#are predatory. thank you for the ask though

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (6) - A Proposition for You

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 6 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4911

Work count for Story: 23,924

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, arguments, comfort, Alpha Space, close proximity, and scenting.

Story Summary: The Hybrid K-pop group BTS is on tour in America; of course, things don't start out the way they should, but after an encounter with Y/n, things change but will everyone follow Fate?

“Excuse me, Sirs. We have arrived at the AirBnB,” the driver announces through the van's intercom system. The voice pulls Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook's attention away from the scenting session. 

“Thank you, Malcolm,” Jungkook calls out loud enough to be heard past the petition between the driver’s and passenger seats. Looking down, he trails his fingers through Jimin’s hair as the tiny Alpha is now sprawled out across his and Taehyung’s lap with his eyes closed. 

“Minie, we need to get out, my little love,” looking at Taehyung, “Tae? Are you good now?”

“Hmm. Yeah, Kook, I am doing better,” Taehyung opens his eyes, returning to their clear brown. Lifting Jimins legs off his lap, Taehyung moves from his seat and opens the van door. 

“Minie, you cuddle bug. Time to go, I know you are nowhere near a scent high, so please get up so that we can get Y/n to see the doctor.”

Jumping up from lying on Jungkook’s lap, Jimin stumbles out the door and over to the first van, “I will get their door!”

Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle as they watch the dancer trip over one of the van's chairs, but he manages not to fall onto the curb before beelining it to the other van.

“Hey, Tae. Are you going to be okay around Y/n?”

“I think so. It might be better for me to keep my distance until she isn’t in as much pain. I think that is what is causing the most issues for my Alpha. Well, that and keeping away from that pathetic excuse of a Director.” Taehyung growls out the last part.

“I think it would be best if we all keep away from him, though I think Manager Sejin and Namjoon will have to at least deal with him a few more times.”

“Better him than us. Why don’t you go with the others, and I will help out with the luggage so that everything is where it should be?” Taehyung hugs Jungkook around the shoulders, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook looks closely at Taehyung, smelling his clear and unbothered ebony wood. “Alright, hopefully, the doctor will be here soon. I think time has flown by faster than we think. It is already starting to get dark out.”

Buzzing. All you hear is buzzing as your brain short circuits. The desire to melt into the man holding you and run from the predatory eyes of the men watching you causes your body to tense and twitch. 

Suddenly, the van door opening seems louder than it should. It startled you into finally moving away from them and out of the van. 

You didn’t realize how stuffy the van had gotten, but the intensity of the scents within the van does not go unnoticed by Jimin as he watches you bolt from the van right past him towards the packhouse. Yoongi followed close behind with a smirk on his lips.

“What did we miss being in the reject van?” Jimin asks no one in particular. 

“Oh, you guys missed quite a bit, but we will talk about it later. Maybe once Miss Y/n goes in with the doctor,” Namjoon says as the rest leave the van. 

Jungkook walks up to the group and watches you with a confused look. Manager Sejin also joins them.

“You all realize she has no idea what she is to you. She isn’t going to understand why it is nice that she is so instinctually responsive,” Manager Sejin comments using air quotes.

“Yes, Manager-nim. She just was… ah it is hard to explain,” Hoseok bashfully responds as he looks at the floor.

“Well, she isn’t my mate, and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to break it to her, but you are going to have to be careful. I know that much.” Looking at you, a softness of worry crosses his face.

“Do you guys know that she wouldn’t even ask for a bottle of water when she got to the van because she didn’t want to take something from the pack?”

“I have a feeling that she has had to be the one to take care of others and put herself last. She won’t ask for help, and accepting help will be hard for her. Especially, since you guys are so well-known and established as a mate-bonded pack.” Manager Sejin looks at his watch, down the street, and then back to the gathered group.

“The doctor should be here in a few moments. You might want to get her inside and settle in one of the unoccupied rooms, Namjoon-ssi.” 

Manager Sejin bows respectfully to the group and heads to the luggage van, where he can see Taehyung giving directions.

You walked quickly, not running, up the stairs to the front porch—fresh air—cool Air. It was non-steamy, good for your heart, and not going to make you lose your job and blessed air. 

Taking deep breaths, you hope to clear your mind, slow your heart to a normal pace, and regain professionalism from wherever it is hiding.

Muttering to yourself, you are unaware that Yoongi has followed you, but he keeps a distance while listening to your utterances. His smirk grows to the point his eyes are almost closed. Now that you have calmed down, you turn around and almost run into him.

“Ahh! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I need to get you and Evie both a bell. It must be a feline thing.” Glancing past Yoongi you notice Taehyung coming up the steps with some of the staff carrying in the luggage, “Should get one for him too.”

Chuckling, Yoongi shakes his head, “No bell. No house cat. Jaguar.” Taking a step closer, he sniffs, “Better? No conflict?”

You can’t help but smile softly at his concern: “No, I am fine now. I just haven’t had much skinship as one might say… outside of my family pack, as you call them.”

“I know it is a big cultural thing amongst hybrids and even more so depending on the kind of relationship involved. I guess I was just taken back by all the … all that.” You say, gesturing towards the van as if it were explaining whatever was happening inside. 

Yoongi nods in understanding and takes the last step to be by your side, facing the rest of the pack. His tail again wraps around your waist, and you giggle in amusement, returning his attention with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you keeping me on a fur leash?” You ask, pointing at his tail on your waist.

Yoongi looks down at where you are pointing and looks at his tail like he doesn’t realize that he ever put it there, to begin with. With a glare like he is scolding a child, his tail starts to let go, which pulls at your heart a bit.

“It’s okay, Alpha.” You say as you stroke along the very soft black fur, laying it back in its place, “you are keeping me close and safe like a good Alpha should. Thank you for protecting me.”

Yoongi preens at the compliment while holding back a shudder at the feeling of you petting his tail. His Alpha is happy that you recognize his needs and are allowing him to continue.

“Mr. Min,” you start to speak only to get cut off with an indignant huff.

“Yoongi. Alpha. Not, Mr. Min. Yoongi.”

“Ah, umm. Okay. Yoongi,” you say with a blush as you avoid looking him in the face, “I want to thank you for helping me not land hard on the floor back at the office. I am sure I would have been in worse shape if you hadn't tried to catch me.”

“Hopefully, you know that I do not blame you for my wrist. It was just really bad timing.”

“Still hurt. Keep safe for healing,” Yoongi says, leaning down to catch your eyesight and hoping you see the truth in his words. 

The truth is that he will keep you safe not only while you heal your wrist but also your heart and soul.

“Time to go ahead inside. Jin, can you make some snacks with Hobi for everyone? The rest will help with the luggage, and I will go with Yoongi and Miss Y/n to one of the guest rooms on the first floor.” Namjoon instructs the pack.

With different forms of agreement, the boys take off to do their assigned tasks. Seokjin and Hoseok smile sheepishly as they pass you, heading to the kitchen.

Namjoon walks up the stairs, his ears flicking to the street as he hears a car approaching, which could only signal the doctor’s arrival—leaving the greeting to the manager.

“Miss Y/n. Yoongi. If you please follow me, I will take you both to one of the guestrooms that you can use to meet the doctor in. We have some snacks being prepared and will bring those soon as well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to eat in one of the bedrooms, Prime Alpha Sir. Plus, my stomach isn’t feeling so well with all the pain,” ‘and the emotional waves’ you add on in your mind.

Leading you both into the house, Namjoon nods his head, “I see. I am sorry it took so long for us to get you seen. We normally heal rather quickly as hybrids. I think we kind of forgot that humans cannot do that. Sorry.”

“No worries, Prime Alpha Sir. I have a high pain tolerance, according to my mom and Derek, but I guess there is just so much that has happened in a short time that my body is just kind of everywhere. I am sorry if my scent is causing any problems as well. I know it must be all over the place.” 

At that last comment, you feel a tug at your waist from the tail, causing you to stumble back into Yoongi. Who buries his nose in your neck, similar to how you were being held by Hoseok in the van, causing you to blush as you regain your footing. 

“Smells good. Not bad. Y/n in pain but happy,” he says as he releases you. This time, he grabs your good hand and pulls you into the room that Namjoon has opened. 

The room is significantly larger than your bedroom, that is for sure. The walls are off-white, with a dark purple accent wall containing a sitting window. The bed is a four-post queen with deep purple curtains tied back with black lace complimenting the purple and black bedding. All the furniture is in a dark, almost burnt-looking wood with iron accents.

You look around the room with your mouth agape. “It’s so beautiful here, and look!” you exclaim as you walk to the adjoining bathroom. “It comes with a private bathroom!”

Namjoon and Yoongi smile at each other as they smell your sweet pea coming out in waves with a hint of more jasmine, which the boys now understand is an indication of your happiness. 

“There is also a walk-in closet, but my favorite part is the sitting window. Perfect to read in,” Namjoon adds.

There is a knock at the door, though it is standing wide open. The three of you look over to see the manager, Jungkook, and a woman with an old-fashioned medical bag standing just outside the door.

“Pardon the interruption, but Dr. Blackwell is here,” Manager Sejin states, motioning to the woman beside him, who bows.

“Dr. Blackwell! It is good to see you again, please come in. I am sure you were informed that Yoongi is in Alpha Space and will probably like to stay but I will step out if it is needed,” Namjoon greets Dr. Blackwell with a firm handshake. 

Dr. Blackwell is a younger-looking woman but still older than you. Her hair is in a French braid, and she is wearing a pantsuit. Setting her bag on the chest at the end of the bed, she looks at Yoongi with kind eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Kim. I was informed and you are correct, since the patient is not a member of your pack then you will have to leave. Technically Mr. Min should leave as well but I will leave that up to the patient.”

“Oh, umm…” Looking between the doctor and Yoongi, they both seem to await your decision. “Mr. M,” you are cut off by a huff and a tug around your waist, “Sorry, Yoongi can stay for now. If anything gets too private then I ask him to step out.”

Yoongi’s actions cause the doctor and Namjoon to pause before looking at each other. Dr. Blackwell speaks first: “Mr. Kim, I was informed that Mr. Min believes to be responsible for the injury. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that is right, and as a mate ~cough cough~ bonded pack we are all here to support them.”

“Oh. I see and that would explain the familiarity. Thank you, Mr. Kim, that is all I believe I need from you now. Unless you want me to check out your cough?” Dr. Blackwell teasingly asks the Prime Alpha who turns slightly pink.

“Nope, I got it. You got it. Yeah. We will head out with the rest of the pack. Gonna be waiting in the dining room near the main kitchen if you need anything or need to kick Yoongi out.”

Namjoon bows to the doctor and then smiles at you as he walks out of the room, taking Jungkook with him.

In the kitchen, the two eldest have finished preparing snacks and drinks for everyone, including the staff, who gathered around munching on them. 

Pleasant conversations are happening here and there between everyone present. Everyone seems to avoid the topic of you since no one really knows what is going on except the pack and the manager. 

Namjoon watches from the entryway with Jungkook. He has always felt proud of his pack and how they treat the staff like a pseudo-family pack. They have seen other idol groups treat their staff like stepping stones, which never felt right to any of the packmates.

“Hey, everyone,” Namjoon says loud enough to gain the room's attention. “The pack has to have a pack meeting while the doctor is here. I invite the staff to take some of the prepared snacks to the guest house across the lawn and settle in. We won’t be needing any services tonight aside from Manager Sejin.”

“Namjoon-ssi, I will also head over to the other house to settle in, but I will keep my phone on me. Please text me when you need me, and I will come right over,” the manager responds while holding a tray of rolled-up meats and cheeses.

“Sounds good. Bangtan Pack, we need to meet in the dining room. Grab what’s left and come sit down.”

With that, the kitchen is filled with goodbyes, see you later, and other pleasantries as everyone departs. Namjoon, knowing that he doesn’t do well in the kitchen, simply turns and heads to the dining room they will use for the pack meeting. 

The rest of the boys grab what they can. The energy in the dining room is heavy, and they know that they have to discuss this, but the situation is odd. Once everyone is seated, Namjoon takes a look around the table. Each of his mates looks at him expectantly.

“We can all agree that she is our mate, right?” The Prime Alpha asks, wanting to make sure they are at least starting out on the same page. A chorus of agreement floods the room, lifting a weight off their shoulders. 

“Hyung?” Jimin tentatively speaks up.

“Yeah, Jimin, everything okay?”

“Seeing how everyone has reacted to her, I agree that she is a mate but I want to be honest that I haven’t had any time for my Alpha to respond to her. Actually, to be transparent, he backs away whenever she is close. I don’t know why.”

Jimin looks down and picks at the tablecloth until a Hobi takes hold of his hand. “Jimin, you were close with our last playmate and were the first of us to connect with her on a deeper level of friendship. She broke that trust with you,” Hobi begins.

“I am sure that I was not the only one who was shocked that you wanted a new playmate out here. I didn’t say anything because I figured you were trying to rebound.

However, rebounding by finding a new friend is different than finding a new mate. It will be difficult for you and some of our other mates because very few of us have had any experience outside of the pack.”

“Minie,” Jungkook chimes in. “I know you are nervous, and you keep trying to find a way to be around her but not at the same time, which is okay. But you need to make sure to listen to yourself and your Alpha. It is okay if you are not jumping into it head first like some of us are.”

“Hobi and Kook are right, Jimin.” Namjoon finally speaks up. This goes for everyone. We will all take this at a comfortable pace for us and, more importantly, for her. Manager-nim reminded me that she has no way of knowing what is going on and is most likely fighting her instincts because we are already a pack.”

“Remember how long it took us to convince Kook he wasn’t a toy? Or how Taehyung did not open up fully until after Jimin finally took it into his own hands?”

“She is gonna be like that.” Seokjin states, gaining everyone’s attention. “We need to watch ourselves. Some of us are more instinctually driven, but that could drive her away.”

“With that being said… does anyone have any suggestions?” questions Namjoon.

“Yoongi will end up being her safe space, I think.” Taehyung comments more to himself than to anyone.

Hobi shifts in his seat, remembering how self-conscious you were in the van before he speaks up, “She reminds me of myself. She doesn’t have a good self-image. We should each spend time with her.  Show her who we are off-stage, as a pack, as mates with each other, and encourage her to join in.”

“While I think that is a good idea, she won’t join in,” Jungkook interjects. “She wouldn’t ask for a bottle of water for the worry of taking from the pack, how will she accept cuddle time or scenting?”

“True, and besides that, how are we gonna keep her around for us to interact with to even prove anything to anyone,” whines Jimin. “This is so complicated.”

“Six to eight weeks! You have to be kidding. You expect me not to be using my wrist for upwards of eight weeks? What about work? Can I shower? What about chores?” You loudly speak to Dr. Blackwell in response to her diagnosis of a hairline fracture of your wrist. 

Yoongi’s ears are flat at either your yelling or the feeling of failure. His tail had curled around his own waist during the examination, and your pain levels tinted your scent with mold.

Ever remaining calm, Dr. Blackwell continues, “It would be best if you sought help during that time,” looking at Yoongi, “and since you have a respectable pack responsible for the injury there should be nothing to worry about. Isn’t that right, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi nods with an almost blank face as he tries to hide his disappointment in himself. Internally, scolding himself for breaking his mate during their first meeting.

“Mr. Min, I think it would be best to get your Prime Alpha to discuss anything further,” Dr. Blackwell instructs.

Looking briefly at you while you are looking at the floor, cradling your wrist, Yoongi leaves the guest room, quickly seeking out his pack.

“Miss Y/n, have you dealt with hybrids?”

“Yes, my family pack, as Bangtan puts it, consists of a beta fox and omega munchkin, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“I see. That makes sense. You were the Alpha in your pack and that is why you don’t understand what is happening around you.”

Snapping your head up, you look at the doctor. “What do you mean?”

Taking a tentative step forward, Dr. Blackwell places a hand on your shoulder, “It isn’t my place to say anything more than I already have. Just take a moment to think back to what you have learned about hybrids, and be open to the pack around in the next coming weeks.”

“Why would I be around them for weeks?”

Yoongi’s scent hits the dining room before he enters. All eyes are on the door as he comes in with his head hung low. He looks around the table with a frown on his face, and he mumbles, “Broke mate.”

Jin, being the closest to him, reaches out and pulls him to sit on his lap. Being Yoongi’s only hyung, Yoongi goes willingly and tucks his nose into Jin’s neck, “Hyung, I broke mate.”

“Yoon, it’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose. It was strictly an accident,” Jin whispers while rubbing soothing circles on his back. The pack pushes out calming scents into the room.

“Yoongi-hyun, can you tell us what the doctor said?” asks Jungkook.

“Broke wrist. Weeks healing. Need Pack Alpha.”

“Joon, go talk with Miss Y/n and the doctor. Get things figured out. We will take care of Yoongi,” Jin instructs, subtly pulling the elder card again.

“Yoongi, you have done great, and I am sure she doesn’t blame you,” Namjoon says as he walks to the hall, stopping. He looks back to the table. “Kookie, come with me, please. From how the scents are coming down the hall, we might need your tact at calming her down.”

A knock on the wall gains your attention. You see a toothy smile shine at you before he comes bounding over and joins you on the bed. His enthusiasm takes you back, then giggle as he lays his head on your lap, grabbing your left hand to rest on his hair.

“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable,” you say, smiling as you scratch softly on his hair.

“Are you still in pain?” he asks as his eyes close at the soothing feeling of your fingers.

“No, Dr. Blackwell gave me something for that, and it kicked in a few minutes ago. Though it’s going to be painful for a while,” you inform. Looking up, Namjoon stands next to the doctor with a sweet smile.

“Dr. Blackwell, can you explain the situation please?”

Nodding, she turns to the Prime Alpha, “Mr. Kim, Miss Y/n has what I suspect is a hairline fracture. To be certain, I would need to take her to the local hospital but given your situation that would not be a very easy task.”

“I can say with certainty that be it a hairline fracture or a severe sprain, she will have to wear a brace and not use her wrist for six to eight weeks.”

At the reminder of the weeks of difficulty that will come, your scent turns watery as worry creeps into your mind.

“As you all know, I am both a hybrid and a human doctor which brings me to the next issue at hand. While Miss Y/n is kind of heart and forgives Mr. Min of any wrongdoings, Mr. Min, according to the hybrid culture, is responsible for her recovery.”

“Wait, my recovery? I thought it was just to get me to see you?” Your eyes bounce between the three others in the room.

“That is correct, and as Prime Alpha of his bonded pack, we will provide for her over the next eight weeks. We have the space, the means, and the power to do so, Dr. Blackwell.” Namjoon says, holding eye contact with you. His voice gave no room for argument. 

“Prime Alpha Sir, you… the pack… my work… how?”

“Not to interrupt, but I will excuse myself as this is now a pack matter. Keep that brace on as much as possible. I will leave my report with notes for your employer explaining your health situation and a vial of your pain medications on the dining room table.” Dr. Blackwell says as she gathers her things and bows, leaving the room. 

“Miss Y/n, Dr. Blackwell is right. This is a pack matter now and I think speaking with everyone together would be the best idea. If you would join us, we could talk about what to do next?”

“Umm, yeah. We can do that. I can do that.” 

Moving to stand, Jungkook moves out of the way and holds your good hand, leading you toward the living room where the pack is now gathered. 

Seokjin and Yoongi are on the medium couch, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are on the long couch, and the only open seat is a loveseat. 

You move to sit on the loveseat only to have Jungkook pull you to the couch where Seokjin and Yoongi are. “Jin-Hyung, can we sit there with Yoongi?”

Noticing that Yoongi gets stiff at the question, you say, “No, no, that is okay. I think Yoongi has had enough of me. I can sit somewhere else.” However, not only does Jungkook not let go of your hand, but a black tail finds its way around your thigh.

“Sure thing, I will sit with Namjoon.” Seokjin smiles and moves to sit with his Prime Alpha on the smallest couch. 

Next thing you know, you are sandwiched between the bunny and jaguar. Yoongi is on your right, his tail still wrapped around your thigh, with the tip sliding up and down almost absentmindedly. Jungkook is on your left, still holding your hand and resting his head on your shoulder.

Your body relaxes as you lean back on the couch, looking around the room. Mind making jokes about having a fur leash again despite Yoongi not looking at you since you entered the room and how you seem to have become a bunny pillow. After some thought, you realize that you don’t actually mind either action. 

Someone clearing their throat pulls you from your thoughts. Looking towards the loveseat, you see Namjoon sit up straighter and take on a look that clearly shows that it is the Prime Alpha talking and not the cute, funny Namjoon you have seen clips of on Instagram. 

“Bangtan pack, Miss Y/n has a hairline fracture of her right wrist,” at this information, a collective hiss of sympathetic pain comes from the other members. 

“She will be required to wear that brace and limit her use of that hand for the next six to eight weeks. This brings up some causes of concern for Miss Y/n.”

Namjoon looks at you to continue, “Umm… well I am right-hand dominant so doing pretty much anything is going to be complicated. I only have about four days of sick pay saved up right now. So, going back to work will be a hurdle all on its own, not to mention doing any kind of chores or cooking.”

Your eyes wander across the group as you speak. They all look at you like you are speaking something other than English or Korean. When your eyes come to a stop on Yoongi, he is finally looking at you with his eyes now a deep brown.

“Y/n, stay with us,” Yoongi states, not asking. “I am a respectable Alpha Jaguar and it is my honor to care for you back to health. My Alpha already told you outside that he would keep you safe until you are healed. I am here for the long haul.”

Your eyes widen at his declaration, and your mind blanks on what to say or how to respond. 

From your other side, Jungkook cuddles into your side, his nose nudging your neck softly, “We all will be here for the long haul.”

“They are right, you know. We are a bonded pack of mates and we would love to have you stay here with us so that we can take care of you,” Hoseok adds. 

Breaking eye contact with Yoongi, you took to Hoseok as he and the others on that couch smiled genuinely. “What about my job? I cannot leave my work. I have to pay for my flat and food and stuff.”

“Y/n,” your head snaps to the Prime Alpha, “is it okay if we call you Y/n?”

Nodding, you turn your body to face him directly. Your left hand, still holding Jungkook’s, is gripping tightly, trying to ground yourself. 

At your agreement, the Prime Alpha smiles, showing off dimples as he continues, “I figured that you would worry about a few things like that.”

“The room you met with the doctor in is yours while you stay here with us… at the pack house. When we say that we will take care of you, we mean it. We will cover all your expenses; it’s not like we lack the funds to care for anyone. Lastly, in order to keep a job to cover your everyday expenses, such as your flat, cell phone, etc., going, I have a proposition for you.”

Holding your breath, your eyes wide at everything he has said so far, you gulp, “What is your proposition, Prime Alpha Sir?”

“Become our playmate.”

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[lvndrdaaze]

Hi hi! I saw that you're accepting req & i want to send a req if you don't mind (you can decline it, up to you)! Sfw headcanons/thoughts/one-shot (it could be anything) for wriothesley with gn reader who secretly writing a fanfic about him with the reader, wrio finds out about it 'cause he finds the paper with their handwriting (oof). Thanks in advance!

hiii! so I'm not usually accepting specific story reqs, but this tickled my fancy for some reason so I wrote a short-ish one shot, I hope you like it!! <3

(gn!reader, reader is an adventurer, one light swear ('asshole'))

Wc: 860-ish

Life Imitates Art

Tea with Wriothesley in his office was normally an innocuous affair. You'd come down to visit between your quests across Fontaine, and share a pot of whichever blend had taken his fancy recently while discussing work or literature or the latest performance you had seen at the Opera Epiclese. All of this while desperately trying to hide your attraction to the surely unattainable Duke.

So, when Wriothesley brought up something he had read recently, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. That is, until you had asked that fatal question.

"What was it about?"

Wriothesley's face lit up; he couldn't wait to tell you what the story had been about.

"Well, it was a romance story, about an adventurer and a Duke." His answer came in a light, conversational tone.

The whole world seemed to stop for a brief moment. The steady chug of machinery outside of his office went quiet. Even your heart had stopped pounding in your chest. Those papers you had lost...Archons, you prayed you had not left them in his office.

Meanwhile, he sipped his tea casually, hardly even looking at you as he continued to speak.

"The story was written from the adventurer's point of view, so you get to hear all of their deepest thoughts and secrets." Wriothesley said, glancing up at you with the slightest glimmer in his eye.

"I see..." was all you could manage to say, a hot flush growing in your cheeks as you dropped your gaze to stare into your teacup. He was toying with you, and you knew it.

"The adventurer had invited the Duke on a quest with them to Liyue, and they were staying the night in a hotel by the harbour. But, when they got there to check in, disaster struck- there was only one bed." He went on, an unmistakeable smirk in his voice now. "You see, it seemed the adventurer had some hidden feelings for the Duke. So, as you can imagine, sharing a bed with him would be quite the embarrassing situation for them."

"Yes, I can imagine." Your voice came out quietly.

"But, lucky for the adventurer, it turned out that the Duke had also been harbouring some...intense feelings for them. They barely lasted an hour in that bed together before the plot turned rather obscene."

You sighed, barely resisting the urge to facepalm.

"It was well written, all things considered." Wriothesley went on further, leaning back in his chair. Even without looking, you could feel the grin he wore in his words, the predatory gaze burning into your red cheeks as he knew full well he had you cornered.

"And I thought the plot was quite realistic, too."

That brought your attention back to him properly. Your head snapped up to stare at him, confusion written into your expression.

"What do you mean?" You asked in a low voice, a frown tugging on your brow. You didn't love the way he was toying with you in this moment, but his vague statement was enough to give you pause.

"I mean that I think a Duke like that really would reciprocate the adventurer's feelings." Wriothesley stated as though it were a simple fact. "After all, 'the warmth of their smile was enough to melt the ice that had shrouded the Duke's heart in coldness for so long'."

As he grinned wickedly at your gaping expression, you weren't sure whether to laugh or cry. This had been so humiliating for you, and this was the reason for his teasing?

"You're an asshole." You murmured, still burning bright red in a haze of embarrassment. Wriothesley chuckled softly, and pulled a couple of sheets of paper from his desk drawer.

"You left these last time you visited." He informed you with a wide smirk.

"Yes, I worked that part out." You huffed, snatching them from his hand. "And this is how you decided to tell me?"

He laughed again, a lopsided yet handsome grin on his lips.

"Can you blame me for having a little fun with it?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on the desk, mirthful eyes surveying you closer from this angle.

"I can, and I will."

But your voice didn't hold the bite that it should, and he recognised that.

"I thought the adventurer liked the Duke's 'dry wit and caustic sense of humour'?" Wriothesley teased.

"They changed their mind. The adventurer thinks the Duke is a cruel, cruel man."

Wriothesley laughed again, an expression of such smugness on his face, you couldn't help but stare. He was so handsome like this, so relaxed and gleeful.

"Well, if you ever change it back, I'd love to take you out sometime." The Duke said simply, dropping all pretence and glancing down to run his thumb over the rim of his teacup. Was that...a hint of pink in his cheeks?

Floundering. That was the word for what you felt. Like a cat tossed into a bathtub, you were in unfamiliar waters. Wriothesley was asking you out, but what could you do but accept?

"Alright, but you have to promise me you'll never bring this up ever again. Like, ever." You emphasised the words heavily, desperately, and Wriothesley flashed a mischievous grin.

"Sorry sweetheart, I'm not promising anything."

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader fluff #wriothesley x reader oneshot

[junglejim4322]

do you think a 5'4 and 6'2 height difference is predatory?

Aaksjejaozkwksjaozhqodjwizhqbsjqnssjhqsbkqzj$:&.$^€\€|€\+\€|¥]£|.*%[€]*jensbshaoswahajsihwhwoqi$/$:$:8:&2$:$/$.&102$;!;$;8:&;$494882:891jsjsjsjsoajajwbejxjwhhqausbwuwijeehjediwijwjwjejsiwjai/&/&/&.!benwnejxbabsjsjzhwnejehehsjaij$$2$/18828/!.!/&-!:$::8:.$.?2)ghshsbevdidirjdjdjdjsijdjeojjdj$&/&.!ahhahHshbsnsjshajajanshsjsjwjwsshwhwhw

#asks #anonymous #i feel like you sent this to make me feel better after I was bitching but as a certified 5’4 binch no I do not think height differences #are predatory. thank you for the ask though

[horreurscopes]

you don't have to pay overdraft fees ever

the biden administration recently cracked down on overdraft fees which means banks cannot force you to pay them as they have become opt-in -- however you do have to call the bank (for example, paypal payments overdraft you even if you have opted out, as they function like checks.)

my experience is with wellsfargo but i imagine that most major banks may operate similarly:

if you have an overdraft fee, call the bank, you will get a machine. go through the autentification process with it but do not mention your issue when it asks you to (specially not the word overdraft -- this is a conspiracy theory i cannot prove but i swear to god they rewire you to more aggressive phone people if you tipoff the machine) instead say "i'd like to speak to a representative" the machine will be like "lol didn't get that" so you may need to repeat it a couple more times before it wires you to a real person

wait! i'd recomend calling as early in the morning as possible to avoid elevator music.

be nice to the customer service person who picks up (i make a point of thanking them for their help and calling them by their name, if i don't catch it the first time i ask them again for it)

my script is something along the lines of: "hi, i noticed there's an overdraft fee in my account that posted on [date]. i am calling to see if we (WE -- you and the representative are a team against the problem) could do something about it" (<- you may decide to be more direct, i just put my innocent hat on)

most if not all of what they say to you is a script. they will be like "i will check that for you with the automated process that takes into account you previous refund activity" BLAH BLAH BLAH. more waiting. if you have had any refunds in the past 12 months, they will be like "sorry the system says no (:" THOUGH, VERY RECENTLY, they have tacked on this question: do you have any thoughts on that / how do you feel about that / etc. though even if they do not prompt you, here's the next step:

say: thank you! i appreciate the automated review, however i do not agree/approve/consent to being charged a fee. is there any way you could check again / anyone else i could talk to / would it be possible to refund it regardless? etc.

they will check again, possibly more waiting, and then you will get an immediate refund! in the rare case they refuse to, here is the link to the FDIC website that you can refer to (note, this is for overdraft fees only):

8. i cannot emphasize this enough -- be nice !!!!!!!!!!! BE NICE! be cheerful, say "thank you" and "no worries" and "take your time!". it is NOT a confrontation, it is NOT their fault, and most of the time the customer service representative wants this to be as frictionless as possible. they are helping you, use the opportunity to make a moment of their day a lot less stressful than they expect it to be.

that is ALL -- i have been using wellsfargo for over eight years, and have lost hundreds of dollars to predatory overdraft fees charged as a punishment for having no money.

during the beginning covid, when they were momentarily suspended (you had to mention covid on the phone to get them back lol), i came to the realization that all of this time they could have been giving me my money back. there was no reason not to, except corporate greed.

do not let phone social anxiety let them take your money from you, now that it is easier than EVER to get it back. and if you need motivation to pick up the phone, remember this headline from a couple of years back lol:

DEATH TO CAPITALISM !!!!!!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

rosé | f. odair

(final part of red wine)

part one, part two

summary: in the final part of the red wine series, secrets are revealed, and miscommunication threatens to tear you and finnick apart.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, blood, minor injury, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing,

notes: i’m sorry this took so long to come out y’all. thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed this mini fic <3

word count: 4.1k

Finnick believed he had made a lot of smart decisions in his life—like rigging a net made out of vines to ensnare tributes in the arena, accepting secrets as a form of payment from his patrons rather than material goods, and mastering the art of seduction to manipulate his way out of various difficult situations. However, shutting you out was not one of them.

Half an hour had passed since the incident on the staircase landing. He lingered within the mansion’s extravagant walls, where other guests mingled and dined on a range of bizarre delicacies. He couldn’t eat a thing. His stomach churned at the image of your hopeless expression as he walked off. The expression he caused.

It had to be done. That is what he had been telling himself. It had to be done, otherwise, everyone in the Capitol would learn of his feelings for you. Snow would find out and most likely punish you for interfering with the arrangement he had—the sale of his body. And Finnick was very aware of what happened to people who disrupted the president’s plans.

Partygoers would have already begun to spread rumours of the scene in the courtyard. Hopefully, it would just be chalked up to a simple argument between friends. Friends. The label borderline disgusted him. You don’t fall asleep to the thought of someone and think of them the moment you wake up if you’re just friends. Nor do you look for them in every room you walk into.

Even now, Finnick was scanning the lavishly decorated banquet hall for a glimpse of your pure white gown, despite being the one who walked away. It was an instinct at this point. But there was no one in the room wearing white but him; his matching half was still outside, blending in with the winter snow. Or maybe gone home.

One colour did catch his eye though. A vibrant, almost tacky red, worn by a woman who was strutting towards him, her chin held high with pride. Finnick noticed the material of her floor-length gown. Silk. She was wearing your old dress, only the colour was incredibly off, and each hem was lined with red fur, conforming with her implanted whiskers. That was when he realised who the woman was.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline.

“Where’s your dancing partner tonight?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

The bright saturation of her dress was almost blinding as she stopped in front of him. He held back a grimace and plastered on a smile even faker than her voice. “She wasn’t up for it this time,” he lied.

“Well, everyone knows she’s out of touch with our way of life,” she said. Finnick ground his jaw, struggling to maintain his façade. Words could not explain how condescending these people were. “This dress is an adaptation of one she wore quite a while ago. Such a plain thing. I only liked the colour and bodice. The only way I could wear it in public was if I spruced it up.”

He thought back to the dress you had worn. Nobody had even come close to how phenomenal you looked. Where others needed extravagance and flounce to stand out, you only needed a simple red dress. Yet here this woman was, thinking she had the audacity to call you plain.

“I noticed. It’s very… striking.”

“Thank you, darling,” she purred. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, like that of a wild cat about to pounce and devour its meal. “I was waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it.”

His forced smile twitched. “You’re certainly turning heads.”

“Did I turn yours?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Truth be told, Finnick hadn’t even remembered her existence until she walked right up to him. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, so he told her that she did. For a long period of time, they bounced back and forth, complimenting and flirting with each other, never dipping below the surface into a real conversation. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not with her. The only person he longed to conversate with was now out of reach.

The woman started talking about colourless topics such as the latest fashion trends in the Capitol and her opinions on the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, all of which made Finnick wish she would just gouge his eyes out with her sharp claw-like fingernails. He couldn’t do anything but stand, smile, and agree. Doing anything else would result in Snow staying true to his very detailed threats

As the conversation continued, his attention began to drift. He surveyed the outfits of everyone in the room, amusing himself by deciding whether or not each person was making a fashion statement or tragedy. Only one person claimed the former title—the one in white.

Finnick watched as you entered the room. The giant golden chandelier cast down a bright light which caused your skin to glow with radiance; its glare enhanced the brilliance of your white dress. This brief moment ignited a fear in him that you had died in his absence because there was no way a mere human being could look so angelic.

“Finnick?” the feline asked, but her voice barely registered in his brain.

Captivated. He was utterly and completely captivated. One after the other, sudden realisations conjured in his mind. The first—there wasn’t a life worth living ahead of him if you weren’t by his side the whole way, and not as a friend or a fellow victor, but as his partner. His lover. The second—he would never let any harm come to you. He would keep you safe from Snow’s clutches, from the Capitol, from anyone who would put you in danger, even if it meant the two of you had to disappear into the vast forests of Panem.

And lastly, he was now absolutely certain that the woman in front of him could never compare to you, nor could anyone else in the ever-expanding universe. You were a basic human necessity to him. Without you, his heart might as well stop beating. Your laugh, your smile, your kindness, your unwavering support—every part of you kept him alive.

“Finnick?” the voice that went disregarded hissed again.

With a half-empty wine glass in hand, your anxious eyes searched the room. Finnick wanted nothing more than to sprint over, pull you into his arms, and cast away every trouble plaguing your mind. He couldn’t. Almost all eyes were on you, yet you hadn’t even seemed to notice. Only one person finally seemed to gain your attention, and that was Finnick, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on yours.

The neurons firing in his brain signalled him to move and he did. But just as his legs started to walk, a forceful hand jerked his face to the side and a pair of harsh lips were crushed to his. Glass shattered on the marble flooring. Momentarily paralysed from shock, Finnick stumbled backwards, briefly catching the twisted triumphant smirk on the woman’s face before whirling around.

Your face was frozen with devastation; his heart dropped. Splatters of red wine had stained your gown, pooling in a crimson puddle of glass shards by your feet. Quiet mocking chuckles and whispers echoed around the room. Oh, if only he had his trident; they wouldn’t be laughing then.

An Avox rushed forward, attempting to clean up the mess, but you had crouched down with them.

“No, please,” Finnick heard you say to the Avox as he strode toward you. “Please don’t. I can do it.”

But delicate hands and glass shards never mix well. You gasped in pain. A jagged fragment you collected had sliced into your palm, creating another crimson pool in your hand.

Finnick’s strides quickened, eventually leading him to stop and kneel beside you. He wordlessly took your hand in his, cradling it as he inspected the damage. Blood coated his fingers, but he didn’t care. He might as well have cut your hand himself. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.

Pink blush overtook your face. For once, it wasn’t because he made you flustered or bashful, but because you were humiliated. He knew how much you disliked attention; now you were at the centre of it. Beside you was the Avox, tending to the mess of broken glass.

“Could you bring me a first-aid kit, please?” he asked with a polite smile.

They nodded and silently left. Finnick returned his attention to you, applying pressure to your wound. Your gaze was lowered, unwilling to meet his own. There was more to your demeanour than just embarrassment. There was sadness. Disheartenment. Neither of which were present when you walked in, only appearing after the feline woman had kissed him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, eyes unmoving.

The Avox returned holding a medical kit; Finnick thanked them, taking the box into his hands. He climbed to his feet, hesitating before offering you a hand up. Much to his relief, you accepted his assistance. And then, without a word, you began walking towards the nearest exit with apparent indifference to the engrossed eyes following you.

Finnick didn’t bother to conceal his icy glare toward the crowd as he trailed behind you and exited the room.

*******

Pain of a thousand unrelenting bees stung the broken flesh of your palm. Even the slightest movement of your fingers sent waves of throbbing agony up your arm. But it was nothing compared to the brutal ache of your heart.

You had entered the mansion in search of Finnick, determined to mend the crack in your friendship before it crumbled completely. What you got instead was humiliation and heartbreak. What you saw was another woman kissing the man you loved, whilst wearing a horrible adaptation of your red gown no less.

The air had been sucked from your lungs. Believing he would kiss you on the dance floor in the courtyard was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, a pathetic fool’s wish—every term under the sun that defined something not real. At least now you understood why he was acting so differently. Because he had found someone else and that someone wasn’t you.

A lump formed in your throat and you knew tears were approaching. As if your night couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Your feet carried you down a long corridor, far enough away from the banquet hall that listening ears and prying eyes were unable to reach. Finnick still followed behind you, though you weren’t sure why he bothered. How could he explain what you saw with your own eyes? Plus, the last thing you wanted was for his new romance to think something was going on between you and him. Only in your dreams.

Unsure of your destination, you decided to enter the first room you came across. It turned out to be a lavishly decorated library, walled with large wooden bookshelves which were filled endlessly with novels and historic paraphernalia. Sitting within the bookshelves was a stone fireplace.

The door closed as Finnick entered behind you, the silence so loud that the crackles from the fireplace reverberated through the room. Your hand still throbbed something awful so you looked down, taking in the gruesome sight of your dress. A stranger might have thought you had just murdered someone. If it were televised, it would have been deemed acceptable.

You sniffled, wearing a small bitter smile. “I ruined Snow’s pretty white dress.”

A few moments passed before Finnick replied. “Red always was more your colour,” he said, his tone anything but playful.

Ahead of you was a great wall of windows; in the reflection, you saw him staring back at you with an unfamiliar expression. His brows were pinched upwards, pronouncing the lines in his forehead, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a slight pensive frown. He didn’t look like the Finnick you knew. This Finnick looked pained. Anguished.

You dropped his intense gaze and ambled across the room. By the lit fireplace was a cushioned stool which you sat down on, eyes staring into the flickering flames. If you were lucky, maybe your dress would catch alight and whisk you away from your troubled life. Okay, perhaps the thought was a little morbid, but so was a broken heart. Of all people, why did you have to fall in love with Finnick Odair?

Cautious footsteps followed behind you, coming to a stop beside your feet. Without your acknowledgement, Finnick crouched down, eyeing the bloody mess of your hands with concern. His gaze lifted to yours, which was still on the fire, and he sighed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” he murmured.

Before you could refuse, you realised contracting an infection was worse than giving in to your stubbornness. So, you nodded.

Finnick opened the first-aid kit and began tending to your wound; his touch was so gentle it was like he was piecing together a broken china cup. Using an antiseptic gauze, he attempted to clean the damaged skin, whispering apologies whenever you winced in pain. After carefully applying a dressing, he began wrapping a bandage around your hand.

You stared into the orange flames, wondering how he would explain to that woman why he left her behind. You wondered when their relationship started and why Finnick continued to shamelessly flirt with you in her absence. You wondered if their relationship would be the end of your friendship.

“Are you in love?” you quietly asked.

His hands stilled at your sudden words, then he continued wrapping the bandage. “Not with her.”

He secured the binding with medical tape and climbed to his feet, placing the supplies back into the kit on a small side table.

Brows drawn together in confusion, you turned to look up at him. “But I thought—"

“Things are much more complicated than they seem,” he interrupted. There was a clear vase of white roses on the table. Finnick toyed with the petals, caressing them between his gentle fingertips. “No one understands me better than you do, and there is no one in this world I trust more. But… there are still things I’ve been keeping from you.”

The troubled expression on his face melted into one of vulnerability. This was a new appearance for him. Finnick was known nationwide for his radiant confidence and charm; he never let his guard down. You have had difficult conversations before, such as discussing each other’s hardships and innermost secrets, but none of them seemed to affect him like this.

“Everyone knows about my visits to the Capitol,” he continued. “How I spend nights with different people every time as if it’s all a game for my pleasure. But it’s not true. It’s not my game I’m playing.” He began walking over to the wall of windows, overlooking Snow’s gardens. “There’s a part of it that no one knows about.”

You rose from the stool, beginning to take slow steps towards him. “Which is?”

The fire flickering behind you deepened Finnick’s features. It intensified the shiny bronze of his hair and enhanced the defined contours of his face, making it easy to see the muscles in his jaw clench with apprehension. He stared out the window so intensely that you were sure his usual green eyes were blazing with their own inferno.

Even full of angst, he was painstakingly beautiful.

His chest inflated with a deep breath. “President Snow… sells me to the Capitol.”

Horror washed over you in monstrous waves. Sells? Only one explanation appeared in your head as to what he meant. You remained silent, praying he would prove your assumption wrong.

“After I won my Games, he saw my success as an opportunity to please his citizens. He began offering me to potential buyers—'admirers’ is what he called them—who soon became my regular customers. They would use me however they liked. Some would pounce on me the second I stepped through the door. Others were relatively tamer. Kinder. They would have me take them on dates or watch a movie with them, but one way or another, it all ended the same way at the end of the night.” He sucked in a sharp uneasy breath before continuing. “Then there were the rare few—the ones who treated me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll for their amusement. They did things that were… unspeakable.”

Nausea churned in your stomach as your mind conjured sickening images. It couldn’t be true. You refused to believe that human beings could stoop to such levels of atrocity to make one person endure so much cruelty. Then again, you lived in a world where children were sent into an arena to fight to the death on live television.

Finnick looked like he was holding himself together by a thread. Every word he confessed shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could this have happened to him?

“I’ve tried to refuse but Snow threatened to harm the people I care about—my family, my friends. After I met you, I knew you were added to that list.” He finally turned around to face you, his eyes filled with such anguish, it shook you to your core. “The Capitol owns me, Y/N. Body and soul.”

Despair riddled your entire body. As you stared at him, the image of a teenager appeared in your mind—eyes sea green and hair a fiery bronze. He was just a boy when it started. A child.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” you managed to whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Less of you? Finnick,” you said softly, stopping in front of him. Your eyes beckoned for his; you needed him to look at you, to really take in your next words. “There isn’t a single person alive I think more highly of than you. No one even comes close. Can’t you see? Just having you in my presence makes me feel whole. You make me whole.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as they flickered between your own, absorbing every reassuring word you said into his mind, his bones, his entire being.

“You have brought so much into my life,” you continued. “So much good. And I would never have made it to where I am now without you. So please, don’t ever distance yourself from me because you think I will judge you. I won’t and I never will.”

As the room stilled with silence, a lone tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the sob he was keeping restrained within his throat. And then a smile started to grow on his face, small at first, but then it stretched wider and wider, deepening those dimples that you adored so much.

You knew that your words had touched the deepest parts of him. That you had managed to convince him ‘less’ could never be a word used to describe him. He was more. More kind, more genuine, more caring than almost all of Panem.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in awe, looking at you as if he were witnessing the birth of the universe. “Sweetheart, you’re incredible. Do have any idea how rare that is for a person to be? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you in my life, but I swear I’ll do whatever I can to keep you. And if—” His gaze drifted, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his mind— “if that means I have to share all my secrets with you, then I will.”

“Have you got any more secrets, Finnick?”

He returned his attention back to your face. The indecision from moments ago had disappeared and was replaced with certainty, which was underscored by a sort of tenderness that settled in his features.

“Just one,” he murmured. He paused, observing the universe before him and wondering how on earth he got so lucky to have the privilege of having it staring right back at him. “I’m in love with you.”

Electricity shocked your heart like someone had placed a defibrillator over your chest and hit charge. Love? You? He was?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have told you everything. Even if saying this means I’m risking everything between us, I can’t keep it from you any longer. God, sweetheart, I love you so much it fucking hurts. I always will, even if you never feel the same.”

Somehow in the span of twenty minutes, everything you thought you knew came crashing down. First, your heart was broken by the thought of Finnick kissing another, and then it was healed. And then it broke again as he voiced his arrangement with Snow. It could never fully heal again while Snow was alive, not with what he was forcing upon Finnick.

But Finnick pieced together every piece he possibly could with his confession, one heartfelt word of declaration at a time.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. His eyes held a mixture of anxiety and hope for your response. Time seemed to stretch out as you tried to find your voice. How do you declare your love as powerfully as someone who just bared their soul to you?

An emotional laugh bubbled up your throat, your eyes brimming with tears. “You idiot,” was what you said, the words spoken with utmost adoration. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in amazement and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Before you had a chance to react, he had moved towards you in one swift step, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a powerful, passionate kiss.

Your hands were quick to cling onto him, desperately terrified that if you let go, he would vanish into thin air. Every ounce of yearning and hidden affection from the past year poured into this one single moment, into the movement of your lips against one another, and the feeling of your hands cradling each other’s bodies.

Emotions were running high. You could taste both your own and Finnick’s tears as they streamed down your faces, salty and palpable with affection. The sheer relief of finally being free to express your love was so unimaginable that you felt like you would be crying with happiness your whole life.

Finnick’s hand cupped the side of your jaw and he lowered his head, deepening the kiss as much as he physically could to make up for all the time he wasted. His lips were soft and adoring, savouring the sweet taste of your lips on his. His other arm tightened around your lower back, pulling you even further against him.

You felt like you were melting into his embrace and happily, you would have. It felt so right, so safe to be held by him. The world outside the library no longer existed; there was only Finnick and you. Your hands settled on either side of his jaw, staining his skin red from your blood-soaked bandage. You knew he wouldn’t care—the blood belonged to you.

And that is how you spent most of the night. In the library, in that one spot by the windows, in each other’s arms. At some point, you ended up sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, both covered in red and feeling blissfully content. Your back was leaning against Finnick’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as he occasionally pressed his lips into your hair.

You toyed with the fabric of his sleeves, your head leaning against his collarbone as you watched the flames once more.

“If Snow ever finds out…” you murmured.

“He won’t,” he reassured quietly. “I won’t let him. He’s taken too much from me; he won’t take you too.”

You turned your head to peer up at him, wearing a teasing smile. “Can’t live without me, Odair?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

Once again, Finnick’s lips were on yours, conveying every ounce of immense love he felt for you through his kiss. The only time either of you broke apart was to whisper sweet declarations of your devotion and reverence before returning to each other again. This was when you felt most complete.

When you felt whole.

tags: @queenofspades6 @powellssaturn @bellamybellamyblake @heroinhchicblog222

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[yourfriendowlbear]

Boundaries

Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: A stranger approaches Astarion in your favorite tavern

Genre: slice of life, little bit of angst, mostly fluff

The tavern is cozy. Loud and lively and warm. There’s a fire in the fireplace. The bartender keeps the alcohol flowing plentifully. And you’re seated at your favorite table–in the corner, against the wall but still close enough to the action to enjoy the tavern atmosphere–with your favorite cold-blooded company.

Astarion has dragged his chair around to your side of the table, and he’s sitting close enough that you can feel the chill from his skin.

You’re comfortable, a drink in-hand as you both watch the tavern’s small stage. There’s a musical group clustered together–a fiddle player, a flutist, a man with a hand drum, and a woman playing a horn–and there are people dancing just in front. 

Overall it’s joyous and raucous and fun, and though you’d originally had to practically bribe Astarion to come with you tonight, you can tell he’s enjoying himself all the same.

You both cheer when the band ends a song, and when they take a small break to chat with the crowd around the stage, Astarion leans back to say something to you.

But you never get to hear what he has to say, because at that exact moment, a man appears in front of you both. He’s handsome–strong jaw, piercing eyes, youthful energy–and his smile, though enticing, is predatory. A cat who has sighted a dove.

The man sizes you up briefly before turning his attention to Astarion. You can tell that the vampire knows what’s coming based on the way he tenses up. The stranger either doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, because he continues on without a care.

His opening line makes you roll your eyes. It’s cheesy and basic (“I saw you from across the room and I just had to come over and say hello.”) and he looks proud of himself when Astarion laughs and says “Oh, how positively quaint.” Poor sod can’t even tell when he’s being made fun of.

He’s shockingly persistent, asking questions, asking if he can buy Astarion a drink. For the most part, you’re sitting there, both offended because hello you’re right there and amused by Astarion’s polite but increasingly snarky responses.  

Around the third time the man asks to buy Astarion a drink, things start to get significantly less polite. And when the band starts up again and the man asks Astarion to dance, the vampire practically growls out “No. Thank you, darling, but I’m much more comfortable here.”

As he’s saying it, Astarion shifts slightly closer to you, as if he’s trying to get physically away from the stranger. You can tell he’s annoyed from how tense his jaw is.

“Oh, come on. Have a little fun.” The stranger’s persistence has finally pushed you to your limit and you snap “Gods above, he said no. Take a hint and fuck off.”

The stranger scowls, but ultimately, he does leave, and you follow him with his eyes as he weaves through the crowd and out the door of the tavern.

After a moment, Astarion stands, moving his chair back to the other side of the table. “I can handle myself, you know.” His voice is soft, but you can hear the hurt in it. “I know you think I’m just some pitiable creature that can’t set his own boundaries, but I assure you, I can manage on my own.”

You frown. Of course, you don’t think that. And of course, you know he can handle himself. You were trying to help. But when you go to say that, he shoots you a firm glare, and your words die in your throat. Instead, you simply say “It won’t happen again.”

You leave shortly after, the band no longer holds your attention, and you want to give Astarion some space. So you head out into the night.

Bloomridge is the nicest neighborhood in the Lower City. The City had gifted you the house after everything, and while at first, you’d chafed at the idea of living in the quiet, sweet, more affluent part of the city. But you’d both grown to love it. The view over Grey Harbor is unparalleled, and it’s shockingly nice to have somewhere quiet to settle down between adventures.

Your feet have carried you home, but you don’t really want to go in yet–the night is covered in a beautiful, light fog, and there’s a lovely breeze coming in off the harbor–so you sit on the front steps and lean your back against the door.

It’s only a few minutes later that you see Astarion picking his way back up the stairs along the side of the city wall. He pauses in front of you, and you can see the pain in his crimson eyes before he sighs and sits beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

Beside you, Astarion stiffens and inhales sharply. “Why are you sorry?”

“You’re right. I should have let you handle it. You’re more than capable.”

“I…” He deflates a little, and a confused frown creases his forehead. “I appreciate that you stepped in. Sometimes… sometimes it’s still hard to…”

He trails off, but you know what he means. Sometimes it’s still hard for him to enforce his boundaries. He tries, but 200 years of Cazador’s reign of terror don’t go away in a year. It can be difficult to walk the line between being firm and being outright rude (and as snarky as Astarion can be, he doesn’t always want to be rude).

These things take time.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, wordlessly telling him that it’s okay, that you get it, that he’s done nothing wrong. You’ll work on his boundary enforcement together. You have a lifetime together to do it.

#astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanons #astarion fic #astarion romance #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[dollfacefantasy]

Just Like the Movies

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend dons the ghostface mask to let you live out a fantasy

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, cnc, praise/degradation, knife play, predator/prey dynamic (he chases her idk what to call it), dacryphilia, voyeurism mentions

word count: 3.4k

a/n: i wanted to write at least one spooky thing for halloween and i love scream so here you go. i'm working on requests i promise, i just wanted to get this out before october ends. as always, thank you for the comments and reblogs <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz ghostface photo used in the header is from @/oikizumi on pinterest!

An old scary movie plays on the television as you relax on the couch after a hard week. You had a soft blanket draped over you and a bowl of popcorn in your lap. The missing piece was your boyfriend. You were just waiting for him to come home and join you for your little makeshift marathon.

You casually watch the movie while lifting handfuls of popcorn to your mouth. You had seen this one before so it wasn’t scaring you, but it was entertaining enough to pass the time with until Leon returned to you.

It was getting to be that time of evening when he usually came marching through the door, tired from work but still with open arms for you to slide into. He hadn’t come home yet though. As you’re wondering where your lover could be, your phone begins to ring.

You sit up and grab it from the table in front of you.

No caller ID.

You raise your eyebrows at the strange nature of that. Assuming it’s a scam call though, you leave it be. However, the phone rings again. You actively decline the call this time. You place your phone down again, hoping that would be the end.

It wasn’t though because not even a minute later, your phone vibrates again.

You reach for the device and see a text message pop up on your lock screen.

‘Don’t ignore me, pretty girl.’

That piques your curiosity. When the phone rings again, you click the answer button and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?” you say.

“Finally, she answers the phone,” a smooth, predatory voice teases.

“Who is this?” you ask.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t wanna ruin the fun already, do you babydoll?” he purrs.

“Well, what do you want?” you ask. The cadence of the voice was familiar, but the actual sound of it, you couldn’t place. It didn’t sound like anyone you knew in real life.

“To talk to you. I guess you could say I’m kind of lonely,” he says with mock sadness.

“Aw, well I’m not, so bye,” you say and hang up the phone. As you begin to place that voice and the cadence behind it, Leon’s late arrival makes sense. You had disclosed this little fantasy to him recently. And it seemed like he had got the modulator to sound just like the movie for you.

Not even ten seconds go by before the phone rings again. An excited chill comes over you as you lift it and accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Why’d you hang up on me, angel? That’s not very nice of you,” he taunts, “You doing something better right now?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Yeah? What’s so important that you can’t spare a few moments of your precious time?”

“I’m about to watch some scary movies,” you say, a smile spreading on your face. You sit up on the couch more as you feel where this conversation is going.

“Scary movies? I like scary movies,” he says, “Tell me, do you have a favorite?”

“I like Scream. You ever seen that one?” you say teasingly.

“I’m familiar,” he says, “That one’s not really scary though. I bet I could give you more of a thrill.”

“Mm, maybe. But sadly for you, my boyfriend will be home soon.”

“Boyfriend? That’s a shame,” he says, his voice becoming a hint darker.

“I’m sure it is. Anyways, I should be going…” you trail off knowingly.

“C’mon, blondie can wait a few more minutes.”

“Blonde,” you repeat slowly, feigning fear, “How do you know he’s blonde?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while, baby. Had to make sure everything would be perfect tonight,” he says with a low laugh, “Let’s just say that we have plenty of time now.”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” you say, cranking up the fear in your voice. You stand up from the couch and walk to a window to see if you can spot him outside.

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Plus, I thought girls liked the whole man of mystery thing,” he chuckles, “You’re honestly telling me this doesn’t turn you on?”

“It doesn’t!” you say defensively.

“Are you sure about that?” he breathes, “When I cut those slutty little shorts off you, I’m not gonna find a messy cunt crying for me to fill her?”

“No…” you say, your cheeks heating up while arousal pools in your belly.

“You don’t sound so sure,” he teases, “Y’know, I think I can see your nipples getting hard under that thin shirt all the way from here.”

You quickly step away from the window, a shiver shooting up your spine. You bite your lip. “Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper.

His cruel laugh crackles through the phone. “I wanna hear you cry like that when you’re cumming all over my cock.”

Every word tumbling from his lips stoked the flames of desire within you. Your veins were coursing with a primal need at this point.

“I’m gonna call the police,” you say. Your voice was breathy in what could be interpreted as terror, but in reality, it was pure lust.

“Do you think that would stop me?” he rasps into the phone, “Because, we both know I would get to you before the operator could even take your address. But let’s say you did get through. I can be quick, doll. Take what’s mine and have that tight pussy full of my cum with time to spare.”

You shift your thighs and look for the smallest semblance of friction as he lays this out to you.

“By the time any cop did get here, all they would find is a pathetic little mess, lying on the ground all fucked out and bred, a dumb smile on that pretty face.”

The tiniest whine escapes your throat from that mental image. You wonder if he heard it, but the throaty chuckle on the other end answers your question.

“You dirty fucking whore. You love this. You wanna be pinned down and used until your sweet mind is broken and completely cock drunk.”

“No, I don’t,” you say, trying to keep up the act of defiance even though your desire was palpable in your voice.

“Well, too bad. But I’ll be generous, little one. I’m telling you that I’m coming in now. A little head start if you’re smart,” he says, “You better not waste my fucking time. Give me a good chase, or I’m not gonna be nice when I catch you. Find out if your insides are as pretty as the outside.”

You hang up the phone. Your body was on fire with a mix of adrenaline and arousal. You scamper through the house into another room, wondering what to even start with. Your thoughts are cut off when you hear the back door slide open.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. You move quietly across the room you’re in, peering through the doorway back into the living room. You see him. That tall and fit body donned in a tight black t-shirt and pants. He wears black leather boots on his feet. A large hunting knife is strapped to his belt. His head is covered, and when he turns, your heart seizes at the sight of the ghostface mask.

He catches a glimpse of you through the cracked door and starts toward you. You zoom through the other door in the room, maneuvering quickly around furniture and stray clutter. Then, you loop back to the open back door. You can hear him clambering through the hall behind you. Primal fear courses through you, instinctually telling every cell in your body to run.

“Where do you think you’re going, sugar?” you hear the voice modulator crackle.

Moving through the sliding door, you dart across the backyard. The grass was wet against your feet since you didn’t have the time to grab a pair of shoes. You fumble with the gate, your hands shaking from the adrenaline coursing through you. You try to shut it behind you to delay him, but he’s already so close.

You continue sprinting into the woods behind your home. The area surrounding you was dark. It was cold out too. Your skin had broken out into goosebumps, your thin shirt and shorts not providing much warmth, and your bare feet only exacerbating the feeling.

There were trees everywhere, and it felt like there were things hiding within the dense woodland. The whole time you focused on not running into a tree, you could hear him behind you. His breathing was heavier, but it was clear he was exerting minimal effort.

You jump over overgrown roots and duck under stray branches. Despite running for a bit, you still weren’t too deep in the woods. You shoot a look behind you, trying to see if you were any closer to losing him than before. He’s just as close, and in the midst of your attempted glance, your foot catches on a rock. You cry out and tumble to the ground. Skin scrapes against the dirt and rocks beneath you.

He slows his pace to a simple walk, pulling the hunting knife from the sheath. The wide blade shimmers in the pale moonlight. He holds it up and drags a gloved fist over the silver, just like in the movies. Another, low laugh breaks through the speaker of the modulator.

“Too easy, princess,” he taunts, “Get up and keep running.”

Your eyes widen and blood rushes to the lower region of your body at the command. You stumble to your feet and stagger away. Your foot aches a little from the rock and the fall, but you continue in earnest.

He lets you go on for a while longer. Occasionally, he would intentionally fall behind, giving you the illusion that you could outrun him. But also filling you with the dread that you would be out in those woods alone.

Soon enough, he’s had enough of the chase. He speeds up and hooks his arms around your waist. He pulls you to the ground in a swift motion, whipping around your body so quickly that you could barely see it. He’s got one of his knees holding your dominant arm down while a hand holds the knife to your throat. You squirm and whimper under him, causing him to shake his head and make a noise of mock disappointment.

“Poor baby. You did all you could, didn’t you?” he coos menacingly, leaning down closer to your face, “Look at you. Out of breath, heart beating out of your chest. You tried so hard.”

He brings the knife up to your cheek and drags the tip across, not cutting you but letting you feel the cool metal on your soft skin. You whine and scrunch your face in discomfort, eliciting a cruel laugh from him. He drops the knife nearby and shakes his head.

“Not a fan of knives, sweet thing? Too scary?”

Next, you try recoiling from his touch, but he’s caging your body on the ground. The damp dirt presses against your back and smears on his clothing as he wrestles with you to keep you in place. Again, you can see how little effort it takes for him to keep you down. The display of strength has your heart beating harder with lust.

“Keep fighting me, little one. It’s my favorite part,” he breathes before shifting on top of you and roughly flipping you over.

Now, squirming only rubs your face into the soil beneath you. In this position, you can feel his hard cock against your ass. He reaches over for the knife again and brings it to the base of your spine. He uses his knee to hold down your arm again, so he can pull your skimpy top taut and slice through it with ease.

He handles you like a ragdoll and yanks it off. The knife falls to the ground again as he reaches around your body with both gloved hands to knead your breasts. You whimper at the harsh squeezes and rolls of his fingers. His face is right next to your head, and you can hear his ragged breathing under the mask.

He pinches and teases your nipples, your noises now becoming obviously pleasurable. A hand slides into your hair and grips the roots as he shoves your face to the ground. Your cheek is smooshed on the cool surface, and your lips part as your own breathing picks up. Your hips are still squirming, but now only to try and feel some friction with his dick.

“There we go. Such a little slut. Didn’t take much for you to give in. You know this is where you belong. Beneath me, stuffed full of my cock,” he groans.

His hands glide down your body, pulling your hips into place. He tugs your shorts and panties down to your knees, humming in satisfaction when he sees your dripping cunt. Two leather-covered fingers slide through your slick. They circle your puffy clit, drawing mewls from your throat. The fingers then dip inside you and pump in and out a few times. Your body shudders at the sensation.

“So fucking wet. You like this even more than I thought. So sick baby. My twisted little doll,” he teases.

He plants his free hand on the back of your neck and digs his fingers into the side of your throat. His other hand continues working your aching pussy, adding in another finger to your needy hole. You choke out a few moans as your breathing becomes more like panting.

“All this for just my fingers? Can’t imagine how you’re gonna cry on my cock. Maybe scream for me a few times,” he purrs.

After a bit more, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, shushing you when you whine in protest. You hear the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric being adjusted. It isn’t long before you feel the heat of his cock prodding your entrance. You shift your hips back, taking the tip in.

He grunts and his breath hitches as you clamp down on the sensitive head. Once he regains his composure, he slams his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you with one thrust. You cry out and claw the dirt beneath you.

“You wanna be an impatient little bitch, I’m not gonna be gentle with you. If you’re so fucking needy that you can’t wait two seconds for my dick, I’ll treat you like the cockslut you are, sweetheart,” he says before beginning to rock his hips back and forth.

He finds a rhythm with ease. One of his hands gives your ass a few firm smacks while his other hand returns to your head to pull on your hair. The noise of your skin connecting sounds through the woods along with your whining. His grip on your hair is like a vise. The mild sting of the pull mixed with the rush of pleasure from him drilling into you brings some tears to your eyes.

“That’s right, fucking take it. This is what you were made for, sweet girl. Your body knows it,” he grunts as your walls flutter around him.

He smacks your ass again while getting more erratic with his thrusts. The hand in your hair returns to your hip to give him more leverage. His digits dig into your skin to the point of potential bruises. You whimper and moan, your head becoming cloudy while he stretches you out.

His quiet moans hit your ears and make your stomach erupt with butterflies. You tighten around his shaft. You were starting to work up a sweat despite the cool temperature of the air around you. You shudder and twitch, only causing him to hold you tighter.

Your back arches as more sinful noises pour from your lips. A particular thrust snaps something in you and breaks the dam that was holding in your tears. It felt like he was stroking deeper than ever before, and you just couldn’t hold it in. Warm drops stream from your eyes while your whimpering grows louder and less controlled.

“Are you crying, little love?” he coos, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. He starts rubbing your back with even, soothing strokes without stopping his thrusts, “Cry it out, sweetheart. It just feels too good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimper with a weak nod.

“Yes it does. I know, baby,” he says condescendingly. His gloved hand continues caressing your back while he snaps in and out. You grow louder still, whining and moaning through tears.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, doll,” he teases. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but you’re past the point of being able to control your volume. “You’d probably get off on that though, you little freak.”

“N-no,” you stutter out in an attempt to defend yourself, but you’re cut off by your own gasps of pleasure.

“No? You wouldn’t cum on the spot if someone saw you like this? Taking my cock like the good little whore you are. Crying cause it’s just too much for you.”

You shake your head as best you can while being pressed against the ground. Your pussy clenches around him though from the description alone.

“Sure,” he chuckles before grunting, “Someone could be watching right now. It’s so fucking dark out here you wouldn’t even know.”

You can’t hide the thrill that gives you. A loud cry tears through you and your hips squirm within his grasp, trying to get you to that peak.

“Yeah, I know you like that,” he growls, leaning down and encasing you with his arms. The new angle lets him piston himself even deeper within you.

He keeps grinding himself into you as you both feel the coils of release getting closer to snapping. One of his arms snakes around your head, his bicep curling around your neck. The plastic front of the ghostface mask presses into the side of your head. He’s grunting and moaning into your ear, bringing you right to the edge.

“I feel it coming, honey. Let it go. Cream on my cock, baby girl. Give it all to me,” he mumbles.

With no reason to hold back, you let your release explode. You writhe in his hold, gasping and crying as euphoria floods your being. You bite your lip and tilt your head back to nuzzle and sloppily kiss at the mask.

He’s not far behind you. A few thrusts later, he’s draining himself in you, filling your insides with hot and sticky cum. His hips sputter and the mask becomes misaligned on his head as the two of you press against each other.

You’re both panting in the end. Leon pulls out and rolls off of you, landing on the ground next to you. You don’t move from your place in the dirt and just look over at him. He tugs off the mask and drops it near the knife. For the first time tonight, you see his charming smile and sweet eyes, a sharp contrast to the performance he just put on. He leans over and gives you a soft kiss as he adjusts the rest of his clothing.

You still don’t move from your position. He sits up and rubs your back again. His hands massage the muscles there for a moment before trailing down your leg. He gently lifts your foot and kisses your ankle.

“Your foot ok, baby?” he asks while rubbing your thigh. Even after all that, he hadn’t forgotten your fall earlier.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

“Ok, good,” he says. 

He starts to help you roll over so you can get up. He smiles at you, brushing some dirt off your cheek.

“Let’s get you home so we can shower,” he says and helps you pull your shorts back on as you sit up. He kisses your temple a few times and strokes your hair, “Then we can cuddle and watch some scary movies.”

That makes you crack a smile, and you kiss his lips.

“Let’s get home quick. It’s cold out here, and I don’t have a shirt anymore thanks to you,” you tease.

You rise to your feet and lean on him for support. He picks up the knife and mask as well as the scrap of cloth that was once your top. He offers it to you with a sheepish smile. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Guess, you’ll just have to stay close then,” he says and tucks you under his arm. He kisses the crown of your head before you two start walking back through the woods to your home together.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

[mrsrookhunt]

hi, hi! could I ask for pt 2 of the twst "what to expect when your lab experiment drinks formula," I just thought it was rlly cute!☺ you can do any sort of characters, I don't mind!

What to Expect When your Lab Experiment Drinks Formula Pt. 2

Hihi! Actually, I wrote that scenario for all the characters in twst I'm writing for right now (I'm new to the fandom), so I've gone ahead and made this into a followup on how they're doing as parents, hope you don't mind! Thanks the ask!

Warnings: Mild Chap 7 spoiler (Lilia), Rook & Floyd want so many kids your house is going to look like the 100 baby sims challenge.

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Part one! Rook Hunt! Part Two (here), Part Three!

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Malleus Draconia

Malleus is running wild with the new heir. As much as he loves you, so much of his time is occupied by playing with his baby that you don't even see him around as often as you used to.

Your new baby is named Ormr, an ancient name directly meaning 'dragon'. Malleus pouted for a bit that it didn't start with 'Mal' but you assured him that it could be a great fresh start before the Draconia family ran out of names.

While you were still a bit disoriented by the strange circumstances, you were adjusting just fine to being a parent. Your little one kept you on your toes, breathing fire onto your homework when you weren't giving them enough attention and flying away with your food when Malleus taught them how to fly short distances.

Get out the broom. There's a dragon baby with a pb&j on the ceiling.

Malleus' love of your child surprised you a bit. Though you had known that he had technically set up the entire creation of the child, you never expected for Malleus to take so strongly to the little dragon fae.

To be fair, the entirety of Briar Valley seemed to rejoice at the news of your little one, so you supposed that your child was more important than it would be to a normal family. This was the continuation of his bloodline, without posing any risk of losing you, his favorite Child of man.

It was perfect, a blissful life together.

Malleus is constantly supportive of you and works hard to be both a father and a partner. He never fails to make your family feel loved and connected, even in trying times.

Rook Hunt

Rook's baby is... Rook's baby.

The little creature is mischievous, even for its young age.

It may not be able to crawl, but provided anything of importance is in its general vicinity, it will be swiped, hidden, or destroyed with an innocent giggle.

Rook manages the child much better than you. Although you love your child to death, they seem to have inherited Rook's predatory mind in their entirety, and it makes Rook far more equipped to handle the baby's demeanor.

When you look away, you'll most certainly be hit with the first thing in reach of your little one. You blame Rook for this, who reveled in showing them documentaries on hunting through the ages from birth.

Soon, it's more complex weapons. Sharp rocks from your trip outside to play have somehow become entrapped in a very deliberately tangled slinky and thrown at the back of your head.

You know it's all in good fun between Rook & your little one, but your baby will be as skilled a hunter as Rook someday. He was not wrong to call your child his little hunter from the moment it fell into your arms.

Rook wants a large family, so you'd better be prepared for lots of little predators running around the house. Good luck trying to keep them from attempting to murder each other.

Extra: Rook is the type to remember that recipe to a tee. If you so much as mention having another child, ten more are going to show up the next day. Honestly he's waiting for you to slip up and mention it. He's absolutely in love with your family, and would be overjoyed to expand it. Best of luck to you.

Floyd Leech

As soon as you were asleep that night, little child snug in a makeshift bassinet next to you, Floyd was already sneaking out to create more children.

You woke up to six more on the bed with you, one of which woke you up directly by biting you for attention.

Overall you've had much trouble managing all the little literal ankle biters. If it weren't for the liberal help from Jade, Grim and Ace, you would not be able to manage all seven.

However, this does not stop you from loving them entirely. The babies love you to death, and you're extremely bonded to them as well. When you and Floyd fight, there's suddenly seven growling creatures lined up behind you, at the ready to attack.

Despite being 110% like Floyd, they are very certain in their favoritism. Two of your children refuse to have him nearby at all.

He claims it breaks his heart, but you catch him praising your little ones with frozen grapes and soda to reinforce their bond with you.

Definitely not what a baby should be fed but when you said they couldn't eat seafood he switched gears to 'land food', and would take no further criticisms.

The best times are cuddle nights. Twice a week, all of you cuddle up in your Ramshackle dorm room and cozy up to a movie and snacks. This continues until well into their childhoods let's be honest. It becomes a Leech family tradition.

Sebek Zigvolt

"Human! Get it! GET IT!!!"

Your baby is very adventurous.... or something close to it.

Always tumbling off furniture and rolling off changing tables, or falling down for some reason or other.

You can have ten sets of eyes on this child and it does not matter, this baby will stubbornly look into your eyes and throw itself off the couch.

There's so much chaos, constantly, when it comes to little baby Zigvolt.

Sebek's excellent training is the only reason that your child has not been hospitalized for concussions.

But his excellent training has not saved him from the baby's love of biting their father. So, so many times. Every time Sebek catches it.

Chomp.

Every time he bathes it.

Chomp.

Everytime he changes a diaper.

Chomp.

Sebek is covered in tiny little baby bites.

But oh, how your baby adores you. In between bouts of defiance and finger-snacking moods, your baby loves to lie in your arms and cuddle.

It's arguably the most comfortable time you get with Sebek and your baby.

And I do mean arguably, because Sebek swears up and down that the baby is happiest in the presence of Malleus, and it's a hill he's willing to die on. But you know he really just wants an excuse to show off your baby to Silver.

Silver is not impressed.

Your baby is the very definition of a headache to Sebek. They cry everytime they see Malleus, they hate any sort of regimen, they love to play and play and... play more. All day long. No work or training to be seen here, baby Zigvolt will NOT be having it unless you want 4 hours of ear-splitting tantrums. And the baby still won't do the work when they're done.

But still, you see Sebek in every aspect of your baby. The strength, the way your child loves you unconditionally, but treats everyone else cautiously, and overall, the refusal to do anything that doesn't align with their little baby whims.

You've lovingly termed your baby 'Stubborn Ziggy the Second'. Sebek is not a fan, but he allowed it after you let go of 'Swamp dog & Swamp puppy'.

Lilia Vanrouge

screaming.

And more screaming.

It is not the baby. It is you trying to find the baby.

"OH MY GOD I LOST IT, I LOST OUR BABY OH MY GOD---"

And then--

"Weh!" The baby pops its head out of a cabinet with its hands up the way Lilia does to scare them.

The baby giggles and coos at its own joke, making grabby hands while it waits for you to come get it.

You're just dumbfounded. You're going to have to scold Lilia, because now your little one is picking up on yet another one of his pranks.

Your baby is a lot like you, with one exception-- your baby is so playful and teasing that it honestly gives The Great Lilia Himself a run for his money.

Last week, you were frantically searching for an expensive piece of jewelry, when it dropped down on your head from the spot where little baby Vanrouge was apparently levitating it from.

Oh yes, your child's magic is coming in strong. Though Lilia's is fading, you tease that perhaps the little one is just absorbing it from him outright, showing him videos of your child's most recent magical displays of strength.

Your family bonds through jokes and playful faces, entirely. Lilia is probably a candidate for The Worst Parent on Earth, so you do most of the housework. It's not like Lilia's never offered, it's that you promised Silver not to let Lilia traumatize his little sibling. All of your best moments are spent by making space in your schedule for your family time.

Lil Vanrouge needs all your love, and Lilia Vanrouge does too. It's a fine balance between upsetting either of them, though dealing with hours of screaming and petty annoyance is not a hard decision.

Just make sure both are getting enough cuddles, and maybe don't judge growing-up lil Vanrouge when they decide they love gaming...

Azul Ashengrotto

Don't forget about Azul, please.

Your baby has the chubbiest cheeks and the cutest smile, but is it as cute as Azul? Cuter, probably. But don't tell him that.

Azul loves your child with all his heart, but he's a bit miffed that it requires so much of your love and attention.

You and baby Ashengrotto are very bonded, so it's rare to see you apart for a moment. And in that moment... Azul is putting on Full-Drama Mode. Cuddles, cuddles. More cuddles. Give him a kiss. Could you please take a bath with him? He's just so tired, he doesn't think he can take a bath by himself. Would you mind giving him a massage? You're too tired? That's ok, you scratch his back and he'll scratch yours. He's not too tired after all. He'll give you a massage.

Your little one is so much like their father, wanting all the attention and love in the world, but getting the priority treatment. Little baby Ashengrotto is Octavinelle's favorite thing ever. Everyone just wants to love on them and see their cuteness.

Azul was going to charge people to see them until you put your foot down and said no.

Azul knows how precious his child is. Secretly, he does want another. Two, just for a healthy statistical number's sake. But he won't tell you that. He's trying to come to terms with the shift in attention with one tiny octomer right now, maybe waiting a couple of years would be more optimal. He will never admit that he's jealous of your child, but claims that he's 'working through his issues when you bring it up.

But Azul will always prioritize his baby as well, even if unintentionally. In the end, the wellbeing of his family comes first and foremost.

And maybe showing off mini-mer to the Mostro lounge staff.

#malleus draconia x reader #rook hunt x reader #floyd leech x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #malleus x reader #malleus x yuu #rook x reader #rook x yuu #sebek x reader #lilia x reader #azul x reader #twst azul #twst fanfic #x reader #character imagines #x character #fanfic #fanfictions #fanfiction #disney twst #twisted wonderland headcannon #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney x reader #disney #diasomnia #pomefiore

[bibluebutterfly]

It is truthfully so impressive to watch how we've watched Stolas grow as a seemingly asshole character to a genuine person who truly does want the best for the person we love. (HEADS UP: This is LONG)

Now, and we're only going to lightly touch on this because the Pilot isn't cannon, but it still contributed to the public opinion on Stolas. In other words, he was borderline predatory in a way that made EVERYONE uncomfortable. (It makes sense though since he was innitially supposed to be the villain. Which thank goodness that was changed because we already see enough bisexual predators in media as it is. Yes, I'm headcannoning that Pilot Stolas was bi.)

Then we get official episode 1. Stolas is... not much better. Although to his credit, he's not as bad or as creepish. The unfair power dynamic is very there, and he definitely talks down to Blitz, but at least he waits until Blitz agrees before getting to the pilot level of sexual.

And then we kind of just keep this up until episode 7. Stolas is VERY sexual and VERY horny with Blitz, and you either like it or you don't. It was consensual, nobody forced anything, and even Blitz says that he doesn't fuss about banging Stolas, but that power imbalance is very much there.

Stolas is calling him by pet names like "my little imp" and is baby talking him, which really comes off like his fetish is sleeping with the lower class. Again, you either like Stolas at this point or you don't.

HOWEVER, despite all his baby talk and just generally inappropriate behavior, we are shown very early on that Stolas has a loving side, mainly in the form of his daughter. "You Will Be Okay" was the thing that got most people from hating him to actually liking him. It was the thing that separated him from just being a horny owl.

Then Ozzies. Hooo boy. This is where we finally get to see Stolas apart from Blitz's POV and as it turns out... he's kind of a pathetic dork more than anything else. We see him go very low. Like the man is alone in his big house eating cereal for breakfast in his bathrobe and watching telenovelas. It's hard to go lower than that. More importantly, it's a stark contrast from how we saw him just one episode ago.

Not just that, but when he's asked out on the date he is genuinely so excited and awkward that you just can't help but feel bad for the guy.

And then we have Hells healthiest couple have their dick moment which leads to Stolas covering his face, validating every and anything Blitz had feared, which lead to him calling out Stolas which leads to them both crying at home.

AND THEN WE GET THE THING THAT MAKES EVERYONE EITHER LOVE STOLAS OR THINK THAT HE'S RUINED.... THE CIRCUS.

Yeah, so it turns out the arranged marriage theory was true, and that Stella has been verbally abusive for who knows how long. But the real kicker is how much it explains Stolas's behavior from season 1. As it turns out, Blitz coming on so strong that night resulted in Stolas trying (badly) to copy that energy. And it turns out that when Blitz told him to stop that first night, he still ended up tying Stolas up and banging him. So... understandable. It turns out that Stolas never wanted to be malicious with his intentions, but genuinely thought that the arrangement was something that they both wanted.

But at the same time, he realizes that misunderstanding or no, a part of him did recognize that Blitz wasn't as happy as he was, and that he can't gaslight himself into thinking otherwise anymore.

Now the big thing about season 2 we all need to talk about, is how hard and fast it took Stolas off the regal and powerful pedestal that I think we all subconsciously put him on. Whatever mystery and darkness that surrounded him in season 1 went completely out the window in season 2. But personally I believe that this fits as season 1 was mostly told from Blitz's POV while season 2 takes place in Stolas's when he's there.

Stolas does not see himself as something regal and powerful. Stolas, as it turns out, is a romantic as well as a MASSIVE dork. Like he's disney princess levels of dorkiness. The man even gets his own slapstick moment for crying out loud.

But aside from that, he's highly intelligent and a genuinely good person who will put others before him if he can recognize the benefit.

Also, while we're on the topic, I don't think that Stolas is as powerful as we or Blitz were led to believe. Like yes, he's got immense power to those who have none.

But at the same time, put him next to Asmodeus, and this demon who seemed so strong before is actually tiny in comparison. Especially when noted that Ozzie was still holding back in this scene.

Now we have the "Look My Way" MV. By now, any dark mystery is gone, we know who Stolas is, but what we didn't expect to see was how blatantly Stolas realized his mistakes and took responsibility. This whole season we saw him be sad over his relationship with Blitz, but we never expected him to realize just how badly he messed up.

But he did. And it was glorious. And again, we realize how much he truly cares for Blitz, this isn't just him saying "I care about him" then doing nothing. This is him realizing he cares about Blitz, and wanting to do something to make it right. Even if that means Blitz will never want to see him again.

Anyway. If you made it this far, I'm impressed. As I've said before, I'm proud of the owl boy and how far he's come as a character. Tell me if you think I missed anything.

#long post #helluva boss #stolas helluva boss #stolas #helluva stolas #helluva boss stolas #stolas goetia #stoliz #stolitz #blitz helluva boss #helluva boss blitzo #helluva blitz #helluva boss blitz #blitzo #blitzø #helluva boss asmodeus #helluva asmodeus #asmodeus helluva boss #helluva ozzie #ozzie helluva boss #helluva boss ozzie #ozzie #hellava boss

[demonicbaby666]

Babe. Please teacher/student Emily and fem reader. I beg of you. Smut galore!!!

Professor P

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut and fluff

Words: 4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering and oral (r!receiving), semi-public sex (lecture hall), teacher/student, a little sprinkle of praise, swearing

Summary: Professor Prentiss has been coming to deliver weekly lectures at your university. You’ve mainly kept to the back and been weary of getting in her bad books. When you turn up late to class one day, things take an interesting turn, and you find the dynamics between the two of you drastically change.

A/n: i cannot find the gif I want, so we are going with a new layout. I scavenged everywhere for footage to make one and found fuckall :(

You're late. It's only five minutes, but that doesn't matter. Emily Prentiss does not appreciate tardiness, which is why your pulse is racing and your feet are rapidly slamming against the varnished floor.

When you reach the daunting lecture hall door, the handle mocks you with its screeching, causing you to grit your teeth. Great. Heads turn to the back of the room and watch as you clamber to find a seat, and no matter how hard you try not to look, you can feel Emily's pointed glare burning a hole straight through you.

The hall is relatively big. Sounds transpire effortlessly. It benefits whoever takes the class, their voice seamlessly carrying to the back. It offers no such advantage for the odd student who comes in late because the same principles apply. No matter how hard you try to keep quiet, the silence in the room does nothing to mask the ruffling of papers and pens.

"Thanks for joining us," Emily calls out once you settle, forcing you to meet her eyes.

You know better than to challenge her, so you grimace and mutter your barely audible apology.

"See me after class." she says, and murmurs scatter across the dotted ocean of students, "Let's continue."

It's torture. With each passing minute, your palms grow clammy, your knee shaky, and your breath heavy. Emily's picking on you more than anyone else, and though you know the answers, getting them right doesn't alleviate your nerves. She does offer a smile when you prove your lateness is by no means an accurate reflection of your intelligence. However, it's not a proud, candid smile that does little to calm you, simply because the browns of her eyes are tinted with something hungry and predatory that sends shivers through your body.

Time passes, and you continue to blossom into a colossal mess. Students dart out whilst you gather your things and nervously await your fate. On your way down the broad steps of the auditorium, fellow peers you've spoken to in passing offer their sorry attempts at comfort by leaving taps on your shoulders. It feels more like you're being sent off to the front lines rather than having a reprimand from your professor.

When you approach her desk, Emily's fingers tap away at her keyboard. Aside from a brief upward glance, she barely acknowledges your presence, and then she's back to typing, leaving you with nothing else to do - other than awkwardly fiddle with your fingers and wait.

What feels like an eternity later, Emily finally stops typing and turns the computer off. Though she may have still sat down, giving you the advantage of being on the higher ground, her piercing stare leads you to believe she most definitely is at no disadvantage and is solemnly aware she garners all your attention.

"What's the excuse?" she asks, looking you up and down.

"Excuse?" you nervously question.

"Yes, excuse," She rolls her eyes, stands up, then walks around the desk. Standing tall and remaining a few steps away, she continues, "Why were you late?"

Ice runs cold through your veins, and your mouth feels drier than the desert. You swallow the dry lump in your throat, "Library," you manage to choke out, "I lost track of time."

The answer doesn't seem to amuse her, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls up the left sleeve of her blouse. A silence bathes you both, though it seems only to take hold of you. Emily is too busy fiddling with her watch to notice or care.

It glints in the light when she steps forward, throwing your body into fight or flight, or the lesser of both, freeze. You stand stark still despite everything in your body telling you to back away.

"Hold out your wrist," she instructs, taking off her watch. You do as told and watch in astonishment as the leather straps clasp around your wrist. Emily's face remains unreadable until her eyes move from your wrist to your face, and you pick up on the slight curve of her lips and something unfamiliar in her eyes that almost resembles amusement, "Don't be late again."

Words aren't coming to you nearly as quickly as they should, and the hint of amusement that dances in Emily's eyes intensifies. Then, she grabs her things like nothing unusual has occurred and steps forward, whispering in your ear, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

A shiver runs down your spine, and before you can turn around, Emily's already out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" you ask the empty room, staring down at the watch on your wrist.

A week passes before you see Emily again, and in that time, there isn't a day that goes by when you don't wear that watch. The habit of looking down and smiling at it creeps up on you. Often, you look around to see if anyone else has noticed, then pull your sleeve over it as though it needs to be kept a secret.

Maybe you want to keep in on the down low because the thought of having anyone else know would tarnish what seems to be, or you hope to be a treasured memory shared between you and Emily, or maybe it is something else entirely. All you know is that you want the exchange to remain between the two people who were present for it. Thankfully, it does.

The leather straps of the watch itself have lightened ever so slightly with time, and a bubbling sense of warmth comes in late nights of your dorm room, looking at it and thinking of who it belonged to and how long it had adorned their wrist. You trace your fingers over the metal frame of the clockface and toy with buttons, all the while relishing in the hints of perfume that appear hellbent on remaining ever-present.

As the week drags on, you find yourself more excited than you've ever been for Emily's class. You're one of the first few to show up.

Though you usually favour the back few rows, the thoughts from the past week have you walking down more steps than you're accustomed to. Being at the front is far too much of a statement, you tell yourself. You settle for the middle.

With a clear view and no heads in your line of sight, you watch Emily stand by the computer and set up the necessary slides whilst she likely waits for the room to fill up. The side exit door is open, letting in a cool summer breeze that ruffles sitting papers on the brunette's desk—the touseling sound of crisp paper dances across the room.

The gusts of wind sweeping in aren't entirely strong, but they're blowing wisps of Emily's hair into her face. So much so she reaches a hand to brush them away and hypnotically tucks the loose strands behind her ear.

One of the first things you'd noticed about Emily, or rather, hadn't, was her fringe. Unlike in pictures you'd seen of her online, she now wears her hair down, parted in the middle with feathered layers subtly framing her face. It suits her. Then again, anything would.

Her attention falters, and she tears herself away from the screen to glimpse over the room. Eyes jadedly pass by you, then dart back and raptly take you in. Emily's gaze falls to your wrist. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and there's no stopping the tension in your stomach that twists and coils in looping knots. Butterflies swim through the remains of cold brew coffee - that should be thanked for you getting to class so early - and the heat from the unforgiving sun feels like it's waited to peek through the window until this very moment to cast warm rays of light on your already flushed face.

Emily meets your eyes briefly. You mirror her smirk despite the nerves setting your body on fire and wait till she resumes scanning the room before shakily pulling out your notebook and pen.

It's not until she's looking back at her computer that you dare to look at her again. Your eyes traipse lower to her blouse. The light grey - if not off-white - colour of it is brought out by the occupying white blazer Emily has now flung over her chair. She's wearing black suit trousers, secured low on her waist by a simple belt, yet, with the buckle placement being off-centre, it becomes the heart of her outfit.

The last couple of students come in, dangerously close to being late, but no one else enters once the short clock hand takes its place next to the number nine. Emily moves to stand before the large white projection screen and begins speaking. Her hands move in time with what she's saying, gesturing to what's being displayed. Clasping together now and then.

You've always paid attention to how she carries herself, though now, you were really noticing it. Her walk, her posture, the way she needn't ask for silence or for anyone to focus because she simply demands it in the way she speaks. It's enticing. She's enticing, pulling you in like a helpless fish to bait. Everything becomes background noise from then on, and all you know is Professor P.

Words bellow through the room, and you try to focus on what's being said. It's not that you don't hear; it's that this lecture doesn't register as being nearly as crucial as Emily's newly popped button - revealing a whole new ocean of skin your eyes aren't quite sure they should be allowed to see. It takes dragging your eyes to the blank lined paper on your desk to find the will to breathe normally again.

Minutes pass. You don't dare pry your eyes away from the utter mess of words littered before you. Not being able to pick on anything being said coherently means going through the slides later, but it can't be helped. Every time you glance at the front of the room, you're entranced and sure that drool may be slipping from the sides of your lips. Somehow, Emily's loose shirt has managed to cling to her in all the right places, and you can't advert your eyes from her chest.

She clears her throat, and you break away from gawking at her breasts to see she's looking directly at you, trying not to smile. Thankfully, she moves on without drawing any unwanted attention from other students your way, but the damage has already been done. Your cheeks burn under the unbearable heat of the blaring sun and pure and utter humiliation.

For the remainder of the lecture, you keep your eyes glued to your desk. Thoughts racing, heart pounding, you think of how best to sneakily pack your things before Emily is finished so that you can flee the scene of the crime as fast as humanly possible.

That decision, unfortunately, is taken away from you when Emily makes her closing statement, "Come and collect your marked papers, and then you're free to go."

After tripping over flights of stairs rushing to be first, you end up fifth in the queue, straining to watch Emily search through a hefty pile to locate the corresponding paper to the student next in line. It moves quickly, and soon enough, you're face-to-face with the professor. Staring into her cedar eyes, you wonder why she's almost to the bottom of the papers and still hasn't found yours.

"Wait to the side, and I'll look in my bag once I've handed out the rest," Emily says, gesturing to the space beside her. So much for getting out as fast as you can.

There's not much for you to do but watch Emily delicately continue handing out papers. At times, she'll bring a finger to her lips and briefly run her tongue along it. Every morsel of your body lights up at the sight, and there is a need to discover what else that tongue could do. How fast can it move? How deep can it go? Would it delve in or torture you with teasing flicks until you're shaking with want?

The last student is given their paper, and you and Emily watch them leave. It's a hopeful thought to think that you're waiting because Emily wants to have you all to herself, and if that is indeed what she wants, you have no qualms.

The brunette leans down to grab her bag, making it incredibly hard not to notice the generous amount of cleavage on offer and the beginning of what looked to be a navy blue bralette, "You seemed less focussed today," she mindlessly says, looking through the contents of her bag.

Still flustered from the view, you shake yourself out of it and search your sluggish mind for a reasonable excuse that doesn't remotely sound anything like, 'Sorry, I was busy checking you out.'

"Sorry, I got a little distracted." It's not a lie. That does little to settle your nerves and level the uneasiness of guilt settling in your stomach.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, Emily places it on her desk and steps forward. The space between her desk and the wall is slim, so when you take the necessary action to keep your body at a distance, you feel the solidity of plaster against your shoulder blades.

In an effort to disguise your growing anxieties, you relax your back against the wall and push your hips out to place your sweaty hands against cooling white paint. Resting the straining muscles in your jaw, you hope to convince the profiler that this interaction does not affect you in the slightest despite it doing precisely that.

Emily studies your pose, and it appears for a few seconds she may have bought the whole, 'I'm waiting against the wall like any other normal student would' until she, once again, places one foot in front of the other and stands a hand's width away.

"What were you paying attention to then?" she asks, her tone unmistakably changing. It's raspy and playful, filled with the prowess of an experienced sweet talker.

She reaches out and lightly skims a finger down the outside of your arm, looking expectantly into your eyes for an answer.

Breathing has suddenly become incredibly hard. Electrical currents are running up and along the length of your arms, and they're ebbing their way across your chest, down your stomach to wake up an aching between your legs. There's no doubt what she's doing is passing the appropriate boundaries, but you can't deny the fact you want to entertain it.

"You." It was meant to come out confident. Instead, the word is whispered and almost cut short by your bottom lip slapping up to meet its counterpart.

The brunette's lips curve into a devilish smile, and she steps forward, resting one hand on the wall next to your head, "Interesting. And what about me were you paying attention to?"

"Emily," you whisper. It's unclear what you're hoping to achieve with her name tumbling out of your mouth in a manner that resembles both a beg and a warning. A faint tremor echoes through your body, and a surge of fear penetrates your mind, screaming that this could all be a wild dream within your psyche's hidden depth.

The professor's left-hand rests on your cheek; she bends her left elbow to draw her face nearer yours, and you see the eye of the storm in view.

Trudging through the muck of thoughts, you stand in the clearing. It greets you with visions that you've long since yearned for. Bodies tangled together, hands clawing along a muscled back, dark hair sprawled over exposed creamy skin dotted with botches the colour of wine.

"Please," you close your eyes and send your plea into the slither of space between you, a slither that feels more like a vast ocean. The need to know if this is real has you asking for one thing, "Kiss me."

The words linger, and weeds of doubt sprout. A pair of soft lips grab them from the root and plunge them from the earth with a kiss and firm hands now moving down to wrap around the small of your waist.

You part your lips and allow your hands to find their new anchor. They loop around Emily's neck and pull her in, and she, in turn, deepens the kiss, reaching out with her tongue to seek passage into your mouth.

Complying almost immediately, your tongues meet in a brief battle of dominance, where you quickly and selfishly decide it's best to surrender. Both of you are happy to let Emily take the lead.

Moans echo over the rows of seats, hands wander frantically under layers of clothing, and soon enough, Emily has you turned around and pressed against her desk. The shirt she's wearing has been fully unbuttoned, revealing a canvas of skin ready to be devoured: milky shoulders, sharp collarbones, full breasts, nipples straining underneath a cage of lace, and the soft outline of muscles running along her stomach down to the beginnings of her trousers.

"Up," Emily growls.

Taking it upon herself to carry through her order, she holds the backs of your thighs and props you atop her desk.

She wedges herself between your spread legs, pushing her taut stomach directly over your clothed cunt. The wetness of your underwear presses against your clit, and the realisation that no one had ever gotten you this wet from merely kissing and touching dawns on you. It makes you want her more if that's even possible.

Reaching out, you take her breasts into your hands, kneading them in your palms, then push the offending material away to give direct attention to her hardened nipples. One, you take between your lips, sucking intently, the other between your thumb and index finger, pinching and twisting it. When you switch sides, Emily lets out a crackled groan and threads her fingers into your hair. Your thumb brushes over her wet nipple, pressing it lightly into her breast. You circle her tit carefully whilst mirroring the same action with your tongue.

"Fuck. That mouth," Emily moans, the cords in her neck straining as she throws her head back in pure bliss.

Once satisfied, the brunette pulls you up into a needy kiss, desperate to show her gratitude. It doesn't last long, and soon, her mouth strays along the sharp edge of your jaw, down to your neck. Her fingers skim down your shoulder, chest and stomach, down to the buttons of your trousers, where she swiftly undoes them and delves her hand in.

You grip her shoulders, leaving moon-crescent indentations into her perfect skin, and let out a spluttered gasp. Emily runs her fingers through your glistening sex, leaving you breathless, "I love how wet you are," she says into the curve of your neck.

Using the arousal gathered on her fingers, she lathers your clit, circling it with a teasing barely-there pressure. Meanwhile, her hand sneaks under your shirt to toy with your nipple.

"More," you whimper, rucking your eyebrows and jostling your hips, striving for pleasure that will break through the surface of small shocks and leave you elated.

In unison, she bites down over your thrumming pulse point and pushes her fingers knuckle deep into you. A guttural moan roars and bounces off the tall confines of the amphitheatre. As the pleasurable cry ricochets back to the small desk, Emily shows no signs of stopping, too stubborn to care or too proud to acknowledge the severity of what the sound could lead to.

The walls of your pussy clench around Emily's fingers, heightening the stretch and feel of them slipping in and out of you. The abundance of wetness allows for no friction, and the fluidity aids the brunette to pick up a faster pace.

"You're taking my finger so well," she praises, thrusting deeper and faster.

Your nails must feel like talons to her at this point, clawing and etching at her back. She makes no complaint, only latches her lips to yours and groans whilst she fucks you fervently.

"I'm going to come." You breathlessly announce.

She pulls out abruptly, and the built-up pressure dissipates into thin air, leaving you simultaneously star-struck and confused.

A protest forms but has no time to leave you because Emily pulls you into a fiery kiss. It's fast and uncontrollable, tongue darting around your mouth, teeth gnawing at your lips, until she finally breaks away to catch her breath.

"I want you to come in my mouth," she says with a ravenous grin that instantly has you nodding your approval.

"God, yes." You moan.

Emily's quick to loop her fingers through the waistband of your underwear and trousers, leaving you half naked on the desk as she places your legs over her shoulders and runs her tongue up your right thigh, leaving a shimming saliva trail.

With one clean swipe of her tongue, the professor licks the entire length of your slit and moans as the first taste of you hits her taste buds. Hungry for more, she stiffens the muscle and plunges it inside you, lapping your juices straight from the source.

If the possibility of screaming wouldn't get you caught, you would do so. For now, you settle on nestling your hands into silky brown hair whilst quietly chanting Emily's name, encouraging 'yes's' and anything else that would keep her from letting up.

The muscles in your abdomen tense almost painfully from holding your body upright. You lay back on the desk, not wanting the sensations flowing through your body to be dulled in any way. Relief floods through you, and your actions are rewarded with waves of pleasure, crashing over every fragment of your being.

The room fades away as you close your eyes and feel the professor's tongue curve inside you, running along the rough edges of your g-spot. Too afraid you'll draw blood with the continuous raking of nails through her scalp, you settle your hands above your head, wrapping your fingers over the edge of the wooden desk.

Faint voices of students walking past the doors muffle in your ears, mingling with the rushed thudding of your heartbeat. Thud, voices, thud, clambered footsteps, thud, the sound of your moan, thud, then Emily's thumbing your clit, and every sound fades to nothingness, and you stop breathing.

Tremors render you useless. Your hips are grinding erratically, Emily's tongue is pressed inside you, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs - pinning you down with their fervour and watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

Somehow, through the haze of your orgasm-muddled brain, you tear your hand from the desk and slap it over your mouth to silence a shrilling sob. Your chest burns. Your legs shake. And finally, you arch your back, going joint-breakingly rigid.

The older woman slows down and runs soothing circles over the sides of your thighs. Two small pecks are placed on your hip bones before Emily stands up, and you all but fling yourself upright to devour her lips in a desperate kiss. Your aroma and sharp tang linger on the tongue, sliding into your mouth and causing you to stifle a moan at the taste.

"That was amazing," you murmur over her lips.

"Mmmm," Emily hums agreeingly, breaking away and resting her head on your shoulder to catch her breath.

"I still get to keep the watch, right?" You playfully ask, though there is some room for reassurance, "I've grown quite attached."

Emily chuckles into your neck, and it's single-handedly the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Her laugh penetrates your skin and worms its way directly into your heart.

"Yes, it's yours," she replies.

"And…"

"And?" She pulls back, looking confused.

"I don't need to worry about you handing out other watches to students, right?"

The brunette tentatively meets your lips again in a sweet kiss, stopping only for a second to whisper, "Not a chance."

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude | click here to be added to my taglist

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 7

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Brief suggestive content. Angst, anxiety, self loathing, relationship issues. Darling is her own tag/warning. Panic attack, eating related issues, fainting. Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Established throuple. It's better when they're here.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Kyle grins in response, and then pulls you in for a hug. His face is full mirth, his cheer warming you from the inside, and you embrace him in return. 

“’bout time they bring you out here. No reason to hide you away all this time.” Something nervous, a light giggle, slips out from between your lips, your eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. Johnny's hand flexes against the base of your spine. 

“Gaz.” Simon sighs, and he barks out a laugh before turning back to you. 

“Try not to let these two bore ya to death.” He whispers, before giving them both a nod and ducking down the hall. He makes absolutely no noise, feet silent against the floor, practically disappearing before your eyes, shadow here then gone, presence felt, and then void, all at once.

“He’s nice.” You look up at the two of them. Johnny chuckles, amusement scrawling across his lips and cheeks as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Don’t let him fool ye.” He quips and you frown, confused.

“Gaz is… very, very good at his job. One of the best there is, I’d say.” Simon explains gently, and then your stomach sours, because you remember.

What they do. What their jobs are. Why you’re even here in the first place. You’ve never asked for in-depth detail or explanations, but you’ve heard enough, know enough, to know.

He turns the lock and pushes their door open, giving you a view into their room, a short hall that expands out to something that looks like a college dorm, except maybe a bit bigger. It’s got all the similarities though, cinderblocks and an old, tiled floor, singular window and a bit of an odd smell.

“So, this is your room?”

“Aye. We’ve got a big bed, mostly thanks to Si, and a little more space than everyone else on this floor but, this is it.” It’s sparse too, no pictures or personal items, nothing that looks like or resembles them except…

There’s a bulletin board, hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s empty, save for one thing, a photo that’s been stapled to the cork.

It’s of you, this photo, you under a white sheet, smiling at Simon, who’s behind the camera, with just the shadow of Johnny’s hand along your upper arm. It was taken last year, you can tell, because you recognize the style of your hair from that time, and you stand there for too long, staring at it, mouth partially hanging open, breath held in your lungs.

Nothing in this room that reflects them, or their home, or each other… nothing. Except for a photo of you. 

“Darling?” Simon murmurs, and his chest presses against your back, thumb and forefinger stroking along the back of your neck. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. I… I’m alright.”

“So, like… what is that you guys do?” The question lands to a silent reception, both of them exchanging looks in front of you, almost like you’re not even in the room. You feel awkward, and self-conscious, while they seem to have a silent debate with their eyes.

“We’re in multi-national special ops unit.” Johnny provides, and your eyebrows crease as you process. A what? A multi-national what? You laugh, until you realize their faces are deadly serious.

Wait. Are these guys in the fucking military? 

“Special ops, like… the military special ops?”

“Kind of.”

Oh. 

Fuck. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or the topic you’ve stumbled upon, but you swallow loudly as you process it. 

You’re not exactly a huge fan of the military. Not like you really know anything about it, just that most of the wars your own country has been involved in for the last twenty years revolve around oil and imperialism, and all the dudes who serve are abusive and predatory. Assholes. Creeps. 

Or at least, that’s what it’s like where you’re from. 

“She didn’t like that.” Simon murmurs from behind the mask, and Johnny grimaces. 

“Alright?” He hums and a small noise gets stuck in your throat, like you want to say yes, want to say no, like you’re not sure what you want. “We travel a lot, for work. So, we’re not always around… that’s where we’ve been the last few weeks. Working.” The words make your heart skip a beat, and you nod, still processing.

Not always around… not always around. 

So they really aren’t planning on making this a thing, then. The thought stings with bitterness against your tongue, and you shove it away. 

 When you don’t say anything in response, Johnny sighs, and reaches for your hand, fingers curled against your palm in your lap. “How did we get on this subject anyway? We’re supposed to be havin’ some fun.” He smiles, big and warm, sending butterflies spiraling through your stomach and up your spine. 

Simon’s gaze never strays from your face, and his brow furrows, like he’s reading you, or piecing you together. The scrutiny makes you shiver. 

Why are you worrying about it? This is only like the third time seeing them, anyway. You’re getting too attached. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re just having fun. That’s all it is. 

“Right.” You quip, and then pull your drink towards you before rising from the chair. Your skirt is short, and you realize it’s probably too short when you see Simon’s jaw grinding behind the mask as you turn your body, edge of the fabric brushing against the back of your thighs. His gaze is heavy, it’s hot, and you remember the image of him looking up from between your legs the other night, lower half of his face buried in your cunt, still hidden from view without the scrap of fabric. “So… should we get another round then?” You hold your empty drink, ice clinking against the glass, and Johnny chuckles before standing in front of you, a hand on covetously laying on your waist as his lips brush your cheek. 

“’ll get them, love. You sit.”  

The bed is very, very warm. You don’t even need the duvet and sheet that you have pulled around your shoulders, your hips, but you snuggle down into them farther, breathing in the scent of Johnny’s shampoo, of Simon’s skin.

It all whirs around you in some soft, soothing scented lullaby, and you allow yourself the indulgence, closing your eyes again even though you’ve only just woken from the nap that you slipped into when they left for a meeting.

You’ve managed to trap their body heat beneath the blankets, and you wiggle around until you’re facing the other side, staring at the bulletin board, your own face frozen in time staring back at you.

You look different. You look like you’re in a haze of contented bliss, a peaceful state of happiness, safe and secure, tucked between the two of them without a care in the world.

Why did it change? Who changed it? When? How? 

The questions echo as you piece through the last few months in your mind, trying to place where the original seeds of darkness sprouted from, to find where the murky thoughts and feelings really came from, their roots, their birth.

This process, this seeking, makes your hands shake against the sheets. It makes your legs twitch, feet rubbing against each other while your chest tightens. Dread, panic, shame, all twist and turn through your mind, pinpointing your weaknesses and failures, exposing you to yourself like the fool you are.

They’re trying. Are you? 

You don’t need the answers, not truly. You know where the blame lies. You know what happened. You know the part you played; you know the parts the guys played.

You stare at the wall and try to count the patterns in the concrete, willing your brain to focus, willing yourself to pull up, pull out, put your head on straight. The sound of blood rushing in your ears is deafening, loud enough that you think someone may hear it down the hall. May hear you, succumbing to yourself.

It feels like drowning.

They could pull you out. Simon could fix it. They could make it better. 

But would they? Could he, now? When nothing is the same? 

The memory from leaving the hotel ripples across your heart like a familiar melody, acid burning in your calves as you blink and shudder.

Simon, holding your nape, Johnny, holding you to him in the elevator, in the car.

“Stay with us darling. Stay here. With us.”

You wonder if it will ever be the same again.

You hate this one as much as the last. 

Your mouth pulls into a frown, hands resting on your hips as you stare at the canvas in front of you, rotating your head from left to right, like that will make you see it better. Like that will bring it into focus. 

The colors are wrong. They don’t harmonize, they don’t crest and swell together like you had envisioned. They don’t blend in a cacophony of floral silhouettes like you saw in your mind. 

Instead, they look like a storming sea. Darker hues overpowering the light, like thunder through daybreak. 

Maybe you could fix it? Or maybe, you should just abandon this technique. Maybe you could-

There’s a knock at your door. 

It’s not light, or gentle, but firm, ringing out in rapid succession and you jerk. 

Who could that be? You’re not expecting anyone until- 

Oh. Oh no. Oh god. Oh no, no no. 

Your eyes dart frantically around the art room before you're shoving the two brushes from your hands into a tray and tripping out into your living room. 

“Oh my god.” You gulp out loud to no one but yourself, the person who has spent the last three, possibly four days in a haze, a painting binge, trying to escape the stress of your job, of life, of this… thing that’s going on with Simon and Johnny.

Trying to escape yourself. Your thoughts. Your feelings. 

Your flat expresses it well. You think, possibly, it could appear like it had been ransacked. Your clothes are everywhere. Draped over your tiny loveseat couch, shoved between cushions and pillows. Two-day old toast sits on your kitchen counter, accompanying two, three, four coffee mugs that are filled with varying levels of liquid. Your uneaten dinner from last night sits on a plate next to the trash can, your oats from the other morning sit cold in the sink. 

A prescription bottle that hasn’t been touched in four days, lurks on the kitchen counter with a handwritten note taped beneath it: 

“You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.” 

Another knock sounds at your door, thumping followed by the sound of your phone vibrating next to the stove.

Your left sock has a swipe of chartreuse across it. Your overalls are tacky with dried paint. You can vaguely feel your hands touching your hair, your neck, hovering above where your heart hammers. 

You can’t let them see you like this. 

They’ve never seen you like this. 

This is supposed to be light. It’s fun. It’s… not real. They’re not with you. They cannot see. 

You take a deep breath. 

Maybe you can pass it off. You can… say you’re sorry for the mess, that you’re sorting through things for donation. And you don’t have to lie about painting. That will explain the clothes. 

You take a breath, and then open the door to find Johnny on the other side, happily smiling at you, mohawk shining in the light of the hall. He looks you up and down briefly, and you freeze, waiting. 

Waiting for him to say something nasty, something hurtful. Waiting for him to reprimand you for failing, to accuse you of being useless, helpless. Waiting for him to tell you he doesn’t have time to deal with this. That you should be better, do a better job of taking care of yourself. 

“- and he’ll just be a minute, but we’re so excited, been thinkin’ about ye all week. We had such a good time before we left, really loved sharing those days with you.” What? You blink. He cocks his head. “Love? Y’alright?” 

“Yeah.” You answer, voice monotone. Somewhere, trapped beneath layers and layers of the worst pieces, you’re screaming. You’re aching. You’re desperate. 

“This all paint?” He motions to the splatters and stains, and you nod robotically. “I remember, you mentioned that last time… that you paint. I uh, draw sometimes.” Of course, he draws. Because he’s beautiful, and perfect. He rubs his neck almost sheepishly before raising an eyebrow at you. 

Oh. Right. 

“D-do you… want to come in?” You offer it meekly. Please say no. say no, say you’ll wait out in there, say you don’t want to. 

“Sure, thanks.” Fuck. He steps by you as you motion, brushing against you closely, close enough that the butterflies flutter and you can feel the heat of him. “This is cozy, yeah?” He gestures to your flat from the kitchen, and you nod again. On autopilot.

All you can see is the food, untouched, uneaten. Evidence of your struggle. A water bottle that’s full to brim. The coffee cups, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to wash. All you can feel is your own skin, dry around your mouth, your nose, and oily everywhere else, your dirty clothes heavy against your body. You can feel your teeth, your tongue, unbrushed, unclean in your mouth, jaw clicking while your grind your molars. 

You shouldn’t have let him in. He’s going to see. He’s going to hate you. Hate this. 

The room spins. 

“Hey,” There’s a hand, on your arm. It’s big and soft, and sweet and you blink again. “Darling.” There it is. That pet name. That nick name. That name that’s quickly becoming your own. The one that makes you feel warm, safe, cherished. The one that makes you feel like this is something more. 

You hate it. 

You love it. 

“What is it?” Johnny’s handsome face peers down at you, concern worrying across his brow. 

“N-nothing.” You try to lead him off, but your breathing stutters through your nose, and he looks alarmed. 

There’s a new knock at your door, heavy and quick, and you both turn to look just as Simon is filling the door frame, half of his face hidden with the black mask that he always wears. 

He watches you. Like a predator. His eyes flick from you, to Johnny, to the kitchen… the living room. 

It's like there’s a train sitting on your chest.

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He says softly, clicking the door shut behind him. As soon as it’s secure, the mask comes off, and he’s focused on you, eyes not leaving your face, moving closer and closer until he’s upon you and Johnny, huge hand coming to hold your elbow. “What’s going on?” He murmurs, but it’s not for you. Even if it was, you cannot answer. There’s a train sitting on your chest, after all. 

“Ah dinnae ken.” Johnny answers immediately, while his palm works up and down your arm in a calming pattern. 

“Darling?” Simon cups your cheek. Ever since he showed you his face, he’s been… like this. Intuitive. Too intuitive. Too keen. Like he already knows. Like he’s been waiting. 

“I-“ you try to tell him it’s nothing. That you’re tired. All of your lies flit through your head, the stories you wanted to concoct to explain everything away but nothing comes out. Not even your breath. 

The room spins again, but this time so does your head. The floor feels like it’s tilting, or maybe it’s your feet that are off balance. You’re not sure. You feel light though, like your legs don’t even exist. Like your knees aren’t real.

“Shite.” Johnny swears, and lunges, hands darting out to catch you before the world goes black. 

“Are you asleep?” There’s a whisper, like a soft touch, against your ear. It’s enough to prickle, enough to crack a smile across your lips, and you press your face into the blankets while strong hands shift your hips.

“I dinnae, might be.” Johnny hums, stroking fingertips down your ribs. It tickles, forcing a breathy giggle from your mouth that’s met with another’s, lips moving with yours while you melt away in a pile of partners and pillows.

“How was the meeting?” You whisper. Simon cradles you to his back, warmth bleeding through his shirt to your skin, and you shimmy closer, pressing hard until you’re flush with him, Johnny watching the two of you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Standard.” Simon answers. “Thought about you the whole time.” He kisses your cheek, arm reaching for Johnny who obliges, nestling himself against your chest. You focus on them, taking long, deep breaths, keeping yourself above water, keeping the murky depths at bay, for now.

It’s better, when they’re here. It’s always better, when you’re together.

“Thinkin’ about ye asleep in our bed, bare cunt on our sheets enough to drive me mad.” Johnny groans, fingers skating across your hip bone. You’re not wearing underwear, just a giant sweatshirt, one of theirs, though you’re not sure who’s.

Lust roars to life between your legs, desire, want, has you clenching, but you try shove it away.

It’s too much, too soon. You’re too… off center. You’ll lose yourself. 

But they’re here. They’ll put you back together. Simon won’t let you fall. 

It’s not a good idea. 

You want it. You want them. Need them. 

The back and forth makes your head hurt.

“I- I’m not ready.” You blurt, and he freezes, pulling his hand free immediately but you grab onto it, desperate to have his touch, to feel him.

Guilt burns in your heart.

“Of course, darling.”

“I’m sorry… I want to I just-“

“You never have to apologize.” Simon rumbles and you shake your head.

“I know but, I feel bad. Guilty.”

“Look at me.” He urges, and you shift, all while clutching Johnny’s hand in yours. “We love you. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. We will be here when you are ready, but there’s no rush.” He strokes a thumb across your cheek, and you lean into it, eyes slipping closed. “I think I’d be more worried if you were ready to jump right into sex, after everything.” Johnny hums his agreement and presses a warm kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s take a nap then?” He suggests, and you pull his arm to your chest, rocking between the two of them until you’re effectively sandwiched, comfortable, and secure, just the way you like it.

The way you dream about it.

The way you can only hope it might be, from now until forever.

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: platonic to romantic yandere, no transphobia but transgender themes, bullying, not proofread

male to fem reader

had a crazy idea about a platonic yandere bully Bakugou, who's always pushed his childhood friend around ever since he found out he was quirkless (just like BakuDeku only with reader)

but then, one day, reader gets hit with a gender-switch quirk, turning him into a girl. at first, he decides to wait it out at home, but then several weeks pass, so he decides to go see the doctor - who then tells him that since he's quirkless, there's nothing preexisting in his system to fight off the foreign cells that have mutated his body - basically telling him that there is no cure that will change him back to the way he used to be, but giving him the same option one would give any girl who wants to transition.

just think about the fucking change in dynamic.

like, Bakugou would continue on with his bullying bullshit, but the reader finally puts down his foot, telling him he's going to file sexual harassment if he doesn't keep his sweaty hands off him.

and Bakugou's just like ??? you'll fuckin' what ???

and Bakugou's friends are all, "it's kinda lame to be pickin' on some girl- we're a little too old to be pullin' pigtails..."

and again, Bakugou's like ??? fuckin' what ???

and then he's like, "well, if i can't bully him as a guy, then..." and reports you for not wearing the girls uniform, thinking he's being so fucking clever.

but then you show up in a girl's uniform, and everyone's just fawning over how cute and perfect you are.

you have other girls asking you to sit at their table, fixing your hair with cutesy clips and your face with some lipgloss.

guys are stopping you by the lockers, a little awkwardly since they know who you used to be, but fuck- you're just so adorable- it really suits you

and Bakugou's forced to look at it all with his eye twitching. you used to be such a fucking loner; he could have you all to himself and know people want to be your friend and shit, or worse...

and then boom, platonic yandere turns into romantic yandere

and everything is so fucking awkward on both sides...

because he'll still bully you, but it's changed very clearly from getting the crap beat out of you and being stuffed in a locker to...

well... a whole new range of things

from being told that all the boys only flirt with you as a joke and that you look like a fucking clown with all that makeup on - even when you're only wearing chapstick and have been so dim in your boyish mind to even have noticed that anyone's been flirting with you.

but then there's this one guy who's been sending you love letters almost every day who decides to corner you and confess, and even though you turn him down, he still refuses to let you leave. and there's this instinctual terror blossoming inside you that you've never ever felt before once you see him looking down at you with that predatory look in his eyes, and before you know it, you're standing there fucking crying even though he hasn't even touched you yet.

and then comes your unlikely hero, and Bakugou just fucking thrusts this guy up against a wall with his hands balling his collar, sneering at him to fuck off

and feelings of relief are so confusing you end up just standing there awkwardly, blinking your eyes that won't stop spilling with tears for some odd reason you're not yet used to. you end up saying a small "thanks," but even the small gesture makes you blush and feel flushed because fuuuck wasn't that kind of attractive what Bakugou just did for you ???

but no, you hate that guy ??? he used to give you swirlies and wedgies and black eyes, and even now, he still bullies you

being a girl is so confusing

but being Bakugou is also confusing because he's feeling the simmer of other instincts that had previously lied dormant - protective instincts and something else that makes him have to fight off a boner standing there seeing your pretty little face all teary and cute

#nightmare rambles #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere katsuki #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou smut #bakugou smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x y/n

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Invidia

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Plot? I don't know her. Jealousy, dom/sub dynamics, slightly toxic relationship, alcohol consumption, light choking, spit kink, light bondage, P in V action, use of sex toys, overstimulation, degrading language, slight praise kink, implied oral (m receiving) Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Aemond dishes out a punishment that won't soon be forgotten when his partner attempts to make him jealous. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Her grip tightens around her martini glass, eyes narrowing, as jealousy bubbles acrid and bitter within her chest.

She watches as the dark haired woman grazes her perfectly manicured nails over Aemond’s bicep, red stained lips pulling back into a saccharine smile, revealing pearly white teeth. She knows the woman is drop dead gorgeous, but in her envious state she sees only a predatory threat to her relationship, her thoughts darkened and unkind with internalised misogyny.

Worse still is that Aemond appears to be doing nothing to stop her, he is allowing this woman to flirt shamelessly with him. While his mannerisms are impassive, not returning the woman’s touches or suggestive grins, she believes he should be making it explicitly clear he is unavailable.

She hadn’t even wanted to come this evening, she had been desperate for a quiet night in front of the TV, just her and Aemond. He’d insisted they go though; the opening night of Aegon’s new cocktail bar and he simply had to support his family. So she’d dolled herself up, allowed herself to be dragged along and how here he was making a mockery of her.

Two can play at that game.

She wants to make him feel every bit as jealous as she does, to remind him he isn’t the only desirable person in their relationship, and she knows just the person who will strike that blow hardest.

Scanning the crowd, she spots the man of the hour propping up the bar, tipping back tequila shots. 

Swallowing the remnants of her drink in a single gulp, she winces slightly as the combination of vodka and vermouth burns lightly in her throat, then heads over to where Aegon is standing.

“Hey, you,” She greets him in a sing-song voice, reaching out to brush her fingers against his forearm. “Love what you’ve done with the place!”

“Thanks,” He says with a smirk, his eyes traveling over her appreciatively, before nodding towards her glass. “Looks like you’re empty, shall I get you another?”

She knows that the music isn’t so loud that she can’t be heard by simply raising her voice a little, but she also knows that doing that won’t grant her the attention she so desperately seeks from Aemond. So, she leans in, her lips brushing against the shell of Aegon’s ear as she whispers to him.

“Oh, I would love one, thank you!”

Drawing back, she watches the bob of his throat with a satisfied smile, as he swallows thickly. She was having the desired effect on one brother, at least.

“You got it,” He tells her, his hand brushing hers as he relieves her of the empty glass and turns back towards the bar, holding up two fingers towards the bartender.

It’s then that she feels a firm but gentle grasp on her upper arm and turns to look up into the steely gaze of Aemond. The taut bun that his long, silver hair is pulled back into leaves his face unobscured, so the hardened lines of anger are unmistakable. While his left eye remains milky and lifeless, the fury that burns bright within the blue of his right more than makes up for its absence.

A shiver runs through her. Perhaps she has pushed this too far.

“We’re leaving,” He tells her flatly.

Her eyes widen as she tries to protest. “But Aegon’s just getting me a dri–”

“I wasn’t asking,” He shoots back, grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowded bar.

He is silent on the drive home. The hand that would usually rest against her thigh keeps a firm grasp of the steering wheel as he stares straight ahead. 

The tension inside the car is unbearable. She knows she’s in trouble. Her stomach flutters nervously, wondering what she can say to calm him down, but can come up with nothing that she doesn’t think will enrage him further, so she stays silent.

The moment they arrive home, he spins her around to face him, pressing her against the wall, causing her to gasp. His hand grasps lightly against her throat as he stares her down. Arousal pools warm between her thighs.

“Just what the fuck was that tonight?” He hisses lowly.

“I-I was just chatting to Aegon…” She stammers, gazing up at Aemond, doe-eyed.

“Oh, it looked like it was more than chatting, much more.”

“It wasn’t, I swear!” She whines, regretting ever having approached Aegon in the first place, but unable to shake the effect that Aemond’s display of dominance is having on her.

“Hm,” He raises his free hand towards her face, tugging at her bottom lip with his thumb. “Open.”

She opens her mouth, steeling herself for what’s to come, but still shivers when she feels him spit harshly onto her tongue. She swallows without having to be asked, inwardly delighted at the hum of approval that Aemond emits.

“Thought you could use something to accompany the filthy lies that are coming out of your mouth,” He mutters darkly, his grip on her throat tightening.

She whimpers as her resolve crumbles. “That woman was flirting with you!”

“Ah, there it is,” He smirks. “You behaved like a stupid, little slut with my brother because you were jealous? Pathetic.”

“She was all over you, you did nothing to stop her!” She snaps back, feeling herself grow angry.

“But I didn’t do anything, did I?” He snarls, eye narrowing. “If you saw the number of women I turn down when you aren’t around you’d fucking cry, yet I can’t trust you not to throw yourself at my brother. Would you rather be with him instead?”

“No, Aemond, I only want you!” She clings desperately to the front of his black button up shirt.

“Is that so?” He cocks his head slightly, his hand still around her throat.

“Yes, I was just trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry,” She pleads.

“Hm. You’re about to be. Bedroom. Now.”

He releases her throat and she walks on unsteady feet towards their shared bedroom, nervous excitement making her heart race.

She lays back on the bed, biting her lip in anticipation, as Aemond stands at the foot of it, the metal clink of his belt being unfastened the only sound in the room. The audible slide of the leather against the cotton of his suit trousers as he removes it from the loops causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.

“Wrists together. Above your head,” He orders.

She does as she’s told, her throat running dry when she feels the mattress dip either side of her as Aemond straddles her, winding his belt around her wrists and using it to bind them to the headboard.

“Colour?” He asks simply, making eye contact.

“Green,” She whispers.

“Good girl,”

The praise shoots straight to her core, making her clench around nothing. He leaves her with no time to ponder on what his next move might be, as his hands disappear beneath her skirt to tug down her underwear.

She arches off of the mattress slightly as his deft fingers swipe through her folds, coming away glistening with her slick.

“Little slut,” He whispers, before freeing his cock, showing he’s every bit as turned on as she is.

He takes a firm hold of her hip with one hand, grasping the base of his erection with the other and forces himself all the way in to the hilt in one fluid motion.

She is wet enough that any preparation isn’t required, but the sudden stretch still steals her breath away.

Aemond’s thrusts are quick and sure, his hips snapping against hers harshly as he brings his thumb between their bodies to rub at her clit in rapid, tight circles.

Her nails bite into the leather of the belt around her wrists, struggling to ground herself as pleasure builds steadily within her gut, each slap of his skin against hers nudging her closer to the edge.

His breathy pants combined with the look of determination on his face give her the final shove she needs, and she falls apart with blinding white warmth that washes over her from head to toe.

She’d believe her punishment was over were it not for the fact that Aemond has yet to cum. His low chuckle as he stills inside of her is all the indication she needs that he’s just getting started. He leans over, never slipping out of her, and pulls her Hitachi magic wand from a drawer of the bedside table. 

Fuck.

“Colour?” Aemond demands again, his voice husky.

“G-green,” She breathes shakily.

He purses his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

The jolt that rockets through her body when he presses the toy against her, at maximum speed, causes her to squeal. He keeps it there, resuming his thrusts inside of her and the combination of the two is too much. She trembles all over, her mind feeling foggy.

“What are you going to do the next time you feel jealous?” Aemond asks.

“N-fuck-nothing!”

“Good girl. And that’s because you can trust me.”

A sob of pleasure is ripped from her as another orgasm has her tightening and spasming around Aemond uncontrollably. He shows her no mercy, keeping the wand firmly on her, the momentum of his hips never slowing.

Aemond’s breathing is ragged, sweat visible upon his brow from exertion. “Do you trust that yours is the only cunt I want to bury myself inside of?”

“Aemond…please…” She mewls piteously, overstimulation making her shake.

“I need you to say it,” He grits out.

She tugs involuntarily at her restraints, tipping her head back. “Yes, I trust you!”

He brings her to peak three more times, before he finally relents. “Colour?”

“Yellow,” She says weakly, voice hoarse and eyes teary.

Aemond switches the toy off, tossing it to the side and slowly pulls out of her. She hisses at the sensation, noticing that he is still rock hard, not having peaked himself yet.

He rubs gently at her wrists as he unfastens the belt, helping to get the blood circulating once more. Brushing his lips against her temple, damp with perspiration, he whispers softly to her. “I’m not done with you yet, just giving that sweet little pussy of yours a rest. For now–” He leans back on his haunches and taps the head of his cock against her lips. “You can put that pretty mouth of yours to work, you’ve got quite the mess to clean up.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #modern aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfic

[2kiran]

Hell knows what pit of crap i fell into along life to end up here, but i guess im staying.

I was wondering if you do x reader for Horangi?

like, he deserves all my love (he and König are my favourite). And i was hoping you could do something for him, ill be pleased with just about anything with him.

thanks.

-X

“NSFW ALPHABET”

pairing kim “horangi” hong-jin x reader genre smut. fluff gn reader. subby bottom / top horangi cw lowercase typing. 18+ content. korean pet names [ correct me if wrong ]. use of beautiful & pretty. mentions of violence. overstimulation. marking. voice kink. hint of scent kink. underwear stealing. some degradation [ giving and receiving ]. note thanks for requesting for him. i’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.

a = aftercare ( what they’re like after sex )

horangi would prefer staying in bed, at least for a little while. he’d cuddle with you, strong arms caging in your body closely to his own. when he isn’t feeling lazy, he’d run the both of you a bath or a shower. cold, warm, or hot water, it’s your choice. he’ll help wash you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear,

“did so good for me, 자기야. made me take you so well, yeah?” ( jagiya – honey )

“absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to softly kiss your cheek, “always such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

he’d go and buy you food, maybe even cook you some if he’s got energy to spend or if his legs are even properly working to begin with. he’d be so soft with you. treating you gently even with his rough and calloused hands. the same ones that’s killed more than you can count on your fingers, carefully taking your chin in it’s hold to make you look at him.

b = body part ( their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s )

for himself, he likes his arms. he can easily suffocate his enemies, trapping their head in muscle. they make a decent stand for his guns too, the butt of the stock against his shoulder. what he likes about them the most though is the fact that he could embrace and engulf your frame. his favorite way to hug you is from behind, his arms wrapped around your waist as he either rests his chin on your head or your shoulder. he enjoys the way you grab at him, grunting in your ear as you leave marks where no one else can see.

he also likes his thighs. they’re strong and muscular, and they could be used to choke his enemies in between. he didn’t really anything about it at first, until you unconsciously placed your hand on it and squeezed. how couldn’t you? they were warm and inviting, you couldn’t help but steal a feel. he softly gasped, in disbelief at himself for liking it that much.

for you, though, he definitely has a tiny favoritism for your hands. just tiny, he promises. maybe a little too much. he just can’t help but let out faint whimpers whenever you let your hands roam all over his body. it’s not like it’s on purpose when he whines as you wrap your hand around his neck, thumb running over his pulse as you gripped him gently. not enough to completely hurt, of course. unless he asked you to.

c = cum ( anything to do with cum, basically )

he cums pretty hard and he isn’t ashamed of it. if he’s topping, he’d definitely love cumming inside of you. his eyes holding a predatory gaze to see your sopping hole leak his spend, and all he does is fuck it into you. making sure that none of it spills out so he doesn’t have to do it again. it gives him a reason to fuck you even harder, and he loves it. he’d ask you before he does, though. if you don’t want him to finish inside you, he’d settle for your thighs, back, or stomach.

but when he’s bottoming? he wants you in him, absolutely coating his insides. he’ll growl in frustration if he feels any of it leak out of him, pushing back against you to keep it in. he’d overstimulate you just so you can cum again and again inside of him. he wants to feel you, in more ways than one. he wouldn’t really mind if you wanted to finish on him, even feel free to do so. his second favorite would probably be you cumming on his face. he just looks so pretty, doesn’t he?

d = dirty secret ( pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs )

he has jerked himself off to your voice once, and i don’t think he’ll be afraid of doing it again. replaying a voice recording of yours ordering him around, be it at the military base or at home. if you think that’s bad enough, he did it with your underwear. his hand clutching the fabric as he guided it over his needy cock, his nose holding onto the scent of you. it’s not like you’ll find out, right? you smell so good and you’re just so far away from him. he feels a little guilty, soiling your precious underwear for his own greed. oh fuck, what if you suddenly come home and catch him? that gets him excited, hips bucking up into the fabric as he spills all over himself with a low moan.

e = experience ( how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing? )

he has experience, but it isn’t a lot. he’d had his way with a few people, exes or casually. he knows what he’s doing, for sure. him being the good little partner he is and asking you to guide him, practically use him. he wants to make sure that he’s doing it right, that you’re comfortable, and that you enjoy what he’s doing.

f = favorite position ( this goes without saying )

he doesn’t mind. but if you really want him to choose, it’ll be reverse cowgirl. he doesn’t care if you ride him or he rides you, he loves it either way. if it’s the former, he’ll hold himself back from cumming right there. you look so good on top of him. his attention on the way his cock disappears into your hole every time you come back down. he’d occasionally meet your bounces, smiling to himself at the way you let out a pretty sound.

“oh, fuck, sweet–” he was interrupted by his own gasp, “hng! oh, fuck, yeah. c’mon, doing such a great job. yeah, yeah, just like that, baby.”

if it’s the latter, be prepared because you’ll have to lift that man off of you. he won’t stop until both of you are whining from the overstimulation, his hole clenching around you as he takes you again. he might even cry from the pleasure. he may or may not have dreamt of riding you in full gear. even better if you’re wearing his and he’s the one completely naked.

“fuuuck!” he whined, “you’re so – oh, god, you feel so fuckin’ good. i can’t– mmph! shit, just, hold on for me a little longer. please, 자기야. i can, i can take it! please!” ( jagiya – honey )

g = goofy ( are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc. )

he’s more on the serious side, but that won’t stop him from cracking a joke that’s enough to make you let out an amused huff. he won’t really joke around during the moment, as he can’t speak over his needy sounds. it’s usually reserved for aftercare.

h = hair ( how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc. )

he honestly forgets they exist, so don’t be shocked if he hasn’t shaved. he doesn’t really care, but he prefers keeping it short and well-trimmed. he grooms himself once a few months.

i = intimacy ( how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect )

he’s gentle and cautious during the moment, ensuring that this is what you want and that you’re comfortable. he wants the both of you to enjoy every single moment. when he’s being rough, he’ll still praise you. he’d compliment you, giving you affection,

“애인,” ( aein – sweetheart ) “you’re so fuckin’ – oh fuck, right there – amazing. all for me.”

j = jack off ( masturbation headcanon )

he jacks off at least twice a week. it’s more on to calm down his nerves and when both of you are away from each other. he has you, so it won’t really be a problem to him. however, if you make him do it to tease him, he will cum quickly. embarrassing enough, he nearly cried over the fact that it wasn’t your hand.

k = kink ( one or more of their kinks )

he has a voice kink, which should be obvious enough. what? he likes the sound of your voice. especially when you’re whispering such praise into his ear or dirty words. he’ll gladly do sex over the phone with you. guide him during it, and he’s sure he’ll stain his phone screen white. tell him that he’s doing good, and he’s teetering on the edge of euphoria.

probably has a gear kink. if you’re in the military like him, stay away from him because he might get a little horny. you’re enchanting in his eyes and the gear is a plus. oh, you want to fuck him in full gear? he just came in his pants. he won’t say no to it, he’s more than willing to. the way you could just crush him makes his face flush.

he’s into praise and he prefers to give it. he wants you to know how much you mean to him and he wants to do it with both words and actions. when you do it to him, he melts. he loves being praised by you. if you want, he may slip in some degradation. just a little bit so he won’t hurt your feelings. telling how you’re —

“such a pretty little slut,” he groans, “eager to get down on their knees for me.”

“so strong,” he sighs, “but crumbles so easily when it comes to me.”

a small breeding kink. it goes both ways. he’s already rutting inside of you if you say the words he wants to hear. but if you’re doing that to him, he cums so fast. his walls clenching around you to keep it all in, milking you like his life depends on it. he was so fucked out once and had a silly little thought that was like, “am i pregnant?”

l = location ( favorite places to do the do )

wherever you’re comfortable with. you probably fucked everywhere in your shared house, apartment, or room. he’s more than okay to have sex in the bedroom. but there’s nothing wrong trying out new places. the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, the two of you fucked there. he likes the idea of either you or him surprising the other, bending them over the counter. the kitchen might be his favorite, like if he was cooking and you’d suddenly pull his pants down— oh, he’d be crossing his eyes and your food will be burnt.

m = motivation ( what turns them on, gets them going )

the more you touch him, the more he needs it. your touches don’t even have to be sexual, it just happens. your hand feeling up his biceps, his forearms, his chest, his waist— ugh, he quietly groans. face flushing in embarrassment as his cock lays heavy against the front of his pants. he likes the way your gentle fingers caress him, making him feel like he’s that precious. he tends to become needy if you’ve been away from each other for a while. you’ll find him on his knees, pleading for you.

n = no ( something they wouldn’t do, turn offs )

he won’t do anything that can and will hurt you. he wouldn’t want you to do that to him too. anything that’ll really give either of you pain makes him uncomfortable. he’s okay with some spanking, but not too much.

o = oral ( preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc. )

he doesn’t really have a preference. you want to eat him out? go ahead. what he really likes though is face sitting. he wants you to sit on his face, full weight and everything. he’s decent with his tongue, but he is sloppy. drool coating your thighs as he gives you the messiest head you’ve ever received in your life. do it, sit on his face like he’s your chair and he’ll cum untouched.

p = pace ( are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc. )

it depends on his mood. usually, he wants a steady pace that has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head. he tends to be on the rougher side, the wet slapping of skin filling both of your ears and his. it’s to relief the stress in his body, really. but when he wants to take his time, he’ll go slow. maybe even teasingly.

q = quickie ( their opinions on quickies, how often, etc. )

oh, he’s definitely a fan. he enjoys quickies, but he doesn’t indulge in them that much. you two probably fucked in a janitor’s closet at least once. even in a dirty bathroom stall. if the both of you are busy with work, he’ll still try to convince you to fuck him,

“just one round, 애기야. i promise we’ll be really quick.” ( aegiya – baby )

what do you mean you have to do something else? no, you’re spending your time fucking him raw. need to submit a file? you can do that later, just bend him over the desk and take him right now. aw, you’re running late? he swears if you jerk off his cock, he won’t bother you anymore. we’ll be quick, he promises.

r = risk ( are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc. )

he’s more than happy to experiment. walk him through it, and he’ll quickly get the hang of it. praising him is a bonus. he only wants to make you happy. if he’s the one that wants to try something out, he’ll have a long discussion with you. to be sure, he says. despite your eagerness. mid-way, he’ll ask you if you’re okay and if you want to continue.

a risk he’d be hesitant to talk to you about is breath play. he doesn’t want to actually choke you, knowing his strength. but if you’re the one doing that, he’s already saying yes. he trusts you completely.

s = stamina ( how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? )

he has decent stamina, those years of training paying off. he can usually go two rounds. when he’s pissed off, he’ll go about four. he can last longer but he doesn’t want to force you to. he wants to focus on your pleasure, making sure that you’re thoroughly satisfied. that doesn’t mean that he won’t be a little greedy from time to time, though. coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you just to make him full.

t = toys ( do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves? )

he doesn’t own a toy. why should he? it’s not like he can use it when he has you. you’re much better than a mere toy. you owning one is a different story, he’ll roughly use it on you or himself depending on what it is. it can go both ways. own a dildo? he’s fucking it into you, teasing you with it like it was his cock. or he’s riding it in front of you, telling you that you can’t touch him in between his loud moans. eyes slightly rolling back on purpose just to be a brat.

own a fleshlight? he’s making you fuck it, his words forcing you to imagine that it was his mouth or his hole, “c’mon, baby, you can fuck me harder than that.” or he’s the one using it, cumming inside of it again and again to make you wish that it was you instead. he’ll try to make you jealous, saying that it feels so good, and that he should’ve found it sooner.

u = unfair ( how much they like to tease )

he likes to tease you a lot, a few pokes then and there. getting under your skin on purpose, like bending over in front of you to pick something up. ‘unintentionally’ exposing his ass to you. or he’ll lift his shirt a bit high up to wipe away his sweat, his muscular torso on display for a few moments before he brings it back down like nothing happened. he knows what he’s doing, and his grin makes it obvious.

in bed, he slows his pace at random times. edging both himself and you. when you think he’ll finally let you cum, he stops. he’ll make you beg for it, all the while holding back his needy little whines. his thighs ache from the effort he’s putting in, but he doesn’t care. completely dismissing how his eyes water from denying himself of pleasure.

v = volume ( how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc. )

he isn’t the loudest man. normally, he’s more of a groaner. low, guttural groans leaving him as you tug at his sensitive cock. his eyes silently pleading for release as his own voice fails on him. he’ll sometimes silence his sounds if he’s feeling bratty and wants a punishment. yet, you’ll hear the faintest of ‘ugh! fuck,’s and ‘mmmph, shit, ah,’s. occasional quiet moans will leave his mouth and directly into your ear. he’s a little shy about hearing himself, so he’ll bite down on his bottom lip to stop them.

when you practically fuck the sounds out of him, it’s a whole different story. his deep and powerful voice reduced to whorish whining, moans of ‘please, fuck me harder’, and little whimpers are enough to shock the entirety of kortac.

“shit, shit, i can’t– oh! ah, oh fuck me, please,” he cried out, squealing even, “there! i’m– mmngh!”

he’s really talkative when you’re fucking him to next week. he makes sure you know how good you’re making him feel, using his voice to his advantage. eventually, his babbles shift into his native language, and that’s when you know he’s fully fucked out.

w = wild card ( a random headcanon for the character )

he makes you fuck him while he has the mask on. with only the mask on. sunglasses, gear, and clothes gone. he thinks it’s hot, the way the fabric of his mask clinging to his sweaty skin as you take him to the heights of pleasure. degrade him a bit, saying “look at how pathetic you are. what will your teammates think? tough horangi reduced to a pretty whore,” and his response is already leaving his vocal chords as he cries out –

“fuck, fuck, yes! i’m your whore, please, just yours. i’m yours, yours, ghhmhng! only yours.”

x = x-ray ( let’s see what’s going on under those clothes )

about a good 6 or 7 inches. uncut. thick. a few distinct veins.

y = yearning ( how high is their sex drive? )

he doesn’t have the lowest or highest, but it’s a little above the normal sex drive. he isn’t the type of man who’ll try to fuck you on every surface. his mind still wanders. just some slipping thoughts of how good your hand would look around his throat, squeezing and denying him of— uh, oh. he’s turned on. yeah, just a tiny bit above the normal.

z = zzz ( how quickly they fall asleep afterwards )

he becomes a little sleepy, so he may ask to take a nap with you. it’ll take him several minutes to actually fall asleep, but with you in his arms, he’ll sleep like a baby. he’d want to be close to you, making sure you can’t leave his side. he’ll whine when you try to move away from him, pulling you right back to him.

“don’t go,” he pouts, making grabby hands at you, “just rest a little longer with me, please?”

masterlist

#— azrael.worksᵎᵎ #➷ ┊antonio’s works ! #call of duty #kim horangi hong jin #horangi #kim hong jin #horangi cod #horangi x reader #horangi smut #dom gn reader #dom reader #gn reader #dom male reader #sub character #sub cod #cod mw x reader #mw2 2022 #mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod smut #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare ii #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #cod x you #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #call of duty smut #cod fluff

[jessamine-rose]

‧̍̊˚ᵕ⋆Part of Your World⋆ᵕ˚‧̍̊

After two months and several “Part of Your World” loops, my Yandere Mermaid AU has been written!! I hope you all enjoy these tragic fairytales featuring Capitano, Pantalone, Dottore, and Pierro ϵ( 'Θ' )϶

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, kidnapping

♡ 2.5k words under the cut ♡

Shark! Capitano x Coral Reef Fish! Mermaid

♡ Humans and mermaids alike are afraid of Capitano due to the misconceptions about sharks. It doesn’t help that he is considered intimidating even by his own species—a masked hunter who reigns victorious over every feeding frenzy, adorned with scars from his deceased opponents.

♡ In contrast to his fearsome reputation, he is actually one of the calmer creatures of the sea. He mainly keeps to himself and avoids unnecessary violence, confident in his ability to survive alone. So it comes as a surprise when Capitano swims into your coral reef and scares away the mermaids who were bullying you.

♡ He understands your initial fear of him. You are quite the little mermaid, a weaker species of coral reef fish, though your scarred tail is proof of your capacity to defy natural selection. And you achieve another victory as Capitano gently asks if you are all right.

♡ Your quiet “Thank you” results in more encounters. He soon becomes your attentive companion, leading to more peace in your coral reef. The two of you regularly admire the sea anemone and swim together, the distance between you disappearing in no time.

♡ You’ve watched Capitano hunt on a few occasions; and while his strength is terrifying, the spectacle reminds you that he can keep you safe from other species. (Come to think of it, what happened to your bullies?) Likewise, he accepts the algae and small animals you’ve hunted from tiny crevices, affectionately calling you his little hunter.

♡ You even visit his home! His cavern is located in the deep sea, with less sunlight and more aggressive mermaids who mistake you for Capitano’s meal. Don’t worry, he is quick to scare them away and escort you to his safe territory. Look, he has a pretty collection of sea anemone which he knows you’d love.

♡ It’s strange, really. To Capitano, you are no worthy competitor nor a species with symbiotic relations to shark mermaids. So why do you bewitch him? Why does he feel the urge to protect you? Why are his instincts telling him to bite you, not as a prey but as a mate?

♡ He tries to repress those urges. He really does—it would be an offense to your own resilience. How fitting, then, that his boiling point is triggered by the worst predator known to your kind, a group of humans who catch you in a net and drag you up to their boat.

♡ Needless to say, a rare mermaid attack is reported that day. In the wake of the carnage, all you can do is tearfully hug Capitano and thank him for saving you. But the bloodshed does little to calm him. His little mermaid was almost stolen from him. How many more predators are eager to harm you?

♡ It’s too late for you. Before you can swim out of his grasp, Capitano holds you more tightly and makes his decision. The world is merciless to the weak, so you are to stay by his side from now on. It is his only way to ensure your safety.

♡ Well, look on the bright side. With Capitano as your provider, you are never alone in the sea—not that you could leave his territory without him, given his predatory neighbors. He still allows you to swim freely so long as he is there to protect you, and who can forget the many sea anemones he brings home for you?

♡ You can only pray that you survive your new role as his mate. Capitano may be willing to accommodate your softer flesh and courtship rituals, but the difference in strength is apparent. If he isn’t careful, his bites could become fatal…not that he would ever harm his beloved.

Jellyfish! Pantalone x Exotic Pet! Mermaid

♡ Pantalone is regarded as the jewel of the sea. Everything about him is perfect, from his graceful demeanor to his ethereal jellyfish features. Beneath that languid veneer, he is quite skilled in navigating the dangers of the deep sea and preying on unsuspecting creatures.

♡ When a ship capsizes in the midst of a storm, he takes advantage of the situation. He kills stings several humans, collects their valuables, and comes across a new treasure. A pretty mermaid trapped in a large aquarium, gazing at him with wide-eyed wonder.

♡ He easily deduces your identity. You are a rare mermaid raised by humans, a pampered pet who doesn’t know how to survive in the wild. And you have nowhere to go, seeing how your owners have either drowned or abandoned you.

♡ In that case, why don’t you stay with Pantalone? He must be a reliable mermaid if he’s willing to set you free and welcome you into his territory! His cavern is larger than your old aquariums, furnished with a gorgeous collection of pearls, human trinkets, and other treasures. And you fit right in with your shimmery scales and bright smiles.

♡ It takes a while for you to adapt to the wild. Outgrowing your expensive meals is easier said than done, much less learning how to hunt. You’re also a slow swimmer due to being raised in captivity, but Pantalone is patient enough to wait for you. He is a warm presence, always watching over you and educating you in How to be a Mermaid.

♡ He is also incredibly beautiful, which is high praise from an exotic pet. How can you not approach him when he illuminates the dark with his bioluminescent features? How can you not accept his offer to share body heat on cold nights, tails intertwined? How can you not applaud his underwater dances, unaware that it is a courtship ritual?

♡ You’re really lucky to have met him, you know? That is what Pantalone says whenever he stops you from meeting other mermaids and leaving his territory unsupervised. Had you met another sea creature, you would’ve quickly succumbed to the natural order of the world. You’re so naive and helpless, but he is willing to put up with it.

♡ Furthermore, something must be done about your view of humans. Despite the truth to his horror stories, it’s still common for Pantalone to pull you away from the surface and scuba divers. How many times has he warned you against showing yourself to humans? Don’t you know that the creatures who imprisoned you are just as likely to turn you into sashimi?

♡ Your shared life is perfect. So why are you suddenly saying goodbye to him? Pantalone can only stay silent when you tell him that you’d like to find your natural habitat. Your species isn’t meant for the deep sea and you feel guilty for freeloading. At the end of your speech, you leave the cavern to give him some space.

♡ That was your plan until Pantalone reaches out and stings you with his tentacles. He is incredibly apologetic about it, checking your wounds with cold hands and a calm smile. Oh dear, he’s so sorry. It seems that he let his emotions get the best of him. Why don’t you come back inside, darling? In your current condition, you would be easy prey.

♡ You listen to him. Eventually, you agree with Pantalone that you’d made an unconscionable decision. How could you possibly survive in the wild without him? Why put yourself in danger when you already have a perfect mate to care for you? You’re already home.

Octopus! Dottore x Marine Biologist! Human

♡ Octopus mermaids are perceived as intelligent troublemakers, and Dottore lives up to that reputation. His curiosity of the human world has caused many near-sightings, human deaths, and criticism from his peers but who is he to shy away from forbidden knowledge?

♡ It is during one research expedition that he meets a like-minded scientist. You are diving solo when Dottore reveals himself, and you react with genuine excitement. Not conventional fear, greed, or cruelty but pure fascination towards a foreign creature—a sentiment which he reciprocates.

♡ He is cautious, of course, but you remain undeterred by his bared fangs and clouds of ink. You carefully approach him and communicate with hand signals, to which Dottore surprises you with a few human words learned from previous research.

♡ An unlikely friendship is formed. Over time, you and Dottore secretly meet in the same area to share information and learn about each other. The language barrier remains an issue but you soon gain a rudimentary understanding of his speech patterns.

♡ While most humans equate octopi to sea monsters, you are clever enough to discover the truth on your own. You politely study Dottore’s mermaid biology, marveling over his grip strength and the suction marks he leaves on your skin. Likewise, you allow him to poke your legs and squeeze you with his tentacles. Half the time, the latter is an involuntary action which he tries to deny.

♡ One day, he follows you to the surface! Dottore has visited the surface before but it’s different when you are part of the view. Above water, you can remove your diving mask and speak to him clearly. An important observation is made: You have an attractive face. He’d like to see your expressions more often.

♡ Unfortunately, the moment is interrupted by an approaching boat. Quickly, you push him underwater and speak with the sailors. Thankfully, they don’t notice your companion and offer you a ride back to shore. You comply, unaware that Dottore is still watching you.

♡ What an unwelcome intrusion, he thinks bitterly. Despite your sociobiological boundaries, he can’t deny his fondness for you. The involuntary hugs from his tentacles, this odd feeling in all three of his hearts…could it be? Is such an attraction pursuable?

♡ Well, Dottore hasn’t been accused of witchcraft for nothing. In your following visits, he is more rigid in his research. He collects more human data, takes a few DNA samples from you, and acts clingy during your departures. You brush it off as an ordinary change in mood; it’s not like you could ask about it, anyway.

♡ One day, he guides you to the deep sea for some local mermaid games. You’re having so much fun that it comes as a total shock when Dottore forcibly removes your diving mask. For a few minutes, he restrains you with his tentacles and watches your distress with a cold, calculative expression. A deep kiss follows, flooding your throat with a bitter sedative.

♡ You know something is wrong as soon as you wake up. Dottore is looming over you with a frightening grin and when he speaks, you can understand him? That is when you notice the gills on your neck, the scales littering your skin, the mermaid tail in place of your legs.

♡ Aren’t you impressed? It took him ages to create a permanent transformation potion, and he even accommodated your favorite marine species! Now he can see your lovely face all the time and show you parts of the sea which no human can explore. Worry not, Dottore will guide you through your adjustment. The two of you will be closer than ever.

Orca! Pierro x Rescuer! Human

♡ Orca mermaids are no stranger to animal cruelty. Pierro can attest to that, having lost his habitat and escaped captivity. So when he washes up on shore, too weak and dispirited to resist the currents, he thinks it is the end for him.

♡ Only to be proven wrong by a compassionate human who lives near the sea. Before anyone can see him, you bring the beached mermaid home and put him in your bathtub. You add some foam pillows, treat his wounds, and wait for him to wake up.

♡ Pierro is naturally distrustful at first but there’s only so much he can do inside a bathtub. Apart from your concern, you are naturally curious about him and surprised by his fluency in human languages, an ability exclusive to his species.

♡ For a human, you’re oddly empathetic. Recognizing the social needs of orca mermaids, you spend hours in your bathroom to chat with your new companion. You introduce him to human culture by providing personal stories and warm meals which taste a thousand times better than the stale fish fed to captive animals.

♡ As the weeks pass, Pierro grows to trust you. You treat him like a companion, not a beast or pet, and go the extra mile to keep him comfortable. While he is embarrassed to sit in an inflatable kiddie pool, he’s willing to set aside his pride for more interactions in your home.

♡ Once his wounds have healed, you bring him to shore and set him free. In the dead of the night, you have enough time to properly say your goodbyes and wish Pierro a safe future. He thanks you one last time and disappears below the surface, leaving you to resume your ordinary life.

♡ Months later, you are roaming your neighborhood when you bump into a familiar person. It’s Pierro, appearing distinctly human with his two legs and fancy suit. After the initial shock wears off, he explains that he took a transformation potion to visit you. The effect wears off in three days; until then, would you be so kind as to give him a tour of your world?

♡ You eagerly accept. In his human form, Pierro can properly explore your house and natural habitat. The two of you go on several outings, eat your meals at your dining table, and share your bed. He regards your bathtub and kiddie pool with endeared nostalgia.

♡ On the third day, you cook a special farewell feast and invite Pierro to visit another time. He thanks you again, for both your hospitality and your previous act of compassion, but makes one clarification: Who said that he is saying goodbye?

♡ You aren’t given a warning before Pierro physically overpowers you and twists your leg. Calmly, he carries you to bed and soothes your pained cries. Walking is quite inconvenient, isn’t it? All it takes is a single injury, a shift in balance or gravity, for a human to be incapacitated.

♡ Well, Dottore’s the Sea Witch’s potion was worth it. He still has a few days before the effect wears off, enough time to decide on what to do with you. You see, darling, you’re too precious to him. How can he search for a new home when he has already found one in you?

♡ Now he just needs to decide whether he’ll remain a human or drag you to the deep sea and permanently turn you into a mermaid. It’s a difficult choice, seeing how either of you must make a sacrifice. But one thing is certain: Wherever you go, land or sea, he will be a part of your world.

♡

Read the sequel + more mermaid lore ʚʘ͜͡))❨

Fufufu which Harbinger’s story was your favorite?? The mermaid brainrot and nostalgia was very strong in this one. If the couples seem familiar, that’s cuz I incorporated the characters and darlings from my Yandere! Harbinger longfic series~

A big thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this and putting up with more of my nonsense. And to the fishfuckers, I know you exist. I hope you are happy u_u

Tag a Harbinger enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @nicebonescomrades @harmonysanreads @ansy-tea @leftdestiny-posts @thescribeoflostmemories @kocherry @gum-iie @oofasleep @crypticbibliophile @yanmaresu @frogchiro @lcveaesop @shumidehiro @mirdance @surveyycorps @theinnerunderrain @teabutmakeitazure

#capitano #pantalone #dottore #pierro #capitano x reader #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #pierro x reader #yandere capitano x reader #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere capitano #yandere pantalone #yandere dottore #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #il capitano #il dottore #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: manipulation #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

[meanbossart]

Love Drow's camp greetings, but now I've got to know-- what would his romance path look like?

(This was a REALLY FUN thought experiment, thanks for asking about it!)

You'd get approval points by: -Picking the joke dialogue options, especially if they're dark or crass. -Succeeding intimidation checks. -Starting fights no-questions-asked with characters that don't immediately show you respect. -Defying authority. -Antagonizing drows, githyanki, mindflayers and goblins. -Being friendly towards animals. -Showing willingness to do what the dream visitor suggests. -Notable boost if you let him take on the Loviatar priest in your stead.

You get disapproval by: -Disclosing to people that you're infected with the tadpole. -Agreeing to help NPCs who aren't offering to get rid of your parasites. -Some deception checks (he doesn't always realize you're lying). -Being distrustful/pushy with Shadowheart. -Siding with the absolute. -Trusting or empathizing with the Emperor at all after he reveals himself (Yes, he will leave you if you bang the squid). -Massive point loss if you don't let him take on Orin on his own.

[More elaboration underneath the cut, CW for terrible relationship dynamics and implications of sexual coercion, especially within the context of BDSM.]

He can be persuaded to allow you to have a one-night-stand with Halsin, but will not agree to a three-way relationship or long-term arrangement.

He will stay with you if you sleep with Mizora without the need to roll for anything, but you will lose a lot of approval.

He will agree to a four-way with the twins at Sharess Caress if you ask him about it, but only after you complete his quest. If he has lost to Orin he will kill the twins during the act. If he has accepted Bhaal, he will ask if you want to kill them with him, but you can refuse/dissuade him from doing so.

In regards to his personal interactions, you would usually get choices between antagonizing him, expressing fear, not taking him seriously at all, or making flirtatious advances.

He's neutral/disapproving towards flirtation prior to triggering a romance (though he still reacts flattered). He's neutral/approving of not being taken seriously and/or being feared, as long as the PC is being somewhat facetious and not expressing outright distrust or doubt toward his capabilities. Basically, as long as what you're saying implies that he's formidable, or makes him laugh, he will like it.

After the romance is initiated, he will enjoy flirtatious dialogue options that put him in the role of the desired, compliment his looks/abilities, or express general affection. You would also get options that paint him in a kind of "sexually predatory" light - he doesn't like those.

You could encourage him to embrace his Urge at the start of the campaign for approval, then he flips to wanting you to discourage it after it grows outside his control. If he accepts Bhaal, this switches it back to where he approves of it being encouraged. If he loses to Orin, he will just agree with you whether you tell him to give into his Urges or keep fighting them.

You can break up with him at any point unless he has accepted Bhaal; In that case, he won't agree to it and say that when he takes over the brain you won't have a choice on the matter. The only way to keep him from betraying you during the ending is to either kill him or staying in the relationship with him and dominating the brain together.

As for the actual romance scenes, it'd be similar to Astarion's route where you get to sleep with him right away, then the following interactions are more focused on other forms of intimacy and developing the emotional side of the relationship. You would get the option to push for more sex every time, which he would turn down out of fear of what the Urge might do if he goes along with it - if you keep pushing even after that, it gets you disapproval.

During the scene that locks the romance path (prior to arriving at Baldur's gate) you can persuade him to have sex, and if you succeed he will lose control and try to murder you during the act. The only way to survive it is to kill him instead. You can be resurrected if you lose (he cannot) but he then breaks up with you.

The "themes" of his romance are supposed to allude to the different dynamics of a maso-sado/dom-sub relationship. If you push him to pursue Bhaal you are setting yourself up for a 24/7, lifelong arrangement. the relationship is reduced entirely to your sexual desire for each other, the pushing of boundaries with no limits, and constant one-upmanship. You are no longer allowed (and outwardly mocked) for displaying any tenderness that isn't sexually charged, and he will become angry with you if during your night together following the finalization of the quest you don't pick the aggressive/violent options during intimacy.

If he loses to Orin, he becomes entirely emotionally dependent on the player character, willing to bend to your every will and latch onto the PC as his new master whether or not they agree to it. He is terrified of his fate and desperately wants to please you so you don't abandon him before he loses himself. You can either take advantage of this and revel in the power you have over him, become frustrated, or demonstrate patience and try to encourage him to hold onto some individuality. You can also just kill him, which he will allow you to do through dialogue options at any point. During the romance scene that follows this path, you can only have sex if you restrain him completely first.

If he refuses Bhaal, you get yourself a quiet, cocky, but loving weirdo who enjoys play-dynamics a healthy amount but is ultimately in it because he likes you as a person. He's willing to compromise on the maso-thing as long as you don't put him down for it, and it is implied that while things may not be perfect, you are both willing to work on it through mutual understanding and patience because the relationship is based on more than just burning desire or co-dependency.

#ask #bg3 spoilers #companion DU drow