#was like cool cool I don’t care anymore. that was a waste of my time. and was numb to it. i gotta text my friend what happened lol

[sarabyfleetwoodmacmp3]

💭

[lookingfxryou]

Flustered

Notes: A series of small snippets exploring Giyuu and reader’s idiots to lovers relationship <3

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“I could just stare at you forever.”

“Creep.” Came Giyuu’s reply to your flirtation which only made you sigh dramatically.

“Come on! That was a good one! Didn’t you feel your heart skip a beat?” You weren’t one to back down so easily though.

You had befriended the Water Hashira after much efforts and stubbornness from your side, until the poor man had finally relented and did you the honor of replying to your questions.

Lately though, much to Giyuu’s annoyance, you had started flirting with him. (I’m not flirting with you! I’m just trying to make you blush. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”)

And he would rather die before admitting that your one liners, indeed, had some kind of effect on him. You couldn’t really tell though, with the way he always gave you a deadpan expression and a scathing retort. God, he hoped you did not know, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

(Why does he think that, though?)

“The only thing I felt was wanting to reach home faster.”

You pouted and walked a few steps ahead of him, turning back to look at him and walking backwards.

“One of these days, I’ll make you blush so hard that you’ll have a nosebleed.”

That unwillingly pulled out a smile from him which had you beaming. Now that he looked at you, you were really beautiful. Sure you were one of the strongest slayers and had prevailed against a lot of deadly opponents, but there was something about your smile, the way it had your eyes crinkling, that gave him pause. Made him think of you in a totally different way.

Shaking his head, your conversation stopped as you reached his house. You wasted no time in going ahead and calling out for Tanjiro and Nezuko.

(What even were they doing in his home, he had no clue anymore. Something about being in the most quiet and inconspicuous place. As if there was anything inconspicuous about those two.)

“Don’t you have to go home?” He called out making his way inside and you stopped before furrowing your brows at him.

“Don’t steal my babies from me.”

He just sighed and went ahead to his room. God, you were infuriating, had no sense of personal space, kept talking to him–

“Did he come around then?” He could hear Tanjiro’s voice, dull since they were probably farther from his private quarters, but his nonetheless.

He could hear your giggles.

“You are too optimistic, Tanjiro. He still thinks I’m just trying to make him blush.”

A pause.

“Which is true, I suppose, but he doesn’t really take my words seriously.”

“Why don’t you just tell him that you like him?”

Giyuu felt his breath hitch at Tanjiro’s words. There was no way that you liked him. The antisocial, rude, idiotic him.

“And risk him completely shutting down on me, and everyone else? No, I can be patient. Besides I got him to smile today!”

He could hear Tanjiro’s exclamations but his heart was beating so fast that he couldn’t even think properly. Did you really–? But you could choose anyone else–? Why him?

Your voice turned lower, more serious and Giyuu had to strain his ears to hear your next words.

“He’s one of the kindest people I know, Tanjiro. And maybe he doesn’t see it himself but I do. I see the way he is with strangers, helping silently, not asking for anything. I see him with you and Nezuko and how much he cares, even if he doesn’t show it. He deserves so much more and I hope he will get it someday. Until then, I’ll be his friend and stay by his side.”

This was not happening, no, no, no. He could feel it, his skin getting clammy, heart beating fast and the heating of his face.

You thought this much about him?

Your conversation turned to other topics after that and Giyuu moved away to go outside where the cool air caressed his warm, blushing cheeks.

You would never let him live it down if you saw him like this.

Well, since you came all this way to his home, he supposed it was only natural to ask you to have lunch together.

Along with Tanjiro and Nezuko, of course!

Just a normal lunch with friends.

[strang3lov3]

Invisible Line

Summary- Boundary after boundary is crossed when your boss is left with no choice but to share his bed with you.

Roman Roy x F!Reader | 5.8k words

Tags- one bed trope mothafuckas!! mutual masturbation, unprotected piv, cream pie, oral (f receiving), come eating, dirty talk, soft dom!roman, power imbalance, needy and desperate reader, light degradation, manipulative Roman, Roman’s not the nicest but he does let you snuggle him

A/N- This is my first Roman Roy fic, so please be gentle 🫣 I know he’s got his issues with sex, so just play pretend with me. My usual Joel readers, I haven’t forgotten about you, he’s cumming soon 🫡🍆 but if you were feeling so inclined I’d appreciate it if you gave Roman a chance 🥺🩷

I had a fucking team of editors for this fic!! Thank you thank you thank you @noxturnalpascal, @papipascalispunk, @beefrobeefcal and @pinkypromisepascal for polishing this baby up

Fic notifs, Masterlist, Ko-Fi

You’ll never get used to the type of hotels you now stay in. All the lights glittering, floors shining, ceilings so high. You’d call it luxurious, but to your boss, Roman, this is considered modest. You’re always reminded that you and he come from two very different worlds.

As his assistant, you’re accompanying him on his “bullshit amusement park safety meeting in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere,” as Roman had so graciously put it. He’s got such a way with words. He’s exaggerating of course, always so hyperbolic. You’re not in the middle of nowhere, you’re in Nashville, Tennessee. It’s early June and the air is finally beginning to cool for the evening.

“We’re fully booked,” the receptionist says to you after first explaining that no, there’s no mix up of sorts, you had only booked one room and not two adjoining rooms like you’d thought. 

Just fifteen minutes earlier, you helped Roman with his bags and such up to his room. Roman carried the heaviest of his own bags to be a gentleman, call it his soft spot for you or whatever, but just to be a dick, still had you carry his briefcase that he was more than capable of carrying on his own. It is your job, after all. 

When you arrived with him to the spacious room, decorated with abstract wall art and odd sculptures, Roman wasted no time in flopping on the single king sized bed. After seeing no door to connect to an adjoining room, Roman sent you back to reception. “Well, better figure it out,” he said, waving you away, his eyes never once looking away from his phone screen. “I’m set here, so thanks. You can go fuck off. Have a nice evening and all that. Enjoy masturbating in your crispy white bed sheets, courtesy of Hyatt hospitality.” Always so vulgar. You’re not shocked by it anymore. 

“Nothing?” you ask the receptionist. “There’s no way. I just need a single queen, I don’t care what floor it’s on. Isn’t there something?”

“Bonnaroo,” the receptionist explains, once more typing on her keyboard to double check and see if there’s a room for you. “Yeah, I’m sorry, we don’t have any other rooms available. Bonnaroo weekend is always when we’re busiest. People book months in advance. I wish I could help you,” she frowns apologetically. 

You’re not upset. It’s your own fault. And you’d seen Bonnaroo posters around the lobby advertising the shuttle that transports people from the hotel to the festival. And you’d seen the headliners, too. Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, LCD Soundsystem. Friday and Saturday tickets are sold out. You’re not surprised it’s all booked.

“No, I know,” you reply. “It’s my fault.”

You sigh deeply, and the receptionist types into her computer, prints a piece of paper and hands it to you. “This is a list of hotels nearby. Call around, they might have something.” She wishes you good luck, and you pull out your phone to begin making the calls, only then realizing your battery is at 2%. Now you have nowhere to go but back to Roman’s room.

–

You knock on Roman’s door and wait. Nothing. You knock once more, nothing again. You’re about to knock for a third time when Roman finally opens, his shirt a few buttons undone and his belt loosened. “What do you want?”

“Can you let me in?” you ask, “I need to use your phone, please.”

Roman’s taken some getting used to. You never quite know where you stand with him, what exactly he thinks of you. Moment to moment, you never know which Roman you’re gonna get – the flirting Roman, the occasional sweet and tender Roman, or the cold, sarcastic, uncaring and taunting Roman.

 “Can you let me in?” Roman mocks, opening his door wider and guiding you into his room with his hand on your lower back. Taunting Roman. His touch makes your tummy flutter. Something about his unpredictability thrills you, excites you. You’re attracted to it, and you don’t know why. 

Your phone charges by a nearby outlet as you sit at the desk with the room phone as Roman paces around, rifling through his suitcase to find his pajamas. They’re simple looking clothes, pale blue bottoms and a plain white shirt, but you know the cost of the outfit is equivalent to someone’s rent. He changes in front of you, something he’s always done. You’re not exactly sure why he does that or what he’s trying to do, but you do your best to not steal any glimpses of him as you begin calling the numbers on the paper, though the task proves to be difficult. Flirting Roman?

The first hotel on your list is The Hermitage, which is a bust. The Joseph is also a bust. Conrad Nashville, same deal. You’re keeping your voice as low as possible, hoping Roman doesn’t overhear your conversation. The last thing you want to do is give him more ammo. You sigh as you cross out the names on the paper one by one with one of the hotel’s branded pens.

Roman’s on the bed, smirking, rolling his eyes. You can see it in your peripherals. “You fucked up, didn’t you? Forgot to book yourself a room?” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, now calling the fourth and final hotel on your list. 

“You shut up,” Roman says. “Told you to double check.”

You wave a hand in his direction to quiet him. After asking your now three times rehearsed ‘Do you have any rooms available?’ and being met with an apology and a no, you reply to the person on the other end of the call with a “Yup, Bonnaroo, understood. Thank you.” Sighing, you hang up the phone and bury your face in your palms. You know what your only option is here, and you’re scared to look at it, to look at Roman. You know that even if you don’t verbally ask, your eyes will say it all. 

  Roman slides off the bed and makes his way to you, then nudges your foot with his own. “Am I doing you a favor tonight?” 

“I uh…”

“Oh, of course I am. Good thing I’m feeling generous, huh?” Roman’s lips are curled into an almost-sweet smile when you finally look at him. “Bed is mine,” he enunciates. “You can take the floor, I don’t care. Or push those chairs together or some shit.” You look at the chairs he’s referring to and nod. Roman goes back to his bed, and you pull your own set of pajamas from your suitcase, then change in the bathroom. Once out of the bathroom, you push together the chairs that Roman was referring to.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d actually do that. No, no, I was just joking – we’ll share the fucking bed. Yeah?” Roman pats the other side of the bed. “I’m not cruel like that, Christ. Making me feel like some fuckin’ sort of - sort of sadist. Not gonna bite you.”

“Won’t you?” you tease. 

That was the wrong thing to say. Your blood goes cold as Roman glares at you, displeased with your teasing. Reminding you of your place, that even though Roman can joke, make however many unsavory comments as he’d like, you can’t always do the same. Cold Roman. But then Roman cracks a smile, flashing his pretty white teeth and winks, his eyes sparkling. The boss-employee dynamic between you and him is always inconsistent, things going from professional to unprofessional, from friendly to friendlier.

He pulls the covers down the bed, once more patting the space next to him, indicating his invitation for you to join him. You round the bed and slide under the covers, the sheets feeling cool against your bare feet and legs. “You’ve got ulterior motives, don’t you? You fucked up the booking on purpose.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed. “No, Roman.”

“You totally did,” Roman says as you adjust the pillows behind you, “You’re trying to entrap me. You’ve weaseled your way into my bed so you can sue me later for harassment or some shit but I’m telling you, it’s not gonna happen. Trust me when I say that it’s in your best interest to behave yourself.” Roman drags his finger down the center of the bed, bisecting it evenly. “Don’t cross this line. Not even your fuckin’…pinky finger. Got it?”

“Understood, Mr. Roy.”

“Attagirl,” he chirps. “Wait, ew. Jesus Christ, Roman, you call me Roman. Not that Mr. Roy shit. God, that’s gross.”

You’ll take any chance you can to get under his skin after all he does to you. Flipping over on your side, you face the window and watch the city lights dance before pulling out your phone and silently scrolling through Instagram. Roman does similar, though he doesn’t reciprocate the courtesy of doing so quietly. He watches videos at full volume, shaking the bed with his giggles. 

You shift to your other side, now facing Roman, who lays on his back. Your phone rests on the bed as you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks. You don’t often see him look relaxed like how he does now – how sexy he looks in those thin pajamas of his, his biceps toned and his bulge protruding from beneath the fabric of his pants. His usually sleek hair is slightly messy, and you wonder how those silky strands would feel between your fingers as you tug on them, with him holding you close in a tight embrace and his lips connected to yours, swallowing your moans. 

You tell yourself not to think about it, about him. Don’t think, don’t think, god, do not think about him. Don’t think about his thick bulge or his hands or their wrinkles, the bluish-green veins that climb up his knuckles. Don’t think about his waist, don’t think about his soft tummy, or the thin line of hair leading down his groin and beneath his pants. 

Roman’s looking at you, wearing that sly, cocky grin of his, pleased with the knowledge of what he does to you. He shuts his phone off and turns off the light on his nightstand, the faint glow coming from the open curtains now the only light.

He doesn’t take long to drift into a slumber, though you do, still thinking of the things you shouldn’t be. Images of Roman still dance in your mind for hours, you watch the time go by when you check your phone’s lock screen. You hear his voice in your head, that two word instruction from him playing over like a broken record. Behave yourself. And god, you can fucking smell him. He smells clean, like he always does, with notes of Caroline Herrera’s Bad Boy filling your nostrils – a cologne with a truly obnoxious bottle and an even more obnoxious name. Roman picked it out one time you were with him while he was shopping, just to piss you off. You’ve never hated the smell, though, and you love it even more on his skin. But he smells like sweat too, just a bit. So masculine and slightly musky, you can almost taste him. 

Your hand has moved on its own accord underneath your shirt and between your breasts. You’re not sure when it happened, but you become acutely aware of it when your knuckles brush against your nipple and you gasp. 

Roman stirs in his sleep, but he’s dead to the world. And you’re good at keeping yourself quiet – at least you think you are. 

You turn your head to look at Roman, pinching and twisting at your nipples. Alternating between soft and hard, gentle and rough touches. Roman’s got his arm draped over his head, his palm so close to you. You imagine it’s that hand, his hand, squeezing and groping the soft flesh of your breasts, pretending that tingling feeling when you drag your thumbs over your sensitive buds is his tongue, all hot and wet. You let yourself breathe, the quietest moans escaping your lips. 

And then you let your fingers dip lower, your fingertips skating down your body, feeling your sides and the soft curve of your tummy, your hips. Your hand goes lower and lower, your thighs parting as you find your core but not moving your legs wide enough to cross Roman’s invisible line. Tracing your lips first, your fingers travel closer to where you need to feel them the most. You’re wet, so fucking wet as you press your middle finger against your hole, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit.

You shift in the bed, spreading your legs wider and now circling your clit with your middle and ring fingers, dipping them into your entrance once more to gather your arousal and drag it up through your folds. Massaging yourself, you still pretend it’s Roman’s hand as you take in that sweet feeling that’s quickly beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each circle of your fingertips on your clit, fighting yourself to keep your hips as still as can be.

Romans voice startles you. “For a second I wondered if we’re near a fuckin’... earthquake, or uh– fault line or something, but you’re just rubbing one out next to your boss. Wow. Do you always shake the bed this much when you masturbate?” 

You gasp, “Roman.”

“Or just when you’re next to me?” You’re not really sure what the right move here is. You could pull your hand from under your pants, but Roman’s already caught you red handed. Leaving your hand between your thighs is not the right move either. “Funny,” he adds, “I thought we just had a conversation about behaving. Didn’t we?”

“I know, I–”

“I mean, you get brownie points for not crossing the line in the bed, I guess,” Roman lifts the covers of the bed, then reaches for your knee and gently pushes it back on your side of the bed. “But you are crossing all sorts of other lines. You must think you’re sneaky. I heard you moaning, you know,” he accuses. He mocks you then, all snark and derision as he lets out exaggerated and breathy moans you’re almost sure you weren’t making. Roman, oh, Roman! Yeah, right there, Roman, please…

 “Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?” he asks as he reaches for your jaw with one of his hands, turning you to look at him. He pinches, fingertips digging into the softness of your cheeks. No hiding now. “Is that what gets you off?” 

“No,” you stammer. 

“Liar.”

The air feels thick and Roman’s hazel eyes are dark, inky black, perhaps from the lack of light or maybe, you think, his own arousal? No, probably not. He looks genuinely pissed and you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, his intense gaze making you squirm. But you can’t seem to look away, either. He allows a silence to hang heavily between you both as he stares at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. And that’s when you notice it – with the hand that’s not holding your jaw, he’s stroking his cock underneath his pants. You can see the bulge, the shifting of his hand. 

“You’re touching yourself too,” you point out.

“Yeah, now I am. I’m a man. You made blood rush to my penis with your fucking moans and your Roman this and Roman that,” he huffs. Pulling down his pants and letting his cock spring free, he continues, “So my dick is hard. It should be your problem to deal with, but I’m bailing you out yet again. Always cleaning your— fuck,” he stutters, “Your messes.”

You have no clue what’s happening here. Roman lets go of his cock for a moment and he reaches for your arm, guiding you to start moving your hand once again. “Get it out of your system,” he says. “Go on. You didn’t have an issue fucking yourself next to me five minutes ago, did you?”

Cautiously, as with Roman you know full well that this could be a trap, you begin to move your hand with his guidance. “Yeah, good girl,” he whispers in a hushed, almost imperceptible tone, one that you probably weren’t supposed to hear. “God, I can’t believe you,” he says more clearly this time. “You better make it quick. We’re getting this over with, and we’re not looking at each other. Call it your punishment or something, just fuckin’—  take care of yourself.”

Roman adjusts so he’s flat on his back and resumes stroking his cock. His eyes are screwed shut and you’re watching his chest rise and fall, fully breaking the rule he just set. But you can’t help yourself, he looks so gorgeous like this. His pubic hair is longer than you would have expected Roman to have, but gorgeous nonetheless. He’s not the longest but his head is wide and round, with thick veins climbing his shaft. 

“You’re watching, you fucking creep,” he says in a breathy tone, his words slightly broken. He’s not looking at you, only at the ceiling above. “Breaking the rules. You have a hard time with that, don’t you? Look, I can follow rules. Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

Roman rolls his eyes at that, then flips on his side to finally look at you. A flicker of what looks to be relief quickly washes over his features, but quickly disappears. He reaches for your shirt, hiking it up your torso and tugging – up, take it off. You do as he asks, taking off your top and exposing your breasts to the chill of the air in the hotel room. 

“I hope you know that I’m not gonna touch you,” Roman says. 

“I know,” you breathe. “I know you won’t, I just, I just…”

“Just what?” Roman asks, still stroking his cock. You take off the rest of your pajamas and adjust yourself slightly, then spread your legs wide, the invisible line be damned as your knees fall back toward your chest and you rub your swollen clit. God, how you need his fingers inside you. You’d fuck yourself on your own fingers, but it won’t satisfy you in the way you think Roman could. “Spit it out,” Roman demands. 

Fuck it. You’ll deal with whatever consequences later. In the boldest of moves, you reach for the hand that strokes his cock and bring it to your pussy, guiding Roman’s middle and ring fingers to your entrance and pushing them inside. 

Roman wears a twisted sort of smile as he curls his fingers inside you, now playing his own game with you. He taunted you with an accusation of ulterior motives, but it was all talk, like how most of Roman is. He suspected this before, but now he's certain: you have nothing but need for him. Amused by it, he’s now playing his game with you. As you moan for him he wonders, how much can he toy with you, drag this out? How much will you beg for him? Your hand is wrapped around his cock now by your own choice, he wonders how low will you sink, and how high will he feel by the end of whatever this is? 

You’re inching closer to him. Desperate. 

“Your hand is wrapped around my cock,” he whispers. “And you buried my fingers inside your cunt. Is something not clicking in that head of yours?”

“So good,” you breathe. You work his shaft, twisting your hand up and down. He’s thick, veiny, his head feels smooth in your palm. Roman’s touch is firm as removes your hand from his cock to hover it beneath your chin. “Spit,” he tells you. You’re so pliant, and do as you’re told, spitting into your own palm, Roman putting it back where he wants it. “Wow. I pull my cock out and you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” 

All you do is nod. 

“God you’re soaked. Are you always this soaked for me? Just walking around all day, panties fuckin’ ruined?”

“Sh– shut up.”

Oh, you’ve still got some bite left. Roman wonders how quickly he can make that diminish. “Poor thing, did I hit a nerve? You wanna fuck me that badly? Are you really that desperate for your boss?” You say nothing, just inch even closer to Roman now. You hook a leg over his hip, moving your cunt towards what you need most from him, slowly guiding him in your hand ever closer to your entrance and hoping he’ll remove his fingers from you and replace them with his cock. And thank god, he does it. He pushes your hand away, gripping his member and notching the tip in your entrance. Fucking finally.

But he only collects your wetness on his tip, then spreads it down his shaft. He pushes his pelvis forward, rubbing his cock against your hooded clit and making you shiver. 

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he taunts, now dragging his cockhead down your dripping seam. 

“Roman,” you whine. 

“Roman,” he says, mimicking your whine, exaggerating how pathetic you sound. “Is that all you can say?”

“Fuck me,” you gasp. “Just fuck me, Roman.” 

“Yeah, I know. You know my name and how to nag me to fuck you. I get it. What you’re not getting is that I don’t care. It’s not gonna happen tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that… Just gonna fuckin’ play with you like this,” he hums, now pushing his cock up against your clit again, tapping you. “Yeah, you’re good. This is… this is good. I’ve been so bored recently, you know? Wonder what happens when I do this,” Roman stops tapping his head against your sensitive clit, now sliding himself left and right across your sex. He bites his bottom lip when you gasp and squirm.

“I wonder if I could make you come just doing this,” he muses, continuing to tease you. “I know I could. I could blow my load on your pussy right now and make you clean up a mess for once. Is that what you need? For me to show you what you’re meant for?”

Maybe, you think. Maybe not. You don’t know what you think. You need his cock. Roman pushes himself forward, fitting just his head into your hole again. And you think it’s coming, the fullness, the pressure, the ache and the stretch and the burn. He’s bent on his two prior rules, but compromise never comes. He doesn’t give in to you. Roman’s grinning, giggling to himself as he draws his hips backward, denying you. Watching how you struggle for him, how you whine and squirm and push your hips towards him. “Is it?” he asks. 

“Fuck, is what?”

“Is that what you need?”

“Yeah, I need you to fuck me. Roman, please. Need it – need you inside.” 

 Roman pushes out an exhale somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. That’s not what I asked at all. Is listening really that hard for you? What do they call that, tunnel vision but for hearing. Tunnel hearing? I don’t think that’s right.” 

“I’m sorry–”

“Google it for me.”

“Roman.”

“What the fuck do you think I hired you for? Google it. For me. Thanks.”

Roman lifts his dick again, rubbing it against your clit and then lining himself up again, all as you scramble for your phone and quickly open Safari. ‘Funnel visipn bur for hearin g’ is what you type, the combined sensations of Roman’s teasing and the too-bright screen making your task difficult. “Audi-auditory exclusion,” you manage to tell him. 

“Lemme see it,” Roman takes your phone from your hand, squinting at the screen. “Auditory exclusion is a form of temporary loss of hearing occurring under high stress,” he reads in his phony serious tone, still teasing you, bumping into your clit and then notching himself at your entrance, again and again and again. Giving you just a taste of what you know he could offer you instead. He’s opening Wikipedia now. “Auditory exclusion happens as a result of the physiological effects of the acute stress response, specifically an increased heart rate.”

“Fuck me, Roman, fuck me, please, I’m begging, please, please…”

“Begging’s nice, good. Very good. Very cute. But uh–” Roman points to your phone, “I’m busy reading here, so maybe quiet down. I really don’t want to hear it,” he laughs breathlessly, but nothing about this is funny to you. You’re in tears now. Tears of anger, frustration, shock. Roman lines up with your slick hole, just as he’s done repeatedly before. He notices your tears, “My god, you’re crying for it. So desperate, aren’t you?” he mocks your pout, wiping away your tears. You tell him you need him. “Need me? What a strong word. Yeah, I know that you need me. Message clear. God, you repeat yourself a lot. Fucking annoying.” 

Fuck this. Roman’s still on Wikipedia and down some rabbit-hole not even related to auditory exclusion. He’s stopped teasing you, his cock just resting, nestled at your entrance as he scrolls. And you take your chance. 

You reach for his shoulders and flip yourself so you’re above him, then sink down on his cock. Roman’s startled but he moans as he disappears into you and you sigh, finally feeling that stretch of his cock you’ve been craving since you don’t even know when – long before tonight. Roman watches where your body connects to his, seemingly shocked. He scoffs. “Oh, fuck you.”

Roman pushes your body off of his, he’s small but stronger than he looks. He flips you on your tummy and his touch is harsh but just what you need when he finally grabs your hips, placing his palm between your shoulder blades and forcing your chest down to the mattress. He was somewhat gentle when he was teasing you before, but all of that is gone now, as he lines up with your entrance and slams his hips into you, rocking you forward. He pulls out almost all the way before doing it again, harder. So many noises. You – gushing on his cock, moaning, crying out for him. Roman – his thighs slapping against yours, his grunts and his curses and breathy groans. The bed creaking with each of his thrusts. Roman fills you up better than you could imagine – fucking perfectly –hitting your walls, that sweet spot inside you. 

“So fucking wet for your boss. What’s that say about you, huh?”

Roman grips your hips tight – too tight. He’s denting his nails into your skin and it hurts, his thumbs are digging into your lower back. There’s no fluidity to his thrusts, no steady roll of his hips. Just Roman, parting your insides with the harsh rutting of his hips. His heavy balls swinging, bouncing against your clit, his soft tummy warm against your back. 

He sets a steady rhythm, a rhythm for his pleasure alone. Fucking you seemingly in two, exactly how you want it. Of course you want it this way. He can hear it in your muffled whimpers and cries, he wonders if the sheets are stained under your face, soaked with your tears. Roman holds your waist, forcing you up with your back against his chest. “Fuck,” you cry, and Roman wraps a hand over your mouth, the other is groping your breasts. Not that he doesn’t love the sounds you’re making for him, he just wants to give you another reminder of who’s in charge here – of how this is gonna go down, according to Roman. 

He tugs your earlobe between his teeth, his nose nudging your cheek. His mouth travels lower then, he bites at your neck where it meets your shoulders, the stubble on his cheeks scratching your skin. He’s sucking at your flesh hard enough to leave a mark – for what reason, he’s not entirely sure. To punish and to hurt you, humiliate you, maybe even mark you as his. It’s possessive and primal in essence, how the way you need him so fervently makes him feel powerful in a way he often does not. And you’re not helping your case at all, with your squirming and your whimpers only egging him on. You tried to take what you need from him, but he’ll drill into your head that you’ll only receive what he’s willing to give to you.

He wonders what comes after this. If you’ll turn on your side in bed, leaking with his come and hiding yourself from him, or if maybe you’ll cling to him instead. He knows that he’ll lay next to you after this and wonder what you’ll be like for the rest of this trip. Will you be shyer, about the same as usual, or maybe even bold? He’ll experiment with you, see how you react to a cold shoulder or a shower of attention. See what you’ll do when he squeezes your ass, or when sitting next to him in the car, the helicopter, or at dinner when his hand finds your thigh and inches closer to your sex. Will you lean into it? Will you squirm and push his hand away?

His hands travel along your sides and down your torso, he can tell you’re loving his touch. You’re shameless in your reaction to him, your pussy squeezing him, your wanton moans. Curious, Roman reaches for your clit just to see how you’ll respond. He teases you, tries to write his name with his fingertips into you. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin, the obscenity of your pussy’s slick noises. He’s not going to last much longer, that is quite clear. 

He doesn’t care to try to make you finish first, as a gentleman should, although Roman nor anyone else would describe himself as such. You’re on his time. He knows how desperate you are to come, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get his first, something he doesn’t often get otherwise. And so his pace quickens, still biting and nipping at the flesh of your neck and shoulders. He bets that in all those late-night fantasies of yours about this moment, touching yourself in the dark, you didn't picture him being a biter. This much is evident with your pussy clenching on him and your short gasps showing your surprise. 

He savors that feeling in every inch of himself – the power he holds knowing you’re aching not only to come on his cock, but to feel his touch, to experience him. It’s still just a game to Roman. Maybe it’ll always be a game. He’s not sure yet. 

His cock twitches inside you, that warm and sticky feeling in his balls is beginning to crescendo. “I need to come,” you beg. “Roman, please make me come, I need-.”

“Shut up. I don’t care.”  Roman fucks you with frenzied thrusts, and he doesn’t pull out to stroke himself above you, doesn’t ask you if you’re on the pill or if you want him to come on your ass or your tits or in your mouth. Roman shamelessly lets himself go and fills you with his hot spend. His noises are like music as he comes inside you, melodic grunts and moans coming from deep within him. And you take it all, everything he gives you because that’s what you’re meant for. 

Roman takes heaving breaths above you, pulling out and his spend spills onto the comforter. He doesn’t give a shit. And as you collapse down onto your hands and knees you think that’s that, that he really doesn’t care. That all of this was probably about Roman savoring the feeling of having control over another person, and that dangling pleasure over her head is how he’ll get it. 

Roman climbs off the bed and you’re trembling. He flips you onto your back, pulls you forward by your legs so that your sex is centered with his face as he kneels at the edge of the bed. His mind has changed quickly – first he wanted to know what would happen if he didn’t make you come. He thought next about eating you out from behind, denying you connection as he tastes you, buries himself in your most intimate place. But you’ve done well for him, and it’s clear that you’ll take what he gives you at any cost. Roman watches you with hooded eyelids, offering you that connection as he brings his face to your center, licking a thick stripe up your cunt. Call it his soft spot. 

“Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.”

Roman dives back into you, and you hesitate before reaching for his scalp. Tentatively, you do it anyway, just to see if he’ll react. He might smack your hands away, maybe he’ll place them down on the bed. You’re sure he won’t hold them. 

He lets your hands linger. Your fingers tug on those sleek strands of hair as he eats you, his scruff chafing your thighs. His eyes alternate between fluttering shut and peering up at you as dips his tongue into your entrance, licking his spend from your folds. He brings a hand to your cunt, two of his fingers pushing into your heat as his tongue dances circles around your clit. He’ll never tell you how sweet you taste on his lips. 

“Yes, oh god, Roman.” He’s kissing your cunt, lapping at your folds, his tongue teasing all of that sensitive flesh. His fingers curl inside you at the same time he sucks your clit between his lips, making you writhe for him. “Right there, Roman.” 

You’re not sure if he’s indulging himself or you at this moment. He eats you like a man starved, he eats you like it's his artwork. Nipping at your folds, his fingers inside you never once faltering their movements. You grind against his mouth as his tongue flicks and swirls. After all that’s taken place tonight, it doesn’t take you long to come. You bite down on your moans as pleasure washes over you, and you come on Roman’s tongue, gushing into the palm of his hand. When he’s ensured that he’s milked you entirely, he pulls away and takes his place back on his side of the invisible line. 

Roman had wondered if - once in bed - would you cling to him or turn away, but he doesn’t allow you that choice. Instead, he takes your wrist between his fingers as he turns away, curling on his side, effectively wrapping your body to spoon around his. He keeps your arm secured firm under his, tucked around his torso. Tender Roman. You’re on edge, he’s been relatively quiet this whole time, and you’re expecting some snarky comment or a vulgar insult. “I swear to god, I will smother you with my fucking pillow if you snore,” is all he says. His threat, albeit baseless, comforts you. 

-

[manfuckthisimout]

I promise to god if that man looked at me like this?

FOLDED IMMEDIATELY!

Let me take you through my mid for a moment:

Yoongi doesn’t argue.

He simply doesn’t have the energy to waste on something little and petty like that.

Unless it’s something relationship changing, he’s not going to dwell on it. He prefers to squash the little stuff in favor of peace and solitude.

But that doesn’t mean you can talk crazy to him.

“You know what, fuck the dinner! I don’t care anymore, you can starve for all I care!” Yoongi has been coming home late for three days now, often taking his work home with him. You came into his home studio to ask him what he wanted you to make for dinner, but you were only met with short answers. “Like I said babe, make whatever you want. I’m gonna eat it regardless, just lemme finish this.”

Yoongi was knee deep in producing something or another for some artist in the industry. His work was superb, but he often threw himself into it, often neglecting eating or sleeping for hours at a time. You just wanted to sit down and have a nice meal with your boyfriend, is that too much to ask? “I’m asking you because I want to make something you’d eat now, not after I go to bed.” You spat, eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m still gonna eat regardless, what does it matter the time?” Yoongi replies, his voice cool. You can’t see his expression, for his back is turned to you, but you just know that furrow that appears when he’s focused on two things at once is present between his brows.

You storm over beside his desk, forfeiting your position in the doorway a few seconds prior. “I know you eat Yoongi, but it’s timing that matters! You can’t keep neglecting your needs for some stupid beat that will still be here tomorrow!” You holler, your frustration getting the better of you. His eyebrows raised at the mention of his name. You kept going, “Y’know, why is it you keep bringing this shit home anyway? Are you too busy at work doing something else than get this done? Or someone? Am I not enough for you anymore Yoongi? Is that it?” You seethe.

Yoongi’s head whipped up and over to you so fast you hardly saw it happen. His chair was turned around now, parallel to you standing beside his desk.“What did you say? Say it again.” He says, his voice dangerously low. He was looking at you, daring you to make your assumption again. You were taken aback, almost tripping over his chair due to the sheer closeness of him. But stupidly, you did not yield. “Are you sleeping with another girl! Is that why you seemingly never have anytime for me anymore?” You hiss. His brows raise further, pinching at the top of his forehead to make wrinkles in his skin. He looks positively bewildered, speechless by your audacity.

You two stay like what feels like an eternity. Not blinking, hardly breathing. Suddenly Yoongi turns in his chair and unceremoniously closes his laptop. He’s up and out to his chair a moment later, and approaching you. Cornering you onto the couch that sits besides his desk. “You think…I would cheat on you? Over something as petty as dinner?” His voice is still that same tone, and you suddenly feel like prey about to get eaten whole by its predator. You’re fucked. Suddenly your knees are weak and you can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Yoongi’s eyes are slits, his brows still in that same pinch from when he was sitting down.

“I get the taking care of myself part. I get you wanted to do something nice for me. But assuming I’m cheating on you because I took home some work? I don’t know how you could think that,” Yoongi says, cool and collected. He’s cornered you so far that you’ve fell onto the couch, on your back, facing him. He climbs on top of you. Lowers his face inches from yours. “I have everything I need laying out in front of me. Why would I ever step out?” He says softly.

You’re speechless, a flush crept onto your cheeks. You can feel his breath fanning over you. He’s looking deep into your eyes, following your head movements to keep the contact going. “Answer me, hm? Why would I do that?” Yoongi leans down to press fleeting kisses into your neck. “I-I don’t know…” You say, meek and shy with your words. You feel like an idiot for ever thinking it. Here is this man, tired, hungry—still proving to you that he loves you no matter what.

“You don’t know and..?” Yoongi replies. He pulls from your neck, resting his lips onto your forehead. “I was silly for thinking it. I-I know you would never do that to me. I’m sorry honey.” Yoongi pecks your forehead, leaning back to look at you. He smiles. “I forgive you. Just—don’t do that to me again, please? I don’t know if my heart can take it.” You nod. “Can I have a kiss?” You ask, shyly looking into his eyes. “Of course my love.”

Note: I’ve never written anything this long! (At least not about yoongi lol) this was going to be short like the rest of my content, but it turned into this.

I hope you enjoy!

[heavenlyvision]

next time? pairing: Bi-Han x reader wc: 800 warnings: tiniest bit suggestive (only if you squint), idiots, bad flirting, no pronouns or y/n used !! a/n; i wrote this because i was feeling silly and missing him. this is readers poor attempt at flirting with him and Bi-Han's odd and unreadable reactions :3 i just think he's neat !

Craving Bi-han, wanting him close by, wanting to feel his cool flesh pressed close to yours, his breath tickling your ear. It’s all you think about, it’s been haunting you day and night and you don’t know how to deal with it. The powerful need that’s been overwhelming you, it’s infiltrating you in ways that make you look like a complete idiot. Not only is he completely unapproachable but he must think you are some kind of idiot after every interaction you do have with him. It’s becoming too embarrassing, anytime you have to talk with him concerning something, you fumble and mumble and fall all over yourself in general, just from being in front of him.

Every time Liu Kang sends you to talk with Bi-Han on his behalf, you deflate a little, excited to have a reason to speak with him but mostly dreading your awkward and flustered nature. He could kill you on the spot… but he makes you nervous for a whole other reason. It’s getting hard to look him in the eyes when you’ve unfortunately thought about him in much more… compromising positions. Why are you sexualising the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?

Bi-Han looks down his nose at you, “Get it together.”

Your eyes grow wide, forgetting you actually have to speak for information to be exchanged, “Sorry! I uhm…. Got distracted.”

He doesn’t answer, unamused by how much of his time you’re wasting, he does raise a single brow at you though, still waiting for you to tell him why you’re standing in front of him.

“Oh! Liu Kang asked me to tell you he needs to meet later than he initially said, he’s gotten busy,” you’re shuffling from foot to foot, uncomfortable in front of him, especially since this news is going to piss him off.

You flinch as he groans and his hands move as he asks, “Why? What’s so important he’s made me come all the way here only to wait?” He’s still angry but he drops his hands again, taking note of the way you flinched.

“He… uhh…” you’re trying to think of something to cover for Liu, in all honesty he didn’t tell you why he only told you to tell Bi-Han that he’d have to wait a bit.

“You have no idea, do you?” You shake your head at him and he rolls his eyes, frustration palpable, “What good are you?”

You frown mostly to yourself, “I’m plenty good, it’s not my fault you’re impatient,” you huff. “You will have to wait, like every other human does at least once in their lives,” your words are direct, he’s upset you. You don’t wait for a response from him, instead turning back in the direction you came and walking away hurriedly.

Bi-Han is left standing, surprised by your outburst, not having expected it from you.

⋆⁺₊❅.

When you run into him again, he’s coming back from talking with Liu Kang, seemingly calmed down. You don’t approach him, you stay sitting where you are, waiting for him to pass you by. Instead, he shocks you by standing in front of you, it seems like, he’s always looking down at you.

“I’m not sorry for earlier,” he grumbles at you.

You are confused, mostly because you don’t really care anymore anyways, “…Okay?”

He stands idly for a few moments before asking, “What are you doing?”

You don’t really know how to answer that, so you awkwardly say, “Sitting.”

“You are bad at conversation,” he considers you for a moment before moving to sit next to you on the stone bench.

You guffaw at him, “Me?”

He only offers a simple, “Yes.”

The two of you sit in complete silence, clearly both of you are bad at conversation. You break it first, with possibly the stupidest question you could ask, stupid for so many reasons, “Do you… come here often?”

He eyes you, contemplating for a moment, before deciding not to answer at all. Apparently not deeming it necessary.

Something is apparently possessing you to have loose lips today because you go on to say, “You look… nice today, uh not that you look bad other days, I mean maybe you do but when…when I see you, you look good…uhm…”

It looks like he smirks for a second before it’s gone, “Are you… flirting with me?”

You cringe involuntarily, “I think I might be trying to, yes?”

“Interesting,” he smiles to himself and then stands, “Until next time,” he addresses you by name as he walks away.

What… what the hell was that interaction? What did he mean? Why is your heart racing so hard at seeing his amused smile. You can’t tell if he liked your flirting or thought it was funny how dumb you are. Oh gods, what will he say next time.

⋆⁺₊❅.

[melzula]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!!!! okay this has been a long time coming for me but would you be open to doing a general iroh and kya’s daughter wedding piece ? i feel like that’s the only part of their relationship we haven’t seen !

a/n: was so excited to get this request bc i love these two so much!!!

~ based off of these headcanons ~

“You look beautiful.”

“I think I’m going to puke,” you utter with a nervous laugh, anxiously fidgeting with the ceremonial pins in your hair that you just can’t seem to get straight.

Sighing, Kya carefully pushes your hands away before adjusting the pins herself. The golden ornate pieces had been a gift from Zuko, said to have belonged to his late wife and worn on their own wedding day, and though you were grateful for the thoughtful gift you also felt that an immense amount of pressure came with them. Marrying Iroh meant you’d officially be part of the royal family now, and a part of you was worried you wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations that came with that.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” your mother consoles, stepping back to admire her work once the pins are set. “Today is an important day and the start of another adventure for you, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“I don’t feel like a real bride,” you admit in an almost defeated tone. You stare at your reflection in the mirror and find yourself carefully brushing your fingers against the crescent moon hanging from your neck. The coolness of the stone against your fingertips brings a sense of comfort to you, but it doesn’t relieve you of your nerves.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Kya asks with a worried furrow of her brows.

“Of course not!” You’re quick to interject. “I love Iroh, I can’t imagine a life without him anymore.”

“But?” Your mother prods.

“But… What if I’m not good at being a wife? What if I’m just not… not good at all. He’s the General and the son of the Fire Lord. What can I give him that he doesn’t already have or that he couldn’t get from a Fire Nation woman here?”

Smiling faintly, Kya gently takes your hands in her own and gives them a comforting squeeze. “That boy loves you more than you could ever know. I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he speaks about you. I wouldn’t have given him my blessing if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of this. Don’t compare yourself or waste your time wondering about all the what ifs. All you have to do today is focus on Iroh, and everything else will take care of itself.”

You let out a shaky breath and blink back your tears before throwing your arms around your mother in a tight hug. You know she speaks the truth, and her comforting words greatly ease your anxiety. You’d fallen in love with the boy from your childhood, and he’d fallen just as hard for you if not harder. Despite being apart for so many years you’d found your way back to each other and helped one another find the missing piece in your lives. You and Iroh are simply meant to be, and your wedding will be proof that.

A gentle knock on the door has you parting from your mother, and as Bumi sticks his head in the doorway you smile.

“It’s almost time, kiddo,” he says with a grin. “The general’s going to get his socks knocked off when he sees you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bumi,” you laugh tearfully before allowing him to hug you tight. You don’t know this, but Bumi has always felt a sort of paternal love for you. He was the closest thing you had to a father growing up and you were the closest thing he had to a child, and like your mother he felt so much pride and love at seeing you so happy. He knew you were in good hands, and that was more than enough for him.

“Are you ready?” Kya asks with an encouraging smile. Sucking in one final nervous breath, you nod before taking her arm and beginning your walk to the palace gardens.

In the courtyard a handful of chairs are set up for your intimate ceremony. Only close friends and family are invited, neither you nor Iroh wanted to make a grand spectacle of your marriage, so you decided to hold your wedding in the gardens with his mother Izumi as your officiant.

At the end of the makeshift isle, Iroh stands in his uniform with a fire lily delicately pinned to his lapel. He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other eagerly awaiting for your arrival. He’s been looking forward to this day ever since he proposed to you, and he can’t wait to finally make you his wife after all this time.

“You make a handsome husband, son,” Izumi compliments from her place beside him. “It brings me great joy to see you so happy.”

“Thank you for agreeing to officiate the wedding, mother,” Iroh expresses gratefully.

“I knew it was a matter of time before you two fell in love,” she notes with a careful smile. “I know she’ll make a wonderful wife.”

Beaming with pride, Iroh’s gaze falls upon the garden gates where you finally emerge. Arm linked with Kya’s and with a bouquet of flowers in the other hand, you make the most radiant bride Iroh has ever seen. Your gown flows elegantly behind you as you walk, your hair sparkles from the sunlight hitting the pins, and your smile is enough to take his breath away. He can feel himself beginning to tear up, and it takes everything in him not to rush towards you and take you in his arms himself.

Kya hugs you tight once you reach the end of the isle, doing her best to keep her tears at bay before letting you go. Carefully tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face, she smiles before handing you off to Iroh.

“Take good care of my daughter,” she whispers before chastely kissing his cheek.

The butterflies in your stomach are quieted when you finally reach Iroh. Nothing else but him matters in that moment, and as his golden irises stare into your own you find yourself falling in love all over again.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispers with a tearful laugh.

“So do you,” you smile, carefully wiping your tears so as to not ruin your makeup.

Your ceremony goes without a hitch, and when Izumi officially proclaims you as husband and wife Iroh gracefully dips you before giving you the most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced. Your family and friends cheer and applaud, but it all fades into the background as you grip his sleeves and melt into his touch.

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you,” he professes earnestly after parting from your kiss.

“Forever and always,” you agree breathlessly before pulling him down by his collar for another kiss.

| atla tags: @nataliahaslosthershit @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer @niktwazny303

[jeannineee]

okay but Az with the somnophilia for the bingo card. i would die for that stuff

Careful

Azriel x Reader

a/n: based on this bingo card. Let me preface this by saying when I write somno, it is consented to PRIOR to occurring. I don’t write noncon lol.

Nsfw under the cut (18+ please)

The moment Azriel stepped into your bedroom, the scent of your arousal hit him, full force.

But you were asleep, wearing only his shirt. The hem was lifted just enough to expose a bit of your ass to him. Your gentle breathing filled the room, mixed with the occasional breathy moan.

“Oh…Azriel…”

The words made Azriel’s cock twitch in his pants. He quickly slipped off his clothing, carefully climbing above your sleeping form. He slowly, gently turned you onto your back. You rustled a bit, but didn’t wake.

Azriel lifted the shirt, until your breasts were exposed to him. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit them, and his mouth watered at the sight. He ran his hands over your breasts, down your stomach, over your hips.

Another soft moan fell from you, and Azriel couldn’t help himself from running a single finger through your slick folds.

“So fucking wet,” he cursed, teasing his finger at your entrance.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, Azriel thought you’d wake. You didn’t though, and he slid his finger into you, a low growl crawling up his throat as you immediately tightened around him. He worked you slowly, savoring the wet noises that filled the room with each pump of his finger.

He wasted no time in adding a second finger, his pace still slow. “Gotta get you ready for me,” he murmured to himself. His fingers continued their work for another minute, but as those pretty whimpers of yours started echoing about the room, Azriel couldn’t take it anymore.

Azriel stroked his throbbing cock a few times as he lined himself up with your entrance. He filled you slowly, a string of curses leaving his lips as your cunt enveloped him.

“Fucking made for me,” Azriel breathed, thrusting into you gently, despite the fact that he wanted to fuck you senseless. “Squeezing my cock so tight.”

Azriel groaned as your walls fluttered around him, the noise loud enough that it woke you.

“Mmm—what—Az, what—oh!” your voice was still heavy with sleep, cheeks flushed as you realized what was happening.

“Relax, baby,” Azriel said, bringing a hand to circle your clit, his thrusts quickly growing more forceful. “Let me take care of you.”

“Azriel—fuck, Az, oh, yes, yes,” you moaned helplessly, already on the brink of release. Azriel noticed it, driving his pelvis against that spot that had you seeing stars.

You cried out, body quivering as your orgasm ripped through you. Azriel’s hand still circling your clit through the aftershocks.

“Fuck, there you go. Take it like a good girl,” Azriel said, groaning as his release spurted into you, his warmth coating your walls.

Azriel pulled out slowly, collapsing on the bed beside you. “Are you okay?” He asked, pulling you against his chest.

You nodded tiredly, nestling against him. “This was a good idea.”

[headkiss]

can I request joel taking care of reader who is seriously injured? I’m thinking maybe something gets infected and she gets really sick, so he is catering to her every need? I love the hurt/comfort dynamic because I feel like his love language is acts of service!!

hiii it’s a teeny bit different but i hope u still like it!!! | 0.7k angst to fluff, tw for an injury and blood!

“You’re gonna be fine.”

The voice is so clearly Joel’s, that you could never miss, but you can’t tell if it’s real. Your vision is hazy, ears ringing, you’re not sure where you are anymore.

It all happened so fast. Your shift with Joel, the raiders coming out from nowhere, fighting them off, the searing pain of a knife in your side. Everything after that is blank, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“You hear me? You’re gonna be okay,” it’s him again, and you can feel his arms around you, carrying you back to Jackson, probably.

“Joel,” you muster out his name before closing your eyes again.

“‘M right here.”

He’s trying his best to be composed, to be strong for you, but the blood soaking your shirt has his hands shaking and his mind reeling with a memory that never seems to stop haunting him. But he won’t lose you, he can’t.

By the time Jackson comes into view, you’ve been quiet, but Joel’s hand that holds your head up can feel the pulse in your neck. You’re gonna live because you have to, because he can’t lose you, especially not like this. Not when he hasn’t said the things he wants to tell you.

Tommy’s the one who sees Joel carrying you first, and then there’s yelling and people clearing a path, and then Joel’s laying you down on a bed at the doctor’s.

It feels like hours in the waiting room before someone steps out and Joel stands right away.

“It’s gonna be alright,” the doctor says, nodding to the hall behind him, “go ahead.”

Joel doesn’t waste a second, nodding and rushing back into the room. He finds you, laying down, breathing, alive. He pulls up the guest chair and sits down next to your bed, reaching out and grabbing your hand.

When you wake up, you feel something cool being pressed to your forehead. Your senses come back slowly, hearing Joel’s voice mumbling something you can’t make out, then feeling his hand clasped around yours. To make sure you aren’t dreaming it up, you squeeze his hand.

“Come on, wake up,” you hear him say, his thumb running back and forth over your skin. Joel’s never been a man of many words, but he tells you enough with the few he uses.

You blink your eyes open slowly, fluttering and wincing at the brightness until you can see the ceiling of the doctor’s place. You lull your head to the side and see him, hair a mess, eyebrows furrowed (like usual), a frown on his face.

“Joel?” You croak out.

His eyes flick over to yours, and he lifts a damp washcloth from your forehead with the hand that isn’t holding onto yours.

“You’re awake.”

“Everything hurts,” you say, trying to sit up.

“Stop. Let me help you, okay?” He doesn’t let you answer, lifting you gently with an arm around your shoulders to put an extra pillow behind your back. His hand is still in yours. “Can I do something?”

“Water would be nice.”

Joel doesn’t waste a second, twisting around to grab a glass of water on the table next to your bed and then lifting it to your mouth. He tilts it for you, too.

“I could’ve done that,” you say as he puts the glass back down.

“I don’t want you hurting yourself. You lost a lot of blood, and you’ve got stitches.”

It’s then you remember what really happened to you. The raiders, the pain, the flashes of Joel helping you home.

“You saved my life.”

“Did you really think I’d leave you, sweetheart?”

Joel calls you ‘sweetheart’ on rare occasions, when he can’t seem to stop it from slipping, and every time, it makes your heart do a stupid jump.

“No, Joel. I didn’t.”

As quiet as he is, as closed-off and often grumpy, you know that he cares about people, about you.

“I was really fuckin’ scared,” he says, pushing damp baby hairs from your forehead, “I thought I didn’t really get scared anymore.”

“You’re not as cold as you think, Joel.” You blink slowly, squeeze his hand again just to be sure you aren’t hallucinating, “you’re not cold at all.”

“Not with you.”

Joel wants to say so much more, and he will, someday, but he can tell you’re exhausted, your blinks growing longer, heavier. It’s like you’re fighting to stay awake, to keep talking to him.

“You can sleep, sweetheart,” he says, his hand shifting to rest on the side of your head. “You need the rest.”

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He’ll stay as long as you’ll have him.

[irkimatsu]

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

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

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

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

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

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You’ve had way too much to drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like being a cat?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave

I actually wrote a fic, go figure! Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for getting me into Hazbin and @hangsters for the support and love! I got a lot more where this came from <3

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

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They've been told to live tonight however they want. And with tomorrow's Extermination looming and the Hazbin Hotel right in the middle of the target, there's only one thing Angel Dust wants to do.

And that's the bartender.

---

You didn’t wind up in hell without knowing fear. Whether you got there by painting it on other people or seeing it in your reflection or both, it didn’t matter, to everyone down below, fear was like an old friend. 

And to Angel Dust, fear was like a toxic hook up whose calls he couldn’t make himself ignore after years of dissatisfying back alley orgasms. 

All to say, he knew the taste of it, sharp like battery acid and sour like cheap, soapy lube. He knew how it sounded, laughter stretched so thin you could see through it, the whir of a camera lens pulling close to try and see where you were breaking. He knew how it smelled, sweat and latex and dry ice. He knew how it felt, cheap faux fur and overwarm, foreign skin. 

Angel had been sucking fear’s dick for longer than he cared to remember. But what surprised him was that he didn’t see it here. 

They should be scared. They should all be pissing themselves in terror. In who knew how many hours, the worst Extermination they’d known would descend, with their home and everyone in it smack bang in the center of the target. And Heaven wasn’t in the habit of missing their shot. 

But when Angel knocked back another shot of top shelf whiskey, he didn’t taste fear in it. The laughter that surrounded him was real, all he could feel was a warmth that he wasn’t sure came from the drink. 

Maybe this was what fear felt like when you didn’t face it alone. 

“You’re staring.”

Angel didn’t have much of a defense, especially when he hadn’t even realized that Vaggie had moved onto the barstool next to him and jumped a mile when she started speaking, nearly spilling his next shot. Because he was busy staring. 

So he took evasive action instead, trying to piece his cool back together, “Ain’t you got a girlfriend waiting on you upstairs? What are you still doing down here?”

“Finishing my drink,” she gave him a cool, bemused look, proving her point by draining the rest of her glass, “I don’t think any of us are in a position to be wasting alcohol tonight. Or time.”

“Thanks for the riddle, toots,” Angel rolled his eyes, taking the shot before someone else could come along and nearly make him spill it. 

“Want me to say it plainly then?” Vaggie arched an eyebrow. 

Angel scowled but he wasn’t mad at Vaggie, not really. He was more pissed at himself for not hiding it better. The five time winner of the Golden Tongue Award (for best performance in a pornographic visual production) should probably have been able to school his face. 

He let his eyes wander across the bar, if there was no point in hiding it anymore. Husk was tossing a cocktail shaker from one hand to the other before sending it up behind his back, bouncing it between his wings, making it disappear and reappear before pouring out an electric blue liquid into Nifty’s waiting glass, to her immense delight. He bowed to the slight but enthusiastic applause, showing Angel a glimpse of the showman he’d been once upon a time. 

It wasn’t just that he was handsome. It wasn’t just that he was Angel’s exact type and then some, that gravelly voice, the snark, the emotional unavailability, the tortured past that muzzled him, his boxes were well and truly ticked. If it was just that, Angel would have torn his clothes off, rode him on that bar and moved on with his afterlife. 

But Husk had pushed back. He’d growled and snapped and thrown up more walls until Angel started to see getting the cat’s trousers off as a professional challenge. Robbed of his only way to safely interact with people, to feel like he was in control, Angel had fallen apart in front of him on one of the worst days he’d had in a while.

And all Husk had done was put him back together again. 

So it wasn’t just that he was hot, there was a hell of a lot more to it than that. And there was the fear again, souring the booze on his tongue. 

“I ain’t a fan of straight talking,” Angel grunted, hunching his shoulders and spinning the now empty glass on the edge of his finger. 

“Figured,” Vaggie sighed in a way that might almost suggest she actually cared, hopping down off the barstool. 

She looked ready to disappear up the stairs but something made her pause, maybe the weight of their borrowed time, maybe something dangerously close to sentiment. But she did stop, reaching out and putting a hand on Angel’s shoulder. 

“All I’m gonna say…I’ve been told the only way to survive this is to fight for love. Find someone you can’t live without and go out there with one goal. Protecting them.” 

Like a magnet, those words drew his eyes over to Husk again. And this time, he looked back, feeling his gaze. Those narrow yellow eyes, glowing like bulbs on a marquee or LEDs tempting a sucker to a slot machine, crinkled a little at the edges, shooting the spider demon a wink. 

Angel groaned inwardly at himself. He was doomed and Heaven didn’t have anything to do with it. 

“Someone like me don’t even know what love is,” Angel murmured, more to himself than to Vaggie, “Might as well be speaking a different language, sugar.”

But he heard him anyway, those damn sharp ears of hers, “Then what better time to make a change?”

Before he could shield himself with sarcasm, she was gone, off up the stairs to someone who loved her. To another heartbeat against her own, arms around her, a silent promise that she was cared about, no matter what the nightmares said. Angel felt a pang in his chest, somehow finding the poor sense to want something he’d never had. 

“Another drink?” 

Angel dredged up a crooked grin, “Sure! Put it on my tab, I’ll come settle up with you tomorrow night.”

“Very funny,” Husk poured him a couple more shots to keep him going, though he was now without other customers. 

Charlie and Vaggie had gone upstairs, Cherri had dragged Sir Pentious over to the pool table where she’d definitely crush him, Nifty was curled up in an unnervingly cat like way, sleeping on the bar and making Angel wonder if there hadn’t been a sedative jn that drink Husk made her. Alastor was who knew where, Angel only cared that Husk relaxed a lot more when he wasn’t around. 

This was the best chance he was going to get.

Let’s get to living. His own words from earlier that night tried to move his mouth, tried to force him forward, tried to stop him being such a damned fucking coward and just say something…

“Actually…I think I’ll turn in,” he seized the rest of the shots in various hands and sank them one by one, trying to wash away the bitterness, “My aim gets real shitty if I don’t get my beauty sleep. And if I’m gonna die tomorrow, like hell am I going down with bags under my eyes. Did it once, never again.”

If he was the kind to hope, Angel Dust might have tried to convince himself he saw disappointment in those slitted eyes. 

But Husk only gave a rolling shrug, collecting up the abandoned glasses, draining them of their last clinging dregs of amber liquid, “Funny, my luck seems to get better when I’m hungover. Sweet dreams, kid.”

Angel Dust chuckled, putting a little swing in his hips, shooting a smile over his shoulder, “Ain’t no other kind with me, baby.”

One last lie for the road. 

At least he didn’t sleep at all, choosing the cloudy headed middle ground of lying back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and prodding listlessly at the ache in his chest. It was like when his tooth had been knocked out, unable to keep his tongue out of the tender, empty gap, no matter how much it made him wince. Fat Nuggets did the sleeping for both of them, snoring on Angel’s chest, every gravelly honk ruffling the feathers pink robe that always made Angel feel like he could hold it together for a few more minutes than he would without it. 

He was angry at himself but that was nothing new, only the reason was old. It had been a fucking long time since he’d promised himself he was done hiding, done paring himself down because someone else wouldn’t like the taste. Lying here, feeling sorry for himself because he was too chickenshit to ask a guy to fuck him, he may as well have been back in 1940, worrying himself sick that his dad would be able to see his secret written on his face. 

Well, Angel Dust wasn’t Anthony anymore. And Angel Dust was losing his goddamn patience. The worst had happened and then some, he’d lost his family, he’d lost his home, he’d lost his life but the one thing he didn’t have to do was hide anymore. Husk was down there, he’d say no or he’d say yes, either way was better than being too damn afraid to know. 

And if he felt more about it, well that was his problem to deal with. It wasn’t like he was going to live much longer anyway. 

Fat Nuggets squawked a little as Angel Dust sat up, displaced from his comfy position. 

“Sorry, sweetie,” Angel kissed the top of his head, trying to make up for it by tucking him nicely in his own little bed, “Daddy’s got some living to do. Last minute and all but you know me.”

A quick check of his hair in the mirror, a quick fluff of the fur on his chest, like he was going down to meet some doll by his car and get swept off the the dance hall rather than going to proposition his surly friend for a quick and dirty end-of-their-afterlife fuck. But there was no harm in looking his best while he did it. 

His reflection in this mirror looked a hell of a lot different than the one in his studio dressing room. There were half a hundred tiny little flaws that would have earned him a sharp, cutting comment from Valentino and maybe worse, depending on the moth’s mood. But Angel Dust didn’t think Husk would care, in fact, he seemed to get further with the guy when he went in the opposite direction to what work demanded of him. So he left them, as much as a disconnected, confused anxiety itched at him, one that hadn’t realized they weren’t at the studio. 

He took a deep breath, holding his own gaze tight, “You’re a pro at this, ain’t nothing you haven’t seen before. You know the steps, boyo, curtain’s up.”

Angel went to the door of his room, feeling buoyed, feeling confident. Until, of course, he ran into something he hadn’t seen before. 

At least it was soft. Though it cursed like a sailor. 

“What the fuck?” Angel yelped, feathers suddenly thumping against his face. 

“Will you keep your goddamn voice down, you’ll wake half the fucking hotel-”

“Husk?” Angel stepped back, blinking in confusion, “Were you…were you outside my door?”

The other demon’s irritation collapsed, fizzing away like an alka-seltzer to reveal the bitch of a hangover underneath. Expressions he’d never seen on that feline face tried unsuccessfully to hide, embarrassment and coyness and a blush barely visible under dark fur. 

“Look, I…can I come in? Please?” he tacked the politeness on the end like he almost forgot it while running out the door. 

“Uh…sure, hon?” Angel Dust stepped to one side, suddenly wishing he’d tidied up a little at any point since he first moved in. Or that the dildos tossed about where a more impressive size. 

Husk didn’t seem to relax a little until the door was closed, until they were definitely alone. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, an old antique in amongst a lot of plastic and rubber, while Angel leaned against the door and wondered how he’d lost control of this so fast. 

Eventually Husk sighed, tail twitching and betraying his nervousness, “Look. Feel free to tell me to take a hike here, fuck knows you’d have the right. But…I kept thinking about what Charlie said. About spending this night living how we wanted or whatever. And I…I can’t think of anything else I wanted to do but…”

Angel Dust knew he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t every day you got a royal flush laid out in front of you. 

“What? What is it you wanna do, Whiskers?” he tilted his head, faux innocence sparkling in his voice as he batted his eyelashes, “Anything I can help you with?”

Husk’s fur bristled and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fuck, I knew you’d be like this, goddamnit-”

Panic gripped him, a terrifyingly certain realization that if Husk left now, if he drove him away, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, “Wait. Sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to fuck with you.”

The apology clearly caught the cat demon off guard, eyebrows rising. A small smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, “Well…guess that was the aim of my coming here…”

The grin came back, feeling more honest this time, more firmly in place. Angel stepped forward, offering one of his hands out to Husk, “Good…cos I was just on my way to ask you the same thing.”

He’d heard Husk bitch about his demon form a lot and in that moment, he could see why. Those ears and that tail were tells you could spot from a hundred miles. And right now they were telling Angel he was damn pleased. 

Husk’s fingers- claws? -were calloused, whether from cards or chips or the keys of the sax he’d apparently played once upon a time. But they held Angel’s in a grip he could be certain of, one he knew instantly wouldn’t let go. 

Angel had jumped on odds far worse than that. 

They toppled onto the bed, swallowed by fur and silk. It took some maneuvering, making their strange forms fit but once they found it, it was fucking sweet. Suddenly there was a solid heat between his legs, something to grind into, fireworks exploding behind his eyes when he did. There was a smoky growl in his ear, a heady smell of whiskey and, fuck, Angel could have gotten drunk just off that. His hands moved of their own accord, two anchoring him to the headboard, the other two taking handfuls of soft, impossibly soft fur. 

“Easy…” Husk rumbled when he pulled a little too hard. 

“Sorry,” Angel Dust purred, splaying his legs wide, rolling his hips harder against Husk’s, “Just feels so good.” 

Instead his hands wandered, finding where fur gave way to feather along that strong, broad back. The moment his fingers brushed there, that unfamiliar muscle, Husk jerked and moaned, the hardness in his trousers throbbing. 

“Oh? Kitty liked that, huh?” Angel tittered, pressing one thumb into a hollow at the base of his wing, earning another strangled yowl. 

“I swear to fuck, if you make me come in my pants like a goddamn teenager, I- fuck, baby, I’m sensitive there- ah…” 

“I’d consider it a compliment, honey, don’t you worry,” Angel cooed, shivering happily at the way Husk’s chest vibrated when he touched him, like he was an instrument he could play. 

“Call me old fashioned…”

Suddenly they were rolling, Angel Dust’s stomach dropping dizzily for a moment until he found himself straddling Husk, who was smirking up at him. 

“But when I’m from?” he finished, voice sounding like everything amber and musk and honey in the world, “If you’re taking a fine man to bed, you let him take his pleasure first. It’s good manners, see? So how about you tell me what you want, Angel?”

Angel Dust was left with the sudden anxiety of having forgotten his next line in the script. Or worse, he’d never even fucking read it in the first place. The answer, perched miserably on the tip of his tongue was that he didn’t know. 

He’d gotten too used to sex where the only thing that mattered was getting a good review, any pleasure he got was a secondary concern. He’d taught himself to like whatever his partner was willing to give, even when it called him a whore, even when it was too much, even when it hurt. The real pleasure had been the packet of powder or handful of pills that came after or before, not the sex itself. 

His confusion must have shown on his face because Husk’s voice gentled, a paw coming up to lightly cup his face, “You want my mouth or my hands, baby?”

Angel Dust pushed his instincts away, “Mouth. I want you to tell me how I taste.”

Rolling again but this time, he enjoyed the free fall. Now Husk was between his legs, drawing down the sweatpants he wore to bed, just enough that he could free Angel’s dick. Angel kicked them the rest of the way off, letting Husk see all of him, legs falling open. 

“Fuck…” his voice was melodic, hypnotic and hypnotized, “You look fucking gorgeous, baby…”

“And it’s all yours,” Angel panted raggedly, wrapping his long legs around Husk’s shoulders. For however long we’ve got left. 

Husk’s purr sounded more like a car engine on its last legs, a rough and slightly threatening sound, but as he nosed and nuzzled at the base of Angel’s cock, it ran through his body like the best warm whiskey. In the dim light of his room, Angel could swear those spots on his wings were glowing, along with his eyes, which were fixed on Angel’s face like he was getting as much pleasure from watching him as he was from licking a broad stripe across his length. 

Angel hissed, back arching up like his whole body was drawn towards that sensation, “Fuck, watch that sandpaper tongue…”

“Sorry. I’m kinda rough all over, baby,” he didn’t sound particularly sorry, flashing him a grin but he did ease up, hands taking hold of Angel’s thighs, keeping him spread wide so he could bury his face against him. 

In the studio, Angel Dust had marks to hit, lines to gasp out, a camera to play up to. With Valentino, he had to make the right noises, he needed to sound scared, he needed to beg. But here, with Husk, out of reach of a script or a contract, he let moans and gasps pour heedlessly from his lips, he moved his body however it felt good. He was loud, loud enough to blow out a mic, he cursed and babbled things that didn’t make sense, he just felt . 

Eventually the fur around Husk’s mouth was soaked, his jaw slack. He was good at this, unfairly good, lips and teeth and tongue all as skilled as you’d expect from someone who’d made a living by them. But now Angel Dust was the sole focus of their attention and he was drawn tight as a bow, ready to snap. 

“Come for me, baby,” Husk’s rasp was almost animalistic now, “Let me hear you fucking sing.”

Angel Dust was more than happy to give him exactly what he asked for, giving a broken, soaring cry as his orgasm crashed over him, sinking him down into such an overwhelming sensation that he soon lost sight of the surface. Panic threatened but then a voice echoed to him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes…” his own voice didn’t feel attached to his body so it was free to answer truthfully.

It was those lips that brought him back, a mouth that tasted of salt and opened to warmth, arms coming to circle him and anchor him down. Angel moaned, not able to care that his voice cracked unflatteringly as he did. 

“Baby…”

“I got you, Angel, you did good, you tasted fucking incredible…” Husk’s wings settled over them, shielding him from the pink glow of his room. 

He didn’t know how to tell him that the praise threatened to break him all over again, so Angel took charge this time, needing all four of his limbs to press the stronger demon into the mattress. 

He licked the taste of his own come off Husk’s fangs and drew back just enough to gasp out, “You’re gonna fuck me so hard and so deep that if I go down tomorrow, I’m going down with your spunk inside me.”

“Of course that’s your fucking last wish,” Husk’s laugh was a gorgeous thing, a rough bark that made Angel think of smoky jazz lounges from another time. 

He couldn’t help but smile, even if it was mostly bemusement, he wasn’t used to laughing during sex. It did feel pretty fucking good, he had to admit, having a genuine grin on his face as he pulled open Husk’s trousers. Though it quickly fell into awe at what jumped out and damn near smacked him in the teeth.

“Holy fuck!” Angel grinned in delight, one arm having good sense and stretching out to snag the bottle of lube in his bedside table, “Is that an overlord thing? They took the power but they let you keep the massive cock?”

“Shut up,” Husk rolled his eyes, where they snagged on the two hands now soaking their fingers and reaching around to his ass, “Mm…you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“Heard a couple of people mention it,” Angel grinned down at him, shivering pleasantly as his hands got to work. 

Husk’s eyes burned in the dim light, “Yeah. But do you know it?”

Angel Dust faltered, eyelids half closed. Another question whose answer flitted on his tongue but he didn’t want to let it go. 

And again, he didn’t have to. Husk pulled him down, bending him near in half to kiss him. Unable to wait a moment more, his slicked hands grasped at Husk’s cock, drawing a hiss out of him that he gratefully swallowed. Angel sighed through the stretch and burn, sitting back and slowly, achingly slowly, every inch of Husk disappeared into him. 

Angel was used to pleasures that dissolved quickly on his tongue and in his nose, leaving cold, bitter metal behind. This was something entirely new, something that felt like it was etching itself on every cell in his body, redefining words he thought he’d known inside and out. Pleasure. Sex. Need. 

“Husk…” his voice was a tremulous, faint thing, like he was afraid to be heard. 

“Oh, I knew you’d be like nothing else, baby…” the other demon groaned, thrusting up into him after a moment to let him settle. 

There was no awkward shuffling now, they moved like a dance, like they could hear some music that didn’t exist outside of their bloodstreams. Husk’s hips rolled, Angel arched, two arms thrown up over his head, two others raking down his lover’s chest, leaving deep grooves in his fur. Before, his mouth had been occupied but now Husk sounded like- what else? -a cat in heat, yowling and gasping.

“That’s it, baby, take it, fucking take it, you feel so fucking good, Angel,” he moaned it like a title rather than just a name, like he’d done anything to deserve it. 

“Aw fuck…” Angel Dust felt like he was going to shake apart, there wasn’t room inside him for all of this, he didn’t know where to put it all. 

But he did know that he was about to come, hard. It was unstoppable, undeniable, and if he was half the pornstar he thought he was, Husk was on his heels. It was in the way his voice had shifted up a few notes, the way his grip on Angel’s hips had grown desperate, the break in the otherwise metronome perfect rhythm of his thrusts. 

And that terrified Angel. All the fear he’d expected to find down in the bar, it thickened the air in his lungs like he’d taken an inhale from a real bad batch. Fuck, please, it can’t be over already. 

But this was a fall that had to end. Husk’s hips shifted, heating that sweet spot inside him dead on and he was lost, every muscle tensing as he surrendered to his release. It was sweet and the low roar of his own name, the heat flooding so deep inside him he could damn near taste it, that was sweeter. This time when he broke, he willed himself to stay in those depths, stay in pieces, there was nothing for him on the surface. 

But there was that voice again. 

“Angel…fuck, that was…that was amazing, I…Angel?”

His muscles must have switched off at some point but Husk had caught him, he was sprawled out across the other demon’s chest, their bodies still joined somewhere within the lovely, thrumming haze where the rest of him used to be. But his eyes prickled, heat running down his cheek, dripping onto Husk’s fur where oh fuck no, he’d felt it…

Angel flinched back from the sting of his own tears, bringing an arm up to try and hide, like there was even any point. He rolled off Husk, hunching down as small as he’d go, shoulders trembling. 

“It’s nothing, I…” What are you doing, idiot? “...don’t worry about it, it’ll stop…” Dumb fucking slut, you’re ruining it! “...just give me a second to put myself together…” Like you have any right, get a grip “I’m sorry.”

“Angel.”

He listened miserably, waiting for the creak as the bed lifted without his wait, waiting for the sound of soft paws on the floor and the click of the door closing behind him. But it never came. 

“Angel, can I touch you? That alright, baby?”

He managed to nod, surprise mostly shocking his muscles into moving. There was a shift, a whisper of silk and then soft fur as strong arms wrapped around his middle, embracing him with a deliberate light touch that would let Angel pull away at any point. Another heartbeat, slowing as the adrenaline ebbed away, drummed against his back like a knock at the door. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Husk murmured against the fur between Angel’s shoulder blades. 

“Nah,” Angel croaked, inhaling deeply, finding that warm whiskey smell again and relaxing, “We ain’t got the time.”

“Fair enough,” he accepted it easily, much to Angel’s relief, “Just get some sleep, okay? I’m gonna stay right here.” 

 He couldn’t help it, however much it made him feel like a child, “Promise?”

“Of course I promise, Angel,” there was an edge of sadness to his voice, more than the usual, not at having to say it again but at the fact that he needed to ask, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me. However long we got left.”

Angel smiled grimly. The second wasn’t fucking long enough to allow him the first. Just his luck to find exactly what he’d been looking for in the last few hours he had to live. 

But he would take what he’d been given. Angel always had. 

He turned, burying his face in Husk’s chest, feeling his rough but pleased chuckle, “Best roll of the dice I think I ever made, coming to your door…”

Angel Dust allowed himself a moment to smile at that. To feel wanted. To feel precious. Whatever happened tomorrow, he’d remember this feeling. 

Whatever happened tomorrow, he wouldn’t face it alone. 

[propertyofwhitney67]

This one's simpler compared to the rest of your prompt masterlist but can I request Whitney + Breeding with a reader who is Kylar's sister? Thx <3

I love you too...

M!Whitney x Kylar's AFAB!Reader sister

Prompt Event: Breeding

Words: 838

Tw: smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie

Note: Are these words/terms cool with the youth? They sound so weird to me, I guess that's because I never use them.

“You live like this?” Whitney asked, genuinely surprised at the state of the manor. “It’s like a fucking disaster zone in here.” It really is a mess, with trash and debris everywhere. “And what is that smell?” 

I grabbed Whitney’s hand, pulling him away from my brother’s lab. “It’s uh…one of Kylar’s projects.” I tried to explain away the strong peppery chemical smell. Which reminds me, I need to get on Kylar about cleaning that up.

He didn’t fight my tugging, letting me lead him to my room. “Can’t believe the two of you are related.” Whitney grumbled, mostly to himself. He’s always found it hard to believe Kylar and I are related, something about Kylar being such a freak and me being an obedient slut. Loud sounds came from my parent's room as we passed, “What the fuck is that sound?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” I could tell he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push the matter as I dragged him past their room. I flinched as the sounds continued, I didn’t like thinking about what they were now. Those aren’t my parents, not anymore. 

Whitney raised a brow in a teasing manner upon seeing my decorated bedroom door, “I didn’t know you were such a girly girl, slut.” I rolled my eyes, opening my door revealing a clean room. Whitney whistled lowly, “Not what I expect in a place like this.” It was a far cry from the rest of the manor.

I hopped down on my bed, ruffling the perfectly made sheets. “I like to keep it nice.” The room was pink and girly with decorated walls, a clean floor, a cute gaming setup, a big bed, and a neat closet. “It’s my safe place in this shithole.” I explained with a smile, proud of how my room looked.

He pushed me back on the bed, “I don’t care about that.” He groped my chest through my shirt and flipped my short skirt up, revealing my bare cunt. “Good girl, following the rules.” He smiled, tracing my slit. 

I gasped at his touch, instinctively raising my hips to meet his touch. “Whitney…” He grabbed my hips, holding me down. “Please…”

Whitney smirked down at me, “Have you been good enough to deserve a reward?” He asked condescendingly, bunching my skirt up at my waist and fondling my pubic bone. Taking care to not slip any lower, wanting to make me beg for it.

I nodded, whining. “Yes.” I wiggled my hips, wanting him to touch me more. “Please, Whitney…” 

He chuckled, cock forming a tent in his pants. He loved watching me beg, “Well since you asked so nicely.” Wasting no time, he ripped my clothes off and tossed them to the side. I sat up on my knees and palmed his cock through his pants, “Mhh I picked the right slut.” He smirked down at me, letting me play with his cock for a few moments.

Once his precum formed a wet spot on his pants, he pushed me back down onto the bed. I giggled as he undressed, “I love you.” I said absentmindedly, it wasn’t the first time I’ve said it. I really do love him, I’d do anything for him.

A blush formed on his face as he grumbled, “Fucking hate you…” He always got embarrassed when I said that to him. I know he loves me too, he’ll just never admit it. He’s not good at expressing any other emotion besides anger.

I smiled as he climbed on top of me, “Sure you do.” His hard cock rubbed against my thigh, smearing precum on my leg. I raked my nails down his chest, leaving behind a red trail.

“Shut up.” Whitney grumbled, bringing his thick cock to my entrance and spearing his precum against my folds. He groped and fondled my tits are he rubbed his cock against my entrance. “I should-” He grunted as I angled my hips, his tip almost slipping inside. “Fucking slut.” He pulled back slightly, rubbing against my fold again. “So fucking impatient.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, bringing him even close. The tip of his cock now rubbing against my clit, “Breed me, Whitney.”

Those words must have unlocked something in him because he didn’t hesitate in roughly thrusting into my tight hole, “You want me to breed you?” His pace was brutal with fast and deep thrusts, “Fine, I’ll breed you.” I moaned, his fat cock hitting that perfect spot every time. 

Whitney groaned into my ear as my walls tightened around his cock, “Can’t wait to see pregnant, stomach round and tits fat.” I turned my head, giving him access to my neck. He bit down hard, surly leaving behind marks.

He easily pulled multiple orgasms from me, making sure to paint my walls with his cum every time. Thoroughly exhausted, Whitney collapsed on my heaving chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. I raked my hands through his hair, “I love you.”

“I love you too…”

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘒𝘰-𝘍𝘪

[boriwave]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 | 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐗 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Not my best work but not my worst either. This is the first piece I manage to finish to write in a while so I decided to post it, it's pretty short though. I was going to add more to it but I got a terrible headache in the middle of it, plus it's more of a vent piece so this is all I could cook up. By the way, English isn't my first language so apologies if it's a little wonky to read, still hope you enjoy it though 🫶

“Could you please just listen for once?”

“I am listening.”

“You’re not, you say you are but you’re not.” It was exhausting, giving every piece of your heart to someone you loved, but not receiving the same effort back.

It wasn’t that Simon didn’t love you, he does, God knows he does. The problem was that he loved silently and from afar, being content with keeping his words of affection to himself while you drowned in a sea of loneliness and resentment. 

Because you didn’t love like him. Simon knew you didn’t and, yet, he didn’t care.

The sound of keys and a lock being undone echoed down the hallway of your apartment, followed by an old door screaming in pain as it was forced open to allow entry to the owners of the cheap room, before being closed and locked once more. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t bring it up anymore.” Simon grumbled as he flickered the lights on. You haven’t even broached the conversation for more than two minutes and he was already annoyed with you.

A heavy sigh left Simon’s lips as he grasped the end of his skull balaclava, slipping the fabric off his face to reveal those scarred features and the black paint over his eyes. It’s been a long day, too long for comfort, and Simon was exhausted. He certainly didn’t want to fight over the glaring issue of lack of intimacy, care and attention that had cursed your relationship since day one. His blue eyes shifted from the fabric his fingers were clutching, to the barely contained frustration on your face, illuminated by the dim lights that barely illuminated the room, the bulb old and wasted, the same one he’d promise to replace time and time again.

You were patient, too patient.

“Love, listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try harder.” Simon sighed while throwing his mask on the nearby leather couch before approaching your form on the other side of the living room. His footsteps were slow and cautious, to give you time to move out of his inevitable embrace if you so wished to. When you didn’t, he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug, his face buried into the crook of your neck. “It’s just…hard for me, okay? I don’t want you to feel like I don’t desire you because I do, God only knows the thoughts that run through my mind when you’re not around.”

“Do you really?” Your skeptical tone filled the little space left between your bodies. You didn’t return the hug, not this time, refusing to be swept by the same words he repeated like a well-trained parrot when the time came to hold this same conversation every three months. You just wished it didn’t take half a decade for you to grow a backbone instead of falling to your knees whenever he started with another one of his half-baked excuses.

“I do.” A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes. Bullshit, you replied in your mind. 

“Then why don’t you show it? Simon, why is it up to me to always start everything?” “Come on, love, you know that’s not true.” Simon replied, his hold on you faltering for a second as annoyance began to take hold. He wouldn’t lose his cool, not now— he wasn’t that kind of man anymore. “Honey, all I need is a little bit more-”

“Patience?” You cut him off while pulling away from his embrace. Simon could only nod while giving a heavy sigh. “Yes, patience.” He replied like it was obvious.

“Why? Haven’t I been patient enough?”

“Because I’m not used to this relationship shit, you know that, you knew what you were getting into when we first started dating!” Simon exclaimed a little too loud than intended, clenching his hands so hard his nails left behind crescent shapes in the rough skin of his palms. He was as frustrated as you were, exhausted from the same argument, but not enough to change.

You grit your teeth and hold back the words that burnt your tongue, but you didn’t bother replying this time, deciding that the growing headache that blossomed between your eyes deserved more attention than this loop of a conversation. Your legs carried you past Simon and into the kitchen where you swung open a tattered cabinet. Pushing past old mail and expired bottles of countless different pills, your fingers finally brushed against a large, white bottle with a red cap. You popped open the bottle and pulled out three of the small, red and blue pills before placing it on your tongue and swallowing them with the help of the excess saliva that built up in your mouth.

When did things become so…wrong? When did loving Simon start to seem like a chore instead of coming as natural as breathing or blinking? You should have left during the first year of your relationship, when your first big fight happened after finding those compromising messages in his phone; but him and his sweet words, and that stupid charming smile with the empty I love yous helped to put on that veil over your eyes and disconnect the wires in your brain so you wouldn’t see that you deserved better.

If only he didn’t know about the pain and frustration you felt, and the countless nights you were up crying so hard until you couldn’t breath. If he didn’t know, you would gladly keep your mouth shut and make up excuses after excuses for the times he’s spent at work instead of by your side, or the times he’s made you feel unwanted and gross in your own skin; but he knew. Of course he knew, you might have grown blind to his red flags but not mute.

You let out a deep breath, two, maybe three, until the anger that boiled inside you turned into a slow simmer. It was enough to bring yourself to look at Simon from over your shoulder, who stood by the archway, and held a glint of regret and guilt in those stormy blue eyes of his.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He tried to say, just for his words to be waved out the kitchen window. “Come on, don’t be like that, I really am sorry.”

No matter how much you cried, how much you screamed and yelled, your words never seemed to reach him, going inside one ear and going out the other in a vicious cycle you were too tired to break out of and escape. Because, at the end of the day, you’d only set up a three month timer, tie that veil over your eyes and pray to whatever God was out there to finally change things or give you the strength necessary to get up and leave.

“Just forget I said anything, okay?” You mumbled in defeat, your shoulders slumping in defeat like they always did when talking to him.

Simon paused for a brief second before parting his lips to utter those words you’ve grown to hate so much. “I love you, [Name], so much.”

“...I know, Simon, I know.” 

[teecupangel]

So this idea has been bouncing in my head like an excited rabbit on caffeine. (I also don't know if anyone else thought of this but I thought it would be cool) so you remember the reblog chain where the players are all in Desmond head talking like a twitch chat, and the other reblog chain of Desmond's ancestor data gaining sentience because isu bstm, right? Well I had a thought, what if we combined the two, like maybe something like the part of the main group + Desmond are trying to get to the others who are in another part of Abstergo or the assassin's network and Desmond, let's say that while he was split he couldn't hear us until they passed through this really corrupted part of an ocean map (let's say it's in Edward's time) then all of a sudden Desmond hears one of us. (Sorry if this doesn't make sense. I hope you have a heath day/night)

I think this is the AC characters data in Abstergo’s database regaining sentience AU reblog chain with @piratekenway you’re talking about?

The Ratatouille AU where the ancestors can hear Desmond while ‘playing’, its more unhinged cousin, the Ratatouille AU where Desmond can hear us and the outside POV of Al Mualim thinking the Apple broke Altaïr and the sidestory of Altaïr accidentally connecting with Ezio while looking for Desmond (I hope I didn’t forget anything else)

Okay, so the idea is that we’re using the setup for the character data gaining sentience and we’re setting this as sorta like the ‘epilogue’ to the Ratatouille AU.

Instead of letting the world burn (“As a treat!” one of the voices chirped), he sacrifices himself. When he wakes up, he’s in Abstergo’s database, chained as a digital copy of Sample 17.

He can’t hear any voices anymore.

Are they disappointed with him?

Did they think they wasted their time trying to help him?

Did he… make the right choice?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed… when the virus started taking over the database and servers.

.

In this one, the virus isn’t made by Erudito + Assassins. It’s of ‘unknown origin’.

All they know is the name of the virus is “for desmond!” and it is targeting Desmond. Of course, Sample 17 is in one of the more secured encrypted ‘part’ of the database so it mutated to wake other data up.

Data that has connection with Desmond.

Along the way, the virus inside them starts waking up other data nearby, creating a strange team to rescue Desmond.

We can sorta play with this a bit and make Arno, Evie and Jacob become part of Abstergo’s database because they do have data of Arno’s descendants and it makes sense that the reason why the Templars knew where the Shroud is because they can access the twins’ memories as well and the Assassins just stole their DNA for their own Animus instead.

So they get to Desmond who is staying in the Grand Temple, just sitting there, staring at the devices, doubting and double-doubting himself if he should have activated the device when the people who care for him the most asked him not to.

Of course, Abstergo’s anti-virus and probably the entire security system is chasing after them so they don’t have time to actually talk.

They just run.

Well, they sailed using a fusion of the Jackdaw and Aquila…

… into a corrupted part of the West Indies.

The idea was… the virus didn’t harm them but it definitely fucks with Abstergo’s anti-virus and security system.

At the very least, they were hoping it would slow them down.

What they did not expect was for the entire thing to collapse under them…

And drop their modified ship into a different unfamiliar ocean.

“Holy shit!”

Desmond blinked.

“That scared the crap out of me. Goddamn it, Ubisoft. I know this is still being betatesting but Jesus Christ, loading the entire ship and dropping it from above??? What kind of programming does this game have???”

“Lollol. Dude, chill.”

“Is it an enemy ship? Like… can you shoot it?”

“Should you shoot it? Check its level first.”

They were all familiar voices.

“You don’t want a repeat of-”

“Guys?” Desmond asked, his voice a bit too quiet.

Hesitant.

He didn’t dare hope that it was them.

Not all of them.

But some of the ones he was most familiar with.

The ones who stayed with him the most.

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god, Desmond?!”

“What’s Desmond doing in this game?!”

“Is it our Desmond???”

Desmond’s lips curved into a smile and his voice croaked as he said, “Yeah, I’m your Desmond.”

“Oh my god.”

“Desmond!!! You’re okay!!! We were sooo worried!”

“You think this is [Bored Anonymous]’s work??? Did their plan to use all our computers to try and connect with Desmond’s world and send our gift work?”

“Gift?” Desmond tilted his head.

Did they mean the virus?

He felt someone nudged his arm and he turned to look at Ezio. Everyone else seemed confused but Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton seemed to have an idea on who he was talking to.

Wait.

They can hear them!

Before Desmond could tell the voices that everyone could hear them now, one of them said hurriedly, “Oh fuck! Someone get [Bored Anonymous] quickly!”

“Why?”

“I only have 1 more hour to play this beta! What happens to Desmond if he stays in this beta server after the time is up?!! We can’t lose him!”

“Ohshitohshitohshit!”

“I’ll alert the discord server!”

“I’ll try to message them in Tumblr! They’re always online there!”

“Pretty sure that’s their queue…”

“We can still try!”

Desmond simply laughed.

Sure, the time limit they’re talking about was worrying but hearing all of them worrying about him…

It felt like he was finally home.

[memelleity]

lisa frankenstein sentence starters

i think it’s really peaceful and quiet.

____ says it’s a waste of time to try and fix a boy. it’s better to just accept a guy’s flaws.

i wish i was with you.

we killed two people! i could get the clink for life or the electric chair!

you have so much potential.

how will i ever repay you?

things have been moving fast, but i want that.

i know when something’s wrong.

i thought that was gonna last forever, but it didn’t, you know?

i’m okay. i’m fine. it’s okay. i’m good.

not until we bury the body.

i’m not crazy!

“time heals all wounds.” but that’s a lie. time is the wound. takes you further and further from that place when you were happy.

i want to take you somewhere that’s very meaningful to me.

you love me?

it’s okay. one step. right foot, left foot. hold my hand.

i don’t play with dolls anymore.

how about i drive, since you’re not feeling so good?

don’t tell ____ i said this, but it’s actually kind of nice not having her in town.

have you been here before?

not that kind of cure. it’s a band. they can’t make you better. i mean, they can, but… emotionally.

let’s find somewhere for you to sit for a bit, yeah?

you said sisters share.

this whole place gives me the creeps, okay?

you act like you’re happy for me and you care about me, but you’re not really happy for me.

i can never ever talk about it. for personal and legal reasons, and i also pinkyswore.

i knew. i always know. i’m an i.p. intuitive person.

thank you for being nice to me when no one else was.

what happened to your neck?

is it peaceful down there?

i don’t know why i’m talking so much. i haven’t said this many words in a row in forever.

you don’t think i should do it?

is that a rad new trend or something?

you want to be the smart one who likes cool stuff, and you don’t want your girlfriend to like cool stuff. do you know how uncool that is?!

i hate to say it, but you are either crazy or you’re just goddamned inconsiderate.

people are so afraid of death, ‘cause they don’t know when it’s gonna happen to them. it could be an axe murderer, could be the flu, but they don’t know and they hate that.

your boobs look great, by the way.

i don’t know what you’re talking about.

you fixed your bangs! you know, i wasn’t gonna say anything, they were such a mess… but you look amazing now!

i don’t think i’ve ever heard you talk this much.

how about an apology?

it just was never gonna work out between us.

i do wax rubbings of all the tombstones. i have a favorite.

how do you know my name?

i have to get, uh, dressed.

it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

why me? why must i feel so strongly?

you have no idea how scary this is!

let’s not jump to conclusions.

i mean, you don’t need one of those to be a man. it’s actually, like, the least important part, really.

it’s been a difficult day.

i don’t know how i was ever afraid of you.

i’m sorry if this is too much. i know it’s all so new.

i tell you everything.

it’s your fault we’re screwed!

i’m not afraid of death anymore.

i hate parties like this.

did you love her?

this is an active crime scene!

sorry, how do we know each other?

that was an accident.

i feel like i want to apologize for what may have happened last night.

i don’t want to die a virgin.

they’re just things that make you different.

i’m sorry. i don’t mean to be rude. i just didn’t get much sleep last night.

you’re being so dramatic.

i gotta go change my pad.

you’re a great person, ____. and i’m sorry i hurt you.

what do you think happened?

i swear, i would never do that to you.

why are you here?

um, that’s like a… it’s like a back massager.

i’m psychic. also, i think it’s gonna rain.

do you know what happens to people who act out?

that’s really weird, ____.

i love you.

who’s your favorite director of all time?

you should probably get up.

that does sound like the exact description of the hamburglar.

oh, come on. you’re not gonna tell me?

i wished i was in the ground, dead.

what is wrong with you?

you saved me.

just give it a chance.

after ____ died, everyone was in such a hurry to go back to normal. and they kept acting like i had a problem because i couldn’t stop missing her. started to feel like i was going crazy.

shit is transpiring, man.

oscar wilde said, “to define is to limit.”

oscar the grouch said, “scram.”

why didn’t you tell me?

we all have to spend more time together as a family. how can we brady if we don’t bunch?

i just don’t think anyone should be forgotten.

you know i’m usually pretty cool about things, right? but i have a bad feeling about this.

will you cover for me?

i tend to his grave and leave him flowers and… i talk to him sometimes.

you have everything! you couldn’t let me have this one thing?

is there pizza left?

i want to help you. i really do, but i don’t know how.

you don’t want to hold my hand?

i’m really sorry you got electrocuted.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil: Chapter 3

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: idk what it is guys, but I kind of hate this chapter. I feel like I didn’t hit the nail on the head this time but instead hit someone in the face. garbage writing aside, I hope you enjoy x :,)

Word Count: 2.186k

Your new apartment isn’t much of an upgrade, but it’s still nice, and you’re confident you’ll be able to turn it into your own.

After his drunken confession in the car, Roman had cried, thrown up in the toilet, and promptly passed out on the couch. You think it’s best you let him sleep. He’s exhausted himself like a toddler unaware of their body.

You sit cross legged on the armchair adjacent to the couch, leaving you able to keep an eye on Roman. Sure, he was an asshole, but he’d had way too much to drink and you didn’t want him to hurt himself.

The only part of getting a new apartment that miffed you was the fact that Logan had made sure it was a single bedroom. When you’d asked him about it, he’d given you some bullshit about how you had to keep up appearances. You know it’s about the money, but you find it pointless to say so.

You decide that since you have to stay up to make sure Roman doesn’t kill himself in his drunken stupor, you’ll start on the paperwork for Connor’s lawsuit. If he really wants to waste your time, like Roman had suggested, he’d found the perfect way to do it. You begin drafting, Roman tossing and turning.

As you begin to fill out the same forms you had many times before, your mind floats elsewhere. What Roman had said in the car had admittedly made your heart flutter. The idea that there could actually be something between you two was something, to your dismay, that you wanted to explore. But because he was so damn drunk, you can’t take anything he said seriously. You doubt he’ll even remember anything when he wakes up.

He keeps shifting in his sleep, troubled, and from your vantage point you can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

You set aside your laptop and find a clean towelette in the kitchen. You get some ice from the fridge, chill some water, and dunk the rag into it before bringing it back to the living room.

Perching on the edge of the sofa, you gently coax Roman onto his back and drape the cool rag across his forehead after gently pushing his hair out of the way. He visibly relaxes, lips parting in a sigh.

Your heart aches a little, staring down at him. In another world, this might have worked.

But you have to stay in your current reality. And the lawsuit wouldn’t draft itself.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up the next morning. Your laptop still sits on your lap, and the stiffness in your joints is searing. Roman’s not there anymore. You don’t think he’s even in the apartment. So much for you staying to take care of him.

You find your phone on the floor. No messages from Roman, and you know the apartment is empty now. You sigh, feeling a bit dumb.

There is, however, an obscene amount of text messages from Connor. You deign not to respond, for your own mental health. Apart from Connor making you want to chuck your phone into the Hudson, there’s a message you actually find a little endearing.

At the dinner you’d asked Shiv to give your number to Greg so you two could sort things out for when you had to go to Norway.

xxx-xxx-xxxx; Unknown

Y/N,

Congratulations on your engagement, you will make a beautiful bride! I know we have some things to figure out, so I’d like to take you out for a friendly dinner. Please forward my congratulations to Roman. He has me blocked on everything.

Gregory Hirsch

You type out a response, biting back a laugh. You both agree to a casual dinner in a few days time- your treat, you insisted.

You mute Connor, who’s continued to spam you, and scroll through your emails when Kendall gives you a call. You pick up, and he asks, “Is bribery a felony?”

“Yeah, but it depends.”

“So. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically…”

“A man owns a large conglomerate that earns him millions. A certain politician runs a campaign that, if they were to come into power, would destroy said company from inside out because of some, er, under the table acquisitions…”

“A monopoly?”

“That’s the word. This person can’t come into power, that’d ruin things. But how do you get someone to lose that’s statistically projected to win?”

“What connections does Logan fucking have?” you hiss.

“Not on here.” Kendall sighs. “Is Roman with you? He won’t pick up his phone.”

“He got completely blackout drunk last night and passed out on the couch. I don’t know where he is.”

“He’ll turn up. Don’t worry. Board meeting in two days, okay?” He hangs up. You don’t dislike Kendall at all, he just has his… own way with words.

You’re pretty sure you can get away with working from home today. You’ll have your assistant fax whatever crosses your desk while you rot on the couch.

She does. The pictures Connor promised come through, and you thumb through them absentmindedly. Some rings, a Rolex, a jade bracelet, more expensive bullshit you don’t think anyone needs. You’ll tally the prices, inflate for ‘emotional damage’ and your time, and serve the hotel.

Your assistant texts you something about Connor bitching about the jade bracelet and how it’s one of a kind and you need to get it back. You make a note to get her a fancy gift for putting up with this bullshit.

You’re happy to have a calm day to yourself. You lounge around on the couch, idly doing some work. You hear a key moving around in the lock before Roman shoulders the door open.

He falters when he sees you.

“Uh, I’m home.”

You look up at him blankly.

“What? What’s with that face?”

You sigh and turn back to your computer.

“Hey,” he whines. “What’d I do?”

“You got drunk, fell asleep on the couch, then got up and left in the early morning without telling anyone where you went.”

He kicks his shoes off by the door then comes over and flops down next to you. “I’m here now.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t like this side of you. You’re making me feel guilty.”

“Maybe you’re feeling guilty because you did something wrong.”

“I literally remember nothing from last night. I woke up early and went to the gym. That’s it.”

“Kendall’s been trying to contact you.”

“Yeah. Board meeting.” He props his feet up into your lap. “Can we talk?”

“About?”

“Us.”

You sigh and set your laptop on the coffee table.

“I know I’m a jerk. And I know I was a dick the day we met. And the day after that. And this morning.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. “So I thought I’d atone for my sins and get you something.” He shifts, replacing his feet with his head and instead letting his legs stretch out on the couch. With one hand, he takes yours and sets it on his chest, and uses the other one to pop the box open.

You can swear you’ve seen that ring in your dreams before. It’s gorgeous- perfect, even. And it’s the right size.

“Roman,” is all you can say.

“Give me your left hand.”

You do, and he slips the ring onto your left hand’s ring finger. He inspects it, albeit lopsidedly from his vantage point tucked up in your lap.

“Are you sure you remember nothing from yesterday?” you ask quietly, your other hand still perched on his chest.

“Not a lick. Difficult day.” He shifts his gaze to meet yours. “I think, despite everything, we can be friends.”

Friends.

“Yeah.” You pause. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“It’s the only thing I know how to do. Throw money at things.”

☾𖤓

The sting of Roman’s words stay with you for the next few mornings, then when you’re getting ready for the board meeting. You don’t really know why you’re disappointed. What were you expecting? Why were you expecting anything in the first place?

He’d left for Waystar much earlier than you did. There’s a weird sort of tension between you now, even after your conversation. You’re wearing the ring. You can’t bring yourself to take it off.

You finish getting ready and find yourself in the harsh lighting at Waystar. You close your eyes in the elevator, the fluorescent lighting pissing you off more than usual.

“Hey, everything alright?” Greg Hirsch nudges you gently as the elevator lurches.

“Oh, hey!” You try to snap yourself out of it, but you can’t seem to get rid of the strain in your eyes. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I know things get pretty stressful. Especially in the position you’re in. Things get quite difficult.” He glances down at you. “Um, that sounded like a threat. Which it wasn’t. I’m on your side, to be clear.”

You chuckle. “I appreciate it, Greg.” You talk about nothing as he walks you to the conference room, and he gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder before you step in. Kendall looks like he’s about to shit himself, Roman’s face down on the table, and the few others that are there are concerned with themselves. Kendall gives you a stiff nod, his leg bouncing up and down.

“Forget how to breathe?” you ask him, trying to lighten the mood. He ignores you and keeps himself locked in his self-imposed hell. Roman sits up at the sound of your voice, pulling out your chair for you. As you settle in, the room begins to fill.

Logan Roy is late.

When he actually does decide to grace the room with his presence, it’s twenty minutes past the meeting start time. Kendall hasn’t gotten any calmer, and Roman’s chewing on his cheek. He leans towards you and whispers, “What if he knows?”

“If he knew, he’d have all our asses on the curb.” Even you’re beginning to get restless. “Does he always do this?”

“He’s always late, but never…” He’s hushed by his father hobbling into the conference room on a cane. The brothers exchange a glance you could never begin to understand, and Kendall gets to his feet.

“Sit, I’m fine,” Logan rasps. Kendall reluctantly obeys. “Don’t mind me, folks. I had an… accident on the way.”

Roman throws you a look that says what the fuck? and drags a hand over his jaw.

Thankfully, that’s all that Kendall needs. “You’re late.”

Logan scoffs. “What’re you going to do, fire me?”

Kendall swallows. “Just extending you the same courtesy that you would me.”

Frank clears his throat, and Kendall steels himself.

“I’m calling a vote of no confidence,” he blurts.

“Are you?”

“I am.”

Father and son stare at each other from different ends of the table. “You’re not.”

“That’s, uh, not how this works,” Kendall continues. “We vote in private. Then the verdict speaks for itself.”

“I’m not leaving this room,” Logan insists. “And I know how fucking corporate politics work.” His gaze sears over everyone gathered. “Did we know about this?”

He does another sweep of the room before his eyes land on you. You give a minute shake of your head.

Suddenly, he slams his hands on the table. “Fucking go on, then. Who wants me gone?”

The room is silent. You can feel your stomach churning. Roman sits tense next to you, barely moving- barely breathing.

“Let’s, uh, put it to a vote, then.” Kendall shakily gets to his feet. “All those in favor of ejecting Logan Roy from position as CEO of Waystar?” He’s the first to raise his hand, and you raise yours not long after. Three partners follow your lead. You turn to Roman.

His hands are tucked firmly under his arms. He stares blankly at the ground, seemingly dazed. You can see the emotions warring in his eyes. But you have no sympathy.

You begin to bristle, and Kendall lets out a strangled breath.

“A tie,” Kendall says deflatedly.

“I have two votes,” Logan practically shouts. “I’m going to ruin you,” he spits at Kendall. You give Roman a nasty look then push yourself to your feet.

“It’s not a tie. Nor did you win,” you begin, raising your voice as you go. “You are the subject of this vote. You are legally not allowed in this room, Mr. Roy. Any vote you cast is regarded as null and void. As your lawyer, I advise you to take your things and leave.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “I did not get a degree from Harvard Law for you to so blatantly disrespect it to my face. Your time here is over. Get out before I call the police and have them escort you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs lowly.

“Really? Perhaps I will when we go to trial. You have quite a few hefty criminal charges hanging above your head, Mr. Roy. I’d hate to see them fall.”

[bengiyo]

Step By Step: It makes sense to me.

We’re taking a break from our game this week, so it’s time to get into the Step By Step discourse. Much has been said about the pacing and the writing of this show. I want to write out some of my thoughts on the gay things that are going on and how I think they play into the themes. I’ll try building off my post from last night and expanding those thoughts.

Let me say that I am writing this from the perspective as a Black gay male in the Gulf Coast of the US. I’m writing from that perspective and primarily for that perspective.

The Frustration Is Intentional

I think one of the big themes of this show is about how people are not going to be able to have happiness if they can’t live their lives honestly with each other. Almost every couple is having problems of some sort in this show, and most of them are because of their inability to be direct and honest with each other about what’s going on. Pat gained clarity with the MLM Big Tall by telling him right off. He and Put can’t be together because neither of them can talk about how much they don’t fit anymore. Beam can’t be with Ae. Ae is always fussing with Khanun. Jaab and Jane can’t be together because they can’t talk about what’s going on between them. Pat and Jeng are struggling because Jeng is struggling.

I agree that these episodes have not felt triumphant, but it doesn’t feel like that’s what the show is going for right now. They had a false honeymoon phase. It almost feels like they’re hoping that the release in a year’s worth of sexual tension will fix all the other issues. However, the world is still pressing in. Ying saw this, too, and reminded Pat that he is the one who must be strong. It feels kinda cool to me that a romantic lead who’s the more femme written such that they must take total control of their destiny. Neither of these dudes are going to solve Pat’s problems.

Jeng is Broken

Jeng broke last week when he finally admitted what’s been going on with Pat to Jaab. Something I feel very strongly about is how little care is given to boys who mask well enough to pull of heteronormativity. They are suffering quietly, but we don’t care about their pain because they seem so put together or they’re unfun. Jeng has been nursing a crush on Pat for a year, and he was confronted with the revelation that Pat has only seen him as a coworker, has thought he was straight this entire time, and has explicitly said that Jeng is making him uncomfortable.

Jeng’s breakdown says he knows how tenuous his hold has been for a long time. We all noticed that he seemed off this week. He’s barely processing Pat’s confession. He’s throwing food to the ground. He’s not taking care at work. Instead of creating appropriate professional distance from them, he’s instead planning to promote Pat past his colleagues. Jeng is not paying attention.

Beyond his interest in Pat, the only thing he showed interest in this episode was continuing to bring food to the local homeless population. We learned in the first episode that he cares a lot about food waste, and we can tell that he clearly has cultivated a positive relationship with at least one unhoused community (See @wen-kexing-apologist post for more extensive thoughts about this).

gif by @pharawee

My good sis @shortpplfedup revived her Anatomy of a Scene series to talk about the final bed scene between Pat and Jeng to highlight how out of sync they are. We also have a great observation from @grapejuicegay about the parallels between the last bed scene with Put as well. I personally also like that Jeng is making a hot mess of things because I think we need to see competent people break sometimes. I like that Jeng is messing up here because he’s older than Pat. I like that Pat is recognizing that being an adult in a relationship is going to require him to also take charge in his relationships, and we get early signs of this with Jeng placing Pat higher than him on the bed, and also a specific linguistic slip that occurred during the car scene where Pat drops honorifics for Jeng (@chicademartinica).

My man is not well. I knew he was genuinely broken when he recoiled at Pat’s suggestion that the rest of the company was relying on him. This was one of his primary motivations for returning to the company in the first place, and he’s completely lost the thread of that because he just wants to be with Pat. I think Jeng will do better if he leaves the company and focuses on his humanitarian goals, and I am excited to see how the show faces that.

I Don’t Think the Romance Is the Goal

I do think that Pat and Jeng will get together. This is BL after all. However, like with Lovely Writer, I think the narrative goals are about how the societal systems around the romance complicate the romance and make it almost impossible. In Lovely Writer, it was the structures of BL production. In this show, it’s about the way corporate culture makes that impossible within the company.

I’ve been reading the posts where people are struggling with this show or frustrated with some of the decisions on the editing floor. Both @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm wrote about their feelings about the lack of emotional catharsis or the confusion around the pacing of the story. I see both perspectives and do genuinely share in these frustrations. However, much of my energy has been spent on how the side plots fit into this drama and what they reveal about the main couple as our vehicle through this story.

The Role of the Hets

I was chatting with @lurkingshan last night and I posited that Beam’s role in the story is to show what happens to the people who are cowardly in romance. I also just finished Coffee Prince, where I spent the entire time complaining to Shan about the messy hets in that show. @chicademartinica already did a good breakdown of this in her earlier post about how intentional Tee is being with these beats.

With Beam, he and Ae knew about the feelings that existed between them, but Beam never said anything or did anything with it. Ae may fuss with Khanun a lot, but he’s not afraid of her. He loves her. He is happy with the life they are building and he’s the one who fathered a child with her. Jeng and Put both failed to speak with Pat properly, and now he’s been forced to run away from them. Like Beam, they have been cowards in their relationship with him.

With Jaab and Jane, both are also an example of abject failure to discuss anything about their feelings for each other. Both are pining for the other and making life choices about the other without consulting the other. They keep meeting and clearly thinking about each other, but keep creating barriers between any kind of connection.

Chot is Everything

Chot. I will be writing an In Praise of… essay for Chat like I did for Framboise. We’ve talked about how Chot is an example of who Pat could be someday (@imminentinertia).  I think it’s noteworthy that Chot mentioned that he and Krit have been struggling with the closet for eight years. Chot may be out and proud at work, but he’s closeted privately because his partner cannot share his life with him fully. I think it’s notable that it’s been eight years since SOTUS first aired, and Chot is a reminder that BL has a duty to the queers whose lives are packaged for mass entertainment in these stories.

I can’t find one of the posts right now, but I also agree that I think it would be satisfying for the story for Chot to take over Jeng’s role in the company. It felt extremely intentional to me that the Forge project was helmed by and starred almost exclusively gay/bi/femme men despite the funders and decision-makers having a weak understanding of BL and queerness itself. So many organizations rely on the emotional intelligence and availability of queer people to keep themselves running.

gif by @pharawee

I also feel like Tee wanted to do right by a character for Bruce this time. Many of us felt some kind of way about what happened to his character in Lovely Writer, and I like that he gets to be the first one to signal that the needle is moving a little bit. After eight difficult years, he and his partner are going to see his partner’s parents. Chot is a reminder that none of this stuff happens quickly. It’s been a year in the show for Jeng and Pat, but it’s been decades for some of us in the struggle for queer rights.

More than anything, I am glad that Pat has a queer friend who isn’t too much older than him to give him perspective. It’s imperative that we continue to show that queer people are rarely alone in their lives as adults. They’re finding their friends and community. We also take care of each other. Chot is not going to sit idly by and let the Baby Gay in the office flounder. He takes him under his wing at the expressed concern from Jeng.

Let’s Talk About Gay Sex

They showed Ben’s happy trail!!! I can’t believe it! We’ve come so far! These two can kiss!!

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

I really love these two jumping into a physical relationship quickly only for it to end up not working for Pat. Chot warned him that he was looking down on Jeng’s feelings. Jeng has more feelings than just his attraction to Pat, and that’s going to be the struggle for the rest of this show. Pat needs to see the totality of Jeng, and these two need to figure out what they want for themselves.

I can’t wait to see what triumphant sex looks like for these two.

Well, that’s all I’ve got this week. I’m enjoying unpacking this and La Pluie with everyone right now. Keep posting! Keep chatting! Tag me if you write more stuff! Thank you for coming to my post.

Also tagging @waitmyturtles because I feel for you and the struggles you're having with this project coming off of Tee's earlier work.