#am i considered cringe yet

[artiemartietartie]

ok so. i don’t know when i’ll post again. so to hold y’all over i’m showing sketches that i never posted

it’s not much and i don’t expect this to take off but i just want it out there

JUST A HEADS UP some of these are old and u can tell by how weirdly drawn it is some were done when i was still trying to get the hang of drawing them

alright putting context for each of the doodles in order under the cut!!!

1 - drew big dimple for class. basically my teacher gave us prompts and we could pic any one and go ham with it and do whatever we want!! i chose anatomy cuz if u think about it dimple’s rlly huge n buff soooooo that counts as anatomy

2 - doodle from october i don’t remember posting about?? if i have then pretend this is the first time you’re seeing it

3 and 4 - had an INCREDIBLY self indulgent idea where reigen teaches dimple to dance!!! i don’t know why dimple would want to but i just want an excuse to imagine them dancing together okay 😭😭😭 i don’t think reigen is excellent at dancing but decent enough to teach and i just WANT THEM to start off sloppy with their dances but over time with these lessons they get more in sync and one night in the office they do a slow dance and there’s a lot of romantic tension in the air dimple dips reigen and reigen pulls his face closer to his and their lips almost touch before reigen gently pushes him away red in the face murmuring how he’s getting better at this and dimple is ALSO red in the face (and this is pre-relationship too 💙💙💙💙)

5 - ekurei but they’re on a kiddie writing pad

6 - this one is also so self indulgent me and payton were listening to red flags by tom cardy one night and wanted to connect it to ekurei so BADLY and we had the idea dimple’s “red flag” is how he’s so obsessed with god and religion and wanting to become god

7 - doodle for @clownwry ‘s little au because it makes me SOB LOUDLY

[invinciblerodent]

it's been a real struggle to find notebooks that I actually like, but I think I have found myself at a crossroads where I must ask myself--

am I the kind of person who would put function above form, and use the lovely, though plain notebooks from the office supply store

or am I the type to say fuck it, form over function, bitch, and order a custom-made one with a collage of my blorbo on it strictly for the meme

[fragmentedblade]

Argenti is actually pretty Lancelotcoded, he is deranged and even suicidal. I adore him

[unproduciblesmackdown]

thinking about how of course billions is about people trapped in eternal battle world, and trapped because they won't ever exit, and don't want to because that's the only way they can define their idea of themself or like move through life, to the degree they have to just create or find another battle if one ends or they don't have enough going on at once or they're unhappy about anything & can only respond to that the only way they'll respond to anything: finding someone to consider a target to Defeat & being like nice, i'm so competent & active as a person, so with any other issues in my life, i'm sure it's not my fault at least

and it's been clear that to be someone at the Center of the show means needing to be inflexible enough to never leave that life, which also probably means never engaging in genuine self-reflection besides like, fuming in distress for 5 sec & then immediately searching for blame for someone else, or calling up your designated moral supporter who'll tell you you're upset b/c you're very complex & sympathetic & maybe if you do [xyz] you'll be able to Keep Winning, so like, don't worry, we'll never get too off track here. you have someone like connerty who cares so much about playing by the rules ft. ethics, but he was also someone completely inflexible who would give a shit like "ha ha you broke the law" and be Defeated b/c like yeah damn you do got him in that situation. he may then have gained the flexibility to throw a punch when he's already imprisoned but he's still just gotta retire & pursue some completely different goals

this in contrast with like, what a coincidence (surely not) that the more flexible characters are the ones who also do introspect & reflect & genuinely think about & question themselves ever, & how even beyond that, being in this world of people who overwhelmingly are thee opposite & aiming for a static sense of self & thus strategy for navigating life & all interactions & situations, the more reflective parties also tend to accept both Blame & the fruitlessness of pushing for more/different/better from the people & relationships & situations they're amongst. those willing to take on responsibility at all surrounded by people casting all of it off, always, w/the former already primed to take blame & the latter primed to be looking to find the blame in anyone else, a powerful mismatch....which allows the flexible parties to also put up with shit for longer lol like if they got fed up that quickly or recognized the dead-end here they'd just leave the show lol. like wow can't believe taylor spent their whole life already stuck having to deal with someone who's so very much like these bullshit central men & those trying to emulate them, & perhaps also then have a lifetime of experience extending endless patience & sympathy with little to no expectations for more from people who put up with such a bullshit man & his effects on everything around him, like, what do you mean taylor's mom hasn't seen them b/c douglas didn't want to see them b/c he wasn't yet motivated enough to have to exercise begrudging shows of basic respect. whilest sure seems like taylor felt more concern & basically stated their responsibility re: trying to make their relationship with their dad work / basically take on the task of making his life work for him according to his sense of himself (genius! who deserves the recognition thusly!) and doesn't seem to take on this role re: their mom, who nevertheless is just presumed to move closer to them along w/douglas. and here's taylor never truly putting their foot down re: wendy, no matter what, able to have no real positive expectations in how wendy treats them or thinks of them, but also always able to extend sympathy / decent treatment themself

thinking of like team ben out here as the Nicer axe cap or mpc people who also happen to be people absorbing the L's, blaming themselves for being at the bottom of the hierarchy & being subjected to the always negative treatment doled out to them accordingly, and, winstonesquely, still generally like extending genuine gestures of amicability, efforts of constructive actual communication, etc, & this being shut down & likely punished by all the people around them who won't handle that kind of thing. that Of Course nobody's actually supported around here, like, at best they'll get some kind of "well you're actually talented & valuable :)...." (so why aren't they already treated in a way such that they're aware of this?) "....so just have more confidence already god!" wherein (a) again that just means it's Their Fault that they're having a miserable time at the hands of others & (b) their having "confidence" doesn't really mean like, an emotional buffer between their sense of self-esteem & the message of inferiority in how they're treated, it has to mean externally acting different in some ways, more like A Winner, more like everyone else. the limits of ben trying to sometimes be a buffer for tuk as that kind of friend/mentor role, where either it simply fails or ben's Help is more unilateral "correction." that generally only any increase in aggressive hostility gets them anywhere, and really not that far.

the way dollar bill could always act however he wanted & they could always clean up his messes / save him from himself / just flatout blame other people for what dollar bill did to them or someone else; success in being a mini axe in that way for sure. dollar bill going off the rails over his literal dollar bill & that's not a problem, he's validated b/c he's upset, & b/c rudy knew he'd be upset it's really all rudy's fault....who just so happens to be more of a loser, what with his glasses & possible masturbation ever and all. whilest even when dollar bill is like every season being shit at his job & life, well, just find a loser to trounce while everyone ignores this, cheers you on, takes on responsibility for fixing things for you, blames the person targeted probably. dollar bill couldn't even do in office transphobic hate crime physical attacks, or that but while yelling the r word at the autistic guy he's already harrassing & threatening, without it being really basically the target's fault, & hey, as long as no investors are watching. and we're still dragging dollar bill back to the office b/c uhhh yeah!!

& then of course there's winston, who, like a loser, says things in real efforts for real communication with others, that they winningly can only bring themselves to respond to as "he's not allowed to talk, that's out of line, i have to punish/deny this to reassert our respective status" except for, sometimes, taylor actually communicating in turn, or even simply receiving the information. winston in a duo with the very winning & worthy rian, being something of a quasirival for 5 seconds but even during then, and since, trying to be amicable to establish an actually positive dynamic, trying for actual communication, engaging flexibly & actively based on her feedback & her terms & etc to try to find some more success; versus rian completely inflexible, unwilling to respond to efforts to communicate, unwilling to have an actual relationship with any flexibility & genuineness in turn, or see winston as a person of course, and engage with real emotions. which is hardly an exclusive response of hers, like, everyone else is just the same, she's just also the one interacting with him more often and personally bullying him & standing next to him & immediately responding with clear contempt when he tries things like earnest expressions of "hey rian could you not do what you just did b/c it makes me feel like shit, probably b/c that's what you're trying to do" and "hey that was cool what you just did b/c it makes me feel like—" b/c like, what a loser. real winners cannot handle engaging with another person as a person. when you can just make up & stick to a narrative about "oh but i don't hate winston, who i feel is inherently beneath me. i wouldn't wanna feel bad about killing him, not when i could feel fine about administering more of a death by a thousand cuts with some other people helping out & hey maybe it was their cut that did it after all....but also if you're like 'pwease' then eh sure" or that winston's got a lesser inner existence anyways, some classic dehumanization, no complexity there, & hurting him isn't real, & it'd never be you in his position anyways! especially the more you're buying into "yeah i'm more of a person / more deserving / more real & sympathetic & correct than him :)" & being cheered on as you act that out. pretty cringe of winston to be earnest, flexible, openly trying & wanting & needing things, sounds bad & silly. unlike the winners around him who really cannot handle him or any of these things about him. of course near equivalent in loserness, tuk, is the person with the realest most amicable relationship with him. both of them too incompetent to realize their mutual failings in this, ha ha, real winners are repulsed & fleeing & can't handle a basic exchange with either of them. and the imbalance re: how little others are willing to give them in interest, consideration, time, words, etc, while they're always trying Too Much re: the disinterested others, totally proves their unworthiness

winston and tuk always having to stay at the bottom of the hierarchy, winston only able to be shitted on even as he extricates himself, ending up surrounded by people who will only act "correctly" according to their superior roles & this mf wags only processing anything as "did that reinforce my being a correct/winning person???" & only responding by trying to reassert to others how much of a winner they are, which requires establishing a loser, and crushing them. winston having recognized / gotten fed up with a bullshit scenario & had realistic expectations of those around them & spent those years being treated like shit yet never crushing an enemy to restore his ego & also spent those years trying to communicate and work with others and share actual info and make actual connections & now independently choosing to make a big shift in his life so that things can be different? is definitely the contemptible loser here while everyone else looks very good faffing around for an episode getting some temporary ego boosts & being very "correct" in every response to winston, even pointing out that rian even noticing something genuine & positive from winston in the absence of it anywhere is first & foremost incorrect, which rian will Also immediately drop in the face of that "well yeah it's more correct to prioritize Anything else. like that he's pathetic & mpc 5ever" like wuh oh rian being doomed from 5x08 "time to embrace acting more correct now" & being truly inflexible from that point on, never had a moment of conflict not resolved by [ignoring that] &/or again just getting someone more correct to declare how it'll be answered. taylor at their most flexible and Taylorest and most juxtaposed with central men & static ossified "winners" when they are also at their best in engaging with winston. taylor Like winston & vice versa in so many substantial & interesting ways, despite their relating to / sympathizing with / devoting much more effort & interest to people more like the central men. that here we are, when taylor might have to give up on Being A Winner, someone who'll walk away with status & resources & a seamless transition into some established business foundation, to really get the wins that matter, against pince, &/or to clock out of a sunk cost factory, &/or to not have strangled every part of themself that can be in conflict with this general situation into eternal dormancy. don't You dare blame latency lol, the taylor who gets to exist outside the conditional "well i guess you're a winner who's very useful to me, like dumping work on you & blaming you if it goes awry. and you can act like a Real winner in the ways that really matter (crushing people)"....is also a taylor who can be rejected & shut down & shut out & have their value denied & be treated shittily despite even knowing they'd be / are good at this shit, superlatively even, & could never feel okay just being regarded as a tool stashed away at someone's disposal. & Has been treated shittly & is liable to accept blame, unilateral responsibility for other's selves & feelings & actions & lives, & marinate in self-loathing. while people who refuse any introspection, questioning, responsibility, awareness, etc, & refuse to handle the least of genuine interactions/relationships with others as real people, are glad to scoff at them & dismiss them & imply or assert their superiority, like, wow have You got a lot to learn, or maybe you can't b/c you're inherently inferior. all just like re: winston!

tl;dr shoutout to the flexible characters who like can & do reflect & change things up actually, just so happening to always be Losing for this in the [only way to win is not to play] arena of fake winners seeing if they can consider themselves superior to everyone else & only even possibly correct always & forever, in the pyramid scheme of social hierarchy & also capitalism

[kalashtars]

having access to money & having a brain that likes to hyperfixate are two things that should not exist within the same person

[arolesbianism]

I am Going to learn how to use blender even if it kills me but rly the bigger threat is choosing the oc I'm gonna have to make a model sheet for first 😔

[minhosimthings]

The Demon of Destruction || 18+

Synopsis: For the first night of the "Make Heeseung jealous" pact, you spend it with the devil incarnate, Park Sunghoon.

Pairings: detective!Sunghoon × fem!reader

Warnings: Smut minors Dni, dildo use, ab riding, swearing, use of aphrodisiac, mention of alcohol slightly drunk reader, fem!reader, p in v, rough sex, degradation, praise, mention of cheating, creampie, dom!Hoon, reader is called 'angel' and 'sweetheart', overstimulation

A/N: bonjour my babies. This is the first installment of the Lucifer series and I seriously cannot wait to start writing Jayeun's next. Also I am shit at writing riding I realised that whilst writing this so pardon me if you cringe Ii

Series Masterlist

If there was one thing that Park Sunghoon would never have expected to ever happen to him, it was taking one of his best friend's wife to his home with the sole objective of luring her to his bed. Although he didn't have any objection towards it, it was rather peculiar now that he thought about it.

Glancing out the corner of his eye, Sunghoon caught sight of how eerily calm you were. Any other woman would have been biting her lips until they bled. Or perhaps making conversation with him at that point.

But no, you were just...silent, devoid of sound, as if you were a creature mute and deaf.

"If you don't want to go ahead with the plan anymore I'm fine with that." Sunghoon offered, snapping you out of your daze. The bourbon had a greater effect on you than you had thought.

"What—no, of course not." You said, looking at him for the first time since you climbed into his car, "Why would you think that?"

Sunghoon considered you for a while before answering. "No reason, angel."

The nickname made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Heeseung used to call you angel too.

•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

"Welcome to my humble abode." Sunghoon whistled, opening the door of the cozy looking house for you. Your expectations of what his house would have looked like, was far different from the house you were standing in now. It was...homelier than you had expected.

"Are you sure you're not married?" You jested, taking off your coat, handing it off to Sunghoon, who hung it up at the door along with his own, "Any sensible woman would be all over this house, and you of course."

"As I said, I'm not that interested in a wife yet." Sunghoon said, guiding you to a small kitchen island, you had to squint in order to see your way through the dimly lit house.

"A drink for the lady?" Sunghoon offered, opening up a cupboard, "I've got whiskey, bourbon, and—" he stopped to look up at you and smirk, "—some special wine."

"What's so special about it?" You leaned against the counter, trying hard to look at him with seducing eyes, "Is it from France?"

"Jake got it for me." Sunghoon popped off the cork of the bottle with a quirk sound, "Apparently it's supposed to work in getting people..ahem-" he looked down, "Into the mood."

Aphrodisiac, you thought, you remembered Heeseung telling you about it once. He had wanted to buy some, before you scolded him, telling him that you were a big enough aphrodisiac for him. Once a laughable memory to you, seemed sadder now.

"Well?" Sunghoon snapped you out of your stupor once again, now nudging a glass of swirling maroon liquid into your hands. You hesitantly took the glass in your hands, inspecting it for a second, before downing it completely.

"Woah angel, slow down." Sunghoon took a sip from his own glass, "It won't work faster if you drink it faster."

Wouldn't it?, you wanted to question him, suddenly becoming hyper aware of Sunghoon's delicate features.

His hair fell perfectly onto his face in stray strands and his figure was strongly built, with slender waist and strong forearms, he almost looked feminine.

"Fuck..." You swore under your breath, holding your head in your hands, causing Sunghoon to look up worriedly. Setting his glass down and quickly walking over to you, he placed his hands on your lower waist before speaking.

"Alright there, sweetheart?"

"Yes I'm—fine." You forced out of your mouth, god did Sunghoon always smell this good?

Turning your body to his, your hands roamed over his stomach, and you could feel evident muscles through his thin shirt. Now that he had taken off his droopy coat, you realised how strongly built he really was.

"See something you like sweetheart?" His devilish smile came onto his face yet again, fueling the fire which kindled in your belly. Sunghoon's arms wrapped around your waist, eradicating the mere inches of air between you two.

One of his hands came up to your chin, his index lifting your dropping head up, as he examined it carefully. You could clearly feel the effects of the wine now, he looked so ethereal, whilst eyeing you up and down. He smirked once more.

"Let's go upstairs shall we, angel?"

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

Heeseung wasn't the kind of man to let go of his treasures that easily. So why exactly he had give you up, Sunghoon couldn't get the answer to that question.

It was invigorating to Sunghoon to see you undress for him. Just one look from his eyes and your shirt was on the floor, the faint tear stains on it forgotten, why would you ever remember Heeseung when a much handsomer devil was in front of you?

So there you were, standing in front of Sunghoon in your petticoat, which barely hid the black of your bra and panties. Not that you wanted to hide it anyway, you thought, internally smiling at how Sunghoon was looking at you with bedroom eyes, before walking over to you with slow steps.

"Heeseung's an idiot for giving up such a beauty." Sunghoon said to no one in particular as he eyed you up and down once more, taking in your nakedness with his ravenous eyes.

His hand came down to your inner thigh, your frail petticoat letting him feel the soft skin before he moved to your stomach. He smiled to himself as he lifted your bra up higher, his hand smoothing over the soft warm skin. Sunghoon bit his lip, his eyes looming over your visible breasts.

"Are you already ravishing me without even touching properly, detective Park?" You chuckled, leaning closer to him. Sunghoon raised a brow.

"I never knew Lee Heeseung's wife would be so..." He trailed off in silence causing you to smile.

"So what?" You quizzed his bemused figure, "So... experienced?"

"I was about to say attractive." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, "But then again—" he let go of your waist, striding to his bed and sitting down at the edge, spreading his legs in a way that made your insides unconsciously burn, "Heeseung isn't a man who'd marry some lowly wench, is he Mrs Lee?"

"You're being brave by calling me that." You followed his footsteps upto the bed, promptly settling yourself down on his thigh, he shuffled a bit to make you more comfortable, "You haven't called me by my name even once since we've arrived here. You just keep calling me angel."

"Why shouldn't I call you angel?" Sunghoon smirked, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you down onto his thigh so harshly it made you wince, "Are you not one?"

"Poetic are you?" You scoffed, trying not to whimper at the distance between your lips and his, along with the added pressure of him keeping your clothed pussy firmly pressed to the fabric of his trousers, "Well, I'm no angel if you're expecting me to be one."

You didn't even get to blink an eye, before you felt your back land painfully against the soft matress. Sunghoon's hands burnt into the skin on your waist and his eyes raged with hellfire. He smelled of wet earth and rain on top of you, looking at you with hungry irises.

"Don't be an angel then." Sunghoon whispered, his jaw dangerously close to yours, you could feel his breath on your lips, "Just be a good girl for me yeah?"

Your hands found his stomach as his lips crashed onto yours. He was devouring you in every way possible, his breath coagulating yours, as he moved his sharp tongue across the flesh of your inner cheek. Your hands on the other side, were tracing his stomach. Through the thin cotton threads of his shirt, you could feel his muscles press against your palm as he kissed you, digging deeper with every moment.

"Sweetheart-" Sunghoon pulled away, you lifted your head slightly to catch his lips again, but he was quicker with his words, "-you've been groping my abs since forever now."

"Don't pretend like you don't like it." You scoffed, looking at him with a condescending expression. That devilish smirk came back to his face.

"Then why don't you get on them?" He asked, pulling away from you and instead lying down on the bed. His position was rather inviting, an unbuttoned shirt, (you had no idea how fast he had taken off his buttons), strong legs spread far apart, and a pretty face, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

You gulped heavily, hesitantly going near him, unsure of ether or not to get your ass onto his elysian figure. Sunghoon seemed to sense your nervousness, as he grabbed your arm and, with surprising strength, pulled you into himself.

As soon as your weight fell on his stomach, you mouth fell agape, and your face went down to make eye contact with him. You never noticed how beautiful Park Sunghoon's eyes were, they were always hidden under the guise of his rakish behaviour.

Sunghoon stops you for a second, motions for you to rise up slightly, and pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping cunt to the air.

“Just move your hips sweetheart,” Sunghoon said, his hands on your waist, helping guide your movements. You sighed in pleasure as you started to feel some pressure. He helped your grind on his chiseled abs, until you hit the correct spot, feeling your cunt practically mold onto his tummy.

“Good job, keep going angel.” He said letting you hold his shoulders for support. Seeing your mouth press into an 'o' shape made his carnivorous tendencies ignite on fire.

His hands float to your hips, encouraging you to continue. You drop back down on him, the feeling of your bare clit rubbing directly against the crests and troughs of his abs was indescribable.

Using his firm grip on your waist, Sunghoon pushes you further onto the sharp hills on his stomach, and you quicken your pace, the searing pleasure in your clit overwhelming you.

"Fuck angel," he says, which elicits a whine from you. "you look so fucking pretty like this."

Your back arches slightly at the sound of his praise, your pace quickening even more. His one hand moving upto your hair fists it tight, earning another whimper from you.

“Such a good girl, you're doing so good angel,” He said, now feeling subtle wetness stain his belly button.

“Oh fuck—I-uhh-“ you moan, going faster on Sunghoon's muscled tummy.

“You gonna cum angel?" Sunghoon asks, a mocking tone to his voice that turned you on even more, that his handsome carved face, like the muse of God's scribe himself.

“F-fuck I’m so close, Hoonie” You whimper, your mouth hung open as you breathe hard. Hearing the nickname, Sunghoon jerked his hips up slightly, making you let out a tiny scream at the stimulation on your raw cunt.

“Cum for me angel.” Sunghoon says. With a few more movements, you were cumming, your back arching into his chest as you felt your pussy get drenched.

You nearly screamed as it hit you so strong your body expelled him, along with your wet release. He was quick to move his hips up again, his cum-coated stomach making you feel things you had never felt before, pushing them into you with a loud squelch. Your senses were on overload.

Sunghoon was consuming your entire being. You could feel every inch of him and you didn’t want to stop. Your core began to tingle, feeling another orgasm approach you, reducing you to a blubbering mess.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made angel,” Sunghoon taunted as you came drastically all over his stomach, "messy girl aren't you?"

Sunghoon carefully gripped your waist and lowered you onto the bed, chuckling at how wet his tummy felt. Of all the women he fucked, you were certainly on the topmost tier.

"Wait a tick for me." You thought you had seen him wink at you, but you weren't sure due to the silent darkness, the only noise coming from the rise and fall of your chest. You heard Sunghoon open his bedside drawer, with a creaking noise.

As you relaxed into the sheets, trying to ignore Sunghoon's shuffling around the drawer, you saw him from the corner of your eye, finally taking something out from it. You could see the shape of something easily recognisable in his hands.

"Do you know what this is, angel?" Sunghoon's hands rested flat on either side of your head as he got on top of you once more, waving the dildo in your face, "Of course you do," he answered his own question, "Heeseung wouldn't have let such a good pussy go without one would he?"

"That asshole couldn't have fucked me better even with a dildo." You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "do you just have a market of toys in that drawer?"

"Let's just say a lot of women like the foreplay." You could see him smirk even in the darkness, "I mean if you don't want it, I can put it bac-"

"No that's not what I meant!" You panicked, grabbing his arm. You wondered what about your tone of voice made Sunghoon laugh out loud and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. If anyone asked you later on whether you have felt butterflies or not, you'd had said no.

"Lay down for me angel." His voice was gentler now, a beautiful facade to his internal desires.

Sunghoon places the dildo on your clit and he starts to slowly rub it using the toy while you moan loudly. Moving the toy up and down your pussy, your sinful symphonies become louder, as Sunghoon watched the juices spill from your pussy causing him to groan at the sight. He thrusts the dildo harshly into your walls, and with the slightest touch of the material to your clit, you moan louder than before.

“S-Sunghoon—fuck, I'm-” You moan out as a slap echoes in the room and you feel a sting against your ass cheek. Sunghoon's hand repeatedly thrusts the dildo into your walls, making you wish fervently for his cock to replace it instead. He turns the pace up again as you moan even more while he continues to thrust the dildo in and out of you.

"Aww you want to cum?” he asks, as you struggle beneath him, he wasn't allowing you the pleasure he promised. Your breath came unsteady, fulfilling the reticent desires of Sunghoon's sadistic side.

"speak up, angel, I can't hear you." Sunghoon whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. You quickly pursed your lips, letting yourself make only muffled sounds. but you didn't last long, as every thrust and every inaudible whimper seemed to forcefully open your mouth from the inside.

"so pretty.." Sunghoon trailed off, laughing at your pleasured pain, "You want to cum hm?"

"Sunghoon-"

"Beg for it, come on." He commanded, "Beg me to let you cum, go on."

You weren't ready to give in that easy, but Sunghoon knew that. With a slick, carefully placed flick of his wrist, the slightly sharp end of the dildo touched you in a place that could have made you reach heaven and come back.

"Fuck—Sunghoon please!" You cried, tears falling down your face at the stimulation, "Please—let me cum.."

"Well if you say so." Sunghoon chuckled as you could do nothing but nod and after a few minutes of using the dildo, he takes it out of your pussy, pressing it in again.

You finish for a second time. You cling to him tight as the euphoria washes over you again. Locking your legs around his hips, you keep your face pressed to the warm skin of his neck as it goes through you.

Your juices coat the top of the dildo as you moan raucously, feeling ribbons of cum shoot onto the dildo, making Sunghoon smirk in evident pride.

Your arms grab his, as your chest arches into his mouth, hot and wet. You feel as his mouth comes off of the swollen bud as he removes the toy from your pussy, giving you pain and pleasure at the same time.

You were a mess at this point-- your hair was all tangled and you were a flustered mess full of scratches and hickeys on your tits where he had taken them into his mouth. Sunghoon placed a firm slap on your ass, which made your dripping cunt clench around nothing.

"Can you take more, angel?" He whispered to you, smoothing your hair out with his hand.

Sunghoon didn’t give you enough time to answer over his words as his lips crushed to yours. His tongue invaded your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. His roaming hand grabbed your hair as he ripped your face off himself. He looked down at you as you breathed heavily from his attack on your mouth.

"Hoonie~" you moaned into his mouth, "Want—your cock—please."

That was all it took for Sunghoon to practically rip off his belt and trousers, now laying on the floor, with their owner on top of you. Your throat went dry at the sight of his cock, hard and pulsing, the head of it angry red, glistening with precum.

He pulled back slightly, positioning his cock at your entrance and grabbed a fistful of your hair, stretching your upper body closer to him, putting you into an unnatural position.

His body was perfect, lean and muscular, strong and sharp features etched onto his body that looked straight out of a painting.Your gaze wandered over his arms, his chest and down his waist, hips and strong legs; every detail and body part burning into your mind.

You pant heavily, gasping for air as his large cock stretches your insides. His eyes are darkened but a cocky smirk remains. Achingly slow he pumps in making your eyes roll back, groaning at the sight of your mouth slack and panting.

His hips were moving slowly, with deep hard thrusts that made you moan with each push. His hips were doing most of the work, the thrusts were deep enough and hard enough for you to melt against the bed but enough to make everything shake under your skin as you were taking everything he gave you.  Sunghoon was not going fast, which made you wonder for a split second if he wished to. 

"Yes….Hoonie…FUCK!" You mewled as he hit that spot inside of you, hearing him growl for a moment as he was still fucking you deep into the mattress. His hand that was holding your thigh was in a tight grip, not letting you faint as you clung onto his back of dear life, feeling your nails almost break the skin as your moans were getting louder and more vocal. 

His rhythm was consistent, not slowing down or going too fast just to drive you insane as you felt that feeling of an intense orgasm come over you again. 

 "I'm c-close, Hoonie—" You were moaning into his neck as he huffed and stopped his thrusts. You were about to protest at him, teetering right on the edge of that pleasurable fall when he moved swiftly once again. 

Still inside of you, he leaned back a bit and scooped you in his arms, bringing you closer to him. You let out a noise of pain as you felt his entire girth penetrate deep inside you.

As you threw back your head and moan loudly, it dawns on you how very fragile-mannered Heeseung has fucked you. Your hips tremble as your body tenses, the ragged breath escaping your mouth cuts through your symphony of whines.

"Hoonie~Sunghoon—I can't!"

"Yes you can." Sunghoon groans as he feels you clench around him tighter than ever, "Be a good girl for me, angel and take it."

 The knot in your stomach tightened and snapped, your walls spasming and clenching around him as you released all over his cock that was buried deep inside of you. You were seeing stars and your body was shaking from the intensity. 

His cock jerks around against your walls once, twice, before he’s creaming, filling you up with ropes of hot cum. He thrusts deeper into you, a melody arising from both your moans as you felt him inside your very soul.

Soft pants and deep breaths invaded the space around you, not a word being spoken. You stayed like that for only a few seconds, catching your breath as you both came down from your highs. He then carefully pulled out, muttering a string of curses and an unheard comment about the the mess you both made off of his sheets.

"Come on angel." Sunghoon muttered under his breath, in a barely audible voice, not that you were listening anyway, "Let's get you cleaned up."

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

"Tea?" Sunghoon offered you, your second cup of the night, "People say I make the best tea of all the precinct."

"Alright I trust you." You laughed, taking the mug in your hands and relaxing into the atmosphere of the cozy kitchen island, clad in a robe, you had no idea where Sunghoon got it from.

Calm silence followed, wherein you and Sunghoon sipped tea from your respective mugs. Yours had a 'To Uncle Sunghoon' on it, along with what looked like a child's drawing. You giggled to yourself. A gift from Sunghoon's beloved nephew, no less.

"Can-can I ask you something if you don't mind?" Sunghoon asked, and you noticed, that for the first time, there was no cocky tone to his voice.

"Go ahead." You smiled, "Unless it's about my first night with Heeseung."

"No no." Sunghoon laughed, taking another sup of his tea, his lips stained pink from all the kissing that had taken place, "I wanted to ask—how is it like, being married?"

You were taken aback by his question. Park Sunghoon, perhaps the last person on earth, who would ever think of marriage, was asking you about it? Had the bees stopped producing honey today?

"Well, I can't say," you started, "It's different for each person, you know. And, as time goes on, it changes. Which in my case-" you let out a cold laugh, "-is very evident."

Sunghoon was quick to put his hand on yours, giving it a tiny squeeze, along with a warm smile.

"You know who was really upset when he found out about...ahem.. your situation?" Sunghoon suddenly said, intriguing you.

"I don't know—Jay?" You said, realising you were right when you saw Sunghoon's expression, "Oh. Wait—Jay? You're not joking?"

"Y/N, trust me if you saw how much that man was brooding over it, you'd think he was your husband, not Heeseung." Sunghoon chuckled, downing the last bits of his tea, "Would you like to head to bed?"

Though you fell asleep soundly that night, wrapped in Sunghoon's surprisingly soft arms (now that the effects of the wine was over), you kept pondering over his words.

Jay—worrying about you? It was a heart thumping thought, which made you feel like what warm winter suns felt like. Jay Park, you sighed to yourself, before going off to sleep.

The day after tomorrow seemed too far away.

Taglist:@diorsyun @jaeyunluvr @hoondrop @mxxninthesky @alvojake @wondipity @blurryriki @lilyuwon @heeliopheelia @pockettwinzz @heeslomll @shiningnono @noonareads @deobitifull @luvitria @wonibae @nyfwyeonjun @hwa-0403 @saanvilovessunghoon @bubblegyu00 @sunpov @heeheeswifey @chartrucewhore @slut4hee @heesangs-blog @rikiwaify-blog @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @kirinaa08 @heeshlove @seokseokjinkim @brownsugarbaybee @yzzyhee @anittamaxwynnn @kgneptun @penny44224 @ribbioniki @strxwbloody @immelissaaa @heesminee3 @nshmrarki @yawnzzhoon @sousydive @yunhoswrldddd @whateverhoon @cloud-lyy @heeseungspookie @nyxtwixx @friedtalong @lyxnneee @hongshuaknow @francinethings23

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[hoshifighting]

hoshi as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, teasing, sponsor!reader,dancer!soonyoung, multiples orgasms, soonyoung is a freak in bed, dancer's hips. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

you were used to being the one who controlled the room, the one who made heads turn for all the right reasons. you weren’t used to showing up in a place where your designer scarpans echoed against the hard floors of a dance studio, surrounded by people in scuffed sneakers and well-worn sweats. it was almost laughable, the stark contrast between you and them, but you held your head high, owning every step as if the place belonged to you.

you were there for business, checking on one of the many studios you sponsored. it was supposed to be a quick visit, a formality, but then you saw him—soonyoung. the way he carried himself, all confident swagger as he walked in with his dance partners, sweat still glistening on his skin from what you could only assume was a performance. he was the kind of hot that made you stop and stare, like the kind of guy you'd see on a billboard in nothing but designer underwear.

but when your eyes met his, something unexpected happened—his face flushed a bright pink. you hadn’t even done anything yet, just looked at him, but suddenly the cocky dancer couldn’t stop stuttering.

“h-hi,” he managed to choke out, his voice cracking just a bit as his friends shot him amused glances.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. “hi.”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to figure out what to say. his friends, probably tired of watching him flounder, gave him a shove.

“soonyoung, just ask her already,” one of them hissed, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

“ask me what?” you prompted, leaning in just enough to make him squirm. you were enjoying this more than you should.

“uh, i was just, um… me and my friends were gonna grab some food at this, uh, street food bar… you wanna come?” he blurted out, his voice rushing the words together in his nervousness.

his friends all cringed, one even elbowing him and whispering something about you being the sponsor. so yeah, a street food bar didn’t fit you, apparently.

but you didn’t mind. in fact, you were impressed that he’d asked at all, considering how out of place you looked in your crisp white shirt and perfectly styled hair.

“sure,” you said, surprising yourself as much as him. “why not?”

the stunned silence that followed was almost comical, but soon enough, you found yourself following soonyoung and his group to a small, bustling street food bar. it was the kind of place you’d never have set foot in on your own, but there was something endearing about how nervous soonyoung was as he tried to make conversation with you, all while sneaking worried glances at your hair.

“you don’t have to worry, you know,” you teased as he glanced at you again, clearly concerned about the smell of frying pork wafting through the air. “i’m not going to bite your head off if my hair smells like food.”

his eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, his ears burning red. “i just… i didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“why not?” you asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, poking at his food with a pair of chopsticks. “you just seem… i don’t know… out of my league.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a moment before smiling. “maybe i am, but that doesn’t mean i can’t enjoy some fried pork with you.”

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw a spark of the confidence he’d had when he first walked into the studio. “well, i’m glad you did.”

and just like that, the tension melted away. soonyoung was still a little nervous, still stealing glances at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were there, but the conversation flowed easier, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a while.

you could tell he was trying to impress you in his own way, showing off a bit as he talked about dancing, about his aspirations, about how much the studio meant to him. and as the night went on, you realized that maybe you’d underestimated him. sure, he was a little awkward, a little rough around the edges, but there was a charm to him that you couldn’t ignore.

by the time you left the bar, your hair did smell faintly of fried pork, but you didn’t mind. if anything, it was a reminder of a night that had turned out to be far more enjoyable than you’d expected.

“thanks for coming with me,” soonyoung said as you walked back to your car, his voice more confident now.

“thank you for asking,” you replied, turning to him with a smile. “maybe next time, we can go somewhere a little more… upscale.”

his eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “i’d like that.”

the relationship with soonyoung progressed in the most unexpected way. from that awkward street food date to trips in first class, dinners at exclusive restaurants, and gifts that had him questioning your sanity. you loved watching his reactions—how his eyes would widen in disbelief, how his voice would go high-pitched when he realized just how much you were spending on him.

like the time you handed him a box containing a pair of sneakers. he had no idea what brand they were—some obscure, ultra-luxury label that you’d stumbled upon while shopping in milan. you’d seen the way his face lit up when he talked about sneakers, so you thought you’d indulge him a little.

“babe, you shouldn’t have,” he’d said, grinning as he pulled the shoes out of the box, not even realizing just how much they were worth.

“trust me, you’ll love them,” you’d replied with a smirk, already knowing what was coming.

it wasn’t until later that night, when you were in the middle of a meeting, that your phone rang. seeing soonyoung’s name on the screen, you excused yourself, expecting some casual conversation. instead, you were greeted by his panicked voice.

“are you out of your mind?!”

you blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “excuse me?”

“those sneakers,” he continued, his voice almost a shriek. “do you know how much they cost? that’s more than my rent!”

that did it. you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up, loud enough to make your secretary peek into your office with a raised eyebrow. you waved her off, trying to compose yourself as you brought the phone back to your ear.

���soonyoung, it’s fine. just enjoy them,” you said, still chuckling.

“enjoy them? i’m afraid to even wear them! what if i step in something? i could buy a car with that money!”

“then don’t step in anything,” you teased, biting your lip to keep from laughing again.

“you’re impossible,” he huffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “seriously, though… thank you. but you don’t have to keep buying me stuff like this. just… be with me.”

that last part made you pause, your heart doing a little flip. it was easy to get caught up in the luxury, in the thrill of spoiling him, but moments like this reminded you why you’d started this in the first place. it wasn’t just about the gifts or the trips. it was about him. about how he made you feel grounded, even as you floated in a world of privilege.

“you know,” you began, your tone softer now, “i like spoiling you. it makes me happy to see you happy.”

“i am happy,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “but i don’t need all this to be happy. just… don’t stop being with me, okay?”

your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his words wrapping around your heart. “i won’t. i promise.”

from then on, the dynamic between you shifted. sure, there were still the extravagant gifts, the luxurious vacations, and the fine dining. but there was also more—quiet moments together, like when he’d sneak into your office just to bring you coffee, or when you’d spend a lazy sunday in bed, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. and yes, there were still the moments where you’d surprise him with something ridiculous, just to see that wide-eyed look on his face. like the time you flew him to paris on a whim, just because he mentioned wanting to see the eiffel tower at night.

“you’re really spoiling me,” he’d whispered, standing with you on the observation deck, the lights of the city sparkling below.

“maybe i am,” you replied, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “but that’s because you deserve it.”

but beneath his playful frustration, you could tell that he loved it—the gifts, the attention, the way you seemed to know exactly how to keep him on his toes. and the more you spoiled him, the more he let his guard down, slipping into the role of your sugar baby with a comfort that had once seemed impossible.

every time you saw him, he was wearing something you’d bought him. the designer clothes, the luxury watches, the sneakers that were apparently worth more than his rent—it all became a part of him, an extension of the way you showered him with everything he didn’t even know he wanted.

soonyoung was a fucking beast in bed—there’s no other way to put it. you’d never met anyone who could break down your walls the way he did, turning every ounce of your composed, CEO exterior into a puddle of raw, desperate need. you’d been with your share of men, playboys who thought they could handle you, but none of them came close to what soonyoung gave you.

like that time you were waiting for your chauffeur after a charity gala. you were the picture of elegance, standing there in your custom gown, looking every bit the composed CEO. then, out of nowhere, soonyoung slid up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his body against yours. you could feel his cock—hard, ready, insistent, and shamelessly grinding against your ass. his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “can’t wait to fuck you in that dress.”

“you’re really something, you know that?”

“oh? what’s that supposed to mean?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. you felt him shift, pressing his hips forward just enough for you to feel the unmistakable hardness against your ass again.

you nearly choked on your own breath, your perfectly poised exterior cracking just a little. “not here.”

“why not? they’re all staring at you anyway,” he teased. “might as well give them something worth watching.”

“soonyoung,” you warned, but your voice lacked conviction, and you both knew it.

he loved to fuck with your composure, to see you struggle to maintain that icy exterior you were known for. like when you were paying for one of his outrageous gifts, handing over your black card with a smirk. he’d sidle up behind you, pressing his hard cock against you while murmuring a quiet “thank you” into your ear. the people behind you in line? didn’t matter. all that mattered was the way your body reacted, the way your brain short-circuited every damn time.

and when it came to sex, soonyoung didn’t just make love to you—he fucked you like he had something to prove. his dancer’s hips were a lethal weapon, rolling and grinding into you with a precision that had you seeing stars. he knew exactly how to move, how to hit that spot inside you that turned you into a moaning, trembling mess.

he held your legs wide apart, his hips driving into you with a rhythm that made you want to scream. and you did—because with soonyoung, you didn’t hold back. he wouldn’t let you.

he had this thing about numbers, too. every gift you bought him, every splurge on something ridiculously extravagant, he saw it as a challenge. like that time in dubai, when you’d gone on a shopping spree, loading up on ten full bags of presents just to see how far he’d take it. each swipe of your card was met with a smirk, anticipation building as you mentally tallied up the orgasms you knew he’d demand in return.

that night, he didn’t just match it—he exceeded it. 10. fucking. times. he had you screaming his name.

he took his time that night, dragging out every orgasm until you were on the verge of begging him to stop. but you didn’t—you couldn’t.

by the time he was done, you were spent, your body trembling, muscles sore from the intensity of it all. you’d never felt so used, so thoroughly fucked, and yet… you couldn’t get enough. not of him, not of the way he took you apart and put you back together, over and over.

by the time he was done, you were a wreck—sore, trembling, and utterly spent. the heat of dubai didn’t help, making everything feel more intense, more suffocating, even with the air conditioning blasting.

you had to take a rest day after that, your body too worn out from the marathon of pleasure soonyoung had put you through. but god, it was worth it. every ache, every sore muscle, was a reminder of just how good he was. and just how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

soonyoung had no manners in bed, and with him, you learned to have none too.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

[nicarnelian]

furever with kaji!

₊˚⊹ featuring: kaji ren x gn! reader

₊˚⊹ summary: when you bring a cat to kaji’s apartment and ask his help in making a decent home for the feline, every request must come with an equivalent reward. for kaji, he thinks kisses are sufficient compensations to your requisition.

₊˚⊹ word count: 1.5k

₊˚⊹ warnings: tooth-rotting cringe fluff, grammar errors!

₊˚⊹ author’s note: binged frieren yesterday, and himmel and frieren occupied my mind, lived on it, rent free 24/7 for the past days! i’m also rewatching 86, bc shinlena are my ogs! anw, enjoy this kaji fic w cats bc i love cats (this is a shameless self-insert fic, if i think abt it) ;)))

kaji ren finds cats tolerable. well, actually, he considers them insignificant to his daily life, so he does not particularly hate them. the only moments where he would come into interaction with those little felines are when the townspeople would either ask him a favor, such as by catching them or feeding them, or when those cats would rub themselves on his feet and legs.

he doesn’t find them annoying though; he actually consider cats something that helps him calm down, shifting his attention to the little furry animals begging for rubs and pats, rather than the rowdy environment that encircled him. but, there were also times when the cats bite him out of affection, and kaji, knowing the person that he is, screams at the animal. afterwards, kaji would flinch as he watches the cat run away from him, feeling guilty as he looks down at the small strands of fur left on his pants.

after a couple of cat interactions, it would take probably another month or two when he would interact or touch a cat properly. all of these cat memories of kaji were brought up by the current situation between the two of you.

the second you knock on his apartment’s wood door, kaji unlocks it, knowing that you would be visiting him. he missed you, even though you do see each other after classes and during weekends. kaji has gotten clingy with you — the type of clingy that continues to seek the presence of the other, the type that opt to hear your voice rather than casual texts on the flat surface of his phone. but now, he kinda regrets opening the door for you. his gaze travels all around your figure, until it stops at a pint-sized, black and white animal that you hug near your chest.

he looks directly at your eyes, “why the hell is that in your arms?”

the both of you stand motionless, as no one dared to break eye contact. you wear a dumb smile on your lips as you giggle at your boyfriend’s statement. you lightly pet the small animal that leans into your touch. “it’s a kitten!”

“i know it’s a damned cat, but why the hell are you here, bringing a kitten in my apartment?!” kaji could not control the volume of his voice properly, causing him to step back as he realizes what he had done to you. you see the guilt in his eyes spreading, as if afraid of the possibility that he might have hurt you from his words. you quickly give a light smile to reassure him, letting him know it’s alright and he didn’t hurt you in any way with his words.

“well, i didn’t know where to bring it! the landlady at my place doesn’t like pets, so here i am!” you continue giving him that beaming grin of yours. kaji finds you insufferable — the way these walls he had built since he was a child quickly dwindle into nothingness when you forced yourself into his life, with that stupid, witless, yet stunningly delicate smile.

kaji notices how your face contorts to ever single emotion possible — from how your eyebrows furrow in seriousness to annoyance whenever you do your assignments , and how they quickly crumple to relief whenever he says the simplest of motivational quotes that he most probably looked up online since he was new to interacting like this.

in months of dating you, he wanted to know everything about you albeit being impossible — but, he was the type to make any possibility a reality. months into your relationship, he has put into immense effort into knowing you, and you reciprocated such actions from your boyfriend. and, it’s safe to say that both of you are still staying strong after almost a year of being with him.

you welcome yourself into his room, which kaji did not mind since he will always think that whatever that is his is also yours. you settle the cat on his chair, much to his dismay though. “hey! it’ll leave random fur!”

you pout at him, “i just need a box and some discarded fabric to make him a home for the meantime. you have some?” kaji knows how much you love cats, which is why he completely abides by your requests. but, of course, every request comes with a equal reward.

“i have some boxes and i plan to throw away some of my clothes…” he mumbles. you extend your hands at him, like a child asking for candy. kaji smirks.

he walks towards your direction, closing the distance as he draws his face near yours. you flinch at his actions due to how sudden and unpredictable kaji has become. you place your hands on his chest involuntarily, as your eyes lock on his pair of gray eyes as well. “w-what is it…?”

kaji doesn’t crack a smile, but instead, pouts. his index finger points towards the skin of his right cheek. you watch him tilt his head, as if showing the skin to you, and the words he uttered were something you had not even expect to hear in a thousand years. “k-kiss.”

you blink at him, as you could see the tips of his ears reddening from what he asked. he just asked… for a kiss? kaji ren? the boy who had always told you that you were insufferable was asking for a kiss?

“w-what?”

kaji’s face fumes into a shade of red, “n-nothing! never mind what i said, c’mere! as f-far as i remember, some of the b-boxes were underneath my bed! i’ll search for—“ kaji blabbers and stammers all over his words. am i going crazy? he, himself, could not believe he had just asked that from you.

kaji gasps when you clasp his entire face with your hands and peck the location of his cheeks that he was pointing earlier. he grabs your wrists as you continue littering his face with soft kisses. kaji feels like his world is spinning, his mind cloudy, his heart thumping so fast and his face burning red already.

you give him a final peck on his lips and smirk, “awww… are you perhaps kiss-deprived, ren? but don’t worry, i’ll kiss you anytime you want!” you beam at him, after seeing his flushed face. kaji doesn’t respond, which makes you somewhat worried.

“ren?”

his eyes stare at his room’s wooden floor, shoulders moving up and down. his bangs cover his eyes, leading you to simply call out his name multiple times until he slowly brings his gaze upwards to yours. you nervously chuckle at him, trying to break the silence between you both as he bores his eyes into you. “ren…?” you smile cautiously.

“you’re insufferable.” and, he closes the distance between your faces, kissing you harshly. it’s certainly not comparable to this kisses you’ve given him earlier, soft and teasing — his kiss is hungry, as if he’s deprived of water and your mouth is the sole salvation. it’s filthy and rough, but you fondle his lips with equal greediness.

you place your hands on both of his shoulders, balancing yourself at the height of the moment between you and kaji. you feel his tongue grazing your lips. he wraps his arms around your waist, one hand casually roaming your body until his fingers tangle with your hair and push you closer to him. it feels like forever — kissing him in a room that just encapsulates who he is: his scent, his mark, his hands that hold you tightly but not too tight, his eyes that only look at you. the entirety of kaji ren being yours and you being his feels like forever to you.

“meow!”

the both of you stop, heads snapping at the cat already purring at your entangled limbs. it’s almost involuntary how both you and kaji stare at each other and laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck. you feel his forehead press against yours as he whispers, “‘m sorry.”

“for what?” you lean your forehead against his. “nothing, just felt like it. since, you know, accidentally raised my voice on you earlier.” kaji smiles as his head finally drops to the intersection of your neck and shoulders, planting soft kisses on the bare skin.

you ruffle his head, “‘s fine. i know you didn’t mean it.” he hums in response to you.

“but for now, you have to help me make this cat’s home! i’ve given you lotsa kisses earlier, so i expect more help from you!” you poke his cheek, trying to force him to look at you. you wriggle away from his embrace, and kaji finally whispers in response to your statement.

“‘m willing to do anything for your kisses. i’m glad to do more even.” kaji smirks at you, causing you to smack his shoulder and ultimately breaking the hug. you’re glad that he’s finally trying to open up more, to talk more. you watch as he kneel towards the cat and let the cat sniff his fingers — a small introduction between kaji and the cat.

you want to savor the moment, and sure you do, because being with kaji ren feels like forever.

[jazjelspen]

devil's spawn.

angel alastor w/ radio demon daughter reader

(notes: based off of the concept of my other story 'my angel baby' except alastor and his adopted daughter switch places and personalities. In Alastor's pov (?)in this chapter.)

(caution: RUSHED!! definitely rushed qwq so I greatly apologize. Not proofread in the slightest. Might have cringe parts am so sorriy qwq)

(Alastor is still in a way the angel version of 'the radio demon' except he's called 'the radio angel' by his fans, but he doesn't refer to himself as such since angel alastor is actually humble)

(I'm willing to make another part but considering Hs becoming more stressful and it blowing my brain up it'll definitely take time, but always willing to make more if wanted/needed)

It was another bright and fresh day in heaven, Alastor clinging the laundry up on the line while his mother, whom he managed to find in his decades inside the pearly gates, sat on a rocking chair reading a book as she usually would.

The bright heavenly lights making his halo shine, complimenting his wings, other neighborly 'winners' he would be acquainted with would walk by and greet him with a wave or a tip of their hats to him while he was outside fixing their clothes.

In this particular universe, Alastor is the complete opposite of his original counterpart. Where the original Alastor would hurt and destroy, this version of him would care and heal. He was selfless, kind, compassionate and sympathetic to which again is also a complete twist around compared his original self.

Alastor died out of an accidental kill, mistaken for a deer and shot through the head while he was out in the forest collecting his adoptive daughter's favorite flowers, at her favorite flower meadow on the day of her eighteenth birthday.

Unfortunately due to missing his baby girl's birthday and being taken away from her too soon for his liking he has been living in pure regret, panic, and pure sorrow form having to leave her too early and it pained him everyday.

He raised you all by himself while juggling his passion for radio hosting, finding comfort in your innocence and smiles when he first found you and as you grew up you gave him a reason to live and work.

That's the only thing that him and the original sadistic version Alastor have in common; the fatherly love for their daughters who are also their entire lives. Their love traverses across universes.

Eventually the more you grew up the more.. peculiar and unique you became.. your innocence would melt away with a sadistic fire in your eyes that he would notice at times but would try his best to lead you in the ways of love and compassion which you had for him but lacked for those around you..

Alastor was finishing up his morning chores for his mother's home before he would eventually go back inside and get a few necessities before leaving his home. His pearly coat, his shining microphone staff, fix his appearance in the mirror just a tad, and finally hugging his mother goodbye from the porch to head up and down the street towards the main part of the city.

Yes, he was still a radio host as well too.

Instead of broadcasting screams of pain and terror from sinners he instead would give voices to those who wished to express their passions, interview everyday folk and influential people on opinions and advice to those listening to his radio show and he even has good connections and acquaintances to the high Seraphims of heaven in order to get the latest news in the ruling of heaven.

He's just as famous as he was in life, maybe more considering how many people there are in heaven alone.

His polished shoes creating sounds on the pavement as he hummed a special tune that he adores, a tune he used to sing to you. Yet again still greeting passing by acquaintances and fans of his show with genuine glee and care.

Alastor waved off to an old friend while walking by, shining his taken cared for smile. "Good to see you again Roger, don't forget to tune in soon in a few hours! It'll be a real gas so don't miss i-- oh my!"

Alastor looked down as he seemed to bump into someone small, looking down at his feet he saw a young little girl. Another fellow 'winner' she seemed to have bumped into him with chocolate smeared around her mouth with a giddy yet apologetic smile on her face. And unfortunately smeared some chocolate on his pants.

"Hiya mister!" she waved, showing her dirtied little hand as well "Sorries! I didn't watch where I was going..!"

Alastor noticed the stain and his jaw hung slightly from surprise but then immediately laughed it off, petting the young girl on the head in understanding.

"Oh little one, don't worry about it at all! Here, so you can clean yourself up." He then took a white embroidered handkerchief for his chest pocket to give to the little girl who then wiped her face and her hands, seeing her struggle a bit Alastor graciously held her hands gently to wipe them off for her and her nose as well.

"Mary!" A voice exclaimed that approached, a woman than came into view, a winner as well. "Oh! Well if it isn't our most kind radio host! I deeply apologize about my daughter sir.." The mother would smile sheepishly and apologetically. "Thank you so much for helping my little girl, I apologize for her clumsiness! Could I perhaps offer you help of any kind?..”

Alastor shook his head as he would then neatly fold the handkerchief and saved it in his coat this time so that he could remember to wash it when he got back home. "Oh no no! No need ma'am, it's nothing a little magic can't cover up for the time being!" He smiled at the woman who now had her hands placed on her daughter's shoulders with a sigh slipping through her lips. He looked down at the girl as he gave her a pat on the head "On the other hand, are you okay dear? I do hope you didn't hit yourself too hard!.."

The little girl shook her head as well in reply, "Nu-uh mister! Thank you for helping me! I promise not to bump into anymore misters or any misseses!" Oh her messing up of words ringed a bell in his head

"How darling! Take care of yourself and your mother now, " He looked up at the woman to then lower his head slightly in respect before resuming his steps again "Apologies for the rush, just trying to see if I can get some special guests on my radio show tonight!"

The woman waved at him 'goodbye' with her young girl following suit "Oh I sure hope they agree! Good day to you Alastor!"

"Good day to you as well madame!" he waved back as he finally took enough steps away from them to now get a clearer view of the inside of the city.

He couldn't help but sigh in despair, he remembers when he used to have his own little girl.

Took care of her as if she was his own blood, as if they came form the same flesh and heritage.

And although you didn't, he never loved you any less.

His smile faltered slightly but picked it up quickly, rushing towards the next moving tram that he recognized to get to his destination: the middle of the city. Once he saw one and hopped on, he could feel his heart pump with blood he once had as red and now as gold as the tears of the elder angels.

If what he heard was right, he would try to get a segment with three special guests from hell.

Sure, he knew that they came from a place of bad and evil but that didn't deter him any less. From life to death he would give voices to everyone that needed to be heard and he would follow it no matter where someone came from.

The fresh breezes and the smell of bakeries, restaurants, the sounds of workers in mom and pop shops and independent growing businesses were like music. He could've sworn that even the laughter of children and the chattering of friends, couples, and families amongst each other turned into melodies in through his brain circuits.

Heaven was.. heaven.

But his only sin was not speaking out at heaven's hypocrisy or flaws at times. Many times he would but it turned into heaven setting restrictions on him.. silencing his own voice. He was never fond of that but apparently according to Sera and that blasphemous Adam, it was required. 'To avoid panic and prevent disturbances amongst the people of heaven' or so they'd say.

He was working on a way to go around that.. change their minds. But it was much harder than he anticipated.

Oh!-- The tram stopped with a loud hiss and ring.

Alastor snapped out of his thoughts would hop off the tram and finally start resuming his walk. He was now just a block away, the more he walked the less the voices and sounds of work distanced, entering a quieter part of the city. He was now in the smack middle of the entrance to heaven, where ice cream shops were laid in rows, cafes as well, people quietly chatting and drinking their beverages or eating their food.

Oh! And he could heard a familiar tune! It was that one.. welcome song that St. Peter would often sing..

Not a favorite song of his.. at all.. but he applauded them for effort!

Maybe a splash of swing or jazz would bring it to life.. but he assumed that was the old man in him talking.

For the time being he decided to watch some place nearby yet not too close since he knew that if he stayed where he was he would be caught up in the performance and he would have to sing with them..

Waiting at the side and hearing the singing come closer and close Alastor would make himself busy by polishing his microphone with his breathe and sleeve, fixing and dusting himself off as to not give any bad first impressions.

And thankfully he managed to remember his stain that the little girl left-- forgetting about it due to wanting to get to his destination on time and helping the poor thing. With a gentle swish of his staff pointed at the stained he then managed to cover it with his heaven-given magic.

Once the full group performance made his way towards his direction was when he stood up straight, chin high, shoulders fixed, looking good as always Alastor.

He heard Emily's voice among the performance, the youngest of the two Seraphims.

He's quite close with the two, at first only starting as something for business until one day he got closer to them and confessed his past, and his regrets.

Emily reminds him much of his daughter, the high angel having an enthusiasm and mentality of a late teenager or young woman, same age his daughter was when he last saw her.

He thought, wondered, pondered, dreamed-- what his little girl grew up into.

His eyes stared at his microphone, the shine of silver blinding him when he turned it for a spot of sunshine to burn his eyes slightly.

Did she grow up into an incredible woman? Did she ever find love? Settle down and have children? How has she matured? Does she resent him for leaving him so soon even if he never meant to? Does she look completely different? Did she ever change her name?

Were you even up here at all?

He hopes you were, looking and asking for you far and wide in heaven. Did you seclude yourself? Did you hide from him on purpose?

Or were you simply in hell..

No-- his little girl couldn't be in hell. Sure she had concerning hobbies, thoughts, ways of doing things but it didn't deserve her going to hell of all places.

You had to be up here, somewhere.. you had to.

A somber sigh escaped his lips as he stared at his reflection in the object between his palms and fingers. His heavy heart tugging and ripping itself apart.

'my little girl.. where are you?'

"Alastor!! Hey!"

A young voice shouted at him from afar, looking up he saw Emily wave and ushered him to head towards her way from afar.

He let go of his guilt for now, and shined his iconic smile as always.

"Why hello Emily, Sera," he lowered his head at the high angels in respect for them "How may I help you ladies today? I see we have new visitors!" His head moved to look at the other three ladies in front of him that came from below.

There was a young woman with eyes that shared the same enthusiasm as Emily's did, hair of sunshine and gold, fangs as sharp reminiscing those of a blood bat, small and thin frame and an outfit that successfully mimics casual sophistication.

Another young girl to her right was one that seemed more reminiscent of an angel, her long hair filled with silver and moon, a gaze as sharp as broken, stance serious and unapologetic, she seemed ready to protect the blonde girl beside her but also had eyes of worry and a sense of uncomfortability haunted her features and her almost slouched back.

The last one, really shook him up.

The next young woman to the left of the blonde girl was adorned in nothing but pure red with tones of a deep hot pink in her entire look. Her clothes were of an era he knew of very well, of course he'd recognize clothes from the 30s!.. except they had a few odd touches that more or so reminded him of the 40s or heck maybe even 50s.. a bit more ahead of his time. She had a large sharp smile that screamed of mischief and eyes that are waiting to do something-- anything sinister.

Despite all this, these characteristics weren’t the ones that shook him to his core.

She looked like someone he knew, that he missed.

"Everyone, this is Alastor. He's heaven's most famous and influential radio host! Giving voices to the voiceless when he was alive and even more up here, and of course due to his selfless acts when he was alive he was blessed to be let through the gates of heaven." spoke Sera, introducing the 'winner' as he chuckled sheepishly.

"Oh thank you Sera, but it's nothing really! Just had to do what was right."

Sera then lead his eyes back to the newcomers, having him face directly to the girl with hair of sunshine first. "Alastor, I present to you the Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, Charlie Morningstar. She's here to present a few ideas to the court the next day."

Alastor's eyes widened in surprise, "Princess! I didn't know royalty were to visit us today!" he bowed down towards the girl as to pay his respects, standing back straight once he finished. "A pleasure to meet you sweetheart quite the pleasure! Didn't expect our guests to be of royalty so apologies to any bad manners."

The princess shook her head with a large smile "Oh!-- don't worry you didn't give off any bad manners! It's nice to meet you too Mr...Alastor!.. it.. it's very admirable what you did before and what you do now! You seem to have earned your place here quite well!"

The man shook his head as well in reply "Oh like I said it's nothing! If anything I should thank my daughter, she was my reason and my motivation to be nothing but kind to others to present a good example! I continue to do so in her honor."

Charlie's eyes grew as a soft 'awwww' escaped her lips "You must love your daughter very much..!"

Alastor nodded, "Of course I do! As a father always should!"

Charlie opened her mouth again to speak, her eyes filled with a sense of bittersweetness until she was suddenly interrupted by the young woman dressed in red. She walked in between Alastor and Charlie with a sense of charm and enthusiasm, the spirit of a presenter or spokesperson shining in her body language and way of speaking.

"How delightful! The love of a parent transcends heaven and earth! Now that's poetry!" the girl's voice was glitched out and heavily amplified with a strong sound of static, as if her vocal cords came straight from a radio speaker. She held a staff much similar to his, except her's was shorter and more compact-able.

The girl with silver hair rolled her eyes in nothing but pure irritation, Charlie giggled nervously as she then pointed her way towards the one who spoke. "And this is ______! She's the founder and host of my hotel back in hell! She's helped me throughout everything and I dont think I would be able to get to this point if It weren't for her help as well!"

Ah,

He knew it.

______, anyone could have that name.

But you looked like his daughter, his pride and joy.

His face still shines with a smile but his eyes are baffled with the sudden hit of realization.

It couldn't be a coincidence-- you looked like her, your eyes had that spark he always used to see in his daughter before he left. The way of speaking, that stance-- more confident and mature but the way you spoke.. your vocals were a match to his daughter's just with a touch of years to it.

And you looked at him as if you knew as well, eyes narrowing with piqued interest. Sharp smile widening an-

wait..

what?..--

You seemed to have almost hopped right in front of him with your hand suddenly shaking his. "A real pleasure to meet you sir! Quite the pleasure!"

You mimicked his greeting yet somehow you spoke it so naturally, as if spoken a billion times before. He was stunned, if there weren't people around he would've slipped and broken down right here right now--

but he cannot, will not.

He will not worry others, he will not bother others with his emotions.

"Good to meet you Ms.."

"______. Simply call me ______." Your sinister grin only stretched, a sense of despair fell into the pit of his stomach,

His little girl in hell?

Did he.. fail at raising you?

Was dying too soon the reason why you let yourself fall?

Whatever the case, Alastor was nothing but stuck in a small limbo of his own guilt again

If he did this to you-- even indirectly,

he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"Ms.. ______..."

'my little girl' he would've said, 'my daughter, how I've missed you. please forgive me for leaving you so soon... I'm so so sorry my darling..'

the words were stuck to his throat.

a small gust of air was the only thing that escaped from his cords.

Sera clapped her hands together once as a way to announce, "Well Princess Morningstar. I hope your stay here is nothing but comfortable, and I say that to your companions as well."

Sera looked at the 'winner' with confusion and a sense of concern but she knew she had to leave due to duties calling for her and Emily's presence.

Sera gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Alastor, would you perhaps show them where their hotel is and how to check in? It's going to be the one nearby."

'the one nearby' he thought, 'a block away.. '

"of course! anything to make our guests feel more welcomed!"

Sera nodded in 'thanks' before flying off with Emily on her side, herself also waving goodbye to all of you as well.

Alastor paused, before finally turning his head at the girls.

"Well, let's get you all to where you'll stay for the time being!.."

He will find out what happened to you, what went wrong, how he messed up.. he'll beg for forgiveness from you. for you were and still are his reason for who he is.

you were his one and only daughter, he will make it up to you.

"Follow me now! Time isn't going any slower!"

Little did he know, he wasn't at fault at all.

You were just born that way.

You knew what you were and you embraced it as a way to cope from him being taken away from you.

Of course you had to blend in and you took on the mantle of taking over your late father's radio show, eventually becoming as famous as he was and you were nothing but just as charming as he was on his show.

But then you killed, the power imbalance favoring you was nothing but amazing to you.

Years later, you enjoyed it. Killing was your life's purpose. Your crimes were never a subject for you to ever regret or feel guilt for.

You regret nothing.

You were a merciless killer then, and one now.

Through earth and hell, forevermore.

[mywritersmind]

CAT PARENTS - LN

pt.1

summary : A kitten is all it takes to get two strangers in the same bed for the night. Lando likes how she doesn’t know him, Olivia likes the cat that he’s trying to take from her.

warnings: just lando, olivia, and juna being cute!

word count : 1541

⋆ ˚‧｡⋆

“Oh my god!” I practically scream when I see the cat on the side of the road.

“Oh shit!” Someone grabs the cat before I can even get close. I look up to see who just stole this beautiful creature from me and am a bit taken aback.

He’s not too tall, but quite cute. He's got curly hair that’s cut into a baby mullet and a gray t-shirt that shows off his arms that are holding the kitten.

He blinks at me, making me realize I've been staring for probably too long, “That’s my cat.” I say quickly.

“Oh?” Fuck, he’s got an accent.

“You’re british?” I may have had a few drinks tonight, considering we are on the side of the road in Miami, the cat and the accent are throwing me off.

“You got that from one word?” He looks at me, confused, “Did you really bring your cat to go out and party in Miami?”

“I- No…” I glance back to see my friends who are still in line at the club, “But it’s the cat distribution system!” He laughs at me. LAUGHS.

What the fuck?

The cat snatcher sits on the curb, the cat pushing against him to get away. I sit next to him and snatch the cat right back. “She’s so cute!” I squeal as it stays still in my arms, meowing.

“Tell me more about this… cat distribution system.” I explain how people keep finding cats and it’s meant for them. He’s easy to convince, a good listener as well.

“Right then. I have to bring her home.” He sighs as if it’s a big issue.

“What? You mean I have to bring her home?” I hold the kitten closer to my chest, her light and dark brown fur brushing against me.

He frowns, “I found her first.”

I scoff, “She clearly likes me more. And I saw her first, you just got there quicker.”

He shakes his head, “Love, I still picked her up first.”

I furrow my brows, “Well, Love, You’re a random man and Juna and I don’t know you.” the kitten meows as if she agrees.

“Juna!? You can’t have already named her!”

“Ever heard of Clairo?”

“Okay- I’m Bob. What's your name?” He holds out his hand. I don’t take it.

“Bob?” I let out a laugh, “If you think I believe that, or would let you take Juna with that name, you’re on something.”

There’s something about the small smile he pulls that makes me feel weird and warm. He runs his hand through his hair, his ring catching the light, “My name is Lando.”

“Okay, Lando.” I roll my eyes, “Odd name but better than Bob. Why did you lie?”

His face scrunches up, “You honestly don’t know who I am?”

“Clearly not. If you’re that arrogant then I bet you’re not even known.” He smiles at this and stands up, offering me his hand.

I take it, standing and pulling down my black mini skirt as I do so. “She looks hungry.” My stomach growls at the exact time he says that. “So do you.”

I don’t know what to do. I’m staying with my friend this weekend and she is allergic to cats. I have no car and definitely not enough money to go buy things for a kitten. “Let’s go then.

I register that he’s speaking to me, “Excuse me?”

“If you won’t let me take her then we’ll have to go together.”

His words are what landed me in a pet store twenty minutes later.

I assured my friends that I would be okay and Lando made his friends prove he’s not some freak. His friends met mine and showed his instagram which made them agree way too quickly. He didn’t let me see it.

I gathered that he must be pretty famous or at least rich considering the McLaren we got into could not have been cheap. I saw him cringe when Juna had an accident in the front seat, yet he stayed quiet.

We’ve got Juna in a huge bed in the cart; food, treats, and toys surrounding her. “You never told me your name.” Lando pushes the cart down an abandoned isle, rightfully so since it is five minutes until closing.

We’ve been so busy that I honestly forgot I don’t actually know Lando.“Olivia.” I give in, “Liv, to my friends.”

“Alright Liv, are you from here?”

“Woah- we are not at friend status.” I shake my head, crossing my arms and shivering. I am still in platform boots, a mini skirt, and tube top. The few people working are shooting me dirty looks.

“Come on…” He frowns, leaning against the cart.

“Tell me your deal, then maybe I'll let you.”

“A fact for a nickname? I’m down.” He places the items, minus Juna, on the register. I explain my money situation but he doesn’t even think twice before he swipes his card. After we’re all back in the car he turns to me.

“I’m a driver.” He starts the car.

“Like a limo driver? Lando, you're not very good at this game.” Juna sleeps in my lap after she devoured a can of food and some water.

“A formula one driver…” He pulls out of the parking lot.

I know nothing about the sport except that it’s loved by my father and rich european people. “I don’t believe you.”

He eyes me and hands me my own phone that he’s carrying, “Lando Norris.” He says his last name.

“Quite the name you’ve got. Meant for fame, I fear.” He tries to hide his smile but he’s shit at it. I bite my lip and put my phone down, “I don’t want to look you up.”

“Why?”

“I want to learn about you, from you.” I shrug.

“Alright Liv…” He grins as he uses my nickname, “What do you do?”

I sigh and lean back in my seat, “I work in movies.”

“Really?”

I nod, “Yup. Mostly set design and some background stuff but one day I want to produce my own.” He listens intently, “So Lando… Why did you become an F1 driver?”

We go back and forth like this for thirty minutes until he pulls up to his hotel.

“Oh…” I look up at the fancy building, “You really want to bring a cat up there?”

He doesn’t say anything, just hands off his keys to the valet and grabs all the bags, leaving me with Juna. I’m amazed at everything we see, even the elevator is fancy with a big mirror that reminds me to wipe my under eyes that have mascara on them.

We walk to his room and as he opens the door for me my jaw drops, “Fuck, Norris.” I look around the huge room. It’s got a king sized bed, a bathroom with a tub and a shower, a couch, a huge TV, and the most beautiful view of the ocean.

“I won my first race here. Get a bit of special treatment.” he says like it’s the most casual thing ever.

He shuts the door and dumps everything onto the floor. We end up making a little space for Juna since we’re convinced we will lose her in this room.

Lando is in the bathroom when I text my friends about my night. They ask if he’s kissed me yet and I blush to myself, quickly explaining that it’s not that kind of night.

I’m laying on the floor, next to Juna when Lando walks back in, wearing only sweats. My eyes catch on his tanned and very fit body. “Forgot my jumper…” He says awkwardly, throwing on a blue dior hoodie as I look away and pretend to not have checked him out.

He lays on his stomach, petting the kitten's head and not meeting my eyes as he says, “If you wanna change, You could borrow some of my stuff.” I think I'm going to melt right there.

I check the time, “No… I really should go.” I sit up and he does with me.

“What?” he looks almost… sad? “You can’t leave Juna though.

“I know… But you can deal with a kitten alone.” I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want to leave Juna.

I don’t want to leave Lando.

“Can I?” He raises a brow, “If you really want to go that’s fine. But… It’s late. And an Uber would be expensive. And it’s no trouble! Really you can take the bed.”

“Ok.” I say a bit too quick. His smile makes my heart skip a beat. Shit. Friends, Liv! Friends! Remember!? His adorable face and hilarious personality just comes as a bonus. “But you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” I laugh, “You can take the couch with Juna.”

He smiles and shakes his head, throwing a menu to me, “Order whatever, I can hear your stomach growling.”

-

note :

i love this story sm!! pt.2 coming soon!

[luna-the-moth]

i am begging for riddle with reader who makes audio porn 🙇🙇 does he accidentally stumbles by it? did cater introduced the concept to him? would his treatment of reader change after he sees them the next day? does he avoids them? he definitely can't listen to the entire recording no matter who is it for the first time LMAO he needs a 5 minute break

asidfsdf ask and ye shall receive, anon <3 riddle has so much potential on this subject tbh im <3

18+ / gn! reader / sub! riddle implied / reader does audio porn/asmr!

genuinely i think cater would consider showing it to him as a joke to see his reaction. on the other hand . he knows trey will kill him . BUT. i do think he toes the line by making enough subtle jokes about boyfriend/girlfriend/partner asmr that ace (disgusted, cringed out like the loser his is) asks him why he's talking about "lame shit like that," leading riddle to ask what it is...(he googles it later because no one will tell him, mostly out of fear, mischief, protectiveness, or some mixture of the sort).

Riddle stumbles upon one of your tamer audios at first: it's nothing saucy, just an audio where you're soothing your "partner" post-exam season. (he looked up "asmr, soothing" since that's one of the benefits to asmr trey had listed). nevertheless, his face burns red enough to rival trey's freshest strawberry tart once he realizes who the voice belongs to.

He doesn't allow himself to listen any further- how could he? to allow himself to fantasize about you so openly , , , yes you were kind, intelligent, and enjoyable to be around, but it's not as if he's harboring any romantic intent towards you!

and you...why would you post this publicly? do you not know how much power your words hold? how the timbre of your voice could send a man to his knees? to upload such intimate moments of yourself, scripted they may be...

Riddle's chest heaves as the realization of the situation fully sinks in, but he can't restrain himself from clicking the hyperlink promising "an exclusive sneak peek into [your] heart <3." yet unlike the romantic ideas riddle had come up with, the titles that appeared made him nearly faint.

"Teaching You How to Properly Obey My Orders."

"Caught You Slacking Off."

"A Reward <3"

All of them were so...intense.

Eyes razing through the posts upon posts of similarly titled audios, Riddle feels a shudder go through his body. He's never even heard of most of the acts you placed in the tags under each post but...the thought of you leaning forward into a microphone, murmuring all of your wishes to your paying listeners...he can't help but wish to know the experience, too.

His sleep that night is fitful. He cannot sleep properly . Cannot think properly . Cannot allow peace to overtake him for a moment lest his thoughts stray back to what he had found-

He's in a huffy mood the next day; far more likely to scold a slacking student or mischievous cat. But you...he doesn't approach you at all, avoiding your gaze with every accidental meeting. You wonder if perhaps this is part of him trying to spare you from his ill temper; the adeuce duo had told you of his moodiness from that morning.

But as time drags on, Riddle still can't quite look at you the same way as he once did. He's more passionate. Earnest in wanting to spend time with you, and perhaps a tad possessive as well...You sum it up as him making up for his previous mood, but any explanation you come up with never seems quite right...

<3 lemme know if you'd like to hear more thoughts about the twst charas, nonnie! im also down to talk about sub! twst boys outside of audio porn lol

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello hello!! I was not expecting requests to be open again so fast, but i am DEVOURING your writing, so i shan't complain!

What about Dogday getting saved by a teenager who’s desensitized to the horrors of the factory? Like of course, they’re perturbed, but aside from initially seeing Dogday(because holy shit), the biggest reaction they’ll give is a cringe and a “eugh” or some other mild exclamation of “that’s fucked up.” Essentially just Dogday interacting with a kid who’s weirdly chill with the circumstances and tries to be silly sometimes despite the persisting horrors.

Thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!!!

Awe thanks! Have a good day/night too!

.......

"You..you're Poppy's angel..come to save us-"

"Eugh..what the hell happened to you?"

While back in the day, Dogday would've scolded you for using profane language...he finds it understandable considering you discovered him in his....erm..current condition.

The initial shock of seeing him would have anybody from outside the factory deeply disturbed.

But he's surprised that you're not fully freaked out and didn't run away.

Instead you manage to get him out of the Playhouse (while curbstomping a few little critters who tried crawling into his body along the way) and found a safe spot to rest.

Despite his insistence that you should leave him, you point out that he mentioned you saving him earlier.

"When you said "us", I thought that included you, too."

"I-I meant the others. The ones who can still walk..and still have a fighting chance. Look at me, kid. All I'm gonna do is weigh you down."

"....I mean, you are kinda heavy. But I've lifted worse with this grabpack. I got you."

He's confused by how oddly calm you are about everything.

If you were able to get down this far in the facility, you would've had to cross paths with Huggy, Mommy, Catnap, and Miss Delight at some point.

By all accounts, you definitely should've been traumatized at least from seeing all the bloody toys laying around.

Yet you're cool as a cucumber as you try your best to fix him (with assistance from Kissy, Ollie, and Poppy, of course, who are stunned you came out of the Playhouse alive)

Dogday remembers how scared the children were during the Hour of Joy, comforting them as he helped them flee the terror...so to be comforted by a kid now felt strange.

Yet your calm demeanor helps ground him whenever he starts to have a panic attack over Catnap finding him or if he feels like a critter or two is already inside of him, trying to take hold and eat whatever organs he had remaining (but it's just a sensation he feels from time to time).

You snap him out of it by asking rather silly questions.

"What if I stuck a flare in your mouth? Would that deter them?"

"...what? Um...I-I suppose that could work, but hopefully it's not a theory we have to test anytime soon.."

Even if Poppy decided to show you the Hour of Joy tape (which he had to look away from and tried persuading you to do the same), your only reaction is a slight grimace and a simple "damn wtf....you guys think any of those workers were running late or didn't go in that day?"

Dogday is shocked you'd joke at a time like this...but she knows you better and tells him you're just like That(tm).

You do care about them. You do wanna destroy the Prototype and save whoever you can along the way--including him.

It just may take some time for him to get used to your personality.