#it's not even sharp it's just for decoration

[sreyaya]

Just One Night, Cariño

Idol AU | Norton Campbell x F!Reader NSFW

Content warning: creampie, rough sex, sex for a favor, light latino Norton headcanon, dick describing, 2K words, MDNI

(A/n: my masterpiece, i'm so proud of this,,,I LOVE NORTON ARGH)

smut under the cut!

Ah yes, the infamous City Dome Concert, held only once every four years, making it one of the most prestigious events for upcoming and rising artists. As the saying goes, if you make it to the Dome, you'll be known. Everyone wanted to be there, including you, yourself.

Being the leader of a devoted band for so long has taken its toll on you. Endless nights spent songwriting and recording, vocal practices, and band meet-ups have become your daily routine, but oh well, it was all expected, you signed up for this and the Dome Concert is everything you need, the last step to your dreams, an important stepping stone before making it big. When your band landed at the top of the pending list, everything seemed to fall apart so suddenly.

And of course, as usual, Norton Campbell, one of the more globally famed band members, and his band stood at the top, just like at every event. It's not like they needed the Dome Concert anymore, you initially thought. With his pleasantly endearing face and fresh set of skills, he could go anywhere, even on the front page of your favorite monthly fashion magazine. It was truly unfair.

It was also unfair that the two of you happened to start at the same spot, same school, same class, being musical rivals for the lead roles. It always ended with you as the lead vocalist and him as the guitarist, but honestly, he just had to flourish more than you did, signing a contract with that stupid well-off idol company and branched out from there. Unfair, you thought again, slamming the magazine with his face on the cover onto the table.

You reached for a glass of white wine, savoring its flavor, refreshing taste as you took frequent sips. Above you, the crystal chandeliers glistened, casting a warm, elegant glow over the room. The venue was blessed like a grand banquet hall, with luxurious decorations and lavish details. You wore your favorite bodycon dress, its design perfectly incinuating your figure and revealing your striking back. Every aspect of the evening, from the wine to your attire, conveying your refined taste and style.

With the upcoming Dome Concert, a preliminary briefing was held, inviting all members from both the approved and pending lists. This made you feel slightly salty, but who knows? Someone might give up their position for the concert tonight, you slightly hoping someone will. With Flashing cameras, paparazzi, and screaming fans waited outside right in front of the hall entrance, Norton's wave of voices being the loudest among them. Clicking your tongue in response, you headed in with the rest of your band members, dispersing once inside the eminent party.

In the midst of the crowd, the laughs and chats of other artists or celebrities, Campbell stood out, already eyeing you with a glass of red wine in hand, a sharp contrast towards your own preference for white. His approach was slow and unhurried, each and every step of his was intended on his black-leather loafers, his well-tailored suit impeccably matched to your elegant garment.

"Why, hello," he chimed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Someone didn't make it to the Dome again this year~", he continued, his grin widening with each word. The tone was all too familiar, one you had come to despise over the years you spent with him.

"Well, I worked my way up here. I can wait for next time," you huffed, a sullen look crossing your face as you placed your glass down with a bit more force than intended.

"Tell you what, I'll give you my spot," he said lightly, another grin following his words. You knew him too well, he wouldn’t give up such a coveted position without wanting something in return.

"What are you implying, Campbell?" Your tone sharpened, suspicion and annoyance mixed in your words as you stared him down, cautious of any tricks up his sleves.

"One night," he said, holding up one finger in front of your face, "One night with me, hermosa."

The world around you seemed to fade away, the noise of the crowd becoming distant. His proposition wasn’t anything new, he had done this a couple of times to you but he never forced you into it, and you weren’t inexperienced either. But Norton? Your childhood friend? It felt strange, but not wrong, the gears in your mind turned rapidly. You needed this position, and he wasn’t the worst anyways.

As you weighed his proposal, your thoughts raced back to your shared history. Norton had always been the golden boy, effortlessly charming and talented, while you had fought for every bit of recognition. His flirtatious remarks, though frequent, had never carried this much weight before. He watched you intently, waiting for your response. The stakes were high, and he knew it. The opportunity to perform at the Dome was a dream, a career-defining moment. Could you set aside your pride, for one night?

Norton leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Think about it. This could be your only chance."

You took a deep breath, your resolve hardening. "Alright, Norton. One night. And i'll get your spot? How can i trust you on this?"

A triumphant smile spread across his face. "Here~" he said, a small envelope, filled with the official invitation inside, to the Dome.

And as promised, that night, you found yourself walking into the mentioned five-star hotel, clutching the keycard Norton had slipped into your hand before disappearing into the crowd. Damn it, Norton, you cursed silently, taking a deep breath before heading inside. As you approached his door, you hesitated, your heart pounding, opening the door there stood Norton in a bathrobe, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Welcome," he said, opening the door fully and gesturing for you to enter his private room. The room was offly neat, different from the boy you grew up with, who never bothered to pick up his laundry or tidy his space, it was trully a surprising improvement.

Without further idle chatter, Norton gently grabbed your chin, leaning in for a kiss by the room door, his eyes searching yours for permission as you responded by pushing your head slightly forward, meeting his lips.

As you kissed, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all about that sudden deal or what you had wanted all along. Why'd you reply to the kiss so soon? Your train of thought was soon stopped as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. The kiss deepened, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, making everything feel hazy.

He carried you to the king-sized bed, laying you down gently. Continuing the kiss, each one was long and deep, filled with unspoken desires. "I've been waiting for you, cariño," he muttered between kisses, his hands roaming over your body, removing your garments one by one.

"Looks like someone's more prepared than I thought," he remarked, eyeing your matching set of black lingerie, his favorite color. Maybe, subconsciously, you DID want this too.

"Ah, cariño, you're going to be the end of me," he gasped out as he removed the last pieces of your clothing, revealing your body to him. Your plump breasts, with blushed nipples bouncing as it grasped away from your upper undergarment, and your soft thighs, meticulously cared for, seemed to drive him insane each following second.

Norton had anticipated this more than you realized. Ever since your debut, he had attended every one of your concerts, silently watching from the VIP row, watching you grow each time. You had never noticed him, but he had always wanted you, waiting patiently for this moment. Now, with you finally in his grasp, he was determined to make you his.

"I would do foreplay, but you just look so captivating in front of me, mami. Let's skip it, shall we?" Norton suggested, his voice thick with lust.

Heat rose to your core as he pulled down his boxers, his member growing at the sight of your naked body. Norton was... well-endowed, his length and girth impressive, veins prominent along the shaft, the tip flushing a deep maroon, not forgetting how well-groomed he is, making him even more irresistible.

Seeing your state, he moved closer, placing both palms on your knees. "Open your legs for me, baby," he murmured, kissing each of your kneecaps tenderly. You surrendered immediately, your tense muscles relaxing as you spread your legs for him. Both his dominance and gentleness was overwhelming for your heart, messing with your thoughts and making you more eager for what was to come.

As Norton positioned himself between your legs, tension crept back in regardless of how experiened you were. The reality of the situation made you anxious by the second, nerve-wrecked. Fucking your childhood friend? But as Norton leaned in for another kiss, you decided to let go of your doubts and bask in the moment, forgetting all about your worries.

He pushed his girth in, feeling every gushy wall of yours warmly wrapped around him. His erection stretched your tight walls, making you bubble up a moan ever so loudly, it was music to his ears. Everything was a haze for him, overstimulation taking over. It didn’t take long before he started moving, your ass slapping against his pelvis, releasing lewd noises that filled you up.

Norton couldn't take his eyes off you. He was impatient, desperate for you. "Tighter—fuck, you're so amazing. You feel amazing," he whimpered out while fucking you senseless. Norton didn’t want to take this one night for granted and used it all to its fullest, pouring his heart into every thrust. Your pussy clamped down on his length, making him shudder each time he pulled it out and slammed back in, his heavy balls slapped against your puffy folds.

"Ay, I'm so crazy for you, corazón," he gasped as you rode him, your breasts bouncing in front of his eyes, you could even feel his member growing even bigger inside you. The air was thick with moans and groans. His hands were firm on your hips, occasionally swaying them outwards and pulling them back in. Your hands caressed his abs, feeling the every chiseled ones as you bounced on his cock. Just how many times have you came tonight?

As the clock had finally hit 3 o'clock, the two of you were in the bathroom, telling yourself it's "cleanup time" but you both ended up asking for more, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he pushed himself in deeper than before. Norton loves to mutter small compliments, mesmerized by how beautiful you looked under him. Your throat was dry from the sounds you’d made all night, and your legs weakened with each passing second.

Everything soon came to an end, the mixture of your juices dripping down from your pussy, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, making him just more attractive each passing second. He plunged in one last thrust, trying to pull out to release outside. But you, being the cheeky woman that you are, locked your legs around his hips, pushing him back in with the last of your energy. Norton couldn't hold himself back, the tight knot around his abdomen soon all came lose as he released deep inside you. His warm semen smearing all over your puffy walls as he can finally pull out.

"Cheeky much, you're gonna pay for that," he muttered with a giggle soon following. Planting a light kiss on your forehead before lifting you into the bathtub. The water was cold from when you both had left them, but the moment was enough to melt your heart. Was it really about the deal, or was it the unnoticed feelings you had for your childhood friend all these passing years?

Norton carefully cleaned every part of your body, constantly asking if anything hurt. You could only laughed, charmed by his caring side.

"I love you, mi vida."

The whole world seemed to stop for both of you. The water suddenly stilled down, and the dim bathroom lights cast a soft glow on the scene. Your heartbeat quickened, and you swore he could hear it too. He was cradling you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder as he whispered those words out.

"Be mine? Por favor?"

#identity v #identity v fool's gold #idv prospector #identity v norton #idv #idv norton #idv smut #norton x reader #norton campbell #identity v x reader #idv x you #idv x reader #identity v x you

[lillybean730]

pro: brother gave me a dagger

mega-con: it's got iron crosses on it

#he genuinely didn't know that it's n*zi shit he just bought it bc his friends were buying knives and this one looked kinda cool to him #ill just have to break those parts off and redo it #it's not a real dagger anyway it's just stainless steel cut into shape #it's not even sharp it's just for decoration

[tonyglowheart]

debating if I spend $50 on a single dice set lol.... on one hand, it is a lot of money all at once. But on the other hand, I was probably gonna get a couple of dice sets for the char anyway so maybe I just... don't get any other sharp edge dice lol...

and like. this set aesthetically seems perfect for a red moon lunar sorcerer.....

#the dnd #I have a handful of dice sets in my cart rn including two other (non liquid core) sharp edge sets #which probably total are like $40-50 themselves tho I wouldn't be getting both I'm theoretically choosing between them #tbh Im not even sure liquid core will roll well. it may just be mostly decorative... #but ooh... the Aesthetic of it.... + with the moon... #(tho apparently the moon is only on the d20.) #(actually. I could just get the d20 huh?) #(...but I'm a maximalist and love sets...)

[shaguro]

{ "SKIN TIGHT.ᐟ" }

{ft. satoru g.} when you realize that you’re falling in love with your friends with benefits, you distance yourself. ghost him after each session. but this time, gojo won’t let you go so easily.

{warnings.} fwb!gojo x reader. fwb to lovers trope! fem!reader, orgasm denial, missionary, breeding kink (like if you sqint) unprotected sex. pet names used, (baby, girl) gojo is a lil delulu. extremely intimate. angsty throughout but ends happy. wc. 2k.

{shanti’s note!} heavily inspired by skin tight by ravyn lenae. listen to the playlist for this story here.

“are you.. are you just usin’ me, (y/n)? just think you can fuck me whenever you feel like? that’s just cruel, baby.”

you knew this was coming.

satoru was pretty much good at everything, sex included. it’s why you initiated this arrangement in the first place, being his friend and fucking him whenever you wanted to. the terms were simple: casual sex with no unwanted, lingering emotions. love is complicated, exhausting — after a handful of failed relationships, you wanted no parts of it and threw in the towel, officially out the game.

he’s not wrong, you do use him. fuck him and disappear by the next morning, unseen and unreachable until you decide to show up at his doorstep again, sometimes days — usually weeks later.

you know he’ll let you in, no matter how much time has passed. just cruel.

“you’re evil. you and this fuckin’—“ he sucks in a sharp breath, tilts his head back. gooey walls mold his dick, all ribbed and dangerously warm. is this why he lets you play him like this? “. . . tight ass pussy you’ve got.”

if it wasn’t for satoru holding your legs up and open, veined hands creased in the bend of your knees, you’re sure they would’ve gave out. he’d been relentless with his teasing this session and you were puffing, the shallow breaths left a slight tremble throughout your body. sweat beads rolled down your temple, cascade down the junction of your neck.

satoru denies you an orgasm for the umptheeth time and you start to think he’s the cruel one. you deserve it, though. this torture, his crafty method of punishment.

he’s had you like this for some time, the deep rut of his hips halted, everything is still. just satoru and his cerulean-speckled iries glowering down on you, goosebumps decorated your skin. you knew he was waiting for some sort of explanation to rationalize the mess you’d created but you weren’t sure where to start.

with your cheek smushed on your shoulder, you decide to fix your eyes on something, anything across the room to avoid his stare that was burning into the side of your head. “‘toru, i’m sorry.”

satoru scoffs, his trimmed fingernails indent your soft skin. “damn, now you’re lyin’ to me too? must really wanna hurt my feelings.”

“i’m not, i swear—“

“you disappear for three months and all you have to say is sorry?” he spat, his words had an uncharacteristic sharpness to them, hard and demeaning. it wasn’t hard to detect the underlying rage that rumbled within his entire being. “no explanation? just sorry? nah.. you gotta.. you gotta give me more than that, (y/n).”

taken aback, you bite down on your bottom lip, at a complete loss for words. there isn’t much you can say to pacify him, you doubt he’d care to hear it. what worked before certainly won’t work now.

the quiet is deafening and suspenseful.

and your silence angers him further, on levels you can’t fathom. you won’t weasel your way out of this, he concludes. you’ll give him an answer, even if it’s at the expense of his already bruised ego.

“hey.. look at me.” he sneers, and you feel the warmth of his skin on your chin, his thumb and pointer fingers curl as they angle your head forward and back onto his face. “just.. talk to me, please.”

satoru gojo, begging? oh yeah, you’ve really done a number on him.

you take your time as you admire him, basking in the sheer beauty of the man in front of you. obnoxious and arrogant as he was, satoru gojo is undeniably attractive, simply gorgeous — pink, kiss-bitten lips slightly parted and his cheeks a pretty shade of red from the exertion, you gather. his abs are chiseled and tense and if you peek lower, you’re met with neatly trimmed, white tufts of hair at the base of his dick.

“you…” you stop to clear your throat but it didn’t need clearing, only to counteract how embarrassingly weak your voice sounded. “..y-you wouldn’t understand, satoru— oh!”

he exhales deep through his nose and suddenly leans down, releasing his hold on your knees to brace his elbows on the satin-sheets. while he does this, his hips roll — slow as he feeds you all his thick inches until he bottoms out, his pelvis taut against your neglected clit.

you mewl out and your hands encircle his neck, scratching at the low hairs on his nape. he’s so close, your noses basically touch. his breath fans your face, cooling your rather hot cheeks. “then help me understand, baby. make it easy f’me, whatever it is.. i can handle it.”

you’re not worried about him not being able to handle it, in fact you’re not worrying about anything at all. how can you when he’s got you stuffed, stretched and full like this?

concentration is impossible as satoru sets a steady, languid pace — not too slow nor too fast, just enough to have your manicured, white toes curling. your mouth in the shape of a pretty ‘o’, your breathy whimpers resounding off the walls of satoru’s bedroom, the beautiful symphony ringing in his ears.

an addicting melody, you were like his own personal drug. insatiable and persistent, gojo was unsure if he’d ever get his fill of you, truly he didn’t care. as long as he had you here with him, where you belonged.

“c’mere,” he pants and leans in, connecting your lips in a swift motion. you melt into the kiss, jaw slack while your tongues meld and mix. it’s fervent like always but this sensation is new — raw, almost vulnerable. pouring his heart out to you in all his movements and you can feel all of it.

“‘toru, oh my g-god.” you grip his forearms, keening as his length drags along a spot that has stars twinkling behind your lids. “i was j-just— fuck!”

“just what baby?” he mocks, it wouldn’t be gojo if he didn’t find a way to tease you, even in the most intimate of moments. he litters kisses along your jawbone before latching onto the delicate skin on the column of your throat, grazing his teeth on the surface to ensure it’ll leave colorful marks, letting out a pretty whine of his own. “shit, squeezing me s’tight- gotta use your w-words f’me.”

well, that’s easier said than done. your body is trembling in a way that can only be caused by satoru, every time your mouth opens to form words only meek, whiney moans follow. your tips scratch the plane of his delts, surely leaving cat-like scratches in their wake. and your legs hang loosely off his slim waist as you cling to him for dear life.

“i was just s-scared, satoru.” your voice was low, it was nearly drowned out by the wet squelching of your pussy. the constant schlap schlap schalp of satoru’s pelvis meeting the fatty flesh of your thighs.

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes meet yours, his head slightly tilted in confusion. “scared of what? of me?

“no!” you shake your head profusely and reach a shaky hand up to cup his face. he leans into the touch, the heat of his cheek warming your palm. if there was one person you’d feel eternally safe and protected with, it’s him. “no.. never. it’s the w-way you make me, hmm, f-feel that i was scared of.”

“oh? and how do i make you feel?” he purrs prior to kissing you again, nibbling on your bottom lip. truth be told, he wasn’t sure what you were about to say. he prayed to the god above you couldn’t feel the rapid beating of his heart, notice the uneven rise and fall of his chest. so he plays it off, even with that slight tremor in his voice. “you love me or somethin’?”

it might be more than love. a deep attachment, a classic case of yearning and longing. gojo satoru was made for you. no amount of denying or running from the obvious would change that fact. you love him so badly it hurts, it consumes you — clouds your thoughts and steals the air from your lungs. no more fighting, you had no energy left to.

you’re surrendering yourself to satoru gojo and it was time to let him know.

“yeah,” you confirm with a giggle, all airy and breathless. your thumb strokes his cheek gingerly, tilting your chin up so your foreheads touch. “i love you, satoru.”

satoru doesn’t respond, in fact he was deadly silent. mouth agape, his eyes darting wildly as he examines your face, searching for signs of roguery but he found none. you were telling the truth, the love swelling in your eyes made it oh so apparent.

“again.”

you let out a surprised yelp when satoru presses his body down, the pressure of his weight dips into your chest, leaving you winded. his face is buried in the crook of your neck where the neediest whines roll off his tongue. with this new angle, he’s balls-deep and the rhythm his hips carry has your eyes rolling, holding his broad shoulders to ground yourself.

skin-tight, it’s like your bodies, your sounds are one.

“s-say you love me again.” he rasps, and it’s more pleading than demanding. like he needs reassurance.

“i love you s-so muchh— ohgod, don’t stop, don’t stop!” your words trail into high-pitched mewls and satoru sighs, a blissful sound of relief. your pussy clamps down on his dick greedily, sucking him in impossibly deeper as he massages your aching walls, un-calculated and sloppy.

this was the effect you had on him, you always left him a fucking mess. satoru would let you ruin him, every time, for as long as he lived. “don’t know how long i’ve b-been, hah, waitin’ to fuckin’ hear t-that.”

you’d tease him for the stutter in his words if you could think clearly but your mind is blank. you’re delightfully delirious as satoru pounds into you, giving you quite literally everything he’s got. simply insatiable, you still want more. settling a weak hand on his hip, you use the last of your strength to propel him forward, your juices aimlessly squelching between your bodies, dripping down your perineum.

“f-fuck girl, you-you’re drivin’ me crazy. n-not gonna last, baby. f-feel like y-you’re tryn’ to milk me.” satoru babbles, and you swear you can feel a warm trickle of drool on your collarbone. how cute, he’s just as brainless as you are.

his pace is frantic now and that familiar tingling is building your gut. your limps are limp against him, your whole body rocks in tandem with his as he works his hardest to bring the two of you to completion.

“satoru, m’gonna cum, s’closeee.” you whine, lashes fluttering as salty tears clustered on your lash line.

he only hums in response, snaking one of his hands between your bodies to find your clit, all your sticky slick had your mound drenched. he smirks whilst rubbing figure eights on the sensitive nub, your quivering folds dragging a deep groan from his chest.

“want m-me to fill you up, hmm? p-pump this pretty pussy with all my cum.. want it all, y-yeah?” he’s rambling is incessant and you nod dumbly. it’s in one ear and out the other, the pure euphoria coursing through your bones driving you insane and all you needed was release.

it was the pinch to your clit that did it, the final blow that had your back arching almost painfully as your climate rushes through your body in intervals, your hardened nipples brush against satoru’s pecs as you twitch uncontrollably, a chain of broken cries mixed with his name fall from your lips like water.

like clockwork, satoru’s orgasm follows directly after, he muffles his moans in your shoulder, damn near biting the skin as he pumps you full, as promised. it’s alarmingly warm, scorching as it invades and overflows within your womb, too much for it to handle, some of it spilling back out. satoru doesn’t pull out, plugging as much of his semen as he can to your insides.

the silence after is comfortable. the two of you in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and panting from the intensity of your shared orgasms. you’d make your way to the bathroom, eventually. for now, you bask in the blissful ambiance.

“(y/n)?” satoru’s voice breaks the silence, a whisper as his head lulls on the fat of your breast.

“hmm?”

“i love you too.”

@screampied @satorena @hoshigray made yall wait long enough LMAO.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #shanti's stories⋆˙⟡♡

[deadghosy]

I didn't know we could request readers getting hurt. In that case can I request the hotels cast reaction to dogday reader getting the game dogday treatment as an exterminator cuts them in half. Like game dogday they're still alive but ouchy

TW: GORE AND BLOOD MENTIONS (not detailed but it’s there)

HAZBIN HOTEL X DOGDAY! READER

prompt: during the fight against the Angels, you let your guard down at the wrong moment…..

You used your 8ft frame and to slap and crush the angels as Angel dust shoots the angel from your shoulder as husk throw explosive dice and sharp spade cards around you three. It was a good them effort as you had his stomped out an Angel with your huge paw. You were helping the hotel defend against the angels as you never saw this actually coming.

You heard a whimper seeing one of the egg boiz be chased by an angel as you ran over and crushed the angel’s head in your paw that had angelic metal in it. The egg boi immediately cuddled up to you as you picked it up.

You must have been so worried that you didn’t noticed an angel behind you and the egg. But it was too late as the egg boi’s eyes widen seeing an exterminator behind the two of you.

You felt a stab in your abdomen as you looked down to see an angelic spear stab you. You felt blood trickle down your mouth as it burned inside of you.

A piercing scream rang out the battle field as you felt you lose the strength seeing blood pour out. Your friends perk up at that knowing scream of yours. Charlie looks down from the roof with her father to see what was going on. She gasped covering her mouth lookin at you. The angel takes the spear out of you as she slashes your body in half.

Your upper and lower body collided to the ground and blood spill from your mouth hearing foot steps and an evil laughter as you heard someone’s voice. “DONT WORRY! WE’RE COMING SUNNY!” It was all muffled due to the blood loss as you couldn’t hear who it even was.

Blood filled your nose, screams, the feeling of blood loss, and the sounds of bombs blowing up. It all rang in your ears as the last thing you see is the angel who cut you being shot. Before you passed out.

You wake up seeing the crew look down relieved but some had a disturbed face as you tried to move your “legs”…..

Your legs….wait….

You look down to see your bottom half to be gone only to se a bandaged half. Your eyes widen shaking as the white pupils of your eyes disappear. You sob painfully looking down as your dog ears over your face. Charlie covers her mouth seeing your sadness at the lost of your legs as she hugs you .

Angel and husk joins as well as the other as they all crowed you trying to show that they are here for you. You felt loved, but what will you do now…….

Months has passed and you are in a wheel chair. At the loss of your legs, it’s like you became a new person who doesn’t smile much but still grant a smile towards a friend who needs one. You have the slight scent of vanilla but mixed with blood due to the blood in your body at times. Your voice also had changed as the scream you let out ruined your normal vocal cord. So now you sound a little depressed.

But still Charlie helps you to walk with you using your arms. You got the hang of it quickly but you’re use to the wheelchair since it doesn’t take your energy away.

Angel helps you move around in your wheel chair as he makes joke with you as you smile or with either grumble jokingly at his dirty jokes.

Lucifer, he’s trying to find a way to heal you as he feels like he failed to protect you. One of his own people. Even his own friend that he felt like you were as you always was friendly to other and him.

Alastor lets you sleep in your wheel chair as he plays soft jazz in your room or if you want to listen to his radio broadcast

Husk still snuggles again you but not like a cat in your lap type snuggle. Nah he just lays down with you on the couch as you snore while he purrs.

Niffty decorated your wheel chair to your liking as she smiles seeing your grateful smile as she hugs your fluffy arm.

#dogday #dogday x reader #dogday poppy playtime #hazbin hotel x dogday! reader #hazbin hotel x poppy playtime #dogday! reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x platonic!reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lucifer #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin husk #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel angels #hazbin hotel imagine #crossover #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel exterminators #hazbin hotel exorcists

[gayhoediaz]

"I - I'm sorry for showing up at your station in the middle of the night, I - I should have called, but I knew you had a shift, and I-"

"Didn't want to do this over the phone," Tommy guesses gently, watching as Evan nods, face flickering with recognition.

"...or in a text or something, yeah," he confirms - then he clears his throat, frowning at the ground for a moment. "Look, I - I know that - that maybe I should just... walk away, and - and take no for an answer, and I - I will," he says, and when their eyes meet again, Evan's are glossy with emotion - even from ten feet away. "I promise."

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling gently as he waits for Evan to gather his thoughts.

"I know I fucked up by going all... bro-dude on you on our first date," he says, trailing off with a self-deprecating, sad chuckle. Tommy swallows, forcing his feet to stay glued to the concrete flooring. "And you don't wanna deal with that, I get it, I know that you probably didn't sign up for... all of this," he continues - and somehow Tommy has a sinking feeling that he's not only referring to his newly discovered bisexuality. "Didn't sign up for someone who is just... so new at this-"

"-that's not it," Tommy can't help but interrupt - the same way he can't help but take one step closer - and then one more. "Evan, I don't have a problem with being the first man you're with, it just seemed as if you weren't sure that you wanted a man at all, and that's the thing that I'm not sure that I-"

"I - I know that," Evan interrupts him right back, his voice growing thicker, tears seemingly dangerously close to passing his waterline as he takes half a step closer to Tommy, his hands in front of him, frustratingly grasping the air as if the words he wants to say will be somewhere in there. "That's what I came here to say - look, my entire life, I've just been... searching for something, you know? Something that felt right, someplace where I could... belong," he says, forehead decorated with a deep line of frustration. "And then I found it."

"Firefighting," Tommy guesses - and the crease evens out - just a little bit - as the corner of Evan's mouth twitches up.

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah - and I thought that was it. And - and then I realized that I still felt... wrong? And I - I felt stupid, you know?" he says, tapping the pads of his index and middle finger to his own temple. "'Cause I have a job that I love, people that I love - and I spent so long trying to find the thing that was missing, and I just - I - I had no idea what it was..." he says - and then he straightens up a little bit, swallowing. "...and then you kissed me," he concludes.

Tommy feels himself melt.

This goddamn kid is going to be the death of him, isn't he?

"...and it was like..." Evan brings his hands up in front of himself again, mimicking something like an explosion - but the sound effect he chooses isn't an explosion. It's a sharp, unmistakable, loud exhale.

"That was it," Tommy hums, allowing himself a few steps closer. Evan's eyes remain on his own as he moves, trailing him every single step of the way.

"That was it," Evan confirms. "So if you think that I - that I'm somehow gonna - gonna change my mind, or - or run away, or freak out, or decide that I don't like men, that's never gonna happen," he shakes his head. "I'm - I'm a lot, I know that, I've always been a lot, I don't think I totally know how to be anything different, but Tommy, I am... I'm very, very bi. I like men. And I like y-"

Tommy finds a gentle grasp on his chin, guiding him into a kiss.

Shut up, is what the kiss says. You have me. I'm yours. I got you.

#niesfics #writing tag #bucktommy #buck x tommy #911 abc #fanfiction #evan buckley #tommy kinard

[midnightcrw]

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of discrimination (this is fluff, by the way)

a/n: This is my first time writing for Alastor and anything related to the Hazbin Hotel, so I hope you all will like it. Please tell me if there's anything in this one shot that might offend anyone, and I'll do my best to change it or clarify my thought process.

Charlie was walking around in circles because of the fact that her dad was going to come over to the hazbin hotel for the first time.

And while everyone seemed quite unbothered, she couldn't calm down while Vaggie was currently helping Sir Pentious put up the decorations.

"You have been walking around in circles for the last fifteen minutes, darling," your voice was heard as you put a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

She stopped abruptly as she felt the weight on her shoulder and turned her head slightly to look into your eyes, "It's just been a while since I've seen him and I really want this to go well."

Her usual optimistic tone was much less energetic and confident as she started to look around, clearly avoiding your eyes.

You let out a sigh, a small smile finding its way to your lips as you cupped her chin between your thumb and forefinger, "There's nothing to panic about. I'm sure everything will go perfectly."

Your words seemed to calm the blonde down a bit as she gave you a slight nod, "I hope you're right," she muttered as you let go of her chin.

With that, Charlie made her way over to Vaggie to look at the decorations she had put up with Sir Pentious.

You just smiled at the sight when you suddenly heard a low static behind you, "She's been all over the place since the call," Alastor mused, his sharp grin never leaving his face.

Rolling your eyes at him, you opened your mouth to speak, "Let her be, she's trying her best."

"Oh, I know, my dear. I want the best for Charlie too," Alastor's words made you shake your head, knowing there was more to it, but even with you, he wasn't eager to share that information.

If you had known that you would be bound to him even in hell, you would have run as fast as you could in your mortal life.

But your 'lovely' husband had a way with words even then. Even if the two of you didn't marry for love, there was definitely something there.

Back in New Orleans, Alastor had a hard time because he was half Creole. He was always at a disadvantage because he did not fit into the standard, even though he tried his best to somehow blend in.

But radio was really the perfect solution and a passion of his. It even helped him because no one saw his face and only had to listen to his voice, which even he had forced to sound different, his usual deep tone becoming much higher to fit into the society.

And once he became famous, he even started to change his appearance. His usually dark brown wavy hair was straightened by him, while he also started to dress like the rest of the crowd.

But even then it never seemed to be enough. His tan complexion was still striking to some, as people began to gossip about him from time to time.

The prejudices against him never stopped, as people even started to question him because he wasn't married, making him out to be a cruel man who couldn't even find love, and that's where you came in, to get rid of at least one of the many talked about topics about him. At least then the people of New Orleans would know that Alastor really was a lovable man.

You really couldn't have cared less about the standards and the gossip that had made its way when Alastor started to pursue you back then. Even though he did not even reveal his intentions at first, you could still tell that there was more to it than just love in itself.

And even after he revealed his true intention behind a marriage, you accepted it. You didn't really have anything to lose anyway, and his charming words seemed to sway you somehow.

However, getting married and playing the role of a happily married couple had been a struggle. Both of you being at each other's throats, but never really being able to truly hate each other, was definitely odd.

But leaving that aside for now, there were more important matters at hand as you let go of your thoughts of the past.

"Just don't ruin this for her," your stern tone was obvious and with that you went over to help Niffty with cleaning up.

A few minutes passed and everything seemed to be perfect now, but not for Charlie.

"What if he hates the way the hotel looks?" She asked herself, her hands pulling tightly on her hair.

"He won't. You don't have to worry. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you at all," Vaggie said in a reassuring voice as she put an arm around her girlfriend's shoulder and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

That little gesture made Charlie blush as she leaned against Vaggie, trying to calm herself, and when she felt ready, she made her way to the door.

"Okay everyone, it's showtime!" She said with a smile on her face, looking at everyone as the door was suddenly flung open by Lucifer, who said his daughters name and hugged her tightly.

Standing near the door, Alastor looked at the two of them with a crazy glint in his eyes and his never-ending smile showing his teeth.

And that's when you knew that this wasn't going to end well.

As Lucifer looked around the hotel, Alastor didn't seem happy at all, angry at the fact that he was being ignored.

"It's got a lot of character... What in the unholy hell is that?" Lucifer asked in a disbelieving tone, as a frown made its way onto his face.

Already knowing that Alastor wasn't going to hold back now, you let out a heavy sigh as you rubbed your temple.

"Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit of color, don't you think?" Your husband's voice was heard as Lucifer then proceeded to ask who he even was.

And with the blink of an eye, Alastor is now at Lucifer's side. "I'm Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, sir. Quite a pleasure," he replied as he wiped his hand on his coat.

You were about to slam your head against the wall when you felt someone tugging at your dress. "He's a bad boy," Niffty said in an excited tone, staring at the King of Hell while you just felt a shiver run down your spine in disgust at your friend being lusted upon.

"You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast," Alastor said with a sinister grin on his face as he held his microphone. Knowing him, he loves to be acknowledged and it didn't look like Lucifer was going to give him any of that.

"Nope, I guess that's why Charlie called it the Hazbin Hotel," Lucifer said, emphasizing the 'haz'.

"Hahaha! It was actually my idea!"

"Hahaha! Well, it's not very clever!"

"Haha! Fuck you!"

Hearing that, you immediately made your way to Alastor as you and Charlie interrupted them, earning a look of shock from Lucifer.

"Is it really you?" Lucifer asked, his eyes wide as he looked at you. And before you could even answer, he threw himself at you, nearly crushing you to a second death and leaving you breathless.

"It's been years!" The King of Hell shouted as he let go of you to examine your face. You let out a chuckle, "It has indeed been a long time."

The interaction between the two of you naturally caught everyone's attention, as they all had a confused look on their faces, except for Alastor, who seemed to be losing his patience by the second.

Not even letting you two continue reminiscing, Alastor put an arm around your waist, causing you to gasp in surprise, as he wasn't usually the one to show off your relationship, especially to Overlords and anyone above that position.

"From where do you know him, my love?" Alastor's static-like voice was heard loud and clear as he pulled you even closer.

Before you could answer, Lucifer interrupted. "My love?!" He asked in disbelief and disgust.

"Oh, yes. 'My love,' the beautiful woman I'm so smitten by," Alastor was really putting on a show as he even planted a small kiss on your temple.

Your arm made its way around your husband's back as you pinched his waist in annoyance, eliciting a small static screech from Alastor.

"You really have some nerve, don't you?" you whispered in a caustic tone as your face came closer to his, wanting only him to hear it.

But even with that, the man dressed in red didn't shy away to take it completely somewhere else, "Just a few minutes, my darling. Then we'll have some time alone. Oh, and how she loves it, almost shameless, isn't she?" Alastor went on talking while you cursed him in your head.

You knew he was only doing it to rile Lucifer up, but of course the rest of them didn't know that.

"So Freaky Face does fuck," Angel Dust mused with a grin on his face as Husk slapped him on the back of the head.

"You sleep with that?" Lucifer asked in a disgusted tone as he ran towards you, pulling you out of Alastor's tight grip as he took a few steps away from your husband.

"Are you sure this is what you want for your future? Are you even sure it is worth of dating?" The short man asked you, almost even praying for you.

You apparently forgot to mention that you and Alastor have been married for decades, but you definitely wouldn't tell him that right now.

"It's a he," you simply replied.

"Well, I couldn't care less about it."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor fanfiction #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fluff

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

#this was all written in one go #so that's fun #more angst than anything honestly #not really any yan but it is supposed to be for yan stuff #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #sibling reader #reader tries too hard and does their best but finds out it isn't enough #some things just aren't meant to be #but that doesn't mean they get to run around scott free either #not series

[evie-sturns]

Cry - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and your boyfriend, matt, have spent the day together. you've been snapping at him the whole time, until it gets too much for matt and you accidentally make him cry. you find a way to make everything up to him.

contains: sub!matt, nsfw, blowjob?, matt crying, angst.

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matt and i have been dating for 7 months, sure, we’ve argued before but it’s never lasted more than a day and it’s never affected us that much. i’ve never seen matt cry, according to his brothers he hates crying infront of people, or even talking about it. 

today we’ve been bickering non stop, i’ve been making snarky comments and snapping at him for pathetic reasons, matt’s just been ignoring it.

9:24pm

i sit on the dining table, matt directly opposite me on his phone as he takes small bites of his dinner. “matt.” i say, my voice almost like a robot.

“mhm?” he hums, his eyes fixed on his screen, i groan, “for fucks sake matt.” i huff under my breath. 

“what is it?” matt asks, his finger continuing to scroll across his screen. 

i don't know why i've been so on edge today, everything matt's done has pissed me off. the way his hand is cemented onto his phone pisses me off.

“fucking stop! you don’t even care about me the only thing you do is go on your phone, your an actual excuse of a boyfriend.”

the words leave my mouth quicker than i can process, i don’t even fully comprehend what i’m saying.

i finish off my yelling fit by slamming matt’s phone out of his hands.

he stands up abruptly, his bottom lip shaking as his eyes well with tears. “don’t fucking say that.” 

i scoff, folding my arms and playing with my nails. matt lets in a sharp inhale, a shaky sob exiting his mouth.

my head snaps up to look at him, he’s got tears soaking his pink cheeks, his lips a raw red. he reaches his ringed fingers up to rub his eyes before speed walking out of the dining room, directly towards our bedroom.

my heart drops, an aching infecting my body. i feel a wave of guilt wash over me, tears somehow prickling in the corners of my eyes. i wipe my face quickly, 

i’ve just made matt cry. shit.

i stand up from my wooden chair, the chair legs screeching on the wooden floor. 

my footsteps tap on the ground as i slowly walk towards matt and i’s shared room, the door is shut. 

i stand outside for a few seconds, pressing my ear, which is decorated in sets of earrings, up to the wooden planks.

i hear sniffles coming from inside the room, and small crys. my heart pounds against my ribs as i twist the door handle.

i’m met with matt’s body which is sitting at his desk, his back facing me. i’m not sure he heard me, so i walk over to him. 

i tap his grey sweater, the cute wool sweater that he wears whenever he’s cold, the sweater his mom gave him in high school, which still fits him.

i feel him tense under me, he swings his head round to look at me, his eyelashes are dark and wet, his cheeks a deep red and his lips swollen. 

i take one look at him and my stomach forms a pit, i wrap my arms around his neck, yanking him into a deathly tight hug as i bend down to his seated height.

matt doesn’t hug me back, his arms hang loosely by his sides. i bury my head into the crook of his neck,

after a few seconds i pull away, visible nerves on my face, matt’s tilts his head down to his lap, where his hands rest, fiddling with his rings.

“matt please, look at me.” i say, my voice barely audible. his head shakes, i nod my head “okay.” i whisper.

“i’m so sorry sweetheart, i didn’t mean any of that, i promise it’s just the week before my period. you know i get in these stupid moods that i can’t handle.”  i say softly,

matt continues to stare down at his lap.

i get down on my knees my hands resting on his thighs, my nails scratching the material of his sweatpants.

im at the height where i can see his full face, his lips slightly pouted. i stare up at him, his eyes lock with mine for a split second. my hands travel to his waistband and grip the elastic, i look up at him again, asking for permission. matt's gaze drifts to my eyes again, he nods, his top teeth sinking into his lower lip.

i pull down his sweatpants to his midthighs, he's got no boxers on, already half hard.

i brush my thumb over his tip, earning a shaky groan from matt. i maintain eye contact with him, i feel him grow fully hard in my hand. i run my hand up his length a few times before taking my hands off him completley.

"please" matt clears his throat, "please what?" i tease, resting my hands on his thighs, he almost looks as though he’s going to cry again,

i can see his breathing intensify, "tell me what you want." i say calmly, matt lets out a whine, his leg bobbing up and down on the spot, "please." matt breathes out again.

i lean foward, wrapping my lips around matt's tip, a soft moan exits his mouth as he gentley tangles his fingers into my hair. i swirl my tongue around his tips before taking more of him further down my throat.

"close-" matt warns, bucking his hips up as his hands grip my hair tighter. i pull off his cock for a second to catch a needed breath,

"i need to." matt protests as his cheeks flush, small droplets of sweat gathering on his forehead, he runs his hand though my hair. i wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, "i know, i know." i say, quickly wrapping my mouth around him again as i scratch his thighs with my nails.

i bob my head up and down quicker, matts whimpers filling the room. i look up at him with doe eyes, he squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth.

i can see his breathing intensifying before he releases in my mouth, i pull off of him.

matt leans back in his chair, before quickly reaching a hand down under my mouth, i spit it out into his hand "sorry.." matt laughs slightly, grabbing a bunch of tissues and cleaning his hand and my lips.

"don't say sorry matt, my fault for getting you so worked up." i say, standing up and grabbing matts arm, pulling him up onto his feet. i lead him towards the bed, he stumbles slightly as he recovers from his orgasm.

i sit down on the bed, my back resting against the headboard. matt lays down next to me, i pull his head onto my chest.

"matt, i feel really bad." i start,

"what? for what? that was the best fucking experience i've had all month, the nails did somethin-" he rambles, i cut him off.

"no! about the things i said, and.. you know.. making you cry" i say with a small laugh.

"trust me, you made up for it, can you do the same tomorrow so i can get another blow job." matt smiles, i run a hand through his hair, shaking my head with a scoff.

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#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff

[feirceangel]

How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times. 

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully.  "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose. 

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white. 

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness. 

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise. 

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants. 

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone. 

And it's just you and the warrior. 

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights. 

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this." 

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man. 

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him. 

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely. 

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down. 

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be. 

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.  

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you. 

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart. 

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice. 

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours." 

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back. 

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen. 

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away. 

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising. 

You really have gotten under his skin. 

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound. 

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips. 

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]

#female reader #feyd oneshot #feyd imagine #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #possessive feyd rautha #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune x reader #x reader #dune part ii #dune 2 #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #fanfic #requested fic

[pinkopalina]

constantly I am reminded

#i wish someone would just stab me in the skull 482 times while i was sleeping #i wish someone would cut me open and hang up my organs like party decor #i wish someone would pull out my teeth one by one and then grind them up and pocket sand me in the eyes #i wish someone would take hold of my flesh and rip it off my bones as if i wasnt worthy of wearing it #i wish someone would squeeze me until my head popped off #i wish people would hurt me physically instead of killing me from the inside out #i wish i was as dead outside as i feel inside so i wouldn't have to keep going through this #a slap in the face would probably feel better #i wish people cared about what I said and i wish i had something worthy to say #i wish i was more than my emptiness and depression #i wish i wish i wish #i wish i hadnt spent my life wishing #i wish i had something more than sharp metal to turn to. dull even. plastic even. who cares #I wish i felt loved #i wish i was loveable #i wish it mattered if i disappeared #i wish i would stop making stupid posts like this #i hope you all enjoy living my dream i hope it fills you with joy and happiness i hope you love life i hope you never feel such sorrow

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

beautiful mess | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick knows exactly how to comfort you in a moment of insecurity.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, menstruation, fluff, boyfriend!finnick being a cutie patootie, angst, mild hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little overdramatic but it’s cute idc

notes: about to get my period so this is kind of self-indulgent lmao. the number of times I rewrote this is insane. i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

“You know, I think I could pull off one of those long wizard beards,” Finnick said, admiring himself in the bathroom mirror as he shaved down the slight stubble on his jaw. “Those ones that go down to your chest? I could decorate it with little seashells and twine. It’d look hot, don’t you think?”

His playful words didn’t register in your mind.

Frustrated tears threatened to spill as the hairbrush in your hand tugged harshly at the roots of your hair. Nausea was bubbling in your stomach as you stared at your reflection, feeling as though not a single human being in history had ever looked as ugly as you did right now.

“Sweetheart?”

Here you were standing next to a Greek god, meanwhile, your skin was all hot and blotchy, your hair was a tangled mess, and your stomach was aching something awful. Christ, you hated being on your period.

A hard lump was lodged in your throat; you tried to swallow it, but there was no use. Warm tears had already begun to stream down your cheeks. Unable to bear the sight of yourself any longer, you turned away from the mirror. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, a sharp unexpected cramp pierced at your insides, causing your legs to buckle and collapse to the cold tiled floor.

That was the last straw. You just couldn’t hold it in anymore. A disharmony of cries burst from your lips, reverberating around the small room as your shuddering body folded over itself. Curse the Fates for having you been born a girl.

Finnick, now switched to panic mode, quickly dropped to his knees before you, eyes wide and alert.

“Hey, hey!” he said soothingly as his hand moved to rub your back in support, though he wasn’t even sure what he was supporting.

A thousand-and-one distressing thoughts flew through his mind. Had someone died? Were you injured? Were you dying? Obviously, these ideas were a little irrational considering you were just standing next to him a second ago. But seeing the love of his life in pain and not knowing why made him fear the absolute worst.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

All you could do was sob in response. You felt pathetic. Stupid, ugly, and pathetic. “How can you—” Another sob left your lips— “stand to look at me?!”

You could feel his hand stop moving which, illogically, made you even more upset.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What do you mean ‘stand to look at you’? Please, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

Finally, you forced yourself to sit up, revealing the tears that streaked your distraught expression. Finnick’s brows scrunched together, almost like he was in pain watching you in such a state of disarray. He tried to think of anything he might’ve done to make you feel this way because, of course, the first thing Finnick Odair would do was blame himself. But nothing came to mind.

Your heavy heart sank—he looked so worried. A part of your brain knew you were overreacting. Justa little bit. It made you feel even more terrible, knowing he was panicked simply because you didn’t like how you looked. Nevertheless….

“I look so ugly!” you cried. “My hair is all knotted, my face is all red and gross, my stomach is cramping, and—and… I’m just a mess!” You buried your face in your hands. “Why are you even with me?”

Shock was an understatement compared to what Finnick felt when those words left your mouth. Never in a million years would he believe someone like you—someone who looked like you—could ever possibly be insecure about their appearance, and now, of all times.

He gently reached out and removed the hands that shielded your face. You attempted to turn away to conceal yourself in shame, in fear that if he got too close, he would discover your flaws and see you the way you saw yourself. But he caught your chin with a single finger and compelled you to meet his gaze.

Yes, your skin was a little red and your eyes were a little bloodshot, but that didn’t mean you looked ugly. In fact, your rosy cheeks glowed with such radiance that the teardrops falling from your crystalline eyes looked like shimmering diamonds. Your lips, which were slightly quivering, were reddened and plump—an alluring contrast to the hue of your skin.

Not that he would say it given the insensitivity and selfishness of admitting such a thought, but he believed you cried quite beautifully.

“Because I don’t think you’re a mess,” Finnick said softly, ironically tucking multiple disordered strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re human, and you don’t need to look or feel perfect all the time. That’s why you’ve got me—I’ll always think the most of you. And when you’re feeling this way, I’ll always remind you so too.”

You tried to allow his compassionate words to seep into your brain, tried to turn his beliefs into your own. However, the storm of emotions inside your mind was refusing to dissipate. The insecurities just wouldn’t subside and Finnick could see it in your glossy eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell across your skin. “Waking up and seeing your gorgeous face next to mine? That’s what gives me the strength to get up every morning. Those imperfections you’re so adamant about? They only make me love you so much more.

I love every part of you. Every so-called flaw, every tangled strand of hair on that pretty little head of yours.” He grinned as he consolingly ran his fingers through your hair which, in his opinion, was perfectly soft and smooth. “You’re my girl and nothing will ever make me want it any other way.”

Hearing his declaration had your heart aching in your chest. Your hand curled around his arm, needing some physical anchor to the reassuring words he spoke. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, a sure-fire sign that he was telling the truth.

You realised you never had to worry about Finnick finding you unattractive. Though you were a little worried he was partially blind which, unfortunately, represented your own seemingly unshakeable insecurities.

“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, but just give it time. One day you’ll look back and wonder what the hell you were thinking. I mean, you? Ugly? Sweetheart, we might need to get you some glasses.”

You sniffled, lips stretching into a wobbly smile. “You’re an idiot.”

He lifted your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Only for you,” he quipped in response, wearing a light-hearted smirk on his lips. “Come here.”

He opened his arms, beckoning you to seek solace in his embrace. You scooted closer, sinking into his broad chest as his arms enveloped you. Your legs were folded awkwardly beneath your body and Finnick’s back ached from the lack of support behind him, but neither of you seemed to mind.

What is love without a little suffering?

His hand stroked the length of your hair, curling random strands between his fingers in admiration. Your fingertips danced across his tanned skin, amorously tracing the words ‘I love you’ over and over. You weren’t sure if he even noticed; it didn’t really matter. The sentiment remained true.

You listened to his heart beating centimetres from your ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. And you were grateful it beat for you. You were so, so grateful for Finnick. For his strong arms that soothed you in their embrace. For his lips that released a swarm of butterflies in your stomach with just a quirk of their corners. For his voice that could lift you from the deepest, darkest pit at any given moment.

So, when you whispered, “Thank you,” it was much more than a show of appreciation for his words of reassurance. It was gratitude for his existence. His entire being. For his love which echoed your own.

“Always,” he whispered in return.

Time began to pass but you remained in the same position—holding each other closely, dearly. And then as more minutes passed, rationality began to set in. You were thinking about apologising for your dramatics, but Finnick had other ideas.

“Wait, did you say your stomach’s cramping?” he asked suddenly. You simply nodded. “Are you on your period?”

Your head turned to bury your face against his chest in embarrassment. “Yes,” your voice muffled into his shirt.

Finnick grinned to himself. He didn’t want to play the stereotype card but knowing that detail helped him understand your actions a little better now.

“Well,” he began, gently coaxing you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes. “How about you come sit with me in the kitchen, hm?” He caressed the line of your cheekbone as he spoke. “I’ll cook you some pancakes and then we can both melt into the couch all day. Does that sound good?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

He made some noise between a chuckle and a scoff. “Of course. Anything else would be a culinary tragedy.”

“Oh, Finnick Odair,” you proclaimed theatrically, winding your arms around his neck as you pulled yourself further against him. “How I love you so.”

In response, his face lit up with a stupidly lovesick grin. This man will be the absolute death of me, you silently swore. You couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft endearing kiss to each dimple that hollowed his cheeks; doing so only made his smile stretch impossibly wider.

The touch of his deft fingertips settled on the sides of your cheeks, holding your face in his hands like it was his most prized possession—technically, you were. His smile never disappeared as he leaned forward, kissing you with such ardent affection that you were afraid your heart might give out from the consuming potency of his adoration.

It tasted like salt, your tears having now dried on your lips. More importantly, it tasted like love. Warm, sweet, syrupy love.

You pulled away, murmuring against his lips, “You would look hot with a wizard beard, by the way."

He chuckled lightly, sustaining the five-second break before returning to your lips to whisper the words, “I knew it.”

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #sam claflin #mockingjay part 2 #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fanfic #josh hutcherson #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #katniss everdeen

[ghoulbrain]

Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear. 

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you. 

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.  

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat. 

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm. 

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them. 

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it. 

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

 The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click. 

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets. 

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you. 

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet. 

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. 

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out. 

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses. 

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.  

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time. 

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

 At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be. 

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it. 

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #x reader #x reader smut #fem reader #my writing #smut

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 x [human] reader (gender not implied/specified/mentioned) SYNOPSIS: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 is determianted to court you (even when in his opinion it's just a formality). TW. delusional thinking, biting, mention of blood A/N: I am fighting writer's block to the best of my abilities but man, fighting Thanos would be easier than that.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who courts you after the very first meeting. It starts small to see if you're interested in him in the first place (in his option it's only formality but he wants to be gentlemerman). But he wants you to know he's taking the whole matter seriously. He brings you the most beautiful trinkets, pieces of coral, pearls of various sizes and colors and shells each different from another but all in perfect condition. Sometimes he even creates jewelry from an ocean plant, pearls and shells. You are often surprised to see him eagerly swimming towards you, with a bag made out of abodemen fishnet filled to the brim with various things taken straight out of the deep sea. You're even more taken aback when it turns out those things are for you. His face absolutely lights up when you accept each and every token. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 also can't help but to chirp loudly, boldly showing you how happy he is to see you accepting his (courting) gifts. You have to admit, his reaction is adorable.

"Oh...look at this one!" 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 eagerly picked up another shell who has caught his attention. It was big and only needed a little cleaning to make it shine. "It's perfect for the necklace! Oh, oh! And look at that!"

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who affectionately bites you whenever he gets a chance. That's the next stage of courting where an interested merfolk is supposed to nib the one he's interested in to show them they want to take courting to the next level. It's that stage where a courting couple starts to show the public that they're into each other. It served as both letting others know it's a serious matter and leaving a mark/scent on each other for the public to back off. He's got sharp canines and premolars so it's easy for him to leave a mark on your smooth skin. Marking you quickly becomes his favorite thing. Especially when he draws some blood that leaves a wonderful smell. You don't understand why 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does that, especially when you scold him or tell him not to do that. But he doesn't stop, nibbing at whatever part of your body he can. It's part of the courting rituals after all!

"Oh no, my marks are healing." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 deflated when he noticed the puncures began to fade. Only to quickly perk up when he realized he's got to mark you again and more.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who takes care of his scales like never before. This is a vital part of courting since merfolk want to look their best for their mate. He was taught that as courtier, he should look his best. And that's what 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does. Suddenly turning from a crude merman whose only interest was hunting for food and playing around, into the beauty guru. He began to thoughtfully groom his tail, until his scales reflected and sparkled under the mere streams of sunlight. He also changed his hairstyle by braiding his hair differently to symbolize that he is now taken (even when you're unaware of that). 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 was never more beautiful.

"This just won't do." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 tutted when he noticed his tail was becoming dull. He needed to look his absolute best for you!

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who decorates his abode for you. After you accept his first courting gift, he happily swims back to where he lives. It's a cave hidden from the plain sight that, much to his horror, appears to be extremely empty and bland. Something that just won't do, especially for his precious mate. Without a moment of hesitation, he starts the preparation. Inside his cave he plants: seaweed, kelp, red sea whips and various colorful corals. Those are only various of many but soon enough the inside of his abode is filled with soft plants, floating lazily around and glistening with colors. On the outside though, he planted a few poisonous plants that he's immune to, since 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 doesn't want intruders to meddle somewhere where they shouldn't be. This part of the courting ritual should be done before the mating season takes place and both parties are in agreement to spend this time with each other. But as we can see, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 just couldn't wait and decided to be prepared. After all, he believes that this whole courting matter is only formality for you to surely return his feelings and has already accepted him as your mate. Just like he did you.

"Is it colorful enough? Should I add something more? Hm, I'll better plant more of those..."

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere x reader #fanfic #x reader #imagines #yandere #headcanons #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere male #tw yandere #male yandere #reader insert #headcanon #yandere headcanons #male x reader #soft yandere #x female reader #x male reader #x gn reader #x y/n #drabble #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere merman #s.l.arrows writes <3

[strawberrysturniolo]

need a sub chris asap. giving you creative freedom but major sub/mommy vibes

wet dreams //sub!chris

summary: you decide to please your boyfriend when you see him experiencing a sex dream. sub!chris. mommy kink. male!receiving. use of vibrator on male.

Sleepovers at my boyfriend's house are nightly at this point. I practically live with him. I have a toothbrush here, a caddy in the shower filled with my necessities, a drawer of extra clothes, a few pairs of shoes, an extra charger. There’s even some decor that is mine. 

People are often surprised to find that me and Chris don’t technically live together. I just spend so much time with him, and he insists that he sleeps better with someone else in his bed. I have been told by his brothers that he’s tired of him trying to cuddle them while he sleeps. I’m here to fill that void. 

I woke up earlier than him today. That’s never surprising. I may not be a true early bird, but compared to Chris, I’m up at the crack of dawn. 

I put on some clean clothes, walking around the bedroom and watching him stir in his sleep. His mouth started out parted slightly, but every so often, a soft gasp left his lips and forced them open more. When his mouth wasn’t open, his lips were pressed together. 

I found myself watching him as he made subtle sounds. As time went on, he turned to his stomach, and my stomach dropped, knowing what was happening. 

His soft moans turned into low grunts as he started pressing his crotch into the mattress, his hips shifting ever so slightly. His toned back flexed as he moved, his briefs tight around his ass, and I only imagined the sight of his dick begging to be freed from the fabric. 

I swallowed harshly as I watched him, standing in shock. I knew he had sex dreams. He had told me about them before. He had them frequently. Maybe it was a guy thing, or maybe he was just horny all the time. I just had never seen it happen before my eyes. 

I made small, careful steps to the bed, making sure not to wake him. I want to see how far this will go. 

A sharp gasp left his throat, making me freeze. 

“Fuck,” he muttered before turning his head to the other side. His hand clutched a pillow, gripping it tightly. I was dying to know what he was dreaming of. What we were doing. How we were touching each other. 

I was struggling to keep myself together as I watched. I lowered myself to the bed, sitting down softly and moving next to him, watching him up close. 

His forehead had a small bead of sweat dripping from his skin. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut as his desperate sounds of pleasure seeped out of him. 

It went on for a few minutes before he turned onto his back. He was still asleep, but his dick was throbbing inside of his underwear. I could see it twitch as his dream went on. A wet spot lingered on the gray fabric, growing by the second. 

An element of our sex life that had been discussed was the idea of consensual non-consent – an idea of us being more than okay with the other person waking us up with a sexual act. I had always been hesitant about the idea. I didn’t want to wake him up and have him complain about being too tired throughout the day just so we could have sex. 

But this was different. He was obviously desperate. He was practically fucking the mattress begging for a release. I had to help him. He would want me to. 

I carefully traced my fingers on his left thigh, feeling the soft hair that decorated his tan skin. He twitched a little more in his sleep, and his sounds of approval were enough to encourage me to go all the way. 

I placed my hand over his bulge, the wetness seeping through finding my palm. My heart is racing as I wait for him to wake up. He lets out a gasp at my touch, bucking his hips harshly. 

He’s still asleep.

A few minutes passed. My hand continued to stroke his dick as his moans grew. I expected him to wake up at this point, but everything I am doing is probably just pushing into his dream. He has no reason to wake up because he is getting everything he needs while he sleeps. 

A loud moan leaves his mouth, making my eyes shoot open. I carefully peel down the waistband of his underwear, watching as his tip leaks. I spread some of the pre-cum around his tip with my thumb before licking over his slit. 

“Please, baby,” he whines. “Please.”

I take him in my mouth, my tongue swirling around his length. As his moans grow, I shake him by his shoulder while I suck him off, waking him up so he can bask in what’s real rather than his dream. 

His eyes open softly. He looks groggy and confused momentarily before he realizes that this pleasure is real. His head falls backwards and he lifts a hand to my hair, pushing my head down on him. 

“Fuck baby,” he groans. 

“What were you dreaming about?” I ask, pulling off of him and stroking him instead.

He shakes his head. “Don’t stop.”

I grip his balls, making him gasp. “Tell me.”

“You were bouncing on my dick,” he breathes out. “You held a vibrator to your clit. You were writhing on me, clenching like crazy. But every so often the vibrator would hit my tip. It was so much.”

I’ve never used a vibrator on him, but now I’m more tempted than ever.

“You want me to use a vibrator on you?” I ask.

His eyes widen. He nods frantically.

I spit on his tip. “Are you gonna speak or act pathetic for me and struggle to get words out?”

“I’m gonna talk,” he promises. “Please. I wanna try it.”

I nod, sucking his tip a little bit more before I lean over to my nightstand and grab my bullet vibrator. My theory is that starting small would be a better option for him before we use one that is bigger and could work on his entire dick. I want him to feel comfortable with this first. 

His dick is twitching relentlessly as he waits for my touch again. I love seeing him like this. He’s always dominant during sex. I never get to see the submissive side of him. It makes me feel powerful, and I crave control of him in this area of our lives. 

I turn on the vibrator, letting him hear the sound of the buzzing so he can decide if he wants to continue. His stomach heaves. 

“Please,” he whines. “I need you to touch me.” 

“Yeah?” I tease. I lick a stripe up his cock again. “How bad do you need me to touch you?”

“So bad.”

I lean my body over him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his mouth. “You gonna be a good boy for me?”

Something in his eyes changes.

“I’ll be so good for you, mommy.”

Oh hell.

I slide back down to his dick, jerking him slowly with one hand before I trace the vibrator around his tip. His hips buck hard before I press them back down to the bed. 

“Don’t you dare,” I warn. 

“I’m sorry,” he cries out. “Ohhhh fuck. Please. It’s so good. Oh my god.”

The sounds he’s making are unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him. He’s whining, whimpering, panting, begging for me. It’s taking everything in me to continue to tease him, wanting to edge him from his high.

“I can’t- Fuck. I need to cum,” he says. “Please. Please, I need to.”

I shake my head. “Not yet.” 

He lets out a desperate cry. “Please!”

“Gotta be a good boy, baby,” I remind him. 

“I’m being so good,” he whimpers. His eyes are full, tears almost pouring out as he struggles to hold back.

“I know baby,” I nod, knowing he needs that praise and validation right now. I drag the vibrator up and down his cock before pressing it to his tip again as I stroke the area. 

“Fuck!” he shouts, his hips raising again with no control as he cums, catching us both by surprise. My eyes widen before I look up, meeting his eyes. He’s shaking his head like crazy as he continues to cum. “I’m so sorry, mommy. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please.”

I let him finish before I remove the vibrator, tossing it to the floor. I press soft kisses from his stomach up to his lips before peppering his face in kisses. “It’s okay, baby. Did so good for me, hm?”

He nods breathlessly. “Thank you for waking me up, but now I really need to go back to sleep. I’m exhausted.” 

I smile. “Let’s go shower and get back in bed, okay?”

He nods, pressing a tired kiss to my cheek before pulling himself out of bed. 

@freshloveforthefit @lacysturniolo @mattitties @floofparker @javalakers @creamoncreamoncream2 @heebiejeebiezz @sturnswrites @runupthathillgirl @gdsvhtwa @666hellokitty420 @runupthathillgirl

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

[onyourowndaisymae]

mistletoe mayhem

a/n: i wanted to get out a festive little piece before the holidays are over. sorry for the lack of posting-- i am so sleepy all the time. also i just got my wisdom teeth out so if this is nonsensical i do apologize. i am on several pain meds

characters + content: lucifer, satan, asmo, solomon, simeon x gn!reader

word count: ~1.3k

prompt: it's christmas at the demon lord's castle. drinks are flowing, music is blasting, and you're caught up in the fun of the party with everyone in the main hall. when you slip away to grab yourself another drink, however, you collide with another body in the doorway. who is that? and what's that above your head, dangling from the doorway... is that... mistletoe?

"Lucifer?"

colliding with the solid chest in front of you knocks some of the breath from your lungs. yet, you don't tumble to the unforgiving ground. you look up and see red eyes searching your face, gloved hands steadying you by the underside of your arms to keep you on your feet.

he breathes your name easily. "watch your step."

"my bad," you reply. you didn't even realize you were clutching the front of his coat until you let him go. lucifer's lips curl into an easy smirk as he crosses his arms.

you readjust your clothes and start to wander off with a polite nod, but his hand catches your arm again. "wait a moment."

"huh?"

his gloved finger points above you to the top of the doorframe. there, dangling above your head, is a bundle of mistletoe. you should have known lord diavolo would have the place decorated in such a way-- he'd been asking you for weeks about human traditions for the festive season. you must have told him about this one somewhere along the way. judging by the look on lucifer's face, he knows what exactly that leafy sprig means.

"mistletoe, is it not?" lucifer starts, then seems satisfied when you nod. "i owe you a kiss. if you'll allow it, of course." the smoothness of his offer makes your cheeks split with a delighted grin.

"i'd be offended if you didn't."

"and we can't have that, now can we? not during the holidays." and with that, his lips meet yours.

"Satan?"

a sharp swear hits your ears as strong hands catch you, gripping your shoulders with startling intensity as he somewhat forcibly props you back onto your own two feet.

satan's cheeks are flushed as he looks you up and down once more to make sure you're alright. his fingers find your shirt and dust you off once more for good measure.

"are you alright?"

"i'm okay," you answer, now secure in your own footing. "thank you for catching me."

"sorry for running into you in the first place."

there's a gap of silence. he shifts awkwardly on his feet, eyes flickering up above your heads to the top of the doorframe.

"is there something up there?" you ask. your gaze flits up above you to find a leafy sprig adorning the doorframe.

"if i'm not mistaken," satan says lowly, cheeks aflame and eyes darting from yours, "that's mistletoe. there's a human tradition where two people kiss if they're caught under it together-- i assume you've heard it?"

"i have."

there's another beat of silence where satan looks hesitant-- his body is angled towards yours, leaned in ever so slightly in interest, but his mouth doesn't move. the words won't come out. you can tell he's interested in the tradition, but he doesn't want to pressure you because of the tumble you almost took. you'd find it more endearing if it wasn't so silly.

"... do you want to give it a try? 'tis the season and all."

he lets out a breath you had noticed him holding and nods, scarlet in the cheeks as his fingers brush against yours. satan's lips find yours-- soft, grateful, melting into your touch as voices of your friends and family fade into the background.

"Asmo?"

"oh!"

two arms wind around your body, pressing you against him as the two of you fumble together lightly. you eventually find yourself unscathed and on your feet once more.

"sorry, hon, i didn't see you coming," asmo murmurs, fingers flitting over your form to help fix your hair and crumpled outfit.

"i'm sorry, too. i wasn't paying attention when i came around that corner. are you okay?"

"i'll be okay. now that i've got you alone, actually, i've been meaning to ask you about something."

a delighted little smile crosses his lips, and he takes your hands in his to coax you closer.

"anything, asmo. what's on your mind?"

"this whole mistletoe tradition solomon was telling me about, is it true? you really make out with someone under this plant? it sounds to me like one of the best human traditions i've heard in awhile."

"it's more of a kiss than a full make-out, but yes, sure, i do suppose it's an interesting tradition."

"and what's the plant look like?"

"uh, it's this leafy green little thing, usually tied up somewhere on the ceiling or in doorframes."

"like that?" asmo lifts a finger from your intertwined hands to point up with a devious grin. sure enough, above your head, you spot a sprig of mistletoe.

"you knew that was there, didn't you?"

"well i wanted to try out the tradition myself. and there's no one i'd rather do it with than you! so maybe i bumped into you on purpose to get you under here with me. is that so bad?"

as you find yourself leaning in to ring in the holiday season, you can't help but think maybe bumping into asmo under the mistletoe was a gift itself, even if it was a silly plot on his part.

"Solomon?"

"mc!"

your bodies bump together uncomfortably, and the two of you fumble together to stay standing. solomon's boyish laugh rings through the area, and you can't help but laugh a little yourself at the absurdity of almost bowling each other down on your way through the doorframe.

"are you alright?" he asks, giggles subsiding into a softness as his eyes scan you for any minor bruises or bumps.

"I'm alright. are you?"

"i am. better now that i have you alone."

"oh? and what is that supposed to mean?"

"did you happen to notice the mistletoe above us as you were walking this way?" solomon asks. your eyes drift upwards with his to see the plant hanging above your heads-- probably mistletoe, considering it's decorating the castle for the party, but honestly you'd never been close enough to know what it's really supposed to look like.

"not until now. assuming that's what that is."

"you think i'd lie about that?" he teases.

"oh, for sure. anything to get a kiss."

"ouch," solomon whines, pressing his hand against his chest to cover the emotional wound your words left. "i would never go so far as to deceive you. if i wanted a kiss, all i'd have to do is ask."

"that's true," you murmur, leaning in as he brushes his knuckles against your cheek.

silence.

"anyways," solomon starts, pulling away with a chesire grin and turning on his heel.

"solomon! you bastard! i thought you were gonna--!"

before you can protest further, his lips are on yours, grinning and kissing you senseless as he backs you up against that very doorframe-- to ensure you stay caught under the mistletoe, of course.

"Simeon?"

a gasp comes from the body you collide with, as sharp and unexpected as the collision you found yourself in. the body bumps into the doorframe with a muffled noise of surprise.

"oh, i'm so sorry! i didn't see you coming!" the apology is out of your mouth before simeon's fully steadied himself on his feet, but he's already chuckling jovially and reaching out to comfort you despite nearly tumbling to the ground.

"i'm sorry," he replies. "i should have been paying more attention."

he reaches behind him to adjust his cape, but his gloved fingers brush something caught in his hair and he frowns. you pull it out for him-- it's a decoration. leafy, green, christmas-y. you look above you to see the hook from which it hung in the doorframe now swinging empty after your collision.

"did i knock that over? i'll have to apologize to barbatos." simeon mutters. then, after a moment, "what is that?"

"mistletoe, i think."

"mistletoe?"

"it's a human realm plant," you tell the angel, twirling it in your fingers. "we hang it up around christmas time. it's for couples. when you stand underneath it together, you're supposed to kiss."

"oh," simeon answers quietly, cheeks heating up at your simple explanation. he looks pensive for a moment. "should i hang it back up?"

"huh?"

"well it sounds like a good excuse to kiss you, and i'm not one to let that chance pass me by. or can we just--?"

he gingerly slips the mistletoe from your fingers and holds it up above you, grinning bashfully. no more words are needed-- you answer the angel with a sweet kiss to mark the occasion.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me imagines