#bc this body had the sweet sweet taste of freedom and relaxation and love and went right back into good old 'oh god i'm gonna die' haha

[clanoffetts]

Tales From Bespin, vol. I: The First Time

Lando Calrissian x fem!Reader

summary: the first in a collection of stories about Reader and Lando’s adventures in sex in Cloud City, starting with their first time together.

warnings/tags: 18+; not proof-read lol; piv; unprotected sex; tooth rotting sweet sex; lando is a fuckboy but, like, a nice one; puthy eating bc Lando is a man of taste; porn with like some plot but it’s, like, stupid plot. no seriously i don’t really remember much of the plot

word count: 3.5k

“Do your rooms still suit you?” Lando asks as you eat breakfast together. He’s asked this every morning since you arrived a week ago. In that week, you’d learned that Cloud City was gorgeous in the morning and that Lando Calrissian was very concerned with your happiness. You were glad, of course, as you’d come to Bespin on his request, the both of you hoping that something more would develop.

You nod. “Of course,” you say. “I feel like a princess.”

“Good,” he chuckles. “It’s what you deserve.” Something had begun to develop, you ate meals together, walked the city together, watched holos together. But at the end of the evening, you’d leave his rooms, and you’d assumed you were replaced with someone who would, frankly, fuck him. You knew Lando was a bit of a playboy, talk of Cloud City orgies was common legend amongst teenagers in the Outer Rim, and you usually didn’t go for playboys. But he was charming. Yeah, all playboys are, they have to be, but Lando was different. You could tell he was sincere. 

So, when his two week stay on Naboo was coming to a close, he’d invited you to Cloud City to live with him, and that you could continue your clothing designer dreams on Bespin with high fashion.

“They love your dresses,” Lando says, taking a drink of some kind of juice. 

You smile. They didn’t have much high fashion on Bespin, most of the population weren’t concerned with expensive clothes and the rest were rich with nothing to buy. “I’m glad. Thank you for helping me sell them, helping me build my reputation.”

“I told you that you need to stop thanking me, beautiful,” he says, voice smooth as always. “A new episode of that holoseries we binged comes out tonight.”

“Yeah I saw,” you say. “We’re watching it together, right?”

He smiles as he cuts up some of the meat on his plate. “Always, sweetheart.”

-

Lando had a busy day. Usually, you’d walk the halls, Lando telling you stories of the art on the walls and how they came to be in his possession or attend a water opera, but today there was none of that. So you sat in your rooms, a little cozier now than when you arrived. You’d decorated the walls with tapestries and art, adding some color to the tradition Bespin sleek white walls. Your furniture was all white and so were the blankets and pillows. You’d have to sew and embroider some new ones at some point, the plainness of it all was boring. Especially to someone from Naboo, where everything was vibrant and richly embroidered. 

You lay on your bed, staring up at the blank white ceiling, thinking about Lando. There were many women about the place, scantily clad Twi’leks, humans, and Togrutas, and you knew why they were here. You didn’t feel jealous, per se, because you knew your thing with Lando, whatever it was, was not an exclusive relationship. But you did feel a bit surprised that he’d invite you here on the hope of something more, and continue with his habits. 

Did you actually know Lando was sleeping with these women? Well, no, but one could safely assume, right? Especially if you weren’t putting out like women were expected to, though Lando never gave any indication that he was upset by the lack of sex. Maybe you were upset with the lack of sex, pent up and yearning for this man since he arrived on Naboo a month ago. Maybe you were going to change that.

-

“Ready, sweetheart?” Lando says, sitting down on one of the lush couches of the front room of his chambers. The furniture in here had dark wood from Kashyyk, a gift from one of Lando’s Wookie friends, he’d said. There were pillows in styles from all over the galaxy. The room was eclectically Lando: rich in more than one sense. 

He’d brought snacks with him, sitting them down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Born ready,” you tell him. Under your clothes were the sexiest things you owned. Maybe it was a bit sad that the sexiest thing you owned was just a matching black bra and panties, but you didn’t really have a need for lingerie. Matching was the best you could do. 

The holodrama premier episode is one and a half hours, and over that course of time you’d eaten more types of candy than you can count, and inched closer to Lando until you were almost on top of him. He had an arm around you, your head resting on his chest. When the commercials for new bacta patches or some kind of Imperial propaganda interrupted the show, you’d tilt your head up to look at him, he’d tilt his down, and you’d kiss. Each kiss tasting a little different than the one before as fruity candies passed between both of your lips. 

“You like the blue ones,” you say as you break the kiss before the commercials are over. 

“And why do you say that?”

“Your lips have tasted like the blue ones more than any other,” you say, your tone very matter-of-fact. 

He chuckles. “Very astute observation, sweetheart. Though I can’t say I was too focused on your taste,” he says. “I paid more attention to the feel.”

You sit up a little more now, pressing your lips to his again, not giving a damn that the show was back on. 

“Very eager, sweetheart,” Lando murmurs, his lips traveling from your lips, down your jaw, to your neck. 

“I could say the same,” you whisper as he presses kisses to your neck, trying to find your sweet spot. This has been a long time coming. You feel his soft hair against you, lost in the feel and the scent that when his lips finally find that spot that makes you gasp, it catches you off guard. 

Lando notices, and says, “Can I mark you up, beautiful?”

“Please,” you’re breathless, at his politeness, at his pet name, at everything he is. 

He sucks a mark onto your skin, teeth coming after to give light bites to the forming bruise. “So polite,” he says. “I like manners.” You giggle a little, but are quickly cut off by his lips back on yours. Lando kisses sweetly, just how you expected him to. He’s not rough, he’s not hard, but he’s soft and sweet and passionate. That man oozes passion, especially right now. 

Your body is hyper aware of everything, his mustache brushing against your upper lip, the feel of the cape lined in shimmersilk brushing your arms as his arms wrap around you. You moaned into his mouth, and you felt him smile into the kiss. Lando was always a smug motherfucker. 

He pulls away from the kiss, hands wandering to the straps of the loose sundress you wore. “Can I?” You nod, and he pulls the straps down, freeing your breasts. “So gorgeous, sweetheart.” His head lowers onto your nipple, gently sucking and swirling, taking note of everything that made you writhe. His hand cups the other breast, kneading gently, thumb occasionally swiping over your nipple. Everything was so slow, he was such a tease, and it was obvious that Lando Calrissian knew what he was doing.

“We’ve never done this before,” he says, pulling off of your breast. “Do you want this?”

“Can I ask you something first?” He nods. You’re nervous, but you ask, “I know this might not be the right time to ask, but have you been sleeping with other people while I’m here?” You cursed yourself as soon as you said it. You weren’t his girlfriend, you had no right to know this, and yet you needed to know. To know that he was in this, for real.

“No, darling,” he says. “I’m pursuing something serious, if that’s what you want.”

Your body relaxed, and you’re positive that Lando could tell. “Yeah, yeah I do want that,” you say. “Now fuck me, please.”

“So very polite,” he comments, bringing his mouth to your other nipple. This time there’s a little teeth, but he’s still painstakingly slow. “You want to go to the bed?”

You nod, and he’s already up, taking your hand in his and leading you further into his rooms. You notice the bulge straining against his expertly tailored pants, and he notices you staring. “Manners starting to slip, sweetheart? It’s not polite to stare.”

You shake your head, face beginning to heat up as it dons on you that not only are you staring at his bulge, you’re also walking around with your tits out. “Don’t get shy, now, sweetheart,” he commands with a gentle tone as he leads you to the bed. 

The bed is massive, with large fluffy pillows and nice fuzzy blankets strewn over it. “Maker, Lando, this is huge.”

“The size of this bed is where the Bespin orgy stories come from, my dear,” he winks. “Though this isn’t where they happen.” He drops your hand so you can hoist yourself up onto the large bed, and he follows suit, though he’s a lot more graceful. 

“Now,” he says, gently pushing you to recline against the pillows. “Where were we?” He lays down next to you, attaching his mouth to the side of your breast, sucking harshly. Another bruise would form there, and your core ached at the thought of getting to admire them the next morning in the ‘fresher mirror. 

Your whimpers seem to echo in the big room, and Lando loves it. “Let me hear you,” he murmurs against your stomach before sucking another bruise. “Love to hear you.”

And, boy, do you let him hear it. So used to muffling your own noises in places with thin walls, it was a strange freedom to be as loud as you want. “Can I take this off, sweetheart?”

His hands are balled up on the dress. “Fuck, yes, please,” you tell him, eager for him to get closer to your cunt, to give you the direct stimulation he’s made you crave. He pulls the dress down your body and off your legs, tossing it to the other side of the bed. He unclasps the cape and removes his shirt, tossing them as well. And, kriff, he’s gorgeous. He’s toned, but not overly muscular in the way you find scary. His skin looks smooth, though covered in hair, and you reach a hand out to drag across his stomach. 

You expect him to ask to take your panties off next, but he doesn’t. “I bet your pussy is pretty, sweetheart. Everything about you is pretty,” he says, one hand cupping your cunt, the warmth burning through the thin fabric, and the other stilling your hand on his abdomen. All you can do is whine a little, the light pressure on your pussy making you ache even more. 

Lando leans down to kiss you, pressing his blue-flavored candy lips against yours and returning your hand to the mattress. When he pulls away, he lowers himself down between your legs, eye-level with your cunt. “Open these up more,” he coos, pushing your legs open and up towards your chest. 

He places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your clothed cunt, giving a deep chuckle when you gasp. “She’s already swollen, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ve not even done much. Just sucked your tits.”

“Yeah, but you did that for, like, ever,” you breath out, and he laughs. 

“I like to tease my girl,” he says before bringing his lips down over the fabric again. But you can’t focus completely on that right now, not when your mind is repeating his voice calling you his girl. But eventually you snap out of it when his mouth is replaced with his fingers, running over the fabric of your panties, there’s enough friction to tease you but not enough to truly please you.

“I think it’s time I see this pussy,” he says, placing some kisses on your thighs. “Don’t you think so, sweetheart?”

You whine out a yes, and he makes quick work of removing your underwear. The cool air of the room hits your slick as Lando returns your legs to their open position. “Just like I thought- gorgeous pussy” he says, using a finger to collect your arousal, bringing it to his mouth and closing his eyes as he cleans his finger. “Taste better than the blue candy, sweetheart. I think I need another taste, don’t you?”

You nod, and before you can even utter a ‘please’, his mouth is on you. “Stars, Lando,” you whimper as he sucks on your clit. His tongue is swirling around in patterns that made your whole body shiver, his hands are on your tits and stomach, groping at any soft flesh he could grasp. Everytime you whine out a word, he hums around your clit, sending a wave of vibration straight to your core. 

“And to think I’ve traveled to a hundred confectionery shops when the sweetest candy in the galaxy is right here,” he says, pulling your lips further apart so he could admire his candy. With a growl, he dives back in, this time at your hole, letting his nose take care of your clit for now. His tongue pushes inside you with force, Lando eagerly lapping up your juices, your moans escaping in unison with his. 

When he decides his nose occasionally bumping your clit isn’t enough and replaces it with his fingers, rubbing small circles, you feel the wave of your orgasm start to roll in. “Gonna come, Lando, fuck-”

He hums, low and gravely against your cunt, and it pushes you over the edge. You’re loud, moaning and writhing under him, but his mouth stays attached to your slit with determination, following your hips wherever they go. Lando does this until your body stops shivering and you’re left with labored breathing on the bed in a mess of pillows. 

“Stars, Lando, you’re good at that,” you giggle as he climbs up your body to press a kiss to your forehead, nose, lips. You taste yourself on him, not something you’d describe as the best candy in the galaxy, but you could see where he was coming from. 

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart,” he replies. “I’m a people pleaser at heart.” Your hands wander down to the buckle of his belt, trying to undo it but the clasp is foreign and your mind is cloudy. Lando sits back on his haunches between your legs, undoing the clasp and freeing his cock from his pants. Lando Calrissian didn’t wear underwear, apparently. “Is this what you wanted, beautiful?” 

You nod frantically, the voice in the back of your head telling you you looked pathetically horny, but you couldn’t care. “Please, Lando,” you whine. “Want you inside me.”

“Stars, sweetheart, I’ve wanted this since back on Naboo,” he says, shedding his pants and adding them to the stack of clothes accumulating on the side of the bed. 

“Been so enamored by you for so long,” he sighs, lining his cock up with your entrance. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you beg, “Please.”

“There’s my girl, with her manners,” he groans as he pushes his cock inside you, ever so slowly. “Gotta savor your pussy, sweetheart. Been wanting it for so long.”

You moan as he bottoms out, “Wait, my implant expired, I’m sor-” 

He cuts you off, “I have one. Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” His voice is strained with pleasure as he drags his cock in and out of your aching core, you swear you can feel each vein against your walls. 

“Fuck, Lando, please,” you whine, wishing he’d give you a little more, even if it was just enough to come. 

He gives you that smug smile, “Please what?”

“Faster, Lando,” you whimper, bringing your legs around his waist in an effort to push him into you quicker.

He tuts. “Where’s your manners, sweet thing?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please, please, please.”

He kisses your nose. “Since you’re so polite, I think I might just have to oblige.” And he does. His hips don’t snap hard against you like the other guys you’d fucked, though they hadn’t been very good, maybe that was why. He wasn’t so hard like the holoporn videos or the stories you’d read on the ‘Net. But it’s so good. 

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” His voice is breathy now, though still deep. 

“Full,” you whine, and his fingers come to your clit, causing you to gasp and clench around him. “And stretched.”

His lips are painted with that smug smile again, “Just like you want, sweetheart. Just like you deserve.”

His voice deep in your ear, his cock deep in your cunt, and his fingers moving with grace across your clit just about send you to the edge again. “I think I’m gonna come Lando,” you moan, “Fuck I want to come, please!”

“Come, then, sweetheart,” He grunts. “I’ll always give you anything you want.” That was it, the final straw, and your body began to shiver and shake. Your arms clasped around him and your legs pushing him deep inside you, you come with such force that you can hardly make any noise. Your mouth is open, your eyes are wide, but there’s no sounds, just complete and utter bliss. “I’ll always give you what you want,” he pants again as you come down from your high, still relishing in his cock fucking you open.

“Then give me your cum,” you demand. 

There’s a twinkle in his eye now, “Your wish is my command,” he says. His thrusts are a little quicker now, though more shallow and sloppy, and you continue to moan his name and clench your walls around him until he’s grunting in your ear that, “I’m going to fill you up, sweetheart, just like you asked.” 

And he comes, also with force, losing control of his thrusts and your heels dig into his ass, holding him inside you as he paints your walls white. “Fuck, just what I wanted, Lando,” you coo, running a hand over his back as he lay on top of you trying to collect himself. “Treat me so well, like a princess.”

He gently pulls out, both of you wincing, and he rolls onto your side. You shift to face him, trying not to move too much so you don’t spill cum over what you assume are expensive blankets and bedding. 

“Spread your legs a little, sweetheart,” he says softly. You do as you're told, and he slips a finger between your legs, just outside your slit where he collects your mixed cum. He licks some, though not all, off his finger and hums. “Second sweetest candy in the galaxy. You want a taste?”

You nod, sticking your tongue out with an eagerness that should’ve been embarrassing. He holds his finger out and you lick it clean. “I think that’s the sweetest,” you say, savoring the strange yet satisfying taste. “But to each their own I guess.”

-

“Did you enjoy that?” Lando has you lying against his chest, now clad in one of his silk sleep shirts and he wears the matching pants. He’d cleaned you up nicely, brought some sweet Alderaanian toniray- a rare commodity these days- for you to sip on. 

You nod. “It was amazing. I’ve never come twice with someone before.”

He looks almost offended at your statement, “You’ve only been with guys that make you come once?”

“Sometimes not even once,” you admit. “That’s not normal?”

He shakes his head. “Kriff, no, sweetheart, you’re supposed to come. And the bare minimum is once in my book. In fact, I regret only making you come twice tonight. Got too caught up in my own pleasure.”

“Well, you’re supposed to feel good, too,” you point out. 

He nods. “Yes, but I should also make you feel good. I get off on making you feel good.” He’s shaking his head again. “Only come once,” he mutters. “Atrocious, dear, absolutely atrocious.”

You let out a sleepy giggle, drawing patterns with your nail on his chest. “Well you can make up for all those missed orgasms another time,” you say, finishing with a yawn. “You’ve worn me out, Calrissian.”

“As you should be, sweetheart,” he says. “Get some rest, yeah?”

You nod against his chest, the quiet darkness of the room and the beat of his heart already lulling you to sleep.

-

tagging those who showed some interest (i promise boba threesome is coming in the next few days, i’ve already written over half of it lol)! @delusionsxfgrandeur @fuckyeahbeskar @sleepwithacommunist @tibbietibbs @hansonveggieclub

#lando calrissian #lando calrissian smut #lando calrissian x reader

[seancekitsch]

Duty: A Cahir x Reader fic in the Intended series

Warnings: oral and penatrative sex, butchering of the tale of lady ragnell and sir gawain bc i remembered it wrong from my childhood, the slightest twinge of angst if you squint, hints to book canon events, 3k of unedited smut as literally always

You shiver has Cahir pulling the blanket up over your shoulders as you snuggle closer to him. Instead of east which proved two years ago to be completely unfruitful, you head north now, having heard something on the road about the Nilfgaardian army heading north. Wherever they were headed, you both figured your cousin might be. How excited you think she’ll be to see you alive. A family member not lost to the flames. Maybe she wouldn't recognize you anymore, now that you wear trousers and travel with a fugitive. Though you never felt hot summers in Cintra, going even farther north set the chill in even longer into the year. You figure it will be the height of the summer before you stop shivering. You wonder how Cahir handles it. Sweet Cahir who grew up in the south, the tropical heat of Vicovaro.You love the stories of summers by the Alba river, the warm summer nights under the stars. At this point, it seems like you'll never see it for yourself, so you vicariously live it through the stories he tells you. You ask him to tell them all the time, probably something he’s extremely tired of repeating, but it keeps away the chill, at least for a while.

He pulls your naked body a little closer to his, something he always says is that body heat helps to warm your bones. You think it might just be something he says to stay naked in bed with you a little longer. Since being able to pick up a little work on your travels, finding a room at an inns that the innkeepers would look the other way when you arrived, you can now afford to do this with him, rather than laying beneath the stars. You almost forgot what a bed felt like, but now every night your back thanks you for the new sleeping arrangements.

Your arm snakes around his waist, giving him as squeeze as you press a quick kiss to his pectoral. Contented sighs are common between the two of you, these relaxed nights frozen in time where you can be your most vulnerable on a continent that works its hardest to beat the vulnerability out of everyone.

Your eyes catch sight of the sword on the chest of drawers. Your sword. Not the dagger, not the sword Cahir lent you for practice. The sword he bought you and specifically had made for you. A weapon as an act of true love that means the world to you. He seems to catch the sight as well, you assume with his next words.

“What shall you name your sword?” he plays with your fingers, tangling your hands together. Your hands are soft compared to his, but he suspects that won't be for long.

“Ragnell,” you answer without hesitation.

“Ragnell?” he repeats.

“Yes, it's from a story that I heard as a child. There was this man that told stories the elves knew in the library.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles, then realizes, “Aren’t the stories of elves taboo?”

You chuckle, and press a kiss to his chest.

“Oh I’m sure he would lose his keep if I squealed. Good thing I can keep a secret,” You hum, recalling the story, “There was a knight, and he was the nicest knight. And he fell in love with this woman who was cursed to be very ugly. She did not think he would actually love her, but he did and he married her. On their wedding night half of the curse was lifted, and she said: do you want me ugly during the day when others see me? Or only at night when it's just you seeing me? The knight, I forget his name, says: You may choose, I will be a good husband and love you either way. That act of love and freedom frees her from the curse and she can choose how he looks. It was my favorite story.”

Ragnell was the cursed woman, and he realizes it's the perfect name for the sword. A beautiful piece of metal but used for ugly purposes. He stares up at the gauzy canopy above your heads, the mauves and dark blues swirling together like the night sky. Like so many nights he spent with you in his arms next to the campfire.

Cahir wishes he knew you when he was younger. Knowing his fair share of stories of Nilfgaardian knighthood and bravery, he was as much a storyteller as a rambunctious child who used to run around the grounds of Darn Dyffra with a wooden sword in his hands. Had he met you earlier, you might have grown up loving one another. Maybe already married, living as count and countess of Darn Dyffra, destiny wouldn't need either of you in what it has plans. If only. He knows that even when he was young, he dreamt of you. Your features blurred and distorted, but it was always you. It took seeing you in the flames of Cintra that night to see you in focus, but it was always you. For a man who valued his pride, his accomplishments, he cannot help but to see his failures now as blessings. The intuition he felt in Cintra, the failure of what was to be his most important mission, utter failure but it was all to bring him to you.

“Ragnell it is,” he repeats your words, the name sounding nice on his tongue now that it has meaning, “May she serve you well.”

And then he kisses you on the mouth, lips capturing yours, open and eager. His tongue quickly finds yours, passing through your mouth like a promise, the sealing of a contract between your lips. He shifts to be on top of you, slotting his legs between yours as the hand not supporting him above you roams your body. After two years, affection like this doesn't feel stolen between the two of you, not rushed and fumbling like it used to feel. He moves from your mouth to your jaw, to your neck and then to your collarbone as his groping and fondling continues, spurred on by your soft moans and your skin feeling oh so hot under his touch. He kisses at your collarbone, licking and sucking a mark there, but before he continues you stop him.

“You don't have to, my love,” You lazily assure him, “You're tired.”

“I do,” he says, kissing down your body, from your chest, the valley of your sternum, your navel. You gasp sharply as his tongue darts out of his mouth to lick a stripe up along your hip above the bone. He continues farther, scooting to the edge of the bed, parting your thighs, pressing a lewd kiss to the inside of each of them.

“What kind of a knight would I be if I did not fulfill my duty to you?” There's playfulness in his tone that makes  your heart race, and you prop yourself up on your elbow to look him in the eye. You feel as if you’ll combust if he doesn't touch you more.

“So this is your duty to me? This specifically?” The image of you looking down at him, chest heaving and eyes wide is all he needs to want to dive headfirst into your heat, to spend the rest of his night between your legs.

There's something devilish in his eyes as he chuckles and presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, nipping at it gently as you gasp.

“It is my duty to keep my lady satisfied, or else she chooses to leave me for another,” he mumbles as his lips move up closer to where you want him.

“Cahir,” your breath hitches as he tests the waters, licking teasingly at your clit, almost silencing you, “You have to be the only person I’ve chosen in my life.”

That's music to his ears. He licks again, this time with more precision, more purpose, earning him the ghost of a moan, the first of many. Each lick earns him a moan, but they’re nothing compared to the shaking moan that turns into a closed mouth whine as you head falls back into the sheets, his lips coming around the bud to suck on it.

“Cahir,” his name falls from your lips with a sigh. He watches you intently, giving your cult another harsh suck before dipping lower, licking you open and tasting your arousal.

“Better than the sweetest honey that exists,” he hums, mostly to himself, but your breath hitches again in response. He licks up as much as he can, tongue as deep in you as he can manage. One of your hands finds his hair as you chant his name, first running fingers through it gently, then starting to rake and pull as his ministrations pick up the pace.

Every time Cahir’s tongue is inside you, it's a dedication to your pleasure and your pleasure alone. You’ve long since forbidden him from apologizing again and again for the circumstances of your meeting. All in the past, you always say, but he hopes every time you come undone on his tongue he repents just that much more for the harm he caused you so many months ago. Cahir drinks you in, indulging and loving every second of it. Your back is arched off the bed, legs thrown over his shoulders as you grasp at his hair and the bedsheets. He loves the sting of your nails against his scalp.

It’s when he adds two fingers that your body reacts like lightning, replacing his tongue and again his lips attaching to your clit. There are tears, beautiful tears in the corners of your eyes as he watches you start to lose yourself. That’s right, he thinks, fall apart for me love. Your moans are beautiful, ragged from breathlessness and sounding like a prayer of his name and only his name, and he pulls them from you with every thrust of his fingers. He feels your muscles going taut under his touch, he can feel you ready to come.

“Give it to me, love, let go,” he urges, his free hand reaching over to grab your hand. He holds your hand as you come, shaking with a silent scream from your lips. His mouth and fingers work you through your peak, letting you down gently; his mouth licking up every last drop of your wetness.

“But what about you?” you ask as he comes back up to lay with you.

“You needn’t do anything tonight love,”Cahir whispers as he kisses you, mouth still wet from you. You taste sweet on his tongue, delving into your mouth as you regain your breath, body pliant beneath his gentle touch. But as much as he can say that, you can feel him hard and straining against your thigh, body begging for you even if he won't voice his needs.

“No, Cahir, let me reward you for taking care of me,” you break the kiss, a mischievous smile gracing your lips, “Think of it as MY duty to you.”

Your hands grab his shoulders and push him back onto the bed, now it being his turn to lay back and enjoy himself. You kiss him again on the mouth sweetly while you maneuver your legs over his hips to straddle him, soft hands cupping his cheeks as you do. Those stormy blue eyes watch your every movement as you start to move, rubbing yourself against him. The noises that tumble from his lips are beautiful, little whimpers and moans from someone who anyone but you would consider fearsome and formidable. To you, he's just Cahir; Cahir that’s oh so reactive to your touch, Cahir that’s so very vulnerable. A low, throaty moan reverberates from his chest as you line him up with your entrance and sink down onto his length inch by inch.

“Beautiful,” he sighs as his hands find their place on your hips, holding you against him. You lean back down, kissing him again as you start to rock against him, catching little moans of his on your tongue as you slowly bring him to the edge. His warm hands hold you tightly, gently guiding your hips as he thanks you through kisses. You take such good care of him. You kiss him again, and then pull away.

“I’m close.”

“Again?”

You nod, and he squeezes your hips a little tighter, your head dipping down, almost close enough to kiss him, resting all of your weight on your arms as your hips pick up their pace, thrusting yourself onto him as you chase your high.

“With me?”

He nods, and starts to buck his hips up into yours, meeting your gyrations. You fall over the cliff into ecstasy together; sweet quiet moans of each other's names as you watch each other's faces contort with the pleasure.

You tumble onto the sheets next to him, thighs aching and panting for breath. Cahir’s arms are immediately pulling you back in, against him. He kisses your hairline, your eyebrows, and just holds you there, allowing you to catch your breath on his chest and regain your bearings. He feels every breath in your lungs with his palm against your back. In, out, in, out. He feels every muscle in your body tense and relax under his touch, welcoming him in as embraces you, the way you think the kind knight might have embraced his wife, if they even existed in the first place. You sigh, face stretching into an easy smile, wishing this moment could just remain.

He will never get used to this, he thinks. No matter how many nights he gets to fall asleep by your side, no matter how many mornings he gets to wake up with you in his arms, he will never feel broken in. Not with you, and Cahir finds he doesn't want it to.

You let yourself be pulled in by Cahir, gladly molding yourself to his chest and lazily smiling at the feeling of his soft lips against your head. How strange it is, to feel love as a verb. To actively radiate it and push and mold it in your hands against another person. Perhaps that’s what the kind knight had in mind with his cursed wife. Your tired fingers flex against his sweaty chest. You want to get used to this. To have his touch feel like second nature, to fall into a routine of waking and falling asleep next to him. You want it all to feel like you’ve always had it, and you always will.

“I should marry you as soon as possible,” he mumbles into your hair, an admission of his desires as much as an admission of guilt. In his mind he’s thought of himself as yours forever since he learned your name. It’s been far too long— over three years— that he’s known you and hasn’t been officially yours. His hand runs along the flesh above your rib cage, smoothing out a muscle there. It’s not so much he wants you as a wife, he does, but it’s not his wish to possess you, more for you to possess him. He wants to be yours, and shout it from the peak of the highest mountain. He should have asked you sooner, in a more elegant way. Grand romantic gestures would embarrass you, but this seemed almost shameful to blurt out at this hour.

“We should get married.” He says it again, a fool for love. As much as he doesn’t think this is proper, he wants it to be known his intentions with you.

“Not yet,” you whisper, hoping you aren’t being careless with his heart. It isn’t that you don’t want to marry him. You do. You have since Brugge. Every fiber of your being wants to be his, only his, forever. While you sleep beside him you dream of doing it until you’re old and frail. You dream of retiring from a life of adventure happy to know your remaining family is safe, not in Vicovaro unless something drastic happens with the war, but somewhere nice. Somewhere warm where you can see the sun tan his skin and there can be a garden. But your gut is telling you destiny won’t let it happen just yet. Like if you marry him tomorrow like you so desperately want, everything will come crashing down. Marriage or celebration right now would be a harbinger of doom. You feel him stiffen beneath you.

“Not yet, you handsome thing, but soon. We have a cousin of mine to find. Once we confirm her safety, then we can be husband and wife. Maybe open up a shop to keep ourselves; become farmers together,” you sound pleading, wanting him to understand you without telling him of your gut feeling. You don’t want to scare him with your superstition.

“I can’t give you much,” he begins, but you lean up to silence him with a kiss.

“It’s not that, Cahir. You already gave me Ragnell. That’s more than a wife could ever want. Soon. Once we find Ciri.”

He understands now. Destiny and duty first. He nods, and kisses you back.

“Then I will belong to you,” he promises. You press one more kiss to his jaw, and then he pulls up the sheet around you and you settle in to sleep, tangled up in one another.

He falls asleep hoping you find Cirilla tomorrow so he can marry you the day after. He falls asleep with you soundly in his arms, holding him like you’ll never let go.

#my work #intended series #cahir x reader #cahir the witcher x reader

[worldwidemochiguy]

Can you write BTS yandere reactions if you try to hurt them or even kill them to escape? Love your blog x 💜

ahaha thanks and here you go!! bc there’s seven of them and i wanted to do unique ones for each i kind of don’t stick exactly to the prompt, but i try to include at least one element of it in each thing, anyways i hope you like it 💞💞

Namjoon

“Really, Y/n?” Namjoon doesn’t even look up from the file he’s leafing through at his desk, despite the gun you’re pointing at his head. His tone is — as always — nonchalant, as if he’s almost disappointed in you for daring to challenge him. You feel regret curling its fingers into the back of your head, but you try to stay strong despite your trembling hands.

“Let me go.” You say, with a much weaker tone than you intended. He looks up this time, an eyebrow flicks upwards condescendingly.

“I have no intention of letting you go, Y/n. Does that mean you’re going to shoot me?” You whimper quietly, your finger loosening on the trigger guard. “I really thought you were more intelligent than that, but I guess you will have to be taught another lesson.”

Another lesson. Your mind flashes back to days spent alone, locked in a room so dark you couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Nothing around you, completely untethered and suffocated at the same time. No. Your muscles tense up and, without meaning to, you pull the trigger.

“No!” You scream, even as your finger tightens on the gun.

But the trigger has already been pulled. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see the bullet exit the chamber, not wanting to the man who’s tormented you splattered against the wall.

You hear a quiet chuckle, and the gun is gently tugged out of your loose grip.

“Silly baby, did you really think I was going to leave a loaded gun where you could find it? No, this was a test, and you’ve failed, Y/n. It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll just have to give you another lesson.”

Jin

“Jagiya,” Jin’s hurt voice caused you to whip around immediately, without realising the half-full vial was still in your tight grip. “W-What are you pouring in the pot?”

When you had volunteered to make dinner that night for the both of you, Jin had been ecstatic, content that you had finally settled into your place as his loving, doting wife. Little did he know that you had hatched a plan to poison him and run away. You had never been a particularly violent person, but you were desperate to escape. You had realised by now that Jin was never going to willingly let you go.

“U-Uh,” You stuttered, glancing down at the vial in your hand, “…it’s seasoning.” His expression instantly showed his disbelief and he stalked over to you, yanking the poison out of your grip and crowding you against the kitchen counter with his intimidating broad frame.

“Jagiya, when I trust you with these things I expect you to be worthy of that trust, not betray me like some common slut!”

The sting of the slap is the first thing that registers before the side of your face goes numb. He hits you again, making your head jerk to the other side. Hot tears track down your inflamed cheeks, exacerbating the stinging. Jin grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look up and into his manic, crazed eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Jagiya. If you betray me like this again, you will be the one who ends up dying. But it will not be by a quick and painless poison, no, it will be long and agonising. Is that what you want, huh?”

Yoongi

You slam him against the wall, hard enough to make the pictures rattle.

“Talk to me!” You scream, and your voice breaks on the last syllable, no longer able to choke down the sobs. But Yoongi just stares at you, silent as he had been ever since he discovered your plan to escape.

You had booked the plane tickets, you were so close to freedom you could practically taste it. But, on the morning of your getaway, you woke up in a completely different location. Yoongi had moved the two of you to a secluded safehouse while you slept. When you ran out of the door, he hadn’t stopped you, and soon you realised why.

The warehouse was literally in the middle of nowhere. You ran around for miles, screaming for help until your throat was hoarse. There was no one there to hear you. Eventually, night fell and you stumbled back to the only shelter for miles around, to Yoongi. For a while you were terrified you couldn’t find it, and it was hours before you were back and safe, for a loose definition of the word.

Yoongi has given you what you wanted. You wanted to get out of that house Yoongi had imprisoned you in, and now you were far away from it. You desired freedom, and now you could roam for miles, untethered. You wished to never speak to Yoongi again, and since the morning of your relocation he had not breathed a word to you, despite how much you begged him to.

He was, as far as you knew, the only living soul in the vicinity, and having him not even acknowledge you, especially after having his devoted attention for so long, was tearing you apart. And you had started to resort to any means possible to get him to talk.

“Yoongi!” You yell, wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing as tightly as you can. He doesn’t react beyond his face redening, and you can feel his pulse weaken beneath your fingertips. You could just kill him, right here, right now. There’s no one around to see it. And after all he’s done to you…

You let him go and he slumps against the wall, panting slightly. You raise a hand to brush away your tears, damp on your cheeks, but it’s useless. They’ll be replaced by fresh tracks soon enough.

“Please,” you beg, staring at his blank face, “Please just talk to me.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time in this new hellhole, and you realise what he wants.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just- please,” You bury your sobs in your hands, body shaking with the force of it. A pair of warm arms encircle you, helping your body to still and relax.

“It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, and you don’t have to worry anymore about your freedom, because I’ve taken us to a place where other people won’t even be able to touch us anymore. Do you feel better now, angel?”

Hoseok

“Y/n!” Hoseok bellows, and you feel that familiar helpless panic surge within you.

A man had approached you at your table when the two of you were at a restaurant while Hoseok was in the bathroom. You had immediately turned him down, telling him you were taken, and the man left disappointed. However, Hoseok saw the exchange and was convinced you were somehow cheating on him with that man. And now he was mad.

“Get back here!” He screams as you dart into the sitting room. You know running will only make it worse for yourself, but you can’t stop from trying to escape from him when he gets like this.

“Y/n! Stop this right now!” His enraged voice rattles through the walls and a second later, he bursts through the door. He sees you on the far side of the room, quivering in terror, and runs at you with his fist raised.

By pure instinct, you dodge his punch. Gaining awareness just in time to watch, horrified, as his knuckles crunch into the plaster. You think you can hear them break, and a second later, Hoseok has his hand clutched to his chest with a wail of agony.

“Oh no~” You whimper, immediately drawing close to him and reaching out to cradle his injured hand in your own. He hisses in pain and you look up to gauge his expression. It is full of discomfort, washing away all of his previous fury.

When you first started dating, it had been difficult to adjust to his constant mood swings, from loving boyfriend to violently jealous to depressed and insecure. Now, you were used to it enough to realise that you had to cherish moments like these when his anger had dissipated.

You lead him upstairs to the bathroom, whispering apologies whenever he made a noise of discomfort or pain. Soon, you have him sat on the edge of the bath as you dab a cotton bud of antiseptic onto his wounds. Three of the knuckles are broken, and all of them badly bruised. Your guilt is a heavy weight on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly as he hisses when you apply the badages.

“For what?” He snorts, despite the pain in his voice, “For talking to that guy, for causing me to get injured, or for wrapping my wounds too tightly?”

“I-I promise you, Hobi, I didn’t want to talk to him. He approached me but I immediately said I was taken, just like you told me to say. But I am sorry for the other things, Hobi. I’m really sorry.”

He sighs, then runs his uninjured hand through your hair, petting your head softly.

“I only do these things because I love you, Y/n. You’re the one that does this to me, and you make me suffer all the time. Are you going to be good now? And stop making me do all these crazy things for you, huh?”

Jimin

“Aww, baby, you’re so sweet!”

You pause, incredibly confused. When you told your possessive, ridiculously clingy boyfriend that you were leaving him, and had booked plane tickets to leave the country in order to avoid him, you hadn’t expected him to delightedly clap his hands together and coo.

“Jimin… d-did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course I did, Princess! Oh, you’re so cute. I can’t believe you got us plane tickets to France to visit Disneyland Paris!”

“Uh, what?” Your brow furrows, “Jimin, that’s not- I got plane tickets for myself so that I could leave the country. Because of you. And these tickets aren’t even to Fran-“”

“Baby,” Jimin interupts, and you can see the danger on the edge of his loving expression. “I know you’re joking, but don’t upset me now. And getting fake tickets just to prank me is going a bit far.” He reaches out and deftly snatches your plane ticket out of your hand, before you can even react.

“I mean, who knows? You might even confuse these with the real tickets for our trip, so I’ll just-” He rips up the ticket. “-get rid of them for you.” He giggles. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You watch in shock as your freedom flutters in fragmented pieces to the floor. Months of waiting, saving up, planning, all wasted.

“Well?” Jimin prods, and you look back up at him. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”

You just stand there stock still for a moment, before all of that longing, and pain, and anger washes over you and, without even processing it, you’re slapping Jimin as hard as you physically can.

He gasps, and then runs out of the room before you can react. You pause for a second before running after him. You find him in the kitchen, stooped over the sink. When he hears your footsteps, he turns around and you see his lip is cut, blood streaming over his chin and down his neck.

You gasp, and running over to him and taking his face in your hands, all thoughts of escaping replaced with bitter guilt. You are so distracted with him that you don’t notice the discarded knife resting behind Jimin’s hand, fresh drops of blood gleaming on the side of the blade.

“Ah, you hurt me really bad, Princess. I can’t believe my perfect angel would do something like this to me. You’re sorry, right? Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you love me, and I’ll feel better. Just tell me you love me and I won’t punish you, please?”

Taehyung

It has always been extremes with Taehyung. Either he was the most artistic, dorkiest, sweetest boyfriend in the world, or he could be violent, possessive to a ridiculous degree, and controlling over every aspect of your life.

You found yourself growing more frustrated each time he asks you about who your friends are, what they’re saying to you, when you’re talking to them. He doesn’t trust you, and whenever you confront him about it, he tells you that it’s because he loves you too much to lose you.

But that doesn’t make sense. You can’t have love without trust.

“Who is he?” Taehyung screams, and it’s midnight and you’ve had this conversation more times than you can count and you’re just so tired.

Your mom’s been calling, she hasn’t heard from you in a while thanks to Taehyung cutting you off from everyone you knew, including your family.

“It was my mom, asshole! I showed you the contact on my phone! It was my mom!” You spit back at him and he chuckles in fake amusement and you know you’re hurtling headfirst into dangerous territory but you just can’t stop yourself.

“Yeah? Well I don’t fucking believe you! Why won’t you let me call the number back, hmm? What are you trying to hide?”

“I just don’t want you calling my mom because you’re a creep and I don’t want you talking to her!”

He shoves you against the wall and your head swings back painfully. Before you can even register the pain, Taehyung’s lips are on yours, licking into your mouth harshly and biting so hard you taste blood.

It’s more of a fight for dominance than a kiss, and you’re determined not to lose this time.

You twist around and shove him against the wall, hard enough that his head makes a twin indent to yours, and you hope it gains him the same dizzying quality that’s leaking into your vision, so that you’re on more of an even playing field.

He smiles down at you lazily and you feel disgusted with yourself. What’s wrong with you? Deliberately exacerbating fights with your boyfriend just to chase the high of being fought over, the bittersweet pleasure of darkening bruises and words so painful they scream their way out. He smiles at you because you’re just like him, you enjoy the pain, and feel helplessly drawn to it. Maybe that’s why you just can’t leave him.

“Fuck, baby girl can give as good as she gets, is that it? You like a little bit of pain, huh? Well don’t worry baby, I’ll give it to you. Trust me.”

Jungkook

A snort is not the reaction you were hoping for, but it’s what you happens when you take a deep breath and point a dagger at Jungkook. The jewelled handle feels cold and heavy in your palm. It’s the dagger Jungkook keeps beneath his pillow each night in case of intruders, and judging my his little amused glance at it, he recognises his own weapon.

“So, what’s the plan, baby?” Jungkook asks you, remarkably calm for someone with a knife pointed at his chest. “You’re gonna stab me?” Absurdly, you nod when he asks you this. He laughs, then nods himself.

“Ok then, you’re just gonna commit a little murder then. Are you sure you’re capable of that?”

“…uh huh.” You reply dumbly. His eyes twinkle with mirth, and he continues his line of questioning.

“Alright then, you’ll murder me. I guess you’re not gonna clean up the body, considering you’re working alone?” He pauses for a response, and when he receives none he smiles to himself and keeps going.

“After that, where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? After all, it’s not like you know anyone in this area.”

“That’s not true!” You pipe up, “My uncle Minyoung! He’s helping me leave.”

“Oh, your Uncle Minyoung.” Jungkook gasps in realisation and you nod again. “You mean this Uncle Minyoung?” Jungkook takes a Polaroid out of his pocket and hands it to you. You attempt to take it with your right hand, remember you’re holding a dagger, and take the photo with the other hand instead.

The photo shows a broken corpse, its head detached and pointed towards the camera. Jungkook is posing next to it, winking at you. Right next to him is your Uncle Minyoung’s severed head.

“Oh.” You say, and drop the photo. It flutters gently to the floor.

“Oh,” Jungkook echoes, “Well, what’re you going to do now? Your uncle had all the travel information, right?”

“Right.” You repeat distantly.

“So… how are you going to escape?”

“…I guess I can’t.” You realise, and the corners of his mouth curl into a smug smile.

During your conversation, Jungkook has moved closer and now stands directly in front of you, so close that the dagger is pressed against his chest. You watch as the pointed tip distorts the expensive fibres of his shirt. You wonder how much give they have before it tears.

Jungkook takes the dagger from you delicately, and then sweeps you up in his arms.

“Little baby, trying to escape from me? When will you realise that you will never be able to? You’re just so dumb! You’re lucky I’m here to look after you, or you really wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’re so lucky to have me around.”

#yandere bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yandere bangtan #bts fic #bts #yandere bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader

[mewtwo24]

Lucifer I want to hold ur hand

So like...I wrote this eons ago before all the Belphie chapters happened, but I’m still really proud of it? It’s like shortly after Lucifer goes coco-nuts at the end of chapter...12? I think? I came into the game a little late, and then the story took off and this became more of an au given the context

Under a cut bc it is a l o n g boi, as per usual, a little shorter than 2000 words. This is purely fluff hurt/comfort, nothing too heavy or that requires warnings. The MC in this is named Joanna.

Enjoy!

“I don’t know if I’ll ever begin to understand...”

Lucifer’s voice was so quiet, she could only barely make out what he was saying. Her mind was still foggy, still struggling to think beyond the dull ache.

“I never know whether to be impressed by your audacity, or find it foolish. Are all humans like you?” There was a slight huff, something akin to a chuckle--though the prospect made her more sure she was dreaming. His voice was never that tender, and most certainly never so self-effacing. “Perhaps that was a foolish question.” 

He didn’t specify whether that was because it was a good kind of obvious, or a bad kind. And she was too afraid to ask him to clarify--too certain his voice would disappear forever. The last time they had spoken he was beyond furious with her; it was the reason she was on what seemed to be some kind of medical bed. It couldn’t have been her room. Her room didn’t smell like bleach and sterilized dust.

“I know you’re awake, Joanna.” 

Her eyes shot open to find him smiling deviously to her left, hand intercepting the forearm that had instinctively leapt to her defense. She was surprised to find that his grip was gentle; only enough to stop her from hurting either of them.

“That’s one way to say good evening,” he released her arm after checking to make sure her IV was undisturbed. “But I truly wouldn’t have you any other way. Your courage has always been captivating.” 

She assessed him carefully--she wasn’t so delirious that she didn’t realize precisely who it was that landed her in what looked to be a human hospital. The throbbing in her head was no accident, and neither was the ache in her shoulders.

“I suppose I deserve that look.” His brows furrowed, “And I owe Belphegor much for deflecting the majority of my attack. Please, rest assured that I have no intention of directing violence towards you ever again. You have my word.” She could detect no slumbering threat in his gaze, no riddle in the firm line of his mouth. He was serious as serious could be--the most sober demon she had ever met. Her eyes widened when he bowed in that reverent way he always did in the company of the higher ranking demons, onyx hair cascading over his eyes. 

“I imagine Diavolo has already expressed his disappointment.” She laughed when his lips pursed and his shoulders stiffened, a clear sign she was probably right. “I don’t see any need to make you feel worse. Though, I would like it if there could be fewer threats in our exchanges.”

When he straightened he remained ramrod tense, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. He didn't like being indebted to people, and he liked failing even less. 

And yet, despite everything, she didn’t want him to go. He was the first person to try to ease her worries in this realm--had given her enough information to protect herself, regardless of the situation's tenuous balance. As much as their final confrontation was about his struggle to let go of his haughtiness, it was also about the feelings they had been harboring for each other. She liked him--loved him, even--well aware of all the reasons she shouldn’t.

For all his attempts at guarded distance, he had offered her a great deal of freedom and care in this foreign realm. She knew he was trying, he had simply been a otherworldly being for a very long time; she imagined she had caused quite the uproar in defying him. But somebody had to. If there was one thing she’d learned in life, nothing good came of being entirely untouchable.

“Pull up a chair--that is, if I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Surprise flitted across his face, and it was a wonderful thing to see his honest reaction for a change. Was it because he felt safe with her, or because they were alone? She half-expected him to retreat in favor of making sure Diavolo’s requests weren’t neglected in the time he spent looking after her. For all his insistence of her lowly status, she was sure he felt a great deal of guilt and responsibility for the harm he’d inflicted. 

Despite his considerable strength, he fumbled getting the chair to cross the distance to the bed. She withheld laughter behind a sympathetic smile. Was that a bit of color on his cheeks? He didn’t say anything for a while, eyes trained on the bed.

“Lucifer?” She reached out to touch his pale hand, surprised to find it cool to the touch. Had he been eating properly since the fallout? She hadn't realized what she'd done until after the fact--he had held her hand when she'd revealed she was scared what seemed like hours ago.

“You can’t love somebody and control them at the same time.” He eventually murmured, staring at the hand that was on top of his own. It was entire minutes later that his gaze rose, “I was only just beginning to understand what that meant when you first told me. And perhaps I still don’t understand--not the way humans do.”

Slowly, he raised her hand up to his lips, eyes never leaving hers. “Make a pact with me.” The warmth of his lips and the gentle cycle of his breath against her skin made heat gather in her cheeks. “I want to learn more about this human way of loving.”

“What makes you think I want to make a pact with you? I thought demons couldn’t change.”

She could see him wilt the slightest bit after a spark of indignation, his eyes averted as he lowered her hand. She couldn’t help teasing him a bit--after all the trouble he’d given her to confess his feelings, it was a small price. “For the longest time, it was what I believed. But now I see that it was short-sighted, and self-indulgent.” He sighed. “It was precisely the reason that Belphegor became so cross with me--and Satan, as well. I was so desperate to look after them, to make sure what happened to--" he shook his head. "...would never happen again. I stopped seeing things clearly.”

“And what makes you so sure fear won’t rule you again?” Her eyes were clear; not condemning, but vigilant. She was willing to give him a chance, but he needed to prove that he had learned something from all of this. 

“I’m not.”

“Not?”

“I’m not at all certain. Demons are just as fallible--if not more so--as a result of their strength, their base extremity. I cannot promise that which I cannot foresee.”

When she began to withdraw her hand, his fingers tightened around hers before she could slip away. “But I intend to minimize that concern as much as I can. I imagine under your short leash, things will cease before they ever get to that point again.”

She relaxed when she found his carnelian eyes softly aglow, adoring as they landed on her. It was one thing to hope for such an outcome--it was another thing entirely to see it come to fruition. 

"I'm stubborn."

"As am I."

"I'm a strict instructor."

This earned her a wicked smile. "I should hope so."

"...I'm also mortal, Lucifer."

"And I intend to make you deliriously happy for all the years you will grace this realm. So long as you permit it--it doesn't change a thing."

Her eyes were getting misty. "Are you sure you want somebody as nosy and forthright as me?"

Both of his hands covered hers and he leaned forward--so confident--and stopped a hairsbreadth from her lips. 

"Do you want this, Joanna, as I do? All the good and bad that are to come with it?"

She hadn't been imagining things at all, passion burning in eyes that smoldered to a darker crimson. "More than anything," she breathed. 

His lips found hers shortly after that, gossamer but enough to leave his taste tingling on the surface when he retreated. She had a hard time trying to describe it; she wasn't sure if it was the lingering concussion or the otherworldliness. He reminded her of sunlight in winter, a warmth that tingles and heats you to the very core, her toes curling. He also reminded her of the bonfires--evergreen fueled--that emitted a smoky, spicy aroma into the air. Even the hint of sweetness from roasting marshmallows was there. 

"I am Lucifer, Avatar of Pride. I pledge myself to you, Joanna, that we may be bound by an unbreakable pact." 

She felt the rush that always accompanied bonding to powerful demons, her entire body going rigid with the influx of magic. One of his hands rose to stroke her cheek, and she felt the flicker of their new connection echo from the depths of her bones. 

“That was--”

“Disgusting, Lucifer, what the hell! Haven’t I told the lot of you before she’s my girl? Paws off!”

They both turned to see that Mammon had barged into the room without knocking or alerting anyone, as per usual. Asmodeus and Satan were following close behind with a tired look, though there were signs of delighted amusement in their gazes.

“It’s about time.”

“I’ll say--all that unresolved sexual tension was stressing me out!”

“I’m hungry, isn’t there a single place in the human realm that sells Devildom food, Joanna?”

“Can we hurry this up? I’ve got merch to pick up--they’re going to close soon!”

“Must the lot of you create an uproar everywhere we go--this is a human hospital, keep your voices down!” Lucifer snapped, scowling.

“Joaaaaaaannaaaaaaaa, how could you leave us alone with this grouch for three whole days--ow! What, did you want to put me in a hospital too!?” 

She grimaced at the familiar crack with which a pair of gloved hands struck Mammon’s head. Through their pact she could feel the flickering simmer of remorse in the depths of Lucifer’s heart, and she relaxed back into the bed. He felt a lot more than he let on. 

“Did the doctors tell you anything about my condition?”

“They were baffled in regards to your condition. We told them you, ah, fell down a staircase. They figured it was likely the product of head trauma, but they’ve been watching pretty closely…”

“I see,” she nodded towards Satan.

Lucifer rose from her bedside, not looking any of them directly in the eye. “I’ll see to it that they release you as soon as possible. I trust three days is an adequate recovery period.”

He strode out of the room, silence deafening. She counted to three in her head, wait for it…

“I can’t believe that weenie! We set everything up perfectly and this is how he confesses!”

“Joanna he was beside himself for days, are you part witch?”

“And he says I’m obsessed with Ruri-chan...”

Satan was the one to take a seat at the end of the bed as they chortled and jeered, shaking his head. “I know it may not seem like it, but we really were worried. We’re glad you came back to us.”

“Thanks Satan,” she smiled back easily, “Glad to be back.”

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me fic #can you tell i THORST #i love this demon man so much... #doing his best #i also blame the tangled tv show for making me have lucifer feels all over again #ready as ill ever be just makes me n y o o m emotionally #i hope yall enjoy if you decide to read! #the fandom seems p chill so it made me feel comfortable posting

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ something’s gotta give.

date: december 2018, leading up to the 24th

location: n/a

word count: 987 words

summary: part one of two.

notes: we love it when i actually follow through on a plot i plan out forever in advance instead of being lazy.

it’d taken him years to wear the company down. ash had had an interest in tattoos since he was young, but it’d been something he’d known had stopped being a likely reality for him once he’d moved to seoul. management would turn him down any time he brought up the idea of getting one. there would be a subset of fans who would be upset no matter how small or tasteful the tattoo was, and there was no doubt he’d lose at least a handful of them who were still morally against the delinquent and gang associations some still tied to tattoos if he ever had one done.

he should be used to it, the act of always having to jump through another hoop, the letdown that came with being a product instead of a person. it wasn’t his skin to ink anymore. it was a canvas for bc, and a canvas that was far more profitable to keep blank of obvious marks, at that.

as time had gone by, though, he’d found the idea of getting a tattoo to be more and more important to him, and he hadn’t given up asking. be it the almost ten years since he’d signed on as a trainee that he’d spent working tirelessly for bc, or the profits he’d brought in with brand deals and his albums and individual schedules, or simply a redirection of his image on a higher level, in the past few months, management had begun to relax their stance for him. he knew he didn’t have anything to do with it himself, but he couldn’t deny being a little proud of himself for not giving up.

it was, truthfully, almost ominous the way that bc had slowly thawed their stance. they only changed their minds when they had a plan, and it was rare that their stance ever changed when it came to their control over ash’s body. for god’s sake, he still wasn’t allowed to build up any more muscle mass than he had, his diet specifically tailored to ensure his hours spent in the gym resulted only in lean muscle and visible abdominal muscles and nothing more because they wanted him to keep “a boyish appeal” to his image.

but ash was carrying the fatigue of being controlled for so long on his shoulders, so he pressed back against his own deep-seated doubts of their intentions like he’d been trained to, and let himself feel grateful to the very monolith that had been the bane of his existence for so long. had he been a spectator to his own life, ash would have been appalled at how efficiently bc could flip the switch on his emotions as if he was more robot than human when it came to them. instead of seeing the strings that might be attached, ash saw the excuses fading away one by one. you’re too young; it doesn’t match your image no longer applied because he was well into young adulthood. the sting of we can’t afford more hate faded now that the raging red fire of outrage that used to meet ash’s every action had simmered down to a smaller blaze. you have brand contracts, so you’re forbidden from changing your appearance while you’re under them couldn’t be used when ash was between contracts.

they couldn’t remind him now of the hefty fine that came with violating his brand contracts, but that alone hadn’t been enough. the provision against unapproved changes in his appearance still applied. ash had no desire to have a hefty chunk taken out of his bank account and to be forced back into hiding, under punishment for violation of his contract for something so inconsequential in the grand scheme of everything. he only wanted something small, but the punishment was always ruthless for doing something the company didn’t see as profitable; it’d only be worse to directly break his contract in such a blatant way.

it was impossible to tell how far bc would have been willing to take his punishment, so the ray of hope peaking through the door in the box bc kept him in shined even brighter.

he’d gone through more conversations with management than seemed logical to get approval, having to go over where and what he wanted inked on his body over and over again. it was far from as easy as a yes or no; as always, everything had to be known and any slack in the leash he was on had to be monitored and kept within bc’s tiny neatly aligned rows of false freedom. his desires were approved sometimes only for the permission to be retracted minutes later. anything that would be approved had to be small and hidden and he had to promise to hide them and not mention them to fans, at least for now, but even those regulations were only the beginning. it was almost comedic how much ash had to go through simply to be able to do what he wanted with his own body without facing major consequences.

final approval had come like sweet rain in a drought the day before ash was set to leave for saipan, and, eagerly, ash had asked if he could get take the step while he was on the trip. he had secretly already contacted a shop there, though that went unsaid to avoid permission once again being revoked. surprisingly, his manager agreed. the legality of tattoos was much less of a hassle there, and word was less likely to spread back to the fan base if it was done outside of korea.

after years of hope, that’s what it came down to. a (not-so) simple agreement. it was small, maybe, and perhaps it would be smarter for ash to not hold so tightly to one little thing, but it still felt like the most meaningful glimpse of freedom he’d gotten in a long while.

#&& bring color to my skies | character development #&& when you're screaming but they only hear you whisper | self para #&& queued #i hate this don't look at me