#And then it was just bones and oh such a clear look of disappointment

[potatounicoorn]

I didn't know dogs could get disappointed in their christmas presents but clearly that is not the case cause my dog has been sulking ever since he opened his present and got bones, instead of having a chance to slaughter a teddy like the previous years.

[yovrnewromantic]

𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

[moonstruckme]

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol, explicit themes/language (? like no smut just want of smut haha)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

At some point, your boyfriends had evidently decided that you’re not to be let out of sight. You’ve tried to go get another drink on several occasions, but no matter who you talk to, you always seem to end up right back on the Longbottom’s settee with one of the three of them. Now they’ve fixed you in Sirius’ lap, his hands spread firm and possessive over the curves of your hips to keep you from running off. Every time he shifts his leg even a little, the heat in your core intensifies. 

Now, he laughs at something someone says, body rumbling like a motor underneath yours, and you nearly whimper. You lean back until your head is on his shoulder. 

“Siri,” you murmur into his ear, “let’s go upstairs.” 

He turns his head into yours, smirking. “We are upstairs, sweet thing.” 

Oh. “Well, can we go somewhere else?” 

“Why, honey?” Sirius’ voice is smooth as always, and now it runs over your skin like velvet. You could almost shiver. “You bored?” 

You lean away just slightly so you can look him in the eyes, keeping your voice low. “I wanna fuck.” 

You watch surprise, then delight, and finally chagrin play one after the other over your boyfriend’s features. He presses a chaste kiss to the skin under your ear, repentant. “I wish I could,” he tells you, breath fanning over your neck and giving you goosebumps, “but it’ll have to wait.” 

“Why?” you whine. 

From the other side of the couch, James sends you an inquisitive look at the sound. Sirius pats your thigh consolingly. “It just will, baby. I’ll take care of you tomorrow, yeah? Let it go for now.” 

You don’t think you will. 

You start squirming in Sirius’ lap, trying to turn around so you can kiss him but not quite coordinated enough to manage it. As it turns out, your fidgeting is enough. His hold tightens on your hips, and he leans forward, murmuring a quiet “behave” into your ear. 

Your cunt pulses. Galvanized by this discovery, you repeat your new tactic, shuffling around on your boyfriend’s lap until his grip is punishing. You can feel the shape of his rings through the material of your bottoms. Sirius growls, and James’ head pops into view once again. 

“What’s going on over there?” he asks. 

“Sirius is being mean to me,” you whine before your boyfriend can get a word in. “He won’t let me move.” 

“I’ll bet.” James eyes Sirius’ flustered countenance, beckoning for you. “Come here, babydoll.” 

Sirius releases you into James hold. You notice him crossing his legs as soon as you’re away. James takes his boyfriend's trials as a cautionary tale, tucking you into his side rather than sitting you on his lap. 

“You’re in a troublesome mood, aren't you?” he asks fondly, rubbing up and down your arm. 

“M’not,” you object. “Sirius was just being mean. I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Mhm.” His disbelieving hum purrs through your bones. 

You cozy up to James, looking at him through your lashes. The material of his jumper feels nice against your cheek. “You’ll help me, won’t you?” 

He laughs raucously. You’re about to scowl, but he pecks you on the crown of your head, saving himself. “Just to be clear, are you asking me to fuck you in Alice and Frank’s new house while you’re sloppy drunk?” 

You nod impatiently. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening, darling.” He delivers another kiss to the top of your head to soften the blow. “But I do think I can persuade Remus to take us all home, how about that?” 

Just as quickly as disappointment takes root inside you, hope blooms in its stead. You smile so hugely your ear pops. “Yes, please,” you tell James. 

He squeezes your upper arm affectionately before leaning over, conveying something to Remus with a look that you might normally be able to interpret but currently can’t be bothered to. They’re going to take you home. You know what that means. There, you can fuck louder and nastier and longer than you ever would’ve been able to if you were trying to be discrete in the Longbottom’s spare bedroom. You can’t get there fast enough. 

James stands you up, and there’s a flurry of goodbyes and niceties as your boyfriends shepherd you out the door. Or, you know they must all be with you, but it’s sort of hard to keep track of three people at once. You’re not completely sure whose hand is on your forearm as you descend the steps outside, or who wrestles you into their jacket when you shiver at the brisk night air. You lean contentedly into the loving touches regardless. 

Eventually, it’s Sirius who gets you settled in the backseat, worriedly making Remus take your hands in his so you don’t stick them in the door when he closes it. 

“You don’t think you’re going to be sick?” he asks, and you have the vague impression he’d been upset with you not long ago, but you can’t recall what for and there’s none of that in his demeanor now. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lips pursed. “I can run back in and get a bag for the car ride.” 

“No, m’fine.” You sit up extra straight to prove it, cheesing at him. “I’m excited to go home.” 

Sirius snickers and closes your door, but Remus cocks an eyebrow at you. 

“What exactly do you think is going to happen when we get home?” he asks. 

“We’re gonna fuck,” you say brightly. 

In the driver’s seat, James barks out a laugh at your crass language. Remus darts a look his way, looking like he might be biting back a smile of his own. 

“Dove,” he says, “we’re not doing that tonight. We’re going to have some water and go to sleep.” You must look crushed, because his smile turns near pitying. “You’re too drunk, sweetheart.” 

“But I want to,” you say brokenly. 

“If you wake up tomorrow feeling better, you can have whatever you want.” 

From the front seat, Sirius says, “I’ve tried to tell her this.” 

You make a plaintive whining sound, and Remus reaches around your face, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder consolingly. “You’re being so mean to me,” you lament. 

“Oh, I know,” he coos, patting your hair. “M’the worst.”

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

pillow talk

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

wc: 1K

warnings: this is post activities, so its safe. just sweet sweet fluff

summary: post sex discussions

A/N: used the prompt sweet after sex by @jasminesfury *not proofread, i’m confusing myself so badly looking at one specific sentence*

masterlist / steve harrington

the sun was setting. orange and yellow hues sparkled through the windows that the curtains let peek through. the room was quiet, the only noises coming from the shared breathing and the rustling of the bedding. the room felt hot with the door closed and the previous activity that had you and steve just laying in bed with the sheets up to your naked, sweaty chests.

steve rolled over and changed from laying on his back to his stomach, staring at his ceiling while adjusted his body so his head lay on your stomach. he had one leg in and the other out, your right leg in between. steve managed to wiggle an arm under your back as his free hand drew whatever came to mind onto your sticky belly.

a tilt to your head as it lay on the pillow, a lovesick smile tugging the seams of your lips. a hand fell on steve’s head and you began running the digits through his thick head of brown hair with a few lighter parts popping out from his time in the sun. nails scratching at his scalp to pull vibrating groans or fingers twirling strands of ruly hair around.

steve rubbed his open palm over your waist and down to your thighs before trailing up again. his wonderful lips plant wet, open-mouth kisses over your stomach and the imperfections scattered over your lower half. his nose would glide over your belly button before setting his chin just above it to peer at your with lidded eyes.

“yes, handsome?” you hummed as you pushed hair behind his ear.

“i love you.”

three words, eight letters.

the two of you have said them for years. at first just surface level meaning, friendly-familia meaning, something you say in passing to your parents as you leave the house in a hurry or friends when they do a favor for you. but eventually, the words held a different meaning for the two of you. it would be lingering touches and eye contact maintained longer that was acceptable. staring at steve’s side profile as he talked, letting your thoughts run away from you with imaginary scenarios before shaking them away and landing back to reality.

and now the words held all those meanings, silver bands wrapped around ring fingers showing the world.

“i love you too, stevie.” thumb straightening his left brow into place.

steve rubbed his thumb up and down at your hip bone. more kisses pressed to your stomach, some quick and open, some more lingering, and some with heat as he gave little bites at the skin. you would giggle or squirm, a moan pulled from your throat when the feel of his lips felt tantalizing. fingers would curl and pull steve’s hair in response, you would feel the smile as he continued his loving assault.

“you know,” lingering kisses to your lower stomach, “i can’t wait to have kids with you.”

“oh, yeah?” top teeth biting into your bottom lip to stop a smile.

steve stopped the kisses (much to your disappointment) to once again rest his chin on your stomach. it was slightly discomforting but you didn’t push him away.

“yeah. i know you don’t want many if we were to have our own. so i want an older girl so she can help keep her younger brother in line.”

you let your index finger run down the slope of steve’s nose bridge, “how long have you been thinking about this?”

the quick dart of steve’s eyes piqued your interest. he only did that when he was embarrassed by the information he was about to lay out. you didn't push him, just observed him as you waited.

you felt steve’s voice but didn’t hear it. he spoke his words into your skin and it took you a moment before you realized he said anything. you asked him to repeat it politely.

he cleared his throat. “since our third date.”

“why our third date? if this was a romance anything, you would’ve said our first date.” you weren’t criticizing, just curious. you just remember it as a fun roller rink date.

your simple question sparked a twinkle in steve’s pupils. “i know what you're thinking.” “what am i thinking?”

“that it was just a roller rink date. why is that so special to start thinking about kids? right?” a shrug was your answer. steve continued his version of the story.

“okay. well, i was getting us food and you stayed in our booth. after i placed our order i leaned against the wall so i could continue to watch you-“ “stalker.”

steve tickled at your sides, breaking you into fits of laughs and tears before you conceded. “anyway. i was staring at you, my mind just constantly saying, “you got your girl”. and then you stood up and walked to a claw game. i was gonna rush over so i could impress you, but stopped when i saw you crouch down and start talking to a little boy. then you started to play the game and after many, many, many-“ you shoved his shoulder and the both of you chuckled, “many tries. you got the boy a stuffed animal. and in his excitement, he hugged you. and just seeing the way you froze before holding him tightly with your eyes closed…”

steve trailed off and you could feel the tears wishing to fall. hands grabbing for steve’s cheeks and giving a slight tug to signal him to climb up your body. his hands sat by the sides of your chest as you planted kiss after kiss over his face. a kiss to the side of his lip and you move his head back.

“here’s a potential plan. we wait another year or two, getting more marriage on the plate and getting used to our grown-up jobs. and then from there, we could start having a bit more carefree sex and just… see what happens. what d’you think?”

steve’s eyes went side to side then to your lips and back to your eyes. “i say…” he leaned closer, lips ghosting each other as he whispered, “that’s a good plan, honey.” and he kissed you until you couldn’t remember your name, only steve’s.

-

[fieldsofwriting]

Shut up and let me help you!

Summary: Reader is sick, and March tries to help you out…but it does not go well.

Warnings: None!

It was truly just a cold. One that left you cooped up in bed all day shivering and sweating at the same time. Your nose was red and raw, stuffy and runny; it felt like your head would explode with all the pressure. Your limbs were achy and sore. All you wanted was to be in bed and sleeping it away. It was just a cold, but god you felt miserable.

Besides that? You were a farmer. You couldn’t stop watering your crops- lest you want to have no money for the next week. You couldn’t refuse to refill your chickens feed. The cows still needed to be milked. So despite the ache deep within your bones, you got up and got dressed. Making your way out of the farmhouse to water your crops, which felt like it too even longer than before due to your cold. Then you trudged over to your chickens, letting them outside and giving them all pets and feeding them. Same to the cows, adding the bonus step of milking them. When did that leave you breathless? You wanted to curl back up in bed, but you couldn’t. You needed more seeds. So, off to the general store you went.

What you were expecting though was to stand, only to get so light headed you nearly buckled under the weight of your body. But a pair of strong arms caught you just under your arms. “Jesus, Y/N you looks awful.” March’s voice rings out. His tone laced with disappointment. You frown a little, you thought you were past his disappointment voice.

When you finally got your footing back, you blinked slowly. “March…? What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice scratchy. Putting a hand on your throat you frowned- Great. Another symptom.

March’s frown deepens. “You were late. You always come up at lunch and eat with me. You weren’t there.” Your eyes widen, quickly looking at your phone to see it was well past noon. “If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be farming.” He continues, crossing his arms as he scans you over for anymore ailments.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You dismiss, only for it to turn into a coughing fit. March firmly patting your back to help you through it. “I’m fine.” You croak out.

“Bullshit.” He grumbles, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. Almost immediately you melt into the warmth of his skin, wanting to curl up in his arms and sleep it all away. He brings you inside and sets you on the bed. Kneeling down and helping to take off your shoes, “Can you get into your pajamas okay?”

You manage a nod. Getting up and quickly throwing them back on. March doesn’t let you protest before he drapes a blanket around your shoulders and gets you tucked into bed. “What needs to be done?” He asks softly, for him at least.

“I need to replant my seeds.” You sigh, “And then water those ones. I also need to clear an area for my orchard. And call in the chickens and cows tonight.” You tell him, trying to sit up to protest him helping. But his gently pushes you down.

“Don’t insult me. I can chop wood and break rocks. And how hard could be planting seeds be? I’ve got this, you just rest.” He tells you, his voice is surprisingly gentle but still stern as he speaks. He tucks you back in, pressing a kiss to your head before he frowns. He’d have to stop Valen and see if she knew how to get your fever down.

After a few more minutes of him assuring you that your farm would survive him. He was off, going up. and getting the seeds from Nora. Who was surprised nonetheless.

“March? Buying…seeds?” She asks with a raised eyebrow as she looks at the piles he’d place on the counter. He followed your list to a tee. Every single seed accounted for.

He looks away, scoffing a little. “Yeah. Y/N’s sick. They’ve got a cold.” He grumbles out. “Idiot was trying to farm.”

Nora gasps, “Oh no! Here.” She leaves the counter for a second before she comes back and sets down a bottle of cold medicine and honey. “Put some of the medicine on a spoon, add a couple drops of honey. It should help.”

March blinks at the kindness, but nodded and gathered everything up after paying. “Thanks Nora.” He nods before stepping out, he looks over at the Inn. Frowning, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. He walked into the Inn to be greeted by Hemlock.

“March! Hey I was wondering when you’d stop in.” He grins.

“I don’t have time to talk.” March says quickly,

“Y/N’s sick…is there anyway I can take some soup to go?”

Hemlocks eyes widen, “For sure. Hang tight for a second.” He says as he rushes off. March waits impatiently, tapping his foot. He was loosing daylight quick and he still needed to do so much…is this why you were always running around? Fuck. He’d have to help you out more often so you didn’t work yourself sick.

Hemlock returns with a large container of soup. “Here, it’s on us for all they do.” He nods, “Tell her to get better.” March blinks again, shocked by the kindness on display. This whole town really did love you, huh.

March nods in thanks and makes his way back to the farm. Dropping the seeds outside your fenced in crops, and carefully bringing in the soup and medicine. But he stops for a second, you’re sleeping so peacefully. He couldn’t wake you and ask you anything… He sighed heavily. Putting everything away inside and moving to your side to feel if your fever has subsided.

It didn’t. And he frowned. Layering another blanket over you in hopes it would make you sweat it out.

Moving outside, he sighed. It was already almost evening. But he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Grabbing the hoe he gave you, starting to till the soil like he’s seen you do a hundred times. It was harder than he gave you credit for. Not that he’d ever tell you. But once it was done, albeit sloppily. He got down and started to scatter the seeds. Did he need to…plant them more? Was that a thing? He remembers Celine once saying to use your pinky…no way you did that to every seed…

But he does it. Kneeling down and painstakingly pressing each one in. Only to hear a laugh, his head snaps up to see you standing in the doorway. Blanket wrapped around you, “Are you pressing all the seeds in?”

He goes red. “N-no!” He lies. Like a liar. “What are you doing up! You’re sick get back in bed!” He commands, standing and brushing his hands on his apron. Trying to shoo you back inside. You’re laughter filling the air again.

“I just woke up, you worry wart.” You smile at your boyfriend. “You still need to water them. I usually do that and then sprinkle the dirt on.”

He blinks, that. made so much more sense than what he was doing. “There’s a method to my madness.” He frowns, still ushering you back to bed. “Go lay down.”

You roll your eyes, “Thank you March.” You grin.

He scoffs, but there’s a slight blush. And then he goes outside, grabbing your watering can- why was it so old?! Did you not upgrade?! He lets out a frustrated sigh. You were getting an all new set of tools when he was done here. You got scrapped up in the mines, all the time. You have him ore- you little shit. You gave him all your copper so he would like you-?!

He is so gonna- a low moo catches his attention. He’s looking over at your Cow now who is staring at him. “…what?”

“Mooooooo.”

“…Mooo?” He says back confused. He quickly finishes watering your crops before leaning on the fence to look at the cow. “What.”

“Moooooo.”

He blinks, fuck. Trying to figure out what a cow wants is going to be hard. “Uh, okay.” He hops over the fence and looks around. “Here, food.” He says walking into the barn and offering a hand of feed. But the cow just huffs. “What? you eat out of Y/N’s hand all the time.” He huffs more when the cow fully turns and ignores him. “You fuckin-“ He grumbles. “Well if you’re gonna be an asshole go inside.” He moves to ring the bell but the cows merely just look at him. He points, “Inside. Go.” He tries to usher them in.

The cows do not move. March groans, “You stupid-“ He’s interrupted by the bell ringing again. His head whips around and sees you ringing it. “Y/N!” He frowns, “What part of fucking relax do you not understand?”

“You were struggling.” You shrugs, “Besides I ate some soup. I feel better now.” You smile and nod at him.

March squints, picking you up just under your bottom. Carrying you like nothing over to the chicken coop and letting you ring the bell as the run in. Then he once again deposits you into bed. “You need better equipment, and I swear to god if you run around like a madman because you’re busy out here I’m gonna personally come farm with you.”

You laugh, “Got it. I’ll go to the mines-“

“No. Shut up I still have all that fuckin ore you gave me. You’re getting new shit. Now lay down.” He gently pushes you back into bed. “Sleep. Be better I don’t wanna farm in the morning.”

You feel a smirk. “Too much work for you?”

“…Shut up.” You let out a loud laugh, pulling him down into bed with you as you snuggle in.

“Thank you March.” You smile kissing his cheek. He sighs, his cheeks flushing as he wraps an arm around you.

“…don’t mention it.”

A/N: I know it wasn’t exactly chaotic but I still hope you enjoyed it!

[thematpatcu]

So uh,,, just gonna let this go here,,,

Off Night

BillxFordxFiddleford

Silly eepy time fic I made in a cold sweat trust

“Specs really is tired tonight, huh? Must be tiring being worked down to the bone.” This again. Bill had already gone through this whole conversation 30 minutes ago, and Ford thought he had dropped the issue by now.

‘He’s fine, Bill, he’s probably just having an off day.’ It happens to the best of us, and if anybody can pull through this, it’s him and Fiddleford. They’re not like everybody else, they can achieve anything they put their minds to, as long as they’re willing to put in the hours.

“Off night.” For a moment, Bill sounded cross, but he quickly returned to his usual cheery demeanor. “It’s almost midnight, Sixer. Don’t tell me you’re losing track of time again.”

‘We’ve worked longer.’

Right as he heard Bill sigh, Fiddleford spoke up. “Stanford..?”

“Hm? Yes, Partner?”

He was avoiding eye contact with him. “‘S been a long night, and I oughta get home soon-“

“But we’re so close to hitting the next big break on the portal!” Stanford shot him a desperate look, “Please, Fidds, just five more minutes…”

Fiddleford fidgeted with his hands, a wobbly smile appearing across his face, “Right, I know, but, portal’ll be there tomorrow, won’t it? Plus, I gave ya five more minutes…” He shrunk in on himself, mumbling now, “thirty minutes ago…”

‘Can’t believe you’re making me do this, IQ.’

“Do what?” Before Fiddleford could ask why he just asked that, Stanford slumped against the desk, rising back up with yellow eyes.

“Alright, Mr Inventor, I’ve heard ya loud and clear!” He stood tall, hands at his hips, grinning unnaturally wide at the hillbilly.

“Bill..?”

“The one and only! So, ol’ Sixer won’t let ya sleep, huh?” He cocked his head to the side, his smile turning more cocky.

Fiddleford looked down, to his left and right, anywhere that wasn’t Bill’s face. “Oh, it ain’t like that..”

“I can tell when you’re lyingggg, smart guyyyy!” He crowded into Fidd’s personal space, looming over him like he always did.

“If Stanford wants us to stay up… I will. ‘S what you do when ya care fer someone.” He was doing that whole starry-eyed look again. Bill was starting to notice it on the hillbilly more and more.

It was disgusting. He hated it. “You’re going to bed whether I have to make you or not.”

Fiddleford crossed his arms, turning to face him in his chair head on. He stared Bill in the eyes, a determined (if tired) look on his face. “Make me, then.” Bill hated that look, the inventor had used it on him before and it made Stanford’s stupid body get all warm and jumpy every time.

His voice was low when he found it, “Careful what you wish for, Specs.” Bill lunged at Fiddleford, but missed, allowing him time to slip away and run off into another room of the house. “YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CANT HIDE!” He knew he wouldn’t go easy if he had egged him on, but the face Bill makes because of it is worth it every time, even if he’s very certain he’s going to die now. His hiding spot is good, sure, but the dropped pots and pans might have given him away.

Bill is close, he can tell. He can feel his presence looming closer. Bill slows his pace, tutting in front of him like a disappointed teacher. “I really expected better from you, Banjo.”

Fidd sighed, standing up, walking into the room, lit up by the moonlight shining through the window. One of the only ones that didn’t have Bill in it. Though, Fidd supposed, it’s got Bill in it right now. His eyes are in the reflection. “Ya really just want me to go to bed that badly?”

“Yep!” Bill took his hand, (er, more so his wrist,) dragging Fiddleford to his and Stanford’s shared room. He brought Fidd to the edge of the bed, slapping his back so hard he fell forward onto it. “Golly, ya fell real easy! Ahahaha! Just like how ya fell for Ford.”

“What was that last part?” Fidd looked at Bill, red as a cherry, but he was already gone. Stanford fell on top of him, completely knocked out cold. He tried to move the bigger man off of him as gently as he could, Stanford hitting the bed with a loud thud. He immediately started snoring.

Fiddleford chuckled to himself, got under the blankets, and fell asleep.

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[edenmemes]

baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2)

part 2 / ? .

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞ ❝ you put the stars to shame. let’s sit here a little while - i want to drink you in. ❞ ❝ i’d tell you not to get in trouble, but i suspect it will find you whether you like it or not. ❞ ❝ well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on. ❞ ❝ i just….need some air…clear my head. ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since i shed a tear. i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had a feeling you’d show up. it’s sort of our thing. like it’s fate or something. ❞ ❝ i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little. ❞ ❝ if that was an attempt at flirting, i should let you know i prefer the strong, silent type. ❞ ❝ no matter how far you come, you’re still on the road to ruin. ❞ ❝ i thought you a hunter. wrong. you’re prey - small. snivelling. pathetic. ❞ ❝ and what am i owed? what about the injustices i’ve suffered - am i not entitled to anything? ❞ ❝ i can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as i look upon you. ❞ ❝ i trust that you will continue to remember who is really on your side. ❞ ❝ better a short life built on truth than immortality woven of lies. ❞ ❝ i won’t make excuses. i can’t make amends. but i want to help, if you’ll let me. ❞ ❝ gods, it’s horrifying…and a touch fascinating. ❞ ❝ there are many names for you --- and all of them inspire dread. ❞ ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ ❝ the gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. a hunger crueller than bloodlust. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ revenge sounds so sweet until you’ve taken it. then all you have is…no one left to blame. ❞ ❝ some mistakes can’t be resolved with an apology. some mistakes, you have to carry with you, forever. ❞ ❝ you’re plotting something, aren’t you? come on then - out with it. ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ think of all we’ve been through just to get to this moment. that wasn’t luck. that was us. ❞ ❝ feel like i should laugh but i’m just too godsdamned tired. ❞ ❝ there is something i lost…no, had taken from me. i want it all back. ❞ ❝ careful - you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. ❞ ❝ one thing i’ve learned - real saviours never label themselves as such. ❞ ❝ less thinking of bad thoughts, and more breaking of bad bones. ❞ ❝ i rather like interfering. it’s kind of my thing. ❞ ❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ ❝ you know, i've been catching myself smiling more lately. i think that's your fault.. ❞ ❝ oh, i’m no innocent. but evil? you tell me. ❞ ❝ i still want to believe you’re better than that. but even i am having my doubts. ❞ ❝ i can’t afford to lose my nerve. safer to just not think, and keep forging ahead. ❞ ❝ when all this is over, will you stay with me? for good? ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? do you have some sort of condition? honestly, it's like you hate good news. ❞ ❝ all of nature’s beauty pales in comparison to you. ❞ ❝ i can’t save you from yourself. it hurts terribly, but i can’t. ❞ ❝ if i seem suddenly flush with hope and soft feeling, you have only yourself to blame. ❞ ❝ is there good and evil within us all? ❞

❝ i’ve been watching you fight. your skills are improving. ❞ ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞ ❝ and you? you’re wholly without vice or sin or the occasional lapse in judgement? ❞ ❝ i wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. but i do. ❞ ❝ one might say you’re paragon of luck. i’ll be there when it runs out. ❞ ❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ ❝ i concealed nothing from you. i simply left out the details that were not pertinent. ❞ ❝ you’re an odd friend. but, i suppose, a friend still. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you do this. i won’t let you win. ❞ ❝ you are my puppet. make no mistake. without me, you have no value. ❞ ❝ well, this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside. ❞ ❝ whoever your enemies are, they have good reason to fear you. ❞ ❝ this place is astonishing, a bard’s tale made real. ❞ ❝ i may not regret my actions, but i do regret that they were necessary. ❞ ❝ experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ if this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that there are things in this world more valuable than power. ❞ ❝ a wise man learns from his mistakes, and strives not to repeat them. ❞ ❝ no more hiding things from me. agreed? ❞ ❝ my friend. my companion. i adore you. ❞ ❝ your face is sour. by all means leave, if i am so distasteful. ❞ ❝ careful, it’s dark around here. would be a terrible shame to lose you forever. ❞ ❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞ ❝ you have to know who i was. you have to know who i really am. ❞ ❝ nothing special, of course. you’re only the first person who i truly care for. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ anything you ask, i’ll answer as honestly as i can. ❞

[krewekreep]

2.7K Words. tags: Committed Relationship AU, Date Night/Car Sex AU, (Ownership kink??? I don’t know wtf I’m talking about), Your man asks if he can get you tatted on him.

“Can I get your name tattooed?” You almost spit your drink out at the question. You turn to your boyfriend absolutely stunned. “A tattoo? O-Of what?” You couldn’t believe how casual he was as if he wasn’t essentially asking to be imprinted. He shrugged his shoulders saying, “I don’t know maybe your name? Maybe a symbol or honestly whatever you want to see on me.” You stared analytically at him. Was this his attempt at a prank or your sincere realization your man was crazy. “Are you serious? Where would you get it? What if people see it and ask about it? Oh my- boy youre wildin’ right now.” You had to laugh. This was the most outrageous he could’ve ever been but nothing really about his expression changed. If anything he seemed a bit disappointed at your reaction. You saw the slight fall of his eyes, oh no he’s deadass.

You sat back sincerely considering your man with your name on his body. What seemed the most appealing? His face? Absolutely not…his neck? Maybe but kinda ghetto. As if fixating on the perfect sketch you cleared several versions of it through your head: arms, back, legs, hands. You thought of the big words branded across men like Tupac or Cholos, and while absolutely hot…it didn’t suit him. You thought of how sexy tattoos were ones that peeked out—those conversations starters when you just can’t get the image of it without a full closer inspection. You thought of his ribs, his collar bone, his wrists…what seemed an awkward silence for him was a deep meditation that led you to consider it now with more excitement than consolation.

“Okay,” you returned to him with your considerations. “I thought about tattoos of all kinds all over you…it’s pretty hot.” He rolled his eyes at you. “No-no,” you went for his thigh grabbing it in reassurance. “I’m so serious right now.” It was hard in your very unserious, light hearted relationship to maintain a kind of sincerity that wouldn’t send the both of you laughing your heads off. You understood he really liked the idea of it and you didn’t mean to have shut him down. He heard you. Trying his best to not openly forgive you because his pout earned him a pleading and yearning partner. He liked when you made up to him. “Y/N,” his face fell. “It really hurt me.” A cold wind caught him and his face sunk so deep you thought he would wither away. “Baby, I’m serious. You would look so good but I had to think on what suited you.” His ears perked up a bit, raising a quizzical brow towards you but still sulking. You sat up in the car seat leaning over to grab his face and kiss him all over. Before whispering which spots had riled you up the most you kissed him deeply running a finger across his ear which sent a shiver through him.

“So I thought about the obvious: your face, your arms, your hands. I thought I liked something being on your ribs or your wrists. I still do BUT I decided top two goes to the collar bone or your fingers.” He had to scoff to himself. Of course you chose the most sensitive, possibly painful areas. You didn’t have tattoos yourself, not against them, but not up for the possible pain at all. He, on the other hand, was very tatted including a full sleeve. It was his thing so to speak so the idea of getting your name tatted seemed less and less crazy. “Hmmm, you like those places?” He watched your eyes linger on his neck and clavicle wishing to decorate him in hickies to show your earnestness. “Mmhmm.” You touched along his neck and collarbones earning a muffled groan. He twitched under your tickling fingers watching you dazed.

You unlocked your seat belt and leaned over grabbing him by the hair and pulling him into a sloppy, eager kiss. “You sure?” He always is the one to double, triple, quadruple check. “Yes baby,” you pull away to look him in the eyes. “I just immediately thought of those huge ass ones you see people get on social media.” You scoffed a bit thinking of images of blazing red skin with huge cursive names. You had no issue if it were family members or even friends, but lovers? Seemed a bit too close to branding and ownership, and you never knew of a lasting relationship with that going on.

Unbeknownst to you your bae’s absolute acceptance of being yours. He heard once of someone in the media proving his love to his new girl by tatting his dick…. He thought long and hard about it…honestly into it. And had you thrown that out there, even if a pure joke—He’d win by trolling you with your name inked large across his length. He’d fuck you into the mattress, dick hitting your cervix unknown to you until pillow talk time. How’d he’d thank both Y/Ns for the fabulous time tonight. How he knew you’d snap up and throw the blankets away quizzically investigating his cock. How he loved the idea of not telling you at all…seeing how long it took before you’d scream in astonishment lamenting his idiotic love struck ways. But he’ll settle for now.

He liked the idea of his fingers…closest thing he had comparable to his dick given their own girth and length. How two fingers were genuinely too much for you until you grew fully accustomed to his cock. How when he tried to enter a third once you winced looking back at him like the devil. “Don’t piss me off,” you spat closing your eyes with a lifted warning brow. “You know you be trying to do too much.” He was sympathetic but horny. And had the worst kind of fantasies pinning you in all sorts of positions, crumbling you up into a sex ball. You were so beautiful all the time. Now sitting in his car at the top of a parking garage, after an amazing night out where you both seemed to fall in love all over again. He really felt compelled to ask, damn near blurting the question out. “Would you get a tattoo of my name?” You didn’t have to think long this time. “Nope. Not your name.” His face fell, he couldn’t even hide it. You knew what you were doing leaning over to reach your hand in between his legs, cupping his balls and dick easily. “I’d get a symbol for you. Or like an animal. You know I like subtle things.” You rub his tip through his pants almost luring a whimper from him. He swallowed hard. “Tell me more.” “What? I don’t know there’s really so many things I associate with you or us…I weirdly want it to be perfect. I want it to mean I love you, I trust you, and thank you all at once. Not my fault I’m sentimental.” You tease yourself and him laughing softly. “I’m just…actually happy as fuck to know you’d consider it. You don’t have to, baby girl.” “Aht aht,” you tisk. “Already in motion, you know I was thinking about finally getting one too? So I’ll really think about it and I want your help okay??”

How could you look at him so innocently when your hands were making it hard to keep his eyes open. How could you so lovingly declare all this as he adjusts his waist to more firmly plant himself in your palm. How you squeeze him ever so slightly eliciting a full blown moan. You wanted him bad. The night out, the drinks, the conversation over ice cream, now sitting with your love as the night sky passed on. It was perfect. You leaned up in the seat on your knees, reaching over him to crank his seat back. It went down smoothly and he set both arms behind his head. Ready for you to handle him however you pleased.

You leapt over onto him sitting flush on his extremely hard, bulging length. You cooed at the sensation of pressure against your clit slowly grinding against him. He didn’t wanna control you this time but it was hard to not go to grab at you, to which you swatted his reaching hungry arms away. “Uh uh,” was all you had to say. You needed him inside you now. You lifted your hips, giving you space to undo and unzip his pants. You learned with him he doesn’t put on underwear all the time. And considering how his outfit squeezed him all over perfectly—You didn’t want your favorite guy all smothered and claustrophobic. He needed to breathe didn’t he?? His dick agreed hungrily leaping out his pants thwacking against his belly. You spit in your hand taking him in it with a sloppy dribble of saliva falling to his tip. He shivered throwing his head back. You pumped him swirling your thumb over his blazing leaking tip. He was nothing more than a mumbling, groaning, praising mess. “Fuck, you know what you doing, Y/N.” He can’t help himself. He knows you like to treat him like this, like your little bitch.

His chest was lifting and lowering so erratically. His abs tensing and sweat brimming all over his skin. He wanted to get inside you, fuck your hands. “Mmm, baby please.” He cooes. “Sit on me baby, I need to feel that.” You obeyed swiftly giving him a few more hard pumps making his head lift as his mouth was agape breathlessly. “I got you. You know I do.” You lifted up, your ass facing the windshield. You pulled your panties to the side with one hand, still keeping the other on his waiting cock. He watched you in awe, how fierce you were when you wanted him. How he loved how loud you were and couldn’t wait to hear his name ring his ears as your shameless calls for him filled the car.

You lifted his dick vertical to your pussy, squatting down meeting his hot wet tip to your soaking loving core. When he entered it felt like heaven. What little stress you had already gone, so it was nothing for you to bounce down on him roughly. Both of you yelping at the sensation of his cock hitting your cervix. “Hey, be gentle. Don’t hurt yourself.” He said cautiously. He didn’t care about himself but you? No, don’t hurt yourself or even discomfort yourself just to feel him.

He took extreme pride in treating you like a princess even declining trying degradation. You, a bit too persistant at a point causing him to snap: “You can like what you like but I’m not degrading you. That’s my last word about it. Find someone else if it’s that big of a deal.” He was frustrated and regretted the last sentence the minute he finished. How he couldn’t face you cause he knew tears had fallen. How you gasped at his rejection and meanness, storming out of his apartment. How the minute the door slammed he rushed to his phone calling you profusely. How he showed up to your place with tears of his own. How he kinda maybe went a little too crazy banging on your door like a madman demanding to talk to you. When then as you opened the door warning of a police call for disturbance he blew past you into your living room. How he kinda scream talked his way through admitting he was so in love with you, so literally stuck on you he couldn’t imagine himself talking down on you. It just wasn’t him.

How you just wanted him to calm down and that you understood. You really did. Reaching towards your bellowing boyfriend cooing him to cry it out in your bosom. How he ended up more upset than you just because he felt awful even snapping at you like that. How you rolled your eyes at yourself thinking while he might be domineering he was a big ole baby. How you told him you accepted his apology, leaning him away from you and hitting your knees to suck him off. How he broke through the tears saying he didn’t even deserve this but you shut him up with a swirl of your tongue.

How now he had no choice but to give you the entire fucking world. How you unlocked a kink of being dominated for him. Sitting back with his head resting up, watching you use him to your delight. How his cock twitched inside you and his hips lifted in mindless splendor. The car nothing but an enclosed cacophony of praise, I love you’s, and the sloppy slick of your fluids as they kept you two sticky and connected. The weight of your ass on his pelvis as his hands guided you up and down. How your head was thrown back like an animal, calling out to him how only his cock could make you feel this way. How he demanded you say more, more about him and his dick and how useful he was to you.

“Ah, Ah, Ah,” you couldn’t even think straight. Your mind overwhelmed with the orgasm you actually didn’t want to reach yet. Truly how sweet his cock met the ridges of your pillowy heat. You really didn’t want to stop but when you gazed at him he was as gone as you. His eyes closed tight, so tight you almost told him relax. His arms extended, flexing every active vein as he held your ass while you began growing even wetter around him. “Ain’t no way,” his hips stall slightly. “You’re so fucking wet, it doesn’t even feel like I’m in you. Ah, you so fucking good to me baby girl.” You knew by his fighting vocals he was about to cum. His previous warning to take it easy was nothing but noise as you began throwing your pussy down against him. You wanted to cum how you wanted to cum. “Baby, no, I—“ a pathetic accepting mess he was. They better not complain in the morning, he thought. And let you bounce on him mercilessly slapping against him loudly with a bit of a sting. You wanted to feel it in your throat and you did. That rare (less rare with him now your partner) special confusing but absolutely mind numbing pleasure. You seized around him, chocking his cock as you came hard. Your entire body shook now exhausted as you could only just sit on him letting him finish. You bounced as his dick drove in you sloppier and sloppier. “Oh fuck,” his own body now quaking, ropes of semen making your belly warm as your pussy hugged him wanting all he had.

His body went limp and so did yours. You fell on his chest with little concern, nuzzling into his neck peppering him with kisses. “I told you…I told you to not to go so hard…” he scolded wiping his dripping face with his arm. “Mmhmm,” was your only response soon falling asleep with him still inside you. You bundled up so innocently considering the mad woman you had just been. Pleased, full, and ready to cuddle him proper back home.

He kisses you on the forehead, still catching his breath although it is increasingly becoming balanced. You were already about to knock out. “Baby?” He cooed. “Let me put you in the back seat okay? Just rest until we get home, okay?” How now you were his baby princess again. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed you got. How you mumbled nothing coherent barely able to lift yourself off of him. A bit awkward since you literally couldn’t move but once he laid you down, making sure your legs were comfortable, he kissed you passionately. You couldn’t really kiss back but you did pucker your lips with what little strength you had. He smirked to himself fixing his thankful dick back in his pants and getting in the drivers seat. Keys in the ignition, your couples playlist auxed on low, and a big dumb smile on your lover’s face. “How could I ever disrespect you goofy?” The most he’d ever insult you laughing as he pulls out the parking garage heading on home.

Who: GOJO, CHOSO, Zoro, Nanami, EREN, BAKUGO, Human INUYASHA, Ichigo + whoever else is this love dumb.

[suugarbabe]

completely fine if not!! just wanted to ask if in the end you were going to write the Mattheo x animagus!reader thingy i sent in some time back, but absolutely just out of curiosity!! i hope i don't come across as pressuring or similar, because i'm also very excited for your other projects and i can't wait to read them!!🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Omggggg I’m trash I’m trash I’m trash! I swear I did have this done. It’s right here. I’m so sorry I had this in my Google docs and lately I’ve been working straight from my inbox so I forgot I even completed it. Please don’t hate me I’m so sorry love :((

One of your favorite things about being in your cat form was basking in the sun. It really helped whenever you were stressed, or anxious, or tired, or whenever you really just needed to get away from other people. Today's basking came from just needing to clear your head.

You stretched your little black paws out, letting out a soft meow like yawn before turning on your side right in a sun spot. You were nearly drifted off into a light sleep when you hear someone slump against the other side of the tree.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you slowly stalked around the trunk to see none other than Mattheo Riddle. He didn’t notice you at first, his head sitting in his hands and breathing deeply.

You nuzzled your head against his thigh, his head snapping up at the motion. “Well hello there, beautiful,” he get your head an affection pet, looking around the courtyard for another person, “Are you out here by yourself? Where is your owner?”

You nudged his hand with the top of your head. He laughed lightly, “Okay, okay, I get the picture.” He started to lightly scratch the space between your ears, earning an affection purr from you.

You stayed cuddling with Mattheo like that for a good hour before he had to go. He said his apologies to you, saying he hoped he ran in to you again soon. You rubbed yourself against his legs before he left, then you went and sat in the sun again.

Later that day at lunch, you were talking with Susan Bones when Mattheo came and sat down next to you, a rather large smile on his face. You rested your head in your hand as you turned to look at him, an inquisitive look on your face.

Mattheo caught you staring, “What? Something on my face, Princess?” You laughed, dipping your finger in the pudding bowl next to you before tapping his nose, “You��ve got some pudding right about…there.”

Mattheo’s mouth dropped open in shock, “Oh you’re gonna pay for that later, Y/l/n. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” This sentence caught your attention, “Oh? And what has put Mattheo in a good mood today?”

His smile was smug, “I made a new friend. Well, she’s a cat. But she’s beautiful and cuddly and…you know what I should just show you. She seems to hang out in the courtyard.”

Mattheo grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the Great Hall. You gave Susan an apologetic look, but see only seemed to be smirking. When you reached the courtyard, Mattheo was disappointed to see the cat was not there. You tried to give him a sympathetic look, without giving away that you knew why the cat was no longer there.

The next morning Mattheo found you again, in cat form. Giving you cuddles and ear stretches and belly rubs. It was the most physical affection Mattheo had shown you, even if he didn’t really know it was you. But you couldn’t give it up, not with the crush you’ve had on him for the last two years.

At lunch the same day Mattheo tried to show you the car, again. But again, it wasn’t there. For obvious reason. It went on like this about every other day for two weeks. Mattheo would find cat you in the morning, he started talking to you, telling you why he was upset, or about his day, his worries.

You started to feel a little bad every time he tried to show you the cat and it not being there. But nothing could prepare you for what Mattheo was essentially confessing one morning.

You were laying in his lap, stretched out while he made gentle circles on your belly. “Have you ever had feelings for someone that you weren’t sure if they liked you back?” You looked up at him from his lap, your little black ears perking up at his question.

He huffed to himself, “What am I saying, you’re a cat. You just look for rubs and cuddles. Ugh, gorgeous I really like this one girl. But we’re such good friends I don’t know if I should tell her. I keep trying to show her you. I really want to have something just between us, think maybe it’ll bring us closer,” Mattheo picked you up, holding you so your body stretched down but your little cat nose and his were nearly touching, his tone turning to baby voice, “but you always seem to be gone when I bring her, don’t you beautiful?”

He sighed, setting you down. You felt so guilty. You had to tell him the truth, you started running towards a set of trees on the other side of the courtyard. Your mad dash away startled Mattheo, him getting up and trying to chase after you.

Once behind the pair of trees, you transformed back to your regular self. Mattheo peaked around the trees, jumping back slightly when he saw you, his face quickly turning in to a smile, “Y/n/n, did you see her? The cat. She came right this way.”

You looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Teo…I, I am the cat.” Mattheo let out a chuckle, “What do you mean, love?”

You took a deep breath, looking down at the ground, “I, erm, I’m an animagus. A black cat more specifically. It’s why…why, erm, you could never show me her. Well, I was her.”

There was silence. You waited a beat, expecting him to be upset for keeping a secret or get upset for allowing him to be so vulnerable and essentially lying to him for the last three weeks.

What you didn’t expect was his arms to wrap around you, for him to pull you close and squeeze you tight before pulling back, “That is so bad ass.”

Your face broke out into a smile, “Really? You’re not, like, made or anything? I know I should’ve told you sooner but I just…liked being close to you. Even if it had to be that way.”

You met his eyes shyly, only to be met by his shining, “Y/n/n, this is seriously so cool. Merlin, I thought I loved you before but this is so amazing. You’re so amazing, beautiful, gorgeous. Human form and cat.”

Mattheo’s eyes widen at the realization of his confession. “I, erm, I’m sorry I-”

“I love you too, Teo,” you cut him off. He flashed you a dimpled smile, “Yeah?” You nodded your head, lifting up on your tip toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, which instantly flamed.

He looked at you with shy eyes, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “Now that you’re secrets out, don’t think we could maybe…erm, use your animagus to prank the other boys one day?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nodding, “Under one condition.”

Mattheo placed his hands on your waist, “What’s that, love?”

You couldn’t resist the urge to be cheesy in the moment, “You call me officially yours, both human and cat form.” Mattheo’s smile widen impossibly larger. “That I can do, Princess,” he leaned in, stealing another sweet kiss from your lips.

[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology Note: The orcas mentioned in this series are based on a real population. Coolest things on this planet.

The strait is quiet. 

Fog rolls across glass, painting grey sea smoke on top of clear, hyaline waters, mirror images cast from horizon to cliff. It’s a prehistoric stillness, the kind that’s sung low in the belly of this passage for millions of years, volcanos and glaciers all doing their worst, their best, to shape and carve this land to be as it’s known now. 

Granitic wall looms above and below, plummeting into the earth beneath you until the water is too deep to see where it ends and hell begins, water and plants and light refracting into a teal green color. painting the pitch something most only see in magazines. It stretches tall too, forms the base of the islands, of all the land that flanks the strait, and you have to crane your neck to see where rock ends and soil begins. 

It’s a marvel onto itself, but you’re not here for the geology. 

Where are they? 

Your paddle dips, pushes, forging a path through the quiet, preternatural stillness, wrists to ribs moving with hypnotic pace. Left, right, left, right. Dig. Dip. Your lungs burn, muscles ache, and still you paddle, up and down the coast, maintaining your determined pace in the face of exhaustion, forcing yourself past the brink of logic and reason, as always, in the pursuit of passion. You focus on your breath, on the cold, settling it in your bones, falling into the beautiful rhythm that is paddling, cold sea spray dripping down to your gloves.

It’s easy to get lost in the quiet of the water. The fog and the cliffs crowd inwards, silent watchers of a sacred place, protectors of a balance long disturbed and derailed everywhere else in this world. Your paddle strokes in perfect time, kayak cutting through the eerie mists and propelling you forward, focus fixed on the horizon, looking, listening. Waiting. You simmer in the silence, straining to hear the telltale blow of air, the signal of surfacing.

Nothing comes.

Where are they?

Salmon jump in front of the kayak, shattering the serenity in their wriggling flight.

The residents elude you. You say good morning to an otter, a sea lion the size of two men, some curious Dall’s porpoise, but are left bereaved at the noticeable absence of the pods. 

It’s the first day. It’s okay, it’s only the first day. 

The alarm on your watch goes off, just as the lighthouse, affectionately named Little Rock, looms ahead, faded and chipped green paint calling you back to the cove, a glacial breeze whipping under your goretex and neoprene, cutting to the quick, right down to flesh and bone. 

Time’s up. 

“Did you see them?!” Aly bounces on her toes at the edge of the dock, running alongside the pace of your paddling. 

“No.” Your tone is light, but you don’t hide the disappointment, and she smiles sadly, sympathetically. What a smart kid.

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Are you coming in now?” You nod, motioning to the beach, and she skips ahead, running down the steps onto where millions of little pearled rocks give way under her feet, echoing the same as you run the fiberglass bottom of your kayak aground, popping your legs out on either side. 

“I know you wanted to see them.” Her eyes are wide and a little fearful. You frown. 

“I’ve got all year, I’ll see them. Don’t worry.” The assurance is tepid, but present, and she shrugs. 

“You should ask my dad. He knows where they are a lot.” 

“Oh yeah?” You could try.��She nods, excited, shiny dark braids gleaming in the mid-morning sun. You glance around, looking for an adult, or someone who accompanied here down here, but there’s no one, and you chew on it, pulling your boat higher up than the tide will reach today. “Shouldn’t you like, be in school or something?” 

“I do school online.” She rolls her eyes, gap tooth grin stretched across her face. “It’s for gifted kids but I always finish early.” 

“Does your dad know you’re running around this place unsupervised?” She shakes her head, and then sobers, glancing towards the woods. 

“I’m not unsupervised.” What? You look the same direction, but all you see is the shadow of the forest, darkness so thick you’re not sure you could see your way in broad daylight. 

A chill traces your spine, ice cold and cautious, slow in its discovery, pressing against your skin like it’s moving under your clothes. You gasp, whirling and- 

There’s nothing. Only the lapping of the tide, the gentle waves that rake through the shore. Your beached boat. Remnants of the morning’s mists. 

Must’ve been the wind. 

The Ranger’s daughter giggles. You raise an eyebrow, and then motion up the hill. 

“Want to head back with me then?”

“Aly!” The Ranger’s voice reaches you, even a hundred meters away. She sprints ahead of you, and your stomach twists, iced over fear spreading through your veins. 

He’s going to freak. He already hates you and now he’s going to think you kidnapped his kid or something. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Down at the water.” She kicks a rock, beaming. One of his too wide palms sweeps over her forehead, moustache and lips kicking to the side with a sigh. 

“Not supposed to be down there on your own, remember?” 

“I wasn’t.” She stands tall with her insistence, and proudly points at you. “I was with her.”

John straightens. He stares at you with a scrutiny that you’ve never felt, an intense pressure building behind your eyes, in your thighs, incinerating all the muscle in your body until you’re sure to explode. 

The silence is painful, and Aly hops from one foot to another. 

“You find ‘em?” There’s no softness in his eyes for you, only a hard edge, hand coming to rest on his daughter’s shoulder. 

“No.” You think he’ll turn away then, drift away in the wake of this encounter, but he holds you steady there, caught between him and the earth, crushing weights on either side. It’s unnerving, this stranger, this Ranger, a moon to a tide, and you swallow when he finally speaks, it’s with that rich timbre, the accent that twists you up in boundless knots.

“They make you earn it.”

“You should sleep with your window open.” Aly pipes up, and John’s mouth twitches.

“You can hear them in the cove, in the middle of the night.” He explains. “They hunt and play in the shallow off the beach pretty often. Though it’s too cold to be sleeping with your window open.” The last piece is serious, like a warning, but you’re already vibrating with anticipation, attention fixed through the trees, like you can see down the hill to the harbor.

When you turn back, John is watching you. Hard muscle and tone turned dulcet, there’s less shadow in his eyes, replaced by something wild, willful.

There for a second. Gone in the next.

“Well I’ve… work to do.” Paltry effort. It sticks in your mouth the way this man has stuck to your mind, lurking and wandering, leaving you wondering what he's doing on the other side of your bedroom wall, your living room. Wondering what he’s like, what he’s really like, under the clipped and caustic words, the churlish airs swirling around him whenever he lays eyes on you. He’s the definition of surly, and the reluctance to interact with you stings, even though you shove it down. Secrets lay beneath his ribs, you have no doubt, protected by his thick coat and wide frame, a mass of tenured muscle and strength visible under the heaviest wool.

He nods.

You turn your back.

"Leave a note, when you're goin' out." He's got Aly in hand, halfway up his side of the porch, breath fogging in the space between your bodies. "Shouldn't be out alone, without anyone knowing, alright?"

Leave a note.

"Alright."

[doodle-pops]

˚₊‧꒰აWhen You Dodge Their Kisses໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Headcanon: Amras, Argon, Aegnor, Rog, Thingol

˚₊‧꒰ა Amras ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Amras had been in high spirits that afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the gardens of Himlad. You were lounging on a plush bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak, enjoying the serenity of the moment. He had taken a seat beside you, his usual serious demeanour softened by a playful glint in his green eyes.

As the conversation meandered from topics of hunting to lighthearted banter, Amras leaned in, his lips curved into a teasing smile, clearly intent on stealing a kiss. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you leaned slightly away just as he approached. His lips met the air where your cheek had been moments before.

Amras raised an eyebrow, pretending to be oblivious as he leaned in again, this time aiming for the other cheek. You giggled and tilted your head, dodging his kiss once more, leading him to pout dramatically. “So you want to play a game now?” he asked, his voice a playful tease.

You continued to evade his attempts, each dodge accompanied by a burst of laughter from you. Amras’s initial amusement gave way to a charming pout, his lower lip jutting out as he tried to hide his disappointment behind a mask of feigned seriousness. “When I catch you, you’ll be sorry, arimelda,” he said, his voice tinged with playful frustration.

However, he came to regret those words when you dragged out his attempts for much longer than he anticipated. The sounds of his grumbling and mutterings were far too loud, only fuelling you to frustrate him further by dancing out of his grasp and sticking your tongue out at him. “Ready to give up, or you’re not that much of a sore loser?”

“You may regret those words when I get my hands on you, love,” he exhaled before missing the opportunity to grab your arm. “I want my kiss, so you best come here.”

Fortunately, after a few more failed attempts and your laughter echoing in the garden, you relented—feeling rather pitiful for him—and leaned in, letting him plant a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. So easily did his pout melt into a satisfied smile, his eyes twinkling with affection. “There,” he said, his voice soft and content. “Caught you. I win.”

“Because I let you, otherwise you were going to cry,” you teased.

˚₊‧꒰ა Argon ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The day in Tirion was crisp and clear, with the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves as you and Argon strolled along a quiet path. His conversation was animated, full of stories from his recent scouting trips, but his eyes kept darting to you with an unmistakable glimmer of mischief.

As Argon spoke, he leaned in, his lips poised for a kiss. You, with a grin playing on your lips, deftly leaned away, causing his kiss to miss its mark. His expression shifted from playful to a feigned look of hurt. “Are you challenging me?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful challenge.

Undeterred, Argon tried again, this time attempting to catch you off guard by leaning in from the other side. You shifted subtly, avoiding his kiss once more, and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Hey, quit being difficult,” he said, his tone a mix of amusement and mock frustration.

Each time he leaned in, you managed to dodge, and Argon’s pout grew more pronounced. His usually confident demeanour softened as he pretended to be hurt by your playful rejection. “Hold still for a moment,” he said, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “Or I’ll bite you alongside all those kisses.”

“Oh, what a dreadful threat,” you mocked with your hands to your face. “I feel terror in my bones.”

“Don’t,” he strained as he missed you by an inch and nearly crashed into the bird’s fountain, “tempt me, you little rascal.”

Finally, with one last playful dodge, you relented after feeling sorry for his out of breath status, allowing him to catch you in a sweet, tender kiss. His pout immediately transformed into a radiant smile, and he pulled you into a warm embrace. “See! That wasn’t so very hard you little cretin,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine affection. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close to prevent you from running off if you had any more bright ideas.

“Only because you looked like you were out of breath.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Aegnor ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Aegnor’s sea-green eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips curving into that charming smile that always made your heart skip a beat. But just as he was about to close the distance, you turned your head to the side, pretending to admire the landscape of Dorthonion. Blinking, momentarily taken aback, he chuckled softly.

“Admiring the view, are we?” he teased, his voice low and melodic, but you kept your gaze on the trees, feigning innocence.

He tried again, leaning in with a bit more determination, but you stepped away, pretending to adjust your hair. Aegnor’s smile faltered, and a small pout formed on his lips. He wasn’t used to being dodged like this, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to figure out what you were up to.

For the third attempt, Aegnor placed a gentle hand on your waist, drawing you closer. “Now, where were we?” he murmured, his voice carrying a playful edge. But just as he leaned in, you suddenly found something fascinating on the ground—a very interesting leaf that needed immediate inspection.

Aegnor groaned softly, his pout deepening. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked, sounding adorably exasperated. His brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit like a sulking child.

You finally turned to face him, barely suppressing your laughter as you took in his pouty expression. "Whatever do you mean?" you asked, your voice full of feigned innocence.

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not buying your act. “You’re too clever for your own good,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, unable to stay serious for long.

Before he could protest further, you reached up and cupped his face, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Aegnor’s eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled back, his pout had completely disappeared, replaced by a look of pure contentment.

“You’re so annoying,” he murmured against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. But there was no real frustration in his voice, just a warm affection that made your heart melt.

“Only for you,” you whispered, smiling up at him. Aegnor grinned, his earlier sulkiness forgotten as he kissed you again, this time with no interruptions.

˚₊‧꒰ა Rog ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Rog, ever the patient one, had tried to kiss you at least three times that day, each time met with you deftly dodging his advances. The first time, you’d leaned back just as his lips were about to brush against yours, claiming you needed to stretch. The second time, you’d suddenly turned your head, pretending to notice something interesting in the distance. By the third attempt, Rog was beginning to catch on.

He leaned in again, slowly, as if giving you time to prepare for the kiss. But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you moved away, this time bending down to tie your already perfectly tied shoe. When you glanced up, Rog’s expression was a mixture of confusion and the slightest hint of a pout.

“Is there something more interesting than me?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with mock seriousness. He wasn’t one to get easily flustered, but there was a glint of playful challenge in his eyes.

You stood up, shrugging nonchalantly. “What you’re talking about?" you innocently pouted, biting back a grin as you avoided his gaze once more.

Rog huffed softly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his pout becoming more pronounced. “You’re avoiding me,” he accused, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

You laughed lightly, pretending to be offended. “Me?! Avoid you? Never!”

He stepped closer, towering over you, and leaned in again, this time with a determined look. “Let’s try this one more time then,” he said, his voice a low rumble. But as he closed the distance, you quickly turned your head, causing him to kiss the air. Rog groaned, throwing his hands up in playful defeat.

“Alright, I surrender,” he grumbled, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He sat down on a nearby bench, looking up at you with the most exaggerated, adorable pout you’d ever seen.

Your heart melted at the sight of this usually stoic warrior looking so adorably disgruntled. Finally, deciding you’d teased him enough, you walked over and sat beside him, gently taking his face in your hands. “Okay, okay, no more teasing,” you said softly before leaning in and kissing him tenderly.

Rog let out a soft sigh of contentment, his hands coming up to rest on your waist as he deepened the kiss, savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, he smiled at you, all traces of his pout gone.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re so charming,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

˚₊‧꒰ა Thingol ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You had been seated beside Thingol, engrossed in a discussion about the latest festival preparations. His silver hair shimmered in the golden light, and his deep eyes were fixed on you with an affectionate gleam. With a gentle smile, Thingol leaned in, clearly intent on stealing a kiss.

A soft huff of frustration escaped him as he straightened up, his usually regal demeanour slipping as he pouted, just a little. You bit back a smile, enjoying how this mighty King of the Sindar, tall and majestic, could look so endearing when denied something as simple as a kiss.

“Have I done something, beloved?” he asked, his deep voice laced with playful suspicion. There was a twinkle of mischief in your eyes, but you shook your head innocently.

“I don’t know. Did you do something wrong?” you replied, keeping the twinkling of mischief brilliant in your eyes as you glanced up at him.

Thingol narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced, but his pout deepened when you didn’t immediately lean in to kiss him back. He was starting to look more like an annoyed child than a dignified king, and it was impossible not to find it utterly charming.

He tried once more, this time determined to catch you off guard. He leaned in quickly, but you dodged him again, your laughter bubbling up at his exasperated sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the sulking ruler who wasn’t getting his way. A little bit again, he stomped his feet.

With a soft smile, as you suppressed your laughter, you leaned closer to him, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Immediately, Thingol’s pout vanished, replaced by a pleased, almost smug expression as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“Now you’re the one who’s out here doing wrong things. You’re being cruel,” he murmured, his voice tinged with playful reproach. His eyes, however, betrayed the fondness he held for you, even as you continued to tease him.

Falling into a wheeze, you tossed your head backwards at his mini tantrum. “You look as though you’re about to cry about it?”

“What if I did?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he whispered against your lips, but the affection in his voice was undeniable. You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest as he finally got the kiss he had been so eagerly seeking.

Masterlist

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[rubra-wav]

YES YAY YAY YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN

There was a post a while a back you did where it was a toriel like reader and you mentioned Lucifer becoming your ‘adopted husband’.

PLEASE WRITE ONE ABOUT THAT - aGOUNG FROM PLATONIC TO ROMANTIC WOULD BE AMAZING (or platonic is just fine but I WOULD LOVE ANY VERSION OF THIS SM)

Fem reader I’d love but also I don’t mind if it’s gn reader just. THE CONCEPT OF HIM BECOMING ADOPTED HUSBAND FO SOMEONE SUPER CARETAKING OR LIKE TORIEL IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA

Lucifer x reader - 'Adopted husband'

<< [ Part 1 ]

A/N Plsssss I'm so happy you were so excited for this to be written anon hsjsjdjsj

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, platonic to romantic, hurt/comfort - fluff ensues after depressing stuff, mutually awkward confession, suggestive type territory at one point

- You handle his daughter behind the counter of the kitchen with such care as you put the finishing touches on the baked goods you are bringing out, all the while animatedly talking about things he doesn't know of or understand.

- You, someone who is not even her parent, is acting all so maternal and close to his daughter.

- The gaping hole in his heart aches at the sight.

- He's filled with jealousy and despair that he allowed his daughter to drift so far away from him that she'd had the time to attach to someone else to fill what assuredly existed to Charlie about him and her mother as well.

- But he can't even bring himself to be angry at you.

- You greet him kindly and oh-so warmly. Unlike Alastor, it's clear that you truly care for his daughter like a parent. There doesn't seem to be a bad intentioned bone in your body about his daughter's attachment to you.

- The whole exchange he feels all too distant. Feels like he's just intruding on you and Charlie - an outsider to his own daughter.

- He says goodbye after a cordial afternoon tea, but as he goes to leave he finds himself stopped by you.

- He's snapped out of his depressing reverie as you looked him in the eyes very seriously, hand gently holding his arm.

- "I want to say, I'm not trying to steal her away from you," you preface before your brow furrows. "From what she's told me, you weren't okay either after Lilith left. You weren't okay for a while."

- Lucifer opens his mouth to speak as a conflicting mixture of embarrassment and feeling truly seen for the first time in thousands of years well up in him, but he stops and goes bright red as you pull him into a tight hug.

- His heart goes crazy in his chest, and he fights but can't stop the way tears well up in his eyes. He crumples against you and rests his head on your shoulder.

- Thank God it was a less popular hallway to travel down where you two had some privacy because crying against the stranger who had become a caretaker to his daughter would be a lot even for him.

- After a couple of seconds, you pull back much to his disappointment and tell him with a sympathetic but also stern expression that you wanted him to play more of a real role in Charlie's life alongside you, and that you'd be willing to help him through what he was dealing with in the process.

- And well, he of course agreed.

- It really did not take long at all for him to fall in love with you. It wasn't a slow process.

- He watched how you bridged the gap between him and Charlie, caring for her like Lilith should have and also caring for him like Lilith should have and was stumbling head over heels almost instantly.

- In the days spent with you, he basked in your platonic care of him, gentle encouragement, validation, and helping him take care of himself better where he'd ignored it.

- In the nights, though, he stayed up at night sleeplessly, heart longing desperately for more with you. Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you, what it would be like to cuddle up to you with no sense of it just being in a friendly way, and above all; if you felt the same way.

- He had it bad, and he was terrified.

- His past history of love didn't exactly end well. He fell head first hard, and then they turned out bad in the end. Left him all alone and beaten down.

- This of course changed, however.

- You had proposed a picnic with him and Charlie in a place that was relatively untouched by hell's disgusting burning flesh stench and pollution in the middle of a field.

- The sun had shone brightly on you as you sat on a red checkered rug, not too hot but not cold either.

- At one point, Charlie ran after a group of butterflies with patterns she had never seen before.

- You two were left alone to leisurely munch on buttery biscuits as playful banter was exchanged.

- You laced your fingers together in your lap as you smiled softly at him. Lucifer animatedly discussed something he was trying to make to help demons become more redeemable to push them towards the hotel.

- You normally would just have listened, nodding along, but something slipped out impulsively instead. "You're so cute."

- Lucifer choked on his words, already rosy cheeks darkening further. "I-" Lucifer stuttered.

- He watched you fumble over your words, mutually embarrassed and shocked at what you had blurted out. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-"

- "I think you are too!" Lucifer exclaimed.

- You felt yourself somewhat awkwardly go quiet. You'd come to admire him as he had you, but you didn't wish to push further just in case it really was just him wanting someone like a spouse.

- "I like you a lot (name). And I uh- I have for a long time. I want you to be closer to you-" Lucifer fumbled over his words, adrenaline making his brain stupid.

- "Would you marry me?" He choked awkwardly, panicking.

- You snickered in disbelief, putting a hand over your mouth to keep from openly laughing.

- "Wait, no- that's not - would you be my actual spouse- wait, uh, that's not right either-" Lucifer was just getting more and more flustered, various iterations of marriage requests tumbling from his mouth like word vomit as he grew more embarrassed.

- It came to an abrupt end, however, as you pressed your lips to his gently, closing the space between you.

- Lucifer's hands flew up to your shoulders as if to tether himself as his mind went fully blank as your lips softly moved against his, prompting his heart rate to absolutely sky-rocket.

- You slowly pulled back from him, noticing that he wasn't reciprocating at all and feared you'd made an error in kissing him.

- Your instinct to apologise was stopped short however, as you noticed he had the most pathetic, lovesick expression on his face possible.

- "Please." He whispered, eyes half lidded and red eyes blown out massively.

- You didn't need a second longer to fulfil that request as you pressed your lips against his with a soft giggle, tumbling backwards onto the picnic rug as his arms wrapped around your shoulders to squeeze you closer to him.

- The kiss was slow and deeply passionate despite how gentle it was.

- Lucifer sighed into your mouth as he attempted to deepen the kiss, tongue running over your bottom lip.

- You didn't reciprocate, however, as you watched Charlie come back from the corner of your eye, looking at you two with absolute beaming glee.

- Your hand moved to grip his arm slightly to try to alert him to stop trying to take it further, but that proved the wrong move as he gasped slightly and his wings quickly unfurled from his back.

- You pushed him off before he could misread your body language anymore, him looking somewhat disappointed, but then let out a shocked "Oh!" As he quickly scrambled up off of you at the sight of his gawking daughter watching.

- You looked at him with an arched brow, somewhat amused at his sudden dilemma.

- Thankfully, Charlie didn't pick up on where the exchange was going for her father.

- "Finally! I've been waiting for so long!" She cried happily, clapping her hands together.

- Lucifer awkwardly recovered, face practically burning in embarrassment as he fought to compose him and bring his wings back into his back with a cough.

- Charlie excitedly exclaimed about how long she'd been waiting for the two of you to finally become not just friends as the both of you went to start packing up the picnic stuff while barely making eye contact outside of stealing shy glances at one-another.

- It was very evident that both of you felt the same about each other, and it really was hard to deny the perfection a relationship would be with Lucifer and yourself.

- You really were like a missing parent to his daughter, and you were like a missing lover to Lucifer - yet so much more than just filling up the place Lilith left.

- You weren't a replacement. You were the one. He was sure of it this time.

- And yeah, sometime down the line, he would marry you.

I was sweating trying not to make Undertale references throughout this (I had to stop myself from pulling a 'it filled him with determination' so bad lmfao)

[circeyoru]

The Black Leash = Requested

[Alastor x High-ranked Hellborn Contractor!Reader]

The Request

When you went on your duties as one of the rare high ranking hellborns, Alastor saw this as his chance to leave your side and look for somewhere to be safe. Where better than the hotel the foolish Princess of Hell was promoting. It was perfect

Until you caught wind of his location

You had Alastor for 7 years, no one in Hell knew what happened to him. That was false. No one in the Pride ring knew where he was and what he was doing because he wasn’t in Pride ring. You as a Hellborn have the privilege to travel between rings. Alastor took your deal and now his soul was yours, so you could bring him away from Pride

Now your part of the deal was to give him souls, and you did when you brought him to the other rings. But he never said how you give him souls. He was on your leash, he could only have souls when you have no need for them, he took what you didn’t want. He acted like your bodyguard and executioner to the demons that disrespected you

So it caused you quite the disappointment when he went back to his home ring and to the side of the Princess just to avoid you. He should have said he wanted a break, you’d give him! You nearly laughed your head off when you heard where Alastor went, oh, it was his bad luck

No questions asked, you arrived in front of the hotel and prepared yourself before making your presence known to its residence and staff

“A good day to you, Your Highness.” You greeted with a bow of your head to show respect. However powerful and feared you may be, the sunshine and rainbows delusional demon was still the Princess of Hell and the King of Hell, Lucifer’s beloved daughter

You were immediately brought into a bone-crushing hug and squeals of excitement. Charlie chanted your name with glee as she spin you around, only stopping when her girlfriend came over to calm the princess down

Charlie immediately introduced you to Vaggie, claiming with pride that this little demon was the love of her life. You congratulated her and aggressively threatened suggested that if Vaggie was to break dear Charlie’s heart, you’d be hunting her down throughout the rings of Hell. Charlie quickly explained that you were an old friend of her father’s and you have been around when Charlie grew up so you were like family

The sweet girl was honestly Alastor’s worst ally because the second demon she introduced to you was none other than the Radio Demon. Your smile grew as you said Alastor’s name when Charlie was about to. Spotting the nervousness of the demon dressed in red

“You can say this fellow has other jobs before joining your hotel, Princess.” You spoke, momentarily taking your eyes off of Alastor to give him some air, less he faints from shock

When Charlie was about to introduce you to the rest of her newly made friends, Alastor was quick to interjet, claiming that it hardly was important. You glared over to him, making him shut his mouth as you dared him to interrupt Charlie again. Where, oh, where was his manners?

Seeing the tension, Charlie opted to show you around but you declined, saying she was needed elsewhere more important than to show an old acquaintance like you around. You made sure Alastor heard it loud and clear. Alastor stepped up to ‘show you around’ as the host and the two of you disappeared deeper into the hotel

“Quite the lovely place, the Princess built.” You admired the decor, leisurely walking around and taking your time with each step you took. At a peculiar hallway, you saw the past with smokey figures and heard an interesting conversation that involved your deer. You grinned at the freedom Alastor seemed to be taking advantage of

“You are close with the royalties?” Alastor spoke more as a question of confirmation than a statement. Him obediently following behind you, just as a dog on a leash should

“Yeah.” You gave him a lazy smile. “You’re aware I have connections, but you didn’t seem to think I would have closer connections with the royal family. Why I wonder. But it’s okay. I don’t mind. It made it all easier to find out where you are and what you are doing.”

Alastor’s smile tightened. He really thought he found his way out when he became a valued demon to Charlie why helping out at the hotel with all of his present abilities. Trivial as it may be, it slowly made Charlie and the rest of them more reliant on him. If he were to disappear, he’d be missed in some way that could be beneficial to him

“Helping out for entertainment, huh. A unique answer but not from you.” You looked over over to Alastor who seemed to be deep in thought. You cooed as you comforted him for his failed escape plan, you reminded him of your abilities of visions capable of seeing the past and future. You were like an oracle. You saw everything that Alastor did before your arrival

Transparent chains turned black as they formed around Alastor’s neck, pulling him to the ground and made him on his hands and knees. You relished the look of restraint on his face and the way those cute ears of his pinned back

“Since you like to help out in this hotel, why not go all out. You are to protect this hotel and its residence with everything you can.” Your open palm appeared a red and green soul, it was like an energy ball but there was a tail on top of it. “Should this hotel or dare I say the Princess fall, the same will happen to your precious soul.” You grinned, “Is the order heard?”

Alastor bite down his pride, bowing his head to you as he acknowledged it, “Yes. Crystal clear. My Liege.”

The Radio Demon nearly had his heart ripped out when Mimzy returned to the hotel once more, behind her was some demons she pissed off. She couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer can she? What’s more it was an Overlord that she meddled with. Alastor had wanted to ignore it, since if he didn’t know, even you wouldn’t judge it on him, but he couldn’t lie, there was no room for it with your powers

Not to mention you were right by him, it was just one of your spontaneous visits to the hotel for Charlie and him. He bowed his head like clockwork and asked for you to let him use a bit for power for this ordeal. You waved your hand and allowed it

Oh, and he did not disappoint. Not only did he leave the Overlord in a wrecked stated, but he also devoured Mimzy to proved that he was loyal to the hotel’s safety. You had seen what Mimzy did before and was aggressive towards any mention of it, Husk being no help when he kept telling you all the things Mimzy did and the reputation she had

Perhaps Alastor allowed it before because he was yet to be under your control, but not anymore would you allow Alastor to use his powers for something so trivial. No, Alastor’s powers were much more useful elsewhere

You purposefully disappeared when Alastor was near death with his battle against the first man, Adam. You wanted to give him a taste of his medicine. To see that weaken state of Alastor calling out for you, knowing that you were watching and listening. It was enough for you to heal him up good as new

“I hope you learnt your lesson, your punishment for disappearing from my sight was long overdue. My deer.”

As always, Alastor bowed his head, his eyes closing from your faint and soft brushes through his hair, “I apologize, My Liege.”

Note: Hope you guys like this, I'm not satisafied with it, but it is what it is. (╯︿╰；)

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

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[tinybeetiny]

Perfect: J.Y

YunhoXReader

Fluff

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Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Everything was coming together, it had to, Yunho spent 2 weeks planning this date so it had to go perfectly. Each and every detail was carefully picked from the blanket to what food he packed. He didn’t tell you what he had planned wanting to see your expression when you saw the scene. He found a gorgeous clearing filled with beautiful daisy’s in full bloom, he picked a time when the sun shone bright but not too bright where it hurt your eyes, he forced Wooyoung to make food that he KNEW you would love. Everything had to be perfect.

As soon as you arrived to the clearing all his hard work paid off. Seeing the look on your face made everything worth it “oh Yunho! It’s amazing! You didn’t have to all this” you gushed as he guided you to blanket “I wanted to make sure our first date was everything you could ever imagine” he smiled as you both sat down. The warm of the sun could not compare to feeling Yunho was making you feel, no one had ever gone to the lengths he had and you couldn’t help admire him in the golden sunlight. Everything was exquisite from the food to the scenery and you didn’t want the date to end.

Yunho was over the moon that everything was going according to plan that is until he felt a raindrop fall on his forehead. His eyebrows furrowed hoping it was just one. His disappointment grew as more raindrops fell and he scrambled to gather everything into the basked, taking your hand and rushing back to the car. The rain fell heavier with each step you took until you were both drenched to the bone. You stopped Yunho halfway to the car “come on Sunshine, we’re gonna get sick” he said confused as to why you stoped.

You said nothing as you stepped up to him and pressed your lips to his. His eyes widened in surprise not registering the warm feeling of your lips. You pulled away a little embarrassed that he didn’t kiss you back that is until you hear the sound of the basket hitting the floor and in an instant his hands grab your face before slamming his lips against yours. He didn’t care that he was soaked, he didn’t care that he was most likely going to be sick tomorrow, all he cared about was that he was here, in the rain, kissing you.

The next morning you texted him a picture of you bedridden with a nose red from sneezing. Even though you both were very sick you didn’t regret a thing. The date was perfect.

[crows-home]

A little fic about Vince the day before things went to hell. Warnings for mentions of cannibalism, murder, blood.

It will go like this:

[Un]

“What’s this?” Rody will ask, surprised as he looks down at the plate you present him with. You will keep him late, after all the chefs have left for the day. Just the both of you, so you can savor the reaction, all to yourself.

“It’s-” for you. It’s a gift. It’s that ex-girlfriend you can’t shut up about, but who will now nourish you in ways you could never return. It’s all your love, neatly presented. It’s my heart, bared before you. It’s yours. Take it.

“-leftovers.” you will say instead.

[Also on Ao3]

[Deux]

Rody will take the plate, equal parts confused and curious. Tilt his head to the side and hum, like some mutt. He’ll eat it here, in the restaurant, he won’t take it home like he’s been doing all week. You won’t give him the choice.

He’s so stupid- too uncultured to comment on the presentation, but that’s not what you will focus on. 

The fork will sink into the meat, into its pre-cut slices, nicely. You will note the way his lips wrap around the utensil, how his eyes will widen as the flavor seeps in. Pupils will dilate and his breath will catch, so clear and damning in the echoing kitchen. You’ll note the way his throat bobs around the swallow, and the way he will grin.

[Trois]

“Vince!” Rody will look at you. His eyes will shine, that warm honey golden brown that haunts your dreams. His gaze is admiring, reverent. “This is amazing!”

You won’t be able to stop the way your heart will thump in your chest, so loud you will wonder if he can hear it. You’ve never been able to so far. Maybe it will be more. Maybe it will beat so fast it’ll leave you feeling winded. How will you cope? You should prepare for that.

“I know.” you will respond, airily, after taking a deep breath.

He’ll dig in, clean his plate with a gusto, the way no one has ever done before. It will disgust you, the way he shoves food in his mouth. Uncultured pig. But beneath the disgust will be a bone deep satisfaction that you’ve never felt before, so you can’t imagine it now.

[Quatre]

While he eats, Rody will look up at you, every emotion clear as day on his face. Like it always is. He’ll be so clearly impressed and grateful and yes, happy. You will have made him happy.

And he would say:

“Whatever you did this time, it really worked. It’s so rich and the spices are blended so well! So moist and the baste is-”

Ah. No, not that. Rody’s not- he hasn’t got a sophisticated palate to have those opinions. He’d probably chew through half a boot without noticing anything wrong.

Maybe…

“They were so wrong about you,” he will look you in the eye. Trusting, honest, raw. Your mouth waters. “Those articles. The critics. You’ve always had it in you. This is just- it’s so good, Vince! I can taste the heart that went into this.”

Yes.

[Cinq]

He’ll ask if there are any more leftovers, desperate and hungry for more. You’ll say no, that’s all you had, just to delight in the disappointment that washes over him. Of course he will- it’s the best thing he’s ever had. He’ll be ruined, after this. He won’t be able to get the taste out of his mouth let alone settle for anything other than your cooking.

Now you know. Now you are able to- to touch people, like this. Touch him like this, in a way you will never experience. That’s a power that you’ll never give up.

So you will tell him no, sorry, that’s all that was left.

“What’s your favorite food, Rody?”

“Hm?”

I’ll make it for you next. There’s plenty of meat left.

“You never told me.”

“Still don’t have one…” He rubs his chin and looks up. Where will the two of you be then? Still in the kitchen? Or will you have this conversation outside, after the dishes are left and as you shut and lock the door behind you? Every thought about her will be so far from his mind as you both leave her- what’s left of her- in the freezer.

“Although,” he’ll smile at you, cheeks flushed and oh so happy. So alive. “I guess tonight my favorite is- whatever you make!”

--

“Shit!”

The knife slips out of Vincent’s hand and clinks against the tile floor.

He blinks back to himself, away from the daydream, and scowls. His breathing is labored and his face is flushed.

“Always distracting me, even when he’s not around…”

He bends down with a sigh and picks up the knife. He takes extra care to step around the puddles of blood to make it to the sink and rinse it off. Too much blood, so much more than he’s used to, is making things more slippery than he’s used to, but the general process is the same. Second nature for him.

It doesn’t disgust him- what he’s done. Who he’s done it to. Her eyes weren’t the familiar brown he ached for. Her hair was too light, too neat, not the wild, fiery ginger mess that’s been dashing around his dining room. Barely presentable for his job but- it’s soft. Vincent knows it’s soft. His hand remembers the way it felt underneath his skin when he dried Rody off.

Vincent shivers again, and realizes the tap water is still running.

Shutting it off, he makes his way back to the counter. There’s still much to prepare before the day begins.

—

The countdown doesn’t even begin; Rody just had to go snooping where he doesn’t belong. 

Now there’s blood, his blood, that fills your mouth. His cartilage, soft and squishy between your teeth. You swallow it down. A piece of him, inside you.

Rody staggers and screams, his expression growing more horrified, pained, disgusted by the second. His eyes go buggy and he brings his left hand up to his wound, he’s crying. No. No, no, no, no-

You think about his smile. His kind, soft, moronic, naive eyes were supposed to be fixed on you, were supposed to find you. It wasn’t supposed to be this way-

He’ll never love you now.

It’s- it’s his fault. All of this. Here you were, trying to do something nice, and he spits it back in your face. It’s not like you were ever going to tell him what [who] he was eating. He could have lived in blissful ignorance. Happy, content, with you-. He would have forgotten about her eventually.

He calls you insane, and he might be right, but he doesn’t have to be so dramatic about it.

Ugh- now he’s accusing you of being a fucking cannibal, Jesus Christ. Imbecile. Your eye almost twitches in annoyance. Of course he’d jump to that conclusion, it’s not like he uses his brain to think for more than two seconds. You ought to take the other ear, for that. Or a finger. A hand.

…An arm. A leg. Your eyes trace his body, slowly.

Did- did his ear taste like anything, going down? You can’t remember. It- maybe it did. Maybe what you need is something meatier.

The girl never would have tasted like anything to you and in hindsight, of course she wouldn’t have. Maybe not even to Rody either. You never loved her, and she never loved you. Rody, though… Rody would be made with all your love. That’s what people talk about, right? That’s what you needed all along.

He comes to the realization at the same time you do. Your eyes meet. Honey brown. Alive, alive, raw.

He’s what you needed all along.