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#i mean you can tell that if you look closely its pretty obvious
stromblessed · 4 months
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Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows
In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.
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If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.
So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.
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I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?
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However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.
Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)
And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.
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Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.
It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.
Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?
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While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:
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She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.
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You see where I'm going with this.
When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:
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And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD
When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.
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MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS
No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.
And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:
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Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!
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The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.
And, uh
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Yeah.
I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.
But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.
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Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:
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But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.
There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.
After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:
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"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.
Kind of like another bird in this show:
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9K notes · View notes
nonpoppin · 27 days
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alright i’ve seen a lot of arranged marriages with paul and reader is always the one who’s salty about it but what if PAUL was the salty bitch? never seen that before.
reader just wants to make him happy. she’s been in love with him since they were introduced as kids. Paul, however, ain’t about it and he’s all pissy and what not.
The Death of a Star
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Summary: Paul thought he could never love you but when a star starts to die, it sucks everything in and in your death, your rebirth, he learns he can.
Warning(s): Cheating! Not the sexual kind but the emotional kind! Toxic marriage, sorta dark Paul, almost sexual cheating, talks of bastards, child birth, violence, arranged marriage, pussy eating, fingering, PinV sex, creaming, use of the voice. Talks of baby making and brief pregnancy mention.
Note(s): I took your ask and shook it all about. And hi, hello, i got this ask basically THREE YEARS AGO! And its been sitting in my docs, brewing, growing longer and longer. This is 12k words. If you want more long fics like this from me and not two/three parters— PLEASE let me know. ALSO, shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy bc i bothered her with just random segments of this fic for two years I'm pretty sure 😭 this is so fucking long please don't tell me if there's mistakes im gonna scream.
A little after. (Same universe drabble!)
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There is something about motherhood that has changed you.
Of course, there have been obvious changes. You were a girl when you first arrived on Caladan, a girl when they dragged you under the twinkling stars and made you swear to the void you would never stray from your husband. A mere child who wanted nothing more to be happy, to make her family proud, a child who smiled at her husband no older than her and repeated words she truly didn't know the meaning of.
You had become a lady when your husband first laid with you, a woman when the single time was enough to bring forth an heir. It was what your ladies told you at least, bringing a person into this universe was a woman's work and you had done just that. Your son, Oliver Atreides, was born screaming, kicking and crying. The ladies said you were a woman now, covered in sweat, tears, and your own blood but you couldn't bring yourself to agree. You think some parts of the girl you once were resurfaced when they hand you, your babe. You had held him close and wept to him. ‘Oh, Ollie. My little Ollie.’
Motherhood has changed you, yes. It made you harder in spots where you were once soft. But nothing has changed you more than marrying the Atreides heir, Paul.
Once, you had thought he would've, could've, loved you. A child's dream, you realize now. An arranged marriage could never bring forth love, not when it was put in motion by scheming parents who thought of a future long after they were dead. Your marriage to Paul had made sure your family's name would never fade into obscurity, your parents had gotten your weight in jewels and coin’ a thousand times over, your marriage had meant everything to them. To you. But to Paul, to his family?
You had been a punishment. The closest and prettiest broodmare. His parents had thought it would stop his wandering, his rebellion in loving a savage girl who lived planets away. You had looked similar enough, curly hair, brown eyes and brown skin, they thought you enough to quell his hunger. But one can not simply trade swords, sand and love for silk, stars and a willing cunt. They never stopped to think how this would affect you, how his anger towards them, towards the universe would slowly turn to you.
Paul never hit you, never yelled and, somehow, this was a fate worse than any death.
Paul seldom spoke to you. You could count on one hand how many times he looked at you in the past four years. For four years, you had raised your son with the echo of his father, a shadow you caught out of a corner of your eye. You knew he made time for his son, the boy never kept these things a secret, the man dragged his son everywhere and anywhere, they rode horses together, danced and painted. In your eyes, he had gathered all the stars in the sky and displayed them for Oliver and left you in the dark. You both raised your son, never in the same room, never speaking ill of each other or to each other. It was, is, a cruel existence.
“Mama,” Your son's voice is a whine, he pulls at your hand for your attention, letting his body go limp in the opposite direction trusting you wouldn't let him fall. “‘M hungry.”
He's not hungry, you think. He had just eaten an hour or so ago, snacked a few minutes before. He's bored, his coloring forgotten in his effort to bother you and that somehow, worked up his appetite. Ollie whines when you don't so much as move under his effort, you keep your arm locked, your fingers gently wrapped his smaller brown hand. Still, you relent, caving just a bit as you think back to all the times you went hungry in childhood because your mother was worried for your figure. Sure, he wasn't hungry but he was willing to eat. You rather him eat something now than him having an unhealthy relationship with food in the long run. “Yeah? What do you want, Bubba?”
He brightens, drawing closer to you but never letting go of your hand. “Can I haves pie?”
You give him a look, wiggling your fingers in his grasps, he giggles as the tips of them dance under his chin and curls further into your space. “It's ‘can I have’ and no you may not.” You shush his annoyed whine with a kiss to his forehead and you stand from your chair, picking him up as you go. You sulked long enough, motherhood never ends and now your son wants attention and you are eager to give it to him. “But, you can have a sandwich. Do you want turkey or–”
“Can I haves–” Oliver interrupts excitedly then pauses, starting again just as excited. “Can I have the jam one? The one grandma gives me?”
You're already nodding your head in agreement before he even finishes, a short hum leaving you. You haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, of course, your mind goes to the simple answer: a grape and peanut butter spread, a simple and favorite of yours when you were pregnant with Oliver but then you backtrack almost instantly. Jessica has a taste for the finer, sweeter, things in life. Expensive things. You love your mother-in-law dearly, deeply, but whatever jam she's giving your son is probably from some secret collection she only pulls out for him and with her being off planet, you have no access to it. No matter, you've dealt with worse and Oliver will survive without her expensive jam. You'll just make sure he gets a little something extra with this snack, not a slice of pie but maybe juice… a few candied nuts, even?
You ponder silently to yourself as you leave your room. Ollie talks your ear off— something about his grandfather, about the older man taking him to see bulls and whatnot, you respond halfheartedly, humming in acknowledgement. As you walk from your wing of the estate, servants bow at their waist, greetings of, ‘My lady,’ wash right over you as you pass, you only truly pay mind to the ones who greet Ollie before the greet you, slowing your pace to let the boy twist in your arms and greet them happily. A talker he is, curious and somewhat loud, the various servants respond just as eager to him as he is to them. It's an endearing sight and you find yourself smiling as he converses, a smile that quickly falls at the sound of a familiar name calling out to you.
“Lady Wife!”
Your eye nearly twitches at the title. You dismiss the servant with a dim smile and Oliver squirms out of your arms to rush to his father. You hesitate to turn and face him but having your son out of sight so close to him makes you a bit nervous, you turn only to pause. Paul kneels before his son, running a delicate hand through the boy's curly mass of hair, his green eyes sparkle as he smiles at his son. He pokes at the boy's chubby stomach and smiles wider, brighter, when Ollie giggles leaning into him. He looks handsome today, more present than he ever was for you. His hair looks clean, freshly washed, glossy and swept out of his face— you've grown so used to him wearing ridiculously fancy suits that seeing him wearing a tunic and a simple pair of pants sends your mind blanking.
You only realize you're staring longer than you should when Duncan— has he been standing there the whole time?— clears his throat. There's a slight humor that dances across his face when he sees your own mortification but it's gone quickly as he bows his head towards you, your name leaves his lips in a pleasant, near whisper as he regards you, “Where are you off to?”
“The kitchens.” You answer, smiling when he cocks his head in a silent question. “Not for me, Ollie is hungry and I was going to make him something.”
Paul makes a noise from the ground, a grunt but doesn't rise nor pull away from his boy. “We have servants for that, Wife.”
“And there won't always be servants, Husband.” You reply harsher than you intend and Paul's widen eyes snap away from your son to you in shock. You look away before your eyes can meet and they fall to the other guard by the mens' side. He's tall, taller than Paul but not quite as tall as Duncan; his dark hair is pin straight and slicked back but there are a few strands that purposely, stylishly, hang in his face. His eyebrows raise slightly as he watches you take him in and he puffs up under your gaze. He squares his shoulders, shifts his feet and folds his hands behind his back and when your eyes meet again, he gives you a wink.
Oh, you like him.
You huff a laugh, “Your name, soldier?”
“Emmett, My lady.”
You wave a dismissive hand, “Please, you may call me my name. Only my husband ever calls me Lady.” Duncan snorts and Paul doesn't respond, doesn't care to. He stands and your son is in his arms, still talking but in a whisper. Odd. “I haven't seen you around before, promoted recently?”
Emmett's lips quirk into an easy smile and his lips part to answer you but Paul steps into your line of sight and interrupts him. “I am going to visit a friend, but I must stop to visit my mother first. Oliver wants to go.”
Your brow dips. Your husband, Paul, didn't have friends. Not one. His words not yours, he has his parents, a guard and an advisor; Duncan and Gurney. He has you, his wife and even then you hesitate to describe yourself as much. Your mind racks itself for information and then it finds something. A sand covered, golden skinned, something.
It's been two weeks since he's stepped out on you for her. Two weeks— nearly three, he almost broke his record.
You will yourself not to be sick but the sudden bout of nausea is harsh, hot and it sends a bile creeping up the back of your throat. Your heart can't seem to decide what it wants to do, it tries to thunder— to pound its way out of your chests but it trips, stutters and damn near stops at the idea of him bringing your son to see that woman. You clear your throat and try not to scream; are you not good enough? You have wept for the man before you, bled and produce a fucking heir to continue his legacy. And yet…
You clear your throat again, you can't help it. Years of training fly straight into the sun. You know how to read, to cook and manage estates, you know how to hold a sword and parry a strike, you know because you were trained. Rigorously, endlessly. But it still leaves you unprepared because no one ever, ever trained to be emotionless in the face of the person who was supposed to love you the most. You were married off young to another young person for this very reason, the time spent together as you grew older was supposed to grow your love, to nurture it so by the time you were both older you would be an united front. An unshakable unit.
You wish you could throw the pieces of your marriage at all who thought it was a good idea. You want to roar; is this what you wanted? Is this the front you dreamed of? But the training, that god-damned training kicks in and you steel yourself. For the sake of your son. For the sake of your sanity. “Oliver has lessons he can't skip.”
Paul makes a face and your boy whines in his arms, “I'm sure he can afford to miss one, he's just a boy.”
Your nails dig into your palm and your lips pull up into a humorless grin. “You said that last time when you took him riding. Again when you said painting would be a better lesson. He has missed too many lessons, boy or not, he is a future leader and it is good we do this while he is young.” You unclench your fist and soften, just slightly as you draw closer to your husband, to the boy who pouts at you in his arms. You extend yours and he goes easily, much to Paul's dismay. “Come on, sweet boy. I promised you a snack, leave your father to play with his toys.”
Paul watches you leave with thin lips, his teeth clenching. He doesn't have to be smart to see the insult when you bare it to him unabashedly. Even if it wasn't directed at him, he is offended on her behalf. He lingers in his spot for a moment longer, stewing in a petty anger— how is he ever supposed to try with you when you hate everything he loves?
Duncan calls his name and when he looks at the man, there's a deep frown on his face. The look of disappointment is something he's familiar with, it's an age-old argument between him, between his parents, between her about how he treats you. Well, not you but your feelings. Duncan won't say anything about it anymore, not when he knows he won't listen, not when he knows the exact words Paul will say back to him.
'What of my feelings? Why do I have to suffer in a marriage I did not want— a marriage I protested the very idea of? I gave the family an heir. The least they can do is let me finally be happy.'
The two men look at each other and like always, Paul is the first to look away. He turns on his heels, his shoulder colliding with Emmett's who still stares after you instead of watching the tense moment before him and his oldest friend. He storms down the hall, his steps sure but fast, Paul runs from it all. From his responsibilities, his power, from you. Paul always runs.
Emmett lets out a whistle— he and Duncan linger behind their fuming ward— and Duncan raises a brow at the sound. Emmett smiles, dipping his head in your direction, “A proper one that one is. Real easy on the eyes.”
Duncan's brow drops, annoyed. “She is to command you.”
“Trust me, ser. I'd do anything she asked.”
Duncan resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's not like Emmett is the only one to fall for your looks, he has had to rotate multiple guards because of it— most, if not all, of them never tried anything other than looking but he couldn't bring himself to listen to all the vile things they said and when they tried touching, well. You could handle yourself just fine but Duncan doesn't deny the enjoyment he gets from acting on your behalf.
Still. Still, there are ones that you enjoy. There are some he can't send away and he pretends it doesn't bother him. It's the game, the chase of it all, he sees how you blossom under the attention, his attention. Sometimes, he sees it. The flickering lust in your eyes when a pretty soldier leans in real close or when he cradles your face. But you aren't like your husband, not like Paul because you never give in and while Paul has been stepping out on you for years, this small streak of rebellion only started up a few months ago.
Duncan shakes his thoughts clear and then swallows his annoyance. It goes down like shards of glass and lemon juice; he can't send Emmett away, not yet. Not when he's good at what he does and not when you blossom under his attention. He settles for indifference, a dry indifference as he mutters. “She’d eat you alive.”
He ignores Emmett's cheeky reply of, “Stars, I hope so.”
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“How is she?”
Arrakis smells sweeter than he remembers. It's hotter too, the sun set a few hours ago but the heat still clings to the air, to the sand that's almost uncomfortable to sit on. He sucks it up though because it feels like home and the sight is as pretty as it is familiar.
Said sight shifts when he doesn't answer, the fire light is gold against her face and her eyes are sapphire jewels in the night. Her fingers move quickly, steadily as she weaves her basket. Two bowls sit before her, one bigger than the other filled with a liquid that isn't water but safe for enough to handle and thin pieces of wood, the other bowl is filled with beads made of rocks, wood, bone and whatever else the carvers deemed bead worthy. “Muad'Dib,” She says and when he still doesn't answer her, she snaps. “Paul.”
It's enough to pull him from his thoughts, he blinks at her then he frowns. “She’s fine. I tell you the same thing every time you ask, I doubt it will change.”
Chani pauses in her weaving. “You told me she was sad once.”
He had. It was an off comment from years ago, when you cried and cried, and cried. Back then, it was rare to see you dry-eyed, rare to see you outside your room but you had gotten over it. You are fine now, you don't cry, you don't shout or pitch a true fit like he's seen other women do. You're just… fine. He thinks of your face when he told you he was leaving, that practiced control but the twitch of your lips giving you away. You were angry, maybe. But not angry enough to lash out, you were okay stewing in it. And that was fine. To you, to Paul. Everything is fine.
When Chani sees he isn't going to reply, she sighs again. Her fingers start to move again, faster than before and Paul tries not to be awed at the sight. She's a master at her craft, something he so rarely sees nowadays, “Nevermind.” She says and before he can speak, she asks, “How is Oliver?”
The smile that falls on Paul's face is easy. “He’s wonderful. His studies are going well– his tutors say he's picking up reading faster than I ever did.” He looks away from Chani and plays with the fabric of his pants, “I wanted him to come today.”
The thin piece of wood between Chani's fingers snapped. She looks up at him, her blue tinted eyes furious, “No, Paul.”
Still, he tries, “He would love you. If she only gave it a chance–”
“Do you hear yourself?” She hisses and he flinches at the tone. “You want to bring another woman's child to me? Do you hate her so much that you'd go this far to disrespect her?”
“I do not hate her. I could never hate her she is the mother of my child–”
“She is so much more than that.” She snaps. “She is your wife. She is the keeper of your estate, she is a person, a woman, you continuously hurt by visiting me.”
Again. It is always that argument, always the flag they throw up, the sand they throw into his eyes. It's always you, you, you. Why can't it never be him? Why can't he ever think for himself? Want more for himself? Paul shifts where he sits, “You wouldn't understand.” He whispers. Chani wouldn't, couldn't, get it. She's not him, she has never been in his place, she has never loved him as he loved her, she just wouldn't get it.
There is a certain fury that settles on Chani's face. It is thunderous, all consuming, a lightning storm that threatens to strike him thrice over and then, it clears. Faster than he can blink and she's standing, throwing the rest of her weaving into the fire. “Grow up, Paul.”
And he's at a loss for words. “What?”
“Grow. Up.” She says again, as if she hasn't said something world tilting. Paul feels like his chest is collapsing, like the sand around him is starting to swallow him whole. “I have put up with it for years. You complain about things not being fair to you.” She shakes her head, gathering all her finished baskets and her bowls of beads. “You complain and complain and complain. Do you see where I live? Do you see what my people have to do to survive? What do you know of struggle? Of suffering? You cry and whine about loving me, about caring for me but having to suffer a fate of never having me. I am not an object to own. I am not a prize to wave in your wife's face.”
She looks at him then, her face grim, haunting in the fire's light. “What do you know of suffering when you are here with me and she's alone with your son? What do you know of pain when she bled to produce an heir for you? I love you, Paul. As a friend, always a friend. Only a friend and I can't just sit here and pretend like you aren't ruining lives over petty childishness. Go to her, love her, see her as she is.”
“I–” Paul stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping to reach out to her. “I can't– do not do this to me, Chani– please, do not do this.”
Pity. There is only pity on her face. “Go home, Paul.” and she leaves him. Standing alone in the Arrakis' desert, surrounded by sand, stars and the sweet smelling wind, Paul begins to weep.
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It is hard to play dumb but…
“Higher, my lady…”
Emmett's voice makes you shiver slightly and you all but let yourself relax in his warm arms. They circle you, his hands on your elbows raising and steadying the bow in your hands. You force yourself to let your fingers shake and smile when his hands leave your elbows to hover over yours. He slides a forefinger over the back of your hand before it hooks under your wrist and holds the bow true. “Release.”
Whoooosh! Thunk.
The arrow misses.
Emmett lets out a polite laugh, his breath brushing against your ear and it's enough to make you bite your lip. If playing the role of the defenseless noblewoman was enough to get him this close, you think you'd do it all the time. “You’re laughing at me?”
“Not at you, my lady.” He chuckles. His warm embrace leaves you as he takes a step forward, a hand playfully gliding past your waist as he does— he goes for the many missed arrows from the previous tries and shoots you a smile. “At the situation, I suppose.”
“Oh?” You ask, coyly. “And what's funny about the situation, Ser Emmett? My lack of skill with the bow or my streak of missing the target.”
He gathers the arrows, his smile growing a tad impish as he picks up the last as twirls it between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement instinctively— it glides between his nimble fingers, around and under, under and around— Emmett ends the small show with a flip of the arrow, catching it by the small bit of the notch, the dull arrowhead tapping against his lips. “What's funny is… the famed daughter of a very noble hunting family needs help with a bow.” The arrowhead presses into his lip when he smiles, “I heard said daughter used to bring down bucks the size of small shuttles but now she stands before me as if she never handled a bow.”
You tut, annoyed you've been caught but delighted he knew so much about you. “You aren't the only one who can do research.” You say, you move forward with graceful steps, till the both of you are face to face. “Emmett Deacon. That is an old name, you know. But strange as Lord Deacon has no heirs or living relatives besides his wife. Now, it is unbecoming of me to gossip– to listen to the words of those who whisper behind backs but… but I was, am, curious about you, Emmett.”
This close, you notice his eyes are green. They are far darker than the eyes of your husband, Duncan or Jessica. Emmett's eyes are the color of the forest after a thunderstorm; when everything is still dark near black underneath the clearing clouds. Emmett grins at your closeness, his eyes glinting, promising some type of mischief. “Careful now, my lady.” He teases, his voice light despite the subtle redness creeping up his neck, “You walk a dangerous line, some men would take offense to what you are attempting to imply.”
Carefully, you pull the arrow from the man's grasp, your lips quirk up in a humorless smile as you take a step away from him. “Attempting, Implying? Make no mistake, Emmett, I know what you are.” You give the man your back as you face another untouched target. Mentally, you thank yourself for having the thought to scatter them about the training area before approaching Emmett under the guise of needing guidance. This target is much closer to the door, just a few paces to the right.
“Do you?”
Suddenly you are warm. He is pressed right up against you, his hands on your hips pulling you flush against his body and you barely bite back a shiver as you right your posture as if he wasn't there. His breath comes out ragged, fanning against your ear and he holds you so tight he scrunches your silks. Emmett is pretty as he is eager for you, desperate almost. It is not what you usually go for but the men you usually do go far were always so hesitant, reminding you of your husband or the ever watchful Duncan. Emmett fears neither, it makes you like him more but you are not an idiot, Emmett Deacon doesn't exist outside of the Atreides Castle. Lord Deacon has no legitimate heirs, only bastards, hundreds of bastards he refuses to recognize unless they make a name of their own. There is no Emmett Deacon, only Everett Brightwater. Son of a working mother and elder brother to a handful of other siblings.
But in the Atreides castle, the castle of a bastard, those types of things tend to go overlooked. Most like to forget that technically, Paul Atreides was born out of wedlock, that he was legitimized by the former Duke Leto— it is a story all bastards wished for, what Everett wished for. Pity it is you, that always seems to take a fancy to them.
“I have bedded a bastard before, Brightwater. Void-forbid I don't recognize the touch of another.”
The sound that leaves the man is downright sinful, a ragged gasp and his hips damn near hump into you. “And you have made heirs–”
“A singular heir, Oliver has no siblings.”
“But he could,” He rolls his hips against yours backside again and you bite back a grin, “I could give you–”
The door opens and it startles you. Your fingers slip from the bowstring and the arrow is sent flying, hurtling towards the target as Emmett rips away from you like he's touched fire. Your husband stands at the door, his eyes red rimmed and looking downright furious. His eyes never meet yours, staying trained on Emmett who looks everywhere as the arrow hits its mark. Bullseye.
Emmett's voice is choked as he speaks, “Congratulations–” His eyes flicker over to Paul for a brief second as he rasps your name. It makes your heart nearly jump to your throat as you blink absurdly at the man but he pushes forward, inclining his head as Paul prowls closer, “Your talents amaze me–”
“Leave.”
Emmett pauses mid sentence, he blinks once then nods, his lips set tight. He says your name again, lower, sweeter, then his dark green eyes cut to Paul as he gives a shallow bow. “Your liege.”
He is out the room faster than you can blink and it draws a scoff from your lips as you turn to face your husband. “That was rude.”
That makes his face twitch. Like he wants to scowl or even pout down at you but can't decide which one to choose and it settles as a sneer instead. “Was it, now? I walk in on one of my men pawing at you–”
The laugh that leaves you is sudden and sharp, “You are being ridiculous.”
“He was all but humping your leg and you let him!” He hisses. Then takes a breath to blink and shake his head, “It is disrespectful, my son is only paces away–
“Oh, that is disrespectful?” You ask. Your blood is boiling, your heart thundering in your ears. How dare he throw your son in your face? The very boy you put to bed alone, hushing his cries for his father. The very same boy that spent the day talking about his father and his mysterious friend that he insisted Ollie call an aunt. “What about you trying to take my child to see another woman?”
Paul flinches then, just barely, but keeps the sneer on his pretty face. “That is different, you know that is different–”
“What of all the times I've found your letters to her? All the times you've left me for her?” You press, “All the birthdays, my birthdays wasted alone waiting for you, all the anniversaries? What do you know about disrespect, husband?”
He is silent, silent but staring, gaping, trying to muster an answer he knows he can't. But it is strange, odd, that he hasn't tucked tail and ran. In the rare arguments that seemed to happen between the two of you, he'd spit his poison and then choke on yours; floundering for a rebuttal before escaping to his wing of the castle and yet… he still stands before you, unmoving. Then, he speaks. He whispers, “I am sorry.” He clears his throat, “I am, for what I put you through, for everything but I want better for us, I want–”
“She finally did it, didn't she? She finally turned you away?”
He doesn't respond and that's an answer all on its own. You cast your bow aside, not caring how it crashes against the floor and your quiver soon follows. “You’re pathetic.”
You don't look at Paul as you go.
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Duncan stands beside you.
It's nothing new, of course. He is always there, whispering into your ear, a guiding hand on your back or teasing Ollie who was usually on your hip.
It's been nearly two weeks since the incident in the training room, since Paul came to you saying he wanted better for your relationship— nearly two weeks since you almost allowed Emmett to fall under your skirts and Duncan no doubt knows this by now and yet, he stands by you.
You're sitting on your bed with nothing but a thin sleeping shift with Ollie curled up into your lap as you gently twist and braid hair away from his face and Duncan watches, his eyes trained on your steady hands. Then, quietly, he speaks to not stir Oliver.
“It’s going to be cold tonight.” He says lightly, his eyes pulling away from your hands, letting them trace over the way the fabric hugs your form.
You don't look up as you finish a braid, using the tip of your nail to section out another braid, a distracted hum leaving your lips, “It is always cold, Duncan. It's Caladan.”
“It doesn't have to be.” He says and he hates how you pause when he says it, he hates the way his voice grows tender for you so he clears his throat, unwilling to unearth something you both ignore daily and plasters a teasing grin on his face, “Shall I call for Emmett? He is rather eager–”
He barks out a laugh when you toss a throw pillow at him, twisting out of the way before it even hits him. “Damn you.” You curse him despite the smile playing on your lips, “Speaking like that to your lady could be considered treason, you know.”
“Maybe on Somnus.” He teases as he slinks closer. He pulls the stool from your vanity and plops down on it next to you, his smiling falling just a bit as he asks, “How are you?”
“Fine.”
He levels you with a look that you don't meet, continuing to part and braid through Oliver's hair. He reaches forward then, to pull your hand free from the boy's hair and simply hold it— to command your attention towards him as he whispers your name, “I worry about you. Truly. I– Paul has told me what he said to you.” He holds your hand tighter when it jerks in his grasp, he searches your face, his eyes soft. “And it was cruel. You waited for him for void-knows-how-long and he comes to you when you finally search for another.”
Stubbornly, you purse your lips and force your eyes away from him. “I don't care.”
“It is not my place to call you a liar.” He says and it's almost automatic, years of training resurfacing as he searches for the right words. “But as someone who is close to you… as someone who cares for you, I think you do.”
You pull away and he lets you, your hands returning to Oliver's hair almost nervously. The boy doesn't even stir, “Your concern for me is endearing but it is misplaced.”
“Don’t shut me out.” He says, his voice tight and it makes your eyes slide back to him. “Your pretty words don't fool me, I know you. I see you, you have been miserable, you have suffered and it is okay to acknowledge that. It is only you, your sleeping boy and I in this room, you do not have to pretend.”
“What would you have me do, Duncan?” You ask, a touch incredulous. “Would you have me pitch a fit? You'd have me disgrace the Atreides name because what– my husband wants to be a husband?”
“I would like it if you cried.”
You flinch back, “What?”
“You haven't cried in years.” He says. “Oliver was born and you haven't shed a tear since, you have not mourned, you haven't grieved.”
“Those are the same things.” You start frowning at him. “Besides, I am a mother, a Duchess to a growing empire. There are whispers that I could be Queen, what do I have to cry about?”
“Everything.” He answers, his voice true. “Yes, you are all those things and more. But you are also young, you may be a woman now but you were a girl when you were wed.”
“That doesn't matter.”
Duncan looks at you like you've grown a second head. “It does matter. The very concept of your love was crafted for you before you ever got the chance to make it yourself. Do you like laying down and taking it or is that what you were taught? Do you like that he walks all over you or were you told to accept that?”
Your hackles rise before you can even stop yourself, “He is your lord.” You hiss, “Watch your tongue.”
Duncan throws his hand out, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “You defend him and call him Lord, you do not call him a husband because that is what you are taught.” He lets his hand drop, “When I was your age–”
“You are not that much older than me.”
He continues like you didn't speak. “When I was your age, I experimented. I built my ‘love’ from the ground, I know how to kiss, how to fuck because I have done so with enough people to know what I like. That is not something that can be taught.”
You flush at the topic, imagine Duncan in such intimate situations would not be a… first for you. There were many lonely nights in your marriage and your mind often wandered. It was natural, of course, Duncan is kind. He is strong and sweet with a silver tongue, it is only natural that your mind went there when your hand traveled between your thighs. It was only natural that you had toyed with him out of pure boredom and curiosity. Moans of his name often left your lips when it was his turn to keep your room guarded. You had left your door cracked, catching his wandering eye once or twice as you… reached your peak. For voids-sake, you are quite certain Duncan has seen you in some state of undress more than Paul has and has not once mentioned it to you, has not tried to close your door or turn his head. Duncan has stood beside you for nearly six years, watched you for the same amount of time. You know you could say one simple word, a plea more than a command and it'd be just as damning and he'd be in your bed.
And yet…
You clear your throat and shake your head. Ollie jolts in your lap but doesn't wake, turning a curling deeper into your warmth. You steer the conversation back on course,“What does this have to do with me crying?”
“You were young when you were married.” He says again, like he truly doesn't understand why you don't get it. “You were young when you had Oliver, it was scary. Traumatizing, even. No one prepared you.”
“Yes they did, my parents, my tutors even–”
“Did you even get to say goodbye to the girl you once were before you were ripped away from home or did you bury her– throw her into this fucking sea the moment your engagement was announced?”
When you don't answer, he makes a noise— it's nearly a scoff but it sounds much too pitying. “I know you.” He says again, “I know that you hurt. I see it in the way you carry that blasted bow— it is all metal and wrong because your planet crafts from wood and vines. I see it in the way you hesitate at dinner because you want a second helping but the teaching of tutors or maybe even your mother told you it was unladylike. I see it when you look at Oliver because you were only a girl when you had him–”
“Do not.” You interrupt weakly, your eyes darting to your son. “I love my son.”
“I know,” He agrees. “You love him more than life itself, I'm sure, but it does not negate the fact that your family, this family, was okay with a child having a child.”
You swallow once, twice, then you blink hard. There is an odd pressure building up in your head, a pounding behind your eyes. You open your mouth to respond but your lip wobbles unsteadily. You struggle to find your words, your breath leaving you unsteadily— pinched as you try to control yourself and Duncan only smiles soft and sad. His hand resting on your knee, he speaks. “I’d have you cry.” He says again, “For the girl you lost, for the woman you became. Cry because you are a mother, a good one and you do it nearly alone, cry because you can– because it's okay. Over spilt milk or broken glass, cry because it feels right and it's a start.”
“And then?” You murmur.
Duncan shakes his head, “I can not teach how to feel better.” He says, “I can not teach you to forgive. I can only give advice— guide you through your tears. I want better for you, My lady. To give Paul a chance, to see if his word is true, if you truly want to stay in a place that caused you nothing but grief.”
“What could I do?” You ask and it hurts to hear how helpless you sound to your own ears. “If I don't want to stay, what would I–”
And for the first time since this conversation has started, Duncan hesitates— then, much quieter than before he begins to speak, “It was Leto who granted your marriage, while your parents drafted the contract– he was the one who allowed it. Therefore, if you were to go to him– if you were to air every grievance you have with Paul, tell him of all the cruel things his son has done to you… he could void your marriage.”
You shift, pulling your son up your body, cuddling him close and Duncan follows the movement.“ But what would happen to me, to Oliver?”
“Nothing.” Duncan answers. “You are the one approaching Leto here. You are the injured party and if you were to separate, you'd get half of the Atreides… well, everything.”
“What?”
“It is an old tradition.” Duncan explains quickly, “It went by many names; dissolution, annulment, divorce. You'd get half of everything– if not more, you'd get to keep your status as Duchess, you'd probably have enough money to build your own castle free and far from all of this.” He sighs. “You’d get to decide if Paul even got to see Oliver–”
“I cannot do that to him, he loves his son–”
“You are the injured party.” Duncan stresses, “It would be your choice, all of these would be your choice. I can not tell you what to do, my lady. But if you were to ask me, I'd cry first. At least once.”
And despite all the training saying otherwise, you let one tear fall. Then another and another and a–
Duncan lets you cry, his hand finding yours as you begin to curl around Ollie and bless the void— the boy doesn't so much as stir— and you sob for the first time in years.
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The next few days are… odd.
Paul tries, you give him that. He is there before you wake, lingering just outside your door with Duncan by his side. He greets you with a smile, a kiss on the hand then he offers you his arm— it varies where he leads you. Sometimes it's straight to Oliver, the boy wakes with a big grin and messy hair delighted at the sight of his parents together and other times, he leads you to a hidden alcove; a well furnished cave on a cliff side overlooking Caladans’ main sea. These moments are often spent in silence— you eat a bit and Paul watches you, you spend more time pretending not to notice then actually enjoying it but it is… time spent together and that is good, you think.
Today, however, is proving to be a bit different from most. You eat as you always do, you watch the waves crash on the rocks, you count the seconds between each of your husband’s blinks and take little glances at Duncan when the man sighs whenever Paul clears his throat. He always clears it,you find, a nervous habit only ever shown amongst close family or friends and most times, nothing would follow it, Paul would fall back into silence and the both of you would eat then go back to the castle.
Paul clears his throat and you look at him curiously because that is twice within a minute and as much as you detest him, you wouldn't want to see him choke and when you do look at him, he's fumbling with a bundle of grey cloth wrapped in twine, “Oliver,” He starts, soft and unsure and it makes you strain to hear him over the sea. “He says you like these so–” His fingers are slick because of his nerves and it takes a minute or so for him to unravel the twine but once he does— he places the cookies on the table and slides them towards you with a smile.
You look at the oddly shaped balls and smile— they are obviously handmade. They're big, clumpy and some even sink in on themselves, a few have seeds on them burnt and crumbling but seeds nonetheless and it gives you some pause. Your eyes flicker up, past Paul to Duncan who is giving the cookies an equally puzzled look. This isn't lost on your husband who frowns— he looks between you and Duncan and his brow dips, he fidgets with the edge of the grey fabric, then the skin around his nails, “What?” He asks a bit louder than he should, “What is that look?”
Your mouth opens to answer then it closes just as fast. Paul is trying. You remind yourself that he's spent much of the marriage away from you in his own universe, he wouldn't, doesn't know much about you. He is trying and so are you, trying to give him grace— he has given you cookies, as ugly and deadly as they might be, they are made by his unskilled hand and you can't help but appreciate that.
Duncan, though, is not you. “Were these made with sunflower seeds?”
Paul continues to frown, looking up at the man. “Yes, why?”
“Ah.” Duncan starts, his voice flat as you instantly push the cookies away with the butt of your fork. “Your wife is allergic.”
Paul turns red. From the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes— his mouth drops open and he founders, a choked apology starts to leave him but he only gets as far as, ‘I'm–’ before he stops because you aren't cursing him out or banishing him away from your sight. Hells, you don't even move from the table, you just watch him carefully, your eyes dancing across his face and he wishes that a sun– any one of them, explodes and spares him from this experience, from this life.
Sadly, no exploding sun spares him from this. There is no blistering heat or quick death, just your searching eyes and your cool words.“You wouldn't know.” You say simply, smiling and Paul is shocked that it holds no maliciousness. “Ollie seems to have tricked you because these are his favorite not mine but… I appreciate that you thought of me.”
“I–” He's still red, still choking on his words but his mind spins as multiple things fly through it; he can't be mad at his son because he would have pulled the same trick on his father, he is embarrassed, incredibly so because he had almost killed you because he did not know of a simple allergy but Duncan knew. He is your husband and he didn't know.“Forgive me.” He breathes, pleads.
For once, he wants you to be mad at him but you only frown, your hand carefully intertwining with his. “You didn't know,” You say, “We are… we are only beginning to know each other. We have much to learn. You didn't know and that's okay.”
Paul nods but his head spins. Duncan knew. His green eyes meet his trusted guard and he frowns, he then notices your closeness— even though your fingers are locked with his, you're leaning back towards Duncan and he is standing as close as possible to your chair. You both are sharing the same air and it is not like you and Paul who sits across from you with only a hand connecting you both. You breath out and Duncan inhales– shifting somehow closer, his lips twitching when Paul obviously catches the movement. Paul thumb strokes your hand and any negative feeling that was starting to build melts away when you smile at him, he pushes Duncan from his mind as he refocuses himself on you, a smile of his own forming.
“Well,” He starts and his voice is still shaky from the embarrassment. “Besides sunflower seeds, is there anything else I should be aware of?”
Paul doesn't know how he never saw it before. The warmth in your smile, the light in your eyes. Paul had begged for a Sun to end him, blind to the star burning bright promised to him. These years of neglect had not dulled your shine, your heat— you glow and Paul thinks he'd happily go blind if it meant staring at your light forever. “Well…” You start, smiling wide and warm.
The two of you spend the next five hours talking, laughing and trading stories of food illnesses to embarrassing ones from your youths.
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When Duncan is called to Paul's study, he already knows for what. Emmett pesters him with endless questions but the Brightwater man quickly falls silent at the mention of your name, he pales and Duncan clicks his tongue when the bastard excuses himself from the room.
To think you thought that man was bold. You thought him brave and uncaring, Duncan pretends he does not hear him emptying his stomach into the toilets. He knows the man fears he'll lose his job and Duncan does not bother to reassure him.
The route there is easy, quick. It's as if he blinks and he is there, pressing up the door and taking a step inside. Paul is sitting, facing a large window that shows Caladan’s raging sea. The waves crash on the beach's shore and drag the sand out with it, the sky has grown dark since your outing with your husband— a storm raging in the distance. A storm raging in the man in front of Duncan.
“For how long?”
Duncan doesn't bother trying to play stupid, he doesn't sit nor does he take a step further in the room. “Does it matter?”
Paul turns just as lightning strikes the sea. His eyes flash and Duncan is taken aback at the rage that is there. He doesn't not flinch away from it, he bares the storm that spills when Paul speaks. “She’s my wife, Duncan. My wife!”
Duncan blinks. “I am aware.” He then looks away. “She is aware of that too. It is by her hand only that I haven't landed in her bed.”
Paul stands, he is shaking. Duncan is his friend but this— he smoothes a hand over his face. His eyes sting but he does not cry, he did not do so when he caught the beginnings of something with Emmett so why would he cry now? He looks at Duncan and his heart clenches. Duncan is his friend. “And if she said yes–”
“In a heartbeat.” Duncan answers. He is cruel in his honesty but he doesn't care, Paul has been crueler with his own and he can't help the smile that twists at his lips. “Castle Atreides would be filled with more bastards than you, Paul.”
Duncan does not flinch. Paul in all his anger and crashing tides has made his way across the room, his blade to his neck and drawing blood. The cut stings, bubbles with his blood and Duncan doesn't not break eye contact. He has hid his love for you long enough and this is freeing, Paul would not kill him. He knows that because Paul is a trained soldier, trained to kill and his blade shakes against his throat. “You will leave.” Paul says and his voice is shaking. There is a tear threatening to spill from his eyes. “You will leave and you will not return until I call for you.”
Duncan's heart drops. “What?”
“You will not come when she calls.” Paul continues. “And she will call and you will not answer. Not for her not for Oliver. Do you understand?”
Duncan searches his young master's face for some kind of tell but Paul is serious. The blade presses closer and when Paul opens his mouth, it is The Voice that leaves it. It is hundreds of voices all at once, it is his mother's, it is his fathers and it is yours. The commands sinks into his brain, pulling at flesh and his eye twitches as it forces it's will deeper. He is being sent on a mission, he is being sent to Arrakis. The voices dig deeper and there is a dull alarm that coils around his heart, Duncan hopes Paul will not take his love for you away. His lungs tighten and the blade is pulled away from his neck as he falls into a kneel before Paul who still commands his existence. He is to forget this. This confrontation, this moment of insecurity and rage, he is to forget why he never wanted to leave Caladin in the first place.
Please, please, please. He begs when the voice doesn't fade, there is terror building in his blood but as soon as it grows it is wiped away by The voice, by the soft whisper of your voice. He is to bring Deacon's bastard son. The voice fades and Duncan is gasping, clutching at his neck and his fingers slip in his own blood. Paul stares down at him, his eyes blank, the storm raging on behind him and Duncan remembers… nothing. Just his mission.
He pushes himself to his feet, surprised when he stumbles. His blood flows dark and Paul doesn't look away, a thin lipped smile on his face. “You slipped.”
Duncan knows that's not right but he can't bring himself to question it. Paul is moving away from him, back to his desk and fixing his chair. “Best to prepare for your departure and send Emmett to me when you see him.”
Duncan knows his way to Paul's office and he knows the way back just as well. But today, he couldn't help but get lost on his way. He has a headache brewing.
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You like to believe you do not know who cries more when Duncan leaves. But Oliver stops crying within an hour, distracted by his grandparents and pulled away for a mini adventures and it is two weeks later when you burst into tears because you think you've smelt him.
It is embarrassing, unladylike but Duncan had told you he had wanted you to cry more and Paul took it in stride. Duncan had been your foundation for so long so for him to be sent away, you are left crumbling but Paul is there and more than eager to get to building. At some point, he had snuck his way into your rooms— he had wide eye amazement as he took in everything, the plants that climb their way up your walls to your blankets and how much thicker they are than his. Paul had smiled when he saw despite everything, you still favored his colors– your house colors. You and Paul sleep together but not sleep together. Your mornings had become shared, whispers and giggles shared the first time you both woke up together— you and Paul had talked into the night, Oliver curled into his side and his hand running through his son's hair.
Still days later, you find waking up next to him, your husband hasn't gotten old. Paul clings to you when he sleeps, he's incredibly warm and you find you no longer need your blanket when he wraps around you in the night. Emboldened by his soft snores, you pull away gently, taking him in the soft morning light. You brush a soft curl from his face and he frowns in his sleep, it strikes you just how pretty he is. He's the makings of every Prince you ever read about growing up, blessed by luck and kissed by beauty and all that. He nuzzles against your hand with a sigh, his frown melting from his lips and you realize you want to kiss him.
You pull your hand away out of pure embarrassment, flushing hot. You shouldn't be embarrassed, you try to reason with yourself. He's your husband— the father of your child, he's touched your naked body before, he's kissed you before but that was years ago and all of that stopped the moment you fell pregnant. You haven't ached for such affection from him in years yet here and now, you wish you could press your lips to his. How embarrassing, you simper trying to pull further away from him but Paul's hold is ironclad, he curls around you tighter, his legs sliding between yours, his hands settling on your back. “What are you doing?” He murmurs, “Where are you going?”
You thank every star that's ever existed that he doesn't open his eyes. He keeps his eyes clamped shut as if protesting the morning sun and he completely misses your fading flusteredness. “Nowhere.” You answer, trying to relax in his touch. He's drawing patterns against your back, trying and failing to lull you back to sleep. He's just so close and it was easier to ignore when you're too tired to be flustered. “I wanted to give you space.”
Paul frowns, blinking his eyes open. “Don’t want space.” Then processing what he said, he offers you a timid smile before he rolls away to yawn and stretch. “Sorry, that was…” He shakes his head and doesn't bother finishing what he was going to say. He gets out of your bed with another stretch, his bones cracking and your mind flounders, rushing to think of a reason to keep him in bed— you never thought a day would come when you wanted to keep Paul near you. Your mouth moves before you can think and through and—
“Oliver says he wants a sibling.”
The moment it leaves your mouth, you're clapping a hand over your lips in pure, unfiltered embarrassment. Paul is still frozen mid stretch, his eyes wide and his cheeks completely pink and you wish a moon would come crashing into the planet and take you out in its destruction. “What?” He asks, his voice is strangely pitched. His arms drop as he turns to face you.
“Nothing.” You say and your voice is a squeak, your mortification growing. What are you? A blushing virgin maiden? You should have stood your ground, repeated what you said proudly but you're suddenly… shy. Your heart is pounding and you pull your blanket up and over your head, “Forget I said anything.”
Paul says your name and you ignore it, pulling the cover tighter and it's a sight that makes Paul's heart soar. His lady wife is shy before him, it is a welcome change that has his own heart skipping delightfully. He can't help but tease you, he says your name again as he rounds the bed, he drags it out, stretches it across his tongue and you shiver under the blanket. His hand touches your covered leg and you jump and he laughs, sitting at your side. “My love,” He starts and he says it like he's sure of it, like you are his only love. “Can you repeat that?”
“No.” You hiss and it pulls another laugh from him. He pulls the blanket from your face and he is smiling like he's never smiled before, his peachy cheeks dimpling.
“Oliver wants a sibling.” Paul repeats and you purse your lips nodding, Paul's smile only grows. “I knew that already.”
You blink. “What?”
“Oliver has always wanted a sibling.” Paul starts casually, shrugging. “But if he told you and you told me that means– you've considered it.”
Your face flushes hot and you go to pull for your blanket but Paul puts his weight on it, stopping you from covering yourself. So you deflect, your lip pulls up in a halfhearted sneer, “I was making conversation. I was trying to be polite.”
Paul hums, slow and soft. “You thought it proper to a conversation by asking me to fuck you?”
You blink rapidly, your mouth falling open in shock. “I-I wasn't– I w-wouldn't–” Paul is smiling and you swallow. “You’re teasing me.”
“A little.” He murmurs, his eyes are searching your face. His hand raises from your blanket and you brace yourself when it caresses the length of your face, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “I wouldn't mind.”
Your tongue follows the path of his thumb out of instinct and when it sweeps across it, you swear you see your husband’s eyes flash. “Mind what?”
“Another child.” He says. “Sleeping with you.”
You're nodding and suddenly Paul is on you, his lips on yours as he cups your face to drag you closer. You are clumsy, unsure with how you kiss him— it's been years you remind yourself but Paul is so much more confident, he kisses you and it's nothing like the ones from years ago. Those had been pecks, his lips on yours to shush your moans as he humped into you, it all felt professional— a duty he had to perform but this, Paul is kissing you. It is all tongue, teeth and lips, he's eager with his nips and how his tongue drags across yours but he goes at your pace; or at least he tries, you whimpered and the kiss quickly grew messy— wet as he wraps his tongue around yours and sucks. It's an odd feeling and it pulls a startled moan from you. It is years of programming that has you saying it, your hands clenching at the fabric of his shirt, “Husband–”
“Paul.” He urges, his voice a touch desperate as his hands begin to roam your body. He's squeezing you in places you've never been touched before, his hands tickling up your sides— pushing your nightgown up. You are bare beneath them and Paul lets out an appreciative groan at the sight of your pussy. He barely looks up when he says, “Call me Paul when I touch you like this, please.”
You swallow and nod, you have to ask. You have to know. “Paul, did you ever–” Your voice breaks and you can hear how small you sound. “Did you touch her? While we were together?”
“No.” He says it so quickly, you're blinking but his voice is serious, he doesn't falter but his hands still. “I would never do that, not even if she offered.”
You take a breath. “But you left, Paul.”
“I know.” He murmurs, “I’m sorry. Will you let me apologize?”
“You already–” Your voice catches as he bends, he kisses his way down your body, hot opened mouthed kisses, his tongue dragging across your flesh. Your stomach clenches when he lowers and presses another kiss to your mound, uncaring of the hair there. Your legs try to clamp together but he is quick to keep them apart, his eyes meeting your frantic ones, “You don't– you never–”
“I’m apologizing.” He says simply and then his mouth is on you. There is nothing shy about the way his tongue drags through your folds, he licks and licks, and licks till he's drooling— he's making a wet mess out of you, his tongue dipping in and out of your fluttering hole as moans spill from you. Your legs tremble at the side of his head and you barely catch his eye roll as he pulls your thighs close to his head. He groans when they clench around his head and he licks his way back up to your clit and sucks hard, slurping loudly. Your back arches from the bed, a shrill shriek of his name escaping from your mouth, his head bobs with each suck, his tongue dragging and swirling hard against your dripping core.
“Oh, oh-” A curse he's never heard before explodes from you and your hand is carding through his hair and pulling closer to your cunt. His nose digs into your flesh and he lets out a puff of air before he flattens his tongue and shakes his head, your hand was keeping him centered enough but it loosens when he does this, flying to your mouth instead to muffle the squeal that leaves you. He keeps his mouth on you as he looks up, taking in your teary eye expression— your eyes meet and Paul can barely hold back the smile when he teases a finger against your slit. You moan, arching down towards it and it makes his nose grind against your clit as his finger slips in easily. You're incredibly wet and you would be embarrassed if Paul wasn't the one to blame for it, you could barely tell what was your own arousal or his spit at this point.
Paul presses another finger into you and it goes just as easy as the first, his fingers gliding against your clenching, wet walls. His fingers prod and rub and when they hook against a spot that has you twisting away from him, Paul is fighting to keep your hips from bucking wildly. “That’s it.” He encourages, his voice husky. His fingers bully a spongy part inside of you, pressing and rubbing as his other hand moves, his fingers rubbing tight, hard circles against your clit. It's an awkward position but Paul doesn't seem to care, his wild eyed look is trained on your leaky cunt and the way it clenches and flutters around his fingers. You smack at his hands because something is brewing— your stomach coiling right. He rides the waves your hips rock to, a crooked smile forming on his face. “That’s fucking it, so pretty like this.”
You cum and you swear you've gone blind. You've touched yourself before, you've made yourself cum before but this— this is something completely different, your back is arching off the bed, your moans are choked to a stop as you try to force air to your lungs. Your legs clamp shut but Paul keeps pumping his fingers inside of you, he's cooing like you're something precious and he's riding your high, his hand matching the twitching of your hips. You wheeze his name, your chest heaving and it is only then Paul pulls his hand from you, his fingers wet and creamy and he slips the digits into his mouth with a soft moan.
You're blinking up at him, your breath rattling in your chest and Paul meets your gaze unabashed, his fingers leaving his mouth to rub a soothing pattern in your thigh. “Are you alright?”
You quickly realize Paul can't help but do that. In the next week, Paul pulls you into every dark corner he can find. He'd drop to his knees, his mouth finding your cunt like it was home and he'd licked you till you were quivering, creaming all over his face and pushing him away. Paul licked your cunt like a man starved and again, you quickly realize with an odd twinge of fear that he loved it. Loved your legs clamped around his head, loved his nose buried in your scent at its source. He loved it so much it took nearly another week for him to bend you over his desk and actually fuck you.
“Oh, f-fuck!”
The office is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, the squeaking of the desk moving forward. Paul has a hand splayed over the curve of your back, keeping you bent over as he rolled his hips into you. You're moaning, cursing really and it makes him twitch inside of you. He loves when you act like anything but a Lady and when you're clenching down on him, choking his dick and soaking his thighs, he thinks he might lose his head. Still, there are guards who roam the halls outsides, servants that go about their duties and you are just so vocal— his hand slips over your mouth and though he knows the damage is done and the outside world has probably already heard your sounds, he feels possessive; he wants to keep your moans and whimpers to himself. He used the hand over your mouth to pull you up and flush against him, groaning when you clamp down on him, fucking back on him without abandon.
His knees nearly buckle when you begin to set your own pace against him, one of your hands holds his hand over your mouth, your nails digging into skin as your other hand flies to your stretched cunt. You're so wet your fingers slip and mess their mark and Paul feels your frustrated groan vibrate against his hand as you try again, your fingers finding your clit and you rub furiously little circles against the sensitive nub. Faintly, Paul thinks you touch yourself a little too rough but you're tightening up on him and Paul moans, you feel so good. Better than his hand ever did and, his hips meet yours— it's almost frantic, animalistic in the way he fucks into you and when he cums, he shakes, a moan spilling from his lips as he continues to roll his hips, fucking his spend back into you and try to get you to finish.
And you do, you always do because Paul refuses to stop until you do. He could be shaking from pure overstimulation and he'd still fuck into you until you're creaming on his dick, his fingers, his face. Later, he tells you that he's glad you don't squirt. You had hit him on his shoulder, tried to hide your face from his lecherous gaze but he had cupped your pussy with a grin filled with heat, “You’d wash away all my work if you did.”
You had hissed his name in warning but Paul was already slipping his fingers back inside of you and you were mortified with how your body just accepted them.
Your recent… couplings had not gone unnoticed by the people of the Castle. While your ladies had more tact in asking you— your Father-in-law and Jessica were not. You had been tending to Oliver at dinner, trying to coax your son into eating his vegetables with Paul watching fondly at your side, his arm curled around the back of your seat.
Leto had cleared his throat, shifting in his chair as he watched the two of you warmly. He has been the more accepting of the recent change, greeting you both with a grin or a chuckle whenever you two stumbled into the room disheveled. “Would it be remiss of me to assume I'll be getting another grandchild soon?”
Paul snorts into his cup of wine, the red liquid spilling across his front and you are no better, the fork holding Oliver’s broccoli shakes and the vegetable falls on the boy who instantly whines in disgust. You are quick to clean him, apologizing in a coo as your face warms, you look anywhere but your in-laws and Paul takes charge. “Father–” He began, his voice warning but Leto showed his palms with an easy smile.
“I’m simply curious.” He amends, Jessica is deathly silent at his side, watching the conversation with an odd look in her eyes. “The castle hasn't been baby proofed since Oliver and I wanted to know if we should start–”
Oliver, hearing his name looks to his grandfather to you with excited green eyes. “There’s a baby?”
Your mouth opens, then closes, your face warm as suddenly everyone turns to look at you. “Well, yes but–”
The adults at the table all sit straighter, Paul's hand curls tighter against the back of your chair. “Yes?” He repeats a touch breathless and you risk a glance in his direction, and he has once again gone pink in the face. Your lips pinch and you look away, it is much easier to admit this to a child, your son, rather than his father.
“Yes,” You begin again, your voice strong but soft, a hand smoothing over his curly little head. “But the baby won't come for a number of months, Ollie.”
Oliver makes a face. “I’ll be five when it comes.”
Paul from your side lets out a watery laugh, his arm leaving your chair and settling on your shoulders. “Yes,” He replies, “You’ll be an older brother, Oliver.”
That has the boy smiling, he turns back to his grandfather already babbling about all the things he'll do as a big brother and Leto is smiling so widely, you think the grin might split his face. Paul uses it as an opportunity to pull you from the table and out into the hallway, his hand shaking in yours.
“Paul, I'm–”
He silences you with a kiss salted with his own tears. You return his kiss a touch confused and he lets out a puff of laughter against your lips. “Do not apologize.” He orders, leaning away, “Do not apologize for making me a father again.”
“I wanted to tell you differently.” You say, your heart pounding. “I wanted to wait another week just to be sure– wanted to surprise you.”
Paul is grinning, teary eyed and peachy faced. “I am surprised.” Then he's kissing you again.
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chaepink · 4 months
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can u make headcannons on sub!yan’s tendencies in the relationship?
also can i be 🉑 or 🌝 anon?
dating sub!yandere boys hcs ♡
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sub!yandere boys when they date you.
wc: 1.1k+ words | masterlist
dom!fem!reader, unhealthy relationship, mention of killing/murder, both sfw and nsfw!, mention of feminization, bondage
note: yes you can be 🌝 anon!
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— your yandere would be possessive of you, even more compared to when you two were just friends
— well, you thought you two were just friends. he already assumed you two were together sometime earlier during his friendship with you
— he would do anything for you in order to make sure you're happy and safe
— a friend of yours is getting too touchy with you? well the next day that friend is ignoring you and when you confront them, they look at you scared and quickly scurry away from you. did your yandere do something to them? surely not
— a weird guy keeps following you around your neighborhood? well a couple of days later you see on the news that his body has been found near a river and weirdly enough, you havent seen your yandere on the days before the guy's death
— you complain to your yandere about how a teacher gave you a bad grade on something you worked so hard on? suddenly your grade changes to a A and that same exact teacher suddenly resigns from the school
— he'll try his best to know where you are most of the time and try to follow you back home to make sure you're safe (though its really obvious, you don't acknowledge him so he thinks he's actually doing something)
— but no matter how scary and possessive they are of you, they just want to be good for you, really
— its almost as if they're a puppy for you, always there for your beck and call
— give them a simple command and they'll do it immediately, no questions asked
— ask them to buy you a snack from the nearest store? he'll return back with a bagful of others that he thought you would like
— they're super clingy and always want to be near you
— somehow they manage to have the same exact classes that you have and at the same time. maybe you guys are just lucky? little do you know that your yandere hacked into the principal's computer to change his schedule to fit with yours
— if you're sick, they would immediately fetch you some medicine and make so many bowls of your favorite soup that you're not sure you could finish them all
— they would be so sad when you're sick cause that means they can't be as close as they usually are with you :(
— in bed, nothing changes at all. rather, he becomes even more infatuated with you
— they're still so good and obedient for you, always following your commands. its cute
— like what i said with him doing it with no hesitation, your yandere is eager to do what you say
— tell him to get on his knees? say less as he's already doing so, staring up at you with such innocent eyes
— tell him to open his mouth for you to stick your fingers inside? he opens wide and sticks out his tongue in such a sinful manner, hazy eyes absolutely begging you to make him choke on your fingers as drool drips down his chin
— order him to suck your strap and get it all wet? he's quick to get in between your legs and get his hands on the fake dick, his mouth going straight to bobbing it up and down and gagging as it hits the back of his throat. he'll try to subtly grind his hard on against your foot without you noticing but you do anyways but he's being a good boy so you allow it
— and oh my god is he so shameless in public
— no hesitation in telling you what he wants you to do to him when there are people around
— you'll be at brunch with some of your friends and suddenly you'll feel a hot breath on your ear, such sinful words coming soon after
"im wearing lingerie under my clothes, your favorite set too. wouldn't you like to just ruin me right here and now? make me cry and look so pretty while you show everyone im yours?"
— safe to say that you immediately dragged him to the family bathroom and fingered him until he was gripping onto you for dear life, begging and crying out for you to stop and take pity on him (he's lying about wanting you to stop)
— when you're out with errands or just at work, he'll take such sinful pictures of himself to send to you randomly
— the pictures would include his legs spread out, a obvious bulge in his underwear, and something adorning his body whether its lingerie, a maid outfit, or rope that's tied so tightly on him
— if he's feeling like teasing you even more, he'll send whimpering audios that beg you to come home and fuck him and if you listen close enough, you'll hear some wet noises that let you know that he's masturbating
"f-fuck, [name] come back s-soon, please? i-i miss you so much! i- ah! i-im wearing your favorite outfit right now! i'll be a g-good ngh boy waiting for you ♡"
— itll end up with you rushing home after you're finished to fuck him dumb in that outfit, making it stained with his tears and cum
— he knows you can't really get him pregnant but your yandere just loves those straps with cum in them that you can just shoot inside him whenever you're fucking him fast and rough
— that'll make his eyes roll back and head throw backwards as he lets out such a loud mewl at the feeling of your fake cum filling him up
— and afterwards he'll tease you by using his fingers to push the cum thats gushing out of his hole back in before licking his fingers
— although your yandere is a good boy for you most of the time, theres times where he's a brat
— he'll talk back to you whenever you command him to do something or cum without permission
— but just some long edging or overstimulation will break him and turn him into a sobbing mess
— tying his hands to the headboard and keeping his legs spread apart whilst a vibrator is inside him on the highest setting is his favorite punishment
— your yandere thinks you don't know that since you do it all the time but you actually do know it, you just love the way his face is stained with his drool and tears while his chest and the sheets underneath him is covered in his cum afterwards
— such a slut but we love him for it
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ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink
╰┈➤ masterlist | rules
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planetsano · 3 months
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fem reader. both reader and yuji get zero bitches. waxing.
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I was having thoughts about Yuji getting his first wax at this really cute spa— its the new year so he’s really trying to make the effort of taking this whole “self care” thing he’s been seeing on TikTok seriously. He seems like the type to be pretty hairy down south anyway and in turn he trims it here and there but he never really upkeeps the maintenance. He wants to see what this waxing thing is all about.
So, he books the appointment and he gets you as his esthetician. He’s nervous! But also very excited! He booked a facial as well as the wax so you of course take very good care of him. The conversation is flowing beautifully and there’s a bit of chemistry there. He also thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous and when he walked into the studio, he tripped over his shoelace but that’s neither here or there.
When it’s finally time for the wax? You’re prepping everything all nice and instruct him to take off his pants and boxers— and Yuji immediately freezes. He’s all like “What do you mean?” so you look at him from over your shoulder because you think he’s being silly but the look of genuine confusion on his face lets you know he’s being deadass serious. You tell him, “Well, I can’t wax you with your pants on now can I, cutie?” as sweet as can be, its almost a little maternal too the way you say it.
Poor Yuji. He didn’t really think about any of this fully through. He mentally punches himself in the face because of course he would have to expose himself to the esthetician, that’s just how a Brazilian wax works! Yuji doesn’t want to make it awkward so he complies and takes off his pants and underwear before he lays back onto the table. God, he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life! Is the lamp really necessary..? The warmth of it did feel pretty nice. That’s beside the point anyway.
As he’s laying there while you dilly about with your back turned to him, his mind starts to wander. When was the last time he’s had a woman’s touch? It feels like ages because it kind of has. A year? Almost close to a year. He can’t really remember. Yuji thinks you’re pretty and a good time— you’re easy to talk to and if he didn’t know any better, he thinks he might have a tiny, little crush on you. He’s already been thinking about booking another service just so he can see you.
The thought is super cute, but what isn’t cute is Yuji fighting every single demon, every single thought— nearly trying to astral project so he won’t get hard. You didn’t give him a warning before wrapping your gloved hand around his shaft and he jumped, which did get a giggle and a little “Feeling jumpy today, are we?” out of you. He played it off with a bashful little “Sorry.” before relaxing again. You’re not really doing much but your job and that’s why he feels like such a pervert when all the blood from his skull has rushed to his cock.
For him, it’s like this huge elephant in the room but for you? You don’t mind, there’s always a possibility which is why you don’t take male clients but Yuji is the only exception because he’s cute and seems like a good boy. He probably thinks that he has a poker face but there’s a reason why you keep cooing at him because he’s definitely the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. It’s so desperately obvious that he’s trying to think about the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things but it’s not working.
As the service continues, Yuji is not longer trying to keep from stay hard but he’s now rather trying not to cum all over your hands and his chest. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so. He peeks down every now and again to see the progress, he keeps telling himself “She’s almost done, she’s almost done.” that he needs to hold out for just a few minutes more then he can put his pants back on. But, unfortunately it doesn’t seem to work out like he would have hoped to plan.
Your hand slid up his cock with just enough pressure and friction to make him blow his, really fat load actually. He desperately tried to grab your wrist before it happened but it was already too late, the broken protest turned into a pitiful moan halfway, the panicked jerk of his body.. truth be told you thought it was sweet. You’ve also been going through a dry spell yourself. Your last ex made you want to do some healing but with that came with stepping out of the dating pool and no casual sex.
You, yourself felt like a bit of a pervert standing here with a man putty in your fingertips. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” was all that left his lips as you cleaned him with with a Kleenex but all you could say in return was:
“Can I..? Have your number?”
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suguruplsr · 4 months
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suguru letting you put on eyeliner or mascara on him and you just tell him he looks really pretty like this so he gets all shy and embarrassed (fluff & smut :D)
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prettiest boy
i hear u i hear u!
,, x fem!reader , fluff + smut , this got really dirty , both are kinda switches , unprotected , dirty talk , creampie , pet names (quite a few, + reader calls suguru pretty boy a lot) , degrading + praising , spanking , choking (tiny) , some nasty tongue kissing , not proofread , drabble.
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“ugh, you’re so pretty it makes my heart fall out.” you sigh exaggeratedly, making the man sitting on the couch in front of you hold your waist tighter, eyes fluttering open and giving you a look. “baby, you’re not even finished yet.” suguru chuckles, feeling a bit bashful as you grin, “that’s the thing! only one eye’s done and you look like a little prince.” you giggle, pointing the tube of mascara at him before handing it to him.
in return, he hands you the eyeliner, closing his eyes and giving you his signature smile. he truly has no idea what you mean. so oblivious to how pretty his usual low eyes look with a dash of mascara extending and darkening his pretty lashes. you lean up on his lap, a hand pressing firmly onto his large chest so you sit a bit more above him in his hold.
“sweetheart..” suguru groans, feeling your breasts brush his neck as you try to get comfortable. “yes pretty boy?” you smile, seeing how he breaks his composure, muscles tightening and skin burning under your fingers when you grab his cheeks. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me..” he mutters under his breath with a small gasp, biting his lip and trying hard to not squeeze his eyes together at the feeling of the liquid brush shaping his wing.
“yea? you’re just so adorable.” you mumble , perfecting the wing and doing a tiny touch up at its tip. fuck the wing, he’s perfect. you bite back the moan that could leave your lips from the sight of him, falling back a bit into his arms and examining your work. “please honey, i can’t take your teasing right now..” suguru can feel his dick rising when you roll your hips with a laugh. his embarrassment so painfully obvious, but he wasn’t even able to even turn away.
“it’s okay pretty, can i get the mascara now. ah ah, keep your eyes closed.” a blush creeps onto suguru’s face, his hand trailing to your waist until you grab his hand, switching the products again. “thank you baby~” you sing, sitting up and hovering over his lap, placing a nice sloppy kiss on his lips that has him chasing after it when you let go. only to be met with a finger on his lips, your cheeky noises ringing through the air.
you hold his jaw tight, whispering for him to open his eyes and concentrating on brushing the curly lashes and making your man prettier than ever. but you feel his adam’s apple bob under your thumb, his nervousness clear as day as he stares at you, his hues darker than before. but as you pull away to bask in beautiful he is, your eyes wander around his throat and the structure of in his neck. you just wanna—
“f-fuuck!”
your hand had moved lower, squeezing his thick throat as a test and getting his flustered moan in response. suguru looks down at you, breathing heavily as you smirk. “you’re so sensitive today pretty.” you hum, pulling him into a kiss that he doesn’t let you run away from now. your lips smack against each other, his hands on your waist go to remove your shirt, but you push them to your shorts. “no foreplay, jus’ wanna fuck my pretty boy today.” you whimper, making suguru moan in response, helping you get rid of the annoying barriers.
“if you keep callin’ me that..” he grits his teeth when you press your bare cunt to the fabric of his sweats. “pretty? just sayin’ the truth! look so hot looking down at me n’ groanin’ in my ear sugu.” you pout, pulling back his pants and snapping it to his skin. you’ve always had a way of bending him to your every word. fuck. suguru wraps one arm around you, making you cling to his side as he rolls down his pants and underwear. “c’mon baby, come fuck your pretty boy.”
and you waste no time, getting comfortable above him and holding his length to line it with your hole. he almost wants to help you, but you take him all in one go, both of you moaning from the raw undefined feeling of each other. thankfully, your pussy was wet enough for the pain to subside after a few moments of you two kissing, but it definitely wasn’t enough for you two to withstand the long drags of his cock in you.
“fuuuuuck! just like that.. you got it mama, uh huh!”suguru heaves as you raise yourself, thighs shaking and your nails digging into his shoulder before slamming back down. “pretty cock’s fillin’ me up sugu! mhmmm love it so much!” you whine, pushing down on his body further, making him lean completely into the couch while keeping your hands on his shoulders. but at this angle you can glide your pussy out more better, your tits shaking in your loose shirt infront of his face each time you go up.
“love your pretty boy’s cock huh? t-tell him how much baby.” he whines, watching the way your thighs jiggle each time you take him, loud ‘plap!’s ringing through the room as you ride him. you bite your bottom lip, clenching him tightly from his words, “l-love it when my pretty boy’s cock drills me, always fuckin’ me soooo fucking good!” your voice breaks, hiccuping and body slowly getting weaker each time you engulf his cock. and it just switches something in him, his dick twitching inside of you.
“yeaaa ya do, love it when your pretty boy’s whining in y’r ear huh? gettin’ off to it like a lil slut.” suguru’s sudden change in demeanor makes you sob, him giving you a few spanks on your ass before helping you out. “ye-yea, love hearin’ you, makes my pussy wet like a slut~ your slut!” your bottom lip tucks out, glossed with spit and bites as he grinds you onto his dick. “shiiit. talkin’ all dirty n’ shit, gonna make me cum. want your pretty boy’s cum? wan’ all of it?” and you nod your head eagerly, unable to form your own words because of the big fast cock that hammered into your pussy, suguru’s hips lifting high to reach deeper.
“kiss me baby, nasty, juuuust how i like it.” and you obey, sticking out your tongue as your two hotly let your tongues interlock, spit dripping and heavy gasps until you’re clawing his chest. “su! g’nna cum!” is all you can get out of your sloppy mouth, him paying no mind and focusing on the sounds of your juices that made loud squelching noises with each thrust of his cock. he licks his lips, looking down at your shaking form that clinged to him, your ass jiggling as he quickened his pace and planted his feet to the ground.
suguru brings and arm up to your neck, wrapping it tight around and forcing you to lock eyes with him, even with your lolled out tongue drooling and eyes threatening to roll back. “gonna fill you up, kay? only gonna think of me, your pretty boy. my cum all deep inside ya and keepin’ you snugged n’ full— ohhh, you like that’s shit huh, fuckin’ suffocating my cock. go ahead baby. make a fuckin’ mess.” maybe it was his words, his scent, his looks, his treatment, shit, maybe his existence, but you listened like the good little slut you are and came all over his dick, moaning loudly and shaking with a shiver that only heightened from the feeling of a lump of cum pour into you. his dick keeping it all plugged up as he throws his head back.
you two sat in silence afterwards, calming your breathing as suguru laid you on his chest comfortably, careful to not pull out. “s-shiiit. h-how the fuck did we even get here..” suguru croaks an airy laugh as you pick at his wife beater. “fucking make up. that shit makes you look pretty.” you smile, poking his chest and looking up at him. surprisingly, it looked in tact, maybe a bit more smokey than before, but it made it all the more hotter. “baby we just finished, stop it with the bedroom eyes.” suguru rolls his eyes, giving your ass a playful smack, to each you yelp at. “oh cmon! im just admiring my pretty boyfriend.”
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cheesit-notes · 8 months
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pervy tf141 x reader (pt2 kinda)
you're hot as fuck; the team knows it, and so do you. and god, you're such a tease about it.
➥ requested by anon!
tags: lowkey nsfw under cut!, fem!reader, sub gaz, sub soap, every tf141 member kinda subby, voyeurism w/ ghost, teasing, reader kinda dom implied, ass and lots of it, reader being a tease, bold reader
a/n: i started at 9pm and ended at 1am and sometime between then and now, i got really tired so sorry for any mispellings, none of my work are ever edited.. my brain isnt quite functioning rn and i want to sleep but thanks for requesting anon, whoever u are ;3
Gaz who’s gets so flustered over how… just how bold you are. god, you’re teasing him with those clothes that just fit your body so, so well. his morals are already questioned when you come in, he couldnt stop imagining you in different positions. but now he doesnt have to imagine! because now, you’re bending over, purposely showing him your plush ass, to pick something up, showing him what you’d look like in certain positions. and my, gaz is a little pervert isnt he? getting hard in the middle of the common area just because you dropped your drink and picked it up. his face is flushed embarrassed and his growing erection sure doesn’t help. quick, someone might enter the room and see his throbbing cock strained against his pants so sit on his lap, tell him to be quiet, and help him out, yeah?
Soap who love the confidence you have, he’s like putty around you.. if you initiate more physical contact with him, specifically touches that can be easily misunderstood if anyone were to see, and he’s practically drooling. has been pushed against the wall by you, his hand pushing up your thigh because he just couldnt help himself, and your lips just mere inches from his. he’s rock hard, you can feel it as you press yourself onto him, and he’s leaking so much precum, its like he pissed himself. yet all this to be interrupted by your dear old Lieutenant Ghost who happened to discover the scene. poor Soap who’s most intimate moment with you just disappeared and left with a throbbing cock, but you seem fine. in fact, you’re smiling cheekily. you whisper to Soap, telling him to wait for you in his barracks before happily walking away like nothing just happened. ah, but Soap can’t wait. he jacks himself off twice, unable to stop. and he’s panting like a dog! it only took you 30 minutes to come to his barracks, but he’s already a sopping mess; sweat dripping down his face, bits of cum splattered on his stomach, and a small pool in between his legs. then you start stroking his soft cock, and he shouldn’t like this. he’s can barely get hard, the overstimulation is so painful to him, but he’s a like a bitch in heat in your hands.
Ghost who gets so fucking hard during team briefings. god, his erection is painfully obvious to anyone who just so much as glanced by that area. he doesnt mean to get hard, its just.. you.. you’re there. right next to him. your ass is within reach, god, and your wearing those tight leggings again. he needs you to blow his poor needy cock off and he needs it bad. he usually wants to at least look decent in front of captain Price. oh, but god, he wouldn’t mind the entire crew watching him get a sloppy blowjob from pretty little you. he wouldnt even mind the entire crew watching him stroke his hard meaty cock if it meant you were watching. leans back and as casually as he can, he droops one arm over you. he’s afraid you might say something, anything, about his off behavior but you don’t; you lean into his touch. one hand so close to touching your tits and the other laid near his crotch. at first, its just little touches while he imagines how your pretty tits would feel, especially in his mouth. but within minutes, hes practically openly palming himself while imagining hes sucking on your tits. his mask is a savior for covering his flushed face. god, and he sees you looking over at him, staring him up and down, and he knows you see his big fat cock pushed against his pants. all you do is give a barely noticeable smile, and look away but he’s already cumming in his pants.
Price who finds your bold personality quite amusing. still calls you a rookie despite you being far from it. it’s a constant game of who can push the other off the edge with the two of you. you’ll visit his office in the later hours of the evening and plop yourself on the edge of his seat. the two of you are having the most mundane conversation, sharing a single chair while the sexual tension is screaming. he’ll move you onto his lap, you’re looking down at him and smiling, he’s looking up at you with a hand gripping your ass. he’s a bold bastard, leaning into your chest, pulling you closer to him until your basically straddling him. god, you’re really pushing his nerves. you should be flustered, an embarrassed mess at his perverted actions. but nooo you’re enjoying yourself, smiling. and lord, he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy your teasing. now, the question is: how many late evening visits will it take for an overnight stay in the office?
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koolades-world · 2 months
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hello ^^
was wondering if youd be able to write something about the demon brothers (and maybe diavolo too) with mc whos a little dumb? as in they forget a lot of stuff (what day it is, where they put something only a few seconds ago, etc) and dont know a lot of things even if its obvious. theyre also a bit gullible and fall for fake news or scams a lot. basically a bimbo/himbo type of mc.
hi!! yeah sure thing!
actually went to google if there was a gender neutral version of bimbo himbo and apparently there actually is
presenting: thembo! haha I love this term
enjoy :)
Thembo/Himbo/Bimbo Mc
Lucifer
very protective of you
can't help but internally smile whenever you forget your train of thought or asks him what today's date is for the third time
if there's an unreliable news source that keeps finding it's way into your hands he sees personally that they mysteriously goes out of business
gotten surprisingly good at finding things you lost, like he'll just move one thing out of the way and what you're looking for will be there (big mom energy here)
Mammon
he's a himbo himself tbh
you're cut from the same cloth so you can be silly together
100% both of you will ask each other the time, check your D.D.D., and only leave that situation with what percent it's at so you have to check again and still don't have the time
you match each other's energy so well it's meant to be
Levi
he's not quite sure how to feel at first
he gets overwhelmed by the amount of questions you ask, but once you start asking questions about his games, you're instantly close
he doesn't mind repeating himself since you actually care about him
sometimes he forgets everything besides gaming so he gets it
Satan
if Mammon is your birds of a feather flock together, he's your opposite attract moment, even better than Lucifer
he always makes sure to let you know if something you've heard is fake or not and always makes it a lesson even though despite you listening, never seems to stick but that's ok he still loves you
however he loves how you embrace all of the things he loves even if you don't fully get it, like all the more complicated books he reads for fun
it's alright he has enough brains for the both of you lol
Asmo
sometimes he's very himbo so he has solutions to your problems
gives you a cute little invisible ink pen that activates when you stand or sit in spots you're in a lot to write on your arm with since regular ink isn't cute (solomon made it <3)
always asks you if you have everything before you leave the house with a checklist, and when you got home
please make sure to thank him!!
Beel
he also has the same oblivious nature, but he's more dense while you're more airhead
if you put your heads together (and with a little help from belphie) you can usually figure it out
will help you look for your D.D.D. while the both of you use the flashlight on your D.D.D.
ultimate duo fr
Belphie
he thinks you're so silly but tries to keep any playfully mean comments to a minimum
sometimes he can't help but poke fun at you but afterwards he always tells you he's sorry and tells you you're pretty
straight up puts tracking devices on important items that you handle everyday so that if you lose something, you can easily find it again, such as your toothbrush and textbooks
Diavolo
another sorta himbo, since he seems like he has no idea what he's doing but actually is very aware
if you lose something and really can't find it, no worries! he can just buy you a new one or have the Little D's search for it since they'll do anything to help you out
very understanding and sweet about it since he kinda gets it
the both of you can embrace this lifestyle together
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splataii · 11 months
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so uh @b1ueprinc3 made a post and i was inspired to make this drabble.
pervert manager dabi x male reader
cw: sub/bottom male reader, top/dom character, dacryphilia, degradation, minor exhibitionism, groping
anyway dabi first meets you an just thinks ur so fucking cute. he just loves your enegry and attitude, and becomes a lil too eager to train you, always being a lil touchy. hes down horrendous, always grabbing ur ass to congratulate you for a job well done at the end of the day or whatever.
insists he a “hands on learning” typa guy. always grabbing you by the waist so he can grind his obvious boner against your ass as he scoots behind you. always grabs u by the back of the neck, rubbing a thumb up its side as he leans over your shoulder to look at whatever work has you occupied. grabs you by the beltloop when youre passing him so he can spin you around and tell you about this “important work related thing” while he keeps his fingers pressed into your hips.
he already thinks you look pretty good in the assigned uniform, but one day, he has the genius idea to spill some water or something over you so you're forced to change into a top that's a couple sizes too small (which he insists is the only available uniform, yes it's mandatory, no you can't go home and change).
he promises it was an accident, and that he’ll wash it for you (despite the fact you insist you can clean it yourself) but instead spends his time dropping random shit on the ground so he can see your pants strain against ur ass and the way your shirt rides up your back.
the liar also takes your old shirt to the backroom to fist his cock with, pretending it's ur fucked out face he's cumming on. you ain't never getting that shit back
speaking of jerking off, this bitch does it all the time. specifically does it when youre getting off break and heading to the break rooms, so you can hear the sound of him shamelessly moaning your name as he finishes to another one of his gross fantasies of you laying spread out for him in his bed. he exits the stall and smiles when he sees your face like its no big. always makes sure to give ur ass a nice slap and some half assed “work hard” crap before he leaves you totally embarrassed.
nyway he also a bit overprotective, never stepping more than a couple feet away from you while you're working with a customer, and even other coworkers. he knows people know how cute you are. why would he leave his sweet boy to deal with those random mofos? he just stands behind you glaring when he feels someone is getting too close. you get a little confused, when they eventually leave, terrified, but he's always there to comfort you. your ass is his, you don't need no one else baby<3
he can have a bit of a mean streak sometimes tho, stretching you thin. whenever you (expectedly) fail to meet his impossible deadlines, he’s teasing you. talking about what a dumb little boy you are. he could probably fire you, if he wanted to. but he wont. if you could do this one little thing for him.. he pulls you into an old storage closet, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants so he can slap it on your face and spread his pre all over your cheek and nose. he can't help it, you just look a lot cuter this way. besides, he knows you can take it. dumb little boys like you are only made for one thing. since you're such a bad employee, show him what a damn good whore you are.
dabi claims he's only mean cause he cares. boys like you need to be taught a lesson so no one can take advantage of you. but sometimes, he plays like he's gonna make you answer calls while hes spearing you on his dick, just so he can see your pretty tears as you shake ur head no.
once again, he can have complete one eighty's, giving you all these bonuses and gifts at work saying “you deserve it” and all that shit, but everybody at work knows the reason you get all this special treatment is cause he slutting you out behind closed doors.
at the end of the day, you’re really just dabi’s personal whore. and everyone knows it.
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spitdrunken · 1 month
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response to this ask: ABSOLUTELY NOT TOO MUCH!!! This ask has brought me infinite joy and I have reread it a LOT. (Also dw, I will always assume Reader is an adult through asks!! But I get why you’d wanna say that with a term such as grooming, haha) also this got REALLY LONG… HELP.
Notes: pseudocest, obsessive behaviour, codependency, unequal power dynamics, implied minor character death, infantilization… general creepiness. Perhaps this veers away from my original post a little, but I love the idea that you’re someone entirely new to Hell. You’re fresh off the boat, so to speak, entirely unfamiliar with the way things work around here— Except that everything’s fucking terrifying, and you want out! Right now. Please. You see an ad on a random TV in a store’s display, one featuring a hotel that promises ‘sinners’ (which is what you are now, apparently, even your own body now being a new and confusing factor of your existence) a possible way to ascend up to Heaven. Now new and refurbished, after the last successfully averted extermination! Whatever that means. With nowhere else to turn to, no other leads or possibilities except sleeping out on the blood-soaked streets, of course you go! Who wouldn’t? You’d be stupid not to go! …Unless this is all a big scam In which case, you can only hope that you can’t die more than once.
Maybe you arrive, and this grand, beautiful hotel, is, well… Deserted. It’s beautiful on the outside, sure, but where are any of the staff? Or the people staying there, for that matter? You’re so uncomfortable out it all, that you nearly turn tail and run back from whence you came. You would have, if where you came from wasn’t ten times worse.
You walk up to the front desk, and, before you can change your mind, ring the little bell placed on the desk. Someone appears in a flash of golden light, and you have to squint your eyes to avoid being blinded. It disappears as quickly as it came, and a man… Demon, actually, appears in its place. (You catch a quick glance of something bright yellow being quickly stuffed into his pocket, but you have no idea what it is.) His form is noticeably more humanoid than the others you’ve seen out and about. Yes, his skin is an inhuman tone, and his cheeks take apple-red to a whole new level, but he doesn’t appear monstrous. That doesn’t make him exactly inviting, however. His face is set in a neutral expression, and he openly looks you up and down, pupils narrowed into slits. You scratch at the side of your neck, only to immediately flinch. You aren’t quite used to how sharp your nails are nowadays. “Um, hello! I— Sorry to bother you, sir,” you break the silence. “I might be wrong, but is this the Hazbin Hotel…? I saw the advertisement that was put out, and I was interested. Would you happen to be the owner?”
His neutral expression fades, and a small smile takes it place, eyelids sliding half-closed. “Oh no, no— Old me isn’t the boss of this place. That would be my daughter! I’m sure you would have heard of us.” He leans on his staff, both of his hands cupped around the apple on top. His eyes roam around your expression as if searching for something. “You’re pretty new here, I’m guessing?” “…Mhm. It’s that obvious, huh?” You don’t know how he was able to tell so quickly, but you laugh in a way that can only be heard as self deprecating. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, and avert your eyes.
“It’s kind of hard to tell how much time has passed, but— Not a lot. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. One moment, I was alive, and the next I was here, with this weird body, surrounded by terrifying people, and I don’t know—“ Your voice cracks under the weight of the reality of your situation. An eternity in Hell. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Yeah. It’s just been a lot.” “I see. Yes, this realm isn’t particularly kind, least of all to newcomers. I can’t imagine what you’ve seen.” He says, quieter now. You dare a glance at his face. Something in his features has softened at your words, his slit pupils and smile wider in size. When he sees you looking, he extends a hand. You take it, and he gives you multiple firm shakes, before pulling you into a quick hug that has your knees buckle a bit and crushes the air out of your lungs. For a little guy, he really is surprisingly strong. When he lets you go, he’s still got a hand holding yours, leading you to one of the couches in the lobby, and promptly plopping down, pulling you with him. “But things are already on the rise for you from here on out!” He says, all boisterous and smiles, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “You’re new here, and already hit the jackpot! Lucifer’s the name!" And you can only imagine what kind of expression flashes over your face, because he nods rapidly and winks at you. “—Yes, that one, glad that, at least, rings a bell. And staying here places you under my family’s protection." His gaze drifts over the lobby. "My daughter and her friends are out doing trust exercises somewhere right now, but I’m certain she’ll be happy to welcome once she returns. She’s a real sweetheart, let me tell you! She didn’t get that from me, I can tell you that!” He laughs, but it quickly tapers off into a sigh. You wish you could laugh along. You have to admit you’re more than just a bit frozen up, questioning all of the decisions in your life and death that lead up to this moment. Sitting on a couch in a hotel lobby with Satan himself… Maybe you could die again, after all, and you were about to experience it. You probably have committed like fifty gross breaches of etiquette already, and, and— There’s a little rubber duck sitting on your lap.
It immediately snaps you out of your stupor, with how sudden and unexpected it is. The duck is bright yellow with chubby orange cheeks, and wearing a little black top hat. You can’t help cracking up a bit, taking it into your hand. …Maybe this guy is as silly as his outfit would suggest. Was calling himself Lucifer his idea of a joke? Things might be alright after all. “Ah..." You smile. "He’s so cute!” You relax, letting your back hit the sofa you’re sitting on. “Like a little gentleman!” This is the only adorable thing you’ve seen ever since arriving in Hell, and no one should blame you for getting a bit excited. Your days have been nothing but utter misery, after all. “You think so? I mean—“ He laughs, short and sudden. “Of course you do! Just look at the little guy! Who couldn’t love him? You can keep him, I can make another one lickety-split!” “Oh! Um, thank you! Does he have a name?” You’re full-on smiling now, and turning to look at ‘Lucifer’. At a shake of his head, you hum in thought. “A fancy guy deserves a fancy name… What about Reginald?” You turn the little toy around, inspecting it from all sides. “You’ve seen nothing yet! Just give it a little squeeze, not too much.” You do as he says. Through the little hole in its beak, a white droplet emerges. “It’s glue! He used to help me with my crafting projects. But, well, he’s yours now. Off to greener pastures, as they say.” You can’t help yourself. The whole situation is really not all that funny, but you crack up, and once you start laughing, you can’t stop. Your chest hurts, and tears are burning at the corners of your eyes. You have no idea why! Everything’s been such a mess lately. After a couple of seconds, you babble out some nonsense. “I gave— I gave Reginald such a posh name! But… Y’know, he’s a working man!” You say, still cracking up in between the words. At this, it’s Lucifer who laughs, a sound loud and sudden enough to ring in your ears. Seems you hadn’t heard a real laugh out of him before after all.
In other words, Lucifer (who you end up finding out really is the Devil himself) quickly grows fond of you, and takes you under his wings. Perhaps it’s your innocence about Hell and it’s mechanisms that pulls him towards you, combined with the fact that you’re just kind of easy to fuss over. You’re none the wiser that Lucifer was all but hopeless about sinners before helping restart the hotel, and entirely unaware that your dynamic is anything but normal. In your mind, Lucifer must befriend people rather frequently! While you’re quickly taken in by Hazbin Hotel’s other friends and staff, it really is Lucifer who helps you through your adjustment period. He makes you little covers for your claws, so you can get used to having sharp appendages, and not accidentally keep clawing open furniture or your own flesh. He requests Nifty makes some food that is at least visually similar to some Earth meal. When you wake up in the morning, there’s always a little duck sitting in front of your hotel door, making you start your day with a smile. You’ve got a shelf full of them now, and love all of them. (And when you’re curled up in your bed, late at night, crying over all that you’ve lost, smothering your sobs with a pillow, there is a gentle knock on your door. Lucifer sits on the side of your bed, wearing striped pajamas in red and white, and encourages you to pour your heart out to him.
There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’re going through— He’s heard and seen it all before. In fact, he’s sure he’s heard much, much worse. Has he ever done you wrong? No, he hasn’t. So, talk to him. He tells you, dabbing at your face with a white handkerchief decorated with apples stitched onto it. And you do.)
Lucifer looks after you. Sure, he’s not perfect. But no one is, right? Lucifer often seems to lose track of the conversation you’re having with him, distracted by the things around him and suddenly veering off into entirely different territory. In general, his memory is spotty at best, but you’re not surprised that an immortal being such as himself wouldn’t remember every single little thing you say.
He’ll hole himself up in his workshop for days at a time, only to emerge with nothing to show for it, except for a downtrodden expression. He’ll fight with Alastor (and continuously remind you to stay far away from that piece of shit), and get fussy whenever you try to leave the hotel without him glued to your side. Though his memory seems to often be unreliable, and you believe that a lot of simple conversations you have with him are simply left forgotten, there are instances you would consider insignificant that remain fresh in his mind.
“You’re doing it again,” you tell Lucifer. He’s pacing up and down the length of his room, ranting about Alastor. He blinks, and halts his movements, tapping his staff on the floor. “Doing what?” “The thing,” you emphasize, before standing up and walking towards him, dragging the top of your finger across his bottom lip. You can feel him take a quick inhale as soon as you make contact. A golden smear is left across your skin. “You’re always chewing on your bottom lip when you get upset. Doesn’t it hurt? I know it heals within, like, ten seconds, but still!” Absentmindedly, you look at his blood. It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s strangely… Beautiful. You look back up at him, and your brow furrows. “Hey… Were your red spots always that big? I think I’m seeing things.”
But things get better, and he improves. He starts to try and take little notes of the things you’ve told him, alongside the words of other people important to him, like Charlie, like a diary of sorts. The door to his workplace starts being left unlocked, and you’ll wander in, from time to time. You’ll sit on the chair in the corner of the room, reading or otherwise occupying yourself, and telling him that no, that duck or toy is not the worst thing you’ve ever seen, and doesn’t deserve to be burnt to a crisp.
You listen as he, on bad days, talks about his wife with a forlorn expression on his face. Things get better, though. He tries not to see the worst in sinners any longer, and his moods grow better. He spends more time with Charlie. All is well. You don’t realize just how entangled your existences are until you’re in too deep. That your eyes search for him every time you enter a new room, that you’ve grown comfortable with him doing the talking for you. You try to convince yourself it’s not a bad thing, but the simple truth is that you’ve lost a chunk of your independence. And when you try to go out with the other residents, it’s so easy for him to coax you back out of it.
Are you really sure you want to go? Look, I’m not trying to keep you here— I’m really not! But Hell’s a dangerous place out there, and I can assure you there’ll be things there that you really don’t want to see. …I’ve been working on a little display case for your favourite ducks, I can show you that instead.
He only grows more protective when time goes on, and you do more exercises with the rest of the hotel, bond with the other residents. At times, he tries to convince you to forgo their shared activities entirely.
(You try to forget about what you found in a drawer of his desk, one day. A note among so many other reminders that he is known to keep. But this one is wrinkled, pen pressed so hard to the paper that it’s torn in places. All of them want to go to Heaven, all of them want to leave here. Me. I get it. Because she has left, no one can be guaranteed to stay. But I won’t let the apple of my eye be taken, even if they send down an envoy and try to escort them up themselves. …But it’s hard not to remember.) When he gives you your a warning about the ‘scary outside world’ for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but roll your eyes and counter. Alright, dad. Nothing about your tone shows sincerity. You mean it as a joke or a jab, but Lucifer doesn’t laugh. Instead, he hums out a pleased little noise, a smile settling on his face.
The way he looks at you is so utterly tender, all half-lidded eyes and pupils blown wide, that it leaves you reeling. He nestles himself at your side, under the comfort of your arm, and promises to take care of you for the rest of your eternal life spent there. You have an eternity. It’s sweet, and knocks the breath out of you.
But you would’ve been able to reconcile the image of Lucifer and ‘father figure’ more easily if he, sometimes, didn’t act so contrary to such an image. He’ll call for you from behind his workdesk as you’re sitting on your usual chest, ready to show you a ventriloquist doll he’s been working on.
As you stand next to him, an arm is wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you on his lap. It’s in no way comfortable for him. He has to stick his head underneath one of your arms to see anything at all. It would be silly otherwise, but the way he pulls you flush against him, face nuzzled into your side as he audibly inhales, one clawed hand resting on your thigh… You can’t help but have it muddle your feelings towards him. He frequently kisses your hand as a greeting, and insists you let him kiss both of your cheeks before parting. You would write it off as one of his unique quirks if he did the same thing for Charlie, but he doesn’t.
Lucifer, with an eternity of time to hone his skills behind him, has picked up all kinds of crafts, including sewing. He’ll make pieces of clothing for you in his colour scheme, sew apple-themed patches on your clothing, among other things. It’s always embarrassing when he makes something. He fusses and cooes over you like you’re a child when you first wear any piece, clapping his hands and grinning. Oh, just look at you! Aren’t you the cutest little thing? It looks lovely on you!
Anyone with more than two braincells can tell something is going on between the two of you, though no one is quite sure exactly what. Perhaps Angel is rubbed the wrong way by just how overbearing Lucifer is being, and considers you to just get out there for once with the rest of them. You’re always cooped up inside the hotel! Come on, he’s been around the block more times than he count, and he knows every trick in the book. You’ll be fine as long as you stick with him. And… You have fun! Going out, dancing and drinking, accompanied by your friends, is wonderful. But maybe you drink a little bit too much, yet entirely unfamiliar with the different types of names alcoholic beverages in Hell have. How were you supposed to know you accidentally ordered one of the strongest drinks on the menu? And, in the crowd of people, you lose the rest, wandering outside without really noticing it. You’re such an obvious target, staggering on the sidewalk, giggling and mumbling to yourself, that you wouldn’t entirely blame anyone for the poor argument that ‘you were asking for it’ in a place like this. Your world is left spinning as you’re pushed against a wall, vision momentarily blacking out as your skull bashes against brick. (Somewhere in the club, Angel is looking for you, getting more frantic by the moment.)
You never get the chance to figure out exactly what the demon’s intentions are. As soon as their fingers brush over a patch Lucifer had sewn into your clothing, an apple with a little snake head popping out, they’re blasted back by golden light.
Your addled mind is still struggling to keep up when you’re wrapped in a set of soft, beautiful wings. The back of your head is cradled by gloved hands. You catch a glimpse of blood-red eyes set within a familiar face, but, soon, a cluster of feathers covers your eyes. There are horrible cracking noises, gurgling, wheezing— Though you see none of it, your imagination more than makes up for it. You press your face up against his chest, nauseous and shaking like a leaf. Lucifer takes off without a word, the flapping of his multiple sets of wings loud enough to awaken an oncoming headache. Mid-flight, when his features have returned to the ones you know him for, he peppers your face with kisses, and makes you look at him. You mumble out apologies, sniffling, drunk and shaken, but Lucifer shushes you.
What were you doing all the way out there, on your own? You’re usually such a good listener, my dove. You always listen to all of my warnings. A gloved finger traces your cheek. Someone convinced you to go out, didn’t they? That has to be it. You can tell your dad who it is. I won't be mad at you. You’ve never been afraid of Lucifer before. Now, though, you’re filled with apprehension. You frantically shake your head. Oh, then it was your own idea? The tip of one of his nails pokes your cheek. Not nearly hard enough to hurt, but the pressure is there.
…And you really do deserve to be in Hell, because prompted with this question, you take the selfish way out, and once again shake your head. More slowly, this time. See? It wasn’t that hard to be truthful, was it? I knew it wouldn’t be your fault. Now, all you have to do is tell me who it was.
That night, you spend the night in his bed, with Lucifer arguing that you’re very drunk. Which is very much. It’d be horrible for you to go ahead and choke on your vomit, or something like that! So, you should just stay with him. As you're drifting on the verge between conscious and unconscious, his lips find the skin of your throat, placing kisses up and down. Open-mouthed and warm, barely restrained.
You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache and only vague memories of the day prior. But you wake up with Lucifer’s arms wrapped around you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, each of his breaths tickling your skin. You wake up to one of his legs slotted in between yours. You wake up to the realization that you’ve bitten off far, far more than you can chew.
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tayyytayyy12 · 2 months
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Hello 🫶🏻 I'm a big fan of your writing. I had an idea for a fic I'd really love if you could write, it's sort of like an AU, if that's okay? Could I please request a forbidden lovers angst and fluff with Lando? Reader and Lando are in love but are kept apart, I was thinking like maybe a royal AU if that makes sense? Or otherwise like they're both from wealthy families but they don't approve of their relationship.
Reader's family forces her to marry someone they've chosen to stop them being together. Lando comes to her on the wedding day to see her and it's like a sad goodbye, but at the altar she refuses the vows because she knows she'll only ever want Lando. So they just decide to ignore their families' control and run away together? Angsty with a fluff happy ending, please. I hope that makes sense. Take care of yourself ❤️❤️
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Untouchable
Summary - Reader is the daughter of the feared mafia boss of Monaco, and when you start to fall for your father’s biggest enemy, you know chaos will come. Eventually, readers father tries to marry her off to someone else, but Lando won’t go down without a fight, even if that means giving up everything he had made his in the process.
Pairing - Mafia!Lando Norris x Reader
Warnings - Swearing, fighting, blood mentioned, smoking, reader is 19 lando is 24, poorly translated French, slightly smutty, not been proof read, slightly rushed.
Genre - Fluff, angst, social media AU
Notes - Okay, this has been in my requests for TOO LONG! Its honestly such an amazing idea, (I decided to make it Mafia because I got inspired) but this is honestly so so so good, I took so long to answer it because I wanted to make sure I did it justice 😭
//////
‘The untouchable heiress’ that was your nickname, it was pretty obvious why, you was the heiress to the biggest and most feared mafia in the whole of Europe. You was your fathers pride and joy, since the moment he held you for the first time he vowed no one who he didn’t see fit would ever lay eyes on you, and he went to extreme lengths to make sure that no one ever did.
You wasn’t sure how your father expected you to take over a mafia, you was soft spoken, couldn’t handle anyone raising their voice to you, and looked so calm and approachable 24/7, another reason why your fathers foes and friends knew of you, but had never laid eyes on you.
“Y/n, 𝘔𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦” you looked up from your phone in your hand when you heard the voice of your father approach you.
“Hi 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢.” You said with a small smile as your father pressed a kiss to your cheek and gave a small nod to the three bodyguards that followed you everywhere you went.
“I have a very important meeting tomorrow,” He said, but before he could continue you sighed and said, “And you want me to sit in my room and not come out until Mrs.Dion comes to collect me so you can tell me what deal you’ve made now, 𝘖𝘶𝘪?
Your father smirked slightly, “You know me well my daughter, but no, nit this time. This time I want you to sit in on the meeting with me.”
Your smile dropped a tiny bit, if you overheard your bodyguards conversation correctly then your father was meeting with a very dangerous man, the leader of the British mafia who wanted to take his business over to Monaco, and he wanted you to sit in on that meeting out of them all? “Oh, papa-,”
He held his hand out in front of him, making your words stop before they could leave your mouth, “No arguments. Be ready in the morning, Owen and Jule will pick you up from your room and bring you in hmm? It’s about time you start getting to know about these things if you hope to take over one day.”
You nodded and muttered a quite ‘yes’ before your father walked away, you didn’t what to take over, he wanted you to, but there was no arguing with a man like your father.
/////
You was nervous as you sat I’m a chair behind your fathers desk, he said that he didn’t need you to speak, he just needed you to observe and learn how to successfully close a deal.
Your attention was pulled away from your twiddling thumbs when your father’s office door opened and in walked two bodyguards followed by a man unlike anyone you had ever seen before.
He was tall, with dark, curly brown hair and gorgeous eyes, your attention snapped away from him when your father stood to shake the man’s hand, “Mr. Norris, pleasure to meet you.”
The man shook back and spoke back, his English accent thick compared to your father’s French one, “Please, Lorenzo, call me Lando, and the pleasures all mine.” He said as your father gestured for him to take a seat.
You observed him carefully as he and your father discussed ‘business’ (that’s just what you call it because you don’t like the way that your father deals with people who do him wrong, you didn’t think murdering and beating people till they was unrecognisable was a fair way to deal with things) the way he moved, so clean and confident.
“So you want me to help you show that you’re the main leader in this country to this Richard person, for one hundred thousand?” Lando asked as if your father was stupid, which, your father hated.
“Yes, Lando, I feel like that’s a good deal.” Your father said, “And I’m future refrain from talking to me like that.” He finished with a glare.
Lando but the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress a grin, “I have no interest in your money, Lorenzo, especially that little, pocket change. But, I can think of one thing I might be interested in.”
“And what’s that?”
“The timid one that’s been sitting in the corner saying at her shoes like she’s about to burst into tears, who’s she?” Your head shot up when you realised he was talking about you, he was look at you in your direction.
Your father cleared his throat, “That would happen to be my daughter, Y/n, what would she have to do with this?”
Lando’s eyes lingered on you, “I’ll tell you what, you give me your daughter to live with me for a month, and you’ll have yourself a deal.”
“What?” You said as your eyes flew to your father, “Papa no.”
“Sush Y/n,” he snapped at you as he looked back towards Lando, “Only a month?”
“Not a day more.”
He thought for a moment before holding his hand out for Lando to shake, “You have yourself a deal.”
Lando looked at you with a small but of kindness, seemingly noticing your fear, “Have her packed within the hours and I’ll send my men to give Richard a little message.”
//////
The car ride was silent, your legs were curled into your chest as tears flowed down your face as Lando sat besides you in the back of the car, the driver not acknowledging either of you.
“Hey,” he said softly making you life your head lightly to look towards him, “don’t cry.” He said gently.
You looked at him like he was stupid, “My father just basically sold me to a complete stranger, a mobster, for a whole month. I have every right to cry.” You said as another year slipped out.
“Your names Y/n, right?” He asked, ignoring your outburst, you nodded ever so slightly as you curled into yourself even more, “I’m Lando.”
“Why did you want me?” You asked in a hushed whisper.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Have you ever heard of the Howard family?”
You nodded, “My father’s biggest rivals.”
“They was planning on taking you, using you as collateral for your father to surrender his land, assets, everything, when I found out it was you, and I saw how unsuspecting and pure you looked, I wanted you to help.” He said as you looked at him estranged.
“Thank you,” you said as you looked him in the eyes, “Thank you.” You didn’t know what to say, this man, a complete and utter stranger, had helped you?
//////
The weeks flew by, you and Lando got along better than you though, the two of you had developed a routine, wake up and eat breakfast together, then Lando would go to work for hours, then he would come and eat dinner with you, he made you feel welcomed.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Lando muttered as he threw his wadded up tie onto the kitchen side, he was joining his face from you.
“It’s okay,” you say with a small smile, “are you okay?”
“Yes.” He said blatantly.
He turned slightly as he shed himself of his suite jacket, you saw the blood dripping from the corner of his eye, “mon Dieu Lando!” You exclaimed as you tried to stand in front of him but he turned away from you again.
“I’m fine Y/n!” He said loudly, not quite yelling as you noticed the blood on his knuckles as well.
You huffed at him, “Well you’re clearly not Lamdo so either you let me take care of you or I will leave right now.”
He sighed and turned towards you slowly, that’s when you saw his cut lips, bloodily and back eyes, and cut on his eyebrows and bleeding knuckles.
“Oh Lan,” you whispered quietly, “let me take care of you,”
“No Y/n, I’m okay.”
“It wasn’t a question Lando,” you said as you gently grabbed his hand and led him to the bathroom, which was overly large, much like the rest of the lavish home, as you hopped up to sit in the counter so you could reach his face properly.
“You still look pretty.” You said with a small smile as you wetted a cotton ball with some disinfectant, apologising quietly when you saw Lando’s eye twitch from the sting when you pressed it to his cuts.
He smiled lightly when you said that, “I’m nothing compared to you sweetheart.” You couldn’t help your redding cheeks as you focused on the many cuts around his eyebrows.
“What happened, Lan?” You asked in a whisper.
He sighed, “I was out, meeting with your father and he said some things and I yelled and his men went for me.”
“My father’s Men did this? What did he say?”
Lando sighed, “he said some things about you. About how you was too weak to lead a mafia, and I lost it.”
“You did this for me?” Only then did you notice the position the two of you were in, you was sitting on the counter, and he had boxed you in, arms either side of you as he next down so he was eye level with you.
“I think I’d do anything for you.” He mummed as you got lost in each others eyes before you took control of the situation, and kissed him, heavily, he returned it instantly of course, with even more force.
He picked you up by your legs as the wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the wall of the bathroom, as he began trailing kisses down your neck to you collar bone he slid his hands under the back of your top, as you threw your head back at the feeling.
“Lando.” You said breathlessly as he hummed against your neck as he left another mark there, making you his, “I’ve never done this before.”
He pulled away when you said that and looked at you so honestly, nothing between the two of you, “Yiu don’t have to do it with me my love, I’ll never force you,” he said gently but you was quick to shake your head.
“There’s no one I’d rather do it with.” You said as he smiled and tipped his shirt off, and the night git swept away into a cloud of pleasure.
You knew that this wouldn’t blow over well with your father at all, but all you could think about at that moment was Lando’s hands and lips on your body, and how you never wanted them to leave.
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make-me-imagine · 8 months
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Evan Buckley A-Z Relationship Headcanons
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Pairing: Evan Buckley x Gn!Reader
Words: 3.2k
A/n: This is my first time doing these types of headcanons, so I hope it goes well. Get's a bit less detailed towards the end, mostly because I jut wanted to get them out already lol.
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A: affection (is he affectionate? how?):
Buck is very affectionate! Emotionally, verbally and physically.
He doesn't shy away from showing his affection either. If you don't mind PDA he is all for it. If you are a bit shy about it, he will just hold your hand, or have his arm draped around your waist.
He is a cuddler, and enjoys you being close to him physically. And he loves to hold you tight, and press kisses to your head, shoulder, cheeks and hands whenever he can (and your lips obviously).
He is emotionally and verbally affectionate and will often remind you how much he loves you. He compliments you like crazy and will tell you anytime you do something he thinks is cute.
B: Boyfriend (what is he like a a boyfriend; boyfriend things):
Buck can be a little dense at times, but he tries very hard to be a loving and caring boyfriend. He can be very selfless though so you gotta make sure he is looking out for himself too. He is a romantic at heart so expect random gifts, fancy dates, flowers, snacks, etc.
He is protective, and the last thing he wants is for you to get hurt. But this might drive you up the wall sometimes if he gets a bit too protective lol.
Constantly hearing new and bizarre facts he learned on the job, or when he fell down a research rabbit hole and two in the morning
Also, if you are someone who gets your period, he would take care of you. Bring you anything your craving buy you heating/cooling pads, medicine, etc. Anything to make you feel better if you are in pain.
C: Confession (did he confess first? how did he confess?):
He was fairly straight forward with his confession. You already knew he was interested since he basically made it obvious from the beginning. And he asked you out on a few dates. But when he wanted to tell you how he really felt about you (meaning his attraction was full-blown romantic feelings), he brought you flowers and gave you a charming smile.
He gave you a cute speech about how you made his heart hammer in his chest every time he saw you, and that he never really got butterflies from someone until he met you. Buck would make it clear that he wanted a serious relationship with you, and that you had become a part of him, and that you had his heart (so please don't break it).
D: Dates (what kind of dates do you go on?):
Buck loves a fun date. Sure he goes with the romantic candle-lit dinners every now and again, but he really loves fun and cute dates.
Picnics on the beach or in the park. Amusement park dates, arcade dates, movies, bowling, mini golf. Any and every activity you could do together, he is ready and willing.
If you plan a date he is all for it as well, he can find and make fun out of anything. Hell, he even enjoys date nights at home just watching movies and eating take-out. Any time spent with you with great to him.
E: Excitement (what does he do to bring excitement into your relationship)
Similar to the fun dates previously mentioned, he might suggest adventurous things. Bungee jumping, helicopter rides, boat rides, etc.. Anything that might bring adrenaline without being too dangerous. He makes sure to keep you on your toes and will be impulsive, bringing you along for the ride.
Maybe recommending a weekend trip, camping, road-trips, etc. If he gets an idea, its hard for him not to run with it.
Buck is an over-planner, so you know he does his research as well, so you always feel safe (if not still scared).
F: Food (does he cook for you? do you cook for him?)
Over the last few years, Buck has gotten pretty good at cooking, so he enjoys cooking for you. If you love to cook as well, he enjoys the two of you cooking together in the kitchen, or watching as you make something for the two of you. If you cook, he cleans, if he cooks, you have to get to the dishes before he does because he will do them even if you say you will.
He learns (often with Bobby's help) how to make your favorite foods. So when you are having a hard time he can surprise you with them.
Buck really is a prime example of giving and receiving love through food.
G: Gifts (does he get you gifts? what kind? does he like gifts?)
You probably have a hundred little trinkets around your house because of Buck. Oh, he saw a little ferris wheel key chain that reminds him of your third date? He's buying it for you. See's couple aprons? Definitely buying those. Matching mugs? Yep.
Anything that reminds him of you will most likely be bought, or at least greatly debated. You can thank Eddie and Hen for the fact that you do not have a thousand other things that reminded Buck of you.
Anytime you give Buck gifts he cherishes them. If it's is something simple and cute, he gives you that dopey grin and hugs you. If it is something sentimental or special, he might get emotional, or will take pictures of it to show the others.
H: Hugs (is he a hugger? does he like hugs?)
Pretty obvious by now, but yes he is a hugger! Back hugs, side hugs, hugs where he lifts you off the ground. All the hugs!
He loves when you hug him too. If you come up and wrap your arms around him, he immediately stars grinning. Coo's at you, might lovingly tease you, and will press a kiss to your head. If you hug from from behind, he will grab your hands and press kisses to them.
I: "I Love You" (how did he first say 'I love you', does he say it often?)
Buck knew he was falling in love with you the second it started happening. When his friends were talking about marriage, and he could easily and happily picture marrying you. He knew.
It was a few weeks later when it slipped out. After a rough day at work, you were cuddling together after eating. You were running your fingers through his hair while he was talking about how he was feeling. He could feel your love for him in that moment and gently caressed your face.
"I love you, you know." "I do know. And I love you too."
He is not shy in saying he loves you after this. Every time you say goodbye, he needs to make sure you hear him say it. He does not believe you can say it too much to someone, and he always wants to make sure you know.
J: Jealous (does he get jealous? how does he show it?)
Buck isn't one to get jealous often. He trusts you 1000%. When others get close to you, showing interest or flirting, he gets more protective than he does jealous. He knows you would never give them the time of day, but that doesn't mean he can trust them to back off.
Before you were dating however, he would get that little pang of jealousy in his chest if others showed interest in you. And if you seemed to be interested at all, he would feel it more as well as a bit worried that he might lose his chance.
K: Kissing (does he like kissing? how does he kiss?)
Like previously mentioned, Buck is a fan of physical affection and this does include kissing. Though he is fine with PDA, kissing isn't part of that, apart from a kiss on the cheek or forehead.
Kisses on the lips are for just the two of you. He can get lost in kissing you as well, and he loves lying on the couch or bed, with you in his arms as you slowly kiss each other. He also is the type too pull you flush against him as he is kissing you. Or he places his hands on either side of your face as he kisses you.
He often gives you kisses as he passes by you. Either a quick kiss on the cheek, temple of a peck on the lips.
When you kiss him he melts, and often smiles into the kiss, especially if he was not expecting it.
L: Love Languages (what are his giving and receiving love languages?)
Buck's main giving love languages is Acts of Service, while he also often uses physical affection and gifts to remind you how much he loves you.
His receiving love languages are words of affirmation and quality time. He loves being reminded and told that he is loved as it reassures him. And he loves just being around you, it doesn't matter what you are doing, just as you are together.
M: Marriage (does he want to get married? what would married life be like with him?)
Buck totally wants to get married, and thinks about it often. He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.
Being married to him wouldn't be much different than when you were dating. The only thing that really changes, is how he enthusiastically introduces you as his spouse, rather than his partner. He loves the sound of it, and it reminds him that you are together forever.
On the other side of it, if he is dating someone who does not want to get married, he is okay with it. He might be a little disappointed, but he'd never force his partner to do something they don't like. But this would not stop him from buying you some sort of promise ring, or token to remind you that he wants to be with you forever, married or not.
N: Nicknames (does he use nicknames or pet-names with you? what do you call him?)
On a daily basis he will call you by whatever nick-name you go by, or just your name. But he has a variety of pet-names for you. Babe, baby, sweetheart. If you are shorter than him he calls you 'Little One' or 'short-cake'.
You usually call him Buck, or Evan if you need to get his attention. Otherwise you call him Babe, Handsome, or Gorgeous.
O: Oath (what kind of things does he promise you?)
One of the biggest promises in your relationship is that no matter what. You both try your hardest to come home to each other every day. Alive, and safe.
He also always promises to make you happy, and to never hurt you. Something you promise him as well.
You promise each other to never hold things in, and to always tell each other everything. Communication is very important in your relationship.
P: Proposal (how would he propose?)
Buck is a romantic, so he will be planning something for a few weeks before he actually proposes. He gets advice from everyone, asking if his ideas are good, if he should do more, less, etc. He panics, but only because he wants it to be perfect.
Finally, he decides to do it on a weekend, when you are both off of work. You go stay in a cute house a few hours away near the coast. On the second day, while you were in the shower, he set up a picnic for the two of you.
When you were ready he asked you to go on a walk with him. You noticed he is a bit antsy, but you try not to think much of it. Though you had an idea he was planning something, you didn't think it was a proposal.
The walk was to the area he set up the picnic. You figured this was the surprise, and that was why he was a bit antsy. Hoping you liked it. Which you very much did.
After you ate, and the sun began to set, that was when he proposed. As you were looking out at the sunset, you turned back to look at him and he was on one knee.
He had a speech, because of course he would. It was emotional and romantic and made you cry. It was perfect.
Q: Quarrels (do you fight? what are fights like with him)
You rarely fight with Buck as he is the type to talk everything out, something you both decided was important.
So the only times you really argued, was when he did something reckless, usually endangering his life. You get angry out of love, but he might get defensive leading to an argument.
You make up fairly quickly though as you both realize the other's view. Buck is Buck and will do anything to save others. But you are afraid of losing him. He apologizes, and promises he will try his best not to put himself into more danger than he already gets into (you know this is kind of a lie, but you forgive him anyways).
R: Remember (does he remember important things?)
Not only does he remember important things like birthdays and anniversaries, but he remembers very small things. Details about you, and your relationship.
What flavors of ice cream, desserts, candy, you do and do not like. What specific orders you like with coffee or drinks. The ingredients in meals you avoid, or push to the side to save for last.
He remembers the places you've said you'd like to go to, the dates you've said sound cute.
He even has a notebook of stuff he's written down because he doesn't want to forget.
On the opposite side of this, he is horrible at remembering things like appointments or where you said you were going after work. So when you don't come home he gets worried and messages you, only for you to have to remind him that you were visiting your parents or friends. Something you told him about four times.
S: Sentimental (is he sentimental? how?)
Buck is pretty sentimental. He loves taking photos anytime you do something, dates, trips, going on walks. He has folders on his phone with 1000's of photos of the two of you and all the things you've done together.
He occasionally keeps things like ticket stubs, or stuff like that, but only if it was something meaningful or really fun. If you are the type to keep those kinds of things too, he thinks it is cute, and will make sure to keep them for you, so you can put them with the others.
T: Together (how does he act with you in public vs in private)
There is not a real difference with how he acts with you in public versus private. He does not hide how he feels about you. The only thing that is different, is how he keeps the PDA on the more casual side like previously mentioned.
He is not afraid of telling people about you, or how much he loves and admires you. He is proud of you and loves telling people you are together and about your relationship.
U: Uplifting (how does he cheer you up? what is the best way to cheer him up?)
When you are upset, Buck tries his best to cheer you up. He will buy you snacks, flowers, make you food, anything to show you that he is there for you. He will set up the couch to be all cozy, turn on your favorite shows or movies and just cuddle with you.
If you need to talk or rant about your feelings he will listen intently and make you feel seen.
If you need a break from the world, he might take you on a small trip, or do his best to distract you from the world.
He knows how much you try your best to make him happy so he will do his best to do the same for you. Any day you are sad or do not smile, is his least favorite day.
V: Vacation (when or where would you go on vacation together?)
Went over this a little bit before. But with more specific trips, if you only have the weekend off, you might take a road trip up the coast, or go visit Yosemite.
If you had a week or longer then you would take a trip out of the country. Most likely to a cute European town, or some place on the ocean.
You look for places with a lot of activities and places to visit like restaurants and museums, because you want to get as much out o the trip as you can. Though, if your vacation comes after a long stressful time, a place near the ocean where you relax and do very little is just what you need.
W: Wedding (what kind of wedding would you have?)
If you and Buck get married, he will be happy with whatever you want. If you want a small simple wedding, he is all for it. Close friends and family only.
If you want big and extravagant, he is all for it and will help you come up with fun ideas to make it the best it can be.
Most likely though, you will have something in the middle. Not too big, not to small. With a few things both of you wanted. Your decorations and theme, food trucks and maybe a karaoke machine for Buck. And you know there will for sure be a dance sequence with Eddie buck and Chimney (with a special appearance by Chris and Bobby). It is embarrassing, but also very funny, and you often look back on the video when you need to cheer up.
X: Xtra (a random head canon I have)
Your first date with Buck was home-made dinner at his place.
He burned it a little, since he was so nervous, but you thought it was good anyways. You cleaned the dishes together and ended up having a small water fight in the kitchen. Which then lead to your first kiss.
Y: Yearning (does he yearn for you when you are apart? how does he deal with it?)
Buck doesn't like being apart from you for too long, because he misses you easily. He is so used to you being in his life daily that when you aren't around he feels like a part of him is missing.
So to remedy this, he texts you a lot and face times with you whenever he can. He also has a tendency to talk about you a lot more often when you aren't around. Which often leads to Eddie or Chimney texting you begging you to cm back sooner before they kill him.
Z: zZzZz (sleeping habits)
Buck falls sleep fairly easily, and is also kind of hard to wake up. He can be a bed and blanket hog sometimes, but once he gets used to sharing a bed with you, it lessens.
He is a snuggler as well, and likes to be the big spoon holding you close to him. He is quite big and very warm so sometimes you have to rip your blankets off so you don't overheat.
He likes the occasional nap, and will sometimes kidnap you from whatever you are doing and carry you to the bed with him so you can nap with him. He will hold you tight, so good luck trying to sneak away if that was your plan. You're stuck now.
xx
First time doing this like I said, so I hope you liked it!
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry
911 + Buck Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @webreathfandoms, @locke-writes, @persephonesportal, @pockyandme, @soultrysworld, @averyhotchner, @iinmysights, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @merlin-dahlia, @silverose365, @bellarkeselection, @shiftingwh0r3, @rqmanoff, @fanboysfangirl, @readingbookelf, @luvwanda, @oliviah-25,
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yesimwriting · 1 month
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MA'M I LOVE YOUR BEST FRIEND FELIX WRITINGS BUT MY JEALOUS AND SOFTY SHORT ASS CAN'T HANDLE IT 😭 IM HURTING MYSELF BUT IT HURTS SO GOOD, LIKE IF I WAS BEST FRIEND Y/N ID BE BAWLING MY EYES OUT AFTER SEEING HIM WITH ANOTHER GIRL LIKE- WHY IS ALL OF THIS SO CARDIGAN BY TS CODED-
a/n i love taylor and taylor related angst and i get the jealousy thing,, but i think the thing with bestfriend!felix is that he's so obvious about his priorities that by the time reader can register jealousy,, felix is already there
so here's a drabble
----
Going out tonight wasn't your idea. A week of long lectures and even longer homework had drained you. But Felix wanted to...and you...You wanted to be around Felix.
Maybe Farleigh's comments about you following Felix around like a puppy aren't as exaggerated as they feel when you're sober. Ugh. The thought of Farleigh being right gives that pinch of irritation something to latch onto.
"They have those drinks you like." The voice is clear despite the base of the music that you can still hear from right outside the club. You turn your head away from the group of stragglers hanging around the outdoor bar. "Had. I got the last one."
You grin at Felix, any lingering angst not exactly evaporating into the cool night air, but the shift is enough to make the smile feel unforced. "Lucky."
He's finally within arm's reach, a fact that he takes advantage of immediately. Felix's palm settles against your shoulder, his thumb dragging across your skin. "Extremely." There's a fondness there that chips away at what's left of your irritation. "Here." You take the glass from him. "Sam almost tackled another bar tender to get the last of the simple syrup."
Ironically, the sip that's halfway down your throat seems to lose any hints of sweetness as soon as the words come out of Felix's mouth. You've met Sam, and while you don't dislike her, you're not sure the neutrality is mutual.
It's a fact you don't dwell. Sam's a bottle blonde bar tender who looks like she was born to walk around in low cut tank tops and cut off shorts. Not that her being pretty matters, but there's an edge to her beauty that implies an effortless coolness that doesn't usually meld with who you are. It's no one's fault. You think those types of girls are charming and fun in a way that's somehow even bolder than the friends that you consider wild. It's just never been a mutual admiration.
And Sam's been hanging around Felix a lot lately, showing up at parties, staying later than anyone else besides you. They've gone home together a few times. Felix hasn't said too much about that, but that doesn't indicate anything. You guys don't talk about that kind of stuff. Even best friends as close as you two have boundaries.
Not that it matters if Felix is with someone like Sam. She seems fun and pretty and bold and--the total opposite of you.
That hits you like a thumb jabbing into a bruise. Since when is Felix's constantly rotating door of flings a sore point? When he pawns you off on Farleigh--even when he's not in the mood for you--so he can have a moment in the employee bathroom.
"Y'okay?"
You nod, "Yeah." Felix's eyebrows pinch together, a barely there implication of concern that's almost ignorable beneath the poor lighting. "Everything's just kind of hitting me a little."
He nods, "Do you need to sit?" Felix's hold on your shoulder tightens. "Is that why you came outside?"
"Uh--no." The response feels flat. "I mean--yeah, I wanted some air, but I don't feel sick or anything."
He watches you openly for what feels like its own eternity. You're not sure what he's looking for, but you must not pass the inspection because he frowns. "Okay." As if to validate Felix's attempt at letting your mood go, you bring your glass back to your lips. "You know--if you're not feeling--if you want to go, you can tell me."
"I know." You do know that. Felix has always been good about listening, about wanting to make sure you're comfortable.
You take another sip of your drink. Of course Sam's good at mixing drinks. You can picture her tripping over herself, rushing to grab the nearly empty bottle of syrup and risking making an enemy of a coworker to avoid having to tell Felix no.
Felix takes a step forward, his hand sliding across your back so that his arm can settle around your shoulders. It's instinct to lean into the contact. He's warm in a way that rivals the buzz in your system. "When we do go, we're going to have to go out the back way."
You let your head rest against his side. "Why?"
"Don't think Sam's going to be going out of her way to get me drinks again."
You crane your neck to look up at him, "What? Why?"
His eyes meet yours, and then he's dropping his gaze to the floor. "You have become such a gossip."
A sound that's a combination between a scoff and a laugh tumbles past your lips. "Have not."
"You and Farleigh," Felix continues, "You two always need to ask, always need to have an opinion."
"Not true," you defend weakly, "If I was a gossip I'd talk about how slutty--"
You cut yourself off, regretting your phrasing as soon as the word is out. Felix pulls back slightly, mouth falling open in exaggerated offense. "You called me a slut?"
"No," you defend yourself through a laugh, "I was saying that you have been slutty." Felix raises his eyebrows at you. "It's different." Felix's eyes narrow in an attempt to offset the smile tugging at his lips. "It is."
"Yeah?" He leans forward with no warning, his lips pressing against your cheek. That kiss is followed by another. Again and again, each more affectionate and touchy than the last.
His lips brush against your jaw. "Fe-lix." It wants to be a warning, but the nervous giggle that breaks his name into two makes coming off as threatening impossible.
"What?" He hums, his lips finding your neck. "If I'm that slutty, we should have a go at it."
You laugh, ignoring the heat burning its way up your neck because it's just Felix. "There's a bathroom inside."
Felix stills before pulling away enough to look you in the eye. There's the faintest flush tinging his skin. You laugh again, this time the sound fuller. It's nice to see flashes of the softer side of Felix while out in the real world. Felix laughs with you.
You tilt your head, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "For you, I'd spring for a hotel room."
"Now I feel special."
----
taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny
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sturniccz · 4 months
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Pretty boy
Chris Sturniolo smut. If you dont like it, leave.
slightly inspired by a request i received, but not fully because im not comfortable writing the full request, this is what yall get😭😭💕
Warnings: nothing crazy tbh, mommy kink, sumbissive chris, slight age gap, oral, fem receiving, swearing, lmk if i missed anything!
not proofread, feel free to send requests!
___________________🎀__________________
Being best friends with your older brothers, coworker does have its perks, but at times like these, when all Chris wants to feel is love, He swears he would do anything. He has never really been into relationships, or any kind of love feeling other than the love he has for his family, but as for y/n, Justin‘s coworker at his new location for his job, he has discovered a new feeling that he has never felt before, which somehow scares him.
Every time he’s with Justin, y/n is there also. After a significant amount of time of knowing each other, they have grown to be very close with each other, regardless of their age gap. With Chris being freshly 20 years, old, and Laila, being 25, it almost feels illegal to have such feelings for her. But he didn’t care, all he wanted was to make her feel good. Thats what she deserves.
Another night crept upon Chris and he cant help but feel the absence of her not being in the house like usual. After some thought, he decided to send her a message politely asking her to come over. Regardless of her being so hesitant, he insisted, and eventually she caved.
After about 15 minutes there was three soft knocks at the front door, and Chris quickly jumped up, walking to the front of the house to greet her. He was excited, and it was obvious from the slight tent in his sweatpants.
“Hey Chris, how are you doing? Why did you want me to come over so late?” she breathes. “Its only 10,” he replies, “and plus im your favorite co-workers little brother, right?” he asks, only half serious, trying to keep a conversation going. “Well, I suppose I dont know any boys better than you.” She chuckles.
This caused Chris to freeze. He began to get lost in his thoughts, staring at her as she makes her way into the kitchen, grabbing herself a drink and getting comfortable on the couch. Chris makes his way over to sit next to her, noticing that she’s significantly keeping her distance from him.
“Do you wanna watch a movie?” she quietly suggests, almost as a way to erase some of the deafening silence between the two. “U-uh sure, you can pick.” He stutters. She chuckles at his remark. “You sure you’re alright pretty boy?” she laughs, an inside joke, of course she didn’t mean it whenever she calls him pretty boy, but she is completely unaware of the affect it has on the boy. Physically.
“Yeah it’s nothing just put on whatever you want” he says, trying his best to just end this painfully flirty conversation in fear of her noticing his boner.
Not even ten minutes pass by and Chris can’t seem to keep his eyes off of her. She’s so gorgeous its almost unreal, as if shes a genuine angel that got lost on the way to heaven. Her hair is so perfect the way it rests across her shoulders, and the way her necklace looks laying against her collarbones. He could look at her forever, but he couldn’t, he might just die from getting so horny.
“Alright why are you staring at me? Do i have something on my face?” She snaps, not meaning to startle him, but still coming across as angry. He loved it.
“No, sorry.” He breathes as he reverts his attention back to the film on the screen. Less than ten seconds later he’s staring again. “Alright Chris stop doing that.” She says, using the same tone as before and somehow getting even deeper under his skin. “O-okay, i’m sorry,” he says looking into his lap, “i just think you’re pretty.” he finishes. “You think im pretty? Chris you’ve hardly ever spoken to be before why are you telling me this?” she questions, slightly confused and slightly turned on. “I just wanna make you feel special, wanna show you love, wanna be good for you. Am i good for you?” he blurts out, hardly thinking.
She is completely stunned by his words, but chooses to play along, with the boy now laying his head and shoulders in her lap. “Of course. You’re good for me Chrissy, always.” she says looking down at him, playing with his hair. “Do you wanna show me how good you can be? Show me how much you love me, baby?” she says as he slowly sits up, looking at her in the eyes. “Y-Yeah? You mean it?” he asks, a bit hesitant about what he had said. She nods.
“Be a good boy for mommy and touch me, yeah?” She is completely in control. Chris is practically at her mercy at the moment, and he is fucking loving it. Chris lets out a small whine as he begins trailing his hand down her torso, stopping just above her waistband. He looks at her for a nod pf approval one last time before finally making his way down her body.
After quickly removing her leggings, he leaves a long trail of wet, open mouthed kisses from the crook of her neck all the way down to her panties. He licks a stripe from the bottom to the top of her pussy over the pink, lace fabric, stopping right at her heat. Her hand slowly makes its way to his hair, slightly pushing down. “Go ahead baby, show mommy how much you love her.” She’s good at this. Really fucking good. So good that Chris begins riding the fabric of the couch he was previously sat on, trying to get any amount of friction he could.
He loved eating pussy. So much so that he didn’t even consider any foreplay, he went straight in, tongue fucking the older girl, looking straight into her eyes. “Oh fuck, Chris! God your mouth is amazing-“ she cuts herself off with a moan as he slips a finger into her. “God- Fuck, Chris!” she moans biting her lip. “Good boy, baby, such a good boy for me. Keep going baby you’re doing so good-“ she says looking down at him as he lets out a guttural moan at the names.
Chris is a slut for praise. Her fingers curled in his scalp as he adds another finger, in hopes of getting more praise from her, now curling upwards. “Fuck, yes right there! Oh god-“ she says arching her back. Chris removes his mouth, replacing it with his thumb temporarily. “You’re so pretty mommy, I can never get enough of you.” he says leaving kisses to the inside of her thighs before returning to her heat. “Fuck Chris- Im gonna cum! Gonna cum on your fingers, yeah, baby? You gonna be a good boy and l-let me cum on your hand?” she says stuttering and arching her back. He nods in agreement, remaining eye contact before her eyes squeezed shut and she threw her head back. Letting out the sluttiest moans and whimpers, she finally finishes on Chris’ fingers, watching as he pulls them out and placing them into his mouth, sucking off the juices.
“God thats hot.” she admits. “You calling me a good boy is hot for fucks sake.” he breathes. “You want me to take care of you?” She asks, looking at the obvious bulge in Chris’ sweats. “No, I just wanna sleep. M’tired” Chris says before snuggling into her space between her neck and her chest. “Okay Chrissy, you get some sleep. You did good for me, love.” She says as she watches his breathing steady and him slowly drift off into a deep, very much needed sleep.
Lmk if you want to be removed from my tag list, ive just composed a few people like my mutuals etc
Tags: @daddyslilchickenfingers @apclyptc @byerreddue @chrisenthusiast @christophersfilm @ciarasturn1 @christinarowie332 @lovingmattysposts @mangosrar @oversturn @plasticferal @recklesssturniolo @softsturn @sturnsbaby @sturniolosluvv @sturniscz
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privitivium · 2 months
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some kinda yan gamer, streamer "catboy/eboy/femboy" guy who posts stuff with lewd undertones. liek... i just love dudes being all pathetic and desperately trying to get yr attention but all u do is look at them in mild disgust........................ obsessed with that rn. ;;
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like the dude uses :3 consistently. emoticon user, in a negative way. horny freak. he'd say you're best friends; slowly making your way towards a friends with benefits type deal, so desperately wanting to be those friends who r super touchy with each other, borderline fucking, but he doesnt wanna cross any boundaries by suddenly sitting on ur lap or cuddling into you, hugging you out of no where... you, on the other hand, would say you're friends, but that's a little bit of a stretch. its generous, is what it is. you find him weird and hard to be around, but he's a bit of a loner around campus ( surprisingly ) and you have a soft spot for the quiet type, thinking you should be the one to give him a chance. he gives you this weird vibe, like hes trying way too hard... like a little kid trying to impress. a bit cringe.. no?
ㅡyeah, it was. very much so.. trying to hype him up when he posts videos on his socials. trying so hard not to cringe at the thirst comments as he posts himself in a skirt, thigh highs, oversized hoodie, cat ears, and a black face mask.. congratulating him and telling him that he deserves it because he is quite pretty; words without love, you mean them with stony-platonic affection.
obviously he takes this the wrong way.. you first notice his affection for you ( it was quite obvious. ) after he continuously mentions this "friend" in his streams and posts, speaking so fondly. to say that it didn't make your heart flutter, would be a lie. you felt a bit honored, disgusted with yourself for feeling such a way - he was a suffocating person - smothering you in his popularity and trying to make you jealous, but how could you be if you were his friend he "spoke fondly" ofㅡ? you wouldnt know how to deal with that if he was your lover. embarrassingly enough, the thought does come up multiple times throughout your mind..
you can't help it. those thoughts, they intrude on your normal train of thought like a disgusting plague... you were one of his top supporters, not donor, as he did stream playing dating sims and the like... he'd gloat, definitely meaning to, telling you about all the weird shit they'd say about / to himㅡand he was totally imagining it was you telling him all that stuff.. wondering just how lewd you are, fingering himself to the thought of you watching in a dark corner of his room.,, weirdo. ( <- spoekn with love...... )
you try to open yourself up, making more friends to hangout with after noticing that he took up all of your time. when did that happen? what happened to all your other friends before him? you wonder, but not wanting to relight those candles... it would be awkward, having left them for one guy without even knowing it yourself..
"did i do something wrong?" he'd corner you at your apartment, pouting, eyes glazed over with tears of anguish - his face scrunched as if he were about to break out into sobs. "why are you.. avoiding me?" his voice pinched, and you feel a wave of,,, what, repulsion? he's making you uncomfortable, just a tad more than usual.. "i'm not avoiding you." you'd reply bluntly, lackadaisical, a front. "yes.. yesㅡyou are, i can feel it. i know you are!" a whiny voice that morphs into a low hiss.. "no... i just made new friends so i'm not spending that much time with you as i used to." you speak slowly, as if he were an idiot - his face darkening with an embarrassed flush; heart palpitating faster as he promptly closes his mouth from continuing. why did you sound so... hot? argh, you always sound hot, but... whatever, he already knew that he was crushing hard on you - he has the preserved cumrags, bottles with a printed picture of you inside to prove it...
after that, he would take the time off posting so much, a hiatus, and would begin focusing on his one-sided relationship with you... trying to lure you away from your new friends, quite easily and you have no idea how he does it - a manipulative bastard in a way as he begins to get a little too comfortable with touching on you without your consent, he doesnt listen anyway - pulling the "cute guy who can't get punched" card;; asking you questions if he wasn't enough for you. it wouldn't work out, as you would often ignore his stupid queries. it was draining.. but.. you realize, that maybe you were just jealous? your cute friend posting himself for everyone else to ogle at, even if they didn't know what his face looked like. you weren't the disgusting one here, he was. they were only thoughts - nothing you were going to act on. rather, he would act on them for you.
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snenbubs · 4 months
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Imagine: Mammon's manifestation of Greed extending to his s/o in how he expects/demands monetary goods/compliments from others - but now, his s/o is there too, like a pretty little butterfly plucking his mind's webbing. Can't have a bad image on his hands, can he? Mass production is greed in itself, and that is the usual shtick - but what if you had a little nicer things? Things Mammon likes on you - same items, but tremendously high quality shit.
If he requests something, you'll be getting a version of it for yourself. One that compliments Mammon, of course.
New clothing made for him? Matching quality one for his s/o is now an unspoken demand. Interviews at a talk show or meet-n-greet - well, you're answering questions now too (obviously redirecting them all to be praise for Mammon, how great he is, exct.) Gifts brought to an elaborate blue-blood demonic soiree? - what do you *mean* none were brought for his little doll, too!? 110% absolutely the kinda guy to demand your items be brought out perfect and then some. Even goes as far as to demand a take-out meal (not quite fine dining, but not fast-food; the sin of Greed is at least trying) to be re-made all because you asked for the garnish to be removed - *and* you're getting dessert now, as an apology.
But, Mammon wouldn't be caught dead telling you the reason why. Not in public, at least; "It's just image, you little treacle-tart!", don't question why he's pummeling imps and demons alike for missed delivery or promises. He paid for that shit and they dare to bring you something sub-par!? Like he wouldn't check that quality for the $$ he dropped.
You better speak up too, if the quality/taste/item isn't to your liking. Mammon totally gets all butthurt when you don't. Grumbling about 'Wasting money on shitty things', and throws a tantrum, where for a week, he doesn't underhand the revenue from Fizz-merch to 'gift' you things.
'Cuz all of his gifts would probs come with webby-little metaphorical strings attached
(RIP to any s/o who says they don't need the stuff given to them - Mammon wants you dressed and presentable in the most marketable-patent-pending finest, and you wouldn't want him to feel bad for all this work he's put into making you look nice with him, right? Right?!)
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I've been side eyeing this ask for ages because its HUGE oh my lord you put your whole being into this and i LOVE IT.
Now, Mammon being the manifestation of greed is really interesting when it comes to having an s/o because there are SO SO many ways his greedy nature would impact the relationship, both negatively and positively. This idea of him ensuring his s/o is bathed with extravagant items, and that others are expected to give to you is amazing because its like, he adores you so much that he's projecting his greed onto you. It's such a common thing in relationships and since greed is one of his core personality traits its really fitting!
So, catch this;
- Mammon has so many outfits for so many different occasions and because of this, so do you. It's not obvious, at first glance a person wouldn't be able tell that you were matching but the themes and colours of the outfits are strikingly similar. BUT, you will always have an outfit to match with his. Everytime he gets something new - which is often, he has something made for you. It's cute!
- He doesn't even need to put in the request anymore, his retailers just know they'll need to be making you something similar.
- All of his business partners know, actually. Bringing a gift to Mammon and feeding his neverending desire for material gain is like a peace offering. However, its heeded that if a similar gift is not brought to you too, then it's no-deal.
- It has to be good too, nothing cheap or casual. It must be luxurious, wealthy, and pristine. You are a nuisance to corporate wallets.
- Seeing you get given gifts of high quality and standard brings Mammon immense joy, close to that of how he feels when recieving items himself. He likes seeing the way you light up as you recieve such gifts, so greatful every single time despite how often it happens.
- Thats why it all has to be perfect, because if he gets even a whiff of disastisfaction on your behalf someone is dying.
- You don't know how he does it, but he always somehow knows whats wrong with the gift, and is always able to redirect the blame onto anyone but you. The gift is cheap, or tacky? These business demons are rich, how dare they try to play it cheap! You just don't like it? Well, you aren't ungreatful, they should have put a little elbow grease into figuring out what you're interested in!
- You don't really get why he's so invested in ensuring you recieve gifts. You've inquired about it many times, most commonly after you've disliked an item you had recieved and he had torn through half the underlings in the room, but he never spoke about it.
- He made obvious, half-assed excuses. I'm quoting you here, anon; "It's just image, you little treacle-tart!" But honestly you never thought to much into it, you guessed it was just his love language. That, and excessive physical touch.
- I think any normal person in this situation would try so, so hard not to become spoilt and demanding, but its honestly very hard to not cave into spoiling desires when the man you are in a relationship with can and absolutely will provide everything you could ever need and or want at the snap of a finger.
- Even if you don't ask for anything, he's still getting you stuff! He keeps a constant eye on the things you're interested in, recent views on shopping websites, items in public you took a particular liking to ect. He probably keeps a list somewhere.
- You don't have much of a say in getting these gifts though. Even if you didn't want them, if you weren't that much of a material person he's drowning you in them anyways. There's definitely a thin layer of guilt there too, because, I mean... he spent so much money on you, because he loves you, and wants you to have the perfect items! Don't you want to be perfect, and pretty, like him? Just let him spoil you, it can't hurt. He only wants to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.
- This goes hand-in-hand with those metaphorical webs and strings attatched to his gifts. He's doing all this work for you, so you better like him. You can't complain when he needs something of you, because he treats you so well.
- Now then, I agree with you in the aspect that before he realised you should, as standard, be getting gifts and rewards from everyone around you, that he fed into your whims and desires in a quantity over quality fashion. You're happy, and it saves him his hard earned money which he absolutely despises parting with.
- But he gets more of a kick out of getting you the expensive stuff, a result of his overwhelming greed. So, this phase of quantity over quality didn't last long.
- He knows what products are the most extravagant and of fine quality and he always gets you that. I would say nobody ends up dying at this point, but that'd be a lie. Mammon is an impatient demon and so if an order is late, or if an item he has bought is skewed or damaged in delivery, blood is being spilt.
- I LOVE THE LAST ONE CUZ I ALSO HC THAT. I think Mammon is a very insecure man, deep down. He puts on this performance persona because he worries about the way he is percieved, so when Fizz just like, up and goes he gets extremely worried you'll do the same and has an extremely possesive few weeks.
- He convinces himself you have some sort of distaste for him, and so to keep you by his side he provides more erratically and richly.
- Though, he is typically quite possesive of you. You are always near, or around him. There's a common joke made among Mammon fans that if they spot you, the Sin is most likely nearby. He always is.
- He even takes you on talk-shows. It isn't normally allowed but he's a Royal so he can do whatever he wants. Of course, the interviews are typically all focused on him and his career; new songs he's writing, upcoming clowns, recent shows. You don't input much, but when you do, its typically to stroke his ever-growing ego and compliment the things you adore about him.
- Dates and dinners can be rather embarassing though, wherever he takes you, because his need for everything given to you perfectly seeps into this aspect of life too.
- I'm just reiterating what you've said now, but, you could be at a take-out place, nowhere too fancy, and he's demanding shit be brought out in silver platters. You made the mistake once of commenting about the garnish, and how you didn't want it on your food, and suddenly he's yelling out that it be remade because how dare they not know you didn't want it!? They told him, quite snarkily might I add, "It's just decorational, you can remove it yourself."
- That take-out place ended that day with one staff member less than they had started.
- He's crazy, but you love him.
This is probably what he looks like asking for shit to be changed for you tbfh.
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ANYWAYS YEAH, I HOPE I UNDERSTOOD WHAT YOU MEANT!!! its quite late, but i really wanted to answer this ask before bed so here y'go :] i hope you enjoy, anon!
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meanbossart · 19 days
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its funny looking between his former fixation (orin) and current one (astarion) and noticing he has a very obvious 'type'. what made him so taken with orin, though? what did he like about her? did he not have any initial misgivings? was he ever concerned she might turn on him?
B)c Please know how happy it made me to finally have someone spell this out lmao. It's absolutely true, at least within the dynamic that DU drow shared with each of them; there are a lot of parallels to be found between Orin and Astarion.
The tough part of this question however, is that I have a very difficult time pinning Orin down. She's easily the most elusive character out of the Chosen, and while I understand this Is likely a consequence of being underwritten, I also see a certain charm in a character who's lack of development is part of their tragedy - whose story is very much about not being allowed much individuality of their own, and having no resolution. I think this is a space worth playing in.
I couldn't tell you what the hell Orin likes, what she was like besides blood-thirsty and deranged. I can barely fathom her sitting down to have a conversation with someone. Think about it - she was raised from childhood in the Bhaal temple, both her parent's were faithful servants and she was essentially groomed from birth to be either Bhaal's Chosen, the Dark Urge's consort, or a sacrificial lamb. Nobody had ANYTHING to gain from allowing her to develop any humanity.
Of course, this doesn't mean she doesn't have any, deep inside. We see glimpses of it in fairly difficult-to-get dialogue regarding her origins during act 3. My very vague take on Orin is that she was a determined and persistent person who learned to make her circumstances work for her as best as she could, who had a strong sense of her boundaries but a horrifically difficult time differentiating between negative emotions - this is why I personally don't even know whether she """"led DU drow on""" our of malice or self-preservation. Perhaps she didn't know either - I think whenever Orin felt sadness, discomfort, anger or even happiness or love, she found a way to turn it into bloodlust and sadism, every time.
And it's in part this elusiveness that would have attracted DU drow. What did Astarion have to do to get DU drow to pursue him? He had to feign disinterest, he had to pull away - the fact that Orin never allowed DU drow to get close enough to truly know her plays a significant part in how unhealthy his attachment for her became.
That said, this was a long game - he did become infatuated pretty much from the moment he saw her when they were both teenagers. This is a much simpler concept to understand - he was profoundly emotionally inept and neglected, and she was probably the prettiest thing he ever laid eyes on, not to mention the only other person in the temple close to him in age.
Truth is, they did have a lot in common on the very basis of having been so thoroughly stripped of their humanities, but It was a closeness born entirely from circumstance - the implied vulnerability in the type of life they shared together, even if they never spoke about feelings or shared what normal people would qualify as a "sweet" moment. They didn't really use their words, and when they did, they were like daggers - twisted murder sibling banter.
But when they had to work together it was very different. They played off each each other like match and friction, like two fitted cogs turning a wheel. There must have been nothing that swelled DU drow's heart more than when they killed together, perhaps even more than when Orin hurt him. He loved seeing her in her element and yearned for nothing more but to be let into the joy she found in it.
He Never had any misgivings. He always thought she would come around (to him) eventually. He was completely and entirely blind to how much her resentment towards him grew throughout the years, how he lost a sister through wanting a lover.
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