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dearsnow · 2 months

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TAKE A BITE

- your best friends challenge you to bring the hottest guy at the bar home, and you can’t manage to say no. (jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader, random original female characters for plot purposes, ⚠️ alcohol, 18+!! adult content, p in v, jake being a sweetheart for once, I’M BEGGING PLEASE BE 18)

word count: 3,033

a/n - dipping my toe into the adult writing scene for once 😚 i have no idea if this is good or not bc my only experience is one commission i did a long time ago and a half-finished fic from a year ago, so i hope it’s satisfactory. jake is also an unexpected visitor but everyone has their moments <3

“So…” Kaiya drawls, drawing along the rim of her condensation-covered glass, “because no one here seems to want to put themselves out there,” there’s a pointed glance at you, “I propose a challenge.”

Sandy squints at her suspiciously. Kaiya always comes up with the most outrageous schemes, usually drawing in you and the rest of your friend group. “What are you thinking?” She asks.

Kaiya’s manicured nail taps on the table. “We each pick a guy, one that individual thinks is the hottest at the bar— first come first serve, of course. And then we take them home. Anyone that’s successful gets next week’s drinks paid for by the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes. She’s a looker, for sure, which is likely the only reason she proposed something like this. She could get with any guy in a hundred mile radius with her luscious black curls and babydoll cheeks. “Are you sure you aren’t just doing this because you don’t want to pay for yourself?”

Kaiya puts one hand to her mouth, eyes widened in comical horror. “I would never! I just want what’s best for my dear friends.” She exclaims, batting her eyes. Sandy laughs in her own charming way. Sandy is cute, sweet. She’d also have no problem taking her pick.

“I want that one.” Kaiya says, pointing at a tall man with shortly cropped curls. From the looks of it, he’s exactly her type; confident, quick-witted, and evidently skilled as he nails a dart throw.

Sandy pretends to squint around the bar before throwing a thumb over her freckled shoulder. “Buzz cut. I like that in a man.” You peer around her, taking in a nice-looking guy with tanned skin.

“And you?” Kaiya asks, reaching out to thumb at the strap of your top. Her small look of concern makes you remember why you’re her friend in the first place.

She’s always looking out for you, always finding opportunities for you to shine when she is so obviously the star. After you broke up with your boyfriend for some unsavory reasons, she resumed her role as your rock. Even now, she wants you to get over what’s in the past. You curse yourself for even considering that she was being selfish.

You look around the crowded bar, eyes scanning over heaps of mildly attractive Navy and civilian men. You’re about to just pick the closest one before your gaze stops on a person who almost immediately takes your breath away. He’s exactly, exactly what you pictured your dream guy to look like.

Kaiya follows your line of sight and smiles. “Let’s get them, tigers.”

“Alright,” You say, standing as your chair creaks from under you, “I’ll take a bite.”

You lean against the cool counter of the bar, smiling at the bartender. The man you picked out has a beer in his hand and a certain swagger in how he scopes out the room. “Could I have one of those, please?” You ask the woman behind the bar, looking pointedly at the guy. She looks at you with a knowing smile, handing you the drink.

“You have good taste.” Your pick says, his voice heavy with a drawl. His green eyes glance down at the drink in your hand, then up to your face. You swear you almost see him lick his lips.

“So do you.” You respond simply. “What’s your name?”

“Jake, but if one of those idiots asks, it’s Hangman.” He nods over to a group of men by the pool table. In a passing flash, you notice the two your friends picked out mingling. How could this one squad have so many attractive people? “I saw you with your friends a bit ago. I have to say, though, you’re more my type. Not that they aren’t nice girls.”

You take a sip of your drink, eyebrows quirked. His arms are basically bulging out of his Navy attire, and you struggle to keep your eyes off of them. Decidedly, you try teasing him, pushing the boundaries of flirting. “You’re my type too. More than the one with the mustache, but he’s not so bad.”

His smile crinkles his eyes, and you think you might swoon. This is good, you tell yourself. It feels good. It’s a bit awkward, with just the slightest bit of tension, but you’re warming up; you just got out of a relationship for god’s sake.

“Trust me, sugar, however good you think he is, I’m better.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink.

You’re drop dead gorgeous, he thinks. Jake meets gorgeous women every day, but not one has made his heart beat just as fast. When you smile up at him through your lashes, he’s done for. Locked, loaded, and done for.

“You’re that confident, hm?” You muse, setting your beer down on the counter. It took a great deal of complacency to not throw yourself at him and wrap yourself in his large hands. He swipes a bead of water off of your bottle, and you think all sorts of things. His fingers dripping, his face hot and sweaty, his hair messed up… you almost melt at the idea. “I think you’re going to have to prove it.”

He holds an arm out to you, and you graciously accept. “I’ll prove it in a million ways, pretty girl. Dance with me and see for yourself.”

Jake leads you to a small area by the jukebox. His palms skim over your waist, pulling you closer but still leaving you aching for more. A song starts playing, one you don’t recognize, but he seems to know exactly how to move to it.

If you’re being totally honest, he’s a really good dancer. And it’s so hot, unbearably so. He doesn’t step on your feet, and he leads your every step without being overpowering. Every song, you seem to get closer and closer until your chest is basically pressed right up against his, and he can still move gracefully.

“How’s this for proof?” He whispers, lips grazing over the shell of your ear. “Rooster’s got moves, but he isn’t half as good as me.”

You push back on his chest gently, raising your eyebrows. “Now I’m starting to think this is just a ploy to get him jealous. Does mustache man get on your nerves that much?” You grin as he takes your hands in his. He rolls his eyes.

“I got the cutest girl in the room all to myself. Who wouldn’t be jealous? The only ploy here is the one where I try and get you to come home with me.”

Your teeth find purchase in your bottom lip, trying to hide your ever-growing smile. You might be getting free drinks more than once. “Buy me a drink and we’ll see how that works out.”

To his credit, Jake seems completely okay with getting to know you before heading out. The conversation is engaging, studded with flirting and genuine curiosity. It’s like he’s hanging on to every word you say, truly attempting to form any sort of connection. Most guys wouldn’t make this effort for a one night stand, especially not someone who looks like they could have a new one every night.

To say he’s beyond saving is an understatement in Jake’s opinion. With every second that goes by, you’re sounding more and more like his dream girl. You like his beer, his favorite place to eat, and you share a few of his hobbies. It’s like a match made in heaven.

As the night progresses, guilt starts eating at the hem of your shirt. The drinks are running low, and the sky is growing dim, and the opportunity to fulfill your challenge is opening up more with every second that ticks by. Do you really want this amazing guy to be a bet?

He stands to leave, offering a hand to help you slip off your bar stool. “Shall we?”

Your hesitation makes him falter just a bit. Jake would be okay with waiting, if he was being honest. Yeah, he’s been semi hard the entire time you ran your finger up and down your drink absentmindedly, but he could take you out on a real date first. One where you stare at him with those pretty eyes and smile your captivating smile.

The feeling takes over as you take in his willingness. “I have something to admit.” You murmur, almost too quiet to pick up over the din of the bar. Luckily for you, he has great hearing.

“Lay it on me, sweet thing. I can take it.” He grins. Your hands find the edges of your shorts and play with the little string on the seam that you’ve been meaning to cut for a few days now.

“I made a stupid agreement with my friends that if I took home the guy I thought was the hottest at the bar, then they’d pay for my drinks next time.” You blurt out. His eyes widen slightly, sending a pang of anxiety through you, before his lips curl up into a smile.

He takes your arms and wraps them around his shoulders, spinning you towards the entrance of the bar. “Well, we wouldn’t want a nice girl like you to pay for her own drinks, huh?”

You arrive at your small house and fumble with the lock while Jake presses hot kisses to your neck. You’re biting back a whimper as the door finally swings open, walking short, hurried steps into the bedroom. His hands are all over you, burning like fire. They’re gripping at your shirt, your waist, the column of your throat, your upper thigh— anywhere he can get ahold of. You pull off your shirt as the back of your knees hit the soft mattress.

Before you can blink, Jake has taken off his shirt too, and his hands are kneading the bottom of your breasts, beneath your lacy bra. “You sure?” He asks. You nod vigorously, unhooking your straps with your fingers, but he just looks down disapprovingly. “With your words, baby.”

“Yes.” You breathe. With that confirmation, he wastes no time.

Your clothes are tossed to some unknown corner of your room. You couldn’t care less about where they ended up, not when Jake is running his fingers over your hardening nipples.

He ghosts over them with just enough pressure to get you cursing. He’s hardly done anything and you can still feel a wetness gathering between your legs. When he moves up, taking your left nipple in his mouth, his bare thigh pressing between yours, a gasp escapes your mouth.

“That good?” He asks. His low voice sends vibrations up your chest, and you utter a quiet confirmation. He pays some attention to your other breast as you practically grind against his thigh, desperate for any sort of friction where you need it most.

He gives you a playful sigh, looking down at your writhing body. You look gorgeous, and knowing that his slight touches are enough to make you squirm is the ego boost of the century. Your eyelashes give a slight flutter at his next words. “Patience. I’ll give you what you want eventually, don’t worry.” His hand slips down and squeezes your thigh encouragingly.

“Now, Jake, please.” You almost whine. It’s embarrassing how well he seems to figure out your body. Even now, he’s kissing his way down your neck, finding every place that heightens your growing arousal. You hook your legs around his waist and rest your arms on the sides of his neck. “I want what I want now.”

It’s amazing how quickly your words travel to his dick. Jake’s roaringly hard, and you can feel it pressing against your inner thigh. You rub your legs up and down, teasing, drawing the most beautiful groan out of his open mouth. You’re going to be the death of him, he thinks.

“You drive a hard bargain, darlin’, and I’m not one to refuse.”

His hands travel down your body, taking time to caress your sides and send shivers up your spine. When he finally reaches the puddle under you, he quirks his eyebrows. “That excited?”

You roll your eyes at him, even though all he can see is the slightest movement of your face. “Get on with it, cowboy.”

He chuckles and places a small kiss on your hipbone. “Yes ma’am.”

He slips one finger inside you, pulling a soft noise from your swollen lips. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts. “Might take you a bit to get used to me.” He curls the finger gently, and you see stars as it brushes up against the spot inside of you that you can’t reach yourself. He’s bigger, stronger, longer, wider. A second finger joins the first, the digits stretching you deliciously.

A pressure begins to build in your stomach as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing gentle circles. Ah, fuck, he knows what he’s doing. Your hips buck up slightly on top of your mattress, pressing your core into the palm of his hand. “Please.” You squeak.

He frowns, but his pupils are blown up in pure ecstasy. “Well excuse me for trying to give you a good time.” His free hand moves to pinch the curve of your ass lightly. You sit up fully and trail your nails down his back, reveling in the shiver it draws from him. With one smooth motion, you take his cock in your hand and give him a small stroke that has him jolting in his place.

“We can both have a good time if you would put on a condom and fuck me already.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop and consider how needy they sound. They seem to work, though, as he smirks at you and guides your hand up and down his length.

“I’m guessing your dresser drawer is ready for stuff like this?” He asks. You feel your face grow warmer at exactly how right he is as you slide the drawer open and grab one. “Ah, you’ve even got my size. What a responsible girl you are.” His voice comes out as a half laugh, and you try to stifle your own laughter with the palm of your hand.

“I like to be prepared.”

“Might as well throw the smaller ones away after tonight. You’ll only want mine when I’m done with you.” He’s so cocky it’s funny instead of off-putting. You hand him the condom and he rolls it over himself. He has a right to be cocky, you think, with a body like that. All taut muscle and chest hair. When he brings his hand up to the back of your neck to lower you down on your bed, your heart gives a mighty flutter.

“Prove it.” You say, for the second time that night. He gives you a look that says he’s going to prove it more than once, over and over until you’re begging him to keep proving it, then a bit more after that.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his tip pressing into your warm entrance. As he pushes forwards slowly, teasingly, you’re suddenly aware of just how big he is. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever felt, and despite how wet you’ve become, it’s a lot to handle. You wince as his length stretches you, waiting for the feeling to shift from uncomfortable to ungodly good.

“You bit off more than you can chew, didn’t you?” Jake teases. “We can stop if you want, just say the word.”

Your steady voice challenges him as you try to pull it together. “Keep going. I can take it.”

He doesn’t know how, but Jake gets impossibly harder. He indulges you, though, leaving small kisses on your cheeks to distract you from the pinching pain. Once he’s completely bottomed out, you breathe a sigh of relief. Then, of course, you notice that it feels good. Really good.

He’s pressed right up against a spot that has you seeing stars, and when he moves, slowly at first, the drag forces a moan from deep in your throat. You feel so full, so complete. His pace picks up, and you close your eyes.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He praises, voice strained. The movement of his hips is delicious. Smooth, quick, deep. When his fingers find his way to your clit, you almost finish right then and there.

You’re panting, breath coming out in hot waves against the nape of Jake’s neck. He shivers at the feeling, pressing closer to you to soak in more of that warmth. “Jake, I’m- I’m gonna…” you trail off, closing your mouth as another whimper tries to sneak out.

“Go for it, sweetness. Let me hear that pretty voice.”

With one, two, three more strokes, you feel the knot within you beginning to unravel. Your nails rake down his sides, one of his hands is gripping your waist and the other is firmly attached to your bundle of nerves, and his mouth is suddenly on yours, muffling your noises. It’s overwhelming. With one sharp gasp, you clench down hard and come undone.

Jake follows soon after as he pulls out with a groan. The sound falls heavily on your blissed-out ears.

You sit up, taking his face in your hand. “You’ve proved it. Oh, and I’m officially tonight’s lucky winner.” You say with a beaming smile. He scoffs lightly.

“You were a winner the minute you stepped into that bar.” He winks at you as your hand moves down to rest on his collarbone. “Just let me join in on your winnings when you cash out.”

“In your dreams, cowboy. The most you’ll get is a beer or two before my friends take their cards away.”

He blows a little air out of the side of his mouth before collapsing onto your bed like he owns it, pulling you into his arms. “I’ll take what I can get if it means I can see you again.”

You sigh happily, snuggling into his chest. “Is that a promise?”

“Sure is. The Hard Deck, next Friday. Bring your friends and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Taglist: @seitmai

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bloomries · 2 months

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hey listen to me, will ya!

includes : diavolo, barbatos, and solomon.

summary : trying to convince them to do something, but they won't listen, because they know they'll give in to you in a second!

warnings : gn! reader. i couldn't think of anything for simeon, so no simeon sorry! not proofread.

DIAVOLO

To let you be big spoon.

"No." It was almost comical, the way the giant man that Diavolo was was acting in such a childish way, his hands over his ears and he repeated an off tune 'lalalala.' You sigh, arms crossed over your chest as you watch him, letting out an annoyed sigh every now and again.

After a good four minutes, you decide to put a stop (mostly for your poor ear drums sakes), and walk over to him, taking his arms and forcing them apart. He keeps them firmly planted over his ears, shaking his head. "Diavolo, this is ridiculous."

"Can't hear you~" You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think of a way to at least get him to hear you. That was the problem though, he knew if he heard a single word from you on this topic, he'd fold immediately.

"Dia," You coo softly, and even though he claims he 'can't hear you' he sends you a glance because when you call his name that way it almost always certainly leads to a sweet kiss. You step closer to him, tilting your head in such an appetizing way.

"Mmm..." He doesn't like where this is going.

You lean up and capture his lips in a kiss, one that has him melting. You gently guide his hands away from his ears, pulling away and giggling as he chases after your lips.

"Let me be big spoon, just one night." He pouts, his hands squeezing your sides.

"...Just one night?"

"Just one night." Diavolo sighs, looking off to the side. His pout was adorable, made you want to bite his cheek.

"Mmm... Alright. One night."

Per usual, you always got what you wanted from the Prince of the Devildom.

BARBATOS

To get a puppy.

Barbatos silence only served to make you more annoyed. "You could at least pretend to consider it, you know?" Barbatos continues to not say a word, continuing with folding the laundry. "Seriously?"

Barbatos, with his nose held high, folds on. 'I can't hear you' is so obviously written across his face you would punch it if you didn't love it so much. You huff, sitting on the bed.

"I can take care of a puppy. I'd be great at it." Barbatos clears his throat, turning around. "We could be it's parents. We'd be amazing puppy parents." You urge, pushing yourself off the bed and reaching for his waist, wrapping your arms around his middle.

"Don't you want to be a parent with me?"

Barbatos internally groans, you never play fair, do you? He refuses to be swayed on his topic, however. He has a rowdy prince to look after, and you have seven even rowdier brothers to look after, a puppy wouldn't fit in either of your schedules, whether you decide to accept that or not.

"Barbbbb," You whine, and he keeps his head high. He won't ruin his perfectly good streak of not giving in to you by looking at your ridiculously perfect face.

"Fine." You huff, pulling away from him. "I'll just ask Diavolo for-" Barbatos finally reacts to your words, swiftly turning and grabbing your forearm. He gives you a stern look.

"Please... Don't..." He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, letting out a shaky exhale. If you ask Diavolo, it wouldn't be just one puppy, but fifty. "We can consider a puppy once everything settles down, alright?" You give him a pointed look.

"Really? Promise?"

Begrudgingly, Barbatos admits defeat. "Really, I promise. But not now, understood?"

"Understood!"

SOLOMON

To teach you a potion.

"Hm? Do you hear something?" Solomon calls to no one in particular, "I could've sworn I heard something, but must've been nothing."

"Wooow," You say in an exasperated tone. "Very mature, Solomon. For a guy who's been around for hundreds of years, you're just like a child, I swear." Solomon furrows his brows, looking around the room in an overly dramatic manner.

"There it is again! So strange!"

"I just asked you to teach me how to make that potion from earlier- the one that-" Solomon covers his ears and even closes his eyes. "Seriously?"

"If I can't hear or see you, then I won't be tempted." Solomon yells, causing you to take a few steps back. "You're very bewitching, you know, and I won't fall for your tricks."

"You-" You roll your eyes at him, "Ugh, I swear..." You watch as he takes peeks at you every now and again, and you groan as he continues on the act every time he confirms you're still there.

If he claims you're so bewitching, you might as well use it, you decide, running a finger just under his chin and tilting his head to look at you.

"Solomon." You call, "Teach me, won't you?"

He falters. Damn your good looks. Solomon relents, hanging his head in shame. He's failed himself.

"What potion is it?" He sighs, turning towards the open books.

"This one here~"

#obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #om x reader #om headcanons #om imagines #omswd x reader #omswd headcanons #omswd imagines #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #solomon x reader

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comicaurora · 3 months

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I'm not a writer whatsoever and am currently listening to the OSPod Publishing special, and was really intruiged by your description of your character-driven stories as being similar to a DnD campaign. Could you please elaborate a bit on what you mean by "it's good when the characters surprise you"? It's likely an obvious writer thing, but I would've thought that an author wouldn't be surprised by where their story or characters go since, well, they're the one writing it. Regardless the comic is amazing so however confusing your process may be to me personally it's clearly effective

It's a little bit difficult to explain!

A lot of the writing process is just sitting down and writing it - laying out the setpieces, describing what the characters do, writing and tweaking the dialogue for impact. But in my experience, the vast majority of the REAL writing process happens internally, and large chunks of it are out of conscious reach of the writer. This unreachable space is where new ideas form, and why no writer has ever been able to answer the question "where do you get your ideas from?"

This is why a writer can beat their head against writers block for weeks at a time, then wake up one day with a solution and the entire next chunk of storyline fully formed. My dad calls this phenomenon "the better writer in the back of your head." A lot of the creative process doesn't happen in the front of your mind, where your ego and your inner voice live. Most of it is deeper down. This is how your mind is capable of surprising you in any context, including dreams or unexpected emotional reactions - your mind is a lot larger than just the parts you can consciously feel.

When I put a character in a situation, I can make a conscious decision for what they'll do and then execute it, but I can also listen for ideas bubbling out of that inaccessible region of my mind. Most character ideas start out as a small set of conscious decisions on the part of the writer - "I'll make him a classical hero with a strong sense of justice" or "she'll be a strong but weary leader putting on a brave face" or "I'm playing an edgy rogue with a dark past" etc etc, quick and basic elevator pitches. But the characters come alive when they're allowed to grow down into the inaccessible parts of the mind, where consciousness gives way to emotions bubbling up from even deeper processes. Once the characters are allowed to start feeling things about their story - like "maybe that classical hero doesn't actually feel great about the lord they serve" or "the weary leader has an endless wellspring of vengeful rage to keep her going when she falters," more creative ideas for their next move start bubbling up. Things that don't flow logically from their elevator pitch, but make sense for the character that grows out of that pitch as they're allowed to engage with the world and story around them.

The way I build characters puts a focus on how they're feeling in any given situation, which is completely separate from what I, the writer of the plot, need them to do to move the plot in the direction I was planning. So sometimes I'll be writing something, and a little bubble of inspiration will pop up and let me know that, unexpectedly, this situation is really getting to one of the characters. And I can choose to keep them on track, or I can let their internal compass take over and see what makes the most sense to them at that moment of the story.

Characters are not real people, and they aren't as large or complex as a human mind, but in my experience, if you build a character solidly enough and give yourself room to play, they will grow down into your subconscious wellspring of creativity, and your mind will volunteer ideas to you using their voice. You don't need to use them, but it's very useful to cultivate them, because sometimes those ideas are better than anything you could consciously stick together in the public-spacing front of your mind.

#asks #aurora #writing stuff #behind the curtain

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zorobff · 11 months

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little by little. (opla!sanji x fem!reader)

synopsis: a series of events that transpire throughout your time mentoring sanji into a proper waiter, per zeff’s request.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: cursing, smoking, some direct dialogue from opla, zoro wants u but he can’t have uuu, a pitiful attempt at enemies to lovers, this is the plate technique i was referencing btw

the slicing, stirring, and sizzling of the kitchen fades into background noise compared to the two thick accents bickering back and forth. to no one’s surprise, a disagreement between sanji and zeff’s has escalated into another one of their infamous arguments. it was such a common occurrence that almost everyone working at the baratie knew to brace themselves for a yelling match at least once day.

you’re no different as you return to the kitchen from waiting tables and walk right past the pair without so much as a glance their way. instead, you make a beeline for patty’s cooking station. unamused, you ask, “they’re back at it again?”

patty slings a towel over his shoulder as he hands you table 7’s orders. “i told sanji not to put that original dish of his on the menu. he called it a true bluefin whatever the hell.”

“sounds promising,” you joke, collecting the plates from him.

“tell that to zeff,” he replies flatly. “he might even make it tomorrow’s special.”

“dammit zeff!” sanji exclaims, interrupting you and patty’s conversation. “if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i’m going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag!”

“it’s what we serve,” retaliates the older chef.

“it’s an insult to the meat!”

“oh, you don’t like cooking our menu? fine. ‘cause i’ll be more than delighted to give you some other work elsewhere. in fact, you are off the line. you’re going to get out there and wait tables!”

sanji’s jaw clenches at having been demoted but he removes his chef apron regardless. as often as the two of them bickered, he could never refuse such direct orders from zeff. he was the owner and founder of baratie — that was something to be respected.

all of a sudden, zeff calls your name, causing you to abruptly set down the dishes in your hands. what did you have to do with any of this? the older chef beckons you closer with a curled finger and it seems as if every pair of eyes in the kitchen shifts to you. except for sanji’s, who is too busy staring up at the ceiling as if he’s begging a higher power for self-restraint.

it’s ironic how after putting so much effort into being the best waitress possible, you end up in the middle of confrontation – something you went out of your way to avoid. still, your body reacts faster than your brain and you comply, scurrying over to where zeff and sanji stand.

“from here on out, you keep a close eye on him for me.” zeff clasps a large hand on sanji’s shoulder with such force that it sends the younger jolting forward. “i don’t wanna catch him slithering his way back into the kitchen unless it’s to grab orders, ya got it?”

you blink. “yes, chef.”

your response earns you a tight-lipped smile, a rarely seen gesture from zeff. as suddenly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by a hardened gaze as he turns back to sanji. “if we’re lucky enough, some of your obedience might rub off on this little eggplant.”

the comment earns him an eye roll from the waiter in question, who seems less than thrilled with this new arrangement. “this is such bullshit, old man. you really think she can teach me anything?”

you go to defend yourself, slightly offended by his offhand comment. “hey, i—”

before you can get another word out, sanji interjects, offering you a glance. “no offense, i’m sure you’re lovely—” the moment he takes a good look at you, he trails off. it’s almost comical how quickly his demeanor changes, that signature smirk of his creeping onto his lips. “with an even lovelier face to match.”

you narrow your eyes at him, not charmed by the sudden switch in attitude. “you’re shameless.”

he smiles. “so i’ve been told.”

“we’ll need to work on that.”

his grin widens, if that was even possible. “i look forward to it.”

his smile is a little too mischievous for your liking; you sigh. “can’t say the same.”

ignoring your remark, he muses, “you know, it’s a shame that working under you is supposed to be a punishment. a pretty face like yours is more of a reward, if you ask me.”

“who said anything about a punishment?”

“well, what else would you call this?” he chuckles dryly. “instead of cooking, i’m expected to wait on idiots who can’t tell a rosé prosecco from a cheval blanc. and now i’m being treated like i need a babysitter.”

you fold your arms. “that’s because you do need a babysitter. besides, zeff calls the shots so there’s no use complaining.”

“of course you’d say that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he smirks. “i can already tell you’re a professional rule follower. a lap dog, if you will.”

“if you were too, we wouldn’t even be here.” you decide to take it even further, returning his bluntness. “maybe it’d be easier if that ego of yours wasn’t so inflated.”

“damn.” he places a hand over his heart as if you’ve wounded him. “if we’re talking about flaws, though, this might be a good time to mention the stick up your ass.”

“what? i don’t–” you take a deep breath. “listen, zeff is counting on me to turn you into a functional waiter. that means we have to tolerate each other for the time being. the sooner we do that, the sooner we go our separate ways. got it?”

he flashes you his teeth. “yes, ma’am.”

“great. to start, you’re going to wait tables with me.” with that, you walk back to patty’s station.

sanji scampers behind you, smile fading. “you’re joking.”

you shrug, opting to let your silence answer for you.

he continues, “you’re not even going to let me suffer through this alone? i’ve gotta be glued to your hip as well?”

“what’s the matter? i thought i was lovely,” you tease him, feigning sorrow. your faux pout contradicts the way you harshly shove two steaming plates his way.

“not when you’re bossing me around.” he hesitantly takes the dishes you hand him. “i mean, can’t you just let me off the hook? i’ll hide in the supply closet ‘til our shift’s over.”

“good one.”

WEEK ONE.

“welcome to baratie, i’ll be your waitress this afternoon. what can i get started for you?” you ask, ready to jot down the table’s orders on your notepad. “i recommend today’s special—”

an arm digging into your ribs cuts you off. the action is forceful enough to jolt you but light enough not to hurt. you glare at the culprit, who tilts his head expectantly as if to ask, aren’t you forgetting something?

“oh, how unprofessional of me,” you deadpan. “this is sanji, he’ll be accompanying me. we’re training new hires.”

the smile on his face disappears, clearly insulted at being compared to an inexperienced beginner.

you continue, “as i was saying, today’s special is a beef filet with rice and seaweed soup. it was chosen by chef zeff himself.”

that seems to pique the customers’ interests. who didn’t want to eat a meal that had the chef zeff’s stamp of approval? they enthusiastically agree to add it to their order.

sanji scoffs. “that’s not sayin’ much. zeff wouldn’t know a good meal if it kicked him in the peg leg.”

you find yourself cringing as the patrons’ faces contort into shock at the blatant insult. well, there goes your tip.

chuckling nervously, you attempt to redirect the conversation. “can i, um, get you anything to drink?”

dismissing sanji’s outburst, they opt to look over the various wines the menu has to offer. you allow yourself to tune out their indecisive murmuring for the time being. however, sanji soon breaks the peaceful silence.

“you know what, how about i whip up a dish of my own for you two? ’s called a true bluefin sauté, somethin’ that’ll put today’s special to shame. free of charge, of course—”

“okay, that’s enough,” you intervene in between yet another forced laugh. “could you please excuse us for a moment?”

the guests’ irritated expressions fill you with shame — you were used to smiles and hefty tips but never this. you pull sanji aside, ignoring his complaints about the excessive force you use to do so.

“you need to get it together,” you seethe.

“i’m trying my best,” he replies, though there’s a smug undertone to it. “like you said, i am just a new hire.”

you suppress a sigh. “no new hire would badmouth the owner to customers like that. or offer to make dishes that aren’t—and never will be—on the menu.”

“ouch, that was personal—”

“just let patty know we need two specials. and tell him to make it top priority, we don’t want to piss these people off even more. can you do that, please?”

it was clear you were stressed by the mess he’d created, if your pleading tone was anything to go by. sanji decides to take pity on you. he wordlessly retreats to the kitchen to do what you had asked. no quips, no teasing.

for the first time, he follows your instructions.

WEEK TWO.

it seemed as if everyone in the east blue was set on having their breakfast at the baratie.

the kitchen was bustling, cooks slaving over the stove and waiters twisting past each other to grab orders. among them was you, sweaty and thoroughly overwhelmed. despite the task at hand, you can’t help but question the whereabouts of a certain blonde.

“where’s sanji?” you demand while grabbing more steaming plates.

carne, the chef who’d cooked the meals, answers you. “haven’t seen him all morning.”

you groan, using your sleeve to wipe off the beads of perspiration that form at your hairline before grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and plate of fluffy belgian waffles. you knew sanji still wasn’t happy about being a waiter (and he took every chance to show it) but that didn’t matter; it was all hands on deck this morning.

you continue expertly stacking the dishes into your arms and hands. it was a technique you’d learned over the years and now it felt like second nature. soon enough, you’re balancing plates up to your forearms. you’re just about to head back out to the dining hall when you hear a familiar accent behind you.

“we doin’ party tricks now or what?”

startled, you turn around so fast it causes the dishware in your hold to teeter ever so slightly. there stands sanji, clearly finding amusement in how you’re up to your elbows in breakfast foods.

“maybe don’t sneak up on me when i’m holding six plates?” you chastise him.

he chuckles. “sorry, sorry. what did i miss?”

“only the worst breakfast rush i’ve ever seen. where have you been?”

“i was takin’ a smoke outside.”

“productive.” your tone drips with sarcasm. “we’ll talk about punctuality later, for now just take the rest of those plates for me.”

sanji reluctantly obeys, grabbing two plates from the multitude of options and steps back, ready to follow you. you look at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief. he returns the stare and furrows his eyebrows as if he really can’t understand what he’s doing wrong.

“you’re seriously only taking two?” you ask.

“yeah? what, were you expecting me to join your balancing act?”

“it would help!”

“trust me, i’d only make a bigger mess.”

“sanji.”

“fine! show me.”

you squint your eyes at him in irritation. “my hands are a little full right now.”

he purses his lips. “then just tell me how.”

you comply. “get your first plate, put it between your thumb and the edge of your pointer finger. make sure to rotate it away from your body.”

sanji follows your directions, attentively. he glances up at you once he completes the first couple steps, scanning your face for any disapproval. you give him a nod.

“so far so good. next, put your second plate under the first. use your remaining fingers to support it– yeah, just like that. and let the edge of the plate rest on the bottom of the first.”

as sanji carefully carries out your instructions, you notice the determination written on his face. you’d never seen him put so much effort in a task, much less one you’d given him. you could tell it was challenging, judging by the way his hands wobble with uncertainty as he stacks the plates, but not once does he stop. it’s admirable. you feel a smile form on your face.

“okay, what n— what’re you laughin’ at?”

“i’m not laughing,” you defend. “it’s just– you’re really trying. it’s nice. i like this sanji.”

he opens his mouth as if to respond but decides not to at the last moment. there’s a brief silence before he raises his eyebrows to signal he was ready for the next step.

“right. um, the third plate uses your arm and the edge of the second plate as balance points so you’re gonna wanna put it– yeah, right there.”

you take in the sight of all three plates successfully resting on sanji’s arm as one of his trademark grins appears on his lips. clearly he’s proud of himself but as his wide eyes meet yours, you can’t help but feel as if he’s seeking your approval too. you notice that when he glances up at you, there’s an eager look in his eyes as if he’s hanging on to your every breath. you figure it’s normal for someone to want their mentor’s praise, right?

you willingly deliver the encouragement. “you’re a natural. better than me.”

his reply comes so quickly it almost seems as if he’s said it without thinking. “well, that’s not possible, is it?”

his tone sounds warm; sincere. not to mention, this is the first time sanji has complimented your skills as a waitress. you’d received countless praises for your work ethic but somehow, something so simple from someone like sanji makes this different. special, in a way.

“let’s get to the table, food’s gonna get cold,” you say so that you don’t spend too much time replaying his words in your mind.

the journey to said table proves to be more arduous than you’d think. you offer quiet ‘excuse me’s that can hardly be heard over the commotion of the kitchen as your coworkers try their best to make way for you and sanji. some of their eyes linger on the plates that masterfully balance on both your arms but truthfully, the sight of sanji exerting so much effort into waiting tables is more impressive to them. it’s distracting enough to send one of them to colliding straight into you.

your first instinct is to try and salvage as many dishes as possible but it’s useless when the impact is so strong that it sends you stumbling backwards. the only reason you don’t fall over is the firm chest that presses against your back and the two pairs of strong arms that find their way around your waist. the ear-splitting sound of yours and sanji’s plates shattering against the floor is unpleasant and yet all you can think about is how sanji literally dropped everything to catch you.

the waiter you’d crashed into groans, looking down at the mess of broken dishware and food gone to waste. “god, look where you’re going if you’re gonna carry all those plates.”

“i’m sorry,” you instantly apologize, flustered by the rare mistake. “i was just trying to get ahead of the rush–”

“instead, you set us back further.” his eyes flit down to his shirt and then yours. “and ruined both our uniforms.”

the abruptness of your mishap (and your skinship with sanji) had robbed all your attention, causing you to overlook the various creams and sauces that now bleed into your shirt.

“watch it,” sanji warns him, finding the man’s aggressive tone intolerable. “if you worked half as hard as she is then maybe there wouldn’t be such a need to catch up on orders.”

your coworker fixes sanji with a glare for intervening. “i’m not talking to you, pal.”

“well, i’m talking to you. and i’m thinkin’ of taking this discussion outside if you don’t apologize for being a jackass.”

that earns him an irritated sigh. however, he complies. “i’m sorry. can i get back to work now?”

sanji remains unimpressed. “don’t apologize to me. apologize to her.”

he doesn’t even try to hide his eye roll before he gives you a lackadaisical apology. “i’m sorry, alright? tell your boyfriend to back off.”

he stomps away, leaving you even more rattled up by his last comment. slowly, you turn around to sanji, unsure of what to say. you take in the stains that litter his suit, though he seems unbothered by it. his stare is heated as he watches the man leave. however, when he notices you staring, his gaze softens.

“what was his problem?” he asks you with a chuckle that sounds out of place in a moment like this.

in any other situation you’d poke fun at sanji for also having gotten worked up but you choose not to. him getting so angry on your behalf felt… strange. not unwelcome, though.

your reply is simple. “y-yeah. real asshole.”

he lifts a brow. “you okay?”

you nod a little too hard. “i’m just not used to situations like that. thanks for stepping in. and, you know, catching me.”

sanji glances away when your look of pure gratitude becomes too much for him to handle. “i couldn’t have you eat shit and be out of commission, zeff just might decide to mentor me himself. and no one wants that, right?”

you can’t help but laugh at the dismissive demeanor he was putting on when he’d literally just threatened a man for you. “right.”

he clears his throat. “let’s go get cleaned up then.”

“sorry,” you blurt. “about your suit, i mean. it’s all dirty now.”

he shakes his head. “wasn’t your fault. if anything, i should go force an apology out of that jerk.”

“well, while you do that i’m gonna clean this mess up.”

“no need.” he shoots you a sly wink. “i’ll make him do that too.”

WEEK THREE.

you find yourself clearing off an empty table on a somewhat slow thursday afternoon when the baratie’s newest guests catch your eye. they look nothing like the stuffy moneybags that frequented the establishment – far from it. in fact, you find yourself having to do a double take when you notice that one of them is wearing overalls. it’s refreshing, you think, occasionally glancing up at them as they settle in.

when you head back to the kitchen to grab menus, you bump into sanji, who’d arrived from his break.

you glance at the clock on the wall. “was that actually only ten minutes? i’m impressed.”

sanji exhales as he does every time he feels sheepish about following the rules. “don’t get used to it.”

you disregard his comment and instead hand him a couple menus. “come on, we’ve got a table.”

he frowns. “i just got back.”

“you’ll live. i think it’ll be a interesting one.”

that was an understatement.

“welcome to baratie. my name is sanji. what can i get for you?”

sanji’s customer service voice never fails to amuse you. it sounds too forced, too sharp; as if he’s just dying to spew a one-liner or two. you have to admit, though, he’d done pretty well ever since you started letting him take the lead. there was a clear improvement from when you’d first started, a little over two weeks ago.

“one of everything!” the one with the straw hat enthusiastically exclaims.

another, more feminine, voice joins the conversation. “maybe save that for after we find the one piece.”

there’s a brief pause before sanji speaks again, this time in a tone you know all too well. “didn’t see you there, madam. would you care for an aperitif to start? we have several rare micqueot vintages in stock. or perhaps you’d like a glass of umeshu? you know, something sweet for someone sweet.” he ends with a wink.

she cringes. “is there something wrong with your eye?”

you can hear sanji’s smile in his reply. “just blinded by your beauty.”

out of all of sanji’s antics, this somehow feels like the worst one yet. you’re not entirely sure why him blatantly flirting with the woman feels so unbearable but you decide to chalk it up to your professionalism. if any of your fellow waiters flirted with a customer you’d be just as upset… right?

“zeff told me he doesn’t like you terrorizing the female patrons with your flirting so why don’t you knock it off?” you tell sanji, your words carrying an unusual edge to them. “you’re one shitty pick-up line away from a restraining order.”

although you mumble the last part, both sanji and the table seem to pick up on it. your bitterness earns you a surprised tilt of the head from the blonde; it wasn’t like you to have such outbursts, especially not in front of guests.

“relax,” he says, still taken aback. “it’s called working the table. you should try it sometime ‘cause that attitude isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

a monotonous voice cuts through the tension. “so about those drinks...”

you and sanji pause your discussion to get a look at the face behind the remark. lidded eyes that appear to be permanently hazy return your stare, through lashes so long you can’t help but admire them. the man who they belong to is comfortably splayed out on his side of the booth, calmly observing the two of you. though, it seems like you’ve caught his attention more than anything else. though his gaze seems uninterested, he still effectively studies every inch of you.

sanji seems to pick up the stranger’s staring problem too. he sharply inquires, “is there something on her face?”

the man turns to him once he’s finished sizing you up. “i’m just an observant guy.”

“observe the menu instead, hm?” suddenly, sanji’s tone sounds a lot like yours; irritated and displeased.

“no need.” the green-haired swordsman turns to you. “a beer, please.”

you hold the male’s gaze for a second before nodding. apparently, the eye contact is too prolonged for sanji’s taste because he cuts in, attempting to move things along.

“what about you, madam? anything i can get for you?” you notice he’s using that voice again.

her answer is plain. “water.”

somehow, he manages to complicate it. “still, sparkling, mineral? with ice or without? cubed or crushed?”

“regular water in a regular glass. thanks.”

he beams. “right away.”

“and what about the rest of you?” you ask to impede sanji from asking the woman any more questions.

“two beers,” the one with dark skin says. “i usually have three but–”

“and a milk!” the straw hat adds.

“got it. anything else before we go get those drinks for you?”

a raspy voice speaks up. “do waiters usually come in pairs here?”

you shake your head. “this is a temporary arrangement. he just needed some extra training.”

“that depends on who you ask,” sanji clarifies before narrowing his eyes at the man on the left of the booth. “why do you care anyway, mosshead?”

before you can scold sanji for giving customers rude nicknames, the customer in question swiftly corrects him. “the name’s zoro. i was just curious as to why such a good waiter would be partnered with someone so… incompetent.”

“curious?” scoffs the woman to his left. “since when are you ever curious? about anything other than alcohol, that is.”

“certain things catch my attention once in a while, nami,” he replies, nonchalantly. though he mentions his colleague by name, it’s clear he’s really speaking to you. “it’s just not often that my standards can be met. but when they are, i’m left with no choice but to show a little interest.”

your head tilts at the double meaning his comment carried. though you admire zoro’s ability to be a smooth-talker, you find that that’s where his appeal ends for you.

“high standards, hm? then you’re dining at the wrong place,” spits sanji in an attempt to get zoro’s attention off of you. “only thing that isn’t shitty is the drinks which we’ll be getting for you now, if you’ll excuse us.”

sanji hooks an arm around your shoulder before he spins on his heel and leads you both back to the kitchen. you look over your shoulder, offering the table one of your customer service smiles as an apology for your abrupt exit. sanji’s strides are long and purposeful; he’s angry, you realize. although, you can’t blame him for having such a sour attitude when you yourself aren’t too thrilled either.

you don’t speak to each other for the rest of the shift.

“you smiled at him.”

you sigh, setting your book face down to glare at sanji who stands in the doorway of the quaint breakroom. “i’m on my break, sanji.”

“so am i,” he retaliates, pulling a stick out of the worn-down cigarette box in his pocket as if to prove it to you.

“so it’s not enough that i’m stuck babysitting you when we’re on the clock? you’re gonna start seeking me out in our free time too?”

he purses his lips. “pretty much.”

his stubbornness is unsurprising but you just aren’t in the mood to tolerate it today, not when he’d worked your nerves earlier with his flirtatious behavior. deep down, you know you only have yourself to blame for getting so unreasonably angered by that. maybe that’s what upsets you most.

you sigh. “just tell me what you want.”

“i want to know why you smiled at that asshole.”

“asshole?” you repeat, laughing. “i know you have a potty mouth but god, take it easy.”

he licks his lips. “see, now you’re defending him. what for? do you know him or something?”

“do i have to?”

“no, but... it would be nice if you did. it would help me understand why he was talkin’ to you like that. all flirty but secretive at the same time. it was like you two had some sort of inside joke.”

“so a man being interested in me is so unfathomable to you that i have to know him or else it’s a joke?” you ask, tone heated.

“no, that’s not–” he groans. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“what about you and that girl? nami, was it?” you sneer. “if zoro’s considered flirty then i don’t think there’s a word for what you are.”

“you’re mad at me for trying to earn a tip?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you. “you told me to be nicer to customers. i was being nice.”

“you were really selling it,” you scoff.

“don’t believe me?” sanji challenges you. “have you ever seen me flirt with a girl that’s not a customer? a girl that’s not you?”

the words tumble out of his mouth haphazardly, as if they’d been weighing heavy on his mind for a while now. as an attempt to recover — an attempt to make it seem like that admission didn’t mean something, he calmly lights the end of his cigarette. he then brings it to his chapped lips and takes a long drag.

you take the moment to really think about what he’d said. sanji was charming by nature and, of course, he knew that. not only that, but he used it to his advantage. people tended to tip better when he was laying it on thick, that much was true.

however, his second question takes a lot more thought. now that you really think about it, you realize he’s right. you’d never seen sanji flirt with another waiter or member of the staff. you were the only waitress he spoke to that way. the realization makes you feel warm in the face.

“i don’t just flirt with you, you know. i do so much more. remember that plate trick you taught me? i practiced for nights on end ‘til i could do it with my eyes closed. and i don’t tell customers how brainless they sound half the time because i know you don’t like it.”

you only watch as he paces back and forth, rattling off these thoughts that have clearly been plaguing him.

“you still never flirt back, though,” he continues, quietly. “lately i’ve been starting to think that you don’t actually like me at all. that’s the only reason i was being like that at the table. i knew i was only kiddin’ myself but still, i wanted to see if there was a small chance you cared.”

“i…” it’s all you can say. seeing this raw, insecure side of him has left you truly speechless.

he fiddles his cig between his fingers. “listen, i wouldn’t blame you if—”

you finally find your voice. “i like you.”

his voice trails off, engrossed in every word you speak. it’s a simple three words and yet he’s attentive as he waits for more to be said.

you begin to ramble, “i like your passion for the things you care about. i like how you always say what you think. i like that you always have my back. sanji, i… really do like you.”

he gives you a weak smile. “that’s nice, sweetheart, but i don’t think you like me the way i like you.”

“just because i don’t flirt much doesn’t mean i can’t have feelings for you, idiot.”

his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, processing your words. “you— feelings?” there’s a pause. “good ones, right?”

you can’t help but giggle. “yes, good ones. sure as hell not the ones from three weeks ago.”

he joins you with a laugh of his own, which sounds wobblier than usual. he pulls out a chair next to you, as if this moment has left him so shaken up that he needs to sit down. “who would’ve thought? god, i… i can’t believe it.”

“i’ve never heard you stutter so much,” you tell him, tucking a thin strand of blonde hair behind his ear. when your fingers graze against the skin, it’s warm to the touch. cute, you think.

“i just never expected you to give me a chance.”

“a chance? to do what, exactly?” you prod.

he straightens up. “to make you mine.”

your breath hitches in your throat. “sanji—”

“i’m not going to ask anything of you just yet. i think we should take our time. i want to show you that i can be exclusively devoted to you before we go any further. it’s only fair.”

your heart thumps wildly in your chest at the sincerity behind his words. “you’re willing to wait just to prove yourself to me?”

he nods, taking one of your hands and squeezing it. his dedication required no words.

“so that means no more flirting with the female patrons? even when i’m not there beside you?”

he shrugs as if it’s common sense. “if there’s no pretty waitress i want to make jealous then i don’t see a need to flirt.”

you nudge his shoulder. “and what about your tips?”

“small price to pay.”

satisfied with his answers, you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek; it feels giddy and spontaneous. sanji’s palm instinctively comes up to rest on the spot where your lips had been. he grins before attempting to speak—

a thick, husky accent shakes the walls. what makes it more terrifying is that it’s calling both yours and sanji’s names.

“break time’s over! get your asses back out there and wait some tables, now!”

#if this shit gets like 5 likes i’ll be happy #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla x reader #sanji fluff #sanji angst #sanji imagine #sanji oneshot #one piece x reader

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shirefantasies · 5 months

Text

This is something no one requested, but that I wrote for sheer comfort at a rush of bad memories. Warnings are fairly obvious, but this post will contain implications of abuse, though no graphic/explicit depictions.

The Hobbit Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship

Balin

His gaze drops from yours, but you are not offended by the pensive expression that crosses his face- what you said would take anyone time, let alone someone as thoughtful as Balin. Several heartbeats pass before he speaks. "My heart breaks for you," he begins, "that is a fate no one deserves. I can hardly begin to imagine... But what I do know is you have every right to do things at your own pace. Don't push yourself for me, love." Eyes shining, you nod. "And if I ever raise my voice at you, it'll only be for good reason, say, in a battle or because my old ears don't work so good." Giggling, you accept his proffered hand. "I admit, I can't picture you raising your voice like that at anyone." "It's happened," he jokes back, "those nephews of Thorin's have earned it a few times. But not you. I'm not here to control you, I'm here to love you, and you tell me if I'm making good on that." "It's a deal," you reply, smiling softly as Balin squeezes your hand.

Dwalin

“I know you may not understand or that my fears may seem weak-” “Weak?” Dwalin cuts you off. “Ya know who’s weak? That coward for picking on someone who loved ‘em. You are strong as hell for telling them yer done.” One final question rose to your lips. “So you don’t think differently of me?” At that, the tattooed dwarf shakes his head, placing a hand upon your shoulder and breathing your name softly even in his rough voice. “By my bear, you’re about the sweetest soul I’ve ever met and this only serves to confirm it. I’d have pummeled the sod at first insult.” “I probably should have,” you remarked, arms crossing over your midsection. “Not so fast,” Dwalin’s hand clapped over your chest, taking yours, “that’s what you have me for!” The hearty, devilishly proud laugh he burst into was enough to have you joining the mirth, your head falling gently against his.

Thorin

His eyes darken, jaw setting in a way that sends shivers of intimidation down your spine even in spite of your knowledge that it is not for you. You know it because of the way Thorin pulls you into his arms, because he breaths his condolences into your ear as he does so, warm air ticking the shell of it. "And your fire still burns," he remarks, wonder coloring his voice and shining in his blue eyes. "In a way," you reply, gaze still a bit downcast, "I use it as fuel. Never again will I be somebody's plaything." "Never indeed," Thorin agrees with a small nod, "and you may not need it, but while I remain at your side you have my sword and my word that no harm will come to you so long as I draw breath…”

Oin

His eyes go moist in a moment and he holds up his ear trumpet, clearly hoping beyond hope he heard you wrong. Hands clasping his, you shake your head. “So I’m sorry if I ever seem afraid to-” “You are sorry?” Oin asks incredulously, his tone still managing to be quiet, subdued to the volume you normally know him for. “You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for. That is not your fault in the slightest. Do you have any scars? Any bruises? I’m only asking because I want to take away your pain.” Likely it was in the past, long enough ago for those worries to fade. Scars to score only your heart. “Aye, if I can…I want to heal that, too. Treat you like the jewel you are.”

Gloin

His wide-eyed expression is almost comical despite it all, bringing a hushed, nervous chuckle past your lips. Gloin continues staring at you like you're a new creation for a moment longer, dragging the silence out until you feel you might burst. Finally, he stutters out a reply. "You- you endured all that?" "Yes, though I cannot help wondering if I could have prevented it. You see, I-" "Oh, no," Gloin cuts off your spiral, clutching your gesticulating hands and shaking his head firmly at you, "don't you dare let that coward off one bit. No one asks for anything that bastard did. They always say pressure makes a diamond, but you, my dear, were a gem far before and only shine brighter with each passing moment. Diamonds are gifts of this earth, though, not just some trinket for rich arms. If it was you or all the wealth in the Lonely Mountain, I'd choose you every time. Remember that. Please." "How could I forget words like those?" You grin at him, heart still hammering. "I will do my best to carry them in my heart."

Bifur

Soon as your confession leaves your lips, Bifur backs up from you, dismaying you with his own pain in your eyes. “Scared?” He signs, and your heart breaks anew. Quickly you step forward, bridging the gap again, and reach up to tuck some of his wild hair behind his ear. Shaking your head, you reply, “No, dear Bifur, I am not afraid. If anything, I apologize if I ever seem that way. If my nightmares frighten you and I either hold you closer or push you away. If I startle a little too easily. If I am quick to say no.” He finally tilts his head back up to look you in the eyes, moving it to the side to rest his cheek against your palm. “I, too, have nightmares. Bad things happen when I sleep,” he signs to you, “I get hurt. You get hurt. I need space sometimes, too. I may tell you no, too.” “But when you love someone,” you finish, a tearful smile rising to your face, “You want to see them fulfilled.” At that, the dwarf nods vigorously. “I love you. I never want to scare you. To hurt you.”

Bofur

“A star as bright as you?” Shaking his head, Bofur removes his hat, clutching it in both hands. “Guess that’s beside the point. Someone like that only thinks o’ themselves. But hey, you know that wasn’t your fault, right?” You just nod. “And the fact that you still give your heart to everyone… you’re nothin’ short of amazing.” Tearing up, you burst into a smile, exhaling your relief and falling into Bofur’s open arms. “Was gonna do it anyway,” he mumbles into your neck, “but I want you to know that I’ll treat you like royalty. Much as I can give. I really will.” “I believe you, Bofur, I believe you.”

Bombur

Never have you seen his face fall like you do in that moment. All but instinctually, he opens his arms. “May I?” Nodding, you fall against his chest, the beat of his heart calming your racing thoughts. “I don’t know what to say other than that you don’t deserve that,” Bombur tells you, a hand gently cradling the back of your head, “you deserve the finest man who tosses roses at your feet ‘n’ sings your praises day after day. Someone with half an eye who can see how lovely you are. You deserve all the pretty things in this world.” “And I have that. I have all I could ever want right here,” you reply, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye, “you give me all the love I deserve.”

Dori

"What gives them the right? Nothing. It's not right, any of it! Why is it always the prettiest flowers that get plucked?" Even in his righteous anger, Dori pays you a sweet compliment, a small testament to his value of you. Cupping his cheek, you interrupt his rant, shifting him to meet your eyes and feeling tears prick at you when you see how wet his eyes are. "I don't want you to live with that pain," he adds, voice breaking slightly. Heart dropping, then soaring again at the love in his eyes, you reach up on the other side, and his hand comes up to cover yours. "These roots are strong," you assure him, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his, "with care they grow anew." "I will take care of you," Dori whispers your name, blue eyes fluttering shut, "Always. I swear it."

Nori

“Where is the rat? I’ll kill ‘em, gut ‘em like the pig they are!” Nori’s rage rose an odd flush of endearment through you; murderous as his words may have been, your heart was lightened for his care, the sheer vindication that what you went through was not deserved. But then again, the way that person hurt you was something you would never wish upon any living soul and you knew that. Sheepishly, you shook your head, stepping forward to take one of the dwarf’s wildly gesticulating hands. “The way you love me has avenged enough,” you cut into his harsh words, “no one has fought for me before you, Nori. Thank you.”

Ori

“Somebody really did all that to you?” He doesn’t mean to sound stupid, but the revelation is nothing but dumbfounding. “Yes,” you nod, breath catching in a half-sob, “I didn’t even feel like a person by the end of it.” Your arm is crossed over your chest, but Ori removes it, gently, intently, to hold your hand in his. “You are, though. You’re…you’re more than anything I could have ever imagined. And I like imagining things quite a lot,” he smiles softly, almost sheepishly, “in fact, you know what one of the things I imagine is?” You cringe, see his eyes widen that he accidentally hit a sore spot and feel the way his hand involuntarily tightens. He continues, though. “How I can show all that to you.” Head falling atop his, you succumb to a grin- he is leagues different from that person without even lifting a finger. “You do that just by being you, Ori.”

Fili

You hardly expect his first words to be thanking you, but indeed as both of his hands grip yours, he smiles sadly and does just that. "Thank you for trusting me with that. Fighting the fear. I don't take it lightly. But if you think this does anything but make me love you more," his smile shifts, returns to something more like the amusement you more often saw, "I'm afraid you are solely mistaken. The fact that you trust me, feel safe around me...why, I'll work to keep earning that until the day I die." Grinning, you fall into Fili's arms, feeling utterly secure in the warmth of his embrace. "And that alone means the world," you whisper, "I love you." "And I you. Forever."

Kili

"No," Kili shakes his head, "no, you cannot be serious!" "So you think I lie?" You shoot back, tone sharply defensive in your hurt. Kili's dark eyes widen, glossing over with tears; he shakes his head again, this time slower, but much more vehement, "Not at all. I simply can't believe it. Why anybody would want to hurt someone like you. I admit I can't fathom it." "It's because I didn't matter in that person's mind," you reply, your own eyes tearing and your voice going soft, "I was not a consideration." "Well, let me consider you," Kili replies quickly, straightening and reaching out a hand, "I'll not do anything you want me to do. And if I ever raise my voice at you, feel free to slap me." "Kili," you half-chuckle, half-sob, "how would that make me any better than-" "It was a joke, but see? Now I have you smiling again. That's all I want. For you to be happy. I love you, truly, I do."

Bilbo

“Any chance we would…run into this person?” So casually, almost awkwardly phrased, and yet you deduced exactly what Bilbo meant with his question. “Are you…” Your expression widened back to a tentative smile. “…hoping to have a fight with them?” Plenty of people had been on your side, nearly everyone agreeing that what you endured crossed every line, but hearing it from a partner was an even stronger spike of the vindication you never tired of. Plus Bilbo’s scrappy side was all but the cutest thing in the world. “Well,” the hobbit straightened his coat, “I simply think they need to be put in their place. Why, of all the… how could anyone take a look at someone like you and see anything but the greatest treasure they’ve ever known, it’s insulting, maddening, uncouth beyond all-” He stopped when he heard you giggle, felt your arms snake around him. “Oh Bilbo…my greatest treasure. I’ll always feel safe when you’re here.”

Thranduil

Rarely do you see the woodland king’s eyes harden, go so cold like shards of pale blue eyes, as you do when he hears your admission. “This person saw fit to treat you like property?” Thranduil’s voice is dangerously low, his gaze drifting distantly from yours. “I felt that way, yes,” you quietly agree, nodding. The king’s expression sends a shudder of intimidation down your spine. He must notice, the way he offers you his hand- tentative, eyes softening in question. Telling you wordlessly that acceptance is your choice. A small nod and you take it, his fingers closing over yours as he lifts the back of your hand to his lips. “Never again,” he breaks the silence, voice low but all ice drained from it, “while I wish your time here to never end, our gates are open to you. My halls are as your own. If that…that fiend even thinks to cross the Woodland Realm’s borders? Some gates shall be closed forever.” A part of you wishes to cringe at Thranduil’s harsh words, but as he winds you into his chest you simply feel the heat of tears prick your eyes as you whisper your thanks, an answer coming in the form of the elven king’s lips upon your head.

Bard

He stepped back, eyes widening at your revelation. Every aspect of him softened. “How? How could anybody…” Eyes distant, you shook your head. “At the time, I felt like it was because I wasn’t good enough. Now I see how sick it was. How I was…just an object,” your voice faded into a near-sob, prompting Bard to catch you about the waist, lower you into a chair. He moved to put a hand on either arm of it, thought better of making you feel trapped. Instead he simply let you keep hold of his hand, tilting your chin with the other to meet your eyes. “By every power I hold dear I hope you never feel too afraid to tell me no. To tell me if I’ve hurt you. And by that same light we’ll spend every day filling your heart. Never should you apologize for your scars- those are signs of your strength.”

Beorn

He never does this. You've never known the Skin-Changer to be one for spontaneous affection and yet he's pulling you into his arms the moment you finish, your head falling against his chest or wherever it falls upon his massive height. Several breaths pass like this before either of you speak again. “There is cruelty in this world I will never understand. No excuses exist for it. None. But I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from it.” True to his word, the Skin-Changer is there for you after every nightmare. Never once does he raise his voice or his hand to you. He may not always understand you, but well does he know the feeling of chains, physical or metaphorical, and he would die before casting his own. In moments surpassing his understanding of you, he takes to the woods, offering space over harsh words and freedom of travel over control. True love, after all, always returns.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy | Message/Reply/Ask to join 🥰

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sylusjinwoon · 6 months

Text

{ 136 }

surround you.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ where ever you are | whenever you need me | just crawl in my arms | oh, and i'll hold you beside me }

jinwoo was still working, his time being taken up by his duties at the association. ever since he became stronger, leaving behind his former status as the weakest hunter and rising up to be one of the most powerful hunters the world has ever known, he had been keeping busy.

and you were left feeling the pinpricks of melancholy with his absence.

the longer he was away from you, the longer your forlorn emotions seemed to strengthen with each second that passes.

but you didn’t wish to burden your lover with such clingy thoughts.

knowing that occasionally, he will check on you by watching you through beru’s eyes, you forced a happy smile and occupied yourself with the former ant king. he keeps you company and reminds you of how much you mean to his king.

“our monarch truly cannot live without you! you are his sole source of happiness.”

you bask in beru’s praise, not minding the fact that he was practically spilling out each and every one of jinwoo’s thoughts pertaining to you. admittedly, his words brought you an immense joy-

yet at the same time, it only served to further increase your desire to see jinwoo again.

after eating a light lunch, you excuse yourself from the dining table, and you were grateful that beru had allowed you to have a moment alone. not wishing to cry in front of him, you close the door to your shared bedroom and let out a shaky sigh.

your eyes trail across the bedroom, faintly detecting jinwoo’s scent as they began to water just the tiniest bit in response.

you missed your boyfriend terribly.

wanting to surround yourself with something that he owned, you take quick strides toward the closet and open it. on one side of your walk-in closet, your clothes were hung up in a neat line while on the opposite side were jinwoo’s clothes. ignoring your line of clothes, you trail your eyes over the varying shades of greys and blacks that became a staple to jinwoo’s signature style. your hands were itching to find something, searching through each and every one of his outfits before landing on a specific article of clothing that jinwoo owned.

your hands were trembling, carefully taking out the long and heavy black trench coat. it was something you knew could completely envelope you with its sturdy fabric and sheer length-

which was perfect for you.

tossing aside the hanger, you clutch the coat tighter to your chest, allowing your nose to gently inhale at the fabric, smiling when you could still detect his scent.

the moment you wore the coat over your frame, you began to laugh at how comically large it was, completely engulfing you as you felt the ends of his coat trailing from behind you. you close your eyes while making your way towards your bed, simply basking in his scent as you imagined that jinwoo himself was here with you, his arms wrapped around you while keeping you oh so safe within his embrace.

you fall into bed with a sigh, still burying your nose within the fabric of his coat. and as you kept relishing in his lingering scent and the warmth the trench coat provided was when you finally fell into a peaceful slumber.

your snores could be heard from your bedroom, and you didn’t even realize that beru had pressed his head against your door the moment you had excused yourself. he listens to your every movement and calls out to his king to update him of your status.

my king, your beloved misses you a great deal.

i know, i’ll be home within the next 30 minutes.

beru had to fight back the urge to celebrate and shake you awake. he knew that you would be happy with his king’s return quickly approaching- but he was given strict orders by his king to always allow you to rest and never disturb you.

so it was with a heavy heart that beru continues to tidy up the house, only stopping once the sound of the door unlocking catches his attention, revealing jinwoo holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“my king… your beloved still sleeps.” beru tells jinwoo with a bow, earning a satisfied grunt from the shadow monarch as he places an appreciative hand on beru’s shoulder.

“lock the door for me.”

“of course, my king.”

with those last words spoken to his most loyal soldier, jinwoo quietly enters your shared bedroom, not wishing to awaken you.

yet when he sees the way you had fallen asleep, all while wrapping your frame with his signature trench coat, jinwoo couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling his heart turn soft at such an endearing sight.

he sets the bouquet on your nightstand, taking off his suit jacket and dress shoes, placing them to the side before joining you on the bed.

letting out soft coos of your name, he manages to hold you in his embrace without disturbing you, allowing his full lips to trace at your forehead while whispering of his love and utter devotion to you.

i love you.

i would kill for you.

i would die for you.

jinwoo continues whispering such loving phrases in your ear, and as he looks down to catch a better glimpse of your sleeping face, he could have sworn that you were smiling in your sleep. you murmur a bit, somehow managing to reach out to him, wrapping your arms around him as you cuddled your body even closer to his chest.

feeling satisfied, jinwoo proceeds to hold your form closer to him, not caring that you were using his coat as a blanket as he closes his eyes, allowing the feeling of peace and strange sense of homecoming to course through his veins-

for his home would always be right here, within the safety of your presence and loving embrace.

a.n. - so, i read the chapters where jinwoo beat the ever living shit out of hwang dong-su and thomas andre, and proceeded to fall madly in love with jinwoo all over again. using his signature trench coat as a blanket is a fantasy of mine, gods, i need this man to spoil me and protect / defend me like that, too 😭🙏🏻

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung x you #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo sung #sung jinwoo #.stories

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ponett · 5 months

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Do you have any advice for people making OCs/sonas? Yours are really well rounded and unique and I'd greatly appreciate the insight of someone who got a passion project off the ground!

So this is a very broad topic, and it varies a lot based on your own creative goals, what kind of characters you're creating, and where you want to use them. Creating an OC to be used in furry pinups is a little different than creating one for a dramatic story. But I'll try to give some general advice on how I do things for the types of characters and stories I tend to work with

Heads up: this will be kinda long lol

The germ of an idea

For me, I'll generally be inspired to create a character starting with a small number of core traits. These could be anything. A color scheme, a body type, a job, a hobby, a personality archetype, an outfit, a visual motif, a functional role in a story I'm working on, a noteworthy facial feature, a weapon, a relationship of some sort to an existing character, a single scene or joke I want to use them for. For furries and fantasy characters, species is usually one of the first things I'll have an idea for, which tends to get the ball rolling fairly easily since we have all sorts of cultural associations with different animals and fantasy creatures.

Any standout character trait like this that you find compelling can serve as that initial spark. The inspiration can come from anywhere, but it's often just a matter of knowing yourself and your own tastes. What do you like? What are the people in your life like? What really speaks to you in a character? What's an existing fictional character that you'd like to rewrite and take in a different direction? What's an aspect of yourself that you would like to see represented more often in fiction? It doesn't have to be something super deep or fleshed out right from the start, though. You can start with something as simple as "I want a black cat character" or "I want a character who dresses like an arcade carpet" or "I want a character who looks scary but is actually nice." Whatever it is, it's something that differentiates the new character from the ones I already have, because otherwise I'd just be using them.

Contrast

From there, you can start brainstorming other traits that might go with those core traits. Some of those may be traits that naturally complement each other. Continuing with the black cat example, maybe you wanna play into the common cultural perception of black cats and say that this character brings bad luck, or is associated with witchcraft. However, I often like to give characters contrasting or even seemingly contradictory traits, which can help elevate a character beyond a stock archetype. Real people tend to be a walking ball of contradictions, after all.

I've talked a lot about how I did this with the main cast of SLARPG. Melody is a fox, traditionally a crafty and untrustworthy predator, but she's extremely introverted and gentle. Allison is a bunny, but instead of being a meek and cuddly little prey animal she's an outgoing fighter who loves a challenge, and she has a muscular build. I think this kind of thing gives characters some fun flavor, and can be really effective for both comedy and drama. For an example from something I didn't write, take Senshi from Dungeon Meshi. He's a dwarf, and he embodies certain stereotypical aspects of dwarves - he's a short, buff man with a big bushy beard, he lives underground, he's stubborn and doesn't like elven magic - but he also goes against some of them. Instead of being an expert on mining and blacksmithing, Senshi is a culinary expert who has a deep appreciation for the natural ecosystem of the dungeon. He's a weirdo among dwarves for not caring about the wellbeing of his axe and for using his super awesome shield primarily as a giant wok. And that's what makes Senshi fun and interesting.

So going back to our example, instead of going with the stereotype, we could make a black cat character who has comically good luck, or who's superstitious and afraid of witchcraft, or who's an extremely rational person who always believes in science over superstition. Or maybe you roll with the bad luck angle, but instead make the black cat be the victim of their own bad luck in some interesting way. Maybe this black cat has terrible luck with love and can't hold down a relationship. Maybe this black cat is an aspiring speedrunner who consistently gets the absolute worst RNG possible in every video game due to their own bad luck. Maybe this black cat has accrued a horrendous gambling debt after a long losing streak and has loan sharks coming after them.

These are all just hypothetical examples, of course. I don't exclusively make characters with ironic contradictions like this. The idea is just to build on those core traits you started with in interesting ways, and that's one of my favorite ways to do so. But honestly, a lot of the time execution is more important than the sheer originality of an idea, and sometimes really putting your all into playing a trope you love straight is the right move.

Specificity

Regardless of what direction I take a character in past that initial seed of an idea, the key ingredient tends to be specificity. To give them specific details beyond the most stock possible version of that core idea you started with.

This is something I internalized from Tim Schafer, via a blog post in the behind-the-scenes backer material for Broken Age. Sadly I'm not sure if that stuff is still available, but I did save this particular post about creating characters since it really helped me, so I'll directly quote a chunk of that post here:

No two characters would approach a problem or react to events in the same way. At least, not if you’ve designed the characters well. If you’ve left them too vague or superficial, if they are merely functional elements in your story instead of individuals, then they might react in the same way. And that’s a problem. So to avoid that, I’m going to talk about one the most important parts of character development: specificity. Making sure your character is a specific individual, not a stereotype. A unique character, different from anyone else in the world. It doesn’t mean that they have to have wacky gimmicks, eyepatches and crazy accents. It just means they have to be specific. For example, let's create a new character. Let's say your story has a scene where your main character gets in trouble in school. So you’re probably going to need a school teacher. Imagine a school teacher for a bit. Do you see her in a little red schoolhouse? Maybe a bun in her hair? An apple on her desk? Thick black glasses? Let’s put a ruler in her hand for good measure. Done! We have our teacher character. She’s ready to be in the scene where our hero goes to school and the teacher sends her to the principal’s office for passing notes. Right? I mean, this character doesn’t have too many lines, so why develop her character any more? The problem is that this teacher is a very shallow stereotype of a teacher. She has no specific attributes that make her memorable. She’s the teacher you would get in a set of free clip art. She might not have many lines, but if all your supporting characters are this way, your story will be more bland than it should be. Even if this teacher is only onscreen for a minute, she should be unique and different from any other teacher in the world. Luckily, it's not actually that hard to make her so. You just have to ask some very basic, specific questions.

Tim goes on to explain how simple exercises like filling out character sheets with basic questions about your character (there are a million of these online) can help push a character beyond a stock archetype, even if it's a minor supporting character. Questions about where they're from, their likes and dislikes, their beliefs, their goals in life, that sort of thing. For minor characters especially, a lot of these details may never actually come up in a story, but just asking even a few of these questions and giving them specific answers helps you see them less like an archetype and more like a real person in your head. Maybe you never bring up your character's backstory or their favorite sport or what kind of music they listen to, but just having a specific answer for questions like that might help color the way you depict that character in subtle ways. It makes it feel like they aren't defined by just that one core trait you started with, and helps make the characters and world feel more alive, like there's stuff going on with them beyond the bounds of the story or the drawing.

It's a careful balancing act, though. It's easy for a character to feel like they're a collection of too many unrelated gimmicks and quirks. Again, like Tim said, these specifics don't have to make for the craziest, most original character ever, there just has to be something there.

Let's go back to SLARPG as an example, where I combined broad character archetypes I liked with more specific personal elements that I felt like I wasn't seeing enough in the fiction I liked. Melody is riffing on the common idea of the reserved healer character in the RPG or MMO party and the shy girl archetype, but she's the main hero instead of a supporting player in another person's story, and she's also a fat bisexual trans woman who draws a lot of little details from my own life. Her interests, her relationships, her opinions on things, her personal hangups and dreams, these all set Melody apart from other fantasy healer characters and define her as Melody Amaranth. Specificity!

But it doesn't always have to be super deep, especially if you just want some characters to draw for fun and aren't planning on writing a story with them. Take my fursona. I've always loved dogs, so I made my fursona a dog. I chose a Samoyed in particular because I think Samoyeds are the cutest, and I hadn't seen hardly any anthro Samoyed OCs at the time. I leaned into the breed's signature fluffiness to help my fursona stand out from other canine OCs. She has simple identifying traits like being fat like me, wearing glasses like mine, and having a hairstyle kinda like mine (when I tied my hair up in a bun, at least). And there you go. Fursona achieved. She's not a wildly high concept character, but she doesn't need to be

Anyway I realize that this is mostly about the writing aspect, so here's a few quick bullet points about designing a character's appearance:

Face and body type variety are good, but personally I would say lack of body type variety is worse than same face syndrome

Knowing some stuff about shape language is good, but you don't have to be completely beholden to the "circles are friendly, squares are sturdy, triangles are scary" shit. I'm generally more interested in using repeated shaping in different parts of a character's design as sort of a shape motif. Melody's body, hair, and tail are all made of round, swooping shapes, for example. (This is more applicable if you're designing cartoonier characters as opposed to realistic humans, obviously.)

Knowing some basics of color theory is also good. I like using complementary and contiguous color schemes on characters and generally try not to use too many distinct colors on one design. Black and white and grey and various browns are good as neutral colors to balance out the colors of the rainbow, and gold can be a nice accent color

A small handful of identifying accessories can be fun, but don't rely on those to make a design stand out. Ideally your character should still be identifiable even when not wearing their default outfit, or even in silhouette

Aaaaaand I'm gonna call it a wrap there! This is a huge topic, so hopefully this helps with at least some of the basics! At the end of the day, though, don't beat yourself up if you can't sit down and force yourself to come up with the most crazy awesome OC ever. Just have fun and be yourself!

#rakruined #ask #slarpg asks

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cherubfae · 7 months

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Hello! I love your writing, it's so cute! Here's an Idea bouncing around in my head: Reader is a shy and easily flustered individual who's developed a crush on Alastor. However they try to keep their distance as they know he's Aro/Ace and doesn't want to overstep boundaries. They go to Lucifer a (somewhat) expert on romance and feelings of longing to vent, also developing a crush on Lucifer- (Reader is a hopeless romantic lol)

Anyway, hope you have a nice day and remember to drink water!

|| The Price of Love || Alastor x Reader x Lucifer

tags: gn!sinner!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, love triangle, miscommunication, blood/injuries, mild nudity mention, divorced!Luci, I had to make it a bit comical, I made this too angsty for my own liking now I'm sad 😭, protective bois

This is a one shot. I won't be writing a part two. Thank you! :)

A dreamy sigh echoes from your lips, swirling down the empty hallway. You're sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest with a clawed hand over your heart. Sometimes you miss the thrum of your heartbeat against your fingers. With all of the people occupying Hell, you didn't expect to feel quite this lonely.

You stare down at the pocket watch in your hands. Such a tiny device cost quite a fortune, but it was a true antique having been manufactured in the 1920s. Your intention was to give it to Alastor. Yet, you never did.

Despite everything in your being wanting you to give him the simple gift, a token of your love and your friendship, you just couldn't. You were already internally setting yourself up for a failure that may not even come. You weren't sure Alastor would ever be into someone, let alone you. So, allowing these thoughts to fester you withdrew yourself from him. Forcing smiles when around him and the others, faking laughter; all of which Alastor could see right through. Every time he tried to seek you out, to confront you, you were already engaged with someone else or another task for the hotel.

You were actively allowing your depression to swallow you whole all the whole not realizing that if you had only asked, Alastor's feelings are the same as yours. He just didn't know how to approach you and Rosie thought it best to let you come to him; yet you never did. Even Alastor was finding it a bit hard to keep that smile on his face. Why won't you just approach him? He...He can't do it. Please.

A dreary day in Hell with violent lightning and thunderclouds and acidic rain brought you into the company of Lucifer Morningstar himself. He could smell your sadness from miles away and like clockwork, he instantly pulls you under his wings.

"Now then, sweetling, what brings you to see the Big Boss Man Himself?" Lucifer grins, crossing his leg over his knee nursing an apple martini with an apple slice hanging off the sugar-dusted edge. He serves you whatever drink you may like, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.

"I'm in love with Alastor and I don't know what to do! I'm scared to get too close to him because I'm not even sure he's into me like that and I don't want to get hurt!" You sob, the words come pooling out of your mouth like a waterfall and so do the tears.

Lucifer visibly bristles at the mention of his rival, almost choking on his drink. With a snap of his fingers, his martini glass vanishes with a poof! His full attention now on you. Gently, he takes your hand in his gloved one.

Softly, he begins. "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real. It's not the end of the world, not by a long shot. Everyone who we meet and who we love crosses our paths for a reason. To teach us something, either for a short chapter or they'll be lifelong companions. Even in the afterlife, there are still people worth risking the hurt for." Smiling wobbly, Lucifer embraces you close. "Take a few deep breaths. If this is truly how you feel, talk to him about it. We may be magic down here in Hell but not all of us are mind-readers, darlin'."

For the first time in a long while, you smile too. Embracing him again with a laugh.

Standing to leave, you turn to your friend. "May I see you again?"

Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, a slight pink hue coating his cheeks. "I'd like that a lot!" He jumps up. "I can show you how to paint rubber ducks!"

When you finally return from your outing, you're in a much more visibly happy mood. With eyebrows raised, Alastor watches from the shadows as you whistle a happy little tune and make your way up the stairs and veer to the left towards your bedroom. A familiar scent clings to your own, one that makes his lips curl back in a vicious snarl. Lucifer.

"Now darling, I think it's time that we have a talk--" Alastor materializes from the shadows, fully manifesting into your bedroom. You shriek in surprise.

Immediately, you snap. "Alastor, what the fuck! OUT."

Alastor, who has been turned away from you, spins to face you aghast that you'd speak to him in such a manner as you never have before, only to quickly cover his eyes. You were standing in the privacy of your bedroom, almost entirely naked except for those flimsy bottoms you called your underwear. Alastor swallows thickly at the sight of your bare skin, even when you wrap your blanket around your body. He feels lightheaded.

"My apologies, dearest. Ta-ta!" In a plume of smoke, Alastor fades out of the room. By the time he returns to his radio tower, he's gasping with his palm covering his face which was now nearly as red as his hair. He's ashamed he hadn't shown more decorum and instead witnessed you in such a state. Even when angry with him, you had never looked more alluring.

Lucifer swung by the hotel rather unexpectedly, surprising Charlie with a new plant for her bedroom and crushing Maggie into a huge hug! The place was really coming along, he had to admit. There was a more inviting atmosphere to the hotel now since it was rebuilt. It almost felt cozy.

"Dad, what brings you by?" Charlie smiles, carefully handing the plant over to Vaggie.

Lucifer smiles. "I'm here to pick up a friend for a little coffee date and I figured I'd say hi to my favorite daughter and my favorite soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" He coos, squishing Charlie's cheeks between his gloved hands.

On queue, you're walking down the stairs into the foyer. "Lucifer!" You beam, a large smile crossing your cheeks. His tummy flutters at the sight. The outfit you had on was darling, suiting you to a T.

A crackle of static explodes into the front lobby, the Radio Demon taking form between you and the Morningstars. Alastor's eyes immediately narrowing at the unwelcomed guest, at least in his mind.

Laughing nervously, Charlie wedges herself between her father and friend. The air rippled with electricity as the two stared the other down.

"Okay, you two, calm down. Let's not start anything, ok?" She glances at Vaggie for help who simply shrugs her shoulders; setting Charlie's new plant baby aside. Approaching slowly you stand by Lucifer's side. Placing a hand on the King's shoulder, Alastor nearly explodes with radio feedback. An eerie green glow consuming his form.

Static voice dripping with malice spits out, "You're going out with him." It wasn't a question.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you nod at Alastor. "We're going out for coffee."

The Radio Demon is practically seething with venomous rage--not at you, but at the puny little shortstack of a King who thinks he can meddle with those in his life. "You don't deserve their attention, Morningstar."

Lucifer balks. "You had your chance, pal! You snooze, you lose." Alastor's expression turns to one of confusion.

"What do you mean?" The radio filter is gone from his voice.

Snarling, Lucifer glowers at him. "They were in love with you! And now I'm here to pick up the pieces-- oh, fuck, you didn't tell him did you, sweetling?" His gaze is gentle as he regards you. You're begging for the ground to swallow you up.

Fighting back tears, you fidget on the spot. You're looking everywhere but at the two men who have held your heart captive. There was the love you held for Alastor, pure and genuine. How you got together like pieces of a puzzle. And then there was your love for Lucifer, intimate and loving. He was able to teach a part of you that you'd long forgotten. He helped you smile again.

Alastor shoves Lucifer out of the way, his clawed hands cupping your face. He wipes away those tiny tears with a gentleness no one in the hotel had seen. "Je t'aime tellement, mon cour."

Lucifer, now in his Full Demon form, shoves Alastor aside and grasps your arm. You let out a cry of pain, making the two males jump. With the appearance of his full form his claws had accidentally sunk too deep into your skin. Red leaked from the four deep gashes slashed across your skin, staining the sleeve of your lovely shirt. Your pretty eyes pooling with tears.

Like a true beast, Alastor explodes into his demonic form, arms outstretched to shield you behind him. Lucifer can only fixate on the blood dripping down your arm. Vaggie and Charlie are tugging you away while Husk prepares the First-Aid kit.

Lucifer is only able to stare at the tiny pool of blood you had left behind and the pain in his eyes. And then there was Alastor, ever the gentleman, always the one fighting for your honor, looking damn well ready to devour the entire fucking Earth for you.

And Lucifer felt he deserved whatever he had coming to him. His own words echo in his head: "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real."

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

#hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagines #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #cherubfae 2024

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yandere-wishes · 7 months

Text

🌟Yandere!Superstar Who's the most sought-after man alive. He's renowned for his singing and the fastest up-and-coming actor of the century.

🌟Yandere!Superstar Who's drawn to your innocence, your purity. A precious little star trapped in an endless ebony night. You shine so brightly as you sip on your Coca-Cola at the diner. Laughing away with your girlfriends. How simple and idle your life is, you have no need to keep up appearances or overdose yourself to keep sane. You're just so sweet, wrapped in a frilly pink blanket of simplicity.

He envies you, truly he does...

🌟Yandere!Superstar who asks you out on a date in front of everyone. Who serenades you with one of his love songs, daring anyone to object. Takes you to the movies for your first date. Rambling excitedly about the new superhero flick that's just come out. He's all so pleasantly shocked when he finds out you also like comic book heroes. How he wishes he was really Superman, able to whisk you away to a hidden sanctuary in the snow. You get milkshakes after and he thinks he might be high off your laughter.

🌟Yandere!Superstar Who asks your father for your hand in marriage. Practically begs him. He'll do anything to keep you by his side. Anything to make you his. For the first time in your life, you detect fear in your father's voice as he agrees.

🌟Yandere!Superstar Who leaves you in his big mansion. Providing you with every luxury you could ever hope for. He even buys you a little furred companion to keep you company. He's off shooting a new movie and calls you every chance he gets. Your phone calls last for hours gossiping about his costars and the tyrannical new director.

🌟Yandere!Superstar who forbids you from going anywhere. Why would you ever want to leave the estate? From the swimming pool to the large exotic garden. There's literally no reason for you to ever step outside. Plus he needs you to be there when he calls, give him your full attention even when he's not physically present.

🌟Yandere!Superstar who has his whole staff looking after you. Anything you crave it's served to you, and anything you want it's in your hands within the hour. He makes sure everyone treats you with utmost respect, better than any fairytale princess. It's such a shame he doesn't realize how isolated you feel, how depressed and lonely you are. Or maybe he does. Maybe it's all a ploy to make you crave his touch, his kisses, him. He needs you broken and needy by the time he gets back.

🌟Yandere!Superstar who has morphed you into his perfect little doll. His darling pet. He dictates everything for you, from the makeup you wear to the color scheme of your outfits. Only the finest silks and jewels have the honor of gracing his baby's skin. Even your nightgowns are hand-picked by him. Don't you always want to look your best for your king?

🌟Yandere!Superstar, who starts taking you on the road with him when he's doing his tours. He can't stand having you so far away anymore. From now on, you'll always be by his side.

🌟Yandere! Superstar who kisses you between shows. Needing to feel your body under him, to build up the ecstasy to perform. Locking you away in hotel suites close enough for him to always have access to. You're his drug. The dose that keeps him going.

🌟Yandere!Superstar who's started keeping you in his trailer while he films. Making sure you know he's not cheating with any of his costars. Filling his trailer with things for you to do and making out with you every chance he gets between sets. He'll make sure you look your best for him. His babydoll. How could you ever think he'd be interested in anyone else?

🌟Yandere!Superstar who makes you straddle him or sit on his lap in every picture. He dresses you in the latest trends, while he wears his handmade suits. The world needs to know just who you belong to.

🌟Yandere! Superstar Who forces you to help him with every song he writes just so you know they're all about you. Only you. He needs you to feel his devotion in your bones. To realize every note he hits is just for you.

🌟Yandere! Superstar who will never ever let you go...

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artist-assassin · 2 years

Photo

my first attempt at a character ref sheet, ft my blood mage Kieran c:

#my art #i feel like i could have put more detail into his outfit but this is my first shot so i can just learn from it and do better next time #i might make another sheet for him in the future when i get better at detailed clothing layers #my oc #oc #kieran SY #Serve Yourself (comic)

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geminiwritten · 2 years

Text

undercover ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you have to go undercover as butcher’s wife to vought’s annual supe celebration - prompt (that i don’t remember where i saw it, i’m sorry!): “I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” *he stands up and drops $100 on the table*

notes: i wrote this in one day and you can tell!!! it’s so rushed, i’m so sorry, but also i’m just hot for this man and refuse to stop??? let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, very small alcohol consumption, very light smut, and a bit of harassment from an unwelcome dude

word count: 6496

“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.

Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.

He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”

“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”

“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.

“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”

Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.

“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”

“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”

You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”

He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.

Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”

You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.

“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”

You scoff, “Yeah? How?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”

“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”

He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”

Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.

“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”

His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.

To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.

“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”

You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.

“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”

She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.

“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”

Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.

“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.

“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”

MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.

Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”

You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.

“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”

You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.

“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.

Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.

“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”

Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.

Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”

“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”

Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”

Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”

The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.

After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.

Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.

“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”

You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.

“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”

He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.

Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.

She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.

“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”

Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.

“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”

He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”

You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?

The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.

Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.

“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”

You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.

The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.

Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You blush, “Thanks.”

Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.

“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”

“Nice suspenders.”

He chuckles, “Are we ready?”

Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.

“Ready,” MM says beside you.

“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”

You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.

“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”

Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.

“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.

You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”

After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.

‘You’re welcome ;)’

A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.

“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”

His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.

“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.

“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.

His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.

Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.

“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”

Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.

“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”

The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.

Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.

“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.

Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.

“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.

You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.

You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.

Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.

You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”

“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.

The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.

When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.

“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”

He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”

You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.

She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.

“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”

“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”

The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”

You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.

“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.

You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”

“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”

You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.

“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”

Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”

Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.

She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”

Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.

“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.

‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’

You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”

He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”

The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.

“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.

His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”

You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.

You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.

You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.

‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’

You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.

He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”

“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.

He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.

“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.

You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Good.”

“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.

He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.

“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.

His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.

Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.

Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.

You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.

Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”

Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.

Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”

You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”

He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.

“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.

You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.

“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.

You frown, “What is?”

“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”

You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.

“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”

“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”

He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”

You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”

“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”

“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”

His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.

He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”

The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”

Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.

“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Was that your mistress?” you tease.

He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”

You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.

“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”

His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”

“Good.”

You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.

“This old thing? Nah.”

He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.

You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.

‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’

‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’

‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’

“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.

You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.

“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.

His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.

“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”

She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”

Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.

“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.

He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.

“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.

“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.

“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.

Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.

“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.

“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”

You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.

Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.

“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.

Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”

MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.

“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.

Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.

You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.

The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.

“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.

“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”

You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.

“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”

You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.

“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.

You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.

“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”

His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.

“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.

You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”

He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.

“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.

You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”

“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”

His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.

“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”

END.

#billy butcher #the boys #billy butcher x reader #butcher x reader #karl urban #one shot #oneshot #homelander #hughie campbell #starlight #mm #mothers milk #frenchie #kimiko #the female #fanfic #fanfiction

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bunnys-kisses · 1 month

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Hello bunny!!!! I love your bakery series, it's so cute! I have zero clue if you even write for it. But is it possible to get a Jason Todd from DC? Can I get cinnamon rolls with a side of martini & energy drink!

Thank you so much <33333

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there's tons of items on there along with all the guidelines for submitting an order! as for this anon, thank you for submitting it! i haven't received a dc or marvel request so this is very exciting! so thank you, i hope you enjoy!! (if anyone else wishes to submit anything comic related, please do!!)

cinnamon rolls ("no one needs to know.") + martini (mafia au) + energy drink (doggy style) served by jason todd/red hood (dc comics)

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, doggy style, mafia boss!reader, boxer!jason todd

you wouldn't consider yourself a bad girl. you in a lot of ways were servicing the people of gotham. you were doing what you felt was right in a broken system.

but even one of the most dangerous women in the city needed a little assistance. that was when your beloved boxer came into your life. his name was jason, a boy thrown out then became a broken man. but, you liked to fix broken things.

you gave jason purpose again, even going as far as to tend to his injuries he got in the ring. kissing along his side and across his knuckles. the red hood was your pride and joy and he in turn adored you more than weeds on the sidewalk loved the sun.

you had returned from the art gallery that evening, it was open late on wednesdays and jason wished to come with you. you held his hand the entire time and kissed him gently when he gazed at a picasso.

"did you have fun?" you asked as you slipped your shoes off.

jason nodded, "i did, i mean, you were more beautiful than anything in that gallery." he chuckled as he took off his sweatshirt and put it over the side of the couch.

you looked at him and walked over to him. you placed your hands on his chest. in all fairness, he was more beautiful than anything in that gallery. if a true artist could capture him in a piece of work, they could probably make millions.

even with all the scarring, the damage on him. to feel his heartbeat under your palm felt nice. you leaned up to kiss him on the lips. he wrapped his strong arms around you.

when you pulled away, you ran a finger across a scar on his face and said, "thank you for coming with me." you had to get up on your tip-toes to get closer to his face.

he chuckled, "ah well, who else would go with you? isn't my job to protect you?"

you chuckled, "no, your job is to punch very hard for me." you joked before you pulled him in for another kiss. you did very little to hide your relationship with jason, you didn't feel the need to. as head of the family, who you were with was not a concern to those below you.

one time you had heard an insult fall from the lips of a a rival family and you simply upper cut the man. jason may be at your side as your defender, but you were more than capable of taking care of yourself.

it was just nice to have a companion.

you both ended up in your shared bedroom. jason got you onto the bed and you started to unbutton the blouse you wore. and he took off the white undershirt he wore. you got a better look at all his scarring and once your shirt was off, you reached for him and grazed your fingers across the scar down the middle of his chest.

he never told you what happened, and you didn't want to pry too much. you believed it would all come out at one point or another. even if it didn't, you'd still love him.

"you're looking at them again." he said softly.

"no one needs to know." you said as you met his gaze, "what happened. you're still my jason, whatever happened to you." you said softly in return.

jason felt his chest tighten as he said, "thank you." before he started to get his jeans off, followed by your skirt. then he was on top of you on the bed, his hands planted on either side of you as he pulled you in for a kiss.

you both took off your undergarments down to your socks and laid in be for a moment, naked in each other's embrace.

jason then got you onto your elbows and knees, his strong hands on your hips as he rubbed his cock up against your slick slit. he groaned through his teeth as he continued to do so. it felt so good against him.

the most dangerous woman in gotham in bed with a boxer. what a sight. you felt the love for him cloud your chest, leaving it tight.

"you have my entire heart." you admitted.

"and you have mine." he replied. he slowly slipped his cock into your pussy and held onto your hips. he sank into you with ease. he knew that he was much bigger than you, so he had to be careful as to not harm you.

he kept his pace steady the more he rutted against you.

jason had never felt more alive then when he was with you. he thought that his life revolved around punching the shit out of people in the boxing ring. the sound of his fists hitting against flesh, that was his purpose. that was what made him feel alive.

but you lit a flame in him. the spitfire woman who handled the family with ease. he wanted you, yearned for you in ways that he never thought he would with another person.

his cock nudged against your cervix and you whimpered against the sheets a little with your back arched. you felt like a dream, the perfect woman for him. he sped up the pace a little bit, keeping a steady rhythm against you.

"you feel so good." he said, "i wish i could nail you up against the wall of the gallery. since you're the most beautiful thing there." he chuckled a little bit.

you arched your back a little but, "you're so fuckin' cheesy, jason."

he chuckled a little, "only for you, babe." the sounds of your love making filled the room, he felt hot all over as he continued to move against you.

"please." you panted, "shit." you gripped onto the bed tightly and moaned a little bit, "you feel so good. no one else does it like you, jason." you whimpered.

he clutched onto his hips tighter and moved faster. he swallowed back the pleasure as he continued to move. he buried his nose into the back of your neck, his broad chest against your back. his arms now wrapped around your middle as he bullied his cock into your pussy.

it all felt so overwhelming, hot all over and he thrusted up into you. you felt protected by your lover, he'd always keep you safe. always love you in ways that neither of you could put into words.

you gripped onto the covers under your body and panted wildly into them. you felt the curl of heat in your gut as you raised your hips further to give your lover a better angle.

the solid mass of a man with that streak of white hair hit against the softest parts of you. it made you whine into the bedding. such a submissive position for such a strong woman. jason would always take care of you. with a few more thrusts, you came around his cock.

"please, jason." you panted.

he continued to rut up into you, feeling the pleasure up and down his spine. he gave a few more hearty thrusts before he finished inside of you with a loud groan. his chest was pressed against your back as he yearned to be close to you.

skin to skin. lover to lover.

he slowed down and laid on top of you when you dropped your hips. he then peppered your shoulders with kisses before he pulled out and laid next to you on the bed. his strong body exposed in the low lamp light of the bedroom.

"jason."

"yeah, hun." he said as he tried to level out his breathing.

you were both panting as you rolled to your side and up against his side. your hand on his chest, fingers grazed the scarring. between heavy breaths you said, "my number one."

he chuckled a little as he pulled you closer. he kissed your sweaty brow and replied, "of course, only the best for my girl." then laid a sweet kiss on your lips.

the mafia boss and her boxer, tangled in the sheets. you guessed that he saved your life as much as you saved his. because you'd always find comfort in the beat of his heart. <3

#bunny writes #the bakery #jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #red hood smut #red hood x reader #red hood #dc comics #dc comics x reader #dc x reader #dc comics smut #dc smut #batfam #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #reader insert

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