#But surely he can cook decent enough. SURELY

[thesadisticsiren]

I don't think Shen Yuan is necessarily a bad cook. He's evidently a fast learner based on *waves hand at novel* so he could learn. But he doesn't. There are factors to consider:

1. Shen Yuan, from the modern day, can probably get by decently in a regular, modern kitchen. In the xianxia equivalent, however he would struggle, which is both a bad look for him as a secret transmigrator AND as a Peerless peaklord. He can't be seen experimenting in the kitchens! Thats OOC! For at minimum a few years, the Qingjing kitchens are puzzles for him.

2. He was rich. Rich enough to consider himself rich, and to idle about with no need to work if he doesn't want to. If he wanted to order in for basically every meal, his wallet sure wasn't stopping him. Doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't, but it's less incentive to get better than a beginner.

3. Binghe LOVES to cook for his shizun. It's how he shows his love, and he's GOOD at it. He made that man's corpse his favorite dish every day for 5 years so that when he woke up he could enjoy it. Why would Shen Qingqiu not allow binghe to cook to his hearts content?

But I could see him enjoying learning to cook! Especially if it's learning via watching Binghe. Especially if it's FOR Binghe.

Binghe cooks for those he loves. Can you imagine the look on his face if his Shizun and husband made him something? Just for him?

[exhausted-archivist]

I think Davrin can cook and I think his gruel comment is a LIE. Not to mention canonically, wardens can make hand pies for their travels. Which is just cute and fun. Orlesian Wardens taught them how to make it with puff pastries.

So I think Davrin is a decent cook for sure. He travels enough he can make camp food but also he’s a hunter so he likely has basic foraging knowledge and can make pretty easy and simple meals at a camp fire. Plus the famous Grey Warden hand pockets.

But he lied about the state of Weisshaupt’s food situation and this is my hill lol Only serves gruel, pfff. While gruel is not as bad as media portrays it (and pretty nutritious as it’s used for the infirm/sick), the Wardens eat pretty well due to their status in the Anderfels and being so close to the Tevinter boarder. The kitchens at Weisshaupt had squash, potatoes, tomatoes, oranges - a variety of things. Davrin feels like the type to joke about that and be hyperbolic.

davrin nation do you think he can cook?

I'm of the belief that he can do it decently enough, he's been on his own and travels a lot. he's met a lot of people and learned from them (him knowing dwarven) so he's definitely picked up cooking methods from different cultures

I believe he mentions wardens usually eat gruel so I imagine he gets sick of it so he learns to make stuff that Isn't That

he's not a masterchef or anything but he probably makes really nice comfort food

[artkaninchenbau]

People keep on asking for more Baby Robin and Papadile so here is more Baby Robin and Papadile. Now never ask anything from me ever again

[lesbiansanemi]

I will say though one thing I’ll never see eye to eye on with the vast majority of people who write Kyojuro is his cooking abilities. I swear in like every fic involving him if cooking is brought up it’s treated like he is the most abysmal cook alive and will burn water. And like, here’s the thing. Do I think Kyojuro is a phenomenal cook? No. But I do think he is a very solid okay cook and I’ll never go along with acting like he can’t cook for shit. Because the thing is, who was the one taking care of Senjuro when they were kids after Ruka died? Mostly him. You could make an argument for some type of housekeeper for the Rengokus I suppose but even still, I know kyo had to cook for Senjuro sometimes, so he learned (taught himself) enough to make food that a young child would actually eat because the thing about young children is they will NOT eat gross food, even one as well behaved as Senjuro. So like. Sorry. I think he can be a decent enough cook when it comes down to it. He knows how to make good struggle meals that are quick and easy and enjoyable for seven year olds

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Mobster

Chicago - 1931 The Height of Prohibition The mafia is earning top dollar smuggling alcohol into the country. And one mobster has his eye on you.

Yandere! Mobster who's a made man, who drives a nice car even after the stock market crash forced most people to sell theirs.

Yandere! Mobster who wears a tailored suit and fedora, his black hair swept back. Who everyone in the neighbourhood says is a good guy, a decent man, even if he does work for the don.

Yandere! Mobster who pulls up next to you when you're walking home from work. It's late and clouds are scudding across the moon.

Yandere! Mobster who leans out his window and offers to drive you home. Who says these streets ain't safe for a pretty girl like you.

Yandere! Mobster who's known you since you were children. Two kids from immigrant families, playing together in the tiny bits of open space your apartments could offer.

Yandere! Mobster who keeps looking at you and marvelling at how grown up you both are. Where did that scruffy little girl go? And when did you get so pretty?

Yandere! Mobster who spends the whole drive chatting about old times. Who makes you laugh at his stories about running from the landlady and stashing his school books behind the canteen.

Yandere! Mobster who leans over you and pulls the door closed when you move to get out. Who looks you dead in the eye when he asks if you're having trouble with your rent.

The mob is a big part of the community afterall, and he knows just about everything.

You drop your eyes, embarrassed. Your brothers have their own families to care for, you say. Things are hard but if you pick up a few more shifts at the factory, you might manage it.

Yandere! Mobster who sighs and digs in his suit pocket. Who pulls out a stack of cash and counts it right in front you.

Yandere! Mobster who offers you enough for two months of rent. A small fortune to someone from your part of town.

You shake your head, horrified. You can't afford the interest, you tell him.

Yandere! Mobster who scoffs and asks if you really think he's offering a loan when you've known each other for years? It's a gift, to keep your mama out of the cold.

Yandere! Mobster who smiles at the hesitant way you accept the money. You're too proud to ever ask for help and he knows it. Just like when you were kids.

Yandere! Mobster who gets out and opens the car door for you like a gentleman, even if he knows the whole apartment building will talk about it.

Yandere! Mobster who grins that charming, good guy smile even though he has a gun holstered under his jacket and a shovel in the trunk. Who says he'll consider things even if you cook him dinner some time.

Yandere! Mobster who visits your ma while you're at work. Who tells her he's interested in you and wants her blessing. And your ma is all too happy to give it. He's such a good boy, she says, and she knows he's always had a soft spot for you.

Yandere! Mobster who insists on driving you home after work everyday. Even when you blush and complain that he's going out of his way.

Yandere! Mobster who gratefully accepts the gifts you offer him. Fresh baked bread, jars of your mama's famous marinara sauce, homecooked meals... Who eats so much better when you take care of him.

Yandere! Mobster who eventually runs out of luck and straight into trouble. What was supposed to be a routine whiskey delivery turns out to be a sting operation.

Yandere! Mobster who sees his partner get a hole blasted right through him and almost die. Who fires at the cops until his tommy gun is red hot and smoking. Who ends up with so much blood on his hands he ain't sure it will ever wash off.

Yandere! Mobster who finds himself at your door afterwards, his coat drenched by the rain.

Yandere! Mobster who doesn't resist when you pull him inside and strip away his jacket and shirt. There's blood on your hands after you hang up his coat, and you pretend not to notice it.

Yandere! Mobster who can see your curiosity fighting against your sense. In the end, you don't ask him a single question about it.

Yandere! Mobster who sinks gratefully into the bath you draw for him. And who falls asleep the second his head hits your pillow.

Yandere! Mobster who's gone by morning. His bloodstained coat gone with him.

Yandere! Mobster who asks around about you and finds out you've got a whole score of fellas vying for your hand.

Yandere! Mobster who let's it be known that he's interested in you and watches with satisfaction as all your potential suitors drop away.

Except for one. He just spits and says you're a grown woman and can choose your own man.

Yandere! Mobster and his buddies pick the guy up after a late shift. Tie his hands behind his back and gag him before they toss him in the trunk.

Yandere! Mobster who beats the shit out of him. Who breaks his nose with a knuckle duster and his ribs with a crowbar. Who grabs his hair with bloody fingers and hisses that you're off limits.

Yandere! Mobster whose buddies lounge against the warehouse wall and smoke, never bothering to question what a simple dock worker did to deserve such a brutal beating.

Yandere! Mobster who sniffs your hair when you hug him. He's like a dog - always making sure other men haven't left their scent on you.

Yandere! Mobster who let's his hands wander when he takes you out dancing. Who kisses you goodnight and let's his lips brush your neck before he pulls away.

Yandere! Mobster who goes home and jerks off to you, his teeth bared and head bent forward. Who snarls at you to take it, take it like a good girl.

Yandere! Mobster who tells his don about you - how pretty you are, how clever, how discreet. The man leans back in his chair and pulls on his cigar.

She'll never make a liar of you. You should marry her just for that.

Yandere! Mobster who shows up at your door a week later, an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket.

Be my girl. And I promise I'll take care of you.

You think about the night he came to you covered in blood and not speaking a word. You think about your friend from the docks and the way he dissappeared. You think about the way people look away when you're with him in public.

You say yes, as though you have a choice.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

I love your work, could you please write a viktor x reader who takes care of him. like makes sure he eats, they make baked goods for him or make him go to bed in time. I think it would be cute

Heyo! Sure I can, even if it’s been a while since I wrote for Viktor (or anything) lmao

Caretaker!Reader

Viktor takes well enough care of himself, to his own standards

So we all know he can use a little more help and a little helping hand

I think Viktor is pretty independent so it takes a lot out of him to even be able to do this kind of intimate thing with you

If he does, it takes a lot of vulnerability as you would see him at his lowest

There have been times where he probably refused and would try and get out of any situation where you found out he needed help and to be taken care of

He doesn’t want to bother you or anything when he deems it able to be done by himself

It takes a while for him to be comfortable enough with you and your relationship to let himself be vulnerable in that way

As he has never done this kind of thing with anyone else before

But once it happens, trust me, you’re golden

I think he does like sweets and baked goods, so to have you bring him any on a whim and not because you have to, but because you care warms his heart absolutely

He often forgets to take care of himself and his basic needs, like eating and stuff like that for his experiments and research

So he relies on you for that a little bit once he knows you will always be there for him

He loves when you cook or bake for him and knowing it’s so he knows he’s taken care of makes each bite better than the last

At first when you attempted to get him on some sort of decent sleep schedule, he resisted

He went to bed whenever, or whenever his research was done or he passed out and often it was in the lab or at his desk or in the middle of his studying at the table

SOO you would often have to bring him to bed yourself

Once you wore him down enough, he acted like you won

You thought you did until you found out he was just waiting till you fell asleep and slipped out off bed, and slipped back in just before you woke up and pretended to wake up beside you

You had to scold him probably, or it was some sort of argument

He realized you just wanted him to be healthy, and for him to be well rested

Reluctantly, he began going to sleep with you and waking up beside you in the mornings

He found he actually did like this habit because sleeping beside you was surprisingly comforting

He loved hearing your breathing pattern as you fell asleep, and it helped him fall asleep to hear and feel your heart beating as you both snuggled to sleep

And he loved watching you wake up slowly in the mornings

It was all worth it

One thing he was very stubborn about you not doing was taking care of his leg I think

Probably because he feels as his sort of disability is a bother enough, he doesn’t want you to be burdened with it

He probably thinks that if you see that part of him, you’ll think he’s not worth it and leave

And that’s not the case

He only finds out on a particularly harsh day when it hurt so bad, and it was so sore all he could do was want to fall asleep and alleviate the pain by any means

You maybe kissed his leg, maybe rubbed out the pain, maybe helped him in any way

But as you did it, he loved the feeling and could only watch you do so and the warm feeling in his chest never left

So, on the hard days, he would drop subtle hints that he wanted to be taken care of

Like subtly saying “oh, it just hurts, I have no clue how to fix it…” and wait for you to offer to rub it

I feel he likes being babied a little bit, but not to much

He doesn’t like being treated as glass or like he is incompetent

But he does love being taken care of by you

Be it food, tending to him or showering or making sure he is fed and clean

He loves showering with you

He loves having you wash his hair and the feelings of your hand in it or feeling you lather the soap on him while he just gets to relax and close his eyes and know your there

And that he’s able to soak in all the love

Obviously he returns it all in his own way but

It’s just all the love you pour in

[on-the-clear-blue]

Original idea coming from @the-witchhunter and then added on to by many others.

Dead Man's Diner

---

Danny was tired okay? It may very well be his own damn fault but he can't keep waking up during daylight hours, while yes, he can fully be up and sitting at a desk, the likelihood of him waking up getting shouted at by his boss for sleeping on the job was astounding.

So at 19 years old, freshly jobless, Danny said Fuck it and moved away from Amity Park, Valarie was more than willing to handle the few ghosts that still came through the portal since he became the King.

You might be wondering, why isn't Danny filthy rich and rolling in it as the ghost king? Two words, the Observants.

Those flouting eye bastards had moved in and said that unless he was the king full time, he was unable to access the vaults of the Infinite Realms.

So once again, 19, freshly jobless and wanting to get out of Gotham? Danny was very lucky to have friends that love him far to much, Sam and Tucker both pitched in to move him out to where they had chosen to do collage.

*Gotham* oh Sam was in love with the place, the architecture, the people, (and maybe a certain green supervillian that was determined to make the city better) and Tucker was obsessing over being in the same city as Wayne Enterprises, trying his best to get into their internship program by his own merit rather than just hacking himself into it.

And Danny? He was loving it for a slightly different reason.

While the death rate was unfortunately high in Gotham, that also meant that the amount of passive ectoplasim generated by the deaths was massive, it was almost as rich as back in Amity Park with the portal into the ghost zone!

(Oh and the many job opportunities but Danny was a little less worried about that.)

---

Letting out a sigh, Danny scrubbed at his eyes as he leaned back into his chair, another job he had to turn down due to it being shady as all get out.

4 hours and he was getting payed 200 bucks? Major criminal vibes from that...

Taking a moment to get himself balanced, Danny leaned back and looked to the clunky laptop that Tucker had given him, it was modified to hell and back, so it still ran quickly, but it sure as he'll wasn't pretty.

Clicking on yet another job listing, Danny paused as he felt a shiver run down his spine, and a blue mist pass through his lips, blinking, he twisted around to look at the spare room of Sam's apartment, Ghosts tend not to get close enough to him to trigger the ghost sense in Gotham...

Seeing nothing, Danny turned back to his laptop only to find a piece of paper stuck to the screen with tape, freezing at first, the dark haired man sighed deeply, peeling it off he held it close as he read it.

[Help wanted at Big C's Dinner! Looking for a night cook that knows their way around a kitchen!]

There was a few more lines that Danny's eyes skimmed over, picking up the location that it was at, it even had a decent pay, but he paid more attention to the scribbled on note at the bottom of it.

[Daniel, head to this place at 12 am tonight. While the Observants said that you may not touch a single coin in your vaults, they side nothing of your properties.]

---

So Danny knows how to handle himself, he has fought many, many people and still came out half alive, but even he felt a little on edge coming down to the railroad tracts in Gotham, because apparently that was were Big C's dinner was at...which he apparently owned? Clockwork works in mysterious ways that Danny was so done trying to figure out.

Stepping up to a bit of abandoned tract, he blinked a few times at the site of Big C's.

It was a decent sized Dinning Car, with a ramp that attached itself to a proper street, it had peeling green paint and dirty white accents with charming rusted steel connecting it to the tracts, the only thing new looking on it was a bit banner stretched across it, stating the name "BIG C'S ALL DAY EVERY DAY BREAKFAST CART! OPEN 24/7!"

The windows were close off by tinted yellow blinds, but he could still see light coming through them. Stepping up the ramp Danny felt the cart under him shudder and something inside of him fluttered, and by the time he was opening the door he could feel the reason why.

The very cart was *alive*, taking a quick breath, Danny could practically taste the energy from it, there was a buzzing undercurrent of excitement that rung through the whole cart.

A little unprepared for his, Danny just smiled warily, "Uhh, hey there? Anyone around?" In response to his words the cart shuddered, the blinds dancing up and down and he could hear the squeel of the wheels.

"O-okay then, um my name is Danny Fenton...Clockwork sent me?" There was another flapingnof the blinds, and the small wooden flap that let people into the back lifted up suddenly before clacking down loudly.

Taking a steadying breath, Danny slipped through the bar and into the back.

It was surprisingly clean and orderly, the stove and fryer looked over than his parents but well maintained, the flat top was perfectly scrubbed and was already heating up.

As Danny looked around, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine, looking around once more, Danny fell into a fighting position as he spotted the figure of a familiar foe

"Lunch Lady? Aren't you a little far from home? What did your order of fist not come in?" The bright rings of light around Danny's waist swirled into life as he went into his ghost form.

He got a thrilling grin from the older apparition, but she only crossed her arms, "While we can tumble later little King, Lord Clockwork sent me personally, said you need a bit of help learning how to cook? And ain't nobody better slinging food than me, dead or alive!"

---

Down in the dripping depths of the cave system deep under Gotham, one Bruce Wayne, still in his Batsuit sat in front of the Bat Computer, eyes glaring at a map of Gotham.

He had been tracking a strange energy pattern that made its way through Gotham, he had first thought it was some sort of layline, but the more that he tracked it the more he realized it was closer to watching a person's walking patterns, sometimes following roads, and sometimes crisscrossing through streets and alleyways.

But tonight that power signal tripled in size, off-putting energy that Bruce hadn't seen it done before, tapping the com on his ear, he spoke clearly "Nightwing, take Red Robin and investigate the coordinates I am sending the both of you, observe it, I just got a massive spike in an energy at that location."

There was silence for a moment before the com crackled and his sons responded "Got it B! Me and RR needed a little time together huh Babybird?"

There was a quiet hum from Tim, before the teen spoke "On route Batman, after this I am heading in, we have a meeting with a suspect in the morning B, Vlad Masters has been poking around Gotham."

[shotmrmiller]

i need simon to be the one neighbor with a generator when the light's been out for days and when you shakily ask him if he can let you at least charge your phone he just drags you into his home and tells you that you can stay if you pull your weight ie. feed him and wash his ripe work clothes.

sure. you don't know how to cook but he eats it like gordon ramsey made it, doesn't even leave crumbs on the table.

you mix colors with whites, dark with light, but luckily for you, all he wears is black. (not like it matters. if you stained a wife beater pink, he'd blame it on his girl mixing her red thready knickers in with his own clothes)

it works, you suppose, but then he tells you that yall are about to have company so make plenty of food. it's 3 others but they all eat like a family of four.

and this is where things take a turn. where he always left you alone before, his hands are on your shoulders. waist. hips. curling around your ankle, thumb digging into your foot beneath the table. the scottish one notices and tells you both to keep it PG. ye're in decent company, he grumbles.

he helps pick up the dishes once everyone's happy and full of whatever you threw in the oven. stands so close he's pining you against the sink, counter digging painfully into your skin.

"they like ya," he says. well yes, you rather noticed when they kept complimenting the science experiment you called dinner. you also noticed that they called you missus. or maybe you misheard. their accents are pretty thick.

after a nightcap, he sends them on their merry way. "the missus is tired. off with ya." so you hadn't misheard.

you aren't sure how one thing led to another. how you'd been aimlessly drying dishes with a rag to having his head between your thighs, tongue dragging between your folds, fingers pressed into you up to the knuckle.

what do you know is that where he bit your neck as you came still aches. he'd been talking filth that would have even a sailor apple cheeked as he used his spit slick thumb to rub your stiff pearl in tight little circles, feeling you felt your peak approaching at a speed that almost frightened you when he sunk his crooked teeth into the junction of your neck. hard.

enough to feel a bit of a stinging tearing of skin.

ouch. you'd ask if this is also a part of pulling your weight but he's doing it for you as he drags you toward his bedroom.

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆! ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: trying to warm up to writing again so I can get out of this slump. Enjoy some smut of Ghibli pretty boy 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Howl Pendragon x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.6k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, NSFW content, magic (so dubcon), masturbation, squirting, overstimulation, whimpery Howl

The basket in the crook of your arm begins to weigh heavily as you wander around the market, browsing the stalls now that you’ve got all the ingredients to make meals for the next few days. You enjoy cooking for your little family in the castle and you know well enough that Howl is too prone to skipping meals unless you sit him down and put one in front of him. 

Sweet fragrances fill your nose as you stand before a stall selling flowers, your gaze roaming the vast array of colours and the prices attached to each arrangement.

“We have a buy one get twenty percent off for these arrangements.” The vendor, a woman just shy of turning middle-aged, pipes up as she gestures to the grandest and most expensive row of floral arrangements. You nod with a silent smile to show you’ve heard. You have no intention of spending that much coin today but you do have a little more left over than what you’d expected when you left home today and something colourful would make for a lovely addition to your living space, you think. There’s something inherently romantic and uplifting about flowers and you deeply enjoy making sure they have a presence in your life. 

With romance on the mind, you smile to yourself as your fingertips reach up to your collar where a golden necklace is clasped around your neck. It’s a chain of metallic flowers that doesn’t stray too far from your throat, each flower bearing a little pink gem in the middle with a white glassy bead between each flower upon the necklace’s chain. It’s a gift that Howl surprised you with this morning, giving no other reason for it than wanting to give you a little something. He’s overly dramatic at times and has more trouble than most with facing his fears but he does truly love you and you can tell he’s always trying to find ways to remind you of that without words. 

Your eyes land on an arrangement of pink tulips, white lilies and lilies of the valley. That’ll look lovely on the main table, you decide. 

“Just this one please.” You point to the particular arrangement that’s caught your eye and have your coin purse on hand from within your basket already. The vendor picks up the bouquet and begins wrapping the flowers to make them easier to carry without the arrangement being disrupted. You set the proper amount of money down on the table and your hand plays with your necklace in the meantime.

And as you accept the flowers, you feel a wave of heat bloom in your cheeks. 

“Thank you.” You smile politely at the exchange and set the flowers atop your basket, heading off to return home. But your breath feels shorter and skin feels warmer. Have you over-exerted yourself today? Surely not, you do shops like this in the day all the time. You had a decent breakfast and enough sleep… So why do your clothes feel so uncomfortable against your skin? Dehydrated, perhaps. 

You find a nearby café and pop inside to buy a snack and some water, hoping to improve your current state. But the other customers and their chatter, their indecisiveness and the way they stand too close to you from behind in the queue is all starting to get on your nerves. You buy your snack and drink and find a little seat in a corner to have them in peace. You find yourself eating quickly to try and amend whatever your body is telling you is wrong and find yourself not taking any time to really appreciate the taste of the sweet little pastry. Your water is similarly finished quickly and without thought. Your mood doesn’t improve and the chair is uncomfortable. You squirm in your seat the whole time, unable to find a comfortable position and regretting having come in here and spent any money at all as it’s done nothing to make you feel better. You want to be alone – no, – you want to be home. Home and in Howl’s arms as he takes your mind away from whatever’s ailing you, maybe even uses a bit of his magic to make you feel better. 

You stand up and pluck up your basket from the seat beside you. And then your eyes widen slightly as you feel a sudden wave of slickness in your panties. You cringe as you try to subtly shift your hips and thighs without anyone noticing, praying that whatever’s just leaked from you won’t seep out of your panties. It’s too early to be your period, you assess as you leave the café and make your way home. Discharge, maybe? It could just be wetness but you’re not aroused. Or are you? The thought makes heat bloom across your cheeks as you turn the corner and step into the street that’ll lead you home. You’re frustrated, keep squirming to push your thighs together and make friction, all you want is to be with Howl… but what could have brought this on? 

You find yourself shiver slightly as a cool breeze caresses your exposed chest, a pleasant feeling washing down your spine at feeling such relief on your flushed skin. Oh… you are horny. The realisation only fills your mind with lewd images of what you might coax your lover to do to sate such a feeling and the intensity of it only grows and grows. You continue to silently pray that you won’t leak through your panties but the material is sticky now and feels as though it’s rubbing against your sensitive slit with each awkward step. 

You bite your bottom lip and wince as your hardened nipples poke against the fabric of your bra and all you want is to feel Howl’s hands squeezing them, his warm mouth wrapped around them. You let out a little huff through your nose as you suppress a soft whine at just how incredible that idea seems right now. You finally arrive home and set the basket down on the table. 

“Hi, Calcifer. Are Howl or Markl in?” You ask as you pick up some firewood to feed him. 

“Welcome back. Markl left not that long ago to make some deliveries and Howl said he should be back soon.” Calcifer replies before gnawing on the chopped log you’ve given him. You’re disappointed at the news that Howl isn’t back yet but nod your head in acknowledgement. 

“Alright. You keep up the good work, you’re doing brilliantly as always.” You offer him a kind smile. A little praise goes a long way with Calcifer and you know Howl doesn’t do it often enough. Calcifer gives his thanks and begins mumbling to himself about how you appreciate him at least. 

Your eyes glance to your full basket that needs to be unpacked but you just frown at it and head upstairs to the bedroom that you share with Howl instead. You’re growing increasingly frustrated and you’re sure the flowers will do just fine without water for a little while longer. 

The moment the door closes behind you, you’re stripping off your clothing. It gets thrown to the floor, the end of the bed, wherever. Your panties have a little puddle of slick upon the seat and a sinewy string of arousal sticks between them and your pussy as you step out of them and lay yourself on the cool silk sheets of the bed. They feel like a balm to your heated skin and you let out a soft mewl at how your nipples stiffen in the air, feeling so sensitive and aching for attention. 

Your mind wanders to memories of long, passionate nights shared with Howl in this bed, how much of an attentive lover he is and how he loves to tease just as much as he himself likes to be teased. One hand slides down past your abdomen as you recall the amount of times he’s reverently lapped between your thighs like you were a fountain of youth and not just a woman. Your other hand pinches at your left nipple and a small moan is muffled behind your bitten lip. Why are you even so worked up? You don’t think you’re at a point in your cycle where your hormones would be affecting you like this. All you can think of is how relieving it is to have your fingers rub sticky circles onto your clit that can never amount to how magical Howl’s tongue can feel there. Your fingers dipping into your weeping hole pale in comparison to the sweet stretch of his cock. All you can think of is him, and what you want him to do to you as you moan softly without anxiety that you’ll be overheard as the door is enchanted to be soundproofed. You yourself feel enchanted, like you’re under some spell of-

Your fingers pause completely and your eyes open, the bubble of your fantasy having burst. 

That bastard. 

You were under a spell. A spell he put upon you this morning with a gentle declaration of love and a kiss to your cheek as he clasped your new gift around your neck this morning. You wipe the wetness from your fingers onto your thighs and sit upright, your body subconsciously spreading your legs wider as you do so. You reach back for the clasp of the necklace and end up tracing your hands around the entire chain of it but there’s no clasp to be found. It’s gone. You huff. What an asshole, casting a spell over you to make you horny while you go out and be a dutiful lover, making sure you all eat for the next few days and he has the audacity to not even be here when you return feeling like a cat in heat. 

Without him here to break the spell by removing the necklace from your throat, there’s little else you can do and your throbbing clit is practically weeping for the return of your fingers. Hoping that you can at least quell the heat in your core, if not satiate it, you lay back with a frustrated huff and resume rubbing at the sensitive little pearl. You’re so wet that you can hear the slick sounds as you touch yourself, your head tipped back against the plush pillow beneath your head. It feels good but it’s not good enough. Howl made this mess and now you firmly believe that he should be the one to clean it up; with his slender fingers, that talented mouth, his pretty co- 

“Well, isn’t this a most welcome sight to return home to?~” A familiar voice teasingly muses from the doorway. 

You’re startled for a moment as you instinctively try to cover yourself up before you take a moment to realise who it is that’s closing the door behind him. 

“You.” You hiss as he grins down at you, clearly proud of his handiwork. “This is your fault!” He cocks his head to the side, green jewels swinging at his ears as his lips curl upwards even more. 

“Oh, you were thinking about me? I’m flattered, sweetheart~” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You huff in reply as he sets a knee on the bed and his eyes drink in the sight of your flushed skin, everything on display for him as you lay beautifully in the middle of your shared bed like a present just waiting to be opened and played with. 

“Ah… You don’t like the magic I put into your gift?” He asks, his tone playful and you don’t know whether you want to smack or kiss that smug grin right off his pretty face. 

“No.” You reply firmly. His deft fingers glide up your thigh and then curl around it to tug it towards him. He lets out an awed sigh at the sight of your wet slit, your slickness dripping down to the sheets. 

“Oh but look~” He croons, “Your sweet pussy just loves it~” He bites his plush bottom lip as though resisting the urge to just dive right into you like a starved man. “So pretty…” He whispers as he gently gathers up some wetness from your entrance and pushes it up to smear over your sensitive clit. It sends a shot of liquid pleasure straight through your blood and you can’t hold back the little moan that escapes your throat.

“How about this…” He begins to propose as he moves his hand away from your pussy in favour of featherly dancing his fingers between your hips in a way that’s almost ticklish but brings you a teasing sort of pleasure, “You put on a pretty show for me-” He leans in to kiss down the valley of your breasts, warm and sensual, “-and I’ll remove the necklace, deal?” 

You whine quietly, wanting relief right here and right now after the day of desperate need you’ve faced so far. But you know that Howl is a trickster at heart: if you don’t play by his rules then you won’t be in for the prize. 

“Deal.” You concede. Howl makes himself comfortable at the end of the bed between your legs, a hand reaching down to adjust his pants as he takes in the sight of your aching pussy and stiff nipples. You lay back and spread your legs wide apart to make sure that none of his view is obstructed, even if it brings a rush of heat to your cheeks. 

You resume rubbing your throbbing clit, making sure to make quite a spectacle of using your fingers to spread your slit open for him to see just how wet you are from the enchantment he’s put upon you (and from being watched in such an intimate and vulnerable position like this). He’s watching you with enthralled attention as you play with yourself for his bright blue eyes to see. 

You’re oozing slick as you rub yourself in front of him, your pussy practically begging him with this little show to just come and take you already with how desperate and ready you are for him after suffering from the necklace’s enchantment all day until now. As you use one hand to rub sticky circles on your clit, the other comes up to cup your breast, teasing and pinching at your pert nipples for him. 

Alluring moans and whines spill past your lips as you try to tempt him into giving up this bet and fucking you right here and now, convincing him with both sight and sound. Your fingers make an audibly slick noise as you smear your wetness through your slit, feeling it leak down from your needy entrance. 

“Rub faster now.” He murmurs as he bites his lip, hand rubbing at his hardening cock through his pants, the bulge of it becoming ever more obvious. “Come on, pretty girl, beg me to fuck you~” There’s a taunt to his tone. You know he already wants you (this is Howl, after all, the damn can’t ever keep his hands off you) but he’s holding back just to see how far you’ll go for him. 

But you obey his order nonetheless and press down harder on your clit, rubbing faster against it as it throbs beneath your fingertips that flick with need against it. The moans pour past your lips with more frequency now and you feel the beginnings of your orgasm coiling tight in your abdomen, a sensation that leaves you aching for Howl to crawl closer and finish what he started when he clipped that damned chain around your neck this morning. Your lips tremble and the sight of your impending climax makes Howl wet his lips as he undresses himself, taking out his cock to stroke it to the sight of you, pre-cum beading at his pretty pink tip. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Earn it.” He says lowly and he draws nearer to you. The promise of being filled by the cock that he’s fisting in front of you seems to tip you over that edge and you throw your head back against the pillows with a series of cries for him and the liquid-electric pleasure that bursts through your veins. It’s intense, far more intense than when you usually touch yourself, and you can only chalk it down to the enchantment’s effects on you. 

While your head is still reeling up in the clouds of pleasure, you feel Howl’s weight over you, his hands capturing your wrists as his lips crash onto yours to swallow all of your pretty moans, tongue curling into your mouth. But he pulls away just a few millimetres to hear the little choked noise you let out when he pushes his cock into your fluttering heat, still so sensitive from having cum just seconds ago.

“H-Howl-!” You whimper out his name and look up at him with wide eyes. Usually, he gives you tender breaks between orgasms that are filled with sensual touches and soft kisses, never once has he intentionally taken you while you’re already at the height of your sensitivity like this. 

“Ah, it’s like you’re trying to milk me already…” He hisses between his teeth, not having expected you to feel quite this good compared to his hand. He closes his sapphire eyes for a moment to compose himself before he begins to thrust into you, skin smacking against yours with each deep thrust.

“You said you’d take the necklace off!” You gasp between little panted breaths, fighting how your eyes just want to roll back as your hips twitch and your thighs shake. 

“Mh, I did say that~” He agrees with a quiet whine at how tightly you’re squeezing his cock, his hands still keeping your wrists in place as he holds them on either side of your head. His necklace and earrings swing with each thrust into you, his hips angling so that the head of his cock nudges against your sweet spot over and over. He glances down to find you creaming around him already, your pussy soaked with your heightened arousal. “You feel so good… keep squeezing on me like that, my love~” There’s almost a whimper to his tone as he fucks into you, leaning down over your body to bury his face in your neck and take in your scent as his balls smack against your ass. 

“Howl, c-can’t take m-more…” You brokenly plead with him, head tipped back against the pillows and granting his warm mouth perfect access to your neck for him to cover it in kisses and little bites. 

“Oh, yes you can~” He replies and you can feel the smile upon his lips as he says so. 

“You’re gonna let yourself feel so good~” He pushes one of your thighs up with a hand under your knee so that he can thrust deeper into you, making sure to keep his hips angled to hit all of your sweet spots and grinding against you a little each time he bottoms out so that your clit rubs against his pelvis, “And you’re gonna squirt all over my cock~” He murmurs by your ear and catches the lobe between his teeth. 

His words strike just as deeply as his cock does into you and you find yourself clenching around him, making him whimper as his breath fans against the shell of your ear. He speeds up just enough to have you wrapping your legs around his tapered waist, holding him close so that there’s no chance of him trying to pull away at the last minute, something you wouldn’t put past him. 

You moan desperately beneath him as you feel yet another climax approaching, the muscles in your abdomen going taut as you clench on him. Howl’s grip on your wrist and leg tighten as he moans praises into your ear mere moments before you squirt on his cock, making a mess of it. And he continues thrusting into you to ride you through it. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it~” He lets out a shaky breath, his voice whiny in your ear, “Cum on my cock, make it yours, sweetheart~” And it’s just as you’re about to cry out that now it’s really too much that Howl hits his own end too, pulling out to rapidly stroke his cock and watch his cum paint ribbons over your pretty, used pussy. 

Your mind and body are reeling so much from all the pleasure that you don’t even notice that the chain around your throat is being removed until you hear its little links clink together as it’s set down on the bedside. Howl collapses onto the bed beside you and pulls you into his arms, pushing your hair away from your face so that he can pepper your forehead and cheeks in kisses before finally softly pecking your lips. 

“Easy, darling, easy…” He whispers soothingly as he cups your cheek and strokes it with his thumb, “Would you like some water?” He offers softly, knowing that all of this was orchestrated to be very intense for you and you’re deserving of aftercare that’s just as intense. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*

The next morning, Howl wakes with a smile on his lips to find you in his arms, hair tousled from yesterday’s activities and sleep. You’re warm and still naked against him, the skin-on-skin contact making him just want to melt into you. 

He lets out a quiet groan, however, at an ache in his loins when he realises he’s erect. His hand runs down his pale belly to wrap around his cock, only for him to let out a muffled whimper when he finds himself much more sensitive than usual. 

Your eyes crack open as you giggle cheekily, revealing that you haven’t been asleep at all. The wizard’s other hand rises up to his neck to find that the necklace has now been clipped around his throat instead. 

“Oh, you minx…” 

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The Maid

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4663

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I was reading a book series and got this idea. Enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, poking at the sad bowl of cereal before you.

“Why not?” Your wife frowns at you from across the kitchen.

“Because we’re doing fine! We don’t need any extra help,” you emphasize.

“You’re not the one stuck at home all day cleaning the house and cooking all the meals,” she snaps. Your eyes shift to the bowl of cereal you’d had to make yourself because she was too busy at her pilates class to cook you anything more substantial. 

“This house is huge compared to our old one,” your wife continues. “And if you’re not going to help me around here, I’m going to hire someone who will.” Annoyance burns in your chest because you run your own company full-time, and your wife inherited all her wealth from her parents and hadn’t worked a real job in her entire life. “Besides, Steve’s the one who recommended her and he said she’s been really helpful to his family.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time talking to Steve,” you note, although you feel guilty for calling out your neighbor across the street. You’d spoken to him a few times and he seemed like a decent guy, but you weren’t stupid enough to not notice how often your wife would find her way over to his lawn multiple times a week.

“You’re at work all day and don’t answer your phone half the time,” she says. “You don’t expect me to stay in this gigantic house all by myself doing chores, do you? I’m not a house servant, Y/N.”

“No, of course you’re not,” you apologize. You glance at the Omega watch that had been an engagement gift from your wife. “Hey, I have to get going to work now.” Dutifully, you bring your bowl over to the sink and stop to kiss your wife on the way there. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Remember, the pool guy is coming at noon so you need to be back before then,” she says. “I don’t want to be left by myself with him.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” You’re not sure why she’s so nervous around the pool technician; he was about 30 years older than the both of you and had been very sweet and professional when he came to give you a quote for the maintenance.  

“No, don’t try. Do it,” she insists.

You try to hold in your sigh. “Yes, dear.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha curses to herself as she drags her vacuum cleaner and basket of cleaning supplies up the sidewalk to your home. Your wife–Mrs. L/N, as she had asked Natasha to call her, while you had no problem being on a first name basis with her–had told Natasha she didn’t want her parking in front of your house, requiring her to park around the corner. Which wouldn’t have been a significant issue except it meant Natasha had to lug everything to your house every time she stopped by.

“Do you need any help, Nat?” Steve Rogers, the friendly neighbor whom she also worked for, waved at her from across the street.

“No, no, I’m fine!” she squeaks, not wanting to bother him. But Steve, ever the gentleman, runs over anyway and she has no choice but to turn over her supplies to him. 

“You know, you can always just park in front of my house,” he offers, bundling the items in his muscular arms.

“That’s okay,” Natasha says. “Mrs. L/N made it very clear that as much as she needs my help, she doesn’t want people to know I’m here.”

Steve doesn’t argue with her and walks her to your front door. “Well, if you ever need anything–”

“Natasha! You’re late!” The front door swings open and Natasha finds herself face-to-face with your wife. “Oh, hello, Steven.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I was just helping Natasha with her things,” Steve explains.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself. Right, Natasha?” She turns a judgmental eye on Natasha.

“I appreciate the help, Steve,” is all Natasha says.

“You’re welcome. See you both later!” He quickly jogs back to his home. 

Mrs. L/N ushers Natasha into the house. “I left a grocery list on the kitchen counter for you. If you can’t find something, please call me before you pick any substitutions,” she instructs briskly. “I have to go out to the HOA meeting, but Y/N should be home by noon before the pool man comes. Do not let him into the yard if Y/N or me are not home yet, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha nods her head, fighting the urge not to roll her eyes at this lady.

“Good.” She leaves towards the garage and Natasha can hear the purr of her Mercedes starting up.

It was Natasha’s second week working for your family, and she hated nearly every second of it–mostly because of your spoiled, bratty wife. But the few times Natasha had met you, she thought you were as kind and charming as could be (and very nice to look at). She wondered how the two of you had gotten together in the first place and what you saw in your wife. She was one of the bossiest clients Natasha had ever had, and Natasha had seen her be not much nicer to you. Plus, she was definitely hitting on Steve, but Natasha knows he wouldn’t cheat on his wife with yours.

She dumps her supplies in the foyer, then goes into the kitchen to find the grocery list. It only takes a single glance to know that your wife is totally fucking with her–what the hell is a rambutan? Natasha sighs loudly, wishing there were someone around to hear her distress. As much as she wants to quit working for your family, she needs the money. And she was still so new to the business, she couldn’t afford to make any bad impressions. 

With another sigh, she balls the grocery list into her fist and heads back out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha returns from her grocery trip just in time to see you pull into the garage in your bright green luxury sports car she doesn’t even recognize the manufacturer’s logo of. You get out and wave to her and she smiles back, almost forgetting the awful phone call she had to make to your wife when she searched the entire store and still couldn’t locate the rambutans (she ended up having to make a separate trip to Whole Foods for them). 

“Hi, Natasha!” you say, running down the driveway to help her with the grocery bags.

“Oh, don’t worry about these,” Natasha says, trying to swat your hands away. “It’s my job to take them into the house–”

“No, let me help,” you insist, scooping up four bags in one hand in one go. “Oh! Rambutans. These are my favorite. Thank you for finding them.” 

Instantly, Natasha wants to take back all the curses she had put on the spiky red fruit. “It was nothing,” she lies, making a mental note to buy out the store’s entire stock for you the next time she goes.

With your help, it takes half the amount of time to get all the groceries in the house. You also insist on helping her put everything away, showing her the proper drawers in the fridge for the fruit and vegetables versus the meat, and where the cereals went in the pantry. Natasha is beyond grateful for you; she knows your wife would have happily stood there and watched her struggle, then loudly criticized her for not knowing better.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her hand inadvertently brushing yours when you pass her the last bag of apples. She withdraws from you almost too quickly, her skin hot where you touched her, but you don’t seem to notice, distracted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

“That must be Stan.” You dash off to meet the pool man. 

Natasha fills the dishwasher as much as she can and starts in, then goes to finish washing the oddly-shaped pots and pans that didn’t fit in the sink. The kitchen window looks out to your yard that is probably bigger than the footprint of her entire apartment complex. The pool has two different levels, but both are filled with a suspicious green water. You’re standing poolside talking to Stan, an older gentleman whom Natasha personally knew to be very kind from her few interactions with him when he conducted work on the neighborhood pool’s. 

She’s so busy looking at you, fantasizing about a life where this big house could be hers, with a doting partner who would take care of her and raise a family with her, she doesn’t hear the front door opening until she hears the unholy screech from your wife.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” she yells, hurrying over and snatching the soapy sponge right out of Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Um–the dishes? They didn’t all fit in the dishwasher–”

“You turned on the dishwasher?” Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops like Natasha’s just confessed to a murder. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t run the dishwasher before seven p.m.?” Natasha is certain she’s never heard this instruction before in her life and watches as she rushes over to turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle and throw it open. “Also, you didn’t pack this correctly, you definitely could’ve fit those pots in here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll rearrange it now,” Natasha says, trying not to get flustered. Surely your wife wouldn’t fire her over such a minor transgression, would she?

“Is Stan here yet?” she asks, but before Natasha can answer, she is interrupted by a shout and a splash. Both of them crane their necks to look out the window, where they can see Stan floating facedown in the pool. You’re kicking your shoes off and throwing your phone onto the lawn before you run up to the pool’s edge and dive in with a form that would rival an Olympic swimmer’s. Your wife screams and darts towards the back door, Natasha following right behind her.

“Y/N! What are you doing?”

“He fell in!” you answer, coughing out water as you loop your arms under the elderly man and kick back towards the stairs. “He just zoned out when he was talking to me and suddenly tipped over into the pool. I think he’s having a seizure.”

“I’ll call 911!” Natasha offers, not wanting to be as useless as your wife. She struggles to get her phone out of her pocket and punches in the number with shaky fingers.

Your wife hovers by the pool stairs, making no move to assist you as you struggle to drag the old man out, clearly weighed down by the water drenching both of your clothes. Stan is holding himself in a position so stiff it reminds Natasha of a mannequin. 

“Ugh, don’t get me wet, Y/N!” your wife complains as the brackish water sprays everywhere.

“I’m trying not to!” you snap, gently laying Stan on the grass.  

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a dispatcher picks up.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at 2800 Sherwood Drive. There’s a man here who fell into the pool and we just got him out, but he’s having some kind of medical episode,” Natasha says, putting her phone on speaker. The dispatcher asks if he’s breathing and you confirm. 

“Can roll him to his side and stabilize his head?”

Without hesitation, you peel off your shirt and roll it into a soggy ball, gently tucking it under the man’s head like a makeshift pillow. Natasha tries not to stare at your nicely sculpted torso, highlighted further by the water droplets on your skin, but her face burns in shame when she sees your wife glaring at her ogling.

“Okay, his head is stabilized!” you call out.

“Perfect, emergency services are two minutes away.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a big scene at the house by the time the ambulance pulls up. Your wife eventually covers you up with a towel, but you’re insistent on waiting outside for Stan to be carefully loaded into the ambulance before you finally allow your wife to usher you back into the house, still dripping water everywhere.

“Thank you for the help today, Natasha,” you say, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle pat as you walk by her towards the house. Natasha doesn’t even know how to respond but nods furiously and mumbles that “she didn’t help much.”

“You can go now, Natasha,” your wife says curtly, and Natasha doesn’t question her and practically flees the premise.

***********************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since the pool incident and Natasha is barely able to hold onto her sanity with the never-ending list of ridiculous tasks from your wife. When she holds a fundraiser meeting for a charity Natasha is sure she made up on her own, she calls on Natasha as her personal servant, forcing her to serve a collection of the snobbiest women in the neighborhood. Maybe I should take up meditation, Natasha thinks to herself as she prepares a third pitcher of iced tea because the first two “did not have the right balance of sugar to tea,” according to your wife, despite that Natasha had put in exactly one-third cup of sugar as requested.

Natasha doesn’t see you much around the house anymore, and she wonders if your wife purposely scheduled her around your work hours, or told you to stay away from her. She wants to ask you if there were any updates about Stan’s condition (there was no way she was going to get that information from your wife). She missed hearing your voice and seeing your smile…wait.

She shakes her head–she shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You’re her employer and you’re married (to a bitch). It would be entirely inappropriate and dangerous to pursue you, so she would just have to make do with ogling you from afar. Besides, a lot of her clients did not show her respect, likely due to the nature of her job, so just because you were courteous and respectful towards her, didn’t mean you felt a specific way about her.

“You know, Y/N used to be fat.” Natasha startles when your wife walks up behind her. She almost drops the picture frame she’d been dusting of the two of you on a beach, holding hands as you walked towards the sunset in the background.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks. 

“Fat and poor,” Mrs. L/N adds, much to Natasha’s horror. 

“That’s an awful thing to say about your partner,” Natasha says.

She shrugs. “I don’t want anything to be sugarcoated for you. All of this–” She gestures around to the grandiose-ness of the house, and points to a more recent photo of you, where you’re carrying your wife in your arms, the bulge of your biceps and wideness of your shoulders stretching out your shirt. “–was not a thing when we first started dating. I was there when Y/N had nothing and was no one.”

“Okay.” Natasha wonders why she’s acting like she did you a favor, when you are clearly the catch in the relationship. But then it suddenly dawns on her the reason she’s saying this is because she knows Natasha might have a small crush on you.

“Y/N would never leave me, because I was there from the beginning,” Mrs. L/N says loftily.

“Of course,” Natasha says, fearing she has made a terrible mistake. “Y/N must be very lucky to have you.”

“You have no idea,” your wife smirks. “So let me be a reminder to keep things professional in my house. I’d hate for you to lose your job here. As far as I know, this is the only neighborhood that employs you, and your reputation is everything, isn’t it? One bad review could spoil the whole bunch, and you’d be off having to peddle your services elsewhere.” Icy fear pits at the bottom of Natasha’s stomach. “That is, if the police don’t pick you up first.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha whispers, even though she knows exactly what Mrs. L/N is talking about. She had been foolish to assume her past would never follow her, but how could your wife have found out? Clint had assured her that with a new name and a new location, she’d be untraceable. 

“Because they’d have to arrest you from stealing Y/N away from me,” Mrs. L/N laughs shrilly. Natasha chuckles nervously, although she was certain adultery was not a punishable offense in the state. “But I’m just joking. That would never happen, right?”

“Never,” Natasha promises, hoping her cover will stay hidden for now. 

“Good.”

***********************************************************************

“How was your day at work, honey?”

“Busy,” you grunt, moodily poking at the chicken pot pie Natasha had made before she went home. The food tastes good–it’s better than anything your wife has ever cooked, you think privately, but you don’t have much of an appetite. The end of the financial quarter was rapidly approaching and it had become extremely apparent to you that the profits of your company were not outweighing the expenses for the third quarter in a row. You were digging yourself a bigger and bigger grave, dipping into your personal investments to pay your way out of debt. It was the most stressful period of your life, with no relief in sight, and your wife wouldn’t understand the pressure.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says, although her words don’t come across as very genuine. “My day wasn’t so great either. I got into an argument earlier with Mrs. Harkness at the HOA meeting.” Your wife clicks her tongue. “Some of these women will go to war over their lawn decorations, I swear.”

A jab bubbles on the tip of your tongue; was she really trying to compare an HOA meeting to your very real, very stressful job running a business? But you stay quiet, shoveling another spoonful of pot pie into your mouth.

“Where’s Natasha?” you ask. Usually she stayed around for dinner (not that your wife would let her sit at the same table as you), but you hadn’t seen her in the house for a while.

“I ran out of time today, so I sent her out to grab some things for tomorrow,” she answers. When Natasha had first been hired, you had been under the impression that she was exclusively a housekeeper, helping with all the household chores your wife couldn’t complete. But you had heard about her running grocery trips and waiting on your wife and her friends during meetings, turning Natasha into more of a personal assistant than anything. You hoped she was okay with that; you knew how demanding your wife could be sometimes.

“Oh, okay.” You finish your helping of pot pie in silence, then go to place your plate in the dishwasher, before going into the bedroom to retire for the night. As you’re washing your face in the sink, you hear your wife pad up behind her.

“Sorry you’ve been really stressed lately,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, drying your face on a towel, going back into the bedroom to find your pajamas so you can take a shower.

“Y/N.” Your wife stops you as you’re searching through the dresser for your pajamas. When you look at her, she’s eyeing you with her bottom lip between her teeth. She struts towards you, slowly sinking to her knees and looking up at you. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” 

With you being so busy with work and her busy with the new move, the two of you hardly had time for each other. Plus, your wife tended to be on the particular side and never seemed to be in the mood if you initiated. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but you found ways to cope and besides, it did make the times she was ready for you all the more enjoyable.

She pulls down your pants, palming at your boxers and causing you to groan. You unbutton your shirt as you feel your body start to heat up and let it slide off your shoulders. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me,” you grunt when she leans forward and nibbles on the exposed flesh of your thigh. 

“You need to savor the moment,” she says, although you can tell she’s just as impatient when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your boxers and draws them down to the floor. Your heavy cock bobs out, slapping against your abs before your wife grabs onto it and brings it to her mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, tipping your head back when you feel her lips wrap around your cock. You wrap your hand in her hair, pumping your hips forward to sink your length into the heat of her throat. She grips onto your thighs to steady herself, the faintest of choking noise escaping her. You grunt in satisfaction, thrusting a little harder until the tip of your cock bumps the back of her throat. She whines louder, but doesn’t pull away, and your knees are practically shaking at the sight of her deepthroating all of you.  

“You’re doing so well,” you praise and her cheeks flush red. “Are you gonna let me finish in your mouth?” you ask, and she nods in response, the movement causing a burst of pre-cum to leak out of your cock. You stroke a stray hair out of her face so you can look into her eyes when you finish. “That’s my good girl.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha lets herself into your home, juggling three heavy bags that she’s pretty sure are cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She passes by the kitchen, confused to see it empty; when she had left the two of you were just settling down to eat. She puts the bags by the foot of the table, recalling the time Mrs. L/N had screamed at her for putting “dirty outside bags” on the place where you ate. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Checking her phone, Natasha sees that your wife had sent her a text less than five minutes ago.

Natasha sighs. It had already been a long day, but she wasn’t given an ounce of leeway. She knows better than to walk away from an unfinished task (especially around your wife), so she trudges up the stairs and turns into the guest room. Hopefully her presence can go unnoticed, and your wife will magically find the folded clothes long after Natasha is gone. 

There are a total of three shirts and a pair of jeans left to fold. Natasha knows it would be too much to ask your wife to do on her own. She grits her teeth and folds the clothes, taking the better part of a minute, then looks around and realizes she doesn’t remember where she put the laundry basket. 

Maybe she had already brought it to the master bedroom, but she knew she couldn’t just leave it on the guest bed, or your wife would probably fire her. Natasha gathers up the clothes and walks down the hall to the master bedroom, but freezes in her tracks when she hears noises coming out of the bedroom.

Moaning noises, specifically.

Natasha can’t stop herself as she moves closer to the door, positioning herself to peer through the crack in between the door and the wall. She sees your wife on her knees, her head bobbing against your waist as you stand there, half-naked, moaning and thrusting your hips forward.

Natasha feels like she can’t breathe, totally shocked and embarrassed to have caught the two of you in a moment. She has a strange sense that your wife had set her up like this on purpose, but the thought quickly dissipates as she finds herself moving closer to the door.

“That’s my good girl.”

Natasha’s stomach flips when she hears you say this, even though it isn’t directed to her. But maybe one day it could be. 

She’s practically pressed up against the door, the fear of being caught burning away in her eagerness to keep watching you. The way the muscles in your stomach and thighs flex as your hips roll in a sinful rhythm. Natasha is almost ashamed at how fast she feels the arousal building in her own stomach.

You grunt louder and slow down as you seem to near release. Natasha can’t help but wonder what you must taste like and if she could even fit you down her throat. Your wife seems to be struggling with your size, but Natasha would do everything in her power to make you happy and not let any drop go to waste.

Without warning, your wife removes you from her mouth. Both you and Natasha gasp–you probably in frustration, and Natasha because she’s shocked at how big you are. Your cock is shiny with saliva and pre-cum and is so hard it looks like it’s about to burst.

“I didn’t finish,” you whine as your wife stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts her hand on your chest and pushes you back until you stumble onto the bed.

“I know. But I don’t want you to finish in my mouth, I want you to finish inside me.”

“Oh.” Your wife takes off her pants and climbs onto you.

Natasha knows how wrong it is for her to stand there and continue watching. She should’ve left a long time ago. But somehow, she knows your wife set her up to see this, and instead of running away in shame, Natasha is totally absorbed and her obsession with you only skyrockets. 

The headboard creaks against the wall as your wife rides you, both of you moaning in unison. Natasha’s eyes are stuck on you, trying to memorize your body’s reactions and wondering if she’d ever be the cause of them one day. You tilt your head back into the pillows, your back arching off the mattress, your hands wrapped around your wife’s waist as you thrust up into her. 

“I’m ready. I’m gonna cum,” you announce breathlessly.

Natasha hopes you’ll say those words to her one day. But she turns away as you finish, scolding herself for her unprofessional and frankly creepy behavior. She drops the folded clothes to the floor, knowing your wife will eventually find them and know of their origin. Maybe she’ll get fired for this; if anything, it’d be for the better. She doesn’t trust herself to be around you anymore–not that she’d ever be so bold as to make a move and disrespect your marriage, but she’d never be able to look at you the same way again.

She quickly pads down the stairs and leaves the house, the emptiness in her heart and core almost reaching a painful point.

***********************************************************************

You jerk your hips up a final time as you cum, dropping back onto the bed exhausted and spent. 

“Hmm, that was fun,” your wife pants against your neck, and you wrap your arm around her tightly, pulling her closer to your body. 

“We can shower together?” you suggest, digging your fingers teasingly into her naked hips. 

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She lays her head on your chest.

Despite your differences, you were truly happy to have this woman by your side through it all. She had been your longest supporter and that had meant everything to you when no one else believed in you.

You kiss her forehead softly. “I love you, Wanda.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Actually screaming and crying. Nat please come save us 😭

Click here for Part 2!

@holiday-house-of-m I finally kept my promise to you after 84 years.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[randomnameless]

I guess Fodlan, as it's written, would imply that the "sudden illnesses" hitting Maurice's scions would be Agarthans doing Agarthan things, because per Nopes, they're the root of everything wrong (tm) in this verse.

Even if Houses suggested, with the rando who insults Marianne in her paralogue, that normal people, aka Bob and Carol, would also be ones to hunt Maurice's descendants believing them to be cursed (a throwback to the Loptyr blooded people and the witch hunts from Jugdral?).

However, Catherine in her support with Linhardt mentions something similar to Momo's ramblings, Catherine says she feels the relic "eating away" her soul, Maurice blames his urges on his "nabatean blood" and in the notes believed to have been written by him, there's a mention of a body falling to "ashes" and "evil", would the "evil" here mean the Nabatean/Relic "eating away" at the wielder's soul? 10k years of lore are 10k years of lore so we will never know the end of this story, but I don't think Momo or the Nabatean he "borrowed power" from are special in this situation, it's possible Catherine after overusing her sword could become a sentient black beast, much like Claude and his gang after, just like Maurice, bathing in the blood of a saint (in Nopes).

But as you noted, there's a link between Thales, Supreme Leader and the Crest of the Beast.

Is it only metaphorical, as in Supreme Leader is doubly called a beast, first by Dimitri (more explicit in the JP version of Tru Piss) and, in a way, by Thales who gave her a "beast" themed weapon, which is actually a mockery of a relic, since Aymr is fake one (it needs Agarthium to be repaired!) - sure it'd be part of the all those clues taking inspiration from buddhism telling the player that Supreme Leader's path is the wrong one that completely flew over the localised versions (granted I wonder how you could accurately localise the "beast path" in a game without adressing the entire context!) for a Doylist reason...

Or it's maybe Thales who realised how Momo still managed to keep his sanity after transforming unlike other random crest beasts (but Maurice is specifically noted to have been the only one who transformed with his relic!) so he thought "why not" and designed Hegemongard to work around a similar crest stone?

It'd be the cheapest explanation, but come on, we're talking about the same devs who gave Marianne the power to speak to animals... when Linhardt and Hapi's support chain mention that this power was originally Timotheos'... Was the DLC retconning Marianne's existence 8 months after the release of the base game, or what?

--

As for Luca not having a crest, maybe he shared his crest with another Nabatean (maybe he was another water dragon but Indech was more well-known around?) so every "water dragon sign" became "Crest of Indech" instead of being "Crest of Luca".

The identity of the Saint said to have been slained by Maurice, Nopes implies Momo killed them during the battle of Gronder (in 46? 45 years before Tailtean?) but concerning the number of saints, well, the FE16 artbook has this thing :

The first coffin on the left mentions... 16 saints???

(the one below mentions 4 "holy warriors", I guess they're the 4 Saints aka Cichol'n'co).

Was Luca one of the "16 saints"? Was he a shifter, who were the other 15 ? Gajus, Marcelle and Iris and the other named golems, were all saints Nabateans or some of them were hybrids or even humans with crests? Was Flayn's mom one of those 16 saints?

Everything's fair game since we won't have confirmation about this stuff (but we sure needed umbrellas or Fraud's real name revealed in an interview bcs who gaf about lore from the game, especially when it concerns nabateans?)

That all those accidents are just them going after anyone who may have actual Nabatean heritage.

That's maybe me cooking nonsense with the Nuvelles being Nabateans hybrids, but that'd fit with their "need" to hide who they are, aka Noa's scions from the Empire itself, if they think the Empire is compromised by Agarthans.

Or, if we want to hc a Fodlan where "everything wrong" doesn't have a single cause, I hc'd that humans would be worried about hybrid nabateans existing, since their existence would threaten/ruin the classicist system they tried to base their countries on (especially Adrestia) : if Rhea's perfectly happy living on her rock, who's to say a Nabatean hybrid, even if it's not one who has a crest of Seiros, wouldn't be a threat to the Emperor who's supposed to rule over Fodlan because of the covenant of the red blood and white sword + claiming to be Seiros and Willy's descendants?

(then Faerghus happens, and they're even more pissed because instead of sitting on her rock doing nothing but preaching nonsense, Rhea now meddles in "human affairs" to prevent further escalation especially since Loog defeated/killed the Emperor instead of supporting Adrestia's right to continue their blood games with northern barbarians)

We know at some point Emperors became paranoiac about Nabateans "sekritly controlling humanity", but I guess, due to their resentment towards Rhea after Faerghus + Agarthans telling them stuff + maybe the entire hybrid!Lycaon fallout that is only kept secret to the masses, I could see them participate and/or hunt everyone who has a chance to be Nabatean!blooded, and not just with a "crest".

@randomnameless

Something caught my eye with Maurice the other day. According to Hopes, in the document titled Crestological Mysteries,

“Whenever it became known that someone possessed this detestable Crest, they would suddenly fall ill or meet their end in an untimely accident. Inevitably, the Crest became an unspoken curse...“

“Suddenly fall ill” or untimely accident at this point makes me curious about the involvement of TWSITD. If someone is exposed to have this Crest, TWSITD step in to remove them from the gene pool, like out of all the Crests they want this one to die out. Not helping matters is that they used the Crest Stone of Maurice when making Aymr, and Thales chucks it at Edelgard when he captures her in Azure Gleam.

At this point, I’m willing to bet that Edelgard’s Hegemon Husk form is the result not just of bringing out the full power of her two Crests, but also the Agarthans using it to transform her (And then Thales using their techniques to control Edelgard like a typical Crest Beast). Something about that Crest in particular, one that gives Marianne the ability to communicate with animals, turns even people with Crests into Crest Beasts but still allows them to retain their minds (though Edelgard seems off after her transformation, likely due to her Crests not matching). Maybe what happened to Maurice isn’t because he overused his Relic, but simply because of the specific Crest he had?

Also, it mentions Maurice killing a “holy warrior.” So, a Saint. Thinking he was the one who killed Saint Luca, considering we know the other Saints and Apostles survived. But the strange thing is, there is no Crest associated with Luca and he was implied to be a shapeshifter.

“...As another example, though much said about him is likely fiction, we have Saint Luca and his many offspring. The man loved love, and had great affection for the many children he brought into the world. However, appearances can be deceiving. Was he truly the comely saint? If we consider that perhaps he was simply using some sort of power to change his appearance, then...”

What happened here? If he had many offspring, you’d think his Crest would be a little more common, and this is based on how they were seen by the people of the Empire. Luca was having children with humans. And then there’s Maurice and his sons being said to have sown his wild oats, which is why his Crest just pops up from time to time...

Sothis refers to Flayn as “The Kind One,” but it comes off as she assumes Flayn is another Nabatean in a body she doesn’t recognize. It’s implied Sothis confused Flayn for her mother, The Kind One that Sothis created. We also know there are at least two Crest Stones of Maurice, while there are two Relics associated with the Crest of Lamine (the Rafail Gem and the Ichor Scroll) and the Crest of Charon (Thunderbrand and Suttungr's Mystery). Think the best explanation for this is that Blutgang was made out of one of Luca’s childre with another Nabatean, then Luca fought Maurice during the War of Heroes and died. The Saint that had many children died to a weapon made out of one of his.

The Crest of Luca becomes known as the Crest of the Beast.

“...The Crest of the Beast was inherited by the wild oats sown by Maurice and his sons. They lived on in the shadows of various clans and families, and in particular lords who bore a grudge towards the Empire.”

But at the same time, people who are known to have the Crest end up dying due to the Agarthans. Maybe the answer to why they target the Crest isn’t because of the Crest, but because it could also come from Luca himself. That all those accidents are just them going after anyone who may have actual Nabatean heritage.

[spatialwave]

Jayce x reader fluff or head canons?

Yesss! These headcanons are a mix of fluff and silly slice-of-life! Hope they're what you're looking for! <3

Jayce loves to be the little spoon when going to bed. It makes him feel safe and comfortable, and especially loves it if you’re smaller than he is. However, he isn’t opposed to being the big spoon, especially if you’re seeking comfort. He’ll hold you against his chest, snoring gently into your ear.

On that note, he falls asleep extremely fast. One of those guys who says goodnight, closes his eyes and drifts to sleep immediately. He’s also a heavy sleeper; if you’re not his alarm, it will take everything to wake him up in the morning. 

He’s a morning person, to a fault. He wakes up bright and early to make tea and will be so chipper when you finally wake up and be unable to keep himself from pestering you in your half-asleep state. If you’re grumpy in the mornings, he’ll tease you, but make it up to you with a fresh coffee and breakfast.

He’s a decent cook, but not the best. If you teach him, he will want to cook you everything he can. Give him proper criticism, and he’ll reward you with a meal, and a kiss.

When it comes to public displays of affection, Jayce is a sucker for it. Especially when he becomes the Man of Progress and has more eyes on him. He loves holding your hand, pressing chaste kisses to your cheek and make sure everyone around knows that you’re his partner. Most people find it annoying, but he doesn’t care. (He probably tried to bring you up with him for his big speech, but they wouldn’t let him… such a dork)

Jayce is a hopeless romantic. He’ll fall in love with you so fast, when you smile at him for the first time, that’s when it hits. It’s his goal to make sure you’re the happiest person in the world.

If he ever works late or finds himself spending lots of time working on hextech, he’ll make it up to you. Whether it’s a night in alone (likely in bed), or spoiling you with gifts like roses and sweets. It’s impossible to not feel like the most important person in the world, with him around.

He gets you, along with Sky, to who watch him and Viktor practice their pitches for Heimerdinger and the council. 

If you’re shorter than him, he loves resting his chin on the top of your head. Pressing kisses and breathing in your scent. It calms him.

Jayce is a sucker for neck kisses, loves giving them but prefers receiving. It’s the one way to really make him squirm. If you want to get him particularly riled up, breath against the back of his neck or ears, he’ll shiver and fold for you immediately. A great way to get your dominance over him.

He loves giving you massages, his calloused hands gliding along your skin. Fingers working deeply into the tissue of your muscles and working out all the kinks and knots. Likewise, he appreciates them in return, and he always makes atrociously loud noses when you work over his tight muscles.

When he can, he likes to wake you up with kisses. Peppering the skin of your bare shoulders with gentle pecks, warm breath tickling your skin. He could do it for hours, feeling the way your skin breaks out into goosebumps.

Jayce is the type of dork to get you a promise ring. He would make a grand gesture out of it, eyes big and sparkling as he slides the ring onto your finger. It wouldn’t last long, though, because the moment he sees it he’ll want to actually propose. He’s very big into commitment. 

When he’s home, Jayce is shirtless. Always.

He smells like mahogany.

Lastly, he wants to be a dad so bad, but he fears he won't be good enough. It’s where much of his insecurities rise.

[ivysprophecy]

slim pickins

warnings; bad date? mentions of sex, cursing underage drinking and yes i meant for it to be written poorly i was trying to keep the humor of the album in the writing

masterlist | p. 2

no pressure tags; @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

word count; 1911

summary; youre tired of not finding a decent guy who will treat you right and lay you right. at least not one you've known since you were kids. however you just cant help yourself. besides its slim pickins out here you take what you can get.

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

i wanna make one thing clear, when i say there are no good guys left i do not wanna hear about you and your boyfriend of three years that can cook and loves your mom.

thats exactly what im talking about maddie!!! i dont give two fucks that he took you to barnes and noble and bought you every book you wanted.

they are all taken. its plain and simple.

which is why even with a full roster, im stuck taking fucking zander, yes with a z, to my friends' kegger.

i mean yea hes cute. hes tall, built but not that gross kind of muscly. but if were being real i shouldve known better when he was joking about being a male stripper when hes a ginger.

and i can tell kie is judging me, rightfully so. her side eye is lethal. when i introduced him to everyone she asked him about his greta van fleet tee and he said he didn't even know it was a band.

needless to say pope had to drag her away.

after that incident i decided it was best if we tried to talk away from the rest of the group. boy was i wrong.

"so what do you like to drink? ill go grab us something," i offer trying to start the conversation, also avoiding the usual problem with taking a drink from men.

"im good with whatever"

i like to think im not a violent person, but im about to be.

"does a beer sound okay?" i ask him grabbing a twisted tea for me from the cooler.

"sure thing." god why is he acting like such a bitch? i should ask him if he's on his period.

i hand him the can, our fingers brush and its my final clue for the night that i am definitely not going home with him. no spark at all. hes done just about everything else to piss me off.

he did the thing where he licks his lips exaggeratingly looking me up and down, making a point to make sure i saw.

he walks so slow for being 6'3.

and finally he tried to mansplain my career to me. i'd had just enough when he opens his mouth again

"ew, you like twisted tea? who likes sweet tea?" his face contorted in disgust, it was about to contort from my fist breaking his goddamn nose if he keeps talking to me like this.

"we literally live in the south dude." my face could not make it any clearer i am so done with this guy.

"still, sweet tea is disgusting. im not kissing anyone that drinks that nasty shit."

"who said i wanted to kiss your nasty fucking mou-" i was interrupted by the sound of a very familiar giggle behind me as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the smell of his deodorant and sea salt that cover his skin start to put you at ease.

jj was always there when you needed him, sometimes even when you didnt but right now you couldn't be more grateful. "im glad you found those mama i got em just for you. remembered theyre your favorite. right?"

and you wanna know the best part? zander is shaking already pissed off that jj is at my side. territorial i guess.

"you mind?" he asks him nodding his head at me like im not even there.

jj cant help but laugh at him "yea bud i do mind. she's hanging out with me tonight. have fun with your ipa dick." and with that he steers us off to where the rest of the pogues are.

but not before i can look over my shoulder and give the ginger an innocent smile and a shrug as if i had no control over the situation, when really id pick jj over anyone else.

"you owe me a big fat kiss mama," jj whispers in my ear walking us over to where our friends are standing, drinks in their hands laughing and chatting up a storm.

"in your dreams honey."

"every night all night," he quips back before i shove him off me.

now before you give me shit, jj and i have had our fair share of fun, but unfortunately im starting to look for something more serious.

watching john b and sarah be disgusting together is getting to my head. popes got something going on with cleo and im starting to recognize the pattern. and before i know it everyone will be in love if i don't start making an effort in that department.

random casual hook ups aren't doing it anymore, especially considering they aren't even that good.

unless theyre with jj.

but hes not an option, theres too much drama. too much history. too much too much too much. im not what he needs and i know for a fact he doesn't want me in that sense.

is that a bit dramatic? probably.

i mean hes a great lay, he's hilarious, he's got that blue collar kind of muscle, and he genuinely cares about me.

so of course im not going to date him, why would i?

what do you mean make good decisions? id rather do things in the most difficult way possible!

"y/n youve gotta stop giving those guys a chance, im starting to feel bad for you."

"you try finding a decent guy in a ten mile radius." i glare at him, obviously not wanting to joke about this right now.

he sticks his hand out in front of me, "fine i will. let me see your phone."

curious to see what he will do i hand it too him unlocked, he swipes and taps for a few moments, smiling down at the phone before handing it back to you.

when you look back down at the screen all you see is your instagram open with his stupid fucking smiley face on the screen.

he took a picture of himself and posted to my story. written on the screen in bubble letters in my favorite colored heart 'my favorite guy <3'

"i think he's your best bet." that same smile facing back at me now, cockier than ever. so smug i wanna kiss it off his face

i cant help but roll my eyes. "jj im serious! at this rate im going to die alone. every decent guy is taken or unavailable. all i want is someone funny, kind, and attractive is that too much to ask for?"

"im right in front of you mama you dont gotta look far."

"jj we both know we're not the serious kind of relationship im talking about."

"you can think what you want too but ill be here waiting for that kiss you owe me."

"i think all that tequila youve been sipping has gone to your head maybank."

he stands in front of me, taking his signature red cap off his head and putting it on mine smiling down at me, "what do they say in those books you read? you wear the hat you ride the cowboy?"

"this no ten gallon hat and you are no cowboy."

we laugh at each other, its always been easier to do that then actually talk about our feelings. so i put his hat back on his head, backwards the way he i likes it.

"cmon y/n/n, have a few more drinks, relax and hang out and ill make you feel all better later yea? its what im best at, you know."

"its gonna take more than a few more teas to convince me jj"

"what about that thing you like that i do with my tongue, huh mama? doesnt that sound pretty good right now? i think it does."

"i give you one fucking compliment and it goes straight to your head."

"technically its about my head so that makes perfect sense," he hands me another can with that stupid signature smirk of his and his stupid sexy hat backwards. i hate to admit it's working on me.

just like it does every other time.

i squint my eyes at him taking the can, rolling the idea around in my head. "fuck it. its not like anyone else is offering," i take a big sip of my drink.

jj pumps his fist in the air like a victorious idiot giving a few woots and hollars before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder despite my wishes.

"jb!!" he shouts turning around to face him, "we're headed out!"

john b looks at the two of us shaking his head at how im kicking my feet to wiggle out of jjs oddly strong grip. "make sure you change the sheets when youre done!"

oh my god he did not just say that. "fuck both of you!"

jj just laughs carrying you back to the chateau like a kid who's excited to use a brand new birthday present.

"what happened to letting me have a few more drinks before we left??"

"youre just too irresistable mama, gotta have you now,' he gives my ass a light slap for good measure causing me to roll my eyes for the 600th time tonight.

"are you gonna put me down now?"

he pretends to look like hes thinking about it, "i guess. only so i can watch you walk away," he does as he says helping me get my feet on the ground.

"youre a pervert."

"no im flirtatious, and you love it, you know it makes you blush i see it. now go on and give me a lil walk yea?"

oh im gonna kill him...

oh wait! im gonna kill him!

"okay... fine. but no touching until we get home," i smile walking away exactly like he asked, but i know behind me he is a puddle of mud. standing still, about to start begging me to let him.

he finally catches up after a few seconds "mama please- cmon thats not fair. you look too good in those shorts you know i cant wait that long. just wanna feel you."

i cant help but giggle at his words, its honestly adorable how mopey he gets. like i just kicked his puppy or something.

"hands of jj i mean it... not until that door shuts behind us."

it didn't really matter that i can see the chateau or that ill be there in literally a minute.

its actually painful for jj to not be able to touch me as he pleases.

i turn around to face him with a cheeky smile. "you want me maybank?"

and of course he nods so hard it looks like his head is going to fall right off.

"come and get me," running towards the house, i can see the moment when his reflexes kick in, his boots thudding against the ground as he gains on me.

just before i can make it to the poarch jj wraps his arms around me, lifting me a few inches off the ground and spinning me around in a fit of laughter.

"okay! okay okay okay you win- you got me."

"oh ive got you mama, and im havin you for the rest of the fucking night," he presses a kiss to my neck hauling me inside, the screen door slamming shut after us.

am i gonna regret this tomorrow? most likely.

but what can i say? its slim pickins in this part of town.

[sparsilees]

it’s still bewildering to me that hermione was foraging and cobbling meals out of cans in deathly hollows. what an illogical turn of events.

you have harry, who’s lived a life as a live-in chef since he could reach the stove, and ron, who likely helped his frazzled mother out with small tasks in the kitchen, garden, creek, and coop—two boys with a decent grasp of ingredient prep and food pairings, how to tell if something’s edible or cooked through—but the bookworm who inhales libraries is delegated the task of making fungi palatable? that’s daft.

and why couldn’t the boys go fishing? ted tonks and dean apparently did. accio fish, easy! steal cabbages and eggs from a farmer. ask kreacher for a weekly pantry essentials restock. pilfer groceries under the cloak. they’ve broken enough rules and strict moral codes, so why stop at stealing for survival? if there’s money lying around, sure, pay discreetly.

of all deathly hollow’s gaps and flaws, this is arguably my numero uno gripe. sated stomachs, happy homies—the trio’s camping trip woes would’ve easily halved.

[beenbaanbuun]

Neighbour w/ song mingi

words - 3.1k

genre - smutty

warnings - fem!reader, afab!reader, neighbour!mingi, mysterious!mingi, drop-out!reader, bitter!reader, wet dreams, masturbation, nicknames (kitty, good girl), i think that’s it

——————————————————————————

Coming home from a night shift is never fun, but its even less so in winter. As if the bone-deep tiredness wasn't already bad enough, now you have to compete with the inescapable chill of the air and the long, dark mornings that seem to drag on for eternity. It feels like months since you’ve actually seen an ounce of sunlight, sleeping through the few short hours that you’re granted around this time of year. Then you wake up again at 4pm, just in time to watch the sun go down beyond the horizon as you cook your breakfast of packet ramen and coffee.

Its a depressing existence, and you’d be the first to admit that, but you cant really afford much else. As a drop-out in a city full of students, you don't really have too many options. Full time jobs favour people with actual qualifications, and the part-time job market is wildly oversaturated by struggling teenagers looking for a way to fuel the various addictions that come hand in hand with being at university. You remember it well; the £16 bottles of Tesco’s own brand vodka that went down about as easy as a fist full of gravel, the weed from a random dealer who passed you his number at 3am while you were sitting drunk on a park bench. Its an expensive life to live, and you don’t blame them for snatching up every single decent part time job your city has to offer.

Not really, anyway. Theres certainly a little resentment there whenever a drunken customer cusses you out for refusing to serve them. Perhaps a little hatred when you’re sent in to handle yet another bar fight between two men twice your size. Definitely a lot of frustration whenever you feel the amused eyes of your neighbour as he watches you sleepily fumble with your keys whenever you return home in the morning. You’ve yet to learn his name since he moved in, and part of you doesn't want to. From the few run-ins youve had with him, you can already say that no amount of resentment or hatred or frustration you feel towards your working situation compares to what you feel for him.

That stupid bleached hair that he lets grow into something akin to a shitty mullet before cropping it short again, that brash voice that you can hear through the thin walls of your apartment as he yells at whatever sport is playing on his tv, those strangely soft eyes that watch you with so much amusement as you stumble around your shared corridor. He gets home about the same time as you after his morning run, and you hate it. You hate him. Cocky, irritating, handsome bastard.

“Someone pissed in your cereal, Kitty?” he pulls you from your thoughts with a quick quip. His shoulder is leaning against the wall on your side of the corridor, almost as if he was waiting for you to arrive home or something. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was; he seems the type to imagine camaraderie where there certainly isn't any. Perhaps he sees you as a friend, despite never having asked you for your name, or your age, or where you work, or anything else about you, for that matter. Maybe he’s lonely.

“I don’t eat cereal,” you scoff as you brush past him to get to your front door. He twists his body to watch you amble past him, your keys already poised in hand, “why would i want to eat cold mush every morning? Its gross.”

He chuckles brightly as if you’ve just told the joke of the century, and you weren’t just complaining about the concept of the nation’s favourite breakfast food. The judgemental glare you shoot in his direction happens just as easy as his laughter.

“It's a metaphor, Kitty,” God, you fucking hate that nickname, “surely work can’t have fried your brain that much.”

He wears a smirk that stretches from ear to ear, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he stares you down. Part of you wishes you could sock him right in his pretty little face, but a smarter part of you knows that the muscles that decorate his body arent just for show. He's like a dog in that sense; no matter how cute and unassuming he makes himself out to be, there's always going to be a part of you that understands what hes capable of. Dogs were once wolves, after all.

Your gaze cant help but flicker to a scar on his cheekbone, and then up to the newer one that sits on his left hand eyebrow. They’re not the type that you get from playing a little too rough as a kid, nor the type thats left over from surgery. They’re purposeful and dangerous and it makes you wonder just what he did to deserve them.

“My brain is fine,” you make a point of looking away from the scar above his eye, no longer wanting to dwell on what might of caused it, “not that the state of it is any of your concern.”

He laughs again, his smile cracking his face in two as your annoyance only grows. How is it that he can make you feel so… undermined? With such ease too! Its like every toothy grin is an act of condescension, every comment crawling beneath your skin like beetles. You’ve met plenty of arseholes in your life, and yet theres been no one who angers you quite as much as him.

“I’m just being neighbourly, Kitty–”

“That’s not my name,” you growl out, a thick layer of impatience coating your words.

“Yes, but it suits you,” he says with a shrug, “far better than the one written on the front of your mail, don’t you think?” What business did this man have looking at your mail? You’ve never once paid attention to his, nevermind going as far as to read the name that sits just above the address. You regret it now as you watch the playing field become even more uneven than it already was. Its you against him; the older, stronger, cockier man that knows more about you than you do him. Logic says that this is a game; one that you've already lost.

He says your name, humming it lowly to himself as if its an equation he’s trying to figure out. It sounds good, coming from his mouth, his accented drawl pulling at the letters in a way you’ve never heard before. The vowels get extended and the consonants ring out clear like a bell. It feels like the first time hearing your name, and whilst that might not necessarily be true, it certainly is the first time you’ve liked it. Its the first time its ever felt correct.

You could kick yourself for even thinking something so… pathetic.

“It might not suit me, but it is my name,” you insist as you try to ignore the desperate pitter patter in your chest. Its not a sensation you’re familiar with, especially not when it comes to him. You can only blame it on the romantic dry spell you’ve been facing as of late. Turns out the night shift isn't exactly conducive to meeting new people.

“Sure it is, Kitty,” you grind your teeth against one another, “but what's a nickname between friends, hm?” his teeth glint in the flickering overhead light, flashes of luminance against his pearly white canines. If he truly were a dog, you’d already be running, the look in his eyes telling you exactly whats going to happen if you entertain him for much longer. Like a rodent stuck in the maw of its predator, you can already feel your fate closing in on you. If you don't leave now, you fear he wont ever let you go.

You slip your key into your lock and twist it.

“We’re not friends,” is all you say as you bump your shoulder into the wood to pry it open, quickly slipping inside before locking it behind you.

Theres a chuckle, and a single soft tap against the door.

“We’ll see about that, Kitty.”

——————————————————————————

You sleep strangely.

Despite your mind wandering and your heart rate shifting between erratic and arrhythmic, it doesnt take you long to slip into a dreamland once your head is actually resting on the soft fluff of your pillow. Darkness washes over you like waves lapping at the shore, pulling you further and further into the deep until you’re stuck within the murky abyss of your mind. Fish swim past in the form of dream fragments, very few of them making sense.

Your neighbour grins down at you with a softened gaze, hands flitting around your face as if he cant quite help himself but touch. You feel it so clearly; a finger tip gracing the end of your nose, a warm palm cupping your cheek, minty breaths tickling your skin so perfectly. It feels so natural, which is strange given your regular distaste for the man. And as he pulls his hand away, you can’t help but to chase it. You lean in close; so close that you can almost taste his musk on the tip of your tongue. It feels so real, and while every rational part of you thanks the heavens that it isn't, there's still a tiny voice in the back of your head praying that one day it will be.

And the worst part is, your sleep addled mind doesn’t even try and shut that voice it. It seems to nod along, letting your mind wander further and further until the dreams shifts to you lay on a bed. It’s not your bed, so you conclude that it’s his. You’ve never seen it before, but your mind seems to have conjured up something that works. Dark walls, dark bedsheets, dark furniture, all illuminated by the glow of his laptop which loops an animated screensaver of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

Heavy hands paw at your flesh, pushing and pulling at you like you’re a ragdoll. They’re careful, yet firm, putting you in position without pushing too far, or tugging too hard. Its like he’s done this a million times before, and you’d believe it if he had! Everything from his smirk, to the unfounded confidence lets you know that he’s good at this; good at catching women in his trap and fucking them until they belong to him, mind, body, and soul.

And you can deny it if you want, but something tells you that perhaps he has you on a tighter leash than you care admit. Perhaps he already owns your soul, and judging by the way his tongue presses upon your clit in your dream, it’s clear that he already owns your mind. All that’s left for him to take is your body, and would it really be so bad if you gave that to him as well.

If you were awake, you’d be hating yourself for having these thoughts, but you’re not, so you indulge. Your hands fly to his hair and tug on his silky strands like they’re the only things keeping you anchored to earth right now. It’s all too much; far more than you’ve ever felt in a dream before, and before you know it, you’re coming undone. Your heart is hammering, and your eyes are flying open and your own fingers are being drenched in your cum as they stimulate the motion of your neighbours tongue on your clit.

Fuck, you really must’ve been horny if you had to resort to sleep-wanking.

Disgust fills you from top to bottom as you sober up and let sanity rain down on you once more. Your fingers are sticky, but not quite as much as your thighs. Your underwear is seemingly nowhere to be seen, although you don’t doubt that it’s had the same treatment. You feel a mess, both physically and mentally. Seriously! Thirsting over a man you’ve dedicated your last few months to hating? It all feels too surreal to think about.

Yet think about it is all you can do. As you crawl out of bed, you can still feel his breath on your skin, and as you strip with wet sheets and shove them into the wash, you can still practically smell him. The steam that surrounds you in the shower makes your head spin, and its almost like you can’t stop yourself when for the second time that night—although the first time in whisky awake—your fingers find their way dancing over you clit to the thought of him consuming you.

You cum twice, maybe three times before the water turns cold and you’re left shivering and ashamed of yourself. This time it’s worse than when you first woke up, though. You’re conscious, and you willed those images to come into your head. No longer can you give your brain the benefit of the doubt because this time, this is exactly what you wanted, not just some crazy, nightmarish concept you’ve dreamt up.

“Fucking hell~” you growl to yourself as you switch off the water and lean your head against the cold tile. Your fingers are pruned, and you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower or the constant abuse of your poor clit. Either way, it’s a clear signal that you need to get a grip; get out of the bathroom and remove any thought of that man from your brain. These thoughts aren’t normal, you tell yourself as you wrap a fuzzy towel around your body; you don’t even know the man’s name for heaven's sake!

You make a mental note to check his mail the next time you leave the flat. By the end of the day, you want to know as much about this man as possible. If he’s going to take over your every thought, waking or otherwise, then you at least deserve to know the name of the man that’s ruining your life.

But speak of the devil, and he shall appear, right?

There’s a knock on your door; three short taps that almost go unnoticed by you. “Shit—coming!” You yell out as you hurriedly slide some pyjama bottoms over your thighs and a loose hoodie over your head. The towel on your hair remains in place, keeping your wet locks contained and out of your face. It makes you feel a little silly, as you make your way over to the door and crack it open to reveal your neighbour, but then you remember that you’ve painted him as a slut, and so a woman with a towel wrapped around her head probably isn’t too unusual of a sight.

“Kitty,” he says with a sly grin the moment the two of you come face to face. What would happen if you just slammed the door in his face, you wonder? Would it wipe that look off of his face? You doubt it; a man like that is only spurred on by rejection. They’re too full of themselves to understand that not everyone in the world wants to get in his pants.

Fragments of your dream flash through your mind.

Maybe you do want to get in his pants…

“What do you want?” You try and push the thoughts of his tongue on you away as you speak, but you can’t push away the warmth that pools in your stomach as he looks you up and down. His gaze is so brazen as it studies your form, taking extra time to travel over your curves. They’re well hidden by the oversized clothing you don, but with the way he studies you, you almost feel naked.

“Oh, nothing much,” he takes his time in returning his gaze to your face, letting his eyes linger on your chest for a moment or two. You’re almost tempted to cross your arms and cover yourself, but there’s some sick part of your brain that’s enjoying the way he looks at you. It’s the same part that conjured up those dreams, and make you play with yourself in the shower; the same part that’s trying to convince you that lusting this hard over a man you’re supposed to hate is entirely logical. You hate that part of yourself, and yet you don’t dare fight it as it takes control. “I made too much food; I wanted to know if you’d like to come over and have some?”

Immediately, your brain goes blank. Stepping into the apartment of a man you don't really know is a bad idea, right? Sure, he’s your neighbour, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. Your eyes flicker across his scars again, and the burning question of where they came from returns. Your mind wanders to all sorts of dark places, and you try to ignore the way it makes the uncomfortable ache in your stomach deepen. You remember reading somewhere that fear is a powerful aphrodisiac and it’s the only explanation for the wetness that’s gathering between your thighs for the hundredth time today. It has nothing to do with his fluffy hair, or how hot he looks when he wears that condescending expression!

Even you can’t seem to make yourself believe that lie.

“I don’t really know you well enough to go to your apartment,” you try to reason, although you hardly sound stern about it. Your voice is weak, shaky, and there’s plenty of room for push back. With your brain teetering on the edge of too-horny-to-be-logical, you have no doubt that if he were to push too hard, you’d be sat at his dinner table by the end of the night. Perhaps you should just slam your door in his face; it would solve a plethora of issues, including giving you the privacy to fix the one between your legs (again).

“Well, my name is Mingi,” he smiles and you almost collapse to the floor right then and there. The name bounces around in your skull. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. It suits him; you like it; you can imagine moaning it.

“Mingi,” you whisper back to him, and his eyes darken.

“It sounds pretty coming from you, Kitty,” suddenly the nickname doesn’t sound so bad. It shoots a tingle down your spine right to that aching spot between your thighs. You gasp, and he looks at you like you’ve just moaned his name for the entire building to hear. Something tells you that the night is heading in that direction anyway. “So what do you say? Come over?”

And against all your better judgement, you nod.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, you just fucking nod.

“Good girl.”

[dxrlingluv]

Player || Lee Myung-gi

Series : Chapter 1 : Cards and Debt, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Description :

Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to participate in a mysterious game with a life-changing prize. But the opulent setting masks a deadly reality.

As the games escalate in brutality, you must outsmart your cunning opponents, confront your deepest fears, and make impossible choices to stay alive.

Will your love for your boyfriend be enough to overcome the unimaginable horrors that await?

Lee Myung-gi x Fem!Reader

You slowly rose from your bed, the sun still hiding behind the fog that accumulated from the coldness. Suddenly, you hunched over to the side of your bed, and puked out everything you ate from the night before. You groaned, your head feeling heavy from all the tireless work and studying you had done the day before.

Grabbing your phone from your bed side desk, you checked the time. 6:34 AM, it read. You groaned yet again, opening your phone and deciding to message your boyfriend good morning.

y/n 🌸

- good morning ! i hope you had a decent sleep. we should definitely meet soon, i miss you.

You waited for a minute or two, just staring at the message you sent as it went from delivered to seen. Not a second passed, your boyfriend replied.

myung-gi 🩷

- yeah.

You sighed, gripping your phone tight to your chest, a heartache slowly forming as you stared up at the ceiling.

You wondered what he might be up to right now. He's never really been this cold before until last week, but you guessed that it was because he's busy trying to pay off his debt. You feel bad that you couldn't help him a little.

You know that he's not telling the truth about how big his debt really is, but being an ex-YouTuber with a lot of subscribers that fell for the crypto coin scam, there should be a lot.

The only thing you wanted to do was to help him find a way to pay off all his debt and restart his life, you'll do anything.

Facing your phone once again, you messaged him one last time before starting your day off, free from school and work.

y/n 🌸

- let's meet up later at our usual place, 11 AM sharp.

Closing off your phone, you decided not to wait for a reply. Standing up, you stretched and immediately went to the bathroom of your small apartment to clean off. After cleaning yourself, you went to the kitchen section of your apartment, opening up the stove, putting on a pan and pouring oil, then grabbing 2 eggs from your small fridge.

Yeah, sure, egg for breakfast, how original. But as a college student, you can't afford to lose even a little amount of money.

After cooking the eggs, you decided you also wanted buldak noodles to come with it.

You sighed for the nth time, staring at your phone. He didn't even bother to reply an 'ok'. Seriously, what has gotten into him?

Hours passed and it's not 10:30 AM. Deciding to take a quick bath, you went off. Locking your apartment door behind you, you check your phone again but seen no response or confirmation.

Arriving at the train station, you awaited for your train. Feeling your back ache from standing, you decided to sit down but immediately regretted it as you felt dizzy yet again and felt like puking. What has gotten into you this time? You can't be sick.

You then felt a presence beside you. Looking over, you saw the guy already staring at you which made you make a face. "Uhm. Can I help you?" You asked him.

He continue smiling at you, then showing you his suitcase and opening it. "Would you like to play with me?"

You stared at him in bewilderment, "Play... with you. Is this some kind of scam?" You accused as you stared at his suitcase that contains a red and blue papers and an uncountable amount of money, and you don't feel bad about accusing him one bit.

He chuckled, staring at his suitcase for a moment before looking at you and speaking again, "No, ma'am. We would only be playing ddakji, if you win, I will give you 100 000 won, and if I win, you will give me 100 000 won in return."

You stood up abruptly in shock, "What? Is this- Are you serious?"

He only nodded in return, slowly standing up to come face to face with you.

"I'm sorry, even if I wanted to- I don't have that amount of money," you admitted, dejectedly.

The business man's smile only widened in return, "You can pay with you body then." And before you can protest, he continued, "If you win I will give you 100 000 won, but if I win, I will slap you."

Now that sounds more like it... a slap isn't too bad, plus you're great at playing ddakji yourself so this shouldnt be a problem.

"Okay, lets do it."

...

100 000

Slap !

100 000

100 000

100 000

Slap !

100 000

...

"That should conclude our game."

"Wait- But I'm not done yet!" You exclaimed. Hoping to get at least 2 or 3 more wins.

The business man's smile ignored you as he fished out a calling card from his pocket. He offered it to you with a smile, too uncanny to your liking. You stared at him in confusion, staring between the calling card and his face.

"If you wish to play more games and win a bigger price, just call the number on this card." He said, answering the million question on your head.

You felt uneasy about this, "Now, this- This is a scam!"

"L/n Y/n, [birthdate], 23 years old, formerly used to live in seoul with your parents until you had to move out to pursue your college degree. You are not in debt, but you desperately need to help your boyfriend with his." He calmly said.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, how did he know this... This made him more suspicious but now that he mentioned your boyfriend's debt, you felt more desperate and wanting to trust him.

Dejectedly, you accepted the card from his hand. You stared at the symbols on the front, a square, a triangle, and a circle. Deciding to call the number later, you placed the card on your pouch.

"How did you-" You started, but was immediately cut off when the man you were just talking to disappeared as if he wasnt even there in the first place.

"Y/n."

You whipped your head to the side when you heard a familiar voice call to you. You smiled.

"Myung-gi."

You ran up to him and hugged him tight, "I missed you so much."

He hugged you back just as tight, "It's only been 3 days, Aegiya." He let go as he stared lovingly at your eyes.

You stared back with a small loving smile, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a hat, most likely to keep his identity as hidden as he can. He was also wearing a grey jacket that fits warmly against him. Even with just a simple outfit, he still looks stunning.

You pecked his lips as he stared at you in shock, "Not here, Aegiya," He muttered shyly.

You feigned shocked and hurt, "Wha-! You dare do that to me, you lover!?" You playfully smacked his arm to which he just laughed at with you following suit.

The both of you decided to eat lunch at a park, having only buy decent meals, enough to fill up your stomachs.

You hummed at the delicious sandwich you just tasted, deciding to talk to him, you asked, "Hey, Myung-gi."

That catches his attention as he paused from chewing his food and looked at you. He hummed, as if to tell that He's listening.

You continued, "You've been so busy lately, if I hadn't told you to meet up with me, would you have asked to meet up instead?"

That made him quiet, slowly chewing for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he quietly said, refusing to look at you.

"For what?" You asked, trying to search anything from his face as he apologized.

He was silent for a moment before responding again, "For everything."

You smiled, sighing from your nose. "It's okay...

I will always forgive you."