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itsmarsss · 1 month

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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 1 - The Prince

How the mighty do fall.

(Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn’t exactly considered classy, Stolas.)

pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus

Word count: 1,520

Warnings: I mean. depression. arranged marriage. this part doesn’t contain actual sex only mentions of it but others might idk, me taking myself way too seriously writing this, this has no dialogue but don’t give up on me im actually a pretty dialogue heavy person but this only works if this chapter has no dialogue

If you ever asked Stolas, he’d say he was never one to cause a scene.

If you asked anyone else, they’d say he’s lying.

Stolas had always been fond of a little drama and drawn to a bit of flair, akin to exaggeration and grandeur like no other. Be it in the way he speaks, acts or reacts to hell around him, be it how he expresses his emotions or his thoughts and even his feelings towards others.

Emotions, thoughts, feelings. Stolas was always full of those, ever since he was an ugly, pink, featherless little project of a bird. They have been all-consuming ever since he can remember. And he remembers.

Stolas can recall the confusion in his father’s voice whenever he cried as a kid, as if the action was strange and foreign, unfit for a demon like him.

And perhaps it was.

Stolas remembered many things, and yet he could not recall a single time he had seen his father cry- or show any sort of weakness, for the matter. Paimon was always stern and centered, and Stolas is sure the only thing close to weakness he’s ever expressed was his inability to be more than his status- to be an actual father. He doubted his father would consider that a weakness. What was fatherhood next to being royal, anyways, right?

It was disconcerting to grow up certain that, between his father and all of his brothers, he was, without a doubt, the weakest. After all, how could he not be? He was scared, of a many things, most of the time. He felt things too deeply in his heart and he worried too much and too often about too many things. He was aware of all of that.

But, as he grew up, Stolas decided he was fine with it, if he meant he got to genuinely feel things. Because Octavia had come to exist, and he could never in his heart find the willpower to act as cold to her as his own father did to him.

Yes, he decided he was fine with being weak, if that’s what being able to love unconditionally took. He was fine with being weak, if that’s what being loved took.

He may not have loved his father, or even liked him, for the matter. But he promised to himself he’d do anything it took for Octavia to love him.

And how it filled him with pure and utter joy to feel loved for the first time in his life.

He may not have loved Stella, either, but their union had brought him his daughter, and nothing in the entirety of the universe mattered more to him than her. And so he was grateful for their arrangement, after all, despite the bitterness of it all.

With Octavia’s teenage years came the flood, though. Stolas cried himself to sleep almost every single night for years to come as he was reminded of the fact that being grateful for what his marriage brought him was not enough to make him happy to be in the situation in which he found himself, unable to exist as he was inside of his own home without fearing the judgement of a wife who loved him just as much as he loved her - not even a tiny little bit- and unable to shield his daughter from the unhappy family he’d once feared she would have to endure.

Stella was never someone Stolas particularly liked. In fact, he quite disliked her, from the moment he laid eyes on her as his father told him they were betrothed to one another, at much too young of an age.

At first, it surely was purely the hatred for the fact that his fate was tied to her and there was nothing he could do to escape, and the sense of impending doom that came with every year that passed as he knew he grew closer to approaching the day there would be turning back, and watched the time pass as an expectator of his own life, as there was nothing he could really do but comply.

Royal life had its renounces.

When the day came for their marriage to be sealed, the moment finally materializing itself as real instead of bad news he’d try to push away and avoid dwelling into for too long, Stolas promised himself he’d try to get over those feelings and make an effort to know her better. If they would be tied to one another from this moment on, he could at least try to make it all not so miserable.

It was a task set to fail.

When Octavia was conceived, Stolas felt nothing but relief. After all, this entire situation was based purely on business, all-dependent on the birth of an heir. Which meant, in some way, they were a bit more free than before. However much that can be in the situation they found themselves in.

Relief came first, dread came second. At only 19 years old, what did Stolas know of parenting anyway? Logically, he knew this would be happening. Logically, he’d known that for almost a full decade. Logically, that should have been enough for him to be prepared.

But he felt anything but prepared. How was he, who felt lost at all times, who cried at the slightest things, who didn’t ask for all of this, supposed to be a father? What twisted parameters did he have, considering his own?

He only hoped time would ease those feelings.

Throughout the years, he learned those feelings never do leave you, and that parenthood is forever a state of worry. You never truly feel ready- there’s just not much more that you can do than try your best.

To be loved by Octavia was enough. Or… at least it should be, shouldn’t it? Was it selfish, or perhaps even inconsiderate, unfair to her that at times he found himself longing to be loved by someone who’s existence wasn’t bound to him? Wishing to know if someone would ever care not because they were betrothed to him and not because they were his own blood, but simply because they liked who he was? Enjoyed his company? Felt genuine attraction towards him?

When thoughts of the sorts consumed him it was to not punish himself mentally for thinking such frivolous things, for having such superficial wishes. But it wasn’t hard to figure out where it all stemmed from. After all, when the only partner you ever have ever had in your entire life hadn’t any say in choosing you, it’s only natural to wonder what it would be like to be with someone who did choose him.

When you’ve had no say in choosing the only partner you’ve ever had in your life, in turn, it’s only ever natural, too, to wonder what it would be like with someone you would have chosen to be with. Someone who excited you, who made you feel things. Stolas didn’t even know what exactly those things were supposed to be, but longed to feel them nonetheless.

The day Blitzo, someone he hadn’t heard of in decades, was caught trying to sneak into his palace, during the most depressing party ever thrown in all seven reals, Stolas felt excitement for the first time in a long while. It’s almost like his brain had a reaction before he even processed it. Like it was stuck repeating the same thing over and over and over: Friend. Friend. Friend.

Sure, Blitzo wasn’t his friend. They hadn’t been friends for, once again, literal decades. In fact, they had only ever been friends for about a day.

But Blitzo was his first ever friend. And you don’t just forget that. He never would, at least.

And that night they spent together, something in Stolas changed. That night, he felt wanted. For the first time in his life, he felt desired. For the first time in his life, sex wasn’t just business. It wasn’t just an obligation or a means to an end. For the first time in his life, sex was fun.

He knew it was supposed to be fun. He knew it was fun for most people. He had just stopped hoping it would ever be fun for him.

And, sure, he also knew what they did was wrong. But he couldn’t get himself to care as much as he probably should have, because, truth be told, Stella could pretend to have been hurt by it however much she wanted, but they both knew she never really was.

“That was the sound of a fucking divorce!”

A couple hours later, sitting on his bed in shock, he could still barely believe he had really just done what he did- what they should have done so long ago- and Stolas just started laughing to himself. The more he laughed, the harder it was to stop. He knew he just had to look like a maniac like that, but couldn’t possibly get himself to care, because, for only a split second did the thought of not being supposed to let his servants see him in that state pass through his mind, but it only made him laugh harder.

He’d just announced his divorce to the wife he’d been set to marry since birth, can’t be much more scandalous than that.

A/N: would you believe me if i said this started as an idea for what was supposed to be only a funny silly little oneshot with dick jokes and public embarrassment?

Requests for Blitzø and Blitzø x Stolas are open! I’m also SO hyperfixated on this show rn so if y’all wanna chat abt hcs or this series be my guest I’d be happy to talk and i don’t bite unless asked nicely luv y’all <3

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sarahghetti · 9 months

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missing piece; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader centric, marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader

summary: how you and jake get together.

warnings: literally all fluff, a little insecurity from jake, a lot of nuisance from marc and steven, female!reader.

word count: 2.4k

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

out of the three of them, jake is the one you meet last.

marc and steven have mentioned him, of course: the third alter, a little sarcastic and a little aggressive, but who will still make kissy noises at every cat they pass even though his success rate is… quite low.

for a while, the extent of your knowledge about him is just tidbits like that—the things that jake lets the others share from the safety of their headspace.

he’s a cab driver. he likes 2% milk, the leather gloves laying on the corner of the coffee table are his own, and he thinks that steven is a better cook than marc.

(steven might have made that last one up. all you see is him looking into the reflective surface of the pot before he snorts, claiming, “yeah, jake definitely agrees, love, trust me.”)

but that’s not to say that jake doesn’t know anything about you.

he’s always been there throughout your relationships with marc and steven, watching as you smile and laugh and kiss them with so much light in your eyes that they might as well as hung the sun in the sky.

marc and steven have learnt about what you like, what you dislike, which means that jake learns these things as well, and even steps in sometimes to remind them.

marc’s on a grocery run, trying to recall which salsa you liked the most the last time he made tacos. “the one with a green label, pendejo.”

steven’s packing your lunch for work, signing off on a note to stick at the top when—"hey. draw a frog on that.”

“what?” steven felt jake watching, but didn’t actually expect him to speak up. “what are you talking about?”

“she’ll like it.”

“I—”

“nevermind, just give me control of our hand.”

it’s terrible. it’s ugly. the faintest depiction of a frog that’s ever lived, marked with a little “- j” so you know exactly who it’s from.

you absolutely love it.

he doesn’t mean to fall in love with you. truly, he doesn’t. to him, you’re theirs, and he’s still hesitant to get involved with their lives any more than necessary.

but how could he not? not when they spend so much time with you, and he feels that aching warmth in their chest whenever marc or steven look at you.

he finds himself laughing at your jokes even if he’s not the intended recipient, admiring how you look even when you’re not getting dressed up for him.

marc and steven know, of course they do, and accept his feelings far before he does.

because I think at the beginning, jake is nervous to front around you.

you fell so easily for marc and steven, and though he’ll never say it to their faces, he gets it.

marc’s a real softie once you get past the ten-foot tall wall he’s erected around himself, and steven’s… well, steven.

but jake? jake “protector of the body” lockley, who’s sole self-imposed purpose is to keep their heart beating? he’s not a “people-person.” he doesn’t know how to love someone, at least in not the way you deserve to be loved.

“so dramatic.” marc rolls his eyes as he finds himself fronting on their doorstep. jake heard rustling from inside, indicating that you were home, and immediately relinquished the hot seat to one of the others. “you can just talk to her, you know.”

“I know.”

even steven scoffs at him.

“oh, yeah?” to his credit, jake manages to maintain eye contact as marc stares at him in the reflection of a picture frame. “you wanna get back in here, then? say hello to our girlfriend like a normal human being for once?”

when jake doesn’t respond, he continues.

“that’s what I thought. it’s not complicated, you don’t gotta fuckin’ sweep her off her feet or something—"

marc’s words are cut off as you open the door, eyebrows furrowed. “marc? are you just going to… stand outside all day?”

he gives one last pointed glare to his reflection. “nope, we’re coming.”

jake is only coaxed out once you start asking the boys about him.

you don’t want to push him if he really doesn’t want to talk to you, but with all the little things he does, you can’t imagine that that’s the case.

“pass this along to jake for me, would you?” it’s the frog drawing that he made for you some time back, but now with the addition of your own smiling frog beside it. “I’d give it to him myself, but…”

marc can see you deflate a little as you trail off, and that’s illegal in this household. his heart sinks, and he knows that the others can feel it too.

fortunately for everyone, guilt is a wonderful motivator for jake—particularly where you’re involved.

so it starts off small. when it’s time for him to work a cab shift, he doesn’t wait till they’ve already left the apartment to front, instead taking over just before in order to say goodbye to you.

“I’m heading out for work.”

the voice—so clearly your boyfriends’ but a bit flatter than marc’s, more softly accented than steven’s—makes your head snap up from the couch. a flat cap, light jacket layered over a button-up shirt.

black leather gloves.

“jake!” you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about how excited you sound, jumping up to your feet. your enthusiasm to finally see him has his face heating up, and he ducks his head to hide it before you can see.

he fiddles with his sleeves. “don’t be awake when I get back.”

“uhm.” you ruminate over that for a second, confusion so plain that jake has to hold back a grimace. then it hits you—

oh. he just doesn’t want you to stay up on his behalf.

“okay.” you smile. “have fun!”

he snorts. “I’ll try. good night, querida.”

those few minutes before he leaves has you looking forward to his shifts, even if it means that you have to go to bed alone.

initially, jake doesn’t let himself think that you always being around when he’s fronting is anything more than a coincidence.

but then one night, you’re out hanging out with friends, and he gets a text as he’s stepping out the door: be safe! have a good shift :)

jake can’t really argue with himself after that.

(that, and the other two heckle him about it so much that he has to accept it. steven already has to deal with marc’s self-confidence issues—dealing with jake’s are much easier in comparison.)

still—

“don’t even know if she likes me,” jake grumbles as he enters their building, hands stuffed into his pockets. he’d already parked his cab for the night, not too far from the flat, and the walk home has been the three of them running around in circles on the topic.

“don’t even know if she likes me,” steven repeats, not unkindly, but still very much annoyed. “mate, do you hear yourself?”

“she’s just kind, that’s all.”

“she remembers your schedule better than marc or I do, and we’re all in the same body!”

jake clicks his tongue as he rides the elevator, avoiding the reflections around him, lest he comes face-to-face with his alters.

marc chimes in. “you do know if you ask her out for dinner or something, she’ll say yes, right?”

he misses inserting their key the first time, swearing under his breath.

“I’m serious. we’ve talked about it before—”

“don’t be stupid—” jake opens their door a bit more harshly than intended, and the sound stirs you from where you dozed off on the couch.

“jake?” you rub your eyes, yawning. the sound of your voice shuts them all up, and you sit up just enough to look at him. “welcome back.”

“what are you…?” jake gestures vaguely and you shrug.

“wanted to surprise you, but I guess I fell asleep,” you chuckle softly, and his heart clenches.

“a-ha! you see? our poor girl was staying up late just to see you! how are you going to say that—”

jake tunes steven out as he walks towards you, pretending to be unaffected when he extends a hand.

“come on, let’s get you to bed.”

he doesn’t ask you about a date that night—you’re far too tired to be thinking about that, after all—but he turns the idea over in his head.

asking you out to dinner seems so formal, but it’s not like he can just buy you a coffee, either. what’s the protocol for asking out your alters’ girlfriend?

”you’re thinking about it too much.”

yeah, he knows, marc—that doesn’t make things any better.

gradually, he starts to front more during the day.

not as often as marc and steven, but enough for you to learn a bit more about him: how he likes his coffee (black, as expected), his favourite breakfast (eggs in a basket), and that he likes playing ABBA in the flat while doing other things.

jake is very much a ‘fake it till you make it’ kind of guy—is he nervous about spending time with you? of course not—how could he be, when he flirts and jokes around with you so easily?

and flirting with jake is fun. it’s all surface level—he refuses to touch the elephant in the room that is your obvious feelings for each other with a ten-foot pole—but he’s shameless in a way that marc and steven aren’t, making you hot in the face at the most inopportune times.

he might be wearing a smirk the entire time, but he means every compliment, every word that he says to you.

sometimes you hold his gaze for too long and see how his eyes soften when he looks at you, and it takes your breath away.

jake wants you so hard it hurts. he knows he’s digging himself a hole with how (little) he expresses himself, and although it fills him with anxiety, he knows that he’s going to need a different approach in order to actually let you know how he feels.

your hand is nestled in the crook of marc’s elbow as you walk past storefronts on the way home, pointing out the things you see in the window displays.

“those are the pots you were talking about, right?” marc gestures towards a set of expensive ceramics in all their glory, and while he’s correct, you shake your head with a sigh.

“’s not the colour I want.”

“your dedication to colour coordination in the midst of steven’s mess is admirable.”

you laugh, continuing on ahead until you stop in front of a boutique. in its display case is a sleek, form-fitting dress that falls so beautifully on the mannequin that it makes you suspicious as to how it’d actually look on someone. “oh, that’s pretty.”

marc hums from above you before stilling suddenly. you know what comes next; you’re ready to greet steven when—

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that, querida.” the corner of jake’s mouth curls and you roll your eyes, grinning.

“hey, jake.”

“hey.” his smile is lopsided, almost boyish. “don’t suppose you wanted to pop in now to try it on?”

“you’d like that.” he shrugs, guilty as charged. “but nah, I’m getting kind of hungry.”

jake gently tugs you with his arm. “then let’s go get something to eat.”

it’s a reoccurring joke between the two of you, and it’s your turn to deliver the punchline. your voice is teasing, “you asking me on a date, lockley?”

“yes.”

his tone stops you in his tracks. gone are any traces of humour as he holds your gaze. it’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him for a while.

that’s not right. he’s supposed to smirk, full machismo, and say something like obviously, princesa. your brain lags. “I—what?”

“I’m asking you out. do you want to go get dinner?”

you stand there, gaping like a fish as you internalize what’s happening. it takes everything in jake to not fidget on the spot or backtrack with another teasing comment. no, he has to make you see that he’s serious about this, even though his heart is racing a mile a minute.

slowly, a smile grows on your face until you’re beaming at him, and all the tension releases from his body. “yeah. yes, let’s—let’s go, jake.”

it’s nothing fancy. it’s not even new, either. he leads the way to one of your go-to places whenever nobody wants to cook, and though it’s your first official ‘date’, a sense of comfort settles over you.

begrudgingly, jake admits—the solution has always been a simple one. you don’t need him to be marc or steven, or to plan the perfect date. you’ve always just wanted to know him.

he can see as much in your barely constrained excitement as you both take a seat, legs brushing up against each other under the table. so, what else can he do but let his guard down for once?

finally, finally jake’s opening up to you, and he absentmindedly traces patterns on your hand with his thumb. “what do you want to know?”

well—lots of things, but there is something that you’ve been meaning to ask him…

you tilt your head, curious. “do you actually think that steven’s better at cooking than marc?”

“dios, are you kidding me?” his lips curl up with so much distaste that you can’t help but laugh, and you bury your head in your hands; the sight warms him from the inside out. there’s so much jake wants to tell you, but—

there’s no rush. you have all the time in the world, after all.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing

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morgana-ren · 10 months

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Has your opinion/understanding on Astarion's character changed much as you play through the full game?

Actually, yes! Big spoilers again btw.

So, I will admit, my perception of characters is always slightly biased. It's always tilted in favor of my own predilections and desires, so I tend to see things in a skewed way. The less information I am presented, the more my brain will fill in the gaps thusly.

In the early access, Astarion is presented as a selfish vampire spawn clawing for his own survival from the vicious vampire lord that spawned him and has held him captive for centuries. It should be noted that he is one of the only companions open to the idea of abusing the tadpoles rather than removing them and only seeks to cure them if they cannot be controlled. It becomes apparent that he craves power above all else. He dislikes altruistic speech options, tends to veer directly towards ones that bolster said power, especially at the expense of other people. He seems the closest to a stereotypical 'chaotic' follower that you really get.

However, he isn't evil. He's a very rounded character despite his inherent selfishness. He is manipulative and vicious, but he is also desperate and afraid and slow to trust. Most of what he does, he does for his own survival and comfort rather than active malevolence-- though that isn't always the case.

You get an alright idea of him in the early access, as in enough to know if you're going to want to keep him around and invest time into him as opposed to just dropping him at camp perpetually. You catch glimpses of the man he is behind it all, but mostly he appears flamboyant, resourceful, flirtatious, and of extremely dubious morality. Fun, right?

Very, very wrong, actually.

As you progress through the game, you come to understand him better, and it's... tragic.

The first thing to slip is his explosive temper. He is confused, bitter, and frightened. He expects Cazador around every corner, stalking in every shadow, watching and waiting to sling the collar around his neck and yank once more. Paranoid. He has mystery scars painstakingly carved into his flesh that he cannot see because of his condition, in a language he cannot read, with horrible memories he doesn't want to recall. He is angry, and he isn't in the company of people he trusts even remotely at first and literally cannot remember the last time he was in centuries. He bottles up all those emotions to avoid the devastating vulnerability of showing emotion and shoves them down beneath his posh and nonchalant facade, and eventually, it finds a way out.

Occasionally, he snaps. He becomes enraged and has these moments of intense anger.

And then, there is what you might think to be a moment of connection.

Astarion, once he decides that he approves of you, will make a move to seduce you. Should you accept, you might find that he says something along the lines of "Isn't that why you came? To lose yourself in me?"

It seems like typical seduction dialogue at first, but this is very deliberate. The wording is very deliberate as is everything he does. Like a choreographed waltz that he has danced again and again and again--

Until it comes as natural as breathing.

After your night together, he evades a conversation that would take anything any further. No relationship, no nothing. Just a one off that turns you into the equivalent of ye olde fuckbuddies. He stays by your side, of course, but nothing changes between you other than him acknowledging what happened.

So, you progress a little more.

Eventually, both through necessity and happenstance, he does end up opening up little by little. And you find out bits and pieces about him. But there's one that stands out to me:

The crazy blood bitch in Moonrise dehumanizes him, speaks down to him, and refuses to even acknowledge his personhood. She only speaks to you, and makes you an offer regarding your 'property.' An invaluable potion for a moment with 'your pet vampire spawn.'

And he has a visceral reaction to this.

If you have a fucking heart and you don't make him do this, he comes to speak to you later and confides in you. Cazador had used him essentially as a honeypot, forcing him to use his body to lure unsuspecting citizens back to the vampire's den-- against his will. He was so degraded, so dehumanized, and so looked down on for so many years that he has genuinely come to believe that it's the truth. He thanks you genuinely for considering him and viewing him as a real person with emotions and feelings, but is also... confused. He doesn't understand, because that rotten, stagnant belief is still a truth to him: That he is nothing but a tool and a means to an end; that he doesn't matter. That he is a filthy thing to be used and cast aside when convenient. He doesn't understand why you didn't make him do it when it was only his comfort on the line.

And if you ask him to drink from her, he will. He stiffens his upper lip and drinks despite the fact that something is wrong and he knows it. He does it because you command him to. Because that's what he has done for so long that you don't have to have the lord's control over him anymore for him to follow orders.

There is a moment of stark, dreadful realization that sex and seduction have an entirely different meaning to him but he has still been doing it. That the love and connection that he truly needs might be support and a friend and not a bedfellow. That his agency and personhood have been stripped away for so long that he doesn't even recognize them anymore. He is bitter and mean but vulnerable and confused and terrified and he doesn't know how to seek comfort, so he resorts to what he knows while simultaneously distancing and degrading himself.

He does not believe that he is worth loving or caring for, or anything but being an object to be molded. Used. Discarded. He suffered for so long that this is a fundamental truth to him. He is a monster. A filthy vermin barely a step above the rats he's been fed.

You do what you should do: You give him the power. You try to build him back up. Try to help him understand that he isn't a monster or a tool. He is a man; he is a person, and he deserves a say in his own fate. His wants and desires matter. What he wants matters.

If you've done things right, he will take a gigantic leap of faith. He will be with you-- truly be with you. It's slow and he doesn't understand, but he knows he wants it, and you take it as slow as he needs-- but he's still hurt. He is still scarred.

In the Sharess Caress, there are a pair of Drow twins that will attempt to seduce you into what is essentially a foursome. If Astarion is there and he is a love interest and you attempt this, he will say "I'm really not ready for this." while looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, and almost panicked. The scars are still there, and they're barely healing over, and still so, so tender. Easy to tear right back open. Easy to push back into his shell to never come out again, because he tried vulnerability and it burned him.

He does not think he is worthy of love or happiness. He doesn't get to have a loving partner who adores him. Even slipped free of Cazador's yoke, his claws are still stuck steadfast in his soul. He is taking it slow and barely learning to trust another being again, leave alone put his neck out and care for one. He wears his misery as a shield because it cannot hurt him that way. He is a monster who has done horrible things and deserves to be alone forever. And even if that isn't the truth, then Cazador is still lurking out there, waiting to strike-- to rip away that newfound happiness.

Astarion is, above all things, a truly tragic character, and one that I empathize with. It makes my adoration for him slightly guilty. I'm not all the way through the game quite yet, but what I have seen hurts my heart something dreadful. With my character, he is slowly learning to trust and love again, but it's painfully apparent that he thinks he doesn't deserve this, and he is simply waiting for something to fall apart and send him back into the spiraling black chasm that is his life. He still believes all these miserable things about himself. He was forced into immortality, and he believes he's going to spend it alone, reviled, and wretched - not to mention enslaved.

As fun as it is to have a sexy, dark, controlling Astarion, I don't think it's necessarily true to his character as he is presented if you choose to do things right. He isn't evil - he is a complex, tragic man who desperately needs to be able to see his own reflection in a way that isn't horrifically warped by everyone else's eyes.

Vampire. Monster. Killer. Slave. Pet.

It's been so long he's lost track of himself. Of Astarion the man.

He needs to find himself and find peace. He asks to view himself through your eyes, maybe because he's looking for something-- anything-- within himself to hold onto.

If you ask me again in a few days, I'll probably have a fully fleshed out idea of his character, since I'll probably have completed the game or at the very least gotten a bit further, but this is what I have at the moment. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing Astarion as I adore, but I've always openly admitted that my writings on characters are skewed despite their actual content lmao.

#morgana and friends #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers

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parkerpeter24 · 11 months

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We need the date with pool instructor!Peter Parker

since you asked in bold-

pairing ➳ swim instructor!peter parker x reader

warnings ➳ slightly nsfw towards the end. making out and regular date stuff.

masterlist

“what have you got there?” you pointed behind his back but it was clearly evident that he was hiding a bouquet of flowers.

he finally brought it in between the two of you, standing at your doorstep, “i didn’t know which ones you like, so i got some of the most popular ones.” he chuckled nervously, handing you the mosaic of flowers.

you admired the roses, lilies, orchids and tulips, smiling wide as you took the bouquet from his hands, “i love them.”

you and peter had hung around the pool earlier in the morning but he told you that he wanted to take you out on a proper first date. so he suggested dinner and the boy was not even a second late.

as soon as the clock struck 7, he was there at your door, knocking and handing you these flowers.

the two of you made your way to the place he’d chosen for dinner, telling you about how it was his favorite place and the reason behind it.

“this was my uncle’s favorite place too.” you could tell by the way he smiled, so reminiscent, that it was a distant memory of his.

“it sounds great already.” you smiled, linking your arm with his as you walked, the place being just two blocks away from your place and all, “do you have a favorite?”

“oh, the chocolate truffle there is to die for!” you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his remark.

“so do you suggest we have that for dinner?”

“um, duh.”

dinner couldn’t have gone better. in fact, at one point you concluded it was the best dinner of your life. you got to know peter so much better. he was so much more than just the hot swimmer you knew from community pool who had once held onto your waist to teach you kicking. he was so much different from than any man you’ve ever met. so much better.

he told you about his school life and even though he didn’t highlight much, you could tell he was very good at everything he did. you got to know about his passion for science and that he was an assistant teacher of chemistry at esu just a year ago.

“how did i even score a date with you.” you wondered out loud, making him laugh.

he shrugged, “i’m honestly wondering the same thing.” you caught a hue of pink over his cheeks as he leaned forward, “it feels like i’ve been the only one talking all this time.”

“i don’t mind.” you flashed him a smile.

“no! you should tell me more about you.” he insisted.

and so you did. you told him about your likes and dislikes, about your favorite music and foods, about your only best friend who was there for you through thick and thin, about the good birthdays and the bad ones, about small things that you recalled from the past. and peter listened throughout, making you laugh with his reactions every once in a while.

“you were right. those were some good truffles.” you sighed.

the two of you found yourselves walking back to your place as the night wind drifted past you, making your hair flow with it. peter’s hand was in yours now as you leaned more towards him.

“told you.” he smirked, “i can never go wrong with a good dessert. that’s my superpower.” he chuckled.

“you seem to have a lot of them.” you smirked right back at him, watching as his face suddenly morphed into confusion.

“n-no. just the one, actually... that’s all i got.” you thought you were getting better at reading the brunette but his nervous laugh confused you a little.

“i meant to say that you’re really good in swimming, and you’re kind of smart at an inhumane level from what i heard, so...” you trailed off, letting out a chuckle to ease the situation a little more.

“oh.” he let out a breath of air, “right.”

in less than a minute, the two of you were climbing the strairs of your apartment building. your apartment was just on the second floor, thus, you opted for them.

after leaving you to your door, peter stood with his arms behind his back, right where he had been about two hours ago. the night seemed to have ended way too soon but you didn’t know if it was okay to invite him in.

“can you-”

“could i-”

both of you decided to speak at the same time, making the other one stop suddenly.

“you go.” peter chuckled softly.

“would you... would you like to stay? for a while, you know.” you gave him a small shrug, “we could watch a movie or...”

there was a slight pause as his eyes trailed over your lips as they moved. he responded with a nod of his head.

and in the blink of an eye you were pushing open your door, just to drag him along you inside the place by the collar of his flannel. his lips were on yours and hands placed on either side of your waist– this time for a better purpose. you just hoped your place wasn’t as big of a mess but your thoughts blurred as his frame pushed you against the wooden door, it making a sound as it locked in place.

peter’s hands were doing all the good things, setting your skin on fire as they trailed down to your hips, pulling your legs to wrap around his slim waist. your arms snaked around his shoulders as you tilted your head, only deepening the kiss that you started.

his teeth bit onto your lower lip and his tongue followed to soothe the blissful ache. you parted your lips further, tangling your tongue with his. a battle of tongues, only for peter to back off and let you take control. you both knew he was way too stronger than you.

your hand ran down the length of his arm, feeling the taut muscles of his biceps before. a slight squeeze from your hand as you wrapped it around his wrist and peter knew what to do.

he pulled you along with him, gracefully carrying you with him as he tried to find his way to your bedroom.

you pointed at the room in one of the corner and peter followed suit as your lips attached to the skin of his jaw. you trailed small kisses along his jawline, until they weren’t small anymore. you bit onto his skin, soothing the bite with your tongue just like peter had done earlier.

peter was quick to wrap his right arm around you, supporting you up as his left hand got busy with opening your bedroom door, walking inside before he kicked the door shut.

it was more than safe to say that the truffle wasn’t the best thing you were having tonight.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter smut

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happy74827 · 6 months

Text

Work Jitters

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Getting the job at Graves Industries was hard enough, but keeping it? That was a whole new ballpark.

WC: 3752

Category: Slight Hurt, Slight Fluff (?), Gideon being… Gideon {TW—Vomiting}.

Jason Schwartzman, my beloved.

『••✎••』

Gideon Graves, that smug bastard.

You'd seen his picture in the paper once, or maybe more than once; you couldn't recall exactly. The article was about his company, about how he'd been awarded several "big brain" awards in the past three years, and about how his company was looking to hire the best and brightest. The article even said how much he valued diversity.

But then, why was he working so hard to keep you from the job?

It wasn't as though you were the most unqualified person in the world to be hired at G-Man Media. You'd worked in tech for a number of years. You'd worked hard. You were smart, and you had experience. But apparently, Gideon Graves had a way of making things difficult for you. He was looking for people who were more than qualified.

"But I'm plenty qualified," you'd told him, practically stomping your foot. "And you can't make me feel like I'm not qualified. You don't have that kind of power."

You'd watched in utter amazement as he'd waved his hand dismissively at you.

"Power?" He laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I have no power over you. I have influence. I can make life difficult for you, but it's not as though I'm doing that. You've simply failed to impress me."

Your cheeks burned as you tried to think of something clever to say to that, but there was no way to deny his words.

He didn't even sound angry. He sounded so sure of himself, so absolutely positive of his own superiority. And he'd been so smug about the whole thing, too. Like you were a piece of trash, he'd just found on the street.

And that had just pissed you off so badly. You were usually a fairly even-tempered person. But when you'd walked away from that meeting, you'd felt like you were about to burst out of your skin. You'd marched straight back to your car and driven to a nearby grocery store parking lot. You'd climbed out of the car and put your hands on the hood, pressing your forehead against the warm metal, letting yourself take a few deep breaths to try to calm yourself down.

And that was how you'd met Gideon Graves…

Your boss.

Yes, boss. Despite the fact that he openly admitted his dislike for you, you decided that he was wrong, so wrong, in fact, that you stormed up to him the next day and told him so.

"I'm not failing to impress you," you told him, "You’re failing to impress me.”

You'd watched him fold his arms over his chest and scowl at you. You'd wanted to bite your tongue. He'd had an intense scowl.

But you hadn't bitten your tongue. Instead, you'd done something even more stupid.

"I know how to work a computer," you snapped.

That wasn’t as hard-hitting as you'd intended; it was honestly the stupidest thing you have ever said, but it made that tiny corner of Gideon's lip turn up. Not his usual, knowing smirk, but an actual genuine smile.

"Oh?" he said, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head back and studying you, his eyes narrowed. "That’s one impressive skill set."

Sarcasm. You could deal with sarcasm. You'd dealt with sarcasm in college. Sarcasm was almost your best friend at this point.

"I'm a quick learner," you told him, "and I can work anything with a keyboard."

He laughed again, his smile growing. You were starting to think he just smiled when he was mocking people, but there had been times when his smiles had seemed more genuine, and this one had definitely felt genuine.

"I'm sure you are," he told you, and you felt yourself smile just a little bit when he didn't say it in a mocking tone. "But there's a little more to the job than that."

"I can do the job."

His eyes narrowed, and you were pretty sure he was trying to decide if he wanted to fight you. He leaned forward, placing his arms on the desk.

"What makes you think that you have any chance of winning this position? I told you once, and I’m telling you twice. You're not all that impressive."

"No," you agreed, "not compared to you. You're an idiot savant—a genius with a cocky attitude. But the company isn't looking for an idiot. They want someone with ambition. And I have it. I'm not giving up."

"No?"

"No."

He sat back in his seat, leaning back in his chair, a little smug smile curling his lips.

He was deep in contemplation. His eyes were on you. His face was an inscrutable mask, but his eyes. Those eyes of his. You felt as though he could see straight through you. He had seen you and known, without having to be told, that you weren't like the rest of his previous employees. That you were determined and that he wasn't going to be able to stop you.

He might not like you, but he recognized that you were going to keep trying to get the job and that you were probably the only person in the world who wasn't intimidated by his smug attitude.

"You have balls," he said.

"Thank you."

"No," he said with a frown, "that wasn't a compliment."

He shook his head and held out his hand. You glanced at it and then back at his face.

"A deal," he told you. "One week. You go to work, and you try your damnedest to impress me. Fail, and you’re gone. Pass, and you'll get the job. Deal?"

Your smile was wide, and you reached out and took his hand, giving it a shake.

"Deal," you said.

And here you were, nearly two weeks later, still with the job. You were honestly so impressed with yourself.

It wasn't always easy; Gideon Graves could be a real bastard. But he was an interesting person. He always looked so sure of himself, but there were moments where you could see his doubts. You could see them on the rare occasions when he was surprised or flustered. His confidence was sometimes only a mask for the uncertainty underneath.

He was an enigma to you.

You tried to learn as much about him as possible. You absolutely hated his attitude, but you were more than willing to admit to yourself that you were genuinely curious about the man. There was just something about him that made him fascinating to you. You wanted to know what was going on inside that complicated head of his.

So, you watched.

You watched as he ate lunch. You saw how he would never take more than two bites and would only take the smallest possible amount of time to eat. He never left a single crumb on the table, never let anything get near him that might leave even the tiniest bit of food on his clothes.

You saw how he would do his own filing and paperwork. He could type up a report in no time at all. And you could swear you'd seen him go through a pile of paperwork and not so much as lose his place once. You'd tried to copy his speed a few times, but your fingers were just too clumsy. You were nowhere near his skill level.

You watched how he handled people. He was arrogant, and he had his share of asshole moments, but he was always polite. Always professional. Even if the person he was speaking to was an idiot, he still managed to maintain his composure. Sure, he belittled them, but he did so in a way that was still professional. He never made any comment that would get him sued.

He never let his composure slip, except for one time, and It was all your fault.

You felt sick. You had woken up that morning with a headache and a body that felt like lead. It had taken you forever to get out of bed. By the time you had gotten yourself together and had managed to drag yourself to the shower, you'd felt even worse. But, with how Gideon acted, you were used to getting your work done regardless of how you were feeling, so you'd gotten dressed and headed to the office.

A total of four hours later, you were starting to regret not staying home.

You were doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you just couldn't stay awake. Your mind felt fuzzy. Your body was like a heavyweight. And all you could think about was going back to your apartment and crawling into bed. You could feel your body leaning forward.

The chair tipped, and your body rolled forward, nearly falling out of the chair, only stopping when you hit the edge of the desk.

And then there were hands on you.

Gideon's hands.

He had you, his arm under your shoulders, holding you against him as he straightened the chair.

"Office. Now. Before you hurt yourself," he said, his voice cold, his expression hard.

You stood up, but your head spun. You might have been able to fight it if he had actually helped you to your feet, but instead, he let go of you, watching with a frown as you wobbled back and forth before turning around and starting for the office.

Your feet felt heavy. Your body felt as though it was moving in slow motion. You stumbled a few times before making it into the room. He came in after you, closing the door behind him. You saw him scowl at you before walking to his desk. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at you.

"So much for impressing me."

"Sorry," you said, slumping in the chair across from his desk. You could feel your eyes drifting closed. You couldn't help it, but you knew it was because you were so tired.

"I pay you to get your work done, not to go to sleep on the job. I don't care how sick you are. This is unacceptable."

You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but your mouth wouldn't move. You were just too tired.

"Do I have to drag you out of this chair myself?"

You managed to open your eyes and look up at him. You tried to say something, but all that came out was a mumble.

He frowned, his lips a tight line. He pushed off of the desk, and then he was moving towards you. Your stomach lurched as he reached down, grabbing hold of your arm and pulling you up. Your legs wobbled underneath you. His hand was at your elbow.

"Careful," he said, keeping his grip on you until you had straightened up. "You took this job knowing that it would require effort. I will not have you losing sight of what you're doing because you're too lazy to get out of bed in the morning."

"I-”

Then, the worst thing imaginable happened. Just as he was threatening to fire you, your stomach lurched again. But instead of it just being your stomach, this time, it was the entire digestive system as a whole.

It wasn’t until his release on your arm, the wave of nausea subsiding and your head spinning so hard that you could barely stand, that you realized what had happened.

You just puked all over your boss.

You looked at him in horror. His white suit and red shirt were completely covered in a disgusting mix of stomach fluids and coffee. This was where you saw him break. His normal, professional demeanor vanished, and his eyes grew wide, his jaw-dropping.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. But then his eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened, his lips pursing together. He was shaking from head to toe. You couldn't tell if he was angry or if he was disgusted.

"Out," he hissed, his voice quiet but venomous.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Get the hell out.”

You nodded and quickly did as you were told.

Great, not only did you ruin a suit that was probably worth more than your apartment, but you managed to piss off Gideon and get yourself fired. The job you fought so hard for was just thrown out the window in an instant. You didn't blame him. If you were him, you would have fired you too.

It was a long drive home. You were still feeling sick to your stomach, but now it became more like the feeling of a hangover than actual illness. Your headache had subsided a bit, but you felt achy all over.

You pulled up in front of your apartment complex and climbed out of the car, feeling like you were made of lead. You stood there for a moment, leaning against your car, waiting for the feeling of your body to return to normal. When it finally did, you headed inside and took a quick shower before crawling into bed, not even bothering with any dinner.

Your last thought was how Gideon Graves had looked when he realized you had puked on him. You wondered if he was okay. You tried not to think about it, but his expression kept coming back to mind, over and over. He'd looked like he'd been about to explode.

Again, understandably so. But even though you'd done your best to forget it, the memory just wouldn't leave your mind.

The incident became a week’s memory, but you still couldn't stop thinking about him, about his face. About the fact that you lost your job over something so stupid.

It was another week before you saw Gideon again. Honestly, you weren’t expecting it.

Your doorbell rang, and you figured it was the pizza guy since it was just after five o'clock, and you had ordered some dinner. But when you went to the door, there was no pizza guy. Instead, there was Gideon Graves leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at you.

You glanced at him for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, your cheeks burning, and then looked back down at your feet.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Don’t apologize. I don’t want your apologies.” He looked around, glancing at your apartment. "Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to keep standing there until you decide to ruin my suit again?"

You blinked, looking back at his face, but his expression hadn't changed.

You moved aside, letting him in. He walked past you and stood in your living room. His eyes darted around, and you could tell he was taking it all in. You had a tiny apartment, but it was nice; you'd worked hard to make it so. You had a nice couch, a few bookshelves, a TV, and a small table and chairs in the kitchen area.

"Well?" He said, turning back to look at you.

"I- What?” You asked, not knowing what to say.

"I’ve called you. No responses. I came to your apartment last week. No answer. And now that I'm here, you're standing there, looking like an idiot when I expected a fully functioning human being."

You blinked a few times, still not entirely sure what was going on. You cleared your throat.

"What do you want?"

“What do I want?” He scoffed. His face twisted into a look of disgust, his eyes narrowing at you, and his upper lip curling just the tiniest bit as though he smelled something rotten. "You ruined my suit, and then you left. You don't answer your phone when I call. Did your uncultured brain forget about the job you practically begged me for? I told you to impress me, but if you can't even be bothered to show up, I have no interest in continuing your employment."

You frowned, your jaw dropping open.

"Wait, I’m not already fired?”

His eyes snapped up to your face, his brow furrowing. His lip twitched as he fought to hold back whatever he wanted to say to you. The long pause had your mind shifting attention to him. The way he looked. The way he smelled. You took a small step forward.

"I... I thought-"

He was wearing a suit, like usual, but instead of the white suit with the red shirt, he wore a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt. The shirt wasn't buttoned all the way. He hadn't worn a tie, but he usually always had one, so you were a little shocked when you saw that he didn't have one.

And his hair. His hair wasn't slicked back the way it usually was. Instead, it was loose. It's not quite messy, but it's not perfect either.

"You thought you'd been fired?" he said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded.

He sighed and then shook his head. His hands made their way to his glasses, and you realized that his eyes had been fixed on the ground this whole time. He was staring at the floor like he couldn't even look at you.

"I would never fire someone for… puking on me. I’m not that cruel," he muttered. He turned his eyes on you, his fingers adjusting the frames of his glasses. "No. You're still employed here. I simply came to inform you that I'm willing to overlook this week, but the next one that you miss, you're fired."

"Oh," you said. “I- Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

He was turning to leave, and you had to wonder why he had come here in the first place.

"Gideon?"

He paused, his back still to you.

"What did you think I was doing?"

You could see him stiffen, and you had no doubt that he was clenching his jaw. But after a moment, he turned back to look at you, his eyes meeting yours, and you noticed that he had stopped chewing his gum.

"If I had to guess," he said, his tone sharp, "I would have assumed that you were either sleeping or still sick. I told you I would have you fired if you were too sick to work. The fact that you didn't even bother to respond to my calls and messages was more than enough for me to assume the latter."

“But you didn’t fire me."

He narrowed his eyes. "If you don't feel well enough, I suggest you stay home. I don't want to deal with your incompetence right now."

He started to leave again.

"Wait!" You called after him.

He stopped again and looked back over his shoulder at you. His expression was dark and foreboding.

"Do you... Do you need anything?"

"Need? What could you possibly-"

You interrupted him, cutting him off before he could say anything rude or condescending.

"I'm sorry I puked on you. I really am. If I had the money for another suit, I would replace it, but I… don't have that kind of money."

"It’s not ruined. I shipped it to be dry cleaned." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don’t want or need your apologies, nor do I need your money. It's not worth a thousand dollars."

"Well, what do you need?"

He was silent, turning his eyes on the floor again, his fingers fussing with his glasses again. His brow was furrowed, and you could see that he was struggling with something.

"Gideon?"

"Stop saying my name like that," he snapped.

He turned around and looked at you again. You blinked in confusion, and he sighed, walking back towards you until he was standing in front of you.

You've forgotten, honestly, how short he was. You were used to thinking of him as this giant of a man. When he walked into a room, his presence made him seem larger than life. But now, you were able to see that he was really a bit shorter than you were. He was a bit on the skinny side, too, not muscular or anything like that. But he still had presence, even when he was being quiet when he was simply standing there looking at you, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Why?"

You blinked again.

"Why what?"

He rolled his eyes, and his expression softened for a moment, just for a moment, before he got angry again.

"You're not supposed to sound so concerned about me. It's insulting. I'm your boss. I shouldn't need anything from you. That's why."

"It’s just a favor… If it will keep you from firing me, I'll do it," you said.

“Just show me you're not incompetent," he snapped, "that you can do your job without having a meltdown over it."

"Okay."

"And quit making me repeat myself. Just show me. I want you to show me that you're going to be an asset to this company."

"I will."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face. He sighed again, his shoulders relaxing as he did so.

"I need-"

"Yeah?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Are you going to interrupt me every time I tell you something?"

"Yes," you said.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but he didn't yell at you. Gideon just sighed, looking tired all of a sudden, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I need you to come in tomorrow. I have some… matters I need to attend to, so you need to handle the rest of the work."

"Okay. Can I ask what’s going on?"

His eyes narrowed again, his lips pursing, and you felt like you might have pushed too far, but you were determined to be better.

"Just show up tomorrow," he said, his voice a bit softer. He sounded less angry.

He turned again and headed back for your front door.

"Gideon?"

"What?" He asked, not looking at you as he turned around, his hand reaching for the knob.

"Thanks… for not firing me."

He looked up at you, meeting your eyes, and you were surprised to see that he was smiling again, albeit a tiny little smile, but he was smiling.

"Don't thank me; just get it together," he said, and he pulled open your door and left, shutting it behind him.

And you were left there, staring at your front door, wondering how the hell you were going to be able to do the work that he was going to give you and where exactly that damn pizza was.

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still-a-morosexual-help · 2 years

Note

okay so lately I have seen a lot of people claim they hate mammon bc he steals from mc, and like there's nothing wrong with disliking a character lol but I don't recall mammon ever stealing from mc?? like the only thing I can think of is that one time in season 1 I think where he was going through their stuff and said he was looking for something to sell (I think?? it's been a while) and beel straight up calling him a liar lmao l'm just wondered if I missed something? or if this is just newer players who maybe misunderstood that one scene? and I figured if anyone would know it would be you lmao

I got so fucking pissed about this (not at you anon <3) cos this is the third time I got an ask like this, that I scrolled all the way down my 'Obey Me Mammon' tag to June/July 2020 and then slowly scrolled my way up pulling all the receipts I could.....I saw this immediately after you sent it and I just finished now...... turns out it takes 5 straight hours to go through my Mammon tag😶

I have answered this exact same ask twice before and I can only assume it's new people? Like honestly you can't play the game for a long time and still think this (they prove this false within the game in LESSON FOUR)

Not only does Mammon NOT steal from MC, he also:

a.) Gets legitimate/legal jobs whenever he wants to buy MC something (which is pretty frequently)

b.) Shares the money with them when he comes into a large sum of money

But anyway here are the links to the posts talking about all this:

(everything is directly taken from canon or based off canon)

A.) No he doesn't steal from MC

• Full Summary of the Lesson 4 locked chapter where he goes through MC's stuff and a compare and contrast of what we know about Mammon from future lessons, events, devilgrams

• First post talking about this, goes more into detail about him not stealing from them

• Second shorter post about how he doesn't steal from them

• They're literally Partners in Crime

• He straight up refuses the Midas touch (multiple times I believe) after realising it means he won't be able to touch MC anymore

• HEADCANON that maybe he steals/borrows their clothes, with their knowledge, to wear

• In the small introductory manga page they say the thing he likes as much as money is MC

• In S3 he admits to loving MC more than he loves money

B.) He goes out of his way to get MC Presents (which we works actual jobs to earn money for)

• Mammon at the Office Devilgram, where he gets an actual office job so he can buy MC a watch he saw them looking at

• In the Movie Date Devilgram he rents out an entire theatre for the two of them because it was the anniversary of the day they first met

• In the You Always Ride Shotgun Devilgram he rents out a pool for the two of them

• He's always giving MC presents

• Usually he buys matching things for them

• He buys them shoes in their favourite colour

• Mammon's love language

• He wants to share his winnings from a lottery with MC

• He finds a secret second map in the pirate au event and tells only MC so they can share the treasure

C.) It's not just MC, he puts the others before Money too

• In the Presents From Mammon Devilgram he buys presents for everyone

• In The Guardian Demon Devilgram he saves a 9yr old orphaned homeless human girl from a mugger, fosters her and plans to pay for all her needs until she's an adult/can provide for herself - which is why he's always in debt to the three witches who look after her for him, there's also extortion going on from them towards him

• He'd rather lose the entire fortune he won than make Luke upset

• List of times he's put others before money

• He straight up tells Luke he doesn't mind missing out on a reward as long as it means Luke is alright

• Socks for Beel

• He gets a stone for his birthday which can give him whatever he wishes for, he wishes for fortune to come to whoever has the stone and then gives the stone to a student who tried to hurt him

D.) How Mammon works as a character

• Solmare makes you form certain expectations about him and then starts breaking them within the next few lessons and it's amazing to witness

• Friendship, Actions & Reality Vs Calling MC 'Servant'

• Mammon, MC and their Friendship

• Mammon being smart and why he comes off as an idiot

• His thoughts about himself vs MC

• He's actively changing and growing as a character and he knows it

• How Mammon actually views himself

• Why there's a difference in his level of affection in public vs privately

• Jerk with a heart of gold trope but better

• Mammon and how much he cares about consent

• How outsiders see Mammon vs how people from the city see Mammon vs how his close friends and family see him

• Chasing some creep away from MC

• How his relationship with MC changes and grows throughout the season

E.) Other reasons to love him

• Examples of how much he loves MC

• How supportive he & MC are of each other

• Some of his funniest moments

• He's objectively terrifying

• Mammon being a good brother

• He's extremely ride or die for MC

• He waits for MC when they've got to stay late at RAD for other work

• Despite being an ancient being all his best memories consist of the time he's spent with MC

• He created a whole line of toys based around missing MC

• Everything he says about loving MC in his 2022 birthday event

• List of things he's good at

• The amount he loves MC

And this is just a few of my posts about mammon, his character and what there's to love about him

And look it's MORE than okay for people to dislike a character but at least dislike them for something that actually happened?

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blitzyn · 1 year

Text

payback pt.2

venti's gnosis x m!reader

request : none

Synopsis: Despite your mind's protests, your body craved something different.

first part

a/n -> technically this isnt a reader x anyone but its ventis gnosis so... i dont know how to feel about this tbh but i wouldnt say im ashamed LMAO. this suggestion actually reminds me of a childe x m reader fic i read a while ago. i dont remember much but reader was the hydro archon i think and childe fucked the shit out of him lol. and put readers gnosis inside him and took it then left. really shitty description but i cant find it anymore :( lets ignore the fact that using ventis gnosis - or any at all - would hurt pls

wc -> 1.6k

cw -> improper use of a gnosis??, anal fingering, masturbation, harbinger reader, not beta read

You hadn't done much after you boarded the large boat that would send you back to Snezhnaya. You spent most of your time asleep within the confines of your designated room. There wasn't much, but it was definitely better than nothing.

You stared at the ceiling in boredom. There was no current use for you, so you had no way of spending your time. That was one of the things you disliked about being a Harbinger. You were rarely able to develop or pursue hobbies and interests outside your field of work, so when you had free time, you were always unsure of what to do.

You usually resorted to helping one of the others if they needed it (if they were around) - minus Dottore, Sandrone, and Pierro. Tsaritsa knows you would never understand what they do. But you're by your lonesome, now. So it's just you and your thoughts.

You swallowed hard when you thought back to a few days prior to your departure. You tried hard to recall something else, but the memory seemed to persist. With the disadvantage of having nothing to keep you occupied, you were given no choice but to remember the event that took place in Windrise.

Goosebumps littered your flesh at the recollection of the barrage of sensations forced upon your body. The fresh air, the chilled stone against your back, the warmth of the Anemo Archon's body close to yours...

You could feel your face heating up when you remembered the ecstasy he made you feel. In shame or arousal, you didn't know.

You loudly groaned and hid your face within your hands, completely contrasting your professional title as a Harbinger. The memory seemed to appear more vividly the harder you tried to forget about it, which left you in a state of lust and confusion. Pleasure dropped in your stomach like a rock when you slowly began to succumb to the memory's hold.

You dragged a hand down your torso as you let it play over and over again, tentatively placing a hand over your hardening cock to give it a light squeeze. A sigh left your lips as you gently palmed yourself through your clothes, relishing in the mild waves of pleasure that coursed through you.

You rubbed yourself for a few moments longer before you began to crave something more, though you took your time removing the bottom half of your clothes. You were a bit surprised to see a small wet patch already forming through the fabric of your boxers. Maybe the god was right. You must've enjoyed it more than you admitted.

The thought sent the heat of irritation into your chest, making you furrow your eyebrows and grind your teeth. But you had something to deal with at the moment. You could dwell in your anger another time.

You let out a shaky exhale as you finally began to stroke your dick, gathering droplets of precum to make it smoother. It throbbed fervently in your hand, hips lightly jutting upwards. You used your other hand to massage and squeeze your balls.

You subconsciously bit your lip when you began to release quiet grunts and moans. Although you knew the walls were made of the sturdiest and thickest wood in Snezhnaya, you didn't want to risk letting others know what you were doing.

You brought up your other hand and placed two fingers in your mouth to suck on them. Deeming them wet enough, you took them out and hesitantly prodded at your hole. You weren't lying when you said that you've never been the one to be fucked before. But this lack of knowledge wasn't enough to deter you from continuing.

It was a strange sensation now that you were given enough time to actually process it. You were slightly expecting the same burn from before, but was pleasantly surprised to find out that there was none. Slowly, you began moving your fingers in a steady rhythm, getting used to the feeling.

You accidentally let out a loud moan when your fingers brushed up against a small bump, a shock of pleasure running through your body. You continued to press up against it while jerking yourself off. You moved your hands faster, trying to raise yourself up to your orgasm, but you were unable to push yourself over the edge.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you momentarily paused. You needed to get rid of your erection before the ship docked. You couldn't just leave it and hope that it goes down on its own, and you were far too into this to ignore it.

You looked around your room. There wasn't anything that could help you reach your orgasm.

Slightly turning your head to the left, your eyes were met with the teal Gnosis you had stolen. You pursed your lips and contemplated your next move.

"Fuck it," you lowly muttered and reached for the item. Holding it by the crown, you spat on your free hand and smeared your saliva over it. Before you could give yourself time to think about what you were doing, you began pushing it inside you.

The details on the Gnosis heightened your pleasure, relishing in the way it dragged against your insides. You stroked your cock, rubbing a thumb over the head to spread your precum. You sighed when you finally managed to get it all the way inside you – save for the crown part.

Opening your legs just a bit wider, you pulled it out of you just to push it back in, setting a comfortable pace. You sped up your other hand, the mix of erotic squelching and quiet slaps reverberating through the room.

The familiar heat in your abdomen intensified with each passing second. Your back arched in ecstasy and a sensation akin to electricity ran up and down your spine. Momentarily peering down at the Gnosis, you faintly questioned if the god could feel what you were doing. It was highly unlikely, but one could wonder.

You shifted your wrist holding the item, and it suddenly felt like fire was rushing through your body. You bit your lip harder and heavily breathed through your nose and continued your assault against your prostate. It was hard trying to keep quiet, and you think you would've let your voice out if it weren't for the fact you had your status to uphold and pride to keep.

You could feel your body tensing the closer you got to your orgasm, moving the slightest bit faster.

You were so close. Just a few moments more, and –

"Lord Harbinger," someone said from behind the door. "We will be arriving in an hour."

You ignored them in hopes they would leave it at that, but they seemed to be concerned with your lack of answer.

"My Lord?"

You knew you should've stopped to reply, but you opted not to. Not when you were already so close. Your cock throbbed fervently in your hand, weeping copious amounts of precum for you to rub your palm and thumb over.

It was exhilarating. Knowing that the one behind the door could be persistent enough to possibly hear what you were doing. If they ever did find out, they would no doubt tell their friends and start the wildfire of rumor.

You nearly choked on your spit when your orgasm finally washed over you. You continued to stroke your dick to ride out your high, your cum spurting over your abdomen and hand. You tightened considerably around the Gnosis and found it difficult to move it any further.

"Is everything okay in there?"

You thought they left, already. An annoyed huff left your lips as you rolled your eyes. Pulling the item out of you, you tossed it somewhere on the bed and cleaned yourself with a handkerchief.

The person jumped in surprise when you flung the door open.

"Don't speak to me as if we're friends," you said. A mix of fear and surprise contorted their face as they nodded vigorously.

"My deepest apologies," their voice was weak. "I just wanted to tell you that we will–"

"I heard you."

"Right. Well, then..." they trailed off. With a rushed bow, they hurried away.

You closed the door and turned around to face the bed. You sat down on it and ran a hand through your hair. Now that the overwhelming feeling of lust dissipated, you were overtaken with shame and guilt. You deeply questioned why you would ever do such a thing. Especially when you had to turn it in to Her Majesty.

You grabbed the Gnosis and examined it. It was still slick with your fluids.

You wondered if this was considered very disrespectful as you wiped it with the clean part of your handkerchief. Oh, well. It's not like you're going to see him again any time soon.

Rising from the bed, you put your thick fur coat on and hid the Gnosis within it. The frigid air of Snezhnaya was biting and unforgiving, but years of living in this weather heightened your tolerance for it. You traversed the cold boat in search of a restroom, swiftly entering one when you found it.

You thoroughly scrubbed the Gnosis with your fingers under the freezing water. They were numb by the time you decided it was clean. You dried it off on your coat and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Now you really couldn't let anybody know about this.

cross-posted on ao3

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #male reader insert #reader insert #x reader #x male reader #venti x male reader #venti x male reader smut #venti x reader #venti x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader smut #fatui harbinger reader #venti smut #genshin venti #amab reader

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honeybeefae · 1 year

Text

A Court of Wings & Fire: Chapter Two

Summary// Eris had control of everything in his life. The war was over, he was planning to take the Autumn throne, and nothing was left to surprise him…until he met you. A mating bond with an Illyrian was like a spit in his face and neither of you could understand why fate had put you together. You both swore off relations to each other, refusing to even be in the same court, but you should have known that fate is not to be tested.

(Chapter two is here! It's shorter than other chapters will be but still good! I hope you guys enjoy it :))

/ Chapter One / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

Chapter Two

The skies above Velaris were clear, millions of stars twinkling as you flew as high as you could. It was cold but you could care less, enjoying the way the night air bit into your skin as you processed what had just happened.

You had a mate. A mate who not only hated you, but also had caused great harm to your friends.

Were the gods this cruel as to give you such a person? To destin you to a life with someone who would spit in your face without any remorse?

Anger and denial were pumping through your blood as you dove down to the shoreline, the loud crashing of waves mimicking the rage in your head. You hadn’t felt this much hatred before in a long, long time. It was already threatening to consume you.

Your wings flapped slowly so you could land on the soft grass of the coast. As soon as you got your footing you took off your heels, tossing them over the shore in a tantrum. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Mates were almost considered a myth where you came from. Feyre and Rhysand were the first mated pair you had seen in your entire life. When they had told you that, you had thought they were joking. It was a fairytale to tell to young children, not something that could actually happen.

And yet here you stand, an unmistakable thread tying you to a monster.

It felt like your world was crashing down. You sat down, pulling your knees to your chest while your wings cocooned you to block the ocean winds. Thousands of thoughts were running through your mind but the one that kept repeating was ‘Why you?’

Did the Cauldron also think you were a terrible person? Was your path in life destined to be like his, is that why you were cursed with this? Even now, as you sat as far away as you could get from wherever he went, you could feel the bond and it made you nauseous.

There was a sound behind you of flapping wings but you refused to look, already knowing it was Rhys. You heard him approach you, felt his eyes on your sulking form, before he sat down beside you and sighed.

“Mating bonds aren’t always right.” He began softly, stretching out his legs while staring up into the sky. “Sometimes it’s as simple as who would make strong offspring, nothing more to it.”

You slightly lowered your left wing, peeking over the top of it as he continued on.

“My mother was an Illyrian while my father was a High Lord. He saw her at camp when they were trying to clip her wings, fighting for her life with everything she had, and that’s when the bond snapped into place for him.”

His voice was quiet as he recalled the story, your wings now completely lowered so you could listen.

“She saw him watching her and it clicked for her as well, but they were wrong for each other.” Rhys frowned, picking an invisible piece of lint off his jacket. “I remember how much she disliked him, how he treated her. However he did give her one thing. He never clipped her wings. It was the one redeeming thing about their relationship, the freedom he gave her by letting her keep them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You whispered, watching him while your head still rested on your knees.

“Because I want you to know that just because the Cauldron says your mates, it doesn’t mean you have to accept it. Fate can be wrong sometimes. I don’t want you fading away because you think there isn’t a way out.”

“But-”

“Bonds can be broken, I’ve seen it before.” Rhys interrupted. “Some people just aren’t compatible, no matter what the Cauldron or Mother thinks. And I’m sure Eris is going to sever the bond soon, if not by the time we go home.”

He stands up and holds out his hand, giving you a brotherly smile as you take it reluctantly. “I know it may feel like it, and I know how hard this must be for you, but this isn’t the end of the world. At least not yet.”

You roll your eyes as he winks at you, shaking your head. “Do you really think he will end it? What if he doesn’t sever the bond?”

“Trust me, he will.” He replied with a chuckle. “His unfounded hatred for Illyrians and my court in general outweighs whatever want he might have for a mate.”

With one last look over the ocean and at the moon you nod, feeling a tiny bit better as you turn back to Rhys and give him a small smile. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

—------------------

Eris

He winnowed out of the room the second your eyes reconnected, his mind spiraling with what had just transpired. Going into this meeting he was prepared for anything, anything but a mating bond with a bloody Illyrian.

Eris appeared in his appointed room in Hewn City, immediately pacing the floor as he ran a hand through his hair frustratingly. The tips of his fingers were itching with the urge to burn the entire city to the ground in fury, enjoying the feeling of hot fury flooding his veins.

Unfortunately for him, he could not burn down this godsforsaken city nor even leave it. He still had a few loose ends to tie up with Keir and his peers, gathering information to see just how much of a threat Briallyn was to Prythian. He didn't want to see it torn apart despite his disdain for most people living on the continent.

War was deadly and unneeded, the land and its people needed to heal. Of course, Beron didn’t see it the same, the old bastard. He was only concerned about keeping the Autumn Court pure and strong, by whatever means necessary.

His mind immediately started to drift back to you after the idea of a “pure” court, recalling the hatred in your eyes and the way your wings shadowed against the far wall. Eris had no idea how he hadn’t noticed you before, how he dismissed you so easily with the rest of them.

The moment you had threatened him was when he felt that shift inside him, something deep within him that he once thought dead springing back to life. He had hardly even heard your words to him as his heart pounded in his ears. There was a brief moment of pure happiness, a feeling he had only felt once before, until his gaze connected to the wings on your back.

Mating bonds were more familiar to him, he knew mated pairs and knew that being a High Lord’s son he had a greater chance of meeting his mate, but he would never have bet on it being an Illyrian.

If he had known that would be the case, Eris would’ve steered clear of them more than he already had. In what world, in what life, would the Mother even consider the two of you to be good mates? You were lower class, an Illyrian lesser fae who, as far as he was concerned, could never compare to the beauty and elegance of his people.

All Illyrians were good for were war, fighting, and breeding warriors. It was what they were known for, why they were exiled to that mountain, and it should stay that way. What would Eris do with such a barbaric, winged woman? Did she even know how to read or write? Basic manners? He doubted it.

And while he was thinking about it, didn’t most Illyrian women get their wings clipped when they first bled? He vaguely recalls hearing stories of it, how it was done to keep the women under men's control. Why did you have yours?

He paused in his pacing, staring off at the door as he thought about your wings. They were like the rest of your kind, albeit a bit smaller to fit your frame which filled out the dress you were wearing quite nicely. It hugged your curves, accentuating your figure while also not limiting you if you would have to fight.

Your lips, painted a bright red that was drawn up in a scowl as he insulted you and your friends. Eris glowered at the rush of desire that raced to his cock, turning around to his desk and throwing it haphazardly against the wall in rage.

He would not be lusting after someone like you, a bastard Illyrian. He was above that. He controlled his own fate and he would rather be struck dead than let some bond make his choices for him.

But, Eris knew he could not sever the bond yet. Not only did he not know what repercussions would come from Rhysand and his tribe of misfits in doing so, he also knew severing a bond causes a great deal of pain for both parties for several days, if not weeks. Even if the bond is not wanted by either person.

If he came home in such a state his father would immediately be suspicious, as his conniving brothers. They would waste no time in getting to the bottom of it and if they were to find out, his father's wrath would be felt across the world. His entire lineage would be questioned if anyone knew he was fated to be with an Illyrian.

It would ruin his plans for his bid for the throne. Ruin his life more than it already has.

No, he needed to be very careful with this. Eris sat down and began to form his plan, knowing he needed to get his information and make this as quiet as possible.

A knock at the door broke him from his thoughts. It was Keir on the other side, calling his name. He immediately stood and straightened out his outfit and hair, taking a deep breath before opening it and stepping out into one of the many grand hallways.

“Shall we?” Keir asked, not bothering to wait for a response as he started down the hall.

“We shall.” Eris said, his mouth drawn tight as he mulled over what to do about you.

Taglist: @elizarikaallen @kristeristerin @a-frog-with-a-laptop @littlebbb @introvertsuntes68-blog @clairebear08

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bullet-prooflove · 20 days

Note

A prompt please for Terry Silver, 30-Darling you deserve more than just these roses.

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

JP doesn’t get the message that you’re not interested. You realise this when a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne is delivered to the art gallery where you work.

Darling, you deserve more than just roses. – JP

It’s a dig at Terry, the bouquet of red roses he gave to you during your art show last night.

Love and admiration, the colour represented.

And you felt that in every single part of your being when he leaned in close and kissed your mouth. That’s the thing with Terry, he makes you feel like you’re the centre of his world, that there isn’t a part of you he doesn’t cherish.

JP, he can’t even remember that you dislike champagne, you have ever since the evening you got drunk off on an empty stomach and spent the entire night throwing it back up again. You’d told JP that story several times during the course of your relationship and here you are with a ornate box of Moet.

You try to send it back but the courier refuses to take it. You end up setting it on the shelf behind the desk so you can turn your attention to the more important tasks you have to do throughout your day.

“He’s persistent isn’t he?” Terry remarks that evening when he picks you up from the gallery. He’d been helping you collect some of your paint supplies for a project you want to start at the house when he’d come across the champagne box. “He doesn’t even remember how much you hate the taste.”

“It’s not really about me.” You tell him as you take the box from his hands and drop it into the garbage can with the rest of the trash. “It’s about the competition, the fact I’m with someone else, that I’m happy with them. He never thought I would accomplish anything like this.”

He’d said that to your face, Terry recalls. He’d told you your paintings were reductive, stupid simple things that couldn’t stimulate even the most stupidest of children.

I didn’t paint for almost a year after that, you’d told Terry. It was why I took the residency in Paris, I needed a change of scenery, something to remind me of the joy in it.

He despises the other man for that, for ruining something that had brought you so much pleasure.

“I want to hurt him.” Terry says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he draws you close. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, tones of amber, wild berries and rosewater. It’s dark and sensual, just like you in this clinging black dress. “For doing that to you back then, for trying to do it to you again now.”

“Beating the shit out of him isn’t going to help either of us.” You remind him, your fingers lacing at the back of his neck as your body presses against the length of his.

“What if I didn’t beat the shit out of him?” He negotiates, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “What if I did to him exactly what he did to you back then?”

It wasn’t just your confidence JP had destroyed, it was your actual paintings. When you’d told him you were leaving him he’d hosted a bonfire party, used them for fuel. You’d come back to the house to pick up your stuff and found them burning in the back yard.

“Weren’t much good for anything else.” He’d told you as he took a sip from his beer.

You’d cried the entire drive home.

“I’m going to buy his paintings tomorrow, every single one of them.” Terry tells you as his thumb ghosts over the curve of your cheek. “And then me and you are going to take them over to his house and we’re going to have a bonfire of our own.”

“I love you.” You say fiercely. “For understanding how much this means to me.”

“He took something from you.” Terry whispers against your lips. “Nobody gets to hurt you and walk away.”

Love Terry S? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #taylor sheridan #yellowstone

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 5 months

Note

Thirsty day here we come!

This thirst goes to our sexy French daddy Joseph!

Imagine being in a match with Joseph but you accidentally damaged his camera and sword when kiting him ( which made him furious but he kept a straight face even though you could tell he was pissed ) you of course apologised thousands of times feeling embarrassed but he dismissed it saying it’s nothing. After the match you and your teammates lost ( you assume his damaged belongings is what made him more aggressive in the match telling how roughly he threw you on the chair ) thus everyone going in their rooms to sleep to recover all the bruises.

You of course still guilty gain the courage to enter the hunter’s side and ask for Joseph’s whereabouts and geisha was kind enough to lead you to his room. Once she left , you knocked on the door which opened and revealed Joseph looking slightly annoyed but surprised to see you. You explain how you wanted to help fix his things and wanted to make it up for him.

And now here you are striped down from your clothes and forced on Joseph’s lap facing him while cock warming him. He smirks at your whimpering while he continues to read his book out loud in French occasionally squeezing your thighs, and groping your ass, giving you a glare if you dare to move and groaning whenever your pussy squeezes his cock. He’d also whisper in French in your ear enjoying how you’d clench tighter.

“Now now my dear, stop moving and behave”

“What a lewd women you are”

“Shhhh go to sleep, I’ll be right here”

He wouldn’t call you a whore or a slut noooo no way he��s too much of a gentleman…….so he’ll just say it French!

Oh arent you sweet

Rated Explicit

The swordsman is not actually upset, there is no point in being upset as the cameras are easily replaced by the Baron. Have you not noticed how they change with his attire as requested by Lady Nightingale? One broken camera means nothing, but it is amusing to apologize for something that merits no apology. Tons have been broken before and many more will be as the matches go on.

Your need to project these common ramble ideas can wear on him, however, he uses them to his advantage like now.

How amusing you are willing to do anything to be in his good graces, like a dog. Yes, a dog, his puppy who whines in shame and obeys their master's whim.

Pathetic in a charming way, only for him.

When he was younger, from the pieces he can recall of his memory, he indulged in many proclivities. Sex is one of them. Easily learning his likes and dislikes.

A favorite is having your heat around his cock but not moving. You are to simply warm it up as he reads his book. It's the one you suggested! The Scarlet Pimpernel, is an interesting story.

“Mon salope,” His slut, “Behave yourself. I am still deciding if I forgive you.” Foolish you taking the supposed punishment all for yourself, maybe you like trying to make excuses to have him fuck you? Would make sense why you think you must do anything to please him. Reality will set in soon when you realize he could care less about the thoughts and actions of others in the match. Or you will remain a fool and keep entertaining him like the hopeless dog you are.

He yawns, “Tonight you will remain with me. In the morning, we shall share breakfast.” There is no room for negotiations or excuses, you will do as he says.

“Joseph…”

“Shh, sleep petit chiot.” The shifting to lay down have you squeezing around him, good. Good, you are sensitive to him and only him. “I expect you to wake when I awaken.” Kissing your forehead.

You whimper but nod.

#joseph desaulnier x you #joseph desaulnier x reader #idv photographer #photographer x you #photographer x reader #idv #reader insert #identity v joseph #idv x you #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v photographer #idv joseph x reader #joseph desaulnier #ask

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enhasfever · 1 year

Text

. . . loading enhypen as your rival.pdf !

╰┈➤ [ cast.txt ] ot7 + gn!reader (jake's specifies a female reader)

╰┈➤ [ contents.txt ] rival!enha, school!au, angst, fluff, mention of blood in jake's part

╰┈➤ [ word count.txt ] 4k

╰┈➤ [ summary.txt ] in which you find that maybe the person you've been beefing with isn't as bad as you'd once thought.

╰┈➤ [ notes.txt ] i might've gotten carried away with some... either way, i hope you enjoy! and yay for my comeback fic!

╰┈➤ [ heeseung.txt ]

there was nothing in the world that irked you more than listening to heeseung being praised over every little thing he did. he was the first to turn in an assignment? the teacher gave him a beaming smile and uttered a comment on how punctual he was. he led vocal warmups during music class? he was showered with compliments of his beautiful voice. he finished all of his lunch? you were sure his mother praised him for it when he got back home. it was infuriating, especially because you could do exactly everything he did yet nobody batted an eye at you.

you distinctly remember a time in grade 3 when you had mastered your multiplication table ahead of everyone else and all you'd received in celebration was a dumb sticker from your teacher. but when heeseung had finally caught up to you, what did he get? a lollipop of course. were you still salty over that lollipop to this day? absolutely.

so when the two of you were paired up for a project in your music class, you seriously debated on dropping the course. now, heeseung wasn't oblivious to your dislike towards him. though, he made no effort to even acknowledge you and your one-sided beef with him and that, for some reason, made you hate him even more. that nonchalant smile he gave you as he took a seat beside you made you want to roll your eyes but you refrained.

"hey, y/n," he greeted you casually as he opened up his school issued macbook and began navigating to the assignment your teacher had sent out to everyone. when you didn't make an effort to reply, he continued to speak anyways, "i'm actually very happy we got paired together, i think you have a really good voice."

you scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest, turning away to hide the rising blush on your face at the unexpected compliment. "you could be paired with beyoncé and still get all the recognition anyways, it doesn't matter," you huffed in reply.

it was silent for a few moments and, out of curiosity, you turned towards heeseung only to find him frowning perplexedly at his laptop screen. you almost exploded at the thought of him completely ignoring you in favor of whatever was on his screen until he shifted his gaze to you.

"it's never my intention to take away from you or anyone around me, you know. you're not the only one who feels this way towards me and it's not exactly fun having so many people dislike me out of jealousy for something that's out of my control..." he paused for a moment before letting out a gentle sigh and offering you a grim smile. "i'm sorry, y/n."

you were taken aback, completely baffled at the sudden apology that you never expected to receive. you'd dreamt of this day for so long, for the moment that he would acknowledge you and his unfair place on the school's pedestal, but why did it feel... wrong? a sinking feeling settled in your chest as you registered the words he had spoken to you. maybe all this time, he had been letting your dislike towards him get under his skin. why did it feel bad knowing that your long term wish had in fact been true all along?

"if it's okay with you, i was thinking you could sing a majority of the main vocals and i could do the supporting vocals," he suggested, turning back to his laptop screen.

you shook your head defiantly, "we split the work evenly."

heeseung spared you one last glance, and for the first time that you could recall, you gave him a small but reassuring smile. maybe he wasn't as selfish as you'd thought.

╰┈➤ [ jay.txt ]

you and jay weren't rivals by choice. sadly, middle and high school pressure forced the two of you to constantly be at war for the dumbest things. who had the most friends? who could get the most people to show up for their birthday party? who could talk their parents into getting them the more expensive car? who's dog was cuter? it had quickly become ridiculous.

it was senior year and although the feud was still going strong, you were so over it and it was clear he was as well. the only reason why you two were still social rivals was because of the constant egging on coming from your friends.

"y/n, did you see that jay got more likes on his instagram post?"

"y/n, did you see the way jay flirted with your project partner?"

"y/n, did you see that jay got the same colored shoes as you?"

you were ready to throw your own self in your locker at this point. in all honesty, jay was probably one of the few chill people at your school and you had no real problem with him. any time the two of you somehow managed to get any time alone, it was just good vibes and laughter. it felt stupid to be putting on a show for your classmates. finally, you decided you were going to put a stop to this ridiculousness.

"park jongseong," you greeted him, slamming his locker door shut and startling him as well as the few of his friends gathered nearby.

"can i help you?" he scoffed, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you.

"actually, you can," you smirked. without hesitation, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. you pressed your lips against his messily and gave him no time to react properly before you were releasing your hold on his shirt and stepping back. "now, you'll tell your friends that this stupid fight is over and i'll tell mine the same. deal?"

jay nodded dumbly, his expression showing just how shocked he was by your sudden bold move. you smiled, feeling pleased with the results of your impulsive decision, and sauntered away with jay and his friends gawking at you until you were out of sight.

╰┈➤ [ jake.txt ]

"you kick like a girl," jake's taunting voice called out from the line of players behind you. you gritted your teeth and took a deep, wavering breath as you tried to calm your frustration. you aimed at the goal and drew your leg back before sending the soccer ball whirling past the goalie and into the net.

"what was that?" you baited, whirling around with a triumphant smirk on your face as you moved to the back of the line of your teammates.

being the only girl on the guys' soccer team unfortunately wasn't all you'd dreamed it would be when you'd first signed up. you were made fun of by some of them, especially jake, and you were labeled as your school's pick me girl. a new rumor about you flirting with the entire soccer team surfaced every week, courtesy of jake. it was a disaster, but you'd die before you gave jake the satisfaction of running you off the team.

the drill ran for a few more rounds before your coach decided that a practice game would conclude the workout for the day. you and jake, unsurprisingly so, were picked as the captains of the opposing teams. the game hadn't even been in progress for more than two minutes before jake was taunting you again despite being reprimanded by your coach countless times.

eventually, the biting words and mean snickers got to be too much for you and, without thinking, you sent the ball flying at jake. you held back a satisfied cackle as you watched it hurdle right towards him, though that smugness quickly morphed into panic as the ball cracked him right in the face and sent him falling to the ground with a pained cry. clearly your aim had been off, you'd only meant for it to hit him in the gut at the very least.

you rushed to jake's side along with the rest of your team to find him cupping his bleeding nose. your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight of his injury and the tears that ceaselessly cascaded down his cheeks. your coach hurried him down to the nurse's office and you knew you were in for a harsh scolding when he returned.

it wasn't until the next day that you came face to face with jake again as you were exiting the girls' locker room with your duffel bag full of your soccer equipment. you were relieved to find that his face looked normal considering the force of the hit he'd taken. he stopped in his tracks and frowned confusedly at you.

"what are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the bag slung over your shoulder.

"going home," you shrugged.

"we have practice," he replied, still confused as to why you were heading the opposite way.

"you have practice," you emphasized, shifting back and forth on your feet as you lowered your gaze away from his own.

it took only three beats of silence for jake to register what you were implying, and you braced yourself to be mocked and ridiculed for being kicked off the team. but, you were met with something far off from what you were expecting.

"what? you mean..? but that's not fair!" he blurted out much to your surprise.

"but i injured you purposely," you answered sheepishly.

"because i deserved it. we're gonna go talk to the coach," he commanded, hastily grabbing your wrist and dragging you towards the sports field.

"what, why? i thought you wanted me off the team?" you asked in pure puzzlement of his reaction.

"no, i don't," he huffed, hiding his burning cheeks from you as he called out to your coach who was taking attendance at the sidelines. "i play better when you're around. i need you, y/n."

╰┈➤ [ sunghoon.txt ]

"are you even listening to me?" you grumbled, waving your hand in front of sunghoon's face.

"unfortunately i have to," he rolled his eyes, swatting your hand away.

"don't even act like this isn't the highlight of your day," you taunted with a knowing smirk. "i know you like me, park sunghoon."

sunghoon laughed incredulously and raised his brows at you. "really? says who?"

"says the entire student body. says a little birdie who goes by the name of park jongseong. says this little note of yours i found on the floor of the chemistry lab." you only smirked wider as you held up the crumpled corner of a notebook page.

sunghoon's eyes grew wide in panic and he hurriedly snatched the note away from your hand, his face turning bright red as he read over the note written in his own handwriting.

"you think i'm cute when i'm mad at you, huh?" you teased, laughing delightedly as the blush on his face reached the tips of his ears.

"i– no! i wasn't even talking about you!" he feebly tried to deflect but you weren't believing the lie for even a second.

"who else could you possibly be talking about? everyone else adores you, the only person you have a problem with is me," you pointed out, tilting your head with that same smug look on your face. you'd caught him red-handed, and red-faced as well. bonus points!

"actually, i also happen to have a problem with kazuha so..." he trailed off, crumpling the note back up in his hand and shoving it into the pocket of his blazer.

you quirked up an eyebrow. "kazuha?"

"yeah, she's been trying to spread rumors about me," he shrugged, drumming his fingertips against the top of his desk.

she was? not on your watch. "why? what did she say? i'll go find her right now," you frowned, quickly rising from your seat only to have sunghoon yank you back down.

he met you with the same smug smirk you'd given him just moments prior and it took all of five seconds for your actions to sink in. suddenly, you were just as red as sunghoon had been as you slumped down defeatedly in your seat.

"looks like you like me, too," he murmured victoriously, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before facing the front of the room.

a little smile painted your lips but you said nothing in return because, truthfully, you did like him. very, very much.

╰┈➤ [ sunoo.txt ]

you and sunoo had quite the odd relationship. more often than not, you were on each other's last nerve and it didn't take much for the two of you to trade petty comments and backhanded compliments to one another. you were forced to hang out consistently because you unfortunately shared many mutual friends. however, on the rare occasion that you two got along, it was short lived and only prompted by a mutual and deeper dislike for someone or something else.

"hey guys!" you chirped as you met up with your friends in the school cafeteria. "what are you all wearing for wacky wednesday tomorrow?"

"looks like you're celebrating early," sunoo snickered from across the table, taking an overly dramatic sip of the tea he'd gotten from the vending machine.

you glanced down at your outfit and rolled your eyes, seeing nothing wrong with it. he was just being sunoo. "yeah? and it seems like you're still partaking in crazy hair day. it ended yesterday, love," you fired back. you both gave each other sarcastic smiles before going back to your food.

"i have these wild looking clown pants–" one of your friends began to answer your question before sunoo interrupted them with a laugh.

"you're dressing as y/n tomorrow? why didn't i think of that?"

you shot him a seething glare which was returned with a menacing smirk. "i didn't realize i had such a fan. i know you copied my twitter layout but i didn't think you'd be bold enough to go this far," you bit back.

before sunoo could burn you back with his response, your catfight was momentarily silenced by the presence of the one friend in the group that you mutually disliked.

"he copied your instagram story last week, too," they chimed in on your behalf. normally you'd be grateful for anyone taking your side, just not this particular person.

"at least he doesn't steal crushes," you retorted, giving them a side glance before promptly returning to your food. you didn't miss the little triumphant look on sunoo's face from your peripheral vision.

"i haven't stolen yours," they answered back with a sly smirk, pointedly glancing in sunoo's direction. your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze shot up to train on them.

if there was one thing you knew about sunoo, it was that he was impeccable at detecting even the smallest of actions and changes in tones. he definitely hadn't missed what was being implied, and you felt a big ball of dread settle in your gut as he sat up straighter in his seat. your friends eagerly stayed invested in the events unfolding and you were almost relieved when sunoo demanded that you follow him to the vending machine across the cafeteria.

"is it true?" he asked the instant you two were out of earshot.

"no," you denied, shaking your head vigorously.

"you're lying, your voice pitches higher when you lie," he observed, slotting some coins into the machine and pressing one of the many buttons.

"no it doesn't," you deflected uselessly.

"just admit to it so this will be less painful for us both," he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"even if i did, it's not gonna change anything between us," you answered back bitterly.

"says who?" sunoo turned and handed you your favorite drink, taking you by surprise as you hesitantly accepted it. "maybe the feeling is mutual."

you blinked, taking a bit too long to let his answer process in your head and not realizing he had left you standing dumbly on your own until he was nearly back at the table.

"hey, wait! kim sunoo!" you called after him.

╰┈➤ [ jungwon.txt ]

you paced around relentlessly just outside of the auditorium with tears cascading down your face. you were due to go on and give your speech in less than five minutes and you'd lost all of your cue cards. that, and you'd also somehow managed to bump into a student who spilled their coffee down your front. they'd been kind enough to take you to the restroom and tried their best to help you wash out the stain, but your choice to wear a white shirt had finally backfired on you.

you'd worked so hard the entire semester to win the hearts and votes of your fellow classmates to elect you as student body president and all of that work was about to be washed down the drain. you had to win, you had to be the best. you had to beat yang jungwon. he'd been a pain in the ass to you since fifth grade, there was no way you were going to lose to that snot-nosed brat.

as you heard the principal coming to the end of his speech before he'd allow the two of you to take the stage, that feeling of anxiety strengthened inside of you. you slid down the wall with trembling hands that ran obsessively through your hair, surely messing up the hours you'd put into styling it that morning.

"hey, you okay?" his voice was the last one you wanted to hear in that moment.

"does it look like i'm okay?" you snapped between sniffles.

"no, you look like a wreck," jungwon stated matter of factly as he stood before you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. he looked perfect with his ironed uniform and soft looking hair styled with peak precision. even his skin glowed. you hated him for it.

"thanks, captain obvious. if you're here to gloat about your assured win now then get it over with," you huffed, swallowing down the sob that wanted to leave your throat.

instead, jungwon crouched down to your level and reached out, gingerly taking your shaking hands into his and giving them a firm squeeze. you glanced up at him warily, unsure of where this sudden show of comfort and care was coming from. surely he had some ulterior motive, right? he'd probably play nice until you got on that stage and then completely rip into you.

"what do you need?" he asked simply, scanning over your disheveled figure.

"huh?" you furrowed your brows skeptically.

"clearly you're struggling with something, and although i'd love nothing more than to win against you, it'll be more satisfying if it's at least a fair battle," he replied, rising up to his full height and in turn pulling you back onto your feet.

he took immediate notice of the stain on your shirt and, without missing a beat, began shrugging off his blazer. "what are you–" you cut yourself off before you could finish as jungwon wrapped the blazer around your shoulders.

"being a fair competitor," jungwon shrugged, trying to pass his gesture off as nonchalant even though the growing warmth in his cheeks counteracted his attempt at brushing his kindness off.

he waited until you'd slotted your arms through the sleeves of the jacket and buttoned up a few of the buttons to conceal the stain.

"you're being nice," you commented dumbly.

"you can thank me after i beat you fair and square," he smiled faintly, reaching up to fix your tousled hair. "and uh, i also stopped by to drop those off," he nodded towards one of the pockets on the blazer, "you dropped them near the stairs earlier."

your hand flew to the pocket and a relieved sigh left your lips as you pulled out your cue cards. your racing heart finally slowed to a normal pace and you wiped at the tears left on your face.

"thank you," you murmured quietly, holding the cards close to your chest and bashfully training your gaze on your shoes.

"you're welcome," jungwon hummed in response, leading you backstage just as you heard a round of applause from the students in the audience, "and good luck, vice president."

you shot him a challenging look and were met with the usual smirk you'd grown accustomed to seeing. for the time being, you ignored the flutter in your heart.

╰┈➤ [ niki.txt ]

you sat your bag down near the back of the room after changing into your dancing gear and plugged your phone into the speaker you'd brought along. you navigated to the song you'd been assigned to dance to and put it on loop as you hurried to the center of the room to start on your stretches.

you'd worked long and hard to secure the lead position of this choreography and you wanted to ensure that you nailed it. after all, you not only had yourself and your dance instructor to prove something to, but also your team's best dancer, nishimura riki.

riki had been furious to learn that you'd be leading the choreography for the upcoming competition. he was always the one to lead, and rightfully so as the most skilled dancer, but you couldn't help feeling envious of his golden child reputation. it was more than satisfying getting to see the scowl on riki's face throughout the entirety of the practices as you stood at the front of the room.

so, you'd decided to take it upon yourself to rehearse on your own when you had the time for it in your busy schedule. what you hadn't expected, however, was the door of the practice room to burst open just as you were finishing your stretches. you shot up in alert and met the eyes of none other than the golden child himself through the mirror in front of you.

"what are you doing here?" he asked in bewilderment.

"what are you doing here?" you bounced the question back at him. "you're not the lead for this number."

"that doesn't mean i should slack and let you hog the spotlight," he scoffed, dropping his own bag down next to yours before joining you at the center of the room.

"that's rich coming from the guy who's gotten the lead in every number up until this point," you rolled your eyes annoyedly.

"i get the lead because i deserve it," he shot back. "maybe if you had more of a natural talent for dancing, you'd start getting more leads also."

you pushed your tongue in your cheek vexedly and stood up after finishing your leg stretches. "you're just being a crybaby because you didn't get your way. grow up, nishimura," you bit venomously as you waited for the song to finish its last few seconds before it would play again.

"oh please, i'm ten times the dancer you'll ever be. if you think you're so good then you'll get this on the first try, yeah?" he challenged.

"fine, and i will," you accepted confidently. luckily for you, you'd been running through this routine in the space of your bedroom. you preferred it here for the open space.

riki watched from his spot on the floor as he continued to go through his stretches while you counted yourself in and began to dance through the routine. you felt his eyes on you the entire time without even having to catch his gaze. why did it make you feel nervous?

the dance came to an end and you held the ending pose for a count of five before dropping it with a tired puff of air and turning triumphantly towards riki. "so?" you prompted, placing your hands on your hips and shifting your weight to one side.

riki tilted his head slightly and studied you for a few moments, letting his gaze drag down your figure before flitting back up to meet your own. "your transitions are weak," he finally said, causing your jaw to drop.

"i'm sorry?" you asked, baffled.

riki wordlessly stood up and moved far too close to you, grabbing you by the hips and turning you to face the mirror again. "you do it like this," he murmured as he maneuvered your body through the dance movements in slow motions. only after he was satisfied with your now perfected moves did he step away from you, leaving you with shallow breaths and a racing heart.

"now at least i'll have been beaten by a decent performer," he smirked to himself before counting you both in as the song looped once more.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

Note

WIBTA if I tell my partner that they need to sell the gift I gave them last year if they no longer like it?

I gave my partner a gift last holiday season that was supposed to have two separate parts. One of the parts was made out of a material he doesn’t like or use himself for ethical reasons. I didn’t realize it was made out of that material when I bought the gift; I was so excited about my gift idea, that I did not check to see what material each individual part was made from when I initially ordered it. I’ll refer to this disliked material as the “other part”.

When the gift came in the mail, I put the other part aside and decided I wouldn’t give that to him. I intended on returning it. The day after the holiday I did tell him there was supposed to be two parts of the gift, explained what happened/showed him the other part, and asked if he’d like me to make one out of a different material.

I recall him saying that he would maybe like one made from a different fabric, but he now says that he told me to return the other part immediately (I would have needed to keep the other part for measurements and such if I made a different one). Based on my recollection, I kept it and intended to make him another one. I got busy with work and other sewing projects that both he and I would agree are more important (memorializing a loved one who passed), and my adhd brain forgot that I had tucked away the other part somewhere. So it went unreturned, and unused. It’s far too late to return it now, since it’s nearly the next holiday season.

I do recognize that I should have been more careful about what materials each was made out of, and I have apologized to him for this and promised to be more careful in the future.

I did really want to make him a new one out of different material. And I think on some level, I liked the other part and maybe thought I could keep it for myself since I bought it. I do purchase other items made from this material, and have since starting my relationship and moving in together. Desiring to keep it for myself is probably selfish, but I was thinking of eventually buying both parts of the gift for myself anyways.

Recently he found the other part tucked away, and expressed his frustration that I still had it. I apologized, and admitted that part of me wanted to keep it for myself. He said that he hadn’t even used the gift I actually did give him (even though the material was fine) because it reminded him of how I didn’t take the time to check and see what materials both parts were made out of. He said he was hurt by that, and that “it’s a bad memory”. He said he wanted to sell both parts, and I was also really hurt upon hearing that. The gift was themed around a show we both bonded over, and he was so happy opening the part I did actually give him.

I asked him if he wanted me to order him a different “other” part, because the company recently started making them out of other materials (but with a slightly different theme, still about the show but a different season). He said he didn’t want that, and just wanted to get rid of the other part and his gift. For the past few days, I have occasionally brought up the subject, trying to ask more questions about why he feels the way he does and figure out a way to convince him to keep the part of the gift I gave him I initially. I no longer think I can find a way to convince him, and am going to stop trying.

Today we were talking and said something about the show that reminded me of the gift (which he has since wrapped up in a plastic bag and set where it was displayed just a few days ago), and I got sad. He asked why I was sad and I explained, and apologized again for my mistake. He was quiet. Later I told him he could sell both parts if he wanted to, but he said he doesn’t “want anything to do with it”. I realized that he may expect me to take care of selling this gift for him.

I don’t have an eBay account, don’t want to make one for this one thing, and I’m still feeling hurt that he doesn’t want to keep the gift I did actually give him almost a year ago (trying to process these feelings on my own, because logically I know it’s okay to reject a gift). Maybe if he had said he didn’t want the gift last winter, I would’ve returned it or sold it for him. I feel that, since he has kept the gift for so long (he had it displayed on his desk as a pen holder and then in our kitchen even if he didn’t use it as intended), he should be responsible for selling it if he doesn’t like it. So, if he tells me he wants me to take care of selling the gift, WIBTA if I refuse to do it myself?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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