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#SO MANY WIVES SO LITTLE TIME
sentientsky · 3 months
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words by tumblr user @traumabuck080 (i think)
get-ready SUFFER-with-me vlog :)
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urmomsfavelesbian · 1 year
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behold!
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hahahax30 · 11 months
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The thing is, Laurie's love for Jo is so deep and good and pure that you just want them to be together. But Jo can't fall in love with Laurie she's aroace and she highlights how beautiful their friendship is.
Basically, they're soul mates, but Laurie took time to realise that that didn't mean they were meant to fall in love.
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something that i love for ryeon is:
however much she suffered with her pains and burdens that eventually led her to her own end because there was no other way for her, in her mind
because she didn’t have the support or the resources
because the world is cruel and contributes to the prison that is the mind.
for ryeon tho
to watch, throughout the centuries, depression and mental health issues be recognized and handled - and people finally able to have the tools, and resources.
how lovely that must have been for her to watch mental health help develop throughout these past 420 years of reaper!life.
i mean it’s not perfect. absolutely not.
and this show seriously needs to acknowledge that yes while the RM team are not the solution, they can OFFER solutions - ie: GET SOME THERAPY.
but it’s a huge thing nonetheless.
i headcanon that as a hobby, she just reads psych books.
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gaycrittercentral · 5 months
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STREAM DOODLES BABEEYYYYYYYY
the context for all of these is somewhat lost due to them being based on jokes between me and everybody in chat while I was streaming, so I've added in some explanations in the image IDs. I owe a lot of these ideas to everybody who came and hung out with me during the streams, so if you ever have an idea you'd like to chat with me about or see me draw feel free to come hang out at the next one! I'm always happy to take suggestions ^^
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lenny-1of2dads · 1 month
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Dave was twentyseven and one of my best workers. He started about two years ago. One of the last single guys on the crew. He has the whitest butt on the crew, and everyone would give him a bad time about keeping his pants pulled up. Blinding light due the the reflection of the sun. We can't work Dave is cracking us up too much.
On Fridays I hand out paychecks for the week before at a Local bar called Tumble Inn. If you don't pick them up at the bar, you can pick it up at the office on Monday. All eleven guys show up to cash their checks and party. The bartender Jilly has been a friend of mind for years. She was at my wedding twelve years ago, and served me drinks through my divorce. She gets the credit for getting me off of Jack Daniels and I am now drinking Scotch.
We stopped working a bit before five, and the guys wives start showing up by five thirty to grab their money. Everyone on the crew is gone by seven and home eating dinner with kids. Jilly, I are talking at the end of the bar. Dave is playing pool alone in the corner. As I watch his shorts get lower and lower. He pulls them up and they slow start to fall back down. I walk over to Dave take off my belt and hand it to him.
He laughs. Says no thank you can't you see I am trying to get laid here. I suggest he will only get gay guys like that. He replies I know that's the point. I was on my fifth scotch I had a buzz. WTF was all I could come up with. I whispered quietly You're gay?
He looked at me like I was stupid. Then said Sorry boss I thought you knew. He takes the belt from my hand and starts to put it on. He continued to say I put on my application I did two years hard time. I was gay after the first year. I am cool with it. I just don't like gay bars, or gay guys that much. It's messed up but I figure it out.
Then Dave drops a bombshell, all this time I thought you were gay. I thought you liked looking at my butt. I am so sorry boss, but Jilly is the only girl you ever talk to. In a bar full of them. My head was spinning but not from the scotch. I said, I should go home while I can still drive. I will see you at work on Monday. Dave grabs my hand and asks if we are cool, and if he still has a job. I put him in a brief head lock and rubbed his buzzed head. We're good gay boy I am an equal opportunity employer.
I say goodnight to Jilly and head home with crazy ideas running through my head. By the time I was home I was thinking since the divorce of all of the changes I have made in the the last two years. Beside learning to do my own laundry and keep a house clean which was kind of gay if you think about it. I had stopped looking at all adult content. I was thirty-seven single and not even having sex with myself. I was not straight I was not anything. Except glad to finally pass out.
I get up and stop for coffee on the way to the office. Everyone was off on Saturday, and that was when I did paperwork. I stayed focused trying my best to not think about gay stuff. The way I said goodbye on the phone sounded gay. The way I crossed my legs that was gay. Real men don't use letter openers that is gay. I checked my watch to see if Jilly was on shift yet. This was making me crazy. The door opens and slight knock Hello boss I was just bring your belt back I figured you might be here.
I say thanks he could have waited until Monday. I have several. You should keep it.
He gets nervous and says I am sorry about what I said yesterday, a few too many beers. I have never hit on a guy before, and had no idea what I was doing. I was freaking a little I work with a bunch of guys. Sexual harassment at the workplace has never been an issue. I have never had a gay employee before. I am thinking to myself I got a bottle of scotch stashed where did I put that?
Dave said, I guess I will see you Monday boss. As he heads out the door he drops his keys. He bends over to pick them up. His shorts fall to his ankles exposing everything. He freaks bending over to pull them back up. He turns to apologize. Sorry boss all my clothes are too big. I will go to the store and buy a belt right now.
I sit down at my desk, and say. Wait a minute hang on. It was it the left bottom drawer in the back. Let's have a drink and you tell me why you think I am gay. Dave sits down: Looks me in the eye and says It was mostly wishful thinking. I just can't hang with super gay dudes that act like girls. I like big strong dudes and you defiantly qualified. The fact you did not flirt with girls, and hearing about your divorce I just assumed it might be a possibility. Don't get all paranoid the only thing you and I have in common is we are both lonely.
He downs his drink which should have been sipped. He loses his breath for a second. Asking in loud whisper voice. What was that? He goes to stand and his pants fall down again. I am cracking up laughing at this point. Dave steps out of his shorts and then throws them at me. Saying don't laugh. Leaving himself standing naked in front of me feeling very self conscious. He smiles and asks for his shorts back.
As I pour another glass I ask. So what is the easiest way to find out if I am gay or not?
He said You could kiss me you will know right away.
I was skeptical. One kiss and I will know.
Dave said I am not talking a peck on the lips. I am talking tongues and everything your best kiss possible.
I figured I had nothing to lose at this point. Stand up walk over to Dave thinking I can do this. I am not gay this will prove it.
We separate mouths after about three minutes. I was gay and he was already naked. I dumped my desk over to clear what was on top of it computer monitor papers and all. We made gay love for the first time in our lives right there in my office and on top of my desk. We just sat on top and held each other afterwards in amassment of what just happen. Dave got emotional saying I had a lot of sex in jail, but never like that.
It was a first for both of us. We were both confused where the other wanted this to go. Dave smiles and says l will see you on Monday Boss? I told him he wasn't going to go home so fast. Plan on lunch and dinner with me. We have to decide what tell the crew on Monday. Which side on the bed you sleep on. How long we have to wait before we can do that again. He has the most awesome giggle. His head was spinning just like mine. We were two kids doing it for the first time.
I called my best friend Jilly and ask if she would go to the bar an hour before her shift and have lunch with me. She agreed. We left the office a mess and stopped at JCPenney and purchased 10 pair of shorts and two packs of sexy underwear and two belts. He changed his clothes in the truck and we walk in all smiles to meet Jilly. She gives Dave a high five and a hug saying thank you so much. Then I find out she thought I might be gay too and knew Dave had a crush on me. Jilly had suggested I loan him my belt. She also knew my wife cheated on me a lot behind my back. She saw the guy that told me about it after I punched him in the face. She said Now that I'm out of the closet and gay she thinks I am not as scary and promises to tell me what she thinks moving forward.
Monday Dave and I over sleep and I get a call from the office. Joe said boss the door to the office was unlocked and the place was trashed. Do you want me to call the cops? I say no just please clean it up I be there in ten minutes. They see Dave and I get out of the Truck and walk in together. They are looking at us and each other. Joe says You two did this. Let me guess you're like boyfriends now. He goes into a happy dance saying I knew you two were gay, I knew it. I knew it. I was so glad to be done for the day. The comments were getting a bit pervy for ten straight construction workers.
I will never understand how this happened. While I did not hate gay people I just though two gay guys was gross. I am now reminded I am gay everytime I look at Dave. I flipped a switch in my brain. I find myself enjoying introducing Dave as my boyfriend. Watching a few people freaking, while most people could care less. Friday was payday as normal. Every employee and their families showed up to celebrate. Dave's brother, and his wife. Someone got a very inappropriate cake and everything.
Jilly and I are at our end of the bar as she refills my scotch. She says now that we have agreed to no secret's and you are no longer scary I do have one more thing to tell you.
I said after the gay thing I am ready. What... Jilly reminds me the night the divorce became final I was at the bar drinking Jack Daniels. I said I know That was the night you drove me home and put me in bed. Jilly we have this conversation before. You save me from a DUI. I woke up the next day saying I was done with females, and you would only pour me scotch after that.
Jilly smiles takes my drink away and says. We have tried to have this conversation you never let me finish. What you don't remember is after I help you out of your clothes we had sex. I was the last person you had sex with before you swore off females forever.
I was freaking saying Jilly I don't remember any of that. She blamed it on the Jack Daniels, said I was having blacks outs. The reason she stop serving it to me. She said I took total advantage of you in your drunken state. This is all my fault I just needed you to know.
Am I missing something were you afraid I would be upset you and I got drunk and did stuff. I don't remember it You are not the reason I swore off females. I don't understand what am I missing? She added Just that the 2 year old at my house you call your little buddy is definitely your son.
I calmly asked for my drink back and I down it instead of sipping. I then excused my myself to use the restroom put my fist throw the wall above the urinal. I just started balling my eyes out of happyness. In the last week I found out I am gay, and someone to be gay with, and now a dad with my best friend. This has got to be the best week ever. Light bulb goes off I come to my senses. I dry my eyes fix my hair wash the small blood from my knuckle. I tell Jilly I running to Circle K next door. I spent 100 bucks on lottery tickets.
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luveline · 5 months
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I NEEEEEED MORE STRIPPER!READER X SPENCER
fem, 1.2k
You and Spencer aren't dating, but he thinks you might be in the before. 
"You're home!" you say, clambering at the door to slip out of your shoes. You throw yourself at him as soon as you're close enough, the salted caramel and sandalwood of your new perfume washing over him. "You're here! I missed you." 
Spencer tries not to blush. He wishes you weren't so close —his hair is lank from two days unwashed, his five o'clock shadow obvious and embarrassing. If you notice anything unappealing about him you don't give the slightest inclination, your arms crossing over his back as you drive your face into his neck. 
"I can't believe how much I missed you, Dr. Reid," you say warmly. 
"I missed you too." Morgan would laugh at him for being this earnest, maybe comment on his lack of charisma, but Spencer doesn't know how else to show that he's interested beyond sincerity. 
You step back but work your hands up his neck and into his hair, raking it away from his cheeks. "That's better. I can see you better now." 
Spencer thought he remembered only horrible things from being a teenager, but he remembers this feeling, sweaty-palmed, heart-racing want. You tilt his head gently one way and then the other like you're following the motion of a wave, fingertips scratching in his hair, the sensation stirring the very pit of his stomach. No trace of tiredness remains on your face, only spritely joy to see him. 
"That feels nice," he confesses. He's not weird about it, more friendly. 
Your aswering grin tells him he nailed the casualness he was aiming for. 
"You've been working hard," you say, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting down his shoulders, "I can tell. You look tired." 
"You don't. Short shift?" 
"Is it weird that bad weather genuinely keeps people home? I guess they prefer their wives when it's cold." 
"No, really? Who could ever pick the woman they married over you and those silver shorts?" he teases, peeling out of his sweater.
The shirt underneath is rumpled, but he doesn't care about that. Anything to be seen between you has been seen. Spencer has, unquestionably, seen you half naked. You've seen him in his boxers, so you're just about square. "Idiots, all of them." 
You're staying with him again while a security company fits your apartment with the appropriate trappings. Or, that was the initial reason. Spencer went with you to assess after it was done, discovering black mould in the corner of your bedroom and spreading its evil way across the bathroom ceiling. 
What is that? he asked, knowing what it was, hoping you'd at least pretend to be concerned. 
That's fifty bucks off a month, Spence. Don't look so horrified. 
"I missed you," you say for the third time in as many minutes. "And I hoped you'd be home, so I brought Chinese food for two."
You and Spencer change into pyjamas, and it's cliche but whatever, you look beautiful undone —he's not stupid enough to lie to himself about how he feels when you're wearing your little outfits, but he prefers this side of you a thousand times over because you like it better. You wear your prized baseball tee, white with blue sleeves, and a pair of sweatpants pushed up high on one leg while you ice your sore knee. He sits cross legged opposite, jabbing his chopsticks into one of your crispy spring rolls just to watch you gasp. 
"Can I ask you something too personal?" 
You rub down the length of your naked calf, sighing as some of the tension releases. You're more bruise than girl lately, splodges of tender skin patterning the inside. "What don't you know about me, at this point?" you ask. 
Like it's a good thing. Like you're glad for it. 
"Are you making enough money?" he asks. 
You steal back your spring roll, answering him through rice paper and greens, "Kind of. Not tonight, but enough for dinner. I'll be okay." 
"Did you think about it?" 
You shovel through your waxy box of rice, shrugging. "I thought about it, but… it's not realistic. What office would take me? What drug store?" 
"I could loan you the money while you apprentice, and get some experience, you could go back to school–" He says it all in a rush and you still knock him down. 
"It's real sweet of you, Spence, it is, but I couldn't let you do that. That makes me your charity case, and not your friend." 
"What else do you do for the people you care about?" he asks. Let them stay at a job they don't like, even if they're good at it, one that puts them statistically at higher risk for femicide or assault? 
"I wouldn't need a loan, Spencer, I'd need more than you have," you say gently. "I'd have to start my life from scratch. How would I pay rent? You couldn't afford to keep us both." 
"You could stay with me again." 
You shake your head. "You're the best friend I've ever had, which is why I'm saying no." 
He doesn't get what you mean, but you finish your dinner and help him clean up. He more than trusts you to stay here alone while he's on a case, you've honestly left it in better condition than you found it, and he insists you sleep in his bed again while you're here. 
"Don't be silly," you say, throwing a sheet out over the couch. "This is your place. You need to sleep in your own bed." 
The disaster is that it smells like you. Spencer says goodnight to you reluctantly and leaves you on the couch with every throw blanket he owns, climbing into his own bed and pulling the comforter up to his nose. He imagines you here at night, your body wash still clinging to your skin from a late night shower, your hand tucked under his pillow. There are so many things he'd like to give you, if you'd just let him. 
He spends a quiet thirty minutes like that, missing the warmth of your skin and your casual touching, wishing he could offer you the fresh start you desire, even if it meant he wasn't involved. 
The couch springs creak as you toss and turn, the sound finding it's way down the short hall from the living room slash kitchen to his bedroom. Hesitant, Spencer shifts in bed, hitting that one coil in his mattress just right, the twang resounding.  
You appear in his doorway with your borrowed pillows crushed to your chest not long after that. You don't need to ask, Spencer doesn't need to answer. He can't give you everything that you want, but he can give you a quiet, comfortable night next to someone who loves you. 
Ever well-tempered, you slip into the sheets beside him and curl up toward him, your fingertips brushing his side. You don't look at him in the dark, but you mumble sleepily, fingers twitching, "Night, Spence." 
You're out like a light. 
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pearlywritings · 11 months
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Sometimes the name doesn't matter
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synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife.
pairings: Alhaitham, Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya x fem!reader (separately)
tw: fluff, established relationship, a little bit of bullying, a bit of unwelcome drunk flirting, characters are whipped for their wives
word count: 5.4k+ words
a/n: part 2 can be read here!
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Alhaitham 
Your husband is… Truly something. Honestly, that's the best way to describe this epitome of nonchalance, smugness and sarcasm, sprinkled with sharp glares and served with a smartass sauce. No one would be able to swallow such a nasty pill, yet you somehow managed. But that's what doctors say, right? The medicine might be bitter, but it'll get better. And it did.
Hard to believe, but the Akademiya's Scribe is enamored by you - it took time to realize, many interactions for him to see that you do not rise annoyance in him, multiple times sharing the eye contact and hundreds of hours being your interlocutor to cognize the beauty of you, but when he fell - he fell hard, and the realization didn't make him feel repulsed. On the contrary, it brought him inexplicable peace, and, being an efficient and straightforward man he is, Alhaitham faced you the very next day and asked out on a date.
The rest is history. You dated, you moved in, you got married - the sequence your husband perfected in its briefness to be over with quickly anytime his colleagues or anyone asked about you and your relationship. You, of course, would give a more detailed summary to your friends, speaking of him so tenderly, always witnessing the same reaction - disbelief. And you get it where they come from - after all, your partner is known to not be the most cordial person. He prefers it that way though - he is bothered much less and can dedicate that free time to his lovely wife.
He makes it a point to not leave the house unnecessarily early, just exactly enough to get to his office on time, and same with finishing his work, bluntly rejecting anyone who tries to approach him with stuff. This way he doesn’t waste a second with you, quite on contrary, sometimes a couple of hours can be added, if you visit him during the afternoon to go grab lunch together, or enjoy the one you brought with you, and then rest somewhere in a private spot with your head on his shoulder, holding a bigger hand that is resting on your thigh, while his other one is occupied with a book. This is enough to power you both up to push through the rest of the day, and Alhaitham really appreciates it, never failing to give you a kiss on the lips and murmuring the soft words of reassurance, before parting your ways till the evening.
Today is one of those days when you find yourself in the House of Daena with a home-cooked lunch neatly wrapped and warm in your hands. A couple of librarians greet you on the way, knowing perfectly well who you are, and you smile at them. One older woman, who’s always been fond of your character, informs you that Alhaitham hasn’t left the Grand Sage’s office since the moment he arrived, and you thank her for going out of her way to reassure you that you will not need to search for him.
There’s another exchange of greetings at the bottom of an elevator and just seconds later you start ascending to the above of the huge library. The quiet whirling of mechanisms is calming and you hum softly to yourself, imagining that tender look in those light turquoise eyes, a rare shine in orange-ringed yellow pupils and a slight pull of thin lips upon seeing your figure and catching a whiff of food you brought. A content sigh escapes your chest and you prepare to soon step off the huge round platform.
But instead of catching a glimpse of your husband, you are met with sharp black eyes, staring at you and a scowl present on the face of a person you don't believe you've seen before, at least not long enough to remember. You blink in surprise, eyes darting to look at the man from head to toe - he is wearing the Akademiya’s robes, but there is no indicator to which Darshan he belongs to. A Matra perhaps? But you are used to seeing a completely different face of a scholar Alhaitham appointed as his secretary for the period of time he’d fulfill the role of an Acting Grand Sage. Panah has soft brown eyes, always nodding to you in a greeting and leaving upon your arrival if it is lunch time and his boss doesn’t instruct him to stay and carry on with his job, not minding you two.
This one practically glares at you, arms crossed and posture intimidating. You simply tilt your head in question, waiting for him to say something.
“Who allowed you to enter?”
The tone of his voice is pretty rude, and the gruff voice doesn't add grace to it. You are not one to judge someone by their looks - your husband is the proof of that, so you decide to brush it off and simply answer.
"Shohre of course, as usual."
“...as usual?” His brows furrow, and you get even more confused with the question. Is your husband having some kind of an impromptu inspection? He didn’t tell you anything about it in the morning, and since the Akasha got turned off, there is no simple way to warn you of it. 
"Is Alhaitham holding any meeting, perhaps?" You try, knowing it's absurd since he doesn't love his sweet lunch time being interrupted, but right now it's hard to find an explanation for this hostile-acting man's actions.
"You have so little respect for the Acting Great Sage?"
This time the booming edge in his words makes an echo in a pretty vast space and almost makes you flinch. The situation is escalating pretty quickly.
"Sir, I don't know who you are, but I do not believe I ever deserved such treatment from you. Would you be so kind to explain what's going on or at least let me see the Acting Great Sage-"
That must've sounded kind of sarcastic, because the man looks like he is ready to fume akin to a kettle.
"Who even are you!? Who do you think you are? Demanding a meeting like that - you must know his schedule is packed, so don't you assume that your pretty face would get you through-"
"Jahan, what is going on?" The "Jahan" shuts instantly upon hearing a deep, dripping with authority voice behind him. Your face instantly brightens when you spot the tall man approaching you two with his arms crossed and the most nonchalant expression etched in his features.
“We have an intruder, Sir.”
What in the Archon’s name- This is becoming ridiculous.
"An intruder?" He lifts his brow and glances at you, gaze lingering just for a few seconds longer. Then it returns to his subordinate. "I don't see one here."
"This woman," you move just in time not to have his index finger directly point you right in your face, "came here without prior appointment, not stating her purpose, not even stating her name!"
"Is that so?" You almost snort at how little Alhaitham cares for what this man has for an explanation, instead moving directly to you and taking a heavy lunch boxes from your hands, allowing your shoulders and arms to drop in relief.
“Her name is of no matter. All you need to know is that she is my wife.”
The room falls silent. The man stares at his boss with eyes so wide, you worry they’d pop out of his sockets. Your husband though doesn’t show any reaction to the stunned look on the man’s face, balancing all the containers in one hand, offering you the other, which you take with a smile.
"S-she what?"
"My wife. And she, along with the necessary descriptions, is literally the only person on the list of the people who are free to come and leave whenever. On the list Panah passed to you along with other instructions before taking his sick leave. Did you even skip through those?"
The tone of your husband is cold with a mocking edge, rubbing his subordinate’s incompetence in his face, and you don't need to look at the man to sense his panic.
"I-I, no of course I thoroughly looked through every single one, but I do not remember such paper, it must've been lost along the process-"
"It doesn't matter. Now you are aware. But there is one more thing you need to learn about my wife visiting."
"Yes, Sir?"
"You leave the moment she enters."
There is a momentary pause (you know Alhaitham is rolling his eyes inwardly at how slowly the notion seems to reach him), before Jahan snaps out of his stupor, slightly bows, mumbling something and quickly walks off to the elevator.
Not even waiting for the mechanism to start, your husband tugs on your hand and you take the hint, following him to the sofas and a table.
"What an imbecile," is murmured in annoyance and you finally chuckle, covering your mouth with a hand.
Your husband is truly something, but one thing is absolutely certain - his wife is the only person that really worths his nerves and time.
Ayato
Kamisato Ayato is a character of many admirable traits and worth-mentioning accomplishments, a great leader, an amazing big brother, a boss held in high regard, and a loving husband of three years to you. This last, but not the least, is Commissioner's favorite, and he makes sure to show it every opportunity present in his individual mischievous way.
You know he gets away with a lot of things, and for numerous reasons, ranging from being the head of the Yashiro Commission, to him being pretty unknown by face among the commoners due to Ayaka handling all the public affairs. This one in particular is harmless, but there is that little thing which drives you up the wall - he does it only when you are present, leaving you very flustered and with a fast beating heart.
"My name? Oh, I am a husband. This gorgeous woman's husband."
"Lord Kamisato? No need to be so formal with me, just call me her husband."
"'Kamisato Ayato' and all my titles are so long to write down, can't I sign it with 'Y/n's hubby' instead?"
"Kamisato Y/n's husband. That's who I am."
"Ayaka, have you forgotten? No more calling me 'big brother', only 'Y/n's husband- Stop laughing, I am serious!"
The last one is literally happening right before your eyes, with the younger sibling hiding her smile and suppressing her giggles behind her intricately decorated fan, as the older one has taken his glove off, wiggling his fingers to show the glistening golden band wrapped around one of them. You, on the other hand, are trying to cover your heated face with a stack of papers you picked when Ayaka entered the office and addressed her big brother as, well, big brother. Peeking above the filled with reports sheets you catch a sly smile playing on Ayato's lips, while his usually piercing eyes reflect the special kind of adoration he holds for you.
You know why he is doing this - the man fought hard for your heart and then hand in marriage, and since it is now a reality, he absolutely keens on that "I am your husband" notion. Sometimes it's a perfect ice breaker in introducing you two to new people, sometimes it's a reason for an eye roll (yours as well), at times it puts people in stupor which Ayato uses to his advantage, but there is always only one initial thought behind every single one of them - showing the world he is proud to be your partner with a label "husband" on it.
And this sentiment is fully returned! However you never had an opportunity to do the same - he always beats you to it, and leaves bashful long enough for the moment to become wasted. You know you can always talk it through with him and he’d be more than happy to give you a chance, but, after all these times he left you speechless, it’s simply a matter of pride to pay him back. Besides… You really-really want to see his reaction if you told someone important those words. 
That you are his wife.
You hear a soft knock on the living room’s door where you and Ayato are sitting next to each other at one side of the low table.
“Lord and Lady Kamisato, the guests have arrived.”
“Wonderful, please let them in.”
The man notices your elation upon hearing those words and smiles to himself - your friends from another nation, whom you haven’t seen properly in ages, finally managed to reach the coasts of Inazuma and seek a meeting to reconnect with you and also meet your mysterious husband you’ve written and praised so much in your letters.
The scene is heartwarming. Two girls around your age are tightly hugging you with excited squeals while the man that came in together with them, patiently waits to be introduced. Ayato follows his example, watching your grinning face, filing away every single detail about it - the sparkles in your eyes, the rosiness of your cheeks, that adorable wrinkling of your nose when the girls say something cheesy, and the pure happiness written all over your visage.
“Oh, Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again after so long! So much happened…”
“Yes! We totally should discuss every single event! But I offer to start by introducing us and our husbands.”
“One of you got married?” You ask surprised. “I know that only one of you got recently engaged-”
“Me! But the wedding is so soon, that I already call him my husband, hehe. Oh, we brought the wedding invitation for you and your husband as well, I hope you two will make it!”
“Girls, girls, let’s calm down,” you laugh, pausing them and gesturing to the two men silently observing you - both pairs of eyes shining with admiration. “Ayato, my dear, I want you to meet my friends I’ve told you so much about…”
Your husband hears familiar names, ones he’s remembered long ago, and nods in recognition, offering each a kiss on the back of their hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet people my beloved holds in high regard.”
“Likewise,” they giggle, giving you teasing looks about how gentlemanly your spouse is, and you roll your eyes, but a smile tugging on your lips doesn’t go unnoticed.
“And I’ll take an opportunity to introduce our companion,” one of the women says, stepping closer to her fiance and offering everyone his name and a slight description of his field of work, to which Ayato hums with interest.
“And these,” your other friend gestures to you and your husband, “are Kamisato Ayato and-”
“Wife.”
Everyone falls silent and looks at you with confusion. You yourself are stunned, eyes slightly widened and heart skipping a beat. The word really just flew out of your mouth faster when you could think about it.
“Excuse me?” Your friend gapes at you, and suddenly it clicks. This spontaneous reaction, caused by your unspoken desire, presents you with a perfect opportunity. You finally can get “revenge” on your husband.
“That’s what I said, sweety,” with a smirk and boosting confidence you glance at Ayato and meet his lilac eyes, staring at you with a hint of amusement. “I am this marvelous man’s wife. You know, 'Kamisato Y/n' is way too long to pronounce. So, maybe just a wife instead?”
The silence reigns again, with the three of your guests clearly being in stupor and your husband observing you with an unreadable expression. But suddenly he laughs. Joyfully and sincerely, it plucks on the strings of your crazily beating heart. Instantly there are arms wrapping around your waist and lips pressed against your temple, and you can feel the smile he hides in your hair.
“Yes, that’s right… This remarkable woman is my wife. Most incredible and lovely wife.”
Turning your head slightly you manage to catch a soft blush dusting his porcelain skin, before he faces away from you. Oh Archons, he loves it and he is bashful!
As you fully turn in his embrace and start teasing him, loud enough for only the man to hear (you are not that cruel to embarrass him in front of people), your guests' existence is forgotten for a moment. Both girls sigh and look at the completely lost man, whose hand his future wife takes and rubs a thumb over his knuckles.
“Ah… Please, don’t mind that. She always had a strange sense of humor, and it seems that her husband only enabled it.”
That is true, but you look genuinely happy, so they can bear a week of occasional cringing.
Diluc
The annual harvest celebration has been a tradition in the Ragnvindr family for as long as the Dawn Winery existed. When Master Crepus was alive, it was hosted in the grand mansion with spacious halls and intricately decorated staircases, the one Diluc used to call his home. Guests would gather, wine bars would be uncorked and red liquid fill dozens of glasses, as he and Kaeya would curiously watch the adults interact, sneaking out of their rooms to spy from the hiding spots they knew so well.
But not anymore. Gone were the days of careless happiness he calls the past now, gone his father, gone the mansion, and gone his desire for active social interaction. It's been some years since his return and the sale of the mansion in attempts to run away from said past. The celebration came to a stop for as long as he was gone and then while he tended to re-establishing the business after arrival.
The Dawn Winery, despite all the maids and winemakers, would become so quiet. And it's not like he stayed there for long too - he was always somewhere, preoccupied by something.
That is until his life was shaken and turned upside down, and all by the hands of one single person. The person, who brought light back to his dark crimson eyes, who made him stop and think about how he can not just exist, but live, and happily so, waiting for every opportunity possible to be in the loving presence; the person who brought out that part of him he buried deep down in his graveyard of a soul, and gave it freedom to be again. The home actually started feeling like one, not a building he had a study and a bedroom in, but a place he could share with another, basking in the long-forgotten sensations, having his heart dance jigs and face soften in a tender gaze.
Many changes occurred, and, with some encouragement, he decided to bring back the tradition his father held in high regard, with only his sons' birthdays being more important to the late wine master.
The Winery is not as big as the family mansion used to be, but it is still enough space, with some of the furniture moved and the floor cleared, it can host many people. Besides, there is always a lovely outside with benches, and tables, and chairs, and it seems that Barbatos is kind to you, sending delightful weather as his gift.
Diluc is not a fan of social gatherings, however, he couldn't help but feel giddy when Adelinde exclaimed in elation at the prospect, be rather content when he saw happy smiles of the citizens - it's been a while since any proper celebration, and the monster rampage last month has been keeping everyone in a gloomy mood, and most importantly - he couldn't betray the trust and confidence his wife put into him.
…right. His wife. The ending to his reputation of the most eligible bachelor (not like he ever cared for the title), and the talk of the town for the past couple of weeks. Diluc Ragnvindr is a rather private man, and upon mutual agreement the wedding was private as well, with only few attending, and those few knew how to keep their mouths shut till the right time came. Or not, since one Cavalry Captain loves getting on the redhead's nerves and spilling some beans to the people who are willing to listen, and then not saying another word to create an intrigue.
So yes, this celebration is also a way to finally introduce the owner of the Dawn Winery's wife to the public, and put an end to all the speculations and maybe seal some lips that spew hatred towards the 'lucky woman', and there are a number of those.
You haven't been taking your eyes off the small group of nobles, standing almost in the middle of the first floor hall, loudly discussing the matter, inevitably drawing the attention of the ones not involved in the conversation, but standing rather close to them.
"I am telling you, she must be some dirty little thing, seducing our poor Master Diluc," the raven-haired tall man claims, elegantly holding a glass of dandelion wine in his long fingers. With his white and black clothes he reminds you of a dalmatian. Barking is almost identical too.
"You are right! She must be some commoner, too ashamed to show her face. If she was of a noble origin, the wedding would be grand and public," ah, and this bear-like looking man… you remember him - he was very active in trying to arrange a marriage of a very uninterested Diluc and his 17-year old daughter. You almost grimace at the thought.
"Oh yes! And we all know, that such well-known and ancient family as Ragnvindrs ought to have one of the noble daughters getting married into it," it is the first time you see this dramatically dressed woman, but even so you would've doubled in boisterous laughter if not the pretty dress Adelinde helped you lace an hour ago, that could potentially be ruined with the drink in your own glass.
You will yourself to tune them off for a moment and check on other guests. It quickly becomes clear that this conversation makes them uncomfortable. Some manage to entertain you though, by making fun of those nobles, parodying the pompous manner of their talking and snickering at that. 
Nevertheless, one shall put an end to this idiocy.
"Afternoon, good sirs and ma'ams," the group direct their gazes at you, approaching them with a polite smile and a glass absent from your hand. "I've caught pieces of your conversation earlier, and couldn't help, but feel concerned."
The derogatory gaze the woman throws your way doesn't go unnoticed, but you simply choose to ignore it.
"Is that so?" The 'Dalmatian' hums, as if condescendingly. "Are you worried about Master Diluc as well, young lady? Such compassion is admirable."
"Oh, I hardly worry about Diluc," some eyes widen at your lack of his title acknowledgement, but you once again ignore it. "I am concerned about you. You know it's bad manners to berate a person in their own house? I'd really advise you to stop talking, especially about the matter you seem to know nothing about. Not to make bigger fools of yourselves at least."
"How dare you-" the woman you haven't heard talking before, but saw her nodding a lot, with those huge feathers in her hair waving with each tilt of her head, starts gasping because of your 'insult'. "How dare you speak to us like that! A servant must stay silent until asked to open their mouth!"
"I am not a servant here, nor anywhere else," the assumption doesn't surprise you, since all the maids were allowed to wear pretty outfits even while doing their job - after all it was a celebration honoring them as well, they help the Winery keep running.
"When who in the Archon's name are you-?"
"Y/n Ragnvindr," a deep soothing voice rings behind you, so loud and clear, that it immediately shuts all the sounds in the room. 
Your lips curl in a wider smile, all the while holding the bewildered gaze of the woman who decided to pick a fight with you.
"Yes, dear?" His chest is now against your back and a hand, clad in a white glove, reaches for yours. "Are you done with welcoming our partners from Liyue?"
"Of course," the back of your hand is brought to his lips to leave a chaste kiss there, and only then you turn your head and catch a dangerous glint in those blood-colored eyes. He is pissed, but neutral face hardly betrays him. "I see we have a problem here."
"Mhm," you hum, not letting go of his hand and looking back at the tensed individuals, who were bad-mouthing you just minutes ago. "It surely isn't how we planned to reveal our marriage, but the situation called for it, I suppose."
"L-lady Ragnvindr, we didn't know-"
"Can these people be escorted out?" Your question interrupts her harshly, making her flinch. "They disturb other guests, and clearly do not know basic rules of respect."
"My dear wife," you can practically feel menace radiating off of his body, and voice dripping with smugness, "no need to ask me. That's your house as much as it's mine, and you contributed so much into organizing this event. So don't be shy to make your own decision."
"Well then," your smile gets even sweeter, contrary to your eyes that burn holes in their distasteful figures, "Get out."
Kaeya
"Hey pretty tits, hic! Argh, you come here often?"
You wouldn't think that a question like this was addressed to you, if the heavily smelling of alcohol man wasn't occupying the bar stool to your right, leaning forward in your direction. You slightly turn your head and suspiciously watch the swinging glass in his trembling hand, half full and threatening to spill the dark liquid. He really had too much tonight.
"...was that supposed to be a compliment?" 
Leaning back to avoid any unfortunate outcome, you give him an unamused look, finished with an arched brow. From the corner of your eye you can't help but notice Charles staring at the man. It is nice to know your good acquaintance doesn't ignore the possible trouble a drunkard can cause another customer.
But you can handle it.
"It was!" He exclaims so happily, childishly proud that you acknowledged the fact. Should you tell him he sucks at it? And that there is only one man whose drunk flirty compliments you'll ever accept, and even in a state like that he would manage to be good, putting a smile on your face? Right now though, the urge to grimace is stronger.
"...thanks," I suppose?. "And yes, I come here often to spend the evening with my partner."
At that his face visibly falls and you turn away, assuming it is enough to cut the conversation short, and concentrate on savoring your first drink of the evening. You ordered it while waiting for one particular Cavalry Captain, and even though it's not strange for him to come later due to astronomically fast piling up paperwork, today he seems to be particularly busy. Maybe you should purchase a bottle and come to his quarters?
Just before you could do just that, there is a hand sliding over your right hip and a hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. You don't even flinch or freeze, recognizing the alluring presence immediately and leaning back into the firmness of his chest.
"You are late, Kaeya."
A soft chuckle and a kiss to the temple make it pretty clear that the azure-haired man cracked your fake rebuke on the spot, knowing that you are not one bit angry at him, but actually really happy to finally have him here.
"I apologize, princess," another kiss, this time to your cheek, "work's been a bit tough. But I am glad to finally be here with my woman."
"Youuurr?"
Ah, you completely forgot about the drunkard to your right.
Turning to look at Kaeya's reaction, you are stricken by the star-shaped pupil gazing right at you - he hasn't even glanced in the other man's direction, instead fixated on you completely. And that is making wonders to your poor heart.
"Who's that, snowflake?" His tone holds curiosity, but you know your lover, and you know when he is ready to be an ass. You shouldn't encourage this, however…
You'd love to see Kaeya Alberich tell the suitor off for you.
"No idea. But he said I have pretty tits."
He hums at that.
"True, but I would've aimed for that delicious butt. I am a simple man, after all."
You barely slap his hand in time, not nearly as drunk to start touching each other right here and right now. At your jab in his ribs he simply laughs heartily, settling his palm back onto your hip and momentarily redirecting his attention to the troublemaker who's been staring at you two throughout the whole exchange.
"You are not from here, are you?"
Only when your lover says that, do you decide to take in the other man's appearance. Indeed, if you were to look longer at him (not like you were interested) it would be easy to guess Fontaine as his land of origin.
"And what?" He straightens his back and puffs his chest as if trying to intimidate. What a rooster. "Does it prevent me from pursuing a pretty woman from another region?"
Oh, so now it's not simply one flirting remark, but a full-blown pursuit? How troublesome.
"Oh no, no, of course not," honey is dripping off those pretty lips, pulled into a smirk. "It's just that otherwise you'd know it's a bad tone to hit on someone's ex-girlfriend."
Confusion appears on the pursuer's face and you look inquiringly at Kaeya as well. The only answer you get is a wink and a mouthed request to order him a drink. Still perplexed, you nevertheless turn to Charles and ask him to make the Cavalry Captain the usual. 
Meanwhile the man pulls his thoughts together.
"It's stupid! If she is your ex, then how does it not give me the right to date her? Ridiculous. Why do you even hold her like that!?"
The shouting gathers attention from other patrons - some were invested almost from the beginning, seeing how that unknown man tried to make a move on you, and snickering behind their mugs of alcohol at his unawareness of your relationship. 
And Kaeya is all for the show. Many eyes watch as an elegant hand wraps around the glass of his favorite drink and brings it to the silent lips. It feels like everyone stopped breathing and the silence is pressuring, like a string ready to snap and reveal some shocking truth. You, on the other hand, roll your eyes at the male's love for theatrics and put an elbow onto the counter and lean your cheek into your open palm. This is going to be crushing, you almost feel sorry for the guy.
When the Cavalry Captain takes the third sip and sighs in delight - then, and only then, - he looks dead into the other man's eyes, so oppressively that he shrinks under the weight of this cold gaze.
"Maybe because she is my wife?"
If it was physically possible, the drunkard's jaw would hit the floor. The glass, he's been holding just seconds ago, however, follows its destiny, breaking from the impact with floorboards and ruining the prolonged silence and earning a grunt from the barman.
"S-she's what?"
"His wife," you raise your hand and show the ring, getting quite tired and wanting to save at least some of this man's dignity. "So, if you could, please, let us two have our date night. Uninterrupted."
Finally it seems to have him sobered up a little and he starts profusely apologizing to you, to Kaeya, to Charles, to Barbatos and Focalors, while digging his porch with mora out to pay for his drinks and minor damage he caused.
When he stumbles outside and the other patrons stop following the drama, you turn to a contently sipping on his wine Kaeya, who is excelling the nastiest grin on his face.
"Ex-girlfriend? Seriously? That's how you call your wife now?"
"Well, technically I am not wrong, right? Since you are not my girlfriend anymore," he shrugs his shoulders, finishing the last few gulps and putting the glass back onto the counter. 
"Then the next time we meet new people I will introduce you as my ex-boyfriend. What? Technically you are," having his own words being thrown into his face makes Kaeya laugh, and he hugs you tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth.
"Deal. But only once, to make it even. I enjoy being called your husband way more."
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pwncez · 1 month
Text
꒰ྀི 𝒲𝐻𝐼𝒫𝒫𝐸𝒟 𝒞𝑅𝐸𝒜𝑀 ꒱ྀི
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꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 3.8kay word count , fem reader , daddy kink , oral sex [ r. receiving ] , könig punches someone , pet name usage [ reader callz him koo , könig callz her little one , little girl , princess ] , mentions of reader bein physically smaller than him , pussy wedgie , creaming + squirting , size kink ? i dunno , he gets kind of jealous + possessive . .
𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓀 . . . jus take dis ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა . hvnt posted anythin in like , ovaaaa a month so 🧁 ennnnjoi ! ! Minors + Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch ! ! ! ! !
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“sechsundachtzig . siebenundachtzig . achtundachtzig.”
you’re a sweet girl.
you know this. he knows this — everyone knows this. doesn’t mean that he necessarily likes just how chasmal your warmth and comity goes, but, könig supposes he can’t complain. he won’t complain. it was the very thing that drew him to you . . no, rather, wrenched him in to you. the sound of your laughter, a gentle, pleasant thing in which a cute snort, an eccentric titter counterbalances near the end of. it’s obvious that you may have gotten teased for it during your early years because it’s never overly loud, you snap your hand up to your nose and determinedly guard a pretty, gleeful gleam with your fingers before it can expel fully into the air, and könig will be honest, he’s not anything if he’s not an honest man, if there’s anything that he loathes about you, it’s that . . only that.
he’s seen you giggle at fawning children, an aberrant one liner he’d retort underneath the tide of his breath, from your favorite movie’s dialogue — he’s never really seen you give that cute, quirky huff of a snort anywhere else however, until tonight.
the annual modern military association gala.
“too many people,” he grumbled into that warm twill of skin beneath your neck the night before — that area that smells most like you, unrefined of perfume and lotions scented of gilded iris and praline amber, but just you. “fuck no.”
you had given him a short whine and clutched tighter onto the index finger of his hand that laid directly upon the area of your womb with a small fist, “they’re decorating you though — you’re gettin’ three medals koo’, y’gotta go.”
fuck the medals. ornate and encrusted with gold and silver, admired and respected for shoving a bk-1 claymore into the sweat ridden flesh of another soldier or bulling the barrel of 98k sniper rifle past their teeth until the slimy pads of their tongues got corded inside of the cable of their throat — könig likes to watch that split second of panic fill their eyes, gives him an refreshing kick of adrenaline, before his index finger is pulling back the trigger and making brains splatter against the canvas of a wall . . . a picasso of red and pink, no, a könig. made uniquely by him, for him, not anyone else.
getting a medal for doing so, sure, he’ll take it, however, not in front of six hundred people. ridiculous.
but, he’s forced to — by you and the general.
he’s forced to stand beside you and hear the incredulous whispers of his colleagues’ wives and friends ask if ‘that’s him?’ ‘is that really him?’
“he’s the one that . . — oh, oh wow.”
“jesus f. christ, why does he look like that?”
“you don’t talk to him, honey, right? do you?”
then there’s you. sweet, precious you. you remain a step ahead of him at all times, his own, select, darling bodyguard. your head reaches his mid torso, the difference span of his fingers against yours racks up to about three inches, and you’d probably tip over with the weight of it if he were to let you hold one of his guns but, you’re cute. you squeal and clap, bouncing on the tip of your toes after his medals are collected, outstretching your arms for him until he’s there, blanketed, within your embrace.
you give him a small kiss, a treasured one, over the fabric of his veil and murmur that you’re proud of him, you’re happy for him. and really, fuck the medals, they don’t compare to you. not by a long shot.
könig’s ready to go, and you see no point in staying after he’s gotten his praise, nevertheless, you’re stopped right before exiting through the doors.
by some fucking . . rookie — his name is something stupid. lars . . . lester . . laird. könig recognizes him sometimes on the field. he’s not bad, but he’s not good neither. the greens of his eyes twinkle when he looks at you. he congratulates könig, compliments his work, says something fairly funny because you give a giggle. könig notices it, but he doesn’t think you do, laird seems to like that — your laugh, that is. because he quips something else and you giggle a little louder, give that precious snort near the tail of it. shrewdness frays the edges of his smile . . it begins to teeter the blurred line of flirtation and könig feels the familiar skip of his heart. it starts to hammer against the cage of his ribs, sends his mouth dampening with an influx of saliva.
“—but i’m sure you’re used to it right? colonel here always gone, gets lonely, no?”
his inquiry makes you give a small hum. you genuinely seem to think about it. “sometimes. but i know he’ll always be right back,” you lean back into him after answering. könig’s a pillar — a man carven of stone. to establish a boundary, a strong arm circles around your hip . . his forearm rests within the sink of your waist, drawing attention to the flowing silk of your evening gown. it’s pink and flowing with a thigh high slit and cowl neck. könig waits . . and he waits, until he sees it — the flicker.
with the weight of his arm, your dress obeys the laws of gravity and the neckline dips a little lower, flaunting off the crease that splits your plump tits into two.
laird asks another question and waits until you hum again and lift your eyes up towards the ceiling to ponder an answer before his own gale down to take a small peek.
könig thanks him — truly, he does. he gives him a reason to draw both his arms back. his left, the one holding you rotates behind himself so that you’re shielded behind the great expanse of his shoulders and to protect you from the few feeble splatters of blood that shoot out into the air and onto könig’s cloak after his right arm ricochets back forward with enough strength to rival a bullet bouncing off of steel. the sound of knuckles colliding with a nose bridge is loud — soft music is screeched to a halt, the entire venue goes silent.
with a quiet spout, “dummer hurensohn,” könig takes hold of your hand and steps from over laird’s unconscious body, uncaring if a heavy boot knocks against the side of his head as he does so. your heels quickly pitpat after his strides, and weirdly, you’re quiet. you remain silent on the drive home, when you both step over the threshold, when you shower together, and as könig rubs an exfoliating sponge across the scope of your body. you don’t speak and könig doesn’t make you. he lowers himself up then down on the pull-up bar, muttering his count with each one. he sees you, seated upon your shared bed, both legs laid down and folded at the knee, soles of your feet pressed up against one another. you thumb with the dangling chain of your gold anklet, twirling it around and ‘round your little finger, prior to letting it go for just a second, then doing it again.
he keeps staring at you — your face is blank, eyes dim, muscles relaxed.
then the plump cushion of your bottom lip starts to billow.
“awh, no, no, no.”
it’s a demand.
mightily, he falls down onto his feet and is at the bed in two long strides. you’re still pouting when he leans down, swoops a sturdy arm underneath the bend of your knees and at your lower back. he takes a seat, you upon his lap, and like a babe, he holds you so, “no pouting. kein schmollen.” he touches it, with one large, scarred finger — delicately presses upon your lip, as if it were a peds candy dispenser, capable of slotting back to its normal shape.
“you shouldn’t have hit him, könig.”
“i did what needed to be done.”
“he’s probably dead.”
behind a hood of ink, eyes of blue waves glimmer with relish — akin to the golden rays of the sun against the foamy brine. “mm.” he says nothing more.
you huff and straighten yourself out until you’re seated upright, facing him and legs spread around his hips. “this is serious. what if you get fired?”
there it is — a smile. a big one. it creases the corner of his eyes. he stares at you as if you were but a wiseacre child, thinking you know everything. “not going to happen, kleine.”
“mm.” it’s your turn now. you look away from him, still frowning, still pouty.
könig doesn’t understand. why are you upset? his mouth twists in a firm scowl, “. . . looked at your tits. stupid fucker — i’d do it again,” he bites out.
“hittin’ him doesn’t make it right.”
“don’t care.” huffing, he looks down at your breasts himself. yeah, he can see why laird gravitated towards you. they’re pretty . . sit nice and full, even with no support. you wear just a camisole and shorts to bed tonight, both are textured with some sort of scallop fabric, and laced with pink along the edges with a bow threaded snug in the middle of the top trim. könig palms one and you give a small inquiring croon. when he starts to roll it within his heavy paw is when you go to smack his hand away. “no,” you grumble.
“ ‘s my tits,” he grouches in reply, lifting his hood a few inches above his lips. lowering his head, he then begins to suckle a line of wet, tongue filled kisses along the globes of them. “not yours, neither.”
“y’so,” your back curves in and you grasp for balance with your hands on his knees when he sharply tugs your camisole down so that they spill from over it and into his awaiting mouth and hands. “so mean, koo’.”
“es ist mir egal.” i don’t care.
he doesn’t get you. you’re nice, too fucking nice. you confuse him, bewitch him, mystify him, entrap him in your hold, your smile, your voice, your touch. he engulfs his mouth around your nipple — nearly devours your entire tit. it’s as though he’s trying to swallow you whole, you wouldn’t doubt that he is. you mewl as he frees it from his lips with a slick pop. he doesn’t even swallow his tongue back inside of his mouth, like a weir, saliva drips from the tip of it as he pants and hauls it over to your other breast to lave it across the opposite nipple. it’s soft, puffy . . cute. “mm,” you sigh and with a hand, coast it underneath his hood, scratching your nails across the short strands of hair near the nape of his neck. “b-be . . more . . nice.”
again, he pops off to murmur one word — a gruff “no.”
the fucking nerve of that guy. the nerve of you. there isn’t a person you belong to on this earth that isn’t solely him. könig’s put a lot of work into this, a lot of long nights and even longer days, trying to better the more worse parts of himself, all in efforts to have you. he’ll be damned if some rookie, some fucktwat of an amateur attempts to come in and mess it all up — innocent flirting or not. “my tits,” he shifts, turns on his side, lets you fall back against the bed with him atop of you. “my ass. my pussy. all of you, mine.”
his fingers find the crotch of your shorts. he slips them underneath the fabric at your mound until it squidges into a slim line and fits between the fat, pudgy lips of your cunt. your gasp is quiet, reflexes forces you to lift your legs up and hold them at the knees. “mmm,” he grunts at the sight and with his opposite index finger, stokes it quickly from left to right across the chubby skin of them, watching how your pussy jiggles and quivers. “pudgy. fett.” fat.
warmth whelms the surface of your cheeks, “you’re gross,” you whimper.
he knows.
decent, refined men don’t smack pussy just to watch it bounce off of their palm. they don’t lean their head down and make out with a clothed clit, suckle and nibble on labias until they’re a second away from nutting in their sleep bottoms. you’re a whiny thing — hiccuping and whimpering, pulling at his hood until it goes askew. it’s always sudden . . . you never know when he’s going to take it off because könig doesn’t ever know himself. he realizes that he needs to tonight though, if he wants to eat you out the way he wants to, fuck you the way he wants to, he needs all obscurities out of the way.
it’s torn off and tossed upon the lamp on the nightstand.
he hears you give a little coo of happiness. you’re tugging on him harder now, wrapping your legs around his neck, curling your pretty toes against his shoulders. “greedy thing,” a finger probes against the hole of your cunt through the fabric of these tiny, little sleep shorts. “feels good?” he drags it up to your clit then back down, pressure firm.
you inhale, eyes closed, palms weakly cupping your tits, “mhm.”
you’re so sweet. you’re so good. you need a man like him by your side . . someone a little bit more mean, more rough and vile. balances out, no? that’s how it goes. opposites attract and what not. könig knows he needs you, too.
when you relax again, he takes that split chance to pop another firm smack against your pussy, knocking you out of that space of contentment. you wince and give another sweet whine and really, okay, he’ll stop. tugs your shorts to the side, slips his tongue right where you need him most. he swallows the horribly sweet sap of your love within the back of his throat — fucks his tongue sloppily inside that little hole, splits it open, forces it to gape and take, take, take. the bulbous knob of his crooked nose knocks against your clit as he does, he makes sure to sway his head from side to side occasionally, nuzzles, makes sure she gets some well needed attention, too.
“o-oh,” your voice is stuck in your throat. you keep trying to speak but they sound like little squeals. “oh g— . . oh god.”
“mm ,” he coarsly murmurs. “süsse muschi . . rub it, princess. rub it on m’tongue.”
you know what he wants you to do. you’ve both done this before.
your legs fall, feet planted flat against the bed, and you rise to your toes and lift your hips when he elevates his head an inch then keeps it still. könig lets you do the work, makes you stroke your pussy across the open plane of his wide, long tongue, up and down. already so delirious — your mouth is brimmed with drool, eyes closed, you work shyly at first . . slow and careful, “h-hah,” you breathe, quiet and tender. “daddy . . mm, d-daddy.”
when he closes his mouth to swallow, he lets his lips enclose around your clit, nice and tight. “mmmm,” you whimper and push yourself faster, holding onto his hands that he gives for stability. “d-don’ stop . . koo, don’stop.”
“i won’t,” he breathes. he needs your cum on his tongue just as bad as you want to give it. with an extended opened mouth comes an immoderate amount of drool — it dribbles off of it, makes your pussy that much more of a mess, the sounds are disgusting. wet and slick, slimy and thick. “mmph . . fühlt sich gut . . . no? pussy’s crying,” the volume of his voice is but a mere rumble, he’s cautious of you, doesn’t want to fuck up your pace too much. “needs cock in her.”
your tummy trembles. your nails, layered with smooth acrylic, long, and sharp, burrow inside the stoutness of his flesh and soon, you’re cumming — thighs quivering and pussy creaming onto the welcoming mat of his tongue. he groans, you sob. “yeah, good girl,” fiercely, he swallows it, licks into you for more, similar to the way a person would bury their tongue inside of a canister for more meringue. “good girl, good girl.”
you fall flat onto your back and he’s on you without another second lost. sweat shorts are kicked down strong thighs and soon his hands are parting your legs wide enough to accommodate his stature. “ptuh.” you watch him spit . . marvel the mostly healed scar that runs about four inches diagonally across the thin skin of his lips flex as he does so. he polishes it across the thick, long column of his cock, smooths the pre cum down, cups his balls, “mm, keep still.”
one of your legs is thrown across the ridge of könig’s shoulders, the other remains pinned to the mattress. you watch as he strokes his cock between your lips, dowsing it with his saliva and your cream. “filthy, lil’ pussy . . cock hungry, isn’t she?”
you react to his words — clench and another ripple of slick blesses the tip of his cock. at his responding chortle, you cover your face and shake your head, “könig.”
“ja, ja . . i know. papa knows.”
when he first pushes into you, you groan and turn your face away to pull the fabric of the comforter between your teeth. big. so big. too big. his face dips in low in order to bury it against your neck and in him doing so, he effectively bends your leg back further against your shoulder — god, it burns. he doesn’t stop. he sheaths himself in, nice and deep . . basking in warm, gummy tightness. he feels at home. “oh f-fuck,” you sound about two seconds away from crying, soft, sweet voice thin and warbled. “ungh.” he suddenly slams in the last inch, lets his fat, woolly balls plop against your winking hole, indulges in the pulsing rigged cordage of your insides. “god, yes. fuck, yes,” he rolls his hips, nice and slow and this is where you melt and finally give in. “yes, yes, yes.” könig saves lovemaking for special occasions. anniversaries, your birthday . . veterans day.
he can never help his instincts — the ones that demand him to fuck and fuck and breed. with his weight, he keeps you still after his hips pick up an immediate, smooth, quick momentum.
god it’s so good. you feel so good.
his balls plap against the soft skin of your ass and he keeps you still with only a hand. he’s so big, in every sense of the word.
“f-fuck,” you sob, arm thrown across the back of his neck, face buried in the crook of it. “deep . . daddy— . . shit, awe.”
könig thinks of how pretty you are. how sweet you are, how kind, and precious and dear. he thinks of the looks you’re prone to receiving each time you step out of the house, how much you love him. “like that, eh?” he asks quietly, reaching a hand down and away to let it firmly fall back onto your ass. he smacks it again and again. “feels good for m’kleine, mm?”
your toes crack when they curl, it nearly hurts. “y-yeah,” you squeak beneath shallow breaths. “k-könig, please.” you don’t know what exactly you’re pleading for — him to slow down? no, you’re already on the brink of something phenomenal. you need him closer, you think. he’s already as close as can be, both your sets of tits pressed up against one another but, you need him even closer. you squeeze him tighter.
“muschi’s . . sloppy,” he huffs a heavy breath. “hear her? — n-nice an’ wet. ekelhaft.” disgusting.
the headboard pounds ceaselessly against the wall. you lift your hips, beginning to meet him halfway, making your pussy swallow him to the base. könig groans out a loud sound — similar to a snarl. “yes, yes, yes — good, little fuckin’ pussy . .”
the both of you feel you creaming — making a hell of a mess. it smears across the front of his balls, drips down the puckered button of your ass.
his breath is against your ear and yours against his. you whimper and cry and squeak. he pants and huffs and groans. the air seems vapid. you can’t suck in enough, even though you try your hardest.
his cock is fat, your pussy lips are fatter. they split far apart to take all that he provides and it leaves open access to the throbbing, wet nub of your clit which the thick patch of his pubes stroke against. “good girl,” he groans. “good, little girl — mm, jus’ give it . . give papa yr’cum. make me a mess.”
your eyes lift on their own accord — they lift and then they cycle back inside of your skull when you feel the fat mushroomy tip of his dick kiss the sensitive ridge of your cervix . . once, twice, thrice. “uungh god,” you breathe. you’re completely out of it, voice gone, brain empty, breath lost. he adores you like this and you know it. there isn’t another reason that’d make sense as to why he’d be fucking you this way. “m gonna . . d-daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you sound scared almost, as though you’re fearful of it. so, könig kicks it into high gear — maintains his pace though implements a pivot of his hips with each stroke in to caress his cock across that tender of nerves angled near the roof of your squelching cunt.
that’s enough for your legs to seize, for your back to arch, arms squeeze that much tighter around him. forthwith, his cock is forcibly pushed out of your cunt with a lewd ‘pop!’ as a vulgar scene of liquid is gushed from out of your gaping, little hole. “aaaahh.” he drags it out through a low chuckle and taps his tip within the mess, willing more of it out. “mm, there it is. there we fuckin’ go.” he’s pushing himself back in before it completely diminishes — fucks you with more vigor, more strength. you’re so sensitive. tremble all over, bite onto your own fingers to muffle your squeals and blubbering of overstimulation.
“ja,” he heaves. “ready for it? . . gonna . . j-ja, fuck.”
with firm circles of his hips, könig presses himself up flushed against you, soon allowing his cock to erupt eight, long jets of cum deep inside your womb. “hng . . . mein gott.” my god. his dick swells with the influx of it, balls jump in time with each one that gets released and buried inside the warm depths that is you. and he doesn’t even stop there — continues to slowly sway his hips back and forth, as if he were trying to work it in deep, make sure it sticks. you feel the product of his love, of his adoration, and care, and sweetness. it’s thick and hot, white and runny . . dribbles out of your battered pussy when he pulls out with enough slowness to rival molasses off a spoon — seems like it hadn’t wanted to leave. he kisses you and you kiss him back, weak though enthusiastic. you feel how tight he holds you and he doesn’t have to say it because you know it regardless. mine.
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roosterforme · 3 months
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Sundays Are for the Boys | Hangman x Reader
Summary: Football Sundays are a sacred tradition amongst Jake and his friends, and he's quick to make sure you know that. But when the boys discover your favorite drink in the refrigerator, Jake makes an exception to his rule.
Warnings: Fluff, language, a tiny bit of smut, 18+
Length: 2600 words
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader
Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Written for Pick Your Poison! Banner by @thedroneranger
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Dating Jake came with one firm rule: Sundays were for watching football with the guys. 
"I mean it," he'd told you months ago when you first started dating him. "I host every week. They come over around ten when the games start, and they don't leave until after the last game ends. No wives. No girlfriends. Just a cooler filled with cheap beer. Sundays are for the boys."
At the time, you thought it was cute that he wanted to spend the day with his friends. "That's adorable," you told him, kissing his cheek. But by the time football season arrived, Jake was already in his Dallas Cowboys jersey, shaking you awake on Sunday morning at nine.
"It's almost game time, Baby. The guys will be here soon."
You looked up at him from his bed with a little smirk. "You're really into this, huh?" 
He kissed your forehead and started to pull you to your feet as you laughed. "It's a thing. I told you this months ago." He patted your bare butt as you looked around for your clothes from the night before. "It's week one, and the Cowboys play the Eagles in the early game. I love putting Payback in a bad mood."
You kissed him before you slipped your underwear on. "I know you do."
He was antsy, and you knew he wanted you to leave, but you also knew he didn't want to say it as he kissed you over and over again. "Baby, you gotta go," he finally whispered as you smiled against his lips. 
"I know, I know," you replied, still amused as you finished getting dressed and packed up your stuff. "Go Cowboys."
Each week, your relationship progressed, but this little routine stayed the same. Jake would inevitably wake you up by nine if you weren't already up. He would be wearing one of his many Dallas Cowboys jerseys. He would walk you out to your car and tell you how much he loved you before you left him to entertain his friends. 
But one Sunday, you woke him up with a blowjob on his birthday. And you took your time with it. Did you have a bit of an ulterior motive? Sure. But it didn't detract from the fact that you wanted him to enjoy himself, and you certainly made sure he did. He was coming hard at exactly 9:42 with his hand on the back of your head and his cock tapping your throat. 
"Oh, fuck!" he groaned. "Fuck!" 
You licked him clean and grinned up at him before kissing his hip and whispering, "I love you, birthday boy." Then you climbed out of bed, kissed his lips and started to get dressed. "It's almost ten. I'll head out."
You saw him waver a bit before he nodded. Then his doorbell rang, and you just knew it would be the guys starting to arrive. He kissed you deeply one more time before pulling on his blue and gray jersey and some gym shorts. "Take your time getting dressed. I'll go let them in."
"Sounds good," you replied. And twenty minutes later, after you'd fixed your hair and put on the tiniest bit of makeup, you waltzed out into the living room where there were now six guys spread out on Jake's sectional couch with an open cooler of beer on ice in the middle of the floor and bags of chips seemingly everywhere. 
It was kind of fascinating, getting to catch a glimpse of this carefully curated world that he worked so hard to keep private. Your plan was to quietly sneak out the front door, but you had to stifle your laughter as you heard Bradley tell your boyfriend, "Your Cowboys look like a bunch of fucking pussies this week."
"You're one to talk, dipshit," Jake replied without missing a beat. "The Steelers are 2 and 4." He went back to sipping his beer.
"Both of you are delusional," Coyote told them as he cracked open a can and shoved a fistful of chips into his mouth. 
You skirted around the outside of the room as you eyed them in their various colorful jerseys while you thought they were completely focused on the game. Then you heard Fanboy call your name. "You're leaving?" he asked, looking at you as he ate some beef jerky.
"Yeah," you said with a little laugh as Jake got up to peck you on the cheek. "You know, Sundays are for the boys and all that."
Just then, the Cowboys scored a touchdown, and Jake hoisted you up in the air as you screeched in surprise. Half of the guys groaned, and half of them cheered, but your boyfriend held you tight as he tossed aside his empty beer can and said, "You can't leave until they kick the extra point." So you just stayed there, your feet not even touching the ground as Jake held his breath, and then the Cowboys went up by one more point. Then Jake walked you to your car, nipping at your neck the entire way.
"Don't you have to get back inside?" you whispered as he filthy kissed you, pressing you against the driver's side door. 
"I will," he grunted. "Feel like you're my lucky charm right now."
He kissed away all your lip gloss and messed up your makeup, but when you finally drove away, you had a smile on your face.
------------------------
"What are these things?" Reuben called from the kitchen. Jake turned to see what he was holding up.
"High Noons," he replied before focusing back on the game. "My girl's obsessed with them. It's like a fancy hard seltzer."
"Can I try one?"
"Yeah," Jake told him, knowing he'd just replace them later for you. 
Javy was currently sitting on the floor, practically in tears as the Saints gave up another touchdown to the Dolphins. Mickey's loud cheering had everyone else laughing. "Dude, you'll lose your voice again like last week," Bradley told him as he accidentally spilled potato chips all over the floor before picking them up and eating them anyway. 
"It'll be worth it if the Saints lose!" Mickey cheered. 
"Hey, what's that?" Bradley asked Reuben as he chugged the High Noon can and belched. "Some sort of girly shit?"
"Yeah, it's fucking good."
A minute later, everyone was drinking them, including Jake. "This is delicious," Bob muttered.
"For real," Reuben agreed. "Your girl has good taste."
Bradley snorted as he opened another can. "Not in guys." He and Reuben started cracking up at Jake's expense while he rolled his eyes. 
Then Javy was on his hands and knees crawling toward the TV and shouting, "Get him! Get him! That's a fucking sack! Fuck you, Fanboy! Fuck you, dude!"
The room was in chaos as Javy ground the potato chip crumbs into the carpet. When Jake's phone vibrated, he saw it was a text from you and realized he kind of wished you were here right now.
I miss you. Are you having fun with the boys?
He smiled as he checked the time. The Cowboys game would be starting in less than an hour, and they always seemed to play better whenever you were in the room for those fleeting few minutes before you left him to his Sunday tradition. He tapped his fingers on his thigh and contemplated texting you back. 
"Hey, Jake, are there any more of these things?" Bob asked, holding up his empty High Noon can. It was a testament to how good they tasted that Bob was even drinking one in the first place. He absolutely hated beer.
"I don't think so," Jake muttered, almost to himself as he read your text again. "Let me check." He started his response to you and then finished it after he looked in his nearly empty fridge.
I miss you too, Baby. Where did you get those High Noons? The boys drank them all, and they loved them. I'm going to need to stock up.
When he looked up from his phone, Javy was on his back, kicking his feet in the air, because the Dolphins had scored another touchdown. "No!"
"Hey, Hangman, you're out of chips," Bradley complained, shaking the empty bag into his open mouth before frowning. 
Now Mickey was dancing around Javy on the floor as the final score of the game flashed across the bottom of the screen. His Dolphins had beat Javy's Saints, and Reuben was already changing the channel for the next game that was about to start. But you had texted back again.
Why is that so adorable? I'm just about on my way home from lunch with the girls. Want me to stop and get another case or two? Maybe some snacks? I can drop them off.
Jake grinned; even the idea of you stopping by for a few seconds made him smile. He texted you back letting you know that he loved that idea, and then he stepped over the chaos on his floor and dropped down next to Reuben. Just as the intro to the Cowboys and Steelers was starting up, Jake said, "My girl's stopping by with more of those drinks and some snacks, so please behave while she's here."
"We will," they all replied in unison, though he highly doubted that would actually be the case. 
Then the game started, and they were all distracted, because it was Jake's team against Bradley's team. "Your precious Cowgirls are going down," Bradley muttered, practically licking the inside of the chip bag.
Jake realized he was hungry too as he flipped him off, and he could hear Reuben's stomach growling. The Cowboys were looking terrible in the first quarter, and now Bradley was sitting on the edge of his seat as the Steelers were poised to score a touchdown.
But then, just when you walked in carrying some fresh High Noons and a platter of hot wings, the Steelers threw an interception, and the Cowboys ran it back all the way for a touchdown. "Fuck yes!" Jake shouted, practically ripping the food and drinks out of your hands to get to you. "Come here, Baby. Come sit on my lap."
"Seriously?" you asked, clearly surprised as Jake pulled you along with him while the other guys tore into the seltzers and chicken wings like they were wild animals. Well, everyone except for Bradley who was on his knees on the floor, staring at the TV in shock.
"Thank you for the food and the High Noons," Jake drawled, grinning against your neck as he held you close. "You're the best." 
"You're welcome," you replied, really getting into the game now. "Cowboys are already up?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Bradley groaned. And it just kept getting better from there. Jake got to have you snuggled up on the couch with him while he ate wings and drank seltzers all afternoon. 
When you tried to leave at halftime, the guys whined for you to stay, and Jake pulled you closer to him. "Baby, no. The Cowboys have done nothing but get touchdown after touchdown since you got here. I need you to stay."
You laughed and opened a High Noon for yourself with an amused look on your face. "Alright, Jake. Whatever you need."
-----------------------
When you woke up on Sunday with Jake kissing your neck and whispering, "Time to get up," you groaned. You were still exhausted from working all week, but you stretched and slowly got out of bed. "Where are you going?" he asked, reaching for you as you stood and looked at him.
"Home?"
He shook his head like he couldn't be more confused. "Why? Baby, the Cowboys play at ten. The boys will be here soon."
"Yeah...." you replied, reaching for your clothes. "That's why I'm leaving. Sundays are for the boys."
Now he was honest to god pouting. "But, I don't want you to leave. I love watching the games with you, and the guys keep my place cleaner when you're here. They actually belch less too. Really, overall, they are much less insufferable. And besides..." he whispered, grabbing your hand and pulling you back into bed. "I think you're my lucky charm."
"Really?" you asked as he pinned your hands above your head on the pillow. 
"Mmhmm," he hummed as he kissed you. "You make my team do better, and you make me happy. Stay."
You were melting at his touch. "Well, how could I say no?"
The following week, Jake was opening a seltzer for you, and when you looked around, all of the guys were drinking them. Mickey tapped his can to yours. "These are delicious. I feel so sophisticated. You're a genius."
The week after that, Javy ordered pizza only after discreetly asking what your favorite topping was. "The rest of them would eat cardboard with red sauce on top of it, but I want to make sure you get the kind you like."
The week after that, Reuben and Bob both jumped up to get you a new can when yours was empty, and Bradley begrudgingly said, "I still like you even though Jake fucking ruined you by turning you into a Cowboys fan."
You started staying later and later, and you noticed that Jake filled the cooler with fewer beers and more seltzers each week. And on the last Sunday of the regular season, the guys showed up with a sad looking, half crumpled up gift bag and handed it to you as you rearranged the pretty charcuterie board you'd been working on for them. 
"What's this?" you asked, peeking into the bag at some pink fabric.
"It's for you," Javy said. "You're one of the guys now." 
Jake grinned at you from the open refrigerator where he handed out High Noon cans to everyone. "You knew about this?" you asked him as you reached into the bag and pulled out a pink Dallas Cowboys jersey with your own name on the back. 
"Of course I knew about it, Baby. I had to tell them your size."
"Thank you," you whispered as you looked at it, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision. "I love it." When you looked up at them, they raised their seltzer cans in a toast to you, and you ran to Jake's bedroom to get changed.
You had your own jersey color now amongst the rainbow of teams everyone rooted for, and Jake kept you close as the Cowboys played. The cooler of slowly melting ice offered up High Noons to you and the boys, and by the time it was getting dark outside, you were standing next to the TV with your hands in the air. 
"Ready?" you asked them a little loudly as you giggled, but you weren't the only one who was tipsy and silly. "Here we go!" You led them in a hideous, off-key rendition of I've been waiting all day for Sunday night. After weeks of watching football, everyone had all of the ridiculous lyrics memorized, and it ended in laughter as you curled up next to Jake on the couch.
"I love Sundays," he said, his arm slung around your shoulders. "And I love you, Baby."
You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Sundays are for seltzer drinkers."
------------------------------
You slowly infiltrated, and now Sundays are yours. Thanks @thedroneranger for making pretty mood boards like this one and letting us write about them. And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Don't forget to read the second part! This Sunday Is for My Girl!
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angelltheninth · 2 months
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Adam x reader but they’re still alive and she’s the third wife made for him and he eats pussy for the first time 🫢🫢🙏🏻🙏🏻🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️
You ready my fucking mind! I was thinking about this for a few days.
Pairing: Adam x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, first time cunnilingus, praise, hair-pulling (for Adam), cum eating, praise, clit stimulation, Adam's ego, Adam hates Lucifer
Word count: 0.7k
A/N: I am actually taken back by how much I love Adam. He's an asshole for sure but he's a charismatic asshole.
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Adam moved his body against yours, quick rapid-fire cumshots making your insides tingle with warmth. It coiled at the pit of your stomach and stayed there, uncomfortable and heavy and annoying as hell. Maybe more annoying.
"Thanks for the fuck, Babe." His satisfied smile was cute if a bit too smug, like he just accomplished something big by coming inside your pussy. You whimpered as he pulled out, "Woo-hoo-hoa. There's so much, keep that shit in there, are you even trying to make kids or nah?"
Naturally procreation was high on the list of priorities for the two of you. As his third wife you wanted to give him something his first two wives couldn't, a real family. "As much as you are. But you know that's not the only purpose of sex right?"
"Of course not. My dick feels so damn good when we have sex!" Adam pointed down at the mentioned dick, half-hard and covered with both your cum.
"Yeah... and what about me?" You took his hands and pushed them towards your pussy.
"Oh. Oh yeah. I guess I can finger you. Gotta push that fucking cum back in." He chuckled and bent his middle and ring finger, his long digits closing in to your pussy before you grabbed his wrists, "What the fuck, you bitch?! I'm trying to be nice! You don't want my fingers or something?!"
How the hell was the one offended here? "I didn't say that Adam. I... want your mouth. Okay, happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?" Instead of grinning in victory like he usually did when he got you flustered he blinked in confusion. "Don't you think it's only fair after how many times I sucked you off?"
"W-Well... but... you love to suck my dick!" God he was so childish sometimes. How was he the first man and the man you fell in love with? God truly does work in mysterious ways. "I shouldn't have to eat pussy to make you feel good."
Okay. Time to pull out the last weapon you had. "Bet Lucifer knows how to eat pussy."
Adam was human. He was. But the look he gave you in that moment would make any demon shiver. "What was that?! Think I can't do better then that asshole?!" He pushed himself down and pinned your legs apart, "Fucking watch me, Babe." He was all talk right now. The moment you smiled at him he looked... awkward. He was the first man, he should be good at this, he should be good at everything.
Yet his licks were slow, experimental, insecure, way too light between your folds. "Adam. You can lick harder." He let out a grunt and quirked his eyebrow at you, he hated being told what to do. "I need you to lick harder, it would make my pussy feel so good if your tongue could- ah!" There it was. A little praise, a little persuasion and he was doing as you asked.
"Can't forget about this little thing right here." His teeth pressed against your clit, your pussy clenching and pushing more of his cum out. "I see how it is, you want more huh? Enjoying yourself? Tell me."
"Yes. You're doing good, Adam." Your hands brushed through his messy brown hair, not so much directing him as giving him a reassuring massage, "Your tongue is divine."
"You bet this cunt it is. Praise me more, Babe, scream. Let everyone hear how good I'm giving it to you." Adam's tongue descended lower to your cum-filled hole, pushing back and forth, "Damn I taste good. I see why you like swallowing it." Of course he somehow made this about himself again. It didn't matter. He was still doing as you asked, making you feel so fucking good.
"That's right, you're making me feel good with your tongue. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me come from eating me out." That was all he needed in order to do just that. To know he was your one and only. Your hips bucked into his face, your back arched, toes curling while he licked and kissed and finally went back to sucking your clit. "Adam! S-Sto- oh my god- wai-!"
He wasn't stopping. Adam always did as he wanted. You came on his tongue, in his mouth, and now that he's accomplished that he wanted to do it again. You watched his tongue move across your clit, spelling his name on it, "There. Now this clit, this cunt, is all mine."
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4marelinha · 2 months
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organizing this põst for a family of 13 in Ghazzah
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here's the Gee Eff Em lïnk
Hi my name is Doha hoping we can help my family be in safe side. we lost my cousin with her whole family my friends three of them also many of my neighbors. Like many people in Gaza who lost their homes they destroyed the whole neighborhood my family evacuated to the southern side seeking shelter they stayed in school then they find themselves surrounded by trunks snipers shooting people they tried to shoot my only brother so the left the school and now they find themselves with no shelter in this very cold weather in front of the sea with their babies. im trying helping them go to the safe side and i need your help to complete the amount of the money that the Egypt side asked for help me saving their lives I don’t want to lose more. they are 13 person total with their kids and wives .they suffering like everyone in Gaza Strip because of the war, the weather, my little sister and my niece and nephew asking my all the time please help us to be in safe and sleep well with no cold or fire pump like any kids in the world and the worst thing for my when my Dad ask me for help and I couldn’t do anything I felt like im useless because this is the first time he ask for help i used to ask him for help. please if anyone can help them and help saving their lives and their future and help my people their don’t hesitate thanks everyone
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chapterchapterbook · 1 year
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angelsforthenight · 1 month
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MRS. AND MRS. SMITH — abby anderson x fem!reader
ways you can help gaza 🇵🇸
do not buy tlou2 remastered!
a/n: this is way more inspired by the mr and mrs smith series (2024) not the 2005 one!!! this explains why they’re wives :3
you’re an assassin along with your assigned partner/wife, abby anderson. fed up with her toxic behaviour, you’re pleased when the mission is centred around you seducing a man for murderous motives. why? well, because you know it’ll get under abby’s skin. little did you know, things would blow over way more than you thought it would.
cw: mdni, owen feature🤮🤮, long fic, kinda slow-burn ig?, femme fatale, arranged marriage couple, kinda toxic relationship, violence, mention of blades, car sex, mean!abby, bratty!reader, dom!abby, degrading, bdsm, ass-smacking, finger-fucking, cursing, jealous!abby, hair pulling, dry-humping, finger-sucking, choking, rough sex, teasing, squirting.
“short brown hair, rugged beard. got that?” abby’s murmuring voice comes in from the earpiece you’ve got attached. you groan and roll your eyes, wishing you could mute the goddamn thing.
see, any other day, you would’ve loved to hear your wife’s pretty little voice guiding you — her praises when you’d do something right or her degrades if you’d do something wrong both sending shivers down your spine, compelling you to do whatever she wanted.
but not today. today you’re over it. so what do you respond with?
“yeah, i know, anderson. we both got the fucking brief.” you hiss. you know how pissed abby gets whenever you curse at her; so that’s exactly what you do. you relish at the thought of her gritting her teeth, not being able to snap at you in front of all of these people.
that���s right, you two are at a charity gala event. it’s fancy. too fancy to the point where it’s intimidating: glistening chandeliers, artistic decorations and bustling people wearing glamorous attire. you and abby needed to blend in with the crowd so not only are you two dressed smartly for the occasion but are also split up. not that you’re complaining. you’re sick of her. sick of her petulance whenever you’d get glorified by the agency instead of her, sick of how sometimes she can be so simple-minded, sick of how, at points, she lacks at making you feel loved.
your job is to take out an owen moore, for unforeseen reasons. you never question what the agency tells you to do, neither does abby.
you’re planning to lure him in an concealed area with your enticing charisma, make him believe you’re going to sleep with him before slicing him dead with your blade. you prowl through the many people, scanning the area with a keen eye to find him. claude debussy plays as background music, taming your harrowing nerves. killing is never easy.
“found him yet?” abby sighs.
“please don’t distract me.” there’s way too many people and it’s beginning to stress you out. what if you never find him? failing the mission is the last thing you wanna do.
“i’m getting bored. plus, small talk with strangers pisses me off.” she complains.
“not my goddamn problem.” you retort, the ends of your tight-fitting dress flailing against your legs as you pick up the pace, worrying if there’s not enough time, worrying if he’s even here in the first place.
“literally what is your problem? acting extra fuckin’ snobby tonight...”
your eyebrows knit together. abby always finds a way to get under your skin.
“let’s not fucking start—“ you’re about to snap and make yourself look like a fool in front of all of these people until somebody accidentally bumps into you: spilling his drink all over your dress. great!
“oh shit. sorry, i didn’t mean that.” you hear a man’s voice as you stare down at your ruined dress in disbelief. you slowly glance up at the culprit; only to find the noted brown hair and rugged beard staring right back at you. owen moore.
despite your worked up embarrassment and your extreme annoyance, you manage to flash a smile.
“it’s okay, but... you do realise you owe me now right?” you bat your eyelashes, hoping you don’t look silly.
“and what’s that?” owen chuckles, rubbing the back of his head and making immense eye contact. he’s already flirting back, you think. this is about to be so fucking easy.
with a few drinks, owen’s already tipsy and you’re leading him to the vast room. you make him believe you’re just as woozy; stumbling and giggling away. you take advantage of his obliviousness: your hand brushing against the slit of your dress, fingers cupping the wooden handle of the blade in the garter wrapped around your thigh. whilst he laughs and babbles nonsense, you carefully trace the edge of the blade — feelings of excitement rushing to the surface. regardless of the fact that killing is never easy, it’s also never not exhilarating.
you’re about to fully whip out the blade until owen decides to be bold: setting his slobbery hands against the small of your back and trying to lean in for a kiss.
“woah.” you feign a grin, pulling his hands away. “we go at my pace.”
“aww… please?” he mumbles, trying to seem like an adorable puppy but instead making it look disgusting. this is sad, you think. you try to grab your knife again but he’s now grabbing your arms; desperate for a fruitless smooch.
“come on… don’t play hard to get.” he growls, his sudden aggression catching you a little off guard. no need for stress, you know what to do. your knee prepares itself to kick hard in between his legs until somebody’s arm suddenly emerges from behind, wrapping around his neck and squeezing hard.
“what—“ you breathe in bewilderment, eyes widening. despite owen choking and uselessly clawing at abby’s arm for escape, her gaze stays intently trained on yours; a death stare. it’s unnerving.
it doesn’t take long for owen to turn cold and slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head. abby lets him go, but not without cracking his neck first, and you watch as he flops onto the floor.
“what the fuck, abby…” you mutter, palming a frustrated hand across your face. “where the hell did you even come from?”
“there’s doors.” she tilts her head towards the backdoor behind her. you hadn’t even noticed it. your eyes travel back to her; irresistibly ogling at the black suit clinging to her body, complimenting her form. you almost forget you’re supposed to be mad at her.
the blonde chuckles wryly, a petty exhale. “you starin’? assumed pussy boys were more your type.”
“real fucking mature.” you snarl. “i had him. i was this close to killing him, abby.”
“you were taking too long.” abby shrugs, condescendingly pouting. you grit your teeth.
“jealousy? really? grow up.”
“at least i watch where i’m going. nice dress, the wet splotch is a nice touch, really.” she slanders, narrowing her eyes. you scoff, trying to pretend as if that dig didn’t offend you.
“you’re a fucking child. help me with the body.”
you two leave the building with ease, pretending as if owen is a friend that’s had too much to drink, wrapping his arms around the both of your shoulders and leading him to your car. abby opens the boot and you two push him inside. you two will decide on how deal with the body later.
for now, you’re sat on the passenger’s seat whilst abby drives, the two of you salty and quiet. abby’s driving way too fast; her hand gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it. she’s obviously fuming.
“can you slow down?” you glare at her.
“you owe me… i mean, who even says that?” abby grumbles, ignoring your request.
“a lot of people do. now slow down, we don’t wanna attract attention from police knowing there’s a dead body back there.”
“not to mention that you’ve had an attitude since last night! the way you were flirting with that oliver guy? or whatever the fuck his name was, had to be on purpose. to spite me.”
abby starts driving even faster, increasing your stress. “owen.” you correct, “you’re so self absorbed!” you continue to beg for her to slow down.
“he’s, like, the embodiment of revolting too. don’t even get me started at the way he was trying to force himself on you. i should’ve put a bullet in his brain.” abby rattles on, pure jealousy oozing from her tone.
“you were definitely enjoying it too. i know you were.” she turns her head to look at you, not paying attention to the road.
“abby. abby!” you scream as abby almost runs through a poor family trying to cross the road.
“fuck.” abby murmurs as she swerves messily, just in the nick of time, steering into a deserted field. the two of you are out of breath from the fright, hearts racing from the adrenaline. abby rests her head on the wheel, letting out a long sigh.
“just what the hell is the matter with you?” you scold, “all this shit over a mission? are you serious?” abby’s lack of response leads you to continue yelling at her.
“of course we’re going to have to flirt with our targets now and then! the fuck happened to your professionalism? if i had known you’d be acting like this then i would’ve never—“
“why didn’t you kiss him?” abby raises her head to look up at you, her face blank. you blink, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.
“i…” you look away. you’re not exactly up for abby knowing that you couldn’t kiss him because of her. “where even are we anyway?”
“nice try. since you’re so professional, why didn’t you kiss him? he clearly wanted to. you could’ve easily killed him then.” the corner of abby’s lips arch up into a smirk — the familiar smug look of hers that never fails to get you weak.
“for someone who’s had so much to say just a second ago…” she leans in a little, arm resting against your headrest, “…you’re awfully quiet.” her voice is hushed down to a soft whisper, and you swear you’re beginning to feel a little lightheaded.
“look, abby, you’re my wife… so…” you mumble in response to her pressing question, avoiding eye contact. abby chuckles, loosening her tie. here comes the floodgates.
“don’t play dumb and pretend as if the agency didn’t arrange that.” her finger presses against the dome light of the car; illuminating your embarrassed face. just what she wanted to see.
“you’ve been enjoying yourself, seeing me all jealous like this. you liked playing femme fatale, hmm?” her finger slowly twists itself around a strand of your hair, before she yanks a handful, forcing your head closer. you wince, eyes clenched shut. your cunt decides to flex too — reminding you that she’s got a mind of her own, and that she finds being in an empty field like this, in abby’s car, pretty fucking hot.
“let’s face it…” abby whispers, so close that you can feel her breath tickling your ear, shooting heavy tingles down your body.
“you want me so bad it hurts.” her eyes drift down to your thighs that are starting to shift uncomfortably in your seat. it’s beginning to ache down there and it seems like abby’s aware of that. you can’t help it. after all, abby sitting so close: loose strands of hair framing her face, unfastened tie and darkened eyes fixed on you, feels so good that it’s suffocating.
you squirm a little and abby grins, her fingers still laced in your hair. her grip slightly tightens as she licks her lips. she looks hungry.
“maybe what hurts is your fingers in my hair.” you quip, though your voice is a little shaky.
“maybe you need to fix your attitude.” abby retorts, “like, seriously, pipe down… you’re probably soaking down there.” she snickers, right on the money.
“fuck you.” you glare at her, gauging her reaction. you want to believe you’re saying this out of sheer anger for what went down tonight, but deep down, you know that’s not the case. in reality, you just want to get under abby’s skin. it’s what you’ve been craving since the beginning; to get her pissed.
you wipe the pleased look off of abby’s face, which is now replaced with a frown. your heart pounds with anticipation: so much so that your chest faintly heaves, lips parted.
abby’s eyes wander to your lips and in one swift movement, she pulls you in; pressing her lips against yours. you’re quick to kiss her back, the sweetness of her mouth sealing yours. fervent can’t even begin to explain the way you two are kissing. akin to wild animals, small muffled groans escape the both of you.
desperation is thick in the confined air of the car, as abby pulls away and shrugs her blazer off. you stare up at her.
“hurry… with your slow-ass.” you whine.
“watch your fucking mouth. c’mere.” abby commands. you naturally do as she says and she begins to unzip your dress — not without making sure to go deliberately slow.
“why do you have to be so mean?” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck.
“oh, trust me… i’m only gonna be meaner.” she warns whilst planting gentle kisses on your neck. you’ve always admired abby for her ability to vary from being sour to tender in seconds. little did you know, the peppered kisses on your neck served as a prior apology to how cruel she’s going to treat you in a second.
once everything is off, abby marvels at your body. like a painting in an art gallery, she makes sure to pay attention to even the minuscule details of your body. it’s her favourite thing in the entire world.
“turn around.” abby mutters, her eyes hazy; voice bleeding with lust.
“what?”
“just do it.”
you hesitantly do as she says. abby beams: finding your weak resistance amusing yet is also excited to break you.
“now… bend over.” she coos, clearly poking fun.
you shoot her a glare, cheeks flushed. “what am i, your dog?”
“don’t piss me off.”
you glare at her for a few seconds longer before sighing, reluctantly bending over.
“arching that back and everything… wooow.” abby teases, “and to think i haven’t even touched you yet.”
“oh, just fuck off, abby…” you complain, the embarrassment beginning to overwhelm you.
“what was that?”
“i said fuck—“ but you’re cut off by a yelp when abby brings her palm down flat against your ass. you flinch violently; very, very taken off guard.
“mm? didn’t quite hear you. repeat yourself.” abby taunts, smacking you again. you grunt and flinch yet again, feeling the sting of her slap coarse through your body. abby’s humiliating you, milking every last drop of your embarrassment. the worst thing yet? you’re enjoying this way more than you should be.
“i’m not kidding. speak.” abby commands, showing no signs of mercy. your skin is already starting to gleam red, and your pussy? well, it’s a fucking party down there.
“abby…” you cry, completely under her control. the more she smacks, flesh recoiling under her palm, the more your head goes blank.
“go on babe… finish what you were saying before.” abby prods. this time, when she smacks you, her fingers grasp the flesh on your ass tightly; watching in delight as her fingertips leave little red marks. you’re trembling like a leaf, both from the pain and the arousal.
see, the thing with abby is that she never likes to let things go. she adores jabbing at you until she gets what she wants.
another smack, this one so hard that you need to press your palms against the window. abby then grips your waist and pulls you way closer; making your ass press against her hips.
“you wanna get fucked?” abby mutters, teasingly bringing your waist back and forth against her hips: hard, playful thrusts. your bare cunt pressing against her crotch is, without a doubt, driving you insane. you frantically nod in response to her question, in which abby replies with latching her hand around your neck; forcing you upright so that your back is now against her chest.
“use your words.”
“y-yes…” tears begin to stream down your face. you’re desperate, yearning for her touch as if it’s a life or death situation.
“so finish what you were saying.” her fingers slightly squeeze around the sides of your neck.
“i-i told you to f-fuck off but i d-didn’t… haa… mean it.” you splutter. the you a while ago would’ve had her mouth agape in horror at your behaviour right now.
“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” abby coos, her fingers tracing down your stomach, in between your thighs. long, drawn-out circles are traced on your swollen clit, her fingers pressing just the right amount of pressure. you groan, and abby taps her chin against your shoulder; smirking at how your legs are writhing, desperate for more.
“where’d all your attitude go?” the blonde ridicules. her other hand moves over to your breast, squeezing it, her thumb caressing your nipple. as to the hand working on you, her middle and ring finger brush against your folds; up and down. she’s touching you but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough: abby knows that.
“don’t do this to me, abby…” you exasperate. she lets out a breathy chuckle before flipping you over and setting you down onto the car seat. she reclines it back, eyes yet again fixed on you. you stare up at her with big glossy eyes, your head blank as if you’ve been dumbed down.
abby gloats at how helpless you look, grabbing your face with one hand and squishing your cheeks. “you look stupid.”
“shut up and fuck me.” you mutter in a muffled tone. abby laughs as if what you’ve said was the funniest joke in the entire world. you wonder if abby can feel your cheeks burning up against her palm.
before you know it, abby plows her thick fingers so far inside your cunt that you’d squeal, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand still clenched on your cheeks.
“this what you wanted?” abby purrs, fingers curling up against your g-spot already. you moan, back arching and squirming.
“oh! riiiiight, you can’t speak.” she gloats, playfully shaking your head with her hand. you whine in embarrassment, yet you secretly enjoy how she’s handling you like a doll.
abby’s finger-fucking you rough, wet squelch noises filling up the car. the sound of it is so erotic that it leaves you dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the blonde releases her grip on your face but not her thumb, that slips inside of your mouth.
“suck.” you mindlessly do as she says, as if you’re brainwashed. you can see abby’s cheeks tint red when you slowly suck her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact.
abby chuckles, looking away. seems like she didn’t think you’d actually do it.
“you’re shy.” you point out. you triumph over the fact that now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, but not for long.
“shut the fuck up.” abby says brusquely, her fingers operating way harder than before; relentlessly pounding against your g-spot. you cry, feeling overwhelmingly good.
that rigid attitude you had a moment ago? now dead and buried. you feel surreal, a series of mewls and sobs leaving your lips.
“nothing smart to say anymore? you look fucking pathetic.” and she’s right. you look like a hot mess. abby smothers your tears all over your face. you mindlessly move your hips, fucking yourself on her fingers. she smirks, loving what she’s seeing. you feel a knot beginning to untie in your stomach, sublime throbs coursing all over your body.
“i’m cumming…” you manage to choke out.
“i know.” abby buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of her breath against your skin.
“i’ll decide to be nice and let you finish.”
and that’s your cue. with an ending moan to seal it off, you feel your body tense up, eyes widening. abby leans in and presses her forehead against yours. you squeeze your eyes shut, before your body relaxes. you’re panting like a dog, staring up at abby with foggy and depleted eyes.
“so cute…” she murmurs before cupping your chin and kissing you — this time, soft and tender as opposed to the way she was kissing you before. you feel warm.
so absorbed in each other, you two forget about how you’re in the middle of nowhere and how the body in the car boot needs to be dealt with. for now, you two have something more important to worry about: how you’re gonna clean up the mess you’ve left all over the chair and dashboard.
a/n: you made it !!! thought it’d be funny if the target was owen😭😭 hope u enjoyed reading <3
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i can't stop fucking old people. it's seriously a problem. their hearts can't fucking take it. they know i'll kill them. but they never say no. i travel city to city with each conquest. i log onto tinder and meet a girl. three chances a year... one for easter dinner, one for thanksgiving, one christmas. she takes me to her house to meet the family. the grandmother and i lock eyes from across the table. grandfather has passed. shes here alone.. sad.. we make eye contact for a while until she excuses herself, and i follow her. sometimes the deed is done right there in the bedroom, sometimes i'm given the number to her jitterbug, to return to her later. she makes me go in raw no matter what i suggest. i break up with the girl shortly after i've achieve sexual contact with one or both grandparents. i've no family of my own. that's true, that's always the excuse. i got a reputation that follows me. that's why i'm always moving. the grandmother often catches a VD from our little quickie. her weakened immune system. she passes away a few weeks later. some time before her time. or maybe just in time. god forbid, she invites me over. i sit in her little rocking chair as she speaks to me. that was her husbands chair.. she eyes me. my presence awakens this within her. i make her feel young again. she leads me to her bedroom. i have no reason to restrain myself, nobody will find us. she comes, then she goes. i clean her up as she grunts from the remnants of her heart attack, and leave her tucked into bed. she lays there peaceful, like shes asleep. that's when i lock the doors on my way out, and head to the next city. the next city, where i'll lay low until the next holiday season. start chatting up some chicks while i'm at it.. god, and the grandfathers. unlike with the grandmothers, they dont need to have lost their love to want me. they always cheat. they always want to use me as a tool to cheat. they look at me in ways their wives havent seen in years, and their wives see this. but their wives remain subservient. they always let him do this. they pray for him, but none of them pray for me. they hate me. they hate me so much. they know what i'm doing but refuse to make it stop. i lead their husbands away and kill them. they know it serves him right. i leave them heartbroken. but they'll never say a word. they'll never say a word about how an ugly little gay boy stole their man and now he's paid the ultimate price. and so have they. they seethe until their death. sometimes i swoop in on them too. silence them. they want me to silence them. but usually its too risky. after all, there are simply some secrets, that one must take to ones grave no matter what. i have nothing to gain from doing this. what i do is completely legal. all are lucid. but i feel as if i'm moving through a dream. i feel the earth around me shift as though i were asleep. i can't settle down. i can't fucking stop it. i want to stop. i want to find love. i feel so guilty. how many women fell in love with me, only to lose me. lose one or both grandparents and i'm nowhere near to comfort her. by the time it comes to mourn, i'm already long gone..
But yes, i suppose you can apply this to your fucking little tomgreg or harry styles or whatever. Yeah dude. You fucked that old man.
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lxkeee · 1 month
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Reader being Adam's third wife and Lucifer trying to rizz her up but she was giving him a hard time trying to rizz her
THE DEVIL HAS HIS OWN CHARMS
Notes: I know Lucifer is oozing with rizz but I liked to believe that he'll do that one meme where he just kneels and begs and keeps on saying "please, please, please" just kidding.
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Reader is a heaven born angel, one of the oldest. Same age as Lucifer.
When she met Adam, Adam wasn't as bad as the current him. Adam before was nicer and it led [y/n] to fall in love with him.
As many years passed by, Adam became a little shit.
That lead to their divorce.
She was done with him, tired of him.
You know that saying when a girl is done with her s/o they are literally done? Yeah, she was flat out done with him.
Thankfully, they didn't have any kids.
Adam was pissed at this and decided to annoy her.
She was pissed at him and cussing him out, telling him that he's a sore loser for not being able to keep any of his three wives.
And since heaven had an obvious favoritism on him, that led to [y/n] well... Falling out of grace.
After falling, she actually hid away from the king of hell himself.
She hid away from the demons by being in her animal form, she chose to take the form of a crow to blend in with the environment of hell.
That is until she heard about the hotel.
She didn't plan on redeeming herself, no, no.
She didn't want to go back up.
But she planned on helping Charlie Morningstar.
When she joined, they were surprised to see a fallen angel at their door.
Vaggie didn't trust her at first but eventually did.
[y/n] mostly hid in the hotel and barely left the building.
Since they only had Angel Dust as their first guest, she decided to help around and improve the hotel.
When Lucifer decided to visit for the first time the hotel that his daughter is working on. None of the sinners caught his eyes until he was toured around the hotel by his daughter, his daughter's girlfriend Maggie, and the damn radio demon. As they were walking through the hallway, someone appeared on the corner and talked to Charlie for something.
His jaw dropped, a little.
The woman was gorgeous.
For a brief moment he wondered if she was an angel that came from heaven to release him from his sins.
Scratch that, she's making him sin even more.
Charlie introduces her to him and him to her.
Lucifer found out her name is [y/n] and he made sure to remember that. He also found out that the woman was helping his daughter.
He's so madly in love. It's ridiculous, he just met her for his sake!
[y/n] didn't stay long as she quickly left. Which saddened him a little.
A new reason to visit the hotel more.
For the next few weeks, Lucifer visits—twice to thrice a week.
During his time at the hotel he would try to make small talk with the woman that caught his interest.
Trying to get to know her but the woman is so closed off.
He tried to be smooth with his words but she only looked at him up and down with an unamused expression.
His pride is shattered, ironic as he is the symbol of pride.
He ranted about it to Charlie and in which the girl told him that he might be developing a crush.
Jaw dropped. In disbelief.
He denies it but ended up thinking about it the whole night.
He ended up removing his wedding ring as he thought he should actually move on now.
And he actually finally agrees that he is actually coming down with a crush.
On you.
So next time he visits he discreetly flirts with you.
Always ending up with you not being interested.
He's just trying so hard okay? It felt so forced.
Anyways, Lucifer received an advice from Charlie that he should be his authentic self.
And that's where he stopped forcing to make himself sexy or flirty.
And be his usual dorky self.
Which caught you off guard but not dismissing it, in fact you preferred this over how he acted a few days ago.
You and Lucifer slowly gotten to know each other.
The way his jaw dropped when you revealed you're a fallen angel and am ex-wife of Adam.
“Wait! You're a fallen angel and also divorced too? Well, so am I!”
You just laughed at how adorable he is.
Though, Lucifer did ask what happened and you just told him about Adam and how Adam is a little shit and you're basically over him.
You two bonded over your hate for heaven.
And eventually two months later you got together and let's say, Lucifer is certainly a better lover than that piece of shit Adam.
Let's just say Lucifer made you feel the pleasure you haven't properly experienced.
Lucifer did make sure to show it off to Adam's face when he fought the man.
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