She tastes like her raspberry lip balm. And cum. Lots of cum. Is this some initiation into the presidential candidate cult? Count you out.

“C’mere, my good girl,” Leon helps Ashley up, brushes off her clothes, uses a handkerchief from his breast pocket to clean up her messy face. And what do you get? Nothing. Every man for themselves, bitch. The heels hinder you from succeeding, but you hold onto the cabinet and stand all on your own. Didn’t need daddy’s help.

“Daddy,” Ashley whines, “I’m all wet.” Can you leave now? You gave the blowjob, more of a balljob on your part, but still, is it cool if you just slip out the back door. Or do they want you here for all this sweet talk too?

“You’re all wet, babydoll? Don’t worry ‘bout it, daddy’s gonna make it all better.” Are you in a porno right now? Is this all a huge setup? Where are the cameras? Shit, right. Cameras. You were supposed to be filming. Too late now, Leon grabs you by the wrist. Plops down on the chaise lounge, Ashley on one knee and you on the other. He’s got you by the tit and Ashley by the waist. How charming. Really shows what he sees in you.

Ashley kicks off her panties with ease. When she slid out of that cashmere miniskirt is lost on you, and where’d her bra go? Leon cranes his neck towards her, puckers his lip for a kiss that she gives to him instantly. They kiss more than they fucking breathe. He nudges you off of his lap, manspreads so it’s harder for you to sit comfortably. Why he put you on his lap in the first place? You don’t know. Maybe just to piss you off.

His ringed fingers part her puffy pussy, pink just like her nipples. She’s slick and shiny for him, doesn’t take much work to open her up. You watch her hole flutter when he takes them out, clenching around thin air, Ashley’s greedy. Even you know that. She needs everything in excess. God. Her cunt’s just as pretty as her face. Clit and folds sticking out past her lips, all pink and wet, wanna bite down on it. Needy little pussy that’s begging to be filled. Leon pinches her bud, plucks her nipples with his free hand. Ashley jumps with each touch, her chest heaves, eyes lidded.

Leon shoves his fingers in your mouth, coated in her arousal, candied as you lick it all up, every single drop. Pussy sweet just like the rest of her. Like she’s been dipped in a pot of sticky honey. “Ain’t it just the prettiest?” Leon hums, grins at you wolfishly, “My little girl got a pretty little pussy.”

“Daddy, you’re so sweet to me,” Ashley coos, her lashes dusting over her cheeks as her eyes close, his thick fingers stretching her open.

“That’s ‘cause you’re daddy’s princess, aren’t you?” Leon’s dick is hard again, standing proud against his stomach. Calm it, old man. Isn’t going multiple rounds bad for his heart? Is he on viagra? You wouldn’t put it past him. “Daddy’s spoiled little girl.”

Ashley throws her legs over his lap, sits so she’s facing him, sinks down onto his fat cock with such ease you choke on your saliva. Oh, so she’s like a fucking whore. Who takes big dick that easy? Her pussy swallows up the widest part of his cock, the base, leaves him glistening with her slick.

“Look at that,” Leon flicks her perky nipple, “takin’ daddy so fuckin’ well. All grown up now, aren’t you, babydoll?” You really don’t know if you’re supposed to be here anymore.

“No…” Ashley‘s little hands stroke down his broad chest, her nose scrunched as she grinds down into him, “I’m still daddy’s baby.”

“You’re always gonna be daddy’s baby,” Leon melts beneath her, he stops her hips from moving. Aw, she might be too intense for the old man. That girl fucks like a bunny, you’re not surprised. “Go on, sit.” Is he talking to you? He is. You take your seat between his thighs. Why you’re listening to him is beyond you. Okay, so maybe it’s turning you on a little. Like got you sopping wet, panties see-through kinda turned on. Shit. Pussy always thinking for you. Head says one thing and next minute you know you’re on your knees ‘cause Mr. President says so.

There’s some rustling, Ashley giggling, then your face to face with her sloppy cunt speared on his cock. Oh, that’s nasty. What a nasty old man. Fucking her like that. Full Nelson is just disrespectful to a preppy little lady like Ashley. Personally, you’d take her from behind. Watch her ass jiggle.

He doesn’t need to tell you what to do. Your tongue works quicker than your brain, lapping at her swollen clit as he fucks up into her, sucking on his balls, swiping up whatever mess she leaves behind on his dick. You’ve got a hand between your legs, grinding your clit into your fingers in a desperate attempt to get yourself off. Ashley squeals, her toes curling as you latch onto her clit, you’re rewarded with a gush of her cum. Splashes your chin, dribbles down your neck, wetting your tits.

“Was that good, babydoll?” Leon hums low in her ear, teeth pulling at her pierced lobe. “Enough for you?”

“Yes, daddy,” Ashley yelps as your nose bumps her clit, tongue still working to clean her up, but it’s inevitable, each thrust of his cock gets her creamy again.

“Yeah? Baby’s all done?” Leon’s cock twitches inside of her, then he dumps his load in his kid. Stuffs his princess with her daddy’s cum. Pats her belly and cradles her as you sit on the ground dumbfounded.

“Gimme a minute ‘n we can go again, daddy,” Ashley yawns, letting him pamper her, head twisting so she can see you, a dopey smile plastered on her face.

“I’m gettin’ old, princess,” he chuckles, “don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

“Course you can, daddy,” Ashley strokes his prickly cheek, “you gotta take both of us this time, promise?”

Sorry Claire, looks like you’re not making your big break in the journalism scene anytime soon. Not like she deserves it anyway. Stupid bitch didn’t even believe you. Well, if he puts his dick in you and calls you his baby, you might let it go. Might ask Ashley if this can become a regular thing.

[lale-txt]

❈ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰/ 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧 & 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

@beaniesweets asked: Lale! I was so excited when you opened your reqs, but I didn't want to bother you, and I've been too nervous to ask till now ( ;▽; ) I'm sure you must be bombarded already, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing Tengen with a bratty afab reader? Sfw or nsfw! Or pass, that's fine! I just think it's awfully sweet of you to open reqs at all ( ;▽; ) ♡

a/n: BEANIE you're never bothering me at all, and i squealed a little when i read your request (/▿＼ ) thank you for sending one in, i was really excited to write this for you and hope it's to your liking! Tengen-sama do you need another wife pls...

contains: ns.fw under the cut (MDNI), bratty afab!reader (no pronouns, "cunt" used to describe genitals), getting caught masturbating, brat taming, dirty talk, fingering, edging, spit kink if you squint

word count: 1.4k

“Why are you so insistent on not listening to my orders, sweetheart?”

It’s quite the pitiful position you found yourself in. 

Sheets ruffled, your husband leaning against the headboard of the bed, your back pressed against his broad frame and your legs hooked over his knees, spreading them wide apart. You’re both dipped in warm golden tones from the lamp on the nightstand, and even though the light was dim, it was enough to reveal the damp patch between your thighs where your panties stick to your aching cunt. You try to squirm out of Tengen’s embrace, but he holds you firmly in place with one arm wrapped around your middle. 

“What have I told you about touching yourself when we’re together?”, he asks, visibly unimpressed by your attempts to escape him. You feel his breath on your neck, his lips grazing your skin. When you answer him with a huff, his hand comes to your chin, tilting it up until your neck falls back and your eyes meet his, not forcefully but firmly. “Well?”

“That the only way I’m allowed to get off is on your thigh,” you mumble and hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. Tengen hums in affirmation. 

“And yet, what were you doing just now?” He taps your cheek with two fingers, as if he wanted you to spill out the truth. His maroon eyes linger on you, not budging at all despite your annoyed glares.

“Touching myself,” you finally admit and your reply seems to please Tengen because he lets go of your chin, but still keeps holding you in his lap. His cock throbbed against your back, but he has no intention of taking care of it–for now. He kisses from the side of your neck to your jaw, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. It’s sending sparks to your core, the cotton of your panties getting a little wetter.

“Touching yourself,” he repeats, his voice low and close to your ear. “And you thought I wouldn’t wake up from your pathetic little mewls next to me, mhm? Thought I wouldn’t notice how you desperately hump your pillow, your fingers nowhere big enough to stuff you like you want it, like you need it?”

You huff again and make an attempt to close your legs, greedy for some friction to help the heavy throbbing between them, but of course Tengen doesn’t let you, only clicks his tongue in disapproval. 

“Poor little thing,” he hushes and hooks a finger around the soaked crotch of your panties, pulling it up until your cunt is exposed to the air. “Could have just told your husband if you needed a helping hand. But no… you chose to be a little brat instead. You always do.”

He pulls the fabric further up until the sensation is dancing on the thin line of being painful and pleasurable, making your legs on top of his tremble slightly. Your head rests against his chest and gives away no emotion, too defiant to let him have this triumph. Only your breath hitching in your chest betrays how your cunt clenches around nothing.

You swear you can feel him smirk against the back of your neck when he runs his knuckles over your slit, his touch featherlight and yet still making you squirm. He wants you to beg. Wants you to admit that nothing compares to his caressing. But you’re just so, so stubborn, aren’t you? 

Tengen’s fingers spread your glistening folds, pressing against them only to be pulled away the moment you buck your hips greedily. You didn’t get to cum earlier when he caught you masturbating next to him and by now your whole body was just aching for sweet release, slight frustration building up inside of you from the way he toyed with you. 

You let out a needy whine when he circles your clit with his plump fingers, not touching it directly, but close enough to make you twitch and struggle against him; and that’s when he finally dips his digits inside of you, curling them up just right to press against that sweet spot inside of you. 

“See? My fingers reach much deeper than yours do, don’t they? Feels good, right?”, he coaxes you, lips pressed against the shell of your ear while he glances down at you, watching how two of his fingers disappear inside of you, big enough to stretch you out deliciously. 

“They’re okay,” you huff and try to ignore the fluttering sensation in your core, getting closer to unraveling the knot that has been building up all night long. Your quiet pants and moans are getting harder to suppress by now, your legs shaking if they weren’t stuck on top of his.

“Tsk.” Tengen adds a third finger, as if he wants to prove to you just how wrong you are; wants your body to betray that bratty mouth of yours. His free hand comes to your chin once more, tilting it up until you’re looking at him again. There’s love in his eyes, adoration, a silent pleading to let him devour you. It makes you weak in the knees, your heart pounding a little faster.

“My sweet thing,” he murmurs, gaze lingering on your slightly parted lips before his fingers push between them, coaxing you to open up and stretch out your tongue. “You’re gonna be good for your husband and take it?”

For a moment he’s convinced you’re gonna talk back again, too stubborn for your own good, but to his surprise you nod; unable to resist the pleasure anymore, his fingers pushing deep inside of your throbbing cunt. Tengen smiles and his thumb finally comes to your clit, giving it the attention you craved for so long. 

“That’s more like it,” he coos and lets a dribble of salvia fall onto your tongue, an approving smirk when you swallow it greedily. The kiss that follows is hungry, muffling your needy whimpers when Tengen speeds up his thrusts with his fingers, whispering praise in between. He wants you to be good for him, wants you to let him take care of you, but there is something about your attitude when you keep snapping and biting back that makes him feral.

“What a mess you are, so wet for me…”, he whispers with a low chuckle, gently biting down on your shoulder which you expose so deliciously for him, back arching as you’re getting close to your edge, your fingernails clawing on his massive arms that keep you so secure in place, pleasure prickling on your skin so good it makes you want to crawl away from it. 

“Will you cum for me, darling? Or are my fingers still not good enough for you?”

Whatever snappy reply lies on the tip of your tongue gets swallowed with another deep kiss. Tengen’s tongue lapps up your last crumbs of self-restraint as he keeps fingering you, rubbing and touching all the right spots until your limbs start tingling and your core feels so hot, desperate for sweet release. He was right, your own fingers could never give you the same pleasure as his do, but like hell you’d admit that into his face; how else would you get that deep satisfaction of him taming you like a wild animal, scratches and bite marks proof of that the morning after? 

Your orgasm washes over you relentlessly, your needy mewls and moans mixing with the sweet sounds Tengen’s thick fingers pumping in and out of you, fucking you through your high until your whole body goes limp in his arms; a triumphant defeat. He kisses the top of your head, your cheeks, your lips again, mumbling words of praise and affirmation against your skin while holding you. When you bite down his bottom lip he smiles, in love with your fire and how your love for him burns so brightly, so flashy.

Tengen flips you around so you’re straddling his lap, facing him, the juices running down the insides of your thighs soaking his pants now. His grip on your hips tightens when you press yourself against his crotch, grinding on his hard, heavy cock through the fabric. You don’t shy away from taking advantage of your newly found freedom, kissing and licking and biting down his neck, all while your hands greedily pull down the waistband of his boxers. His adam’s apple bops as he swallows, the heat between you both palpable. Tengen lets out a husky laugh, pulling aside your panties when you reach for his cock to guide him between your thighs.

“Insatiable, aren’t you, sweetheart?” – “Wanna see if you can fuck some obedience in me then?"

[ofallthingsnasty]

If your inbox is open could I please request a yandere sae where he traps his Darling by getting them pregnant and also this is around the time where he kidnaps them and they get Stockholm Syndrome if you're uncomfortable with this feel free to ignore my request

hey hey!! sure it's pretty much always open 🤗 thank you for giving my brain something to chew on - this really tickled me bc he isn't necessarily the first character i think of when i think yandere bllk! a cold one, for sure 🥶

tags: yandere, sae is 20+, emotional abuse, baby trapping (no pronouns used for reader but they can get pregnant), noncon mention, smidge of unreliable narrator word count: 0.6k

Sae is one thing: selfish. He knows you're here against your will and he simply doesn't care. He gets what he wants. You won't ever know why exactly he picked you out of all the possible people to obsess over because he won't ever treat you like one would a spouse. He's blunt, he's brash, he's an asshole - even to you. He doesn't keep you small on purpose, Sae is just like that. Unlike some others, he doesn't criticize you to snuff out your self-esteem, he truly thinks what he says. You'll learn how to play by his rules and admittedly - he is fair, at least as far as he is concerned. Neither cruel nor sadistic, he simply expects you to conform and be perfect for him. Deviate from his vision for you and he'll let you know- but as long as you are good for him you won't hear a single word.

He actually strikes me as one of the few from Blue Lock who would choose to kidnap you - it's easier and keeps you by his side. He's pragmatic like that. And because Sae doesn't need your love - he simply takes what he wants - he doesn't care for all that lovey-dovey shit, either. Watch him simply lock you away even though you have never talked to each other. He's convinced you're perfect for him and that's enough. He really wastes no time. In his opinion, your predicament isn't all too bad, even beneficial. Isn't this what so many people strive for? Marry rich, be pampered for the rest of your days, no more worries, no more hurt? Really, you should be over the moon to be the spouse of a famous soccer player. He'll tell you as much; that you should be grateful for the roof over your head, that you'll never have to work another day in your life because of him, that you'll have everything you'll ever want - and that being kept like this is the trade-off, that he expect payment from time to time. All your fighting, your scratching, your crying - it doesn't matter to him. It's annoying, sure, but it won't stop him at all. (Although even Sae has his limits. If you keep screaming at him how you don't care for the designer clothes, the expensive furniture and his stupid house, he isn't above showing you what you're taking for granted right now. Some nice, quaint nights in the basement with little food and water and no clothes should set your head straight. Not cruel. Just pragmatic.)

And because he takes such good care of you, he deserves something else in return, doesn't he? A baby is perfect. It's easy to realize that dream - he's expecting sex from you regularly, anyway and never really bothers with birth control. In the beginning, he humored you a little by using condoms (to soften the blow, so to speak) but by now he simply doesn't care anymore. The thought of you pregnant with his child excites him more than he'd like to admit. It isn't necessarily about keeping or trapping you - he just wants to start a little family with you. (And maybe, just maybe, he is actually a tiny bit in love with you, not just obsessed.) He won't tell you of his decision, he simply fucks you more often. But you're smart enough to catch on, with time - too bad you don't stand a chance against a pro athlete when he bends you over for the tenth time this week and tracks your periods, waiting for your fertile window. You can only grit your teeth and take it, terrified of the day he actually knocks you up.

And as always, he doesn't get why you're making such a fuss; you only have to be good for him. He'll take care of you and your child, you'll see.

[idyllic-affections]

hmm thinking about the recent trend with sibling xiao recs, what about if he has zhongli babysit one day? just some kind fatherly zhongli for the soul…

fatherly inclinations.

summary. zhongli takes on a fatherly role over xiao's younger sibling figure.

trigger & content warnings. brief references to implied violence.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. zhongli & reader, (implied) xiao & younger sibling!reader. 0.6k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. the way i had to literally dig this request out of my inbox..... it was all the way at the bottom....... the triple digits are getting closer every day LMAO but anyway. just know that if you have sent in a request, i promise you it does cross my mind every once in a while. anyways fatherly zhongli is very good for the soul!!!!! it is important to get your daily recommended dose of kind dad-like old man zhongli <3333

i believe zhongli has a number of fatherly traits to him, whether he realizes it or not... but of course, i also think he is aware of it.

he is—or more accurately, was—rex lapis, after all. surely it wasn't uncommon for him to be seen as a fatherly figure? the people of liyue looked up to him as one when he was a god, so it isn't like it's a new experience for him or anything.

he's used to it, but that doesn't mean he feels any less endeared by people who deem him as such! it happens often, but he never ceases to feel a parental warmth when it does happen. perhaps it has something to do with his more... dragon-like instincts.

whatever the case may be, he isn't at all bothered by being seen in such a familial way. in fact, he's quite fond of it.

so, inevitably, he would naturally take on that kind of role over his own beloved son's yaksha's younger sibling figure.

...though, as good of a father figure as he is, i think he would be a little bit of a boring person for those not interested in his lengthy history rambles.

but assuming xiao's sibling is interested, for the sake of this post—

he's happy to tell them about anything they'd like to know. if they have questions about liyue's history or about the times when the other yakshas were alive, he's completely alright with telling them his tales... excluding the more violent and grotesque details, of course.

(something tells me he wouldn't want to ruin their image of him, but... he's sure they know part of the truth. they don't say anything about it, so neither does he.)

i think zhongli has a handful of funny stories about xiao, which he totally tells the yaksha's little sibling about. he doesn't mean to embarrass the poor thing! it's more of a wistful, fond nostalgia thing for the ex-archon. now, cloud retainer or madame ping on the other hand...

well. their stories would certainly come with the intention of being teasing, but zhongli is not either of those people. he does it because he's just very fond of those times.

if they're interested in doing something or spending their time somewhere, zhongli will just borrow mora from childe to make it happen LMAO

he'll also take them out to eat with that mora and let them get whatever they'd like <3 it's not like it would put a huge dent in childe's savings, anyway, so it's fine.

(to be honest, childe would probably be especially happy to share if he knew zhongli was using it to spoil a kid. he's just that kind of guy, you know? it shouldn't come as a surprise, given that he has little siblings of his own.)

AND AND AND consider zhongli telling them about liyue's native plants and flowers... he'll explain their symbolisms, how those meanings have evolved over time, what conditions they need to grow properly, etc etc. if they made him a flower crown, he would proudly wear it btw.

he likes sharing information, you know? it's something of a love language.

he's seen so much. he knows so much.

why should he withhold that information, those thousands of years of wisdom, from the people he loves? the way he sees it, maybe one day the information he shares will be of use.

[name] may not be his child biologically or legally, but he sees them as one of his own all the same, just as he did the yakshas and just as he does to the one who remains.

and, you know, if they happen to fall asleep at the end of the day on his shoulder, i don't think he would mind. he'd just lean over, gently kiss them on the temple, adjust their posture so that they don't wake up sore, and kindly murmur with all the tenderness to be expected of a man such as himself, "sleep well, little one."

perhaps xiao comes to find them and take them home, or perhaps zhongli takes them.back to wangshu inn himself.

whatever the case may be, they will be returned home safely.

nothing will get to them with zhongli around.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[bg-brainrot]

The Smut Peddlers of Sharess' Caress (Astarion x Tav)

In honor of spontaneously deciding to add a part 2 to this silly little fic, posting part 1 on tumblr.

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: The group finds smut about you (Tav) and Astarion. Hijinks ensue.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Humor, lots of innuendos, shadowheart loves smut, karlach doesnt read but will make an exception for this, there is no smut, nothing against smut we love smut in this house

Word count: ~2.5k

Your group is in Wyrm’s Crossing on this bright Baldurian day. You originally were just planning on returning various parts of a certain clown to the circus, but on your way back to the Lower City you get waylaid easily and find yourselves in Sharess' Caress. Everyone is used to your aimless wandering at this point, so Astarion, Karlach, and Shadowheart follow in tow without question.

While you have no strict purpose in visiting, you do want to check-in with Mamzell Amira to make sure that no one has been troubling her since you dealt with her missing girl. The brothel seems unchanged from the last time you visited, and you walk up to its proprietor with a wave.

“Why if it isn’t the hero with a penchant for whips,” she smiles at you warmly. “What can I do for you? Anyone I can get for you, or are you here for the latest erotic verse? I thought you might find it quite… scintillating.”

You shrug off her suggestions, “Nothing in particular, just wanted to make sure no one was bothering you after that assassin.” 

“Oh, we’ve been doing just peachy, thanks to you,” she says. “Though I hear you never took me up on your boon, the Drow twins have been awfully upset about it.”

Chancing a brief glance at Astarion, you find him looking surprisingly unconcerned at the mention of the Drow twins. He had been uncomfortable before, which is all you had needed to hear to put an end to that conversation. “Yes, thank you so much for your generosity, but I haven’t found myself in need of your services,” you reply, remaining light in your tone.

“It certainly seems like it,” she purrs, and you’re not sure what to make of her comment before she continues. “Well, I hate feeling indebted to anyone. What do you say you look through the shelves of our erotic literature and pick some out, free of charge. You may even find some inspiration.” She winks at you conspiratorially, as if Astarion isn’t watching the entire conversation unfold.

Karlach giggles behind you and whispers, ”Oooo, I might actually pick up reading if it’s that inspirational.”

You clear your throat a bit and say, “I’ll take a look. I wouldn’t want to make you indebted to us.” 

Mamzell Amira points you in the direction of the bookshelves, and your group files off toward them. Astarion is giving you a sidelong look as he says, “You know, if you wanted to take her up on the Drow twins, I could be persuaded.”

You scoff. “I don’t want to persuade you to do anything. Besides, what if she’s right? Don’t you want to see what creative ideas these smut peddlers have thought up?”

He seems a bit relieved to hear you say that, but his tone remains offended, “Excuse me, are you critiquing my skills as a lover? From the noises you make, I don’t think you’re allowed to–”

“For the love of the Moonmaiden, Astarion, you know we can hear you?” Shadowheart has already reached the shelves and takes a moment away from perusing to glare at the vampire.

“Of course I know you can hear me,” he says with a smirk. “Just as well as you can hear my dearest—”

“Astarion,” you give him a warning look. “Look through the smut like the rest of us or get out.”

Your love gives you an exaggerated pout before saying, “Fine. I don’t need books to teach me what I know. If you need me, I’ll be getting a drink.” You watch him skulk off, finding his jealousy over the potential skill of fictional lovers quite endearing.

Finally, you turn your attention to the bookshelves Mamzell had indicated. Karlach and Shadowheart are already heavily invested, rifling through stacks of books with ornate fonts and passionate covers.

One book in particular seems to be front and center, perhaps a new title or a bestseller. You pick it up and look down at the cover more closely.

The title reads “Love at First Knife: A Roguish Tale of Blood and Lust” in a flowing script. On the cover you see two individuals, one of whom, a silver-haired man with pointed ears and ruby-red eyes, is holding a knife to the others’ throat. The other figure is gazing lovingly into the firsts’ eyes, their hands grasping at his bare chest.

“Gods below,” you whisper, once you’ve comprehended what’s in your hands. “Shadowheart, Karlach, look what I found.”

Both women walk over to you, peering over each of your shoulders. “What’s that?” Shadowheart asks, not quite registering the vague familiarity of the two figures on the cover.

You point to the silver-haired, pale elf and say, “Does that look like anyone you know?”

“It’s not!” Karlach gasps. “Is that supposed to be… Astarion?”

Based on the crude facsimile of your own face yearning for him and the title, you are fairly certain it is. “And I think that’s supposed to be me,” you point out, dumbfounded at the novel in your hands. “How is this possible?”

“Well, the smut peddlers put out quite a lot of writing, they can write an entire book in a matter of days.” After receiving a questioning look from you, she adds, “From what I hear. I wouldn’t know.” She’s blushing from the tips of her ears down to her neck, and you suspect that you may find a surprise stash of erotic books near her bed at the Elfsong if you look close enough. 

Karlach claps Shadowheart on the shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of knowing. Just don’t hold back on me, alright?”

Shadowheart shakes her head lightly, “Regardless, we’ve been in the city for a few weeks and we haven’t exactly been subtle about it. I’m sure you’ve attracted plenty of attention.”

She’s not wrong– your entire group has had some very public confrontations, and several key figures of the city were aware of your presence. Plus there was an entire article in the Baldur's Mouth Gazette about your group’s accomplishments.

“Fair,” you admit. “But how did they know about Astarion?” You touch the cover carefully, as if expecting the book to combust in your hands.

“Well, aside from his loud proclamations of your love,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t know. Maybe it was Mamzell Amira herself, she did mention you’d like the newest erotic verse.”

“Please tell me you’re going to read it,” Karlach says, barely containing her excitement. “If you don’t, I will.”

You tut at her. “If anyone here gets to read about my and Astarion’s passionate love making, it will be me.”

“Oh just you and the hundreds of others who have probably already picked up a copy,” Shadowheart adds, unhelpfully.

Despite that, you don’t feel mortified. Really, you just feel a burning sense of curiosity. You gently thumb the cover, hesitating to turn the page. “What if it’s terrible?”

“It probably will be,” Shadowheart says, matter-of-factly. “That’s not why you read it though.”

You flip to the first page and start skimming. “Sweet hells, his name is Arstaron.”

“That’s amazing,” Karlach’s face bends down to read too. “Did that just say ‘brooding curls’? Do his curls brood?”

Shadowheart is reading along as well, “There’s an entire page dedicated to describing his abs. Are they really this… sculpted?”

You shake your head. “They’re lovely, but I don’t think I could ‘grill a set of gnoll ribs over them’ like it says.”

“Enough descriptors, skip ahead to the good bits,” Karlach prods at your hand, begging you to hurry up.

You skip ahead a few dozen pages and stop when you spot the words ‘passionate thrusts.’ “Here we go…”

The three of you silently read for a moment before Karlach breaks the silence. “Oh my, soldier, how did I never consider how flexible you both are.”

Your face reddens, as you’re suddenly reminded that your friends are now vividly imagining you and Astarion vigorously making love. “Let’s, uh, go back to the descriptor bits.”

A few minutes later, you’re reading down a passage describing his ‘member’ and the laughter that rumbles out of Karlach might bring down the entire brothel. It’s certainly loud enough to bring the attention of the roguish lover being described.

“What do we have here?” Astarion stalks over, clearly sensing that the excited bustle might be worth a laugh. You hunch over the book, protectively. “My dear, are you hiding something from me?”

You quickly pass off the book to Karlach, quickly responding with, “I would never.”

“Love, you know you don’t need to hide anything from me,” he says, smoothly. 

Karlach is quick to follow that with a snort, “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Arstaron says when he takes off his lover’s clothes!”

“Arstaron?” He quirks an eyebrow at you in question and you reluctantly take the book back from Karlach to hand to him.

“Apparently,” you start. “You and I are the subjects of the latest erotic novel, courtesy of Sharess' Caress.”

Looking down at the cover, Astarion seems dumbfounded. “Is that supposed to be… me?”

You nod, reluctantly. You had gotten him a statue and a painting commissioned, but he still hasn’t seen himself often and you wouldn’t consider this the best representation. “They definitely took some, well a lot, of creative liberties.”

He looks down at it more carefully, amusement coloring his face. “I quite like what they did with your face, the longing is lovely.”

“That’s quite enough of that,” you say, reaching for the book. 

Astarion holds it just out of your reach and says, “No, no, we’ve earned a reward for helping the fine proprietor of this establishment. I want this to be my reward.”

“What,” you say, incredulously. “You wouldn’t read it. You said you don’t like smut.”

“I never said that.” He starts flipping through the pages of the book. “I just said I know more than these novels. I still do, mind you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted by the mention of your ‘trembling lips’ as it says.”

“Wait, how many copies are there?” Karlach is back at the shelf. “Let’s read it together!”

You balk at the idea of your lovelife becoming the team’s book club. But you’re very much resigned to the idea that someone in your group is walking out with this book. “No, no, one copy is more than enough. Besides, we don’t want to take advantage of Mamzell’s generosity.”

“I don’t much like to share, love. Best get a few copies,” Astarion says, already adopting his reading stance as he flips back to the first page.

“Ugh, fine. Karlach, you and Shadowheart share one. I’ll share with Astarion.” You put up a finger. “Only on the condition that we tell no one else.”

A small huff leaves Karlach’s mouth. “Really? Really really?” Karlach pleads. “Maybe just one? I know Jaheira would get a kick outta this.”

You respect Jaheira so deeply, the idea of her reading of your wanton pleasures fills you with dread. “Please not Jaheira,” you whisper.

“Be careful, dear,” Astarion mumbles, his nose buried into the book. “You keep whispering her name like that, the next edition will feature a second silver-haired companion with pointy ears.”

His words give you a creeping paranoia and you look around, as if the smut peddlers are watching you at this very moment. “Okay, grab your books, let’s get out of here.”

“So soon?” Karlach says, nabbing a second copy of Love at First Knife before you can change your mind.

“Yes, we’re probably disturbing the clientele,” you say, waving away her disappointment. “Shadowheart?”

You realize that she’s already twenty pages into Love at First Knife and has barely registered your conversation. “Oh, yes? Are we leaving?”

“I work with a group of lecherous fools,” you mutter, grabbing her and Astarion by the sleeves. “Come on.”

You wave to Mamzell Amira on the way out, “Thank you for the books!”

She yells after you, “Be sure to return soon, we’re already hard at work on volume two!”

Shadowheart pauses her reading to perk up. “Oh, we’d best make a trip back then. This is surprisingly well-done.” She mumbles, half-heartedly, “Not that I would know.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Astarion says from your other side. “I quite like the way they describe my artistry. Take a look, dear.”

He shoves the book back into your face for a passage that reads, ‘his motions are as fluid as the waves of a water elemental’ and you swat the book out of the way. “If you start moving like that, I think I’m more likely to scream in horror.”

You walk along in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, as your three companions read. Then you spot Karlach behind you, fanning herself with her copy of the book. She meets your questioning look with a chuckle, “I thought I was already too hot to handle, but I think I’ll need to cool down after reading the climax of that book.”

“How did you already get there?” Shadowheart gasps, looking up.

“I skipped to the good bits!” Karlach replies easily. “And let me tell you, they were good.”

You facepalm momentarily before looking between your fingers at Astarion. He seems remarkably enthralled by the book, and suddenly you’re worried. Oh no, what if I’m a better fictional lover than a real lover. Distantly, you hear Shadowheart and Karlach discussing the novel, but your attention is focused entirely on the man’s eyes, reading back and forth as you walk.

Sensing your gaze, the vampire finally looks up and smiles pleasantly. He closes the book and with his free hand reaches for yours. “My love, please, and I cannot stress this enough, do not take inspiration from this book.”

“What? Why not?” You ask, confused. “Karlach just said it was amazing?”

“Yes, well,” he leans into you. “I think doing somersaults into each other's arms might be more likely to result in a broken rib than pleasurable exploration.”

You give a surprised laugh, leaning back into him, “Are you doubting my expertise as a lover now?”

“Not at all, my dear,” he says, rubbing his thumb along the outside of your hand gently. “You are so very perfect. Which is why I wouldn’t want you to take too much from this poorly written version of you. Reality is far better than fiction in this case.”

Your heart swells at the words, though you can’t help but ask your next question. “So no chance of acrobatics after dark?”

Astarion takes a glance at your companions, and sees they’re still in a heated debate about the novel. With words meant only for you, he whispers into your ear. “Don’t you worry, there are plenty of other ways we can make use of our flexibility.”

With his breath tickling your skin, a few peppered kisses along your neck, and a promise of some time alone together, you make your way back to the Elfsong Tavern with a skip in your step. You wonder if the smut peddlers of Sharess' Caress know how deeply you care for this man, or how little they got right about all of the parts of him that matter.

Part 2 here!