#he always looks so powerful when he's on the red carpet

[ma1dmer]

Call of Duty - Vladimir Makarov NSFW

the first time I went on a date with a slavic man my mother turned to me and told me "I didn't immigrate, for you to be going out with Ivan from the village" anyways, here is ivan from the village

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): surprisingly he talks, he'll go on and on about the small things in his day to day, his shitty day, the things he's seen since he last saw you, his plans for the future ,especially if you speak his language, in the darkness of your room pressed against each other naked like that, he almost opens up to you

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves legs, he is a man who can appreciate a good high heel to elongate them, loves fucking you in the tights and heels combo, very particular about them too, he sees you walking around in a skirt with a slit up the thigh and heels and he's pulling you to him, asking if this is his present

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): in the heat of the moment he's so into the idea of cumming on you, messing up that pretty face of yours or leaving his mark on you in a way, but the second that post nut clarity hits he is absolutely disgusted, quickly throws something for you to clean up with while wiping his hand

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he is a bit of a masochist, its just one of those things he'll never admit and you better not bring them up at any point in any conversation, but it gets him so riled up when you have the balls to slap him back, he doesn't encourage your behavior outside of very specific moments in the bedroom though, it's rare for him to actually allow it, but you can immediately tell when he's in one of those moods, he'll be lost in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock and suddenly yank your hand to wrap around his throat and growl at you to go on

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): a man with a lot of experience, mostly anonymous hook ups here and there, so it's tough to get him to get used to an actual serious commited relationship, but it's nice, he won't complain with having someone to always warm his bed or wait for him to come back home

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): the basics, on your back holding your legs as he fucks you, he'll kiss your forehead or cheek growling filth against your sweaty skin, if you turn away from his kisses he forces you to look at him, gets very petty about that

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): serious and very very intense

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): all natural, not particularly hairy but he doesn't do anything to it, he always smells very very strongly of cologne as well

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): not exactly romantic, if you keep him content and his bed warm, he spoils you outside the bedroom, that's his way of showing he cares and his commitment to you, but he keeps his distance in general, he is a greedy greedy man, he wants your full attention but won't give you his unless he is forced to do so

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): before he thinks of jacking off he first texts you, if you don't answer his texts, he calls you, asks you if you are busy, not really caring for any answer other than "no, my love, what do you want?" ,he'll be stroking himself through his pants as he asks you to come over or tells you he's about to pop in for a bit, if you happen to be busy he'd rather take a shower and wait for when when he can next see you again

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): power dynamics, impact play, choking etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): he keeps his private business behind closed doors, can't stand the idea of other men ogling you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): a short skirt, high heels, red lipstick, play a bit of dress up for him, he's a simple man who can still enjoy the simple pleasures of life

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he does not share, he gets angry with you when another man looks at you, can't even comprehend the thought of bringing someone else in the bedroom, if you even suggest it, you are out, he's gone, and he's fucking every single woman within a 100 mile radius as revenge

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): loves receiving, he is not particularly gentle with it though, he likes things very specifically so he orders you around or straight up moves your head like his personal fleshlight, he also enjoys having a finger or two in him while you give him head, won't talk about it outside the bedroom, but always lifts his hips up or straight up moves your hand to his ass when he fucks your mouth to let you do your thing

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): rough and fast, he'll take his time to prepare you but once he's inside he's almost single mindedly chasing his own pleasure, you have to keep up with him and take matters into your own hand, enjoys the show greatly

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): not a big fan, if he is at work, he is at work, you don't intrude during that time and he hates nothing more than an impatient brat

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): not really, he likes things very particularly done, its difficult to convince him to do something new, he's not unmovable but if you insist too much he gets stubborn and will keep denying you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): it really depends on the context, how long since he last saw you? how pent up is he? after a success or a failure? how generous is he feeling that night? is he spending the night or needs to fly out in a couple of hours? everything moves with his schedule

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he's quite possessive and very self absorbed, he doesn't like the idea of you using them by yourself when he's gone, but can definitely be convinced with something he can control for you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is pretty straight forward, isn't so much a tease as he has a bit of a mean streak, he enjoys the little jump you make when you think he's gonna spank you ,but instead he just gently cups your ass or thighs, will smirk and ask you if you are scared of him or something, tells you to relax and stop being so tense, even though you have legit reasons to be worried

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): grunts and groans and a lot, a lot of dirty talk, especially if he sees it gets a rise out of you, you'd expect him to be quieter but no not really, he makes these deep guttural grunts as he fucks you and curses up a storm, especially in russian

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he is a pussy slapper, he eats it with precision and great enjoyment, but he's so mean about it, will coo at you in russian when you flinch at his touch

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): average length but very thick with a slightly thinner crown, very hard to adjust to

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): very average, it's common to send you off with a wave of his hand if he is busy, but when the need arises in him he does expect you to drop everything for him

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): this man is a little spoon, he will never admit it or ask, but every night he turns his back to you and expects you to hug him at some point

#call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #makarov smut #makarov #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov #vladimir makarov smut #vladimir makarov x reader #modern warfare #modern warfare smut #modern warfare 3 smut #modern warfare 3 x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #cod smut #cod mw3 smut #.writing

[seancekitsch]

How about something with Vox and an assistant reader? I'm so excited your writing for Hazbin!

hehehe you have received: smut with fem reader

“I mean, do I have to hypnotize anyone if the marketing team is good? Darling, fire them all. Especially the ones I own. Make them squirm,” Vox talks, at you, not to you while you plug in the information on your V-Pad. 

“Just squirm or flounder too?” you ask, not looking up at him either. 

“Is that a fucking fish pun?” he turns on you, pushing his chair back from his desk. 

“A synonym, Sir.”

You tap the screen a few times, filling his request and adding a bit of your own to it. 

“Done. No severance package.”

You meet his gaze, smile toothy and wide. 

“Devious bitch,” he muses, smiling just as wide, “Come to Daddy.”

You set the tablet down at the table near the door, smoothing out your skirt as you start to strut across the office, essentially modeling the outfit Vox had gotten designed for you. But before you can make it even a quarter of the way, Vox stops you with a look.

Right, how could you forget? You kick off your stilettos, a flash of the red bottoms against the navy carpet and you sink to your hands and knees; slowly, seductively crawling towards the overlord at his desk. 

His screen glitches briefly, electrical current sparkling along the edges of him. He watches you fixated like a predator stalking his prey, yet you flourish under his scrutiny, proud and confident as your nails dig into the carpet and you make your way to the spot at his feet. Vox pats his lap, a silent invitation. There is no seat for you in this office, and thats on purpose. Vox always wants you on his lap, draped over him, straddling him, perched like a shiny trophy. Today you choose to straddle him, hiking up your skirt as you settle in facing him.

“Any panties?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“No point when I work for you,” you tease, settling yourself flush against him, bare against his lap. He’s already hard, because of course he is. When is Vox not hard if you’re in the room? It strokes your ego, the power you have over the overlord, the control you have over a powerful man.

“Seriously, where would I be without you?” he purrs, leaning in close and grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

“Hmm, probably struggling to keep your schedule?” you muse, nails raking down the front of his suit jacket.

Without warning, he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his hips like second nature at this point before he throws you unceremoniously down onto his desk, muscle memory stopping the back of your head from connecting to his keyboard. You’d learned that the hard way when this all started.

“Certainly wouldn’t be making a mess of my office,” he muses, his claws tracing down your front, teasing your cleavage and down your navel.

You reach for his belt buckle, making quick work of it.

“For the third time this week,” you say, always teasing him. Always pushing your boss’ buttons.

Vox hastily pushes your hands away, tugging his dress shirt out of his pants and undoing them enough to slide them down, his boxers coming with them. You gaze down at his cock, while fucking has become routine you’re always somewhat in awe of the size of him.

He’s quick to push your skirt up, bunching it around your waist without any care for the fabric. He’ll probably just buy you another one, so arch your back into his movements, letting him pull you into position while slots himself right where he needs to be. His eyes meet yours, screen bright and blinding. Sharp teeth in two identical smiles, and he pushes in.

You struggle to keep your eyes on his as you moan around the stretch, no matter how many times this happens it always catches your breath in your throat.

“Fffffuck yes,” Vox practically growls, voice modulator losing control as he bottoms out with your bodies fully connecting. He wastes no time setting a pace, hips snapping against yours, slightly upwards, hitting a truly amazing spot within you. You see stars, disoriented and already high on him him him.

Vox runs his claws along your hips, electrical currents running along your skin just strong enough to make your body twitch beneath him. His hands trail under your legs, hoisting them up against his chest to control you that much more as he leans over you.

“All mine, fuck, all mine,” Vox pants, speeding up his thrusts, rocking you further into the desk as his claws dig into your thighs to keep you flush against him. He grinds his pelvis into yours each time he bottoms out, sweet friction punctuated by featherlight sparks of electricity radiating from skin on skin. You nod eagerly, gritting your teeth, but that isn’t good enough for the CEO above you.

“Fuckin— say it! Say you’re mine,” he begs, his voice urgent and desperate.

“I’m— I’m—“

A moan cuts off anything you have to say, electrical pulses going straight to your cunt and frying your brain in the process.

“Gonna short circuit for me?” he teases now, and fuck he’s so confident. You’d like for once to have him writhing the way he does you. But your brain does indeed short circuit before you can dwell on that too much, your orgasm having snuck up on you, white hot intensity behind your eyes. You wail underneath him, your hands reaching out for his and prying his claws from your thighs. Instantly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, giving you stability as he fucks you through your orgasm. Vox groans as he spills into you only moments later, practically collapsing on top of you.

He stays there, with you folded in half, his length softening inside you, your fingers still tangled together.

“Can you say it now?” he asks, the edge of his screen resting against your shirt as it dims.

“I’m yours,” you confirm, “you needy prick.”

Vox laughs, loud and barking, and finally pushes himself off you. He’s incredibly gentle to pull out, to slowly unfold limbs and help you to sit up, letting you lean onto him.

“You know, I should really report you to HR for name calling,” Vox finally says, winking as he does.

It’s your turn to laugh, scoffing as you weakly slap at his chest.

“Right, and if you get me demoted I promise you that Peppermint couldn’t give you pussy half as good as this.”

Vox kisses you hard on the mouth, static crackling as screen touches lips.

Voxtech doesn’t even have an HR department.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox smut

[cassiefromhell]

Blings, Rings, & Other Things

Sukuna x Concubine!Reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: mention of sex, nakedness

a/n: i tried my hand at sukuna. don’t squint too hard. as always, requests are open, pls send me things because I'll write anything and I'm bored

You need to ask Lord Sukuna for a new necklace.

You sit in front of your elegant mirror, lounging on the ornate carpet with all of your necklaces laid out in front of you. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. But no rubies.

How do you not own a single ruby necklace?

Your Lord gave you a stunning red dress for the ball tonight, one that flatters you in every way. But somehow, you have no necklace to match. And it’s crucial that you look impeccable, because an extremely politically important Lady and her full entourage arrived last night, and they will all be at the ball, too. Sukuna’s whole harem was invited, expected to dress to reflect on his power. Which consisted of you, since he had permanently dismissed all his other concubines months ago.

But you had no ruby necklaces.

You sigh, running a hand through your still-damp hair. Your dressers will be here soon, pampering you for the event ー maybe you could get one of them to grab you a ruby necklace from… somewhere. You weren’t sure where Lord Sukuna got all those exquisite things.

A soft knock comes on your door, and you straighten, quickly jumping to your feet. Your maids will kill you when they see that you’ve been sitting and pondering instead of finishing your hair. You place all your necklaces back where you had them laid out on the bureau, hurriedly arranging them nicely.

The knock comes again, just as you’re crossing your large room to get to your dressing room, where your silk robe is hung up. Because you were stupid enough to be sitting around naked, and now you’re definitely pissing off your personal staff with your tardiness.

“Just a moment, ladies,” you call out, taking the robe down. “Not clothed yet!”

“I don’t mind,” a purr of a voice says against your ear, familiar hands wrapping around your waist.

You flinch, practically flying off the ground, then slowly sink back into Sukuna’s gentle embrace, your bare back leaning against his outiftted chest. 

“By the Gods, you scared me,” you murmur, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You’re so fast, I couldn’t hear you coming. I thought you were Izumi and Murasaki.”

“You called me ‘ladies,’ so I assumed so,” he hums.

Sukuna takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, gently tilting your head up to look at him properly. He gives you a tender kiss, something that’s so rare from Sukuna, with his… well, brutish persona. But he gives you that softness in this moment that you so crave, his tongue dancing with yours.

When he breaks the kiss, you open your eyes and gaze up at him. You chew your bottom lip. “Is something happening? You were supposed to be in a meeting with the Lady and her advisors until an hour before the ball, and it’s only just past noon…”

He releases you and takes one long stride backwards to lean against the wall. “I left early.”

“How come?” You ask, slipping your robe on and raising a brow. “Did something happen?”

“Yes.”

You narrow your eyes. You know Sukuna usually tries to keep you out of courtly matters; he says he doesn’t want you to carry the burden that he does. But right now, he’s being exceptionally quiet.

“Are you going to elaborate?” You turn and leave the dressing room, figuring you may as well finish drying your hair as you talk. At first you had assumed he had visited for sex before the long night ahead of you both, but the atmosphere has dimmed down quickly.

“The visiting Lady Taira and her advisors have come with a marriage proposition between myself and Lady Taira, organized by her cousin,” Sukuna replies, tone giving none of his emotions away.

Marriage!

You nearly trip and fall, but quickly recover, taking a sharp breath and continuing to your dresser. You refuse to let something so little bother you. After all, no matter how many fancy things he buys you, or nights he lets you stay in his bed instead of immediately sending you back to your chambers, or times he tested the words “I care for you,” when he thought you were asleep, you are merely a concubine. A woman to be kept pretty, to be called upon for sex or comfort or every once in a while, someone to complain to. You know this. And so, with an unshaking hand, you grasp a dry hair towel and watch him in the mirror.

“That’s a very good offer,” you hum, traitorous heart thrumming in your chest. “Lady Taira is said to be the loveliest lady of all. Your council has been trying to get you to marry for months now. She would be a nice candidate for you, I think.”

He scoffs, sitting on your bed. Your eyes meet in the mirror. “She is not the loveliest lady. Not even close.”

“Oh? Well, a marriage to her would surely be beneficial,” you turn to face him with now-dry hair. “When will you announce the engagement?”

“I did not accept the offer.”

You blink. And again. And again. A moment ago you thought your heart couldn’t pound any harder, and you thought wrong.

“Why?”

“Because my council isn’t the King of Curses. I am. I dictate who I want to marry, and it is not that Lady,” he crosses one set of arms over his chest, the other propped up behind him as he watches you. “However, I do feel that I need a Queen of Curses.”

“Ah,” you turn back around, getting a comb and raising it to your locks, starting to work out the tangles. “Still looking for candidates, then?”

I could be your wife and queen.

You shut down that thought immediately, and not a moment later your Lord speaks again.

“It could be you.”

You freeze.

“My lord,” you sigh, slowly lowering your combing hand. “Please, do not speak words you do not mean.”

“Don’t call me Lord.” 

He’s behind you in an instant, taking the comb out of your hand and picking you up, spinning you. After a flash of movement, you’re sitting up on the bureau, effectively raising you the multiple feet in height it takes for you to be eye level with him.

“You never call me Lord,” he frowns.

“I did once.”

“Yes, because Uraume was there and you’re terrified of them.”

“…That’s true.”

He leans in, speaking against your ear. His hand slides up your thigh. “It. Could. Be. You.”

Eyes widening, you swallow thickly. “…Why?”

He continues to talk against your ear, fingertips digging into your hip through your silk robe. “Because you are the only female that I enjoy the company of. That I have never once wanted to kill—”

“That’s not true.”

“What?”

“You wanted to kill me when I stole your kimono and wore it in front of all the other concubines, then they nearly killed me—”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“Continue on.”

He sighs, pulling his face back and holding your chin steady with a hand, staring you right in the eyes. “If I am to take a wife, it will be you. If you do not want the responsibility, then I remain wifeless, damn the council. If I want an heir, you will be the one to carry it. If I want a companion, you will be there. Do you understand?”

You nod slowly.

“Words,” he growls.

“I’ll be your wife,” you blurt.

He smirks. 

“On one condition,” you raise a finger, sticking it in front of his face. “I want a ring. No need for a big fancy proposal, but a nice, handpicked by you, pretty engagement ring. And we both have to wear wedding bands.”

He makes a face, nose scrunching.

You scowl, putting on your best mean voice — your attitude is the reason he likes you so much, anyway. “Oh, boo hoo, Mr. Curse King hates rings. You don’t have to wear it all the time. But we must own them.”

He narrows his eyes, then huffs. “Fine. Two out of seven days of the week.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Three, and every time we fuck.”

“I assumed that was already part of the deal, but yes, three.”

You bare your teeth. “Four out of seven or no wife.”

Sukuna leans forward, biting your bottom lip. “Fine. Four.”

“Then I’m your fiancée.”

“I’ll announce it tonight.”

And suddenly, it all feels so… real. This is actually happening. You’re marrying Sukuna.

With a squeal, you jump into his arms, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You kiss him, first his mouth, then his cheeks, then all across his neck.

“Gods, that’s enough,” he tries to push your face away, but he keeps holding you up in his embrace. 

You bite his hand gently, and then whisper into his ear. “Hello, Husband.”

“I did not anticipate you to be so excited about this, woman.”

“Say it.”

“Wife.”

want a part 2 of engagement sex and fiancee duties? request it (and anything else) in my asks

#concubine reader #this is to feed my sukuna addiction like please gods send me a sukuna ty #jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #jjk fanfiction

[delfiore]

—DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: in the end, what is meant to be will always be. or; leah struggles after the break up.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is a continuation of LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. i just have to make things angsty i’m sry, if i don’t i start gnawing at the bars of my enclosure but worry not, this will turn fluffy in the end :)

EIGHT. Paris.

It took about 45 mins for Leah to decide that she longer wanted to be in this damned opera house.

The red carpet was exhausting enough, but she powered through it, familiar faces like Amelia DiMoldenberg’s making it barely enough to get through.

The dinner had gone into an intermission, and she had a moment to relax from the cameras, being sat at a table not far from the stage. Ever since she first attended the GQ Men of the Year Dinner a few years ago, it had created a lot of buzz around her every year, fans speculating whether she would come again, donning outfits so foreign on her body. Back then, she still had a support system that she looked forward to coming home to. Now, maybe the only positive to this night was that, whatever happened, she would eventually get to go home and sleep by the end of it.

She had to tilt her head all the way up to get a full glimpse of the ceiling. The Royal Opera House wasn’t the oldest building erected in London by far, but it was one of most interesting to look at, if she wasn’t so in love with her club and the look of the Emirates that was. It was grandiose, regal and typical of Baroque architecture, the concave ceiling arching over her, stretching all the way back to the five balconies—generously lit and horse-shoe-shaped seating areas—stacked on top of each other. It looked a little bit like the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris that she got to see when she attended the Ballon d’Or for the first time a couple of years ago. A lot of things can change in two years, and Leah wasn’t sure whether it was for the better or not.

Her agent caught her in the middle of her admiring when he gave her shoulder a light tap, telling her that she was expected at the after-party too. Great, another two hours she’d have to endure as people praise her name for achievements unworthy of praise, just because she was Leah Williamson, captain of the Lionesses. But whatever else he said after that, Leah didn’t register, because her eyes had found a familiar frame standing a few tables away.

You looked dashing in your black nighttime attire, which sparkled every time the limelight happened to sweep past you. A gentle smile adorned your face as you conversed your heart away with a couple of actors whose names were lost on her. When you put your hand on one of them and laughed, your eyed darted over to her for a split second.

Only when those actors had left, did she even think of approaching you, but her feet were planted on the ground.

One, two, three, she counted in her head. One, two, three; come on, Leah . . .

“Hi, you!” There was a residual cheerfulness from your previous conversation in your voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she tried to chuckle away her nerves, wiping the sweat in her hands on her pant legs. “You been okay?”

“Yeah,” you said it so softly that she almost missed it, if she wasn’t watching your lips. “Are you? Beth says you don’t come around her place anymore.”

“You still talk to Beth?”

“Yeah, she’s my friend, Lee. I . . . hope you don’t mind.”

“No! No, that’s . . . it’s great.” Leah said quickly.

You had smiled at her gratefully, and grasped her hand. “It’s good seeing you again.”

“You too.” She had said, robotically, before deciding against it. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright?”

You smiled again. This time, you brought her into your chest and wrapped your arms around her neck. “You first,” you said with a glint in your eyes, then you disappeared into the crowd.

And for a few brief moments, Leah Williamson didn’t think about how exhausted she was, only about how much she has missed being held by you. After all, it had been almost two years since she and you broke up, and maybe Leah was never able to move on like she had promised you.

How could she?

NINE. Be My Mistake.

She hated the feeling afterwards. She hated herself for having initiated it, for chasing after the girl like a hungry wolf in that nightclub. Now, Leah couldn’t bear the feeling of her lanky arms and sweaty skin touching her, like the intimacy was warranted, like she had somehow earned it.

Leah knew it was begrudging of her to shove the girl’s arm away so heartlessly and move upright to the edge of the bed, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with someone else, not yet. Not when every time she felt her skin she imagined yours, soft and scented with your familiar smell; every time she closed her eyes she saw your face like a ghost, refusing to leave her psyche; every time she opened her mouth to let out a noise of pleasure, it took everything in her to hold herself back from uttering Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The girl was confused but she was still, no doubt trying to decipher the sudden shift in Leah’s demeanor. She hated her stillness, the way her eyes watched her frame like she was a wounded animal in its enclosure.

“Please leave,” Leah said quietly, begging.

Silence.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but if . . . you need someone—”

“Thank you, Delaney.” She gritted her teeth. “Please get out.”

Tonight, it was Delaney with the fiery red hair and dimples peppered over her cheekbones. A few nights ago, it was Lisa-Mae with the sultry brown eyes and unforgettable plump lips. Then there might have been an Erin and Hailey and Polly and maybe even a Daniela from when she visited Keira in Barcelona. She hated that she somehow remembered all of their names and kept count. Body upon body, yet she could not forget the one body she was using them all to forget about.

She couldn’t turn to alcohol, couldn’t smoke or do hard drugs because they would affect her performance on the pitch, but God knows she was thinking about it constantly. Anything to take this pain away for a moment, lest she turns into the starving wolf and goes out to hunt at night again. If only the press caught on to what she was doing.

Righteous Lioness turned starving wolf the moment the loneliness becomes a little too much to bare.

But she knew you wouldn’t have judged her. No, you would wrap her in your arms and let her scream, cry, do whatever she wanted to rid herself of the torment. She remembered all the nights you spent on the bathroom floor with her as she battled through her endometriosis, and how you would hold her like the world was about to collapse outside the window.

Leah was on the bathroom floor again, but she was alone this time, and the floor tiles felt colder and harsher than she had remembered.

TEN. Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy).

The feeling she got when the three whistles finally blew came to Leah quite rarely. It was one of elation and immense joy that the result of the game was finalized, because she had known half an hour ago that Arsenal would bring home the crucial three points from the match.

She brought her fists in the air as she made her rounds, patting her teammates on the back and shaking hands with opponents. She found Kyra and hoisted her in the air with a tight hug, as her younger teammate managed to score and assist today.

“Thank you, Leah.” Kyra giggled, as she was put down. “Is Y/N here?”

Leah’s smile remained, but she scrunched her eyebrows. “How did you hear about that?”

“How could I not? Y/N Y/L/N, coming to watch us play. I won’t be surprised if social media was buzzing about that rather than the actual match.”

If Kyra knew, that meant the entire team knew. She would endure the endless teasing if it meant getting to see you again, though.

Leah had found where you were sitting right from the start, in the VIP box where her friends and family sat, the usual spot you occupied when you were still together. Back then, she would watch you jog down the stairs with a blinding grin on your face, hop over the barricade and pull her into a bone-crushing hug. It could be a sold-out Emirates Stadium, but the only thing she wanted to watch was you. She still wanted to.

“Hi! Great game today.” You didn’t hug her, but did something far worse. You swung your arm and gave her bicep a quick pat, like a friend would.

“Thanks,” she said. “Should have scored that header though.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down like that. You were great.” Somehow, your words made her feel worse about herself, and she just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. They felt patronizing.

Not far away, Beth’s joyful laughter cut through her sulking. Turning to look at the woman, she saw Beth wrapping her arms tightly around Viv’s neck and the Dutch spinning her around gleefully. Viv had managed to score a hat-trick today—her first since returning from her ACL injury—and even if she didn’t celebrate such an important feat, she would be dragged into one because her girlfriend definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

It reminded her of when she would come home and celebrate her wins with you. She didn’t need any fancy parties or lavish gifts, just being in your company was more than enough. You would always end up buying her gifts though. “Just because”, you would say, the I love you going unspoken, but she knew it was there. She could always feel it hanging in the silence, in the spaces in your home, even when you were half a world away filming. She could always feel it, like a hearth, a palpable warmth flickering in her chest.

It made her envious watching Beth and Viv that they had what she once did.

“Y/N! You made it!” Beth’s voice tore Leah from her thoughts.

Despite her sentimental predicament, a chuckle made its way onto her lips as she watched you embrace Beth like two schoolgirls finally united again after the summer holidays.

“How long are you staying in London?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know, really,” you replied. “I’m doing a thing with Stella McCartney, so it might take a while.”

Leah couldn’t help but perk up at that. She could feel Viv glancing at her from the corner of her eyes.

“No way! Look at ya. Moving on to the fashion world already!” Beth exclaimed and gave your shoulder a light shove.

Only when you and Beth had walked away happily chatting did Vivianne elbow her gently.

“They seem happy,” the Dutch said.

“Yeah,” Leah pursed her lips. “That’s good.”

“And you? Are you happy?”

Leah knew that the both of them knew she wasn’t, but that wasn’t the right answer. She would not admit to something that she has been working for two years to get over, because it would mean that her woes were all for nothing.

“I am,” she nodded. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

If anything, Leah still loved you enough to admit that.

ELEVEN. Me.

Leah didn’t sleep much these days. She never really did—adrenaline being her biggest enemy—but she would find herself crying in frustration at four in the morning, unable to fall asleep.

It would be during those torturous hours that she would reminisce on the conversation in which she pulled the plug on your relationship.

It was a slippery slope of miscommunication, both of you were to blame, but she was the one who decided to run away instead of trying to work it out. She still kept the ring in a drawer somewhere, but the memory of your rejection made it to painful to look at.

In hindsight, she could have said it a bit differently, but she was close to exploding the previous days that all of it came flooding out of her.

She replayed the conversation often, like a broken record in her head, swapping out things that she could have said or you could have said that would have lead to a different outcome, maybe one in which she wasn’t so miserable two years on.

It was 1:43am, and she was wide awake yet again. You’d always had an irregular sleep pattern, and she wondered whether you were awake too.

She knew it was a mistake, and that she would regret it in the morning, but she texted you anyway.

hey are u awake?

Slamming her phone on the other side of the bed, Leah curled in on herself, burying her face in the pillows trying not to cry. If she hadn’t looked up in time, she would almost miss the incoming call on her screen. It was you.

“Hey,” she picked up after sniffling her tears away.

“Hey, you,” your voice was soft and lulling. “What an odd time for a footballer to be awake. Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

This made her chuckle. “If I did get all of my beauty sleep, you lot would have no chance.”

“Watch out, everyone. Leah Williamson’s ego is inflating, try not get crushed by it.”

As Leah’s laughter died down, she felt an awkwardness settled over the line. A silence once so comfortable now felt forced, straining under the pull between what once was and the ruins of it. The heavy weight of unspoken words curled on the tip of her tongue, the broken record of her mistake playing ever louder in her head.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” you finally broke the silence, your voice teetering between caution and curiosity.

“Yeah, well, insomnia makes one do questionable things.”

Leah wondered if she had accidentally revealed too much, and whether it was appropriate to do so. You two weren’t intimate anymore, you were barely friends nowadays, the finest thread of your acquaintance lied solely on your hangouts with Beth. How strange it was, you were half of her soul. Now you were almost like passersby on the street.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, a sense of concern in your tone.

“Um,” she hummed, trying to pull herself together. “Not really. I-I haven’t been doing too well.”

“Leah,” you said. “I-I know we’re not as close as we were before, but I wasn’t lying when I said I still want us to be friendly at least. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She said, her voice wavering. She wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings from you, never you. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner.”

“It’s okay, Lee. It hurt me a lot, not gonna lie, but I understand where you were coming from.”

Leah couldn’t hold it in anymore, and squeezed her eyes shut, her tears wetting the pillow she lay on. “I can’t be your friend, Y/N. I can’t just pretend like the last five years didn’t happen.”

There was a brief silence once more before you spoke. “I know. Might be selfish of me to wish things were different.”

“Then I’m selfish too,” she said, almost a whisper.

There was a pause, in which Leah bit the inside of her cheeks so hard they might start bleeding.

“Are you coming to Beth’s thing on Friday?” You asked.

“I think I’m expected to be there. Why?”

“Good, I’ll be there too. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” Leah said dumbly.

“Now, go to sleep.”

She giggled. “You first.”

TWELVE. Sincerity Is Scary.

Leah’s teammates have teased her many times throughout the evening, stating her unnecessary brooding was actually unnecessary this time and that she should liven up. She really couldn’t. Just thinking about seeing you again tonight made her want to have a heart attack and end her misery right there.

But the moment she heard your voice as you stepped into Beth and Viv’s house, a bottle of wine in hand and a bright smile on your lips, Leah felt her anxiety dissipate into oblivion, scolding herself for ever feeling nervous.

After all, it was you.

She waited patiently with a soft smile, her arms folded behind her back as she waited for all the girls to swoon over you. She had all night to keep you company, she was in no rush.

“Hey,” you found her after all the canoodling. Extending an arm, you awaited a hug which she gladly accepted.

“Hi,” she offered to take your jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. “You got here alright?”

“Man, the traffic at rush hour,” you sighed exasperatedly. “That’s the one thing I’ll never get used to. Almost makes me miss you being my personal chauffeur.”

She laughed. “That’s the only thing I was good for, was it?”

You narrowed your eyes at her teasingly. “Not just that.”

Leah wasn’t sure what you meant entirely with We’ll talk then, but seeing as she was the one who stupidly broke up with you, the balls were entirely in your court. She was just happy you were still willing to talk to her after she called you at 2am to blabber her insomniac nonsense.

She wasn’t courageous enough to sit directly next to you at the dinner table, but rather took the seat next to Katie who sat in front of you. Courage wasn’t something Leah felt much lately, and it took seeing you again for her to admit that. Perhaps she was never brave, but you always made her feel like it anyway.

Everyone loved you, the movie star that graced her team’s humble dinner. She couldn’t help but watch in awe as you managed to charm the pants off of everyone at the table with your witty remarks and crazy anecdotes. You had a presence that made everyone want to be your friend; it made her uncharacteristically shy at trying to get you to notice her, that she resorted to watching you from afar. And the few times you would make eye-contact with her, she could only look away, bashful that she had been caught staring, as her courage dwindling with each gaze.

Later in the night, when everyone was scattered around the house chatting, she found you sitting alone on the patio. Upon closer look, she could make out a smaller, fluffy unit in the form of Myle, Beth and Viv’s little pup, prancing around in front of you, waiting for you to throw the tennis ball in your hand.

The constant sound of the girls’ conversations died down the moment she stepped out in the backyard, now lit with rows of incandescent lights overhead. Myle barked once with excitement as she spotted Leah approaching.

“I think she wants you to throw it,” you handed her the ball.

She grinned and took it. “No one beats Auntie Leah.”

Little Myle was quick to launch herself across the yard on a mission to retrieve her precious artifact.

“I wanted a dog really bad, the first year we started dating.” You said, pulling your knees to your chest as a gust of wind pulled at your hair. “I wanted a little corgi or an Italian greyhound. I spent hours looking for one to adopt and researched food, bills, insurance and stuff.”

“Why didn’t you get one?” Leah asked.

“We haven’t even moved in together at that point. Plus, I was still bouncing around, you knew that.”

She did. You were shooting a movie in Canada the few first months you and her started talking. Then, you were hopping around Spain, Portugal and various parts of the UK for another project. It wasn’t ideal, but still much closer than Canada. You would fly out every other weekend to watch her play, and she would do the same and visit you on-set, moving most things aside for a couple days with you.

“I would have loved a dog, I don’t know about you.”

“I’m sure you would have. You’d probably love it more than me,” you laughed.

“No,” Leah shook her head softly. “Never.”

Summer was approaching. She could feel it in the mildness despite the breeze. For a while, the soft murmur of the wind caressing the trees was all she could hear, and Myle’s occasional huff as she impatiently waited for the ball to be tossed again.

You both sat there watching her, fantasizing of a different life, a dream that never materialized, another fragment of memories again tainted by what-ifs. Leah bit her lip, trying to calm her spiraling thoughts. She felt her courage slipping away again.

“I’m sorry I called you the other day,” she pursed her lips. “That wasn’t very appropriate. I should have asked to talk to you properly.”

“Don’t worry. Wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve done.” She heard you chuckle next to her. “I’ve had some time to think about us. Admittedly, I didn’t want to think about it at all the first few months, but my therapist told me I had to face it one way or another.”

Leah held her breath. This was the part where you tell her that you’d moved on and that she should stop pestering you. One of her knees started bouncing up and down as she waited for you to talk.

“I had to face the fact that you’re the love of my life, and that night I met you and we danced to Hozier together—on the first night we met no less—was the second best night of my life. The best was when you told me you loved me. And the worst night of my life was when you broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered, feeling her throat tighten at your confession.

“No,” you said, moving closer. “I don’t regret it. I wasn’t ready when you proposed, and that was my truth. But Leah, I’d be lying if I said that I’d be okay with letting you go again.”

“I should’ve talked to you about marriage before I asked you to marry me. It wasn’t fair on you.” Leah offered you a tearful smile.

“I want to try again. I would do it again for you.” You reached out and wiped away the tears that had silently rolled down her cheeks as she listened to you.

“I thought I’d lost my chance,” she said. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“Oh, baby,” your thumb brushed over her cheek softly. “How could you think I’d ever be able to forget about you?”

She let out a soft cry of relief. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and there was only one thing she thought of doing.

So she leaned in, never minding her wet cheeks. The last thing she saw was you closing your eyes too.

“Oh—sorry!”

The two of you jumped apart at the voice behind you. Leah turned around with a visible scowl on her face, seeing Beth grimace sheepishly as she called for Myle.

“It’s her dinner time. Come, little one, you hungry?” Beth attempted to explain herself, as Myle sprinted inside. “Alright then. As you were.”

The moment the door closed, you burst into laughter, making her break out of her frown and smile with you. “I can’t believe that just happened,” you said, laughing into her shoulder.

“I’m going to kill her,” she shook her head and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek.

She didn’t mind it too much, because she got to take you home later and make up for the last two years until the early hours of the morning. You and her would laugh about it years later.

THIRTEEN. About You.

Your lover never backed down from a challenge.

That was her way, and that was what made her one of the best in her sport, her unrelenting spirit.

Yet, her legs felt like they would turn to jelly the moment she laid her eyes on you at the end of the aisle, umber dirt covered in white rose petals. She felt like drowning in her emotions which had all risen to the surface, and the waves would only plunge her further into itself until she was completely immobilized by it. But she knew once she was able to pull herself together and walk to you on the other end of that path, heaven would be waiting for her.

The officiate went on and on about love, life, and promises of forever, but she had made that promise to you long before this day. She kissed you fervently the moment she was able to.

It only seemed fitting that the first chapter of your story began with a dance, and the most important one to also end with a dance. She offered you a hand, and you gladly took it, a childish giggle bubbling in your throat. The song you danced to the first night you met rang out in the venue, a soft and folksy tune the backdrop of your falling in love.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She said with a teasing grin.

You gazed into her eyes like they held the world. You had no idea that her heart beat for you, how her soul yearned for yours, how her life will not forever be intertwined with yours.

You closed your eyes and hummed, swaying with her slowly, just like you’d practiced at home a couple of weeks ago, only that instead of the four walls of your shared home baring witness to this dance, it was all your friends and families.

Memories of the first night you met, and the one in which she promised you her heart bubbled as she saw the serene look in your face. You both have come so far.

You placed your head on her chest for all to see, the way you do when you are tired after long hours of work in front of the camera, when all you wanted was the magic and warmth of her company.

Leah smiled; she couldn’t stop smiling. She smiled and smiled until her cheeks ached, even beyond then, until forever.

“No,” you mumbled. “Not bad at all.”

a/n: happy holidays to everyone :)

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson x you #leah williamson angst #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #beth mead #vivianne miedema #viv miedema #kyra cooney cross

[gatorbites-imagines]

This has been living rent free in my head and I need it to leave, lol.

So you know how like everyone loves Losis lane, flirting with her and all that?

What if a Rich Male Reader was going to a red carpet in Metropolis and he's a gentleman. However, instead of asking for Losis' company. He makes a casual beeline for Clark Kent, asking for his company for that evening. Kissing the back of Clark's hand in greeting.

I think Clark would be a flustered mess.

Clark Kent x male reader

Headcanons

I’m basing the reader off of a marvel oc of mine I’m pretty sure I’ve used in the past called Lockjaw, so you have a prosthetic jaw in this lmao. My head aches so much from doing chemistry homework, so I’m writing this as a reward.

You were a multi billionaire, rivaling Wayne in his riches and rank. But unlike Wayne, who was a big support to heroes like the justice league, you tended to stay neutral and not get too involved with the hero and villain world.

You were an incredible inventor though, standing side by side with the likes of Lex Luthor, but unlike Luthor you didn’t use your inventions for evil, but you didn’t use them for good either. You had been shunned and insulted by the world too much to love it as blindly as most heroes did.

Your prosthetic jaw was the cause of most of your childhood scorn. Your father had been what many called a crazy scientist, and in one of his wild experiments it had ended with your jaw being torn off your body.

Years passed without you showing yourself much to the public, until you appeared at 18, ready to take over your father’s juggernaut of a company, a black metal jaw and a cold look in your eyes.

The tabloids called you the ice king or even the ice emperor with how much power you carried, as you had never buckled under social pressure and had never been seen with a romantic partner.

But their most favorite name to call you was Lockjaw, because of your prosthetic. You had despised the name in the beginning because it made you remember the traumatic experience, but over time you made the name yours and yours alone.

You weren’t easy to manipulate like some rich people, you weren’t dumb, and you paid close attention to what happened around you, never letting someone get the upper hand.

You were extremely influential, single, and very handsome, so of course you were invited to most if not all large parties for the upper class, though you only went if it was something important. You didn’t party for fun, so when you showed up the place was always filled with more paparazzi than normal, trying to get a comment from you or a good picture.

Because of whom you are, you’ve had many run ins with heroes, and your extreme intellect has also made it that you needed to know about them. So, you most likely know the identities of most known heroes, villains, and anything in between. You have also fought many of them, especially villains, who think you are an easy target.

So, when you walked onto the red carpet to see not only Bruce Wayne but also Oliver Queen you couldn’t help but sneer, though your prosthetic jaw didn’t allow much movement of your mouth. Of course, you had never told them you knew their identities, why would you?

Out of all the heroes you liked Superman the most, so when you saw Clark Kent there, following close behind Lois Lane of all people, you almost couldn’t resist.

Lois of course wants a scoop of you as well because of your fame, but when she tries her usual tricks, she is sorely disappointed when none of them work. She, and everyone around you as well, are very surprised when you instead go to the big clumsy man following after her.

Clark is immediately flustered when you shake his hand, but also lift it to kiss the back of it. He had not expected you, the ice prince, Lockjaw, known for your dismissal of paparazzi and the outside world, to kiss his hand.

It’s not even an act when Clark starts blushing and looking around in confusion, because something must be wrong for that to happen.

Camera’s flash and people are yelling, asking all kinds of questions of course, because who was Clark and how did you two know each other? What had changed that got the ice prince to react like that?

But you don’t do much more than kiss the back of his hand and wink at Clark, before you are on your way again down the red carpet and into the party. Lois will immediately grill Clark for all he knows about you, and both Bruce and Oliver will be curious too as to why you picked Clark exactly.

After that the daily bugle would always send Clark to things you went too, hoping to get a good scoop or another world-shaking reaction. But you didn’t do much more than smile at him or wink, always flustering the kryptonian whenever you did it.

How else was he supposed to react to an extremely handsome, extremely rich, extremely sought after bachelor, who only seemed to have had this reaction towards Clark and no one else.

#male reader #dc #clark kent #superman #justice league #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent headcanon #clark kent x male reader #clark kent x reader #superman imagine #superman headcanon #superman x male reader #superman x reader #justice league x reader #justice league headcanon #justice league imagine #justice league x male reader

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (1/?)

masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse, rating may change with every update.)

“Ito Saya, reporting in for your daily broadcast. In a noteworthy shift, Omegas are increasingly finding more employment opportunities in positions of power. With a positive trend towards reduced oppression of—“

You’re averse to this sort of thing. A folly, something you can barely care about as your eyes squint at big words floating around the screen, a pretty lady holding papers and looking all serious and… Boring. TV shows are supposed to be fun, supposed to be playing that anime you had been waiting all week to see, supposed to be… Interesting so that you can feel less alone.

You definitely don’t want some silly lady on the screen talking about— Those things that you can barely understand. Why do they always talk so much? A picture could probably end their entire long spiels in seconds.

Your nose scrunches, your fingers cupping your chin like those TV characters did when they were thinking really hard. So why don’t they just use pictures? They’re more colourful and tell you stuff faster, won’t they? It’s not your fault that the TV station people are always so inefficient.

(It’s the television’s fault isn’t it? Definitely, right? Mama always did tell you it was a little old.)

Or maybe it’s because you don’t know a lot of things.

You’re 4, staring up at the glowing screen of your all too old television, sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor in this wide, wide room that was a little too empty for your liking. Your nose picks up on the scent of coffee, ears barely picking up on a clink of porcelain against a cheap wooden coaster. Mama circles things in newspapers, the gliding of her red marker against the sheet attracting your attention to the focused look in her eyes, the furrow of her brows, the way she just held that pen so elegantly…

(Your Mama is so much prettier than the lady on the TV.)

You like it when she’s focused like that, so serious-looking! This must be the pinnacle of a hard worker. Brains… And beety? Or whatever you heard some other old man on the TV used to cheer about.

So you decide you don’t wanna watch anymore, Getting up onto your small feet and barely catching yourself before you topple over, toddling over to your Mama with socks padding against the wooden floors.

You’re soon taking decisive peeks at your all too focused mother, watching over her shoulder in silence to let her focus. There should be a reason why she’s so serious, right?

Maybe it’s something fun? Something exciting? That’s why she’s so focused on it— right?

“J…Ob list…ings open…” Your eyes are narrowed, licking over your lips to wet them as you take another deep breath in. “Mini—um, ex-peer-i-sense?”

You can see the red marker coming to a halt, her sweet chuckle perhaps to humor you, to acknowledge your attempt. Patting your head when she turns her head around, and a smile upon her face as she smooths over the fabric of her skirt, as you feel yourself being lifted and plopped gently into the warm confines of her lap.

“That was a nice try, sweetie.” Her eyes meet yours when you take the decisive move to lean back, a ruffle of your hair and your quiet giggle as the short relief of her attention leaves you, though not without sating your curiosity. “Mama’s looking for a job.”

You know what that is. It’s for adults to make money, disappear for hours in a day and only come back super, super late at night.

(You think your father had one. Or… Did he really?)

And it means they spend all that time in a place nowhere close to their home or cute, adorable, obedient daughters either.

“Does that mean you can’t stay home with me anymore, Mama?” You’re still leaning back into her chest, staring up at her chin from your position as you bring yourself impossibly closer to her, the calm smell of vanilla and honey in your nostrils making you all warm and fuzzy, calm and happy.

(You always liked it when she smelled like this.)

“Maybe, sweetie.” She pulls away briefly to tap the end of the marker against your nose. “But Mama will be able to buy you more delicious food,” She pauses to smile so sweetly down at you, a pinch to your cheek. “And finally get you some toys.”

Toys. You realize that you don’t have any toys. At least— You couldn’t bring any of your toys with you when your mother had so urgently scooped you up into her arms in the dead of the night, a luggage rolling behind her as your nose picks up on an urgent, intruding scent of sour milk and rotting flowers, your senses spiked with uncertainty and fear as you soundlessly drink in the last sight of your old home for those few seconds before the darkness ate it all away.

You remember boarding 1 train, 2 trains, 3 trains… You lost count after that. Only simply remembering getting pulled along, Mama’s soft whispering and cooing promises that this is for the best, that your Papa won’t be able to follow you here, that you’ll be happier than ever. You remember her scent, less rigid, less frightened but still steeped in misplaced excitement. Like a fragrant scent of calm that beckoned you to follow and imitate.

You remember living in small apartments, tiny, squeezy and virtually no space. You remember how sickly, horridly sweet Mama’s scent was, caked in perfume when she rushes out every night for her job at the local izakaya. Her uniform always a little messed up in her haste before she leaves your dinner usually already in your hands as you slurp on ramen or eat another scoop of curry rice.

She would pat your head as you offer her a bite, giving you a smile before she tells you to be good, several locks clicking into place when she closes the door behind her.

It wasn’t much, wasn’t the most fun you’ve ever had in your life, but it was comfortable. You were happy with that simple life with her. But one day, you heard jangling at the front door, you hear hurried, panicked movements, smell sour fear despite the thick odour of perfume as your Mama hurriedly slams the door shut behind her, cold sweat on her as she hugs you close, buries her face into your hair.

You don’t like it when she’s like this.

You remember a man with a scent so different from your father come knocking at your door for weeks on end, gradually changing from slow knocks to furious banging on the metal with a rough pleads begging that he won’t hurt your mother, that she was beautiful, the she was—

That’s how you ended up here now. It’s been at least a year since then. And only about a month since you moved in.

(You think. You’re not really good at telling time yet.)

“Mama, I don’t need toys.” It’s not like you don’t want them, you just don’t need them. A lesson taught to you by more pretty ladies on the TV screen, you’ve also stopped by many a toy store only to see too many zeroes on price tags, and it’s been steeled in your mind that you just don’t need them. Not when you have Mama to play together with now that she’s smiling so much more.

So you’re adamant on not wanting any.

“Is that so, darling?” You feel a mindless pinch to your cheek as she circles another paragraph of words. “Then how are you going to keep yourself from getting bored when I’m not around?”

Now that has you in a slight dilemma, your hands freezing in place from where they had been twirling with her hair. You blink once, and again when you quietly see her marker tap against the paper, as if awaiting your thoughts as your eyes start to dart all over the room.

(She makes really good points. Too good. As expected of your Mama.)

The television? No. Mama would tell you too much is bad for your eyes. The pillows you both use for your futons? No. You’ll probably dirty it and make more work for her. Your eyes silently trail over to the window, sun shining through the panes and onto the floor as a glowing thought arises.

“I can just play outside.”

——

Be careful what you wish for, as they say.

An amused chuckle from Mama as she pushes you towards the door, nimble fingers excitedly doing up the straps of your old sandals and arming you with a couple of handmade cookies, a pat on your head and parting words of;

“Don’t wander anywhere past the playground, don’t follow anyone strange, be back by sunset and make some friends.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that you’ll go play outside.

“Honey, I know it’s only been so long since we’ve moved here.” She’s clears her throat, a cloth being gently rubbed against your face to help get rid of any stray rice grains. “But,” She sucks in a breath, a rise and fall of her chest as you blink at her.

“Have you…” She has to take another breath in. Does she have breathing problems—

“Made any friends yet?”

Oh.

The answer is no. Your go-to counter being, ‘I don’t go outside, so how can I make any?’ as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as you give her a smile.

(This isn’t something you’re meant to be proud of.)

And all she’ll give you is winced smile, ruffling your hair and saying that there was no rush. That you’ll get your chance. That you’re the sweetest kid there was. That she has faith in you and wants you to work hard!

But it’s not like it’s as easy as your capable mother makes it sound, and not like you wanted to be out here, anyway. You think the sun is too hot, that there aren’t enough clouds, that the wind isn’t picking up enough, the cicadas are too loud, that you need water—

And that you need to stop complaining so much.

You’re kicking at the path, a long stick in your hands poking at the ground beneath you, cookies pinched between your fingers as you wander and wonder. You can make friends. Surely, you can. That’s what the the cookies are for, right?

Other kids your age should love cookies. You sure do, and you’re Mama’s number 1 fan when it comes to her baking.

(Or her… Anything, really.)

So… You know her inside out, you swear you do. You love her, she loves you, she makes good food and she wants you to make friends, come back with no cookies and a new bond forged.

(Anyone would do, right?)

But you don’t see any kids, the playground you just arrived at deserted and empty. It looks sleek, almost as if it were brand new. Dark wood and galvanized steel, it was so… Clean. So untouched. Yet nobody was here? Your shoulders slump forwards in mild disappointment, yet your heart thrills at the thought of being able to have the whole place to yourself. Alone.

Well, choosers can’t be beggars… Or was it the other way around? Either way, it’s not like Mama would know if you ate them both yourself.

——

So you find yourself sat down comfortably within the top of the little hut housing the slide, your feet splayed out in front of you as you prepare to take a bite. You feel the straps of your sandals relax against your feet, a slight breeze picking up despite the shade you had hidden under. Perfect. This was perfect—

“Are those cookies?”

You can feel your shoulders jump in shock, fear pulling at your heartstrings and a startle nearly making you drop your precious dessert. So much for a peaceful time. You have to physically lurch yourself back before any harm was done to your food. Just who do they think they are? To just come up to you and—

A flurry of white snow and icicles of frost. But you’re pretty sure the summer heat is still beating down, the cicadas are still singing, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Yet the one before you defies all of that. He had an aura about him, a commanding curiosity. And he does definitely—

“Look weird.”

His eyes widen for just that fraction of a second, before he furrows his brows, the long sleeves of the firefly kimono swaying when he crosses his arms in rebuttal.

“You’re weirder.”

You blink maybe twice. Once in surprise, and the other to really blink back into reality. He must’ve heard your thoughts.

“I didn’t. Ya just said it out loud, weirdo.”

Oh. You have to say your sorries, then. Mama didn’t raise you to be rude.

“This is my playground.” Your eyes catch a glimmer of the wara zori his feet donned. They were too neat, too well put together. “Nobody else is allowed in.” His tone sounds so proper, his pronunciation so abnormally clear, especially for someone who looks your age.

“Oh.” You didn’t know that. Though to be fair, you don’t know a lot of things. “Sorry. I didn’t know playgrounds can be owned…”

“That’s only for poor people.” You hear the tap of his shoes against pressure treated wood. “If more people were like me, they’d have their own playgrounds too.”

“Oh. Sorry then.” You really are. You just thought playgrounds were a place for every kid… 

“S’that all you can say?” You can see the shine of iridescent blue, making use of his standing height to belittle and threaten your sitting position. He makes himself look big, makes the glimmer in his eye turn into one of malice and impatience. It twists his features, turns them into something rugged and rough and uncomfortable.

And you think it’s such a waste of the cute face he has.

“Sorry.” To his Mama who gave him such a nice looking profile, and to him, you guess. You don’t really know if you should be apologizing, don’t really know if what you’re doing is right.

(But apologising has always worked. It felt right to you.)

And you think he’s satisfied now.

He harrumphs, unfolding his hands. “Some old lady put me on a sweets ban.” He settles down next to you, pushing you aside to make space for himself as he plops down, and you notice the shifting of the pretty blue fabric he donned matching perfectly with the crystal blue of his eyes. You notice the print quality being one so clear and vivid, despite the simple design. That’s a really nice kimono. “So I can’t eat anymore for the rest of the month.”

(He really is cute.)

“But since you’re trespassing on my playground,” He holds a dainty, porcelain hand out, a small twitch of his fingers that itch for your compliance. “I’m charging you cookies for it.” He’s smiling now. A proud, smug grin with the upturn of his eyes into crescents.

”It’s okay for me to eat ‘em cause it’s tax.”

He’s kind of irritating, but… Anyone would do, right?

You swallow the lump you weren’t aware of in your throat, the sweat that you didn’t know that was starting to form on your hand. You think you have an idea. A good one, at that.

“Okay,” You produce the other packaging. “But you have to promise to be my friend.”

Now it’s his turn to blink at you in utter confusion.

“Are you—“ His eyebrows furrow deeper than before, his smile dissipating into this confused frown. His eyes scrutinize and watch you closely, as if he was scouring your every breath, your every movement to uncover something that just wasn’t there.

“Being serious?”

Why… Wouldn’t you be? The way you just blink back at him, waiting on him to continue only to be met with glaring silence… Is there something on your face? Is there a bug you didn’t see crawling in your hair?

Or maybe he just wants the cookie.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Your hand is warm as they grip his wrist, gently dropping the wrinkled plastic onto his hand with a tilt of your head and eyes that flick up to meet his. It’s innocent, genuine, even. Frightfully so. The way you smile with nothing else, the way your intent was shown upon your very sleeve.

Nothing. He garners absolutely nothing from you. Your hands feel too warm, the chocolate chips within the cookie already look like they were melting, sweat is starting to stick your hair to your skin— And he thinks it doesn’t get anymore real than this.

“Okay.”

Oh, good. He agreed. You have a friend now, and it makes your heart squeeze with just that bit of excitement, of joy. It felt like you were swinging too high off the ground, felt like you were going to be swept off your feet.

It felt good. Maybe you should make more friends.

“Do the thing with me.” His pinky is held out, pushed into your face. “Ya gotta promise me something too. That’s how promises work.”

Is that how it works? You didn’t know that either.

“Yeah.” It isn’t. “That’s how it works here, you dunno that cause you’re new.”

Well… Okay then. “What’s the promise?”

You see his lips curl up, his eyes sparkling with something unknown as you begin to stick your own pinky out. “You’re already my friend, right?”

You nod.

“Good.” There’s a smugness to his face now. “So you can’t be friends with other kids from this neighbourhood. That’s betrayal to me.”

You catch a whiff of something spicy, hot. As if it were burning you to the very edges of your body— Before it disappears completely, as if it were never there. He makes sense, to you at least, and it sounds… Fair enough, you guess.

Your pinky wraps tight around his, in spite of how foreboding and suffocating his hold feels. Your nose picks up on the scent of fabric cleaner, the scent of summer weighing heavy on your nose in this moment. You see blue and white, see oranges and pink light starting to envelop his hand from where the sun had begun to set, making his hand glow as your promise becomes sealed in this very moment forward.

“Hey,” His eyes still don’t leave the way your fingers were intertwined with each other. “Which house do you live in?”

(“I’m forgiven for coming in here without permission, right?” Your hands are stained with sticky chocolate that you’re trying to dab off with your dry handkerchief, bits of crumbs littering your lips.

“Ya can come here whenever you want now.” He wipes the remnants of soft biscuit and gooey chocolate off with a dismissive sleeve.

“That’s such a waste of a pretty kimono…”)

——

Even when your pinkies have lost their binding to each other, you still find his hand holding onto yours, adamant on them being intertwined as he huffs in annoyance at your stare.

“I’m only leadin’ ya back cause I wanna see your house.”

You give him that owlish stare again. The blank one that looks like you don’t have a thought passing through your head at all. “Okay,” You smile again.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

It’s a dismissive question, one that had only just occurred to you. You’re far more interested in watching the way the sun casted your shadows together on the concrete pavement, how your silhouettes gave you a sense of weird unity. Having a friend feels really nice, you think.

You take a glance at him when he takes too long to reply, catching an icy cold gaze that contrasted the warmth of your hands conjoined.

“You first.” Well, if he insists, you guess. It’s just your name.

“(last name) (name).” You’re pretty sure you got the pronunciation right.

“Gojo… Satoru.” You can hear him hold his breath as his name leaves his lips, his voice ever steady and confident, though with a tinge of hesitance. As if he expects something, as if he wants it to be over and done with.

It never comes. Only a confused tilt of your head as you keep staring at him like he was the crazy one in this situation.

And you can see his face change into one of disbelief, one that barely tilts over the edge of what you can only describe as ‘shocked relief’. Maybe he is as weird as he looks. Does he have some sort of weird complex? You can swear you’ve heard about it on TV before. Or maybe he just has really bad comedic timing? You can at least compliment him.

“You’re funny, Satoru-san.” Because he’s genuinely making you smile now.

“I didn’t give you permission to call me by my name.”

“Oh.” You thought friends were allowed to be on first name basis immediately. Were you wrong about friendships afterall? You stare at the ground for a little longer than needed as punishment for yourself, “Sorry, Gojo-s—“

“I didn’t give you permission to call me by my last name either.” His hand squeezes yours ever tighter in small retaliation, his face turned away from yours to hide the way he was starting to grow red with rapid embarrassment.

(You can still see the tips of his ears burning red.)

Now you’re just confused. A scratch of your head as you try to think a little bit harder.

“…do I just call you friend, then?” And you can hear him stifle a snort.

“You’re really weird.” He squeezes your palm again. “Lose the honourifics, weirdo.”

(“So, Gojo…?” You test the waters again. You see his eyes stare off to the side in thought for just that one moment before they flick back to meet your gaze.

“Satoru.”)

“My house is that one,” Your small fingers point towards the horizon, a quaint, unassuming home coming into sight. “You have to walk 3 houses down from the playground.”

You stop before the front. Trying to loosen your grip only to feel his hand tighten significantly around yours.

“Satoru.” You call his name when he’s seemingly lost in thought, his eyes staring blankly at your humble home. It almost looked as if he hasn’t seen one before. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh.” Is he copying you now?

“Don’t you need to go back home? Your Mama would be mad if you’re late, wouldn’t she?” You probe a little more in efforts to snap him out of his trance, poking at his squishy face to get his attention.

But to no avail.

He doesn’t say anything, his head only turning to the side to stare you straight in the eye as you await. You see how pinks and blues are practically reflecting off of those crystalline optics, the sky reflected in them as they shine with a certain warmth.

“Can I come by tomorrow?”

——

A small knock at your front door early into the morning, when the sun had barely risen and the skies were still painted in shades of night blue.

To be specific, it was 6:00 AM. Your Mama was startled as she sipped coffee in the kitchen, you hear her shuffling downstairs, hear the clatter of the very few kitchenware you had as you begin to stir from your sleep, your brain flaring into overdrive as you try to sniff out the air— Trying to capture whiffs of that rancid scent that you hate so much—

Nothing. Nothing but the growing smell of rotting flowers that sends jitters down your spine. It worries you, sends you into a panic as you practically trip over yourself to run downstairs, disregarding any of the instructions of hiding away in the closet like your Mama had taught you beforehand. You have to check— Have to see if she’s okay—

The door is already open.

“Is (name) home?” He’s the first to talk, eyes flicking back and forth between the slightly open door and the dim light from within your home and your sleepy mother.

Mama only blinks down at him, her phone on speed-dial to the police releasing its tense grip as her shoulders visibly slump forward. Her scent calming from the initial flare up as she opens the door just that little more to allow her full view of Gojo Satoru standing before your home accompanied solely by a pretty lady dressed in a simple kimono.

“Yes… She is—“

“Good morning, (last name)-sama.” A low bow that takes your mother by surprise. “Our young master has scheduled a playdate with your daughter for today.”

“I— Um, heard, yes. But I certainly didn’t expect it to be this early—“ Your Mama shifts in place a little uncomfortably, taking note of how the sun had yet to rise, how the street lamps were still alight.

“We apologize for the disturbance.” The servant girl swoops down into another polite bow, head low and hands holding out a neatly wrapped gift before her. “These are snacks to show our gratitude for hosting this event. Young Master Gojo was looking forward to this arrangement, and had made preparations to come as early as possible.”

What an… Interesting child.

“As I am not allowed to accompany him inside due to his request, please also take this number with you, (last name)-sama. Do not hesitate to call us if anything arises. I will arrive to pick him up when he wishes to go.”

“Ah, um… Thank you…” The box feels heavy in your Mama’s hands as you tug on her pajamas from behind, peeking out slightly once you hear the door close.

“Gojo-kun… Was it?” She has to blink a few times to really get a good look at the snowy-haired boy.

“How did you say your friend looked again?” She’s picking up a dumpling with her chopsticks, gently laying the food onto your plate as you continue to chew in humming delight.

Your training chopsticks are clacking against each other as you smile up at her, all toothy grin and happy glow.

“He’s really cute.”

She figures it checks out, the doll-like, porcelain features of his face, the shiny blue eyes and his silky looking hair. He doesn’t say anything, furrowed brows and curiosity in his eyes as he scrutinizes her too, the air starting to still just that little bit when he nods at her in greeting.

As if he was acknowledging her… And as if he didn’t know how else to react.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She leans down to shake his hand, noticing the softness of his skin, the grip of his hand. “And thank you for the gift.”

You pop out from hiding behind your Mama’s legs, blinking at how his clothing had switched from the pretty kimono yesterday— To a simple shirt and shorts.

“Satoru.” You smile only slightly, your voice dimmed with the raspiness of just waking up, waving your hand in greeting. “You’re not wearing your pretty clothes anymore.”

Mama watches, watches how his gaze had been fixated on you the moment you appeared, how he’s waiting—

“I’ll leave you both to it, then.” A ruffle of your hair as you let out a quiet giggle. “Make sure to wash up and brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

And when she’s out of sight, her footsteps disappearing down the hallway— He starts to speak more.

“Your house is tiny.” Small. Inferior. Almost unlivable. He swears he’s seen servant quarters bigger than this as he kicks his sneakers off by the genkan, dusting himself of imaginary dust as he climbs up the step, his hand somehow finding yours with almost scary accuracy.

Is it? You always felt that it was too big. Always having too much space that you didn’t know what to do with.

“I think it’s nice.” You can feel yourself squeezing his palm with gentle self-assurance, leading him up the stairs and into the bedroom where your futon still laid upon the ground messily.

He sees darkness, hears the soft pads of your socks against tatami mats. Smells the faintest scent of honey within this room.

He stares. Silently, quietly. At the hadakake of your futon, at the thinner blanket that your Mama had taken out to deal with the sweltering heat of summer, at the overall state of the room.

“Are you poor?” You blink at him when he lays down next to you on his side, the softness of the bedding making your body feel heavy and sleepy, feeling a bit too lazy to want to keep the comfy sheets away.

“No.” Your whisper is quiet, soft. As if you were slowly fading away into sleep. “I have enough.” And he knows you’re telling the truth when you just give him a sleepy smile, a yawn escaping your lips as you cuddle against your pillow, eyes losing focus and turning the sight of your friend into a bleary blue and white.

”So I’m happy with just this.”

And he thinks you’ve really gone crazy.

“Good morning, Satoru…” Because you’re pretty sure you have yet to say it, as weird as it is when you’re in the midst of falling asleep.

“…morning.”

He’s fun to be around.

——

A couple weeks have passed, the same days of Satoru coming around to knock at your door too early in the morning, your sleep-deprived Mama getting the door and letting him in—

Only to end with both you and him sleeping in on your futon until early afternoon, when you both awaken only to play… Whatever, really. The playground, drawing at home, building pillow forts…

Mama tells you she doesn’t mind if he wants to come over, doesn’t mind if Satoru wants to play with you so often when she’s off to work. She tells you what really matters is what you want, that its up to you if you want him to come over this often, that it’s your choice to play with him.

(Mama described him once as ‘clingy’. You don’t know what that means, but you think it’s good. You have a friend. Your only friend.)

So you told him to only come once every 2 days, that you think too much interaction may ruin your alone time with Mama… Only to be met with a pout and eyes that teetered almost on watery even as you pat his head and apologise.

He still listened to you, though. Despite the glare to the side and the very evident pout on his face everytime he realises he doesn’t get to see you the next day—

Though, as of recently, Satoru had been the last thing on your mind. Your eyes taking interest in and stuck onto the house next door instead. It’s always been empty, more barren than your own. But it’s gotten ‘renovated’ as your Mama said, the walls losing their dull shade and obtaining a new shine, the boarded windows replaced with shiny, clear glass.

It looked really nice.

“Stop staring at the ugly house and look at me insteaddddddd!” Ever selfish, ever vying and whining for you to give him your undivided attention.

“(nameeeeeeeeeeee).”

“It’s not ugly, though.” You think it looks quaint, looks prettier than your own. “It looks pretty.” You’re curious what kind of people are gonna live there. Are they gonna be an old couple like how Satoru always claims? Maybe it’ll be a nice middle aged lady who likes to share her pickled vegetable dishes?

You just hope they’re nice.

“How much do you think it costs to rent-uh-vate?” Your stare is still pointed at the house next door, your window directly facing one of their rooms as you stare with curious intensity.

He narrows his eyes at the view of the empty rooms, the windows that still lacked curtains and the blank white of their freshly painted walls.

“Not much, I’m pretty sure.”

Probably not much in his terms, anyway.

“Mama said she thinks they’re gonna move in today.”

“Really? Then let’s watch ‘em later then.” He lets out a huff as he rolls around your floor, watching you settle down cross-legged next to him as he makes a grab for you. “I don’t wanna play at the playground t’day.”

“Oh. Okay then, let’s play the cards you brought then—“ Your words die on your lips, body reeling back to the window at the telltale beep of a horn, the loud rumbling of a truck starting to pull into the street just mere meters away from you.

And that has the both of you clambering up to the window, his hand holding yours to ensure you don’t fall as you both squeeze to stand on the same stool, hands pressed up against the glass as your cheeks squish against each other in hopes of getting a view of what these people will look like.

“If it’s not an old couple, can we play on the swing today?”

“Y’er on.”

Your eyes watch the dark blue Toyota pull in close behind, your heart starting to race in palpitating beats that make you think you’re gonna be sick.

“Looks cheap.” Satoru’s still as snarky as ever.

The passenger door swings open, mesmerizing you with the sight of someone new, someone unfamiliar; a stranger that you’ve never seen before. Your gaze is stuck, unable to leave the features that capture your mind first—

Black hair and purple eyes.

masterlist next

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter one

“don’t call me by my name.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of reader’s demon form, Alastor uses the chain and withholding your breakfast as punishment, Alastor takes pleasure in your fear, power dynamics, reader worries over being punished, lecherous demons in an alley, non-consensual grab and lick of the face, graphic violence, murder, blood, teeth as a weapon, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Why didn’t you bring me a boy to play with?” Niffty pouted, her little foot stomping the carpet. 

She hadn’t been pleased when Alastor broke the news that he had acquired a new maid to help her out around the hotel, and glared at you past his legs. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her tantrum. You still weren’t sure how to feel about this Demon who had taken over your contract. While he had been pleasant enough at the Emporium after Rosie signed you over, he hadn’t spoken a word to you while leading you through the streets of Hell to bring you here. 

“I’m afraid you’ve answered your own question, Niffty dear. Had I brought you a toy, I’m not so sure you’d sustain your productivity. Which is precisely why I brought help.” He turned to look back at you for the first time then, your chest tightening from the eye contact. Alastor maintained contact as he continued, “Sylvie will maintain my quarters for now so as not to take away from your duties, but once the hotel gets busier I expect you to play nice and share. Besides, she’ll need training before we just let her loose around the hotel! We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He smirked at you and broke his gaze, pivoting to make his way up the stairs. Before the others could get a chance to come talk to you, an invisible tug was at your neck and you hurried to catch up with Alastor.

“I’ll show Sylvie to her room so she can settle in,” Alastor said loud enough for everyone, still facing forward as he continued up the staircase.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That had been a week ago.

Everyone else had been fairly welcoming, Charlie being the kindest. She and her girlfriend Vaggie had made the most effort getting to know you, which made sense being they were in charge of the hotel. Though he wasn’t rude, Husker only spoke to you in short quips. You tried not to dwell on the pity in his eyes any time you crossed by the bar in the lobby.

Angel Dust had been nice too, the few times you had managed to see him and always at the bar, joking amicably that you could almost pass as twins despite quite obvious differences. He was a decent amount taller and slimmer than you for starters. Hell seemed to have turned him into a spider of sorts, and if you had to take a guess, you had spawned here as some kind of milky-colored reptile. No scales, but there was a faint pearlescent pattern of something close to that covering your neck, back, and extremities. 

It was still jarring to see your reflection in the mirror. There were parts you still recognized, though even those features had felt Hell’s touch. To your relief, your face still looked more or less the same. Nearly Human passing, until your newly-added nictitating membrane blinked right-to-left. Though your red pupils and pink sclera were also a dead giveaway (haha, get it?). Something you weren’t sure you’d ever adjust to, but hey, you earned it right?

You had just finished getting into the black collared dress Alastor demanded you wore for work when a dark shadow pooled under your feet. Complete darkness and seconds later, you were standing in the parlor of Alastor’s suite. 

“[Y/N],” Alastor’s low, static voice lingered on it, red eyes boring into you. Something he had gleaned very quickly in the week was how unsettled you got when he used your real name, and enjoyed the opportunities to use it. “I find tardiness to be an irksome trait. Do not make it a habit. Am I understood?”

You fought a grimace, loathing his condescension. The Radio Demon’s smile threatened to tear as he watched you struggle to maintain composure. You hadn’t succeeded completely, but you were making some progress.

“Well?” he goaded.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to say evenly, hands fidgeting behind your back.

You knew better now than to play into his tricks. He was trying to get you to react, a sport he took great pleasure in succeeding at. So when he wasn’t ordering you around, he was complaining about the look on your face. Sullen, petulant, ghastly, he had used all kinds of names. And when you had gotten cheeky with him about it on your second day after hours of scrubbing the area rug in his room that he had dirtied on purpose…

The slight ache in the back of your neck served as a reminder of that. Sadistically, the chain was the only true cold you’ve felt since spawning in Hell and it seemed to burn more than acid rain. It wasn’t hard to remember the weight of it, the sweaty feeling of it on your skin. Alastor had enjoyed it all immensely. 

Denying him his fun in pissing you off probably wasn’t good in the long term, but you had to toe the line in order to find the limit. You wanted to learn as much as you could about the creature who owned you. Eternity was never-ending, but learning how to cope was all you could try to do. Being moved to this hotel had turned out to be a true blessing all things considered, so if navigating Alastor’s moods and demands was the price, you would have to pay it.

“Good!” The expression on Alastor’s face quickly relaxed into a more pleasant one. “Now hurry up and run into town to fetch my dry cleaning, and bring me something from that new butcher shop. I’ll leave it to you to decide, I so love surprises! Skipping breakfast will serve as your warning for being tardy. See you in an hour, dear.”

With that, he disappeared before you in a quick melt of shadow.

He was so. Fucking. Annoying. But you wouldn’t risk throwing a tantrum. For all you knew, he was still somewhere in the room, and honestly, you didn’t have time to waste. The walk from here to Cannibal Town was about twenty minutes and Alastor had summoned you before you had been able to put on your shoes, a five-minute setback at least. He had also made no mention of how you were expected to pay for any of this… 

Time to perform a fucking miracle, you thought to yourself, and made your way for the door.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor watched as you took a deep breath and smoothed your pale pink hair before leaving his room. The small click of the door locking echoed in the silence. He re-materialized near the large window that faced the city, grinning when he finally saw you walking off the premises at a hurried pace. You were so close to coming loose, so close to breaking that unbecoming pout. How he loathed it. He would rid you of the self-pity you wallowed in, even if it drove you to madness. A chuckle escaped him at the thought.

When you spoke back to him last week it had been such a thrill. Alastor closed his eyes, reliving the memory. He had allowed himself a moment to enjoy your insolence before inverting it to fear. Now that was a face he could get used to. The cold sweat on your skin, your red-pink eyes wide with shock. The sound of your hands and knees hitting the floor was music to his ears! Though he would never forget the gasp that caught in your throat from the shock.

He didn’t even need to raise his voice when he told you never to speak to him that way again, a direction you had perhaps taken too much to heart. Then again, you didn’t come across as a fighter. No, you were much too apathetic for that, at least for now.

And you had smelled so lovely in your fear. The usual floral sweetness of your scent had turned warm and nutty. For a moment he was certain he had picked up a hint of bitterness before you had mouthed off, but it disappeared so quickly once you were frightened that he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he wanted to smell it again.

With some luck, that would be quite soon; a little over an hour now if all goes according to plan. The Radio Demon had never expected you to return within the given timeframe.

Setting you up to fail wasn’t fair, but it was certainly fun.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Donner’s Butchery had been absolutely packed, but you managed to purchase the last available pound of liver. Their selection had been so low that you were more concerned with walking out of there without anything at all. Whether or not Alastor would enjoy it was a matter reserved for your return, though you hoped he would since you had to open a tab to get it. 

Thankfully, the dry cleaning had been settled upfront so you were actually starting to feel a little optimistic about making it back in time. In fact, you were now determined to be back in time out of spite. Imagining the veiled irritation on Alastor’s face when you arrived within the hour kept you distracted from the hunger pain in your stomach, and your pace subconsciously picked up. The high was short-lived though once your mind wandered to what other tasks Alastor would surely have lined up once you handed him his clothes and liver.

And what if he hated liver? You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even know what kind it was if he asked about it, which he probably would if only to watch you squirm trying to answer. The hotel wasn’t too far off now and you stepped into an alley to search the bag for a receipt, hoping that the butcher had been thorough enough to write it down. You found the receipt taped to the butcher paper, the words DEER LIVER scribbled with thick, black marker. 

“Thank god,” you sighed quietly, relieved to have peace of mind and placed it back in the bag. You were just about to step back onto the sidewalk when you heard laughter behind you.

“God ain’t here, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed?”

You turned to see two demons, already standing much closer to you than you’d like. In your desperation to check the bag, you hadn’t heard them approaching. Something that should have embarrassed you, given the sour smell wafting off their clothes, but there wasn’t time for that. You took a quick glance at the clocktower.

Five minutes.

Of course it was… Even if you ran, you’d probably only get to the gate at best and knowing Alastor, that wouldn’t count.

“You got somewhere to be? Hand over the bag and maybe we’ll let you go,” the taller one continued, his plump sidekick snickering, both moving to cage you in.

God damn it… You were so close. So fucking close. Not only that, but were you were hungry and exhausted. All you had done this week was try your best to manage Alastor’s impossible expectations for what? An easier eternity? The creeps standing near you were right, God wasn’t here. This is Hell. Suffering eternal. 

The sanctuary you thought you’d found at the hotel was anything but. Its promise of redemption was the dangling carrot, always just out of reach. A sick joke, just like everything else here. Not that you had ever planned to be redeemed, you knew why you were here, but living in the hotel had lulled you into a false sense of security. Hell wasn’t clean and filled with mild-mannered sinners.

“Look at that, she’s fucking crying!” the plump demon laughed, bringing you back to the moment. “You’ve always liked ‘em scared, Donny.”

The tall one, apparently called Donny, shot his arm out to block you from leaving, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Is he right, baby? You scared?”

You could feel your heart in your throat. Scared? You were pissed. And when Donny grabbed your face and boldly licked a tear off your cheek, you snapped.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The Radio Demon had been hard at work tuning Vaggie out for the last few minutes. He was aimlessly wandering the lobby when she cornered him, seeming to have finally found her opportunity to interrogate him over acquiring your soul. It would have been easy enough to tell the disgraced Angel that it was the least he could do considering the help Rosie had provided them, but upsetting Vaggie was simply too much fun.

She was droning on about how she and Charlie would be taking over the onboarding of any more new employees when Alastor felt a chain rattle, ear flicking in response. Some fool was messing with his property. He reached out mentally to follow the chain and soon caught the scent of almond. He grimaced. Of course it was yours.

“As much as I cherish our conversations, I’ll need to cut this short Vaggie. I’m afraid duty calls,” Alastor said smugly, grinning at the rage on her face from being so casually brushed off before slipping into shadow.

When Alastor materialized in an alley he was met with piercing screams, and it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. You were on the ground straddling the waist of some poor soul, your face covered in blood as you tore out your victim’s neck with your teeth. The creature in question no longer seemed to have much left of the lower half of his face, the remnants of it no doubt lying somewhere in the gore. His death rattle was nothing more than a gurgle and spurt of blood, but it seemed you were too lost in your rampage to notice he was now motionless beneath you.

Alastor didn’t bother with the pudgy creature that had no doubt been your victim’s friend. Well, perhaps not a very good friend, seeing as the coward ran away once he regained his footing. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to track the cretin down if Alastor changed his mind about it later.

For now, his focus was on you and what a glorious sight it was. He wished for a moment that your dress had been a different color, just to see how much blood and scraps of flesh had soaked into it. Judging from the mess on your face, it had to be quite a lot.

The sounds coming from you were savage, nearly carnal, and you were relentless in your attack despite the damage already done. When would you stop, he wondered. When there was nothing but bone? The aspect thrilled him to the core and he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of blood and almond. There it was — that delicious, bitter, nutty warmth. He had been right. Letting out a satisfied, pleasured sigh, he waited patiently for you to finish. After a minute or so you succeeded in decapitating the fool, and Alastor made his approach as you struggled to catch your breath. 

Gingerly tapping you once with his foot, you startled with a growl and snapped your teeth. Alastor let out a low chuckle, taking in the wild look of your face, eyes glowing pink.

“I believe he’s had enough for now, dear. You made good work of him, I’m quite impressed,” he said, giving you a proud smile. “Now let’s get you home before you cause a scene.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #song fic #if i can’t have love i want power #love and power #x reader #slow burn #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel slow burn

[suguruplsr]

I love when you’re submissive

✮ suguru’s girls master list

,, x blk! fem reader , he’s a cult leada :( + toxic , smut : oral (m) + deep throating , mentions of death (ofc) + he killed your family, sry chat

suguru isn’t a tyrant, nor a man who abuses his power. he just needs those who follow him to bend to his wishes. now now, for you, he isn’t aggressive, just.. manipulating. but not in the way you’d expect. manipulative with playing with your feelings, even when in a long lasting relationship. knowing how you desire his praise, his love, his everything. without him, you’d be but another one of those animals.

but as a loved one, he doesn’t mean to grasp and toy with how you feel. you’re already so.. pliant and needy for him. always giving him those cute looks of pure want. those rose tinted glasses are like contacts you’ll never take out. even when you’re grossed out by the blood that covers him every night he enters the room, you’ll still give him a kiss on the clearest part of his body before you judge his stench.

even if you know he’s harmed what was left of that family of yours; they dared to question your relationship with him. so you can’t help but drop to your knees for the “dejected” man after his cold shower and avoidance, even if he’s probably satisfied after ruining family dinner with bloodshed.

he can’t leave you, he’s what gives you worth.

suguru knows how you feel, but he can’t assure you now when you’ve already kissed all over his hardening cock, tiny tears rolling down your face. from his cold stare earlier, or seeing people you love die? you aren’t sure, but you just need him, to hear him tell you you’re fine, that you’re okay. that he won’t leave you. but maybe he needs some convincing, right?

you poor ignorant thing, you’re quite lucky he loves you to the end of the earth.

“there you go, you’re doing so good for me baby, go down some more; you can take it.” suguru drawls, seated on the couch and fighting the urge to tilt his head back. he reached down to you. avoiding the cute afro, you’ve complained much too many times of him ruining your hair, and instead caressing the side of your face.

once his warm hand moves towards the back of your neck, you comply, reaching up and resting your arms on his big thighs, knees burning on the carpet as you slowly engulf as much as you could. your eyes water more from the bump of his tip at the back of your throat, his pubes beginning to brush your nose until you still, trying to rest your throat beforehand.

a hum rumbles from suguru, “fuuuck, just like that baby. love that mouth of yours—“ one glance down at you makes him twitch in your mouth, “hell— you’re just so cute down there.” you take his words as a sign to continue, closing your eyes and hollowing your cheeks. you bring one of your hands to his base, helping your throat avoid bruising and pulling your head back to suck his tip.

if you weren’t using all your power in that hand of yours to milk him, he’d think you were teasing the hell out of him. “tongue baby. get all sloppy f’me..” he talks you through it with an attractive drag in his voice, all raspy and soft. mindlessly, you follow, looking up at him as you let a glob of spit fall along the curve of his dick before swirling your tongue around his red hot tip.

and suguru might just be the false god he claims himself to be. because your actions always ascend him from the forsaken hell he’s sworn to rot in.

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader smut #jjk x black reader #jjk x poc!reader #jjk geto x reader #getosuguru #geto suguru smut #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #getou suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto smut #geto suguru x you #geto x black reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru smut #getou suguru x reader

[moonybug444]

toxic thoughts with connie<33

tw toxic relationships/lowkey abuse?? | connie grabs you by your hair n threatens ya | mean connie☹️☹️

thinkin about connie n you being in a toxic lil on and off relationship. calling it quits every other day cuz youre just so bad for eachother.

you guys are screaming n throwing shit at eachother every chance you get. but its never your fault, no its always connies.

“youre a fuckin idiot (y/n),” he takes another drag from the blunt in his hand, “‘nd you’ve got one more time to raise your voice at me before i come over there and beat the shit outta you.”

its just a threat. an empty fucking threat, you know it is, but glancing up at him shirtless, muscles bulging with nothing but his plaid blue boxers on and a mean glare on his face. you cant help that chilling shiver that goes down your spine.

“m’not—dont call me that!”

“maybe than, lets see…” he lets out a mocking loud laugh, “dont fucking act like one?” you hate how he wants to make you cry. how he wants to see you act a mess. how he does everything in his power to upset you. and you hate he he almost always wins. always pulls a reaction out of you.

you feel the tears spill over your cheeks before you can even try n hold em in and you do everything in your power to not just flop down on his clean grey carpet and roll around and curse him. thats what connie springer does to you.

“‘m so fuckin done with you,” you pull up the strap of the lightpink nightgown silk dress connie gifted you as a im sorry for fucking up, again gift that just flops right back off your shoulder, “nd m’serious hic this time, you wont every hear from me again.”

bullshit. you know its bullshit. and it pains you to admit, but you dont think you’ll ever truly be done with connie springer.

connie sits up at that. intrigued. “oh really?” he’s putting his joint out in the ass-shaped ashtray he stole from jean and scratching his hickey covered neck (from guess who) and you can tell hes not taking you seriously. he never does.

his tone is mocking when he huffs out, “go ‘head, y’know where the fucking door is dum-dum.” he’s grabbing the remote, just about to turn on somethin other than the lame shit playing on tv before your throwing one of your bunny slippers directly at his face.

atleast you tried hitting direct. it barely grazes his ear but youre still satisfied when you see his scrunched up face.

and you know hes real mad. his handsome face is turning red at the minute and hes grabbing the slipper from his side before heading towards you.

you try to get away quick, little feet making it maybe two steps out the room before hes grabbin you by the hair and pulling you towards the ground. “ow—connie,” here come the tears again, “s-stop..! let go of me!”

“stop all that fucking crying before i really give you some shit to cry about,” hes letting go of your hair and turning around before your shoving him from behind, trying to get even. “dont fucking touch me! i dont fucking care—” he cuts you off, “shut the fuck up. my gosh.” and hes turning around, grabbing you by your now scrunched up nightgown and pulling you real close to his face.

he can see how upset you are. the tears streaming down your puffy face, your brows all furrowed and all the hiccups coming from your swollen, wobbly lip. sometimes yeah, he does feel bad for how he treats you. the random disappearing days when he knows how much you depend on him, the name-calling even though he knows you cry over every-fucking-thing, the pushes and the shoves knowing your barely half his size. all of it.

still he cant help it. maybe theres something wrong with him. he doesnt know and he doesnt really care. he knows you wont leave so what the fuck, why would he stop?

“look at you,” he takes the hand that isnt practically raising you up to your tippytoes and cups your face, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “your the prettiest girl in the world y’know that? too bad your a crazy bitch.”

>_<

its only like an hour later n youve forgotten all about the petty fight with your boyfriend. forgot that you threw the slipper at him cause he was being sneaky with his phone nd refused to let you see it. dont care tho. you love him again.

“feels so good baby,” he groans, pushing in n out of your slippery pussy with his thick cock, “i love you so much…y’know that?”

you’re being shuffled down towards his standing form some more, ass hanging off of the bed and pushing against fat balls that are pat, pat, patting against your squishy thighs.

“yesyesyes, love you—i-i love you!” you dont even know what the fuck your saying—cant process anything but the feeling of his fat cock stuffing you full. hes so deep n you and its hard to even breathe. feel like hes up your nose.

“s’deep connie ngh…m’cummin again,” youre looking up at him. watching his pretty eyes open n close again n again. watching him bite his saliva covered lips and waching his button nose scrunch up in pleasure. your eyes flick down to obvious bulge in your tummy and you mewl wrapping your legs around his moving hips. trapping him.

your pussy is so fucking greedy, suckin him in again n again and she still cant get enough. connies bringing his hand down and pushing right on that bulge in your pretty tummy that has you both whining. looking you right in the eyes, “go ‘head princess,” and he giggles when you let out the sluttiest little moan, “that feel good huh?”

youre whining out the loudest connnieee follwed by some praise before your squirting all over him, getting both your tummies soaked up and making a mess all over his dark blue bedsheets.

hes following close after with an annoyingly sexy, fuuuck baby and coming right in your swollen pussy.

youre so tired. can hardly open your eyes when you feel connie already pulling out of you to go clean you up. grabbing one of his freshly cleaned sweat towels usually reserved for basketball, crouching down and dabbing it around your messy pussy.

“there you go princess,” hes speaking not to you, but to your cunt, “good as new.” hes leaving a big wet kiss to your pussy like he always does, standing right after and hovering over you to leave an even wetter kiss to your abused lips, throwing the towel somewhere across the room.

>_<

your cozily straddling connie in his bed, being lulled to sleep by his fingers smoothing over your hair.

hes smoking again, cautious enough to not blow it in your face though—he knows you hate smoke—thats only for when he wants to piss you off. you hear him clear his throat.

“m’gonna stop this baby,” hes smoothing over the same roots of your hair he tugged on earlier, “m’serious, no more of this arguing shit,” he grabs your face, pushing your lips into a pout. “ill do better.”

yeah fucking right. you both know thats bullshit. you guys ‘ll be back at all the screaming n yelling tomorrow.

#can you tell im not that good at smut #connie smut #connie springer #connie x reader #aot smut #tw toxic relationship #tw toxicity #connie springer smut #toxic!connie

[ravenna-reid]

The Tortured and the Test Subject 2

Finally a Part 2!! Pls lmk if you like it/like where this story is heading and I might turn it into a longer series hehe

Warnings -- mentions of death and torture

"So, super strength and healing huh?"

The soft moonlight filtered through the grand windows in the hallway. You and Jason continued to silently stroll through the manor as he gave you a quick tour, his eyes attentively glued on you the entire time. Jason was trying hard to make conversation. He had made sure not to mention the fact that you knew you couldn't die. You gave a small smile in response, still feeling a little indifferent to the powers that were forced upon you.

"Yeah." You said before glancing over to where the windows sat, and suddenly you came to a halt. Then, your feet lead you over to them until you saw the manor's magnificent garden lit up by lanterns and the vast night sky outside.

The sky.

Glistening stars peppered the navy blue, a few rain clouds here and there slowly crawling across the dark sky. You had spent many nights at Cadmus thinking about those stars as you stared up at the plain white ceiling. Wondering if you would ever see them again. And now that you were here, outside, it was all too overwhelming. You were sick with relief, you were grateful, but your heart also seemed to be shattering. Mourning all of those lost years.

You put a hand to your mouth, eager to stifle an oncoming cry, and the simple action made Jason's stomach drop.

"Hey, you alright?" Jason asked sheepishly. He had to stop himself from reaching out to you.

You had kept yourself together for all those years in Cadmus, so you weren't about to lose it now. You'd wait until the boy was gone and you were in a proper bed, hidden beneath the covers.

"I'm ok." You managed, a tightening sensation in your throat. "Is there anything else you want to show me?"

Jason watched you a second too long, unconvinced, before moving towards the closest door in the hall.

"Uh, no. I can show you the rest tomorrow." He stood beside the door, hand on handle. "This is your room while you stay here."

Jason opened the door to allow you to walk in, but you stopped at the doorframe. "Where will you be?"

A little flutter began in his chest. "If you need anything, I'll be right next door." He nodded towards the door to your far right. "Just knock."

Your gaze fell back into the room onto the charcoal bedding and stack of what looked like some very old books on some shelves. The room was nice and simple, but it had so much more warmth to it compared to your cell back at Cadmus.

"Do you need anything else?" Jason asked, trying not to fiddle with his fingers.

"No, thankyou." Your voice was soft as you gave a gentle smile and went into the room.

You'd probably spend most of the night looking through every little thing in there. The drawer of clothes, the plethora of books, you will definitely be staring at the night sky and outside world for as long as you could. And you'd make sure that window stayed open. All night. You would probably do silly things like lay against the soft carpet, or run your fingers across the curtains. You also found that your mind was still a little drawn to that boy and his odd, padded outfit with the red bat across his chest.

Jason. Yes, you'd think about him for a few minutes longer than you would like to admit, as well as his odd family.

And then after all that, you would throw that horrid jumpsuit into the bin, desperately ridding the number 09714 from your mind, and throw on the clothes that sat folded on the end of the bed. Then, you knew you were going to spend some time crying and comforting yourself. As you always did.

Jason stood at the closed door before turning to leave. That's when he caught sight of the shadowy figure lurking towards the end of the hall.

"Isn't that your room?" Dick asked, and although it was dark, Jason could hear the smirk in his voice. "Or, old room?" He corrected.

Jason simply brushed past him, "Don't know what you're talking about."

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒

Meeting you had brought up a lot of unsettling memories in Jason's mind. The abuse he can imagine you endured in Cadmus reminding him of his own time spent with the deranged Clown. The fact that you had died dragging him back to the night he had. The white streak that laced your hair...

He'd woken up, shirt drenched in sweat and limbs trembling. Again nightmares plagued his sleep, and again he was sitting in his bed on the couch desperately trying to calm himself down. When suddenly he heard a door creak open and he knew that sound all too well. His bedroom door.

Carefully, he peered down the hallway to where you stood leaning your forehead against the windows. Eyes closed, as though you're desperate to escape something.

"y/n?"

Your head snapped over in his direction, eyes wide and fearful. "Jason?"

"Yeah, yeah it's me. You ok?"

You directed your 1000 yard stare back towards what lied beyond the window. "I can't stay in the room. In the bed. I feel trapped again."

Jason understood. Hell, he understood completely.

"Do you wanna go outside?"

You nodded in response, and soon you were following Jason around the still mansion until you reached the courtyard. It was large and grand, filled with perfectly trimmed hedges and stone. It was beautiful. Sitting down on two of the most comfortable arm chairs, you breathed in the fresh air like it was your last breath, eyes close and heart full now that you were outside. The air was crisp and cool and you loved it. Jason sat beside you, carefully taking you in.

"Better?" He asked.

"Mmm." Silence settled over you both before you spoke. "I accidentally broke the tap in the ensuite."

Your eyes met.

"Sorry."

Jason let out a tired, breathy laugh. "It's fine. Bruce has enough money to fix anything you break."

You took Jason in, properly this time. Dark, damp hair fell before his bright eyes. He was dressed in a shirt that looked a bit too small for him, tracksuit pants and socks on his feet. Your eyes then fell down to the arm closest to you and the ghastly mark that run along it. It was a new wound, still red and raw.

"I don't remember doing that when I pinned you to the wall."

He flashed a look of confusion at you before following your eyes. He quickly hid his arm once he realised.

"No, you didn't do that."

Jason was so tired he had forgotten all about the graze he received on patrol earlier, given it had eventually stopped bleeding.

"Want me to fix it?"

He became more self-conscious now as he instinctively edged away from you, a bashful expression melting across his face. "No, it's ok."

"Are you sure? Cause I don't mind. Might as well use what they gave me."

The moonlight accentuated his blue-green eyes as he stared back at you. "I'm sure. It's fine."

You accepted his answer and looked back out to the view as the sun began to bleed a bright orange and deep pink into the sky, nudging the moon and stars out of the way. Jason was mentally kicking himself, but kept very quiet. You on the other hand were so content, even if some of your demons hung around at the back of your mind, that you didn't notice how he fidgeted.

"I get it you know." Jason's voice broke the silence, quiet and unsure. You glanced back over at him with furrowed brows.

"It sounds stupid. But I understand how you feel. I-"

He forced himself to gain enough courage to look at you. You, one of the most beautiful girls he had ever met. And it wasn't even your physical features. It was something else. Something deeper. Instantly, the words seemed to die on his tongue as you waited for him to continue.

"I'm sorry that happened to you, really. And I'm glad that we found you."

The words tumbled out before he got up and went back inside. Leaving you feeling both oddly warm and confused.

Part 3??

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood imagine #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x reader #arkham knigh #fluff #dca fandom #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #batman #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Gala (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, just lots of thirst and suggestiveness Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

Author's Note: Requested by and dedicated to @queenofmean14 Bit cracky and intended to be humorous 😜 Also credit to @broooookiecrisp from whom I pilfered the job details of her modern Anthony.

“He’s here.” Security announced in your earpiece. Not that you needed them to. You knew the Jaguar as it pulled up. So did the line of paparazzi who started to jostle for the clearest shot. But when he stepped out, you didn’t even know your own name. Anthony Bridgerton, CEO of Bridgerton House Enterprises and your boss, was going to make tonight even more difficult for you.

He had talked to you about his planned outfit beforehand, but you hadn’t gotten a preview and hadn’t envisioned it like this. A perfectly tailored velvet tux jacket accented with a diamond bee brooch. Smart shoes, an effortlessly coiffed wave of hair and most arresting of all, a pair of sleek shades that he slid on as he exited the car even though it was long past sundown. An errant corner of your brain replayed some 80’s song lyrics, but you couldn’t deny that the entire look worked. It worked entirely too well for you as your body flushed with heat and breathing suddenly became a task. The man could wear the hell out of a tux.

Granted, he always looked mouthwatering no matter how he was dressed, and as his executive assistant for the span of eight months you had seen the spectrum of his wardrobe. Everything hung so perfectly on his muscled frame, exuding old money power with a currently fashionable touch. Clothes made the man, but you suspected Anthony Bridgerton could elevate a bin bag. It was a visual challenge you had adapted to in your job, over time finding it easier and easier to speak to him without choking on your tongue first. His arrogant playfulness had helped with that and the two of you had built a deep mutual trust, a friendship even. You had bonded in the trenches of corporate crises enough to sling endearing insults at each other and always be blatantly honest. Except about one thing. You could obviously never reveal to him how desperately you wanted to jump his bones. How your blood simmered when his voice dropped to a certain pitch. How you broke into gooseflesh whenever he shook your hand and met you with something caring in his deep umber eyes. The light flirtation you both fell into from time to time certainly didn’t help either. And now with him in black tie, you began to wonder if this job was hazardous to your health.

Tonight was the company’s annual charity gala. A star-studded event at one of London’s best hotels where celebrities and socialites donated funds for the hospitals partnered with BHE. Anthony would give the closing speech and as planned, was the last to arrive on the red carpet so that he would get unencumbered press focus. You had spent the entire day on site making sure everything was prepped to perfection and now you stood at the top of the entry stairs with the other staff, ready to welcome the MVP of the evening. Given the high profile of the event, you had dressed for the occasion too. You would be seated at his table and weren’t going to be photographed looking like an intern. You had found a dress you loved, a shimmering number that showed off your best assets, and splurged on a hair and makeup artist. Maybe your position made you more akin to the prince’s valet but if this was how you got into the ball, you were going to make the most of it.

You watched Anthony pausing for photos, realizing this was one of the rare times you could observe him from afar. He moved with such confidence, back straight and head held high. He would run his fingers through his greying temples or brush a thumb over his stubbled chin while flashing that killer smile and your legs wanted to give out. He knew how to work a camera. It was one of the many awful, wonderful things about him. But if the attention helped raise money for charitable causes it was all worth it. You supposed your undergarments could suffer for the greater good. 

As he moved along, you noticed he was licking his lips. A peek of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he faced your direction. He was probably hot under all the camera flashes. But that small gesture was infecting you with heat too. He really needed to stop or you were liable to tumble down the steps and really make a headline. It took all your strength not to fan yourself with the tablet you were holding until at last he ascended and gave you a dazzling smile, falling into step beside you as you moved indoors. 

You hovered in his orbit as he was greeted by the first throng of attendees at the bar and you called for a flute of champagne. When he was alone at last for a moment, you pulled him into a quiet corner and offered him the drink.

“Thirsty?”

“Sorry?” He moved closer, inclining his head. He was curiously still wearing his sunglasses indoors. You could smell his cologne. Amber and smoke and spice and it made you want to sink your teeth into his neck.

“Are you thirsty?” You said louder, shoving the glass into his hand as he chuckled.

“Why do you ask?” He took a sip.

What a stupid question. Couldn’t you just offer him some refreshment? Didn’t humans need to hydrate? Now you had to answer him.

“I um…” You wavered. “I saw you. You were…licking your lips out there so I just figured…”

His brows show up over his frames and he grinned. “You’re very attentive.”

Something shot down your spine. His voice was getting close to that register. “It’s my job to take care of your needs.” You reminded him, though you laid on a heavy layer of sarcasm.

“And you are so very good at it.” He rumbled, reaching the danger pitch. Oh god, he was going to assault you both visually and aurally at the same time, wasn’t he? He was going to flirt with you while daring to look like that. He was cruel, and he knew exactly what he was doing. 

He confirmed it by stepping even closer, turning so the front of his velvet jacket brushed your bare arm and he leaned down to murmur directly in your ear. “You look incredible by the way.”

You swallowed hard, instructing yourself to inhale and exhale. But that wasn’t really helping because his intoxicating scent was making things worse. You had to keep your head. You had to spar with him or else you were going to melt into the carpet. “So do you.” You pursed your lips and gave him an exaggerated once over as if you were only mildly impressed. “The glasses were a good choice.”

He smiled and you detected something genuine, like he was actually eager for your praise. He tapped the frames lightly. “Useful too. I don’t have to give anyone my undivided attention if I don’t want to. I could be talking to them while scanning the crowd and they would be none the wiser.”

This sounded like the setup for a joke. Something about not listening to you as you conducted him through his schedule for the evening. You were beginning to resent those glasses and you would let him know if he tried to get sassy with you.

“So what are you looking at?” You smirked, waiting for the punchline.

He took another sip of champagne, facing you but now you couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t staring directly over your head. “A beautiful woman who is driving me to distraction.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. The man lived at the office and didn’t really have time for a social or romantic life. He would have to double up and treat a work event as an opportunity for a hookup. Especially at an event as glamorous as this, with so many swanlike women floating around and everyone dressed in their finest, you understood, despite the envy it flared in you.  

“Ah, I see. Is there someone I should invite over to your table?”

He shook his head, downed the last of the champagne and set it aside with a decisive clink. “Unnecessary. You’re already at my table.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it took your brain several seconds to even comprehend its meaning. You must have been going mad. Your heart started to pound, fueled equally by embarrassed confusion and ridiculous hope. There was no way. Absolutely no way on earth he could have said what you thought he said. And even if he had, he was just toying with you, right? 

“I’m not…” You stuttered, hoping he couldn’t see the blush you felt creeping up your neck. “You weren’t…you weren't looking at me.”

Then your breath caught in your throat as he rounded on you, standing directly before you so your back was pressed against the wall and all you could see was him. He loomed, black velvet and chestnut hair and perfect stubble. That scent was making you feral and now you could feel his hot breath across your skin. You could see yourself in the reflection of his dark lenses, peering up at him like trapped prey. This was how you died. Or lost your job. You were sure of it.

“How would you know?” He smiled wolfishly and tapped the glasses again. “All the better to see you with, my dear.” 

You were hit by lightning. The gooseflesh rippled across your skin. Your underwear soaked. All you could do was stand there and tremble as he ran a finger idly up and down your arm. You were surprised sparks weren’t erupting out of your skin where he touched you. 

“Why do you think I was licking my lips?” He asked in a low voice, finally removing the shades to pierce through you with his dilated, chocolate eyes. “I’m afraid even with the champagne, I’m still thirsty.” Then he did it again, flicking that weapon of mass destruction across his luscious bottom lip and staring at you pointedly.

Your brain functioned enough to realize that he was breathing just as heavy as you were. And that he was opening a door, giving you an option. The option you had been fantasizing about since the day you met him. It seemed too good to be true. You were half convinced you were dreaming in a coma after faceplanting down the steps outside thanks to his appearance. But the prickle of your electrified nerves and the river between your thighs felt real enough to persuade you that you were indeed still in your own body. You were not going to pass this up, whatever it might lead to. Really, you wanted to scream aloud like you had won the lottery.

But instead you whispered, “There’s water in the green room.”

He grinned broadly, creasing that dimple in his left cheek that you wanted to lick right off his face. “Excellent idea. I think we’ll need an emergency private conference to…go over my notes.”

His hand found the small of your back and you prayed that your legs would carry you that far. This was really going to throw off the itinerary but you were good at your job, you could adjust. You smiled back at him. “Whatever you say, sir. I’m here to take care of your needs.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #thirst #met gala #jonathan bailey

[storiesforallfandoms]

he already has my approval ~ taron egerton

word count: 4393

request?: no

description: in which her dad keeps trying to set her up with her celebrity crush, who just so happens to be playing him in a biopic

pairing: taron egerton x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

The first time I met Taron was on the red carpet for Kingsman: The Golden Circle, and it did not go as well as I had wished it would’ve.

I had seen the first movie in theaters when it came out and immediately developed a crush on Eggsy, and, in turn, on his actor Taron. When dad was offered a cameo in the sequel, I think I was more excited than he was. I begged dad basically every day to let me go to set with him, but I was in college at the time and neither of my dads would let me miss that much time to travel just to meet my celebrity crush. It felt unfair at the time, but they had a point in the long run.

When the day of the premiere came around, dad took me as his plus one to the red carpet. I was buzzing with excitement the entire day as dad’s stylists came in to help us get ready for the night, but the minute our ride pulled up to the red carpet my excitement turned to nervousness. There was no reason for me to be so nervous. I had been to huge events like this before, and of course I had met famous people plenty of times. But there was something about meeting my actual celebrity crush that made me feel like a high schooler who was about to go on her first date.

Dad introduced me to Taron, because of course he did. Fatherhood never changed who dad was, and he was shithead, cocky, lived to tease everyone in his life Elton John. I always knew it was a bad idea to tell dad about my crush on Taron, but I never regretted it more than when I heard him shout across the red carpet, “Taron, darling, come here!”

He looked like the most handsome man in the entire world dressed in his suit, his smile lighting up his face as he approached us. That moment was when I realized he was real. He wasn’t just a character on my screen; he was an actual real person. And now he was stood in front of me. So close that I could smell his cologne, and boy, did it ever smell good.

“Taron, I want you to meet my daughter (Y/N),” dad said, gesturing to me. I was still in such awe by his beauty that I almost forgot who I even was.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/N),” Taron said as he shook my hand. “Elton has spoke very highly of you.”

My brain was definitely short circuiting. Hearing him say my name was one thing, but then for him to also say that he’s heard a lot about me from dad also contributed to it. When I realized I was just stood there staring at him like an idiot, I felt embarrassment wash over me. I tried to force myself to say something, but it was like I completely forgot how to speak English.

“She’s a little shy because she has a crush on you.”

I turned to look at dad in disbelief. If there was a higher power, They would do me a favor and open up the floor to swallow me whole and take me away from this entire situation.

I made my escape before Taron could say anything. I turned away from the two of them and walked away as quickly as possible.

The memory haunted my nightmares for a while afterwards. Even after I managed to forget about it for the most part, the intrusive thought would pop into my mind from time to time just to make me cringe. I could barley ever watch Taron’s movies anymore without thinking about that moment, which was hard since I still had such a big crush on him.

A year later, I was on set with dad and papa for the movie papa was producing about dad. Papa was so excited, as he was making the movie as a gift to dad. Papa had complete creative freedom and dad was able to give as much input as he wanted. When filming started, the two of them wanted to bring me, Zachary, and Elijah on set to watch some of the filming. They hadn’t told me much about the movie just yet, but papa’s excitement was contagious enough that I was feeling it, too.

“We’re filming the Troubadour scene today,” papa was telling us. “Full 70s aesthetic. You guys are gonna feel like you were really there to see your dad’s first ever solo performance.”

“Do I get any 70s outfits once you guys are done filming?” I asked.

“Darling, you know we have a closet full of all my favorite outfits from those days,” dad said. “You’re free to go through it as you please. It’ll be the real deal, not some cheaply made replicas.”

“Hey! You’re the one who approved of Taron’s wardrobe!” papa said with a chuckle.

The mention of his name made me stop in my tracks. “Wait...whose wardrobe?”

Both of them looked at me, confused by my reaction. “Taron, honey,” papa said. “That’s who’s playing dad in the movie. You didn’t know that?”

Memories from the year before came rushing back. I could not see him again or else I may just turn into an embarrassment puddle at his feet. I especially couldn’t be here with dad and have a potential repeat of the situation.

As if reading my thoughts, dad walked up to me and gently took my hand in his. “Honey, it’s been a year. He’s not going to remember.”

“But what if he does?” I asked. “God, he probably thinks I’m crazy after our first encounter. I can’t watch the filming.”

“Hey, hey, calm down sweetheart,” papa said. “You’re working yourself up. It’s okay. If you feel uncomfortable you don’t have to watch, but I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you’re expecting.”

I took a couple deep breaths to calm myself down. I wanted to be there and support both of my dads on this project they were both so excited over. I knew they were right and Taron likely didn’t even remember our first encounter, but I still couldn’t shake this pre-embarrassment feeling about seeing him again.

I sucked it up and followed them to the Troubadour set. There were many extras dressed in 70s clothes standing around the stage. The general murmur of the crowd turned into an excited one as people began to notice dad walking onto the set. I couldn’t see Taron anywhere, but I did recognize Richard Madden talking to the movie’s director, Dex Fletcher. Zachary was tightly holding my hand, trying to hide behind me. I knew the crowd was likely making him nervous, so I squeezed his hand and picked him up.

“Lead actor walking the set!”

I felt my body tense as everyone turned to see Taron taking the stage. He was wearing a pair of white overalls and a navy blue shirt with silver stars. He had on a wig that looked like dad’s hair from this time period and a pair of thick framed glasses that matched his overalls. He looked really good, even if he was dressed as my dad.

It took my brain a moment to register that he was walking towards us. I felt the panic return, but I tried my best to play it cool.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” dad said as he embraced Taron. “I still have this outfit I’m pretty sure. I was just telling (Y/N) that I still have all my favorite outfits back home going all the way back to this very first performance.”

At the mention of my name, Taron’s eyes landed on me. I tried not to crumple under his gaze, and kept the smile on my face.

“Hey,” Taron said. “Good to see you again.”

“Good to see you, too,” I said, surprisingly myself with how confident i sounded.

“Who is this little guy?” Taron asked, referring to Zachary. The young boy buried his face in my neck, peaking one eye up at Taron.

“This is Zachary,” I said. “Z, this is Taron. Doesn’t he look like daddy?”

Taron struck a pose for Zachary, who seemed to warm up slightly but not a lot.

“What do you think, Elijah?” papa asked the youngest boy. “Do you think Taron looks like daddy?”

Elijah shook his head. “Daddy is old!”

We burst out into laughter as dad gave Elijah a mocked offended look. Elijah squealed as dad picked him up and began tickling his sides. Zachary was still a bit hesitant, but I could feel his body shaking as he chuckled in my arms.

“Come on, Rocket Man, we gotta start filming,” Dex called to Taron.

Taron made his way onto the set stage. Quiet was called and a hush fell over the room. The minute Dex called action, music filled the silence. One of dad’s songs, his least favorite yet one of his most popular ones, began to play. Except it wasn’t dad singing it, it was Taron’s voice. I was a little shocked to hear him singing instead of there being a backing track of dad’s music, but I had to admit he was an amazing singer. It was a fantastic choice they made. His singing voice was amazing and it made the movie have more of a fantastical musical vibe, instead of just a movie with dad’s voice dubbed over for the music.

I tried to get Zachary out of his shell more by dancing with him while the music was playing. We were not strangers to dad’s music. The three of us had seen dad perform on numerous occasions. I figured the familiarity of the music, plus the goofy dancing would definitely help with his nervousness. And I was right for the most part; Zachary came out of his nervous cocoon eventually and started dancing with me. By the time Dex called cut on the scene, Zachary felt comfortable enough to be put back down on to the floor and followed dad and papa to meet Jamie Bell, who was playing Uncle Bernie.

“Seems he enjoyed the show.”

I jumped at the sound of Taron’s voice so suddenly. He was laughing at my reaction as I turned back to him, my heart beating a million beats per second just having him so close to me.

“I think he just needed some time to warm up to being around so many people,” I said. “Usually when we go to dad’s shows we’re in a special VIP area where it’s just the three of us and papa, so he’s not used to so many people and so much attention being on him.”

“I get that. He’s only young. Doesn’t fully understand how well loved his dad is.”

“I don’t think I even fully understand it, and I’m in my mid 20s,” I said.

Taron chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile too. The realization of his realness was starting to wash over me again. He was actually here, stood in front of me, talking to me. He was a real person!

“Listen,” Taron said, “I wanted to talk about the first time we met.”

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I tried not to let my embarrassment show too much. Maybe if I pretended I didn’t even remember, we could just move on from the entire situation and pretend like it never happened.

“I’m sorry it went the way that it did,” he continued. “I know you were embarrassed about what your dad said. I know Elton meant no harm, and he was just trying to tease you because...well, he’s Elton John, but it really wasn’t fair of him to say that to me when we were first meeting. I could tell by your face that that wasn’t exactly the way you wanted our first meeting to go.”

I was a little surprised by what he was saying. I don’t know why I was expecting for him to say something that would make the situation worse, like maybe calling me out on my crush and saying something about it. He seemed like a really nice guy, not the type to make someone feel bad. But I guess, after having an entire year to let that embarrassing moment stew, I just expected the worst if I ever met him again.

“I appreciate you saying that,” I said. “It definitely was not the way I wanted to meet the guy I had such a big crush on. I think dad expects stuff like that to wash over me like water off a duck’s back because of who he is and how many famous people I’ve met and am close to, but his status never makes those types of interactions easier. Again, especially when meeting someone that I was crushing so hard on.”

Taron was giving me a look that I wasn’t sure how to read at first. “Was?”

My brows furrowed together. “Hmm?”

“You said ‘someone I was crushing on’. As in you’re not anymore?”

I wasn’t sure why that was the part he was focusing on. I opened my mouth to respond, but Dex called to Taron again. Taron looked at me and winked behind the thick framed glasses before making his way back to set to start filming again. And it was with that wink that I could not handle anymore and finally had to sit myself down.

~~~~~~

I kept coming to set the next few weeks. At first it was only one day out of the week for a couple of hours, but soon enough I was tagging along with dad and papa every day. I tried to tell them it was because I was enjoying watching the movie being filmed, and getting to relive these big moments with dad, but they both knew that wasn’t the truth. They knew I was going because I wanted to see Taron.

We had gotten to talking a lot in between takes when I was on set. About everything and anything really. It started with just getting to know each other, but eventually it blossomed into talking about whatever was on our minds. Sometimes it was about the movie, sometimes it wasn’t. Either way, we just got to know one another. And eventually, my “celebrity crush” became a real one.

I knew my dads could see what was going on, but they didn’t bring it up. I figured that was mostly because of how my first interaction with Taron went and dad didn’t want to risk embarrassing me like that again. Which, I did appreciate. I felt like a friendship was being built with Taron and I didn’t want that to be risked with fatherly embarrassment to the extreme, even though I knew that wasn’t dad’s intentions.

One day, we walked on set and I was surprised to see Taron was nowhere in sight. Instead, we walked into a setup that looked like great grandma Ivy’s apartment that I had seen in plenty of dad’s baby pictures. There were three different actors than normal on set, one I recognized as Bryce Dallas Howard and one young boy I recognized to be dressed up the way dad had been when he was that age. I realized pretty quickly that today was probably mostly shooting scenes of flashbacks from dad’s childhood, which caused me to feel disappointed realizing that I likely wouldn’t be seeing Taron today.

I was sat in my usual seat (because yes, I had visited so often that I was given a seat with my name on it) watching the set up for the scene when dad came over and sat next to me, dramatically sighing as his body settled into the chair.

“These old bones can hardly sit down anymore,” he said.

I smiled at him. “Oh, please. You’re hardly that old, dad. Besides, we both know that after everything you’ve gone through, you’re going to outlive us all.”

“A man can only hope.” We laughed together. Dad put an arm around my shoulder and leaned into me. “Taron’s in his trailer, you know.”

“Oh?” I said, hoping I didn’t seem as excited by this information as I was. “He’s filming later on then?”

“Yeah, way later on this evening. David said that Taron showed up way earlier than he needed to claiming that he thought his call time was this morning, not this evening.” I raised an eyebrow at him, silently telling him to say whatever it was he was trying to say. “I don’t think that was the case, though.”

“Clearly.”

“I think he came here early hoping to see you.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “I think you’re being a little ambitious there dad.”

“About as ambitious as I would be to say that you show up every day so you can see him, too?” When I didn’t respond to that, dad just laughed. “I see things, (Y/N). My eyes may be old, but they can still see things that no one else sees.”

“And what is it that you see with me and Taron?”

“I see a young man who is enamored by a young woman, and a young woman who feels the same way. I also see two cowards who are too afraid to confess their feelings to one another.”

I playfully nudged him with my elbow, to which he dramatically clutched his stomach and acted like I had shot him or something.

“I’m not saying that Taron feels anything for me,” I said, “because I don’t think he does. I think he’s just being friendly with someone that he considers to be a friend. But, if what you’re saying is right and he does have romantic interest in me, maybe the reason why he won’t admit it is because he’s too afraid to? I mean, my dad is Elton John after all. That’s a pretty big name to have as a potential father-in-law.”

“Hey now, I didn’t say anything about marrying you off to the man.” I smiled and shook my head. This really was just an every day thing with dad. He loved being a father, but I think he loved being a nuisance more than that. Papa always warned him he would regret that when Zachary, Elijah, and I started to pick up on his habits. “But both of you know that Taron has my approval if he does want to pursue you romantically. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have even been cast in this movie!”

“You cast him because he’s a good actor!”

“Oh, that was only part of it. The other part was so that you two could have a do-over with your meeting, since I ruined the last one.”

I put my head on dad’s shoulder. “You didn’t ruin it. You just embarrassed me beyond belief, but that’s what a father does.”

Dad gave me a small squeeze before pulling me away from him. “Go to his trailer. Have a few moments alone.”

“Give you a few grandkids?”

He pushed me away, which caused me to laugh hysterically.

“Darling, I may be old but I am certainly not that old,” he said. “And, again, I said I approve of him. Not that you two need to get married and pop out babies right away. Go on a few dates first, for the love of God.”

I stood from my chair, still laughing. Dad tried to glare at me, but he couldn’t. This was just our relationship.

I made my way out of the set before they started filming so that I wouldn’t be disrupting anything. All the trailers were grouped together in the lot, luckily with signs on them to label what or whose trailer they were. Taron’s was the furthest on the lot, with a theatrical gold star stuck to the door with his name on it. Part of me figured this was dad’s doing, but the other part of me would believe that it was Dex’s doing, too. Papa truly couldn’t have chosen a better director to capture dad’s personality and aesthetic than Dex.

My heart was pounding so loud that I thought Taron would hear it before I even knocked. I took a deep breath and pushed myself to knock before I got too nervous and ran away instead. There was a brief rustling in the trailer before the door opened, revealing Taron in a pair of black and gold hot pants, a gold jacket that was left unzipped so I could see his entire torso and chest, and heeled shoes with gold tips and gold wings on the side. I wasn’t sure where to look first. My eyes naturally lingered on his chest, his coarse chest hair a welcoming sight, but I couldn’t help but glance lower at his thighs in those hot pants, too. Not to mention the bulge -

“Shit,” Taron breathed, a panicked look in his eyes. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t expect...I thought it might’ve been someone from the set. I’m just...uh...”

“In costume, I would assume,” I said, trying to pretend like I was looking at his shoes and not another area lower on his body.

“Yeah,” he said. His face was starting to turn bright read. “It’s for a scene later on...way later on. I’m - I was early today, so they already put me through costume and makeup.” He cleared his throat and ran his hands through his hair. “Do you, um, do you want to come in?”

I nodded, unsure if I could even form any words. He stepped aside to let me into his trailer. He still looked flustered by my sudden appearance, which I thought was cute.

“Don’t be sorry, by the way,” I told him. “I don’t mind this eye full that I’m getting. Quite the opposite, really.”

That only made him more flustered, and I couldn’t help but smirk at that reaction.

“You’re a lot like your dad,” he commented. “He said something similar while we were filming Kingsman a few years ago.”

“We Furnish-Johns have good taste in men.”

I sat down on the couch of his trailer and he sat across from me. I tried not to be too obvious with my gawking, but it was hard not to look at him. God, was he ever attractive. And here he was, sat next to me, practically naked, and all flustered because I had caught him this way. I felt like I should be feeling a similar way, but knowing that I was the one who had made him feel that way just made me feel so cocky instead.

“I didn’t think you were on set today,” I told him. “I showed up and didn’t see you or Jamie or Richard.”

“We’re filming a couple smaller scenes later on to end the day. Dex wanted to film all of the flashback shots of your dad before he was Elton John today, just to get that out of the way.”

“You got here really early for that. It’s not even noon, and your scenes are this evening papa said.”

Taron shrugged. “I got the wrong call time.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “By over 12 hours?”

He shrugged again, but didn’t offer any further explanation.

I took a deep breath, once again willing that cockiness to stay long enough so that I could say what I wanted to say without losing my nerve. “Remember the first day on set where we talked about the first time we met, and you made a point of asking me about my crush on you.”

Taron nodded. “Yeah. You made it seem like you didn’t feel that way anymore.”

“Yeah, I did. Because I thought I would scare you away if I admitted that I did still like you that way.” I was moving towards him now, closing the already smaller space between us. “That I do still like you that way, if you get what I’m saying.”

We were so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was looking down at me in a way that I could only ever dream of having Taron Egerton look at me like. It was like the movies I had seen him in, except this was real life and the person he was looking at was actually me.

“I think I understand,” he said. “But just in case, is it okay if I do an experiment just to be sure?”

I giggled. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my head back until I was looking up at him. He leaned forward at an agonizing pace before his lips finally pressed against mine. It felt like the entire world around us paused in that moment. I had to restrain myself from getting onto his lap and deepening the kiss, even though I wanted to so badly. I wanted to spend the next few hours in this trailer with him, not even letting him leave to go film. I wanted to be tangled up with him and never let him go ever again.

The kiss ended far too soon. When Taron pulled away, I tried to chase his lips to pull him back to me. He chuckled at my eagerness, allowing his lips to press against mine for a quick peck.

“Let me take you out before we get too hot and heavy,” he told me. “I want to take you on a proper date.”

“I guess we should do that before I jump your bones,” I teased. “But you do still have quite some time till your call time. If you’d like company while you wait, I wouldn’t mind staying here with you for a while. Especially if you’re going to be dressed like that the whole time.”

Taron’s face turned red again as he looked down at himself, almost like he forgot what he had been wearing. “Might be too tempting for you.”

“It definitely will be. But I will respect your virtue and not try to deflower you in your trailer.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God! What have I gotten myself into here?”

“Something pretty great, if you ask me.”

#taron egerton #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton x reader #rocketman #elton john #imagine #one shot #rpf #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[praisethesuuun]

Hi. I am not sure if you open the request, but if you open the request, can I ask for NSFW alphabets for our thunder berserker Thor from Record of Ragnarok? Thank you 💕

This big guy is one of the softest out there, I was so happy while writing this❤️hope you like it!

THOR: NSFW ALPHABET

A: aftercare <what they're like after sex>

Thor always, ALWAYS, worry about you: he's a big guy and he knows it. He loves massaging every sore spot on you, then going to get you something to drink, something fresh and cool usually.

B: body part <their favourite body part on them and you>

His favourite part of his are his eyes: he can't ignore the way you get lost in those golden pools, the expression of wonder you have when you look at them makes him feel proud of his appearance. Plus, Thor absolutely loves your cheeks, because he likes to pinch them and kissing them while he pounds into you.

C: cum <anything to do with it, really>

On your face, without a doubt. He gets over heels when he sees your eyes slightly closed so as not to risk blinding you when he cums...it's just so hot for this god.

D: dirty secret <a dirty secret of theirs>

He doesn't want to admit that he has a lactation kink, like, he feels so loved when he drinks your milk (especially because he never had someone to care for him so much or a mother, if we have to say it all)

E: experience <how experienced are they>

Thor doesn't have much experience, like I said before, he's kind of a loner. Please, teach him how to make you feel good.

F: favourite position <self-explanatory>

Leap frog, he feels like he has control over the situation without risking of hurting you still remaining the dominant one. Sorry, but I don't think he'll like being the bottom.

G: goofy <would they use humor in the moment?>

I mean, have you seen him? Thor is serious, BUT every now and then you can see a small smile make its way over his usual bored expression.

H: hair <how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the courtains?>

Thor is really well groomed, everything is clean and shaved. The carpet match the courtains, red as ever.

I: intimacy <are they romantic in the moment or they do not care?>

This big god of thunder it may seem cold and detached to you, but it's quite the opposite! He's the sweetest lover ever, always asking you if he's hurting you and kissing you all over your skin. Such a sweetheart!

J: jack off <...self-explanatory part 2>

Well, not gonna lie, I thought he was the type to not even think about it. That time you caught him masturbating with your clothes in his hand may tell you otherwise. You know how they say: the silent ones are always the kinkiest-

K: kinks <their kinks>

Beyond the lactation kink that I named before, I see him as someone who has a hidden daddy kink. And, why not, he likes seeing you as a prey, while Thor is the scary hunter that wants you all to himself. Good luck with him, it will be difficult to tame this beast.

COCK WARMING AND YOU CAN'T CHANGE MY MIND-

L: location <where they usually do the do>

The bedroom and the temple's garden. We all know that Thor likes gardening, so just imagine: him sweating under the sun, with all flowers around him and his long red hair up in a ponytail. Girl, I will be horny if I were you, it doesn't surprise me the fact that you two won't always keep your business in the bedroom.

M: motivation <what turns them on>

You two sparring is incredible for him, especially when he makes you think you can overpower him and then roll over, pinning you under its weight. You're too cute under him, he can't help but being all horny and nervous.

N: no <things they refuse to do>

Trying something that could hurt you too bad. Thor doesn't know how to control his power and he's madly nervous about doing anything bad to you. You'll have to work on that.

O: oral <do they like giving or receiving?>

He prefers receiving, mostly because he wants to feel loved and appreciated. Give him all you got and please him like you never did to another, he's a lot touch starved after all.

P: pace <are they slow and sensual or fast and rough>

Thor wants to go slow thanks to his dimension (which are very remarkable, if we have to be honest). Take all your time in taking him, you're there for a good time, so no need to worry about time: you two got plenty of that.

Q: quickie <would they fuck you for five minutes or wait until you wait home?>

He's doesn't really likes quickies. This big boy wants to feel the full experience of fucking you: admire all your movements with attentions, the way your eyes look at him with love and the way your little hands grip the sheet.

R: risk <...DUH>

Yeah, Thor is okay as long as it's not extreme for any of you.

S: stamina <how long can they last?>

Oh, boy! All day if he could! This god is strong, I mean, have you seen his muscles? And his fight? He will stop only when you pass out from pleasure.

T: toys <do they own any? do they use them?>

Naaaah, he doesn't even know what they are, he won't mind trying one of them out on you tho, if you know what I mean-

U: unfair <how much they like to tease>

Not so much, the only tease he does is when you're attending a meeting and, totally out of nowhere, he decides to bury his thick cock in you. Making you stay there without moving and with a throbbing pussy. A total torture, indeed.

V: volume <are they asking for a noise complaint, or are they quiet?>

Only groans leave his mouth as the god thrust into you like a mad man. You will never hear his voice, that means that his shaky breath and soft groans are the only things that tells you if he's enjoing himself or not.

W: wild card <a random headcanon☆>

One time, you decided to suprise him by putting on some cat ears and a butt plug with a tail shape. Turns out he loved it and actually asked you to do it again.

X: x-ray <what to they look like under there?>

Now, you're a really lucky one because this god is large, like very large. The tip is #edadab and has some vein here and there.

Y: yearning <are they in the mood to fuck or are they tame?>

Thor is pretty tame, he will start to feel more horny every time you two fuck. So yeah, just give him a bit of time and he will get the hand of that.

Z: zzz <how quickly they fall asleep afterwards>

He doesn't necessarily fall asleep: if he has something to do after, then he will wait for you to fall asleep to then kiss you softly and tuck you in before leaving; if he has no commitment, then he will fall asleep slowly while watching you sleep on him.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror x you #request #shumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok headcanons #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie headcanons #ror x y/n #snv x reader #snv x you #snv x y/n #ror thor #snv thor #thor x y/n

[artemisgrayy]

From One Hell to Another [Alastor x Reader]

(Link to full fic ^ 🔥)

18+ - minors do not interact with me or my content

Tags: nsfw, smut, minors DNI, Fem!reader, Reader Insert, Suspension, Alastor, Alastor's Shadow, eventual romance, Alastor finds you entertaining

Chapter 3 is LIVE ✨

"Something funny, Doe?” quipped a distorted voice behind you, making you jump so suddenly that you trip backward over your own feet. Shadow tendrils catch you, caressing each of your wrists. A cool, tingling sensation crawls up your arms as they grab hold, preventing you from tumbling to the ground.

Both feet leave the floor, lifting you high enough to adjust your footing. You take the opportunity to center yourself before your body lowers gently. Looking up, you make eye contact with the savior — who also happens to be the perpetrator.

“Alastor what the fuck dude. You scared the shit out of me.”

“G̵͎̘̊̈́̄͛ŏ̶̮̘̬̩̆̄ǫ̶̖̈́d̶̬̼̀̉” croons the Radio Demon. The silhouette of his body outlines the tilt in his shoulders. His left hand is placed casually on his cane and the other rests behind his back. Much like his stance, the expression on his face is predatory — his sharp smile and the slits of his rich, red eyes illuminating the otherwise dark room.

You’re filled with the overwhelming urge to flip off the Radio Demon but are cut short when you notice the restraints on your wrists hold firm. The tendrils pull your arms behind your back and proceed to extend around your waist. Before you have the chance you react, your feet hover off the floor once again. You kick frantically.

“Okay, real funny Radio Head.” Your voice is flat with a hint of panic. Instant regret courses through your veins when you realize the hand you've shown with your trembling voice. You cease the flailing of your lower limbs.

“Who’s trying to be funny?” he purrs, sauntering towards you deliberately with nefarious intent. A menacing thud hits the carpet with every step taken. The cane spins with a flourish before placing the other hand behind his back. When he reaches your position, his eyes become level with yours.

You’re immobilized, but you aren't scared. The lack of fear perplexes you slightly, but this is different than the helpless, trapped feeling you became intimate in your past life. Danger lurks at every turn, his power capable of tearing you apart, yet strangely, you feel a small sense of security.

The Radio Demon comes toe to toe with you – close enough that he could touch you.

But he doesn’t.

You fall victim to a sudden rush of desire forming between your legs and the longing creeps through your body, flowing through you like a waterfall. Your ankles brush together when you clamp your legs as you try to hide the wetness seeping down your thighs. The only barrier between you and Alastor is the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. One false move and the evidence of your lust would be impossible to hide.

Read more here 💖

Ahh chapter 3 was a fun one to write. I definitely poured my soul into this one and I hope it scratches that slow burn itch.

Thank you all for your kind words with what's been shared so far 💖 They've been propelling me through the tough spots

🥹👉👈

Feedback and questions are always welcome! 💖 Feel free to toss something into my asks.

Thanks for brain rotting with meeee

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin #alastor is in hell for a reason #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #lucifer #alastor altruist #hazbin alastor #alastor & reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin smut #alastor smut

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - Busy

@jegulus-microfic February 19 Word count 530

Previous part First part

How was it that both of the people he considered to be more than mere acquaintances read him like a book? He had fooled the most powerful wizard in the world, and yet these two had sniffed him out as soon as they’d walked out of the fireplace. 

He’d had to explain himself again to Barty while Evan went to see what his Father wanted. 

“I always knew you shagging James Potter would come back to bite me in the arse.” Barty had eloquently stated when Regulus had finished telling him what Dumbledore had tasked him with. 

“I don’t understand?” Regulus was uncertain what Barty was getting at. 

“Evan’s already agreed to help you, right?” Regulus nodded. Barty rolled his eyes. “Which means I’m gonna have to help you, which means I’ll be working for the Order of the Fucking Phoenix!”

Evan walked back in, looking angrier than he had when he left. 

“My bloody Father says because I left the fight early, I now need to prove myself to Voldemort. Make sure it’s clear I’m loyal to the cause.” He slammed the door shut and stomped over to the bed, flinging himself down next to Barty. 

Barty wiggled a hand free from his blanket cocoon and used it to gently massage Evans's scalp.

“Reg, mate. We’d better get started on this whole saving the world crap you’re into now because if we have to keep proving ourselves to that psychopath, we’re gonna all end up dead.” Barty said more seriously than Regulus had ever heard him.

“Bit rich that coming from you, Barty.” Evan chirped, trying to change the dark mood that had taken over his room. 

“Hey, that pale fucker makes me look like a Hufflepuff first year!” Barty pouted, but the atmosphere lifted, and they all relaxed a bit.

The next few hours were very busy for the three young men. Together, they compiled all the useful information they each had and wrote it all in a small leather-bound notebook of Regulus’s. Regulus cast a charm over it so it couldn’t be read in case it fell into the wrong hands. 

He stretched his stiff joints. Making them crack and groan. 

“I’m going to go home now. I’ve had enough of looking at your ugly faces.” 

“You’d jump at the chance to have you’re way with me, and don’t you forget it,” Barty said, making a kissy face at him. Evan hit him with a pillow.

“See you later, Regulus,” Evan said as he started tackling Barty, who was trying to emerge from his blankets to get to Regulus, a mad glint in his eye. 

Regulus exited the bedroom hastily, refusing to be part of their weird foreplay. 

The hallway was dark at this time of night. The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the carpeted floor. It was these same shadows that hid him when he heard someone ascending the stairs ahead of him. 

He watched as a flash of red hair appeared at the top of the stairs and, with sure, well-practised steps, disappeared through a door on the left.

Regulus stared, shocked. What the fuck was Lily Evans doing sneaking into Pandora’s bedroom?   

Next part

#February 19 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus fanfiction #regulus black #james potter #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #pandora rosier #lily evans #james x regulus #james and regulus #james potter x regulus black #regulus and james #regulus x james #dead gay wizards #busy

[stuckysbike]

The Queen Who Married Two Kings

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve (pre-established Stucky)

Arranged Marriage AU, Fantasy AU, Royalty AU

Rating/Warnings: Over 18's only, there will be dark themes and explicit sexual situations. Reader is Stark born, and they're shitty to her.

Summary: Betrothed to two Kings, you travel with them to their home where you learn more than you ever thought you would. But how are you to cope with two husbands who want to start a family and secure their place in the world?

Chapter 1

“Your father demands an audience with you,” a droll voice said from the doorway of your dayroom. You lifted your eyes from the book in your lap and fixed the man with a scowl. He looked ridiculous in red velvet pants with gold piping. You hated the livery your father had his staff wear. It was neither practical nor attractive but it served well to display his wealth and, god forbid, taste. If one could call that taste.

“And I would like to slay a dragon but that won’t happen anytime soon,” you muttered under your breath levelling him with a sweet smile to make up for your earlier scowl. It wasn’t this man’s fault that you hated your father. It was your father’s fault.

“He’s rather insistent milady,” the voice said. He sounded weary, and you suspected he was rather bored. You were bored yourself but you didn’t want them to know that.

“I’m busy myself,” you lied smoothly. The man, slim and in his fifties with deep set eyes, let a flicker of annoyance pass his face. You didn’t recognise him, but he continued to stare stubbornly. Sighing you stood up and fixed your hair in the looking glass, brushed creases out of your dress and picked up the novel you had been reading. You darnt leave it lying around. Your father encouraged you to read this muck, yes, but you made sure there was proper reading within its covers. A pamphlet outlining changes to a tax law on tobacco would be frowned upon.

He had this ridiculous notion that women who read romance novels knew how to take care of a husband. The last thing you wanted was a husband like those described in the novels, or a man like your father or brothers.

“Milady, if you please,” the man said again, his voice thinning on patience.

“Alright!” You snapped as you turned and headed out the doorway, not bothering to wait for him. You knew the trail to your father’s study well, knew all the shortcuts and quick escapes, so naturally, you took the long way.

Around you portraits of your ancestors peered down their noses as you and you resisted the childish urge to stick your tongue out at them. You slowed a few times to peer out the windows but you could delay no longer.

Your father, King Howard, a greying man in his sixties, was waiting for you behind a large oak desk that had suffered garish carvings before being placed here, another symbol of his wealth and power. Beside him stood your brother Tony, his heir. It was no secret that Tony was your father’s favourite child. Everyone had assumed that, as the only daughter, you would also be favoured, but this wasn’t so. You weren’t the sweet child he dreamed of; instead you were strong willed and wild, defying him at his every turn. Your education was still a sore point for you both; he felt you had received too much, you felt you didn’t receive enough.

“Father,” you dipped your chin slightly, knowing he preferred when women curtsied to him, but today it seemed as he had more pressing matters than dredging up old fights. You stood in the centre of the plush rug that lay before the desk letting your heels sink in deep, hoping to damage the carpet.

Tony scowled at you, he’d always had some sort of resentment towards you, and you often wondered if it was because you were a girl and perhaps he was worried that he would no longer be your fathers favourite. That resentment turned to distaste at the way you acted with your father.

“Daughter,” your father said, his voice weary, and you knew he was expecting a fight. “You’re to be married.”

You pursed your lips; it was rare that your father got straight to the point. You filed this away to examine later.

“Married. I’m barely nineteen,” you said. Marriage was not what you wanted from life. To have children to a man who wouldn’t love you, to a man like your father who’d had three wives, who’d driven your own poor mother to despair with his appetite for other women.

“And if I’d had my way you would have been married three years ago but your mother pleaded with me…” He sighed deeply, no doubt looking for sympathy for having another dead wife. You had none to give; he had driven your mother to the grave.

“Does my husband have a name or shall he remain anonymous until I meet him at the alter?” You asked.

“Husbands,” your father moved something on his desk then shuffled some papers. He was nervous, you thought, very unlike him.

“Husbands? Plural?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed. You know of the alliance between King James and King Steven,” Howard said.

Everyone knew of their alliance; it had caused quite the scandal three years ago when they wed and decided to unite their countries. They had once been one land and very few people residing there resisted, but kingdoms such as your fathers and that of your neighbours such as the Odinsons had been most wary.

It seemed your father had found a way to protect himself yet again.

You knew all about the neighbouring kingdom of Farotaide, it was part of your education to be up to date on this. The kings lived in a large castle at the edge of the woods on a cliff overlooking the sea. It was said to be beautiful.

Farotaide was a cold place, with sharp winds even in the summertime, and prone to snow half the year round. The people ruled under the kings were hardened, warriors, blacksmiths and butchers, crops were grown, winter crops consisting mostly of root vegetables and potatoes, all the year round. They were a harsh people and the women fought as quickly as the men did. Their ale was bitter and their wine sour, but they were clever engineers, and they had a lot of land and forest under their control. This would be a strategic union.

But you would be wife to two husbands. How would that even work? They would be twice as demanding of you, but then, knowing what you did about their culture and society, it was worth the gamble. Perhaps you wouldn’t fight, and instead agree to this union.

“I agree,” you said after a moment’s pause. Tony scowled, expecting a fight he didn’t receive, and even her father looked shocked for half a second.

“Oh, that’s good then, I’m sure you have a lot to prepare, you will be married soon no doubt, there’s little point in dallying with these things,” he said clearly dismissing you.

You did not go back to your rooms, instead you went to the library, and headed into the map room from there. You found Farotaide easily, they controlled about a third more land than your father. There were notes on climate, terrain, population, and agriculture and battle tactics on the margins. You studied until you needed to change for dinner.

Your father sat at the head with his sons around him, Tony to his right with his new wife Pepper clutching his hand like a sheep. You hated her, hated them all as they discussed your upcoming nuptials. “The Kings will be here next week, and all being well, you’ll be married within the month,” your father said clasping his hands together.

“I’ll be going to live with them I assume.” You said as you pushed the food around your plate. You had lost interest in your food.

“Of course.” Your father said.

“Then I’ll need a new wardrobe,” you said.

Tony snorted and Pepper covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “Another excuse to spend father’s money,” he said.

“No, but Brooklyn where the keep their kingdom seat is located is a much colder climate than ours, I don’t think delicate silken dresses will do me much good in the winter do you father?” You said smiling at him. The pale blue dress you wore now was a favourite, but it wasn’t practical for where you were going.

“Our father is already putting up a dowry just to get rid of you, and paying for your wedding nuptials. I doubt he’ll be dressing you after next week. Let your husbands take care of it,” Tony said tossing his napkin onto his plate and leaning back in his chair.

“Someday, my dear Tony, father will be dead, and this will be your land, your home, your very table. And someday, dear brother, I’ll sit here at this very table, and I’ll embarrass you in front of your peers as you wish to embarrass me in front of my new family. It would be insulting to send me there without appropriate attire, I will not start my marriage on an insult,” you said sweetly.

“Oh, do shut up sister.” Tony said standing up.

“I’m bored of this anyway,” you said standing too. “I’m afraid I feel one of my headaches coming on, father, I shan’t be good company this evening. I’ll head back to my bedroom and take a long rest.”

“Off you go out of my sight,” Your father snapped. Tony spoke loudly.

“I hope the kings at least gets one good son out of her before she turns into a simpering mess,” he said. Everybody laughed and you clenched her fists. You paused, took a deep breath, and smiled sweetly as you walked to your room, already plotting your revenge.

Your father, you believed, informed his friends and allies before he informed the Two Kings that their proposal, and thus their alliance, had been accepted.

There was to be a Royal Wedding and it would be a glorious affair. Afterall it is not often that a princess marries two kings at once!

The Wakandans were first to arrive, followed by the Odinsons two days later. You watched the pomp and ceremony from your room, your father and brothers were keen to greet their neighbours, to use this social event to network. It made you sick to your stomach to see them act so, but you lifted your chin, hardened your eyes, and gave your guests that tight, slight smile that your mother taught you so many years ago.

More prestigious guests arrived, each trying to outdo the last with their opulence, but the worst was King Howard insisting that everyone wear their best, that his whores were well hidden and that you stayed as the meek and dutiful daughter before everyone.

Noticeably absent was your intended husbands, and your father was insistently vocal about this. You couldn’t recall ever meeting any nobles from Farotaide, but you were eagerly curious to see how they arrived. You wondered what sort of spectacle they would bring; clearly, they wanted to make an arrival and cause a scene. You were beginning to regret agreeing so easily. Eventually you decided them arrogant and rude, they clearly had little interest in getting to know you prior to the nuptials.

You were preparing for bed when you heard it, a deep rumble like thunder in the distance.

Wrapping your favourite wool cloak around your shoulders you made her way down the servants’ staircases and headed through the kitchens and outside to the battlements. Beside you one of your fathers’ watchers shifted nervously as he peered into the darkness. A mass of black was streaming towards you in a line, loud thunderous thuds carrying through the dark night. For a moment you feared you were under attack until a cloud shifted, and moonlight drenched across meadows around your father’s palace.

Two hundred men and women galloped towards you on horseback.

They stopped, preparing to make camp and a small party moved forward while the rest effortlessly blended into the trees that lined the meadows. You made your way to the courtyard, your soft soles quiet on the dry cobblestones, trying to keep a smile off your face. You liked the entrance the Northerners had made in contrast to the grandeur and finery everyone else made. They weren’t showing off, and you had the feeling they didn’t need to, this was just how they operated. Suddenly your anger at them turned to amusement.

“And you are?” A guard was saying, his tone tight. His knuckles were white as he gripped the spear in his hand, and you could help but think the foolish weapon looked useless to these warriors.

“James Barnes, my husband, Steve Rogers.” A gruff voice said. You quickened her step towards the gates to get a better look at the two men.

“We weren’t expecting you now,” the guards voice said.

“When did you expect us?” Steve asked, his voice louder than James.

“Daylight hours, I’d imagine,” you spoke up taking pity on the guard. You stepped forward and pulled your cloak around your throat. Both men met your eyes, and the shiver that ran down your spine was not entirely due to the cold.

“Well, we’re here now,” James said with a sly curl of the lips.

“Indeed, you are. Have someone announce to King Howard that his wayward guests have arrived,” the gatekeeper commanded giving you the stink eye. You couldn’t resist sticking your tongue out at him, but Steve’s voice distracted you. You didn’t miss the short smile the two men shared at your behaviour.

“We are at a disadvantage. You know who we are, but we have no idea who you are,” Steve spoke up. You stepped back as the small band of men and their horses made their way inside the castle walls.

You toyed with the idea of stringing them along and telling the men you were someone else, but you decided on straight up honesty. It wouldn’t do to start their relationship on that sort of note.

“I’m to be your wife, or so I’m told,” you said. James glanced down at you. He was tall, broad shouldered and terribly handsome with a few days’ worth of dark stubble on his chin. His eyes looked blue in the dim torchlight but you liked what she saw. Steve on the other hand sat taller on his horse. He didn’t seem as thick as James but he had a full head of thick blond hair and a well grown beard.

“Ah, our wife you say?” James said with a coy smile. Your heart fluttered a little, people rarely looked at her like that, but James’ eyes were raking your body, and while Steve kept more reserved he was just as curious you could tell.

“Why did you arrive at dark?” You asked curiously. Steve stared at you for a second but a voice behind you interrupted them.

“Please ignore my silly little sister, she has no manners. My name is Tony, I’ll be inheriting, I’m to be your brother in law.” Tony said pushing past Lydia to shake James’s hand. James, who was still holding the reins of his massive horse, looked from Tony’s face to his hand and back again before turning to you.

“I like the dark,” James said ignoring the horse nosing at his arm. Behind him Steve made a noise you didn’t understand, and you didn’t miss the flicker of something in James’ eyes.

“The stables are this way. Our grooms can take care of your horses.” Tony said pushing past you to gain attention.

“We’ll take care of our own horses, he had the decency to carry me here without complaint, it’s the least I can do.” Steve corrected Tony but he was looking at you. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Good, I like a man who knows what he’s doing.” You smirked, and when both men smiled at you, you realised that your heart was racing.

“Stop being vulgar and go away,” Tony hissed in your ear, his eyes flashing dangerously in the moonlight.

“I think I prefer her company to yours,” James said bluntly. You almost laughed aloud at the rage building on Tony’s face.

“Oh, I know where I’m not wanted,” you said in a teasing voice, shooting a wink at James as you turned on your heel and headed back inside. Perhaps leaving the two Kings to your brother’s attentions was a poor strategic move but you were sure you they would understand. It didn’t do for a princess to stand outside in the night talking to her betrothed. As you slid into bed you smiled, wondering what the next days would bring.

#tqwmtk #stucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rodgers x reader #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #arranged marriage #royal au #fantasy