#and its a really cute outfit they were hating to hate

[mutatedmystery]

Is it weird to celebrate a birthday that technically isn't existent to that specific person?

[caravanlurker]

shout out to that one time I watched the PRISMCorps Magical Girl lore video and the first few episodes of TGAMM in veeery close proximity. too much time on this xP loong ramble in the tags

[priceinjection]

OlderBf!Simon x CollegeStudent!Reader

Kept writing this in my head, finally wrote it down. Could be something, could be nothing

Cw: mostly fluff and domestic goodness, reference to 18+ themes, allusions to Simon sharing Reader with tf141

Olderbf!Simon is quiet and observant. Yes that means he’s often an excellent listener for his chatty little Bird, and notices things about you that you don’t even notice about yourself. That also means he knows exactly when you don’t want to talk. Your brow furrows in that way that he secretly finds amusing,  your lips are pressed in an impossibly thin line. He doesn’t mind when you don’t want to talk, silence with you is just as good as listening to you talk for hours

Introducing him to your friends was…interesting to say the least. You knew the age gap alone would make them skeptical. So Simon did what any logical person would do. He took you and your friends out to a really nice restaurant and got all of you your own bouquets. 

Simon will ALWAYS walk you home from your evening classes, clubs that get out late, rehearsals, anything you got going on. If its dark out he’s waiting outside ever so patiently “not safe for a pretty thing like you to walk alone” (when he’s away on a mission he will arrange for an escort from someone he’s vetting and trusts) 

When he stays with you at your dorm he’s attached to you like velcro. He follows you down to the laundry room and of course sends an especially deadly look to the hockey player who dared to look at you for a moment too long in the hallway

Simon’s heart damn near jumped out of his chest when you played him one of your favorite playlists and it was full of songs he liked at your age (you didn’t have the heart to tell him that your dad introduced that music to you, he was just so happy!)

Simon doesn’t mind when you go out to college parties without him “m’too old for that young crowd anyway” he’d say. He loves watching you get ready and put on outfits are that are far too revealing, he’s not intimidated by college boys and trusts you. Besides, he’ll be there at the end of the night to make sure you and all of your friends get home safe. He takes you to his place though, you were just so cute and needy and he’d hate to keep your roommates up all night. 

He loooovvveeees seeing you wear his clothes, doesn’t matter your size he’s so large you’re swimming in his shirts no matter what. He loves it a little extra when you leave his place to go to classes sporting a shirt with his last name plastered in all caps on the back. 

He attends all of your events. Don’t try hiding them from him, he’ll find out and be there no matter what you say. You BEG him to stop coming after one of your professors asked if he was your father right before you unknowingly walked over and planted a big kiss on his lips, he does not comply with your wishes. He liked the shock and borderline horror on your professors face.

Simon spoils you, he buys your textbooks and if you need extra money for food or supplies it’s being transferred to you before you even get the chance to say no. It’s not just necessities though! He learns all of your interests and you get plenty of gifts related to them all of the time.

Once your friends got comfortable with Simon he was automatically invited to every girls night at the local collage bar. His presence alone kept the creeps away so you and your friends could have fun. Not to mention he always picks up the tab before any of you realize and drives everyone home safely. 

When he talks about you to his team they all get a little too invested a little too fast. Soap and Gaz constantly asking to see pictures of you “said she did something new with her hair” or some other excuse slipping past their lips. Price was more subtle about his attraction to you, quietly soaking up every story Simon cared to share. He’s the first to volunteer when Simon isn’t able to pick you and your friends up from a party, not that Simon would trust Soap or Gaz with the job.

It’s not lost on Simon when the boys start asking “how’s our Birdie” instead of “how’s your Birdie” He doesn’t mind, a small smirk always tugging on his lips. One day he surprises them with “She’s great, finally wants to meet you lot.”  Technically you hadn’t said that yet,  but Simon highly doubted you’d turn down the opportunity to have three additional men around his age fawning all over you.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.✧༺♥༻∞.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・

A/N: Hello! first post! yay!! I promise these will get better as I find my groove and niche😭 for now please enjoy this stream of consciousness that wouldn't leave my brain

P.S: my lovely friend who pre-read this for me requested a part two immediately with more of the other boys and some more explicit thoughts and concept so keep your eyes peeled for that

[silkentine]

All I could think while drawing Nami was, “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?” And, of course, with Robin I was thinking, “save a horse… 🥵”

Design Notes and other opining below the cut:

For Nami, I wanted to go for a mix of cocky Jersey mafia newbie and surfer boy. I like to think that some of the horrendous outfit choices that Sanji makes (especially in the movies) were actually picked out by Nami. She’s the shopper!!! But yeah, the vibrant swim trunks and graphic tees just scream Nami. I also wanted to put him in a wetsuit/rash guard because I think that’s a sexy look so sue me if you hate it. You cannot argue with me that Nami doesn’t wear swimsuits as clothes.

He’s toned but not as muscular as Robin or Luffy (for example) because he isn’t a front-line fighter, I want him to maintain the same kind of role that Nami has in the animanga. He’s the best navigator in the world!! I couldn’t decide if I wanted to change the violent tendencies that Nami has, but ultimately I think he’d still give the more deserving members of the crew a healthy wallop (although I might portray it more cartoonishly). Boy Piece!Nami still grew up under Arlong’s authority so he spent a lot of his childhood walking on eggshells to protect his village and his brother, Nojiko, so I think he never really got to learn “you’re not supposed to hit people just because they frustrate you” lesson. I gave him a shark-tooth necklace because surely Arlong had a few loose teeth to spare once Luffy took her down. Victory spoils LOL

If he can get the girls to stop wrestling and sit down quietly for a while, he likes to host card games (with betting, of course) or watch the clouds while sipping whatever fruity cocktail Sanji whips up. I believe that Canon!Nami is a total lesbian, and I can’t possibly envision a Nami who doesn’t like women so Boy Piece!Nami is bi. I am, of course, a Namivivi truther and Vivi is also a man in this AU. I don’t hate Sanami within this dynamic though… lots to think about.

Okay!!! All-shipper mindset aside, let’s talk Robin. I gave him long hair because 1) it’s hot and 2) I think it makes him look like Dragon. Yeahhh, I subscribe to the Luffy and Robin are half-siblings theory because I think it’s funny and makes some sense. Crocodile is 100% Luffy’s Mom in this AU and I think Robin knows it LOL

For his outfits, I wanted to lean a bit more Indiana Jones where I could; he’s still primarily cowboy inspired though. For the main look, I went with the Skypeia color palette hehe, I think Robin looks good in yellow. I did some flower-petal shaped color blocking on his chaps because I think it’s cute and subtle. I really love that the powers of the Hana-Hana-no-mi are like… unexpected for a “flower flower” fruit and I think Robin would be more aware that juxtaposition as a guy. You might also be wondering about the gloves and I initially just had it for his cowboy look but I decided to put them on all the outfits up until the events of Enies Lobby. Canon!Robin has a really difficult childhood and I think it’s exacerbated by the fact that she’s a girl on her own. If Robin was a boy, he’d probably have an easier time living on his own but would be a lot less emotionally open. All of these elements combine to make him want that physical barrier between his real hands and the world. Once he can trust that the Strawhats will always be there for him, he’s more willing to be more physically open.

I also think it’d be cute if he was much more of a coffee drinker :3c I see Canon!Robin as a connoisseur who likes a well-brewed espresso but Boy Piece!Robin needs a cup of joe (no matter its quality) every chance he can get. So I drew him with his special #1 ARCHAEOLOGIST mug.

It would make me so happy if you left your thoughts in the tags or replies!! Even if you hate everything about them, I just really like engagement hahaha. I’m thinking girl Usopp is next despite the poll results because she’s on my mind rn (don’t hold me to this, LOL I’m fickle). I’m making these for fun so I just wanna make designs in the order that interests me the most. Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog to see all the genderbends I have so far. And happy pride!!!

[mariasont]

maria, i have an ideaaa!!

bimbo!assistant!reader goes on a date with a really shitty guy. and she sneaks away to the back door and calls hotch in the alley to come and save her (it’s also raining). she’s all wet and her makeup’s all ruined when hotch comes.

he then takes her back to his place and takes care of her… and… mushy soft fluffiness happens… and maybe feelings are confessed… and maybe a kiss or 2 happens…🥰💖

TALK ABOUT A BAD DATE - A.H

a/n: genius, genius, you are an absolute genius!!!!!!!!!!! this was probably my fav bimbo!reader fic to write <3 thank you sm for requesting

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um the rain takes out reader's shirt, so she does kinda flash him for a hot sec, hotch also blatantly checks out her ass, cuties being sickeningly cute, cuties kiss in 4k

wc: 2k

A perfect, flawless, stunning, never-been-done before outfit wasted on a loser of a guy. Your makeup had taken an hour alone, your hair — well, you didn't even want to think about it because you were certain you were starting to break out in hives.

You steadied yourself against the brick wall, the uneven asphalt beneath your heels threatening to take you down as you fished your phone from the depths of your purse.

You dialed the first number you could think of — Hotch's. His was also the only one you had memorized. The battery icon flashed a warning of five percent as you hunched beneath the alleyway's awning, trying to shield yourself from the rain. You desperately hoped he'd pick up.

There was frankly no plan B if he didn't. Go back inside and ask you so-called date for a ride? That was not an option. The moment he pulled up in one of those big trucks, with its deafening music and roaring engine, you regretted not driving yourself. After all, you were well aware what men were compensating for with a big truck.

"Hotchner."

His voice was gruff, the sound slightly distorted by the speaker. You imagined he had just walked through his door, despite the time being eight o'clock on a Friday night. He was presumably preparing to pour his routine glass of scotch.

"Sir, it's me," you said, attempting to ignore the relentless raindrops assaulting your makeup — a battle they seemed intent on winning. Clearly, the concept of setting spray was foreign to them. "Can I ask you for a favor? If you say yes, I pinky promise I'll stop rearranging your desk. I know you have a system, but it just looks so bland sometimes."

"I'm going to overlook that desk comment," he stated, his sigh audible through the phone. You could picture the pensive frown that came with it. "What do you need?"

You drew your lips into a tight line, looking down to watch the rain mock the effort you had put into your outfit.

"Can you come pick me up? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Pick you up? From where? Are you okay?"

You shivered slightly, your free hand instinctively rubbing warmth into your arm. You should've brought a jacket. The thought of sharing this evening's failings with your boss did not sound appealing, so you avoided most of his questions.

"I'll text you the location, okay?"

"Okay, yes, I'll be there. Just stay put."

You thanked him and followed that by a double promise to stay put (he didn't believe you the first time). You also told him you'd wait inside, which was less than truthful. The thought of getting drenched was far more attractive than the prospect of bumping in that women-hating boy again.

You didn't have to wait long, thankfully, spotting Hotch's car turn into the alley, the headlights flaring up like spotlights against your face. You used a manicured hand to shield your eyes, narrowing them against the glare. The distinct sound of a door opening and closing signaled his arrival, and soon, Hotch was striding towards you.

"Christ, get in the car," Hotch insisted, more a command than a suggestion.

He was by your side in an instant, his arm on yours as he opened your door and helped you in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over you to fasten the seatbelt. You giggled, his hand pausing just above your thigh.

"What?"

The rain gently streamed over his perfect skin, his hair now saturated and plastered to his brow, his blue dress shirt bearing the brunt of the downpour.

"You don't trust me to buckle my own seatbelt?"

"I don't trust you with a lot of things." Completely false. "For instance, your choice of men." Completely true.

He clicked the seatbelt into place and swung the door shut, cutting off any chance of a response, then moved around the car to the driver's side.

You couldn't help but pout, even as your eyes traced the line of his jaw. "How'd you know?"

Any trace of annoyance vanished as quickly as it came as he placed a hand behind you, giving you an even better view of his profile while he reversed the car. Your focus shifted to the ripple of muscles under his shirt.

"I'm trained to know when someone is in distress and you practically spelled it out. The restaurant, the clothes..." His voice tapered off, disguising his pause with a cough while his gaze flickered over your outfit, his cheeks tinged with a fleck of red. "I've got a spare sweatshirt in the back if you need it."

You traced his line of sight to your chest. Emitting a small squeak, you quickly shielded yourself with your arms, realizing that your white top had become completely see through.

"Totally not embarassing," you say, pursing your lips as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"It's fine," Hotch insists, but you don't miss how his eyes are now careful not to drift from the road. "Put your seatbelt back on."

"I can't reach the sweatshirt."

You shift to face the back, knees planted on your seat as you lean over to grab just the thing you were looking for. In the rearview mirror you catch the brief moment his eyes do stray, discreetly (or so he thought) sweeping over your ass.

A self-satisfied smile crept across you face as you slid back into your seat, slipping on the sweatshirt. It smelled like him — an intoxicating blend of aged leather and pine. You liked it. A lot.

"So do you wanna talk about it?"

You really didn't. With a sigh, you dug through your purse for your lip gloss. Flipping down the passenger mirror, you froze, confronting your reflection.

"Hotch, didn't you think to mention my face is all... smudgy?"

Your mascara (and setting spray) had betrayed you, leaving dark trails down your cheeks and a slightly unhinged look.

"Your face is perfect," Hotch remarks dryly, like he was tired of you, he undoubtedly was. You were a handful after all. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

You let out a delighted gasp.

"Did you just say my face is perfect?" Leaning over the console, you tap his nose with your finger. "You're just the sweetest."

The look Hotch gives you is flat, expectant as if he knows just what you were trying to do.

"Okay, okay, fine, it was just a terrible date. Like, Hotch, I'm talking disaster-level bad. He made fun of my job, ate like a toddler, and his truck? He wouldn't shut up about it." Your hands are now shuffling through the contents of your purse in a panic. "And now, I can't find my keys."

"Your house keys?"

A breath of frustration flows from you, fingers pulling through your hair as you nod. "Dang it."

You felt a slight unraveling in your usual poise, and the panicking that came with it. Hotch's hand landed on your shoulder, his thumb grazing across your collarbone.

"Hey, it's fine. It's late, and you're upset. You can stay at my place tonight, I'll crash on the couch, and we'll find your keys in the morning."

He made everything seem so simple.

"I'm not upset," you insist, lips pursing as you angle your body just enough to feel his touch more fully.

His hands felt right on you.

He chuckled quietly, his thumb tracing a path from your shoulder to brush away the solitary tear beneath your eye that you hadn't noticed before.

"Must be a raindrop," you shrug. Hotch's soft laugh tells you he doesn't quite buy it. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying over?"

"I'm certain."

"Okay."

"So why did your date make fun of your job?"

"Because," you start, your fingertip lazily sketching doodles on the misted car window, "when I was telling him about being an assistant and working for you, he implied that the only reason you hired me was so you had something pretty to look at."

"Well, he's not entirely wrong."

You let out a surprised giggle. "Hotch!"

You reach over the console, pinching his arm which he just laughed off, pulling into what you assumed was his driveway. You had never been to his house. It was nice. Really nice, the kind you'd find in movies — not imposing, but inviting, with its brick walls and stout brown pillars framing the porch.

You were even more surprised when you entered the house. The image you had of Hotch's house one of meticulous order, a place where you could hear the tick of a clock from rooms away. But this... this was a home. There were throw blankets casually draped over the couch, books overflowing, armchairs worn in just the right places.

You lean down, intent on stripping off the torturous heels, but a wobble has you teetering. Hotch is quick to step in.

"Here," he offers, lifting each foot in turn to his knee, skillfully undoing the straps and easing them off you.

Standing flat-footed, you suddenly feel much shorter, and you wonder if Hotch has ever seen you without them.

You look up at him, smiling cheekily. "My very own prince charming."

He ignored you and moved through the living room. "Do you want a pair of sweatpants?"

"Sharing clothes now, are we? I bet there's a clause against this in the employee handbook."

Hotch raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I need to remind you of the numerous times I've overlooked your creative interpretations of the handbook rules."

"So you're admitting to showing me favoritism?"

You plucked the sweatpants from his hands, not giving him an option to respond as you shuttled yourself into his bathroom. You changed quickly, trading your sopping wet clothes for Hotch's dry, warm ones.

You reentered the living room to find Hotch reclining on the couch with an ease that was new to your eyes. He, too, had slipped into something more comfortable — sweats and a form fitting grey long sleeve that threatened to distract you completely.

You dropped your purse onto the coffee table and settled next to him, maybe a little closer than you should have.

He let out a sound that was more a breath than a laugh, a sound that all the same made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "You've still got some, uh, makeup under your eyes."

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

"It won't come off that way," you said, grabbing his wrist with a soft smile. "I have makeup wipes in my purse."

But he didn't hand you your bag like you would've thought, instead he dug through it, pulling out the wipes and starting to dab at your face. The softness of his touch felt disarmingly intimate, so gentle it coaxed your eyes to flutter more slowly, eyelids becoming more heavy.

Your head tilted downward and Hotch used his free hand to tilt it back up. "Stay still, or I'm going to poke your eye out."

"You're making me sleepy," you murmur, your voice a soft, drowsy hum, but then he moved the wipe to your lips and suddenly you were anything but.

He was even more gentle with your lips, if that was possible, wiping away the gloss like you were made of glass.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself gazing into his warm, brown-sugared eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. How did you get so close? You weren't sure, but he was there, noses almost touching.

He pulled away the wipe, using his thumb to clean up left over gloss though you were sure there wasn't any. His hand paused there, resting on your lower lip like it was meant to be there. You felt every fiber of your being stand on high alert. You wondered what he was thinking.

Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

"Are you going to kiss me?" You asked, half-hopeful, half-daring, giving a microphone to your inner monologue.

He took a moment, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes then back down again. "Yes."

It was certain. Like there was no doubt about it, but he didn't move.

"Okay, I'm ready," you breathed out, pulse roaring in your ears.

Hotch's laughter was a low and warm sound. You had heard it a lot tonight.

"You kill me," he said, and it wasn't patronizing — it was affectionate and genuine, and it made your whole body turn to mush.

Then his lips were on yours, and you were both laughing, the sound muffled by lips. It was tentative at first but it quickly morphed into something sweet and soft and perfect.

"Aren't you glad my date went terribly?" you mumbled into his soft skin.

"Devastatingly glad."

One thing was clear — Hotch was not going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @averyhotchner @everythinglizzy @sky2nd

join my taglist here!

[chiumii]

daddy please ~ daddy/dom gojo x sub! reader

since the beginning of your relationship with gojo, he's known something was off about your sex life. the distant look in your pleasure filled eyes whenever he would talk to you a certain way in bed, the way you spoke to him while he was fucking you deep into the mattress, the way you acted- it was all something he knew of and had suspicions about, but didn't want to speak on it until you were either comfortable enough to share it with him, or it slipped out. lucky for you, he had the same problem on the opposite side of the scale

Word count: 5000

Daddy/dom! gojo x Sub! reader. sub + dom headspace / dynamic. sweet talk, choking, soft to rough sex, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, orgasm control, daddy kink, humiliation, heavy cnc, heavy breeding, degradation, praise

DISCLAIMER: this work shows slices of subspace as well as domspace. Sub/domspace is NOT pedophilia, and the usage of the nicknames "daddy" among others' will in fact be used. if you're confused as to what sub/domspace is; google is free. if you haven't read my rules, I highly suggest you do, because I do in fact write about deep, hard kinks and smut. any and all hate will automatically lead you to my block list. other than that; enjoy - phoebe ♡

Gojo knew something was off with you when the two of you first started dating. the way you act, talk, and hold yourself gives him suspicions, not bad ones, of course, just ones of confusion. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely loves taking care of you; financially, physically, and especially when you're having sex. that's when you're the most odd. its like you're entire demeanor shifts; giving gojo every peace of you to protect, being able to go absolutely braindead as he takes care of you in all the ways mentioned. the foundation of your relationship is built on trust, which is what you have given gojo in total.

here you were, standing in the middle of your room in the cutest outfit he picked out for you a couple days ago while shopping. a cute little skirt and lacy top, adorned by the most precious white lace stockings that stop right below your mid-thigh. you look into the mirror, twirling your skirt as you giggle to yourself.

you're not really one for skirts, but this one makes you feel good about yourself. you don't dress up in these types of clothes this often; preferring to wear gojo's clothes instead, especially since you spend most of your time inside the house, lounging around participating in all your little hobbies, or with gojo himself whenever you want to go out for the day. you don't go anywhere without him. he takes care of you and loves you, and you get to be the pretty little housewife that receprocates that love. that life is perfect for you, especially since as of recently, you've found yourself at home a lot more often than normal because of his line of work, but you can't complain because most nights, he's coming home to you, and that's all you care about.

"y/n, baby come here, lunch is ready" you hear gojo's voice call from the other room. today is his day off, so he decided to make you lunch to show you how much he appreciates you cooking three meals a day for him, every day. you trot into the kitchen, gojo's lean and tall figure hovering over the stove as he cooks you your favorite lunch.

you walk over to him and hug him from behind, your arms wrapping around his waist as you kiss his back.

"thank you for cooking for me, you really didn't have to" you say to him, squeezing his body in your hold with another kiss to his back. He lovingly snickers at your words, turning around in your arms. he cups the side of your face, a couple of his fingers in your hair, his thumb on your jaw as he looks into your eyes.

"hush, I don't mind. you take care of me just as much as I take care of you, let me do this." he says, kissing your forehead, then your lips before turning back around to gather your food onto a plate and walk over to the dining room table, setting your plate down for you as you happily walk over and sit next to him, eating your food with the silent comfort looming over the table as you face your boyfriend.

gojo notices your outfit, looking at you in wonder and admiration. He smiles at you as you do to sit down, smiling back at your boyfriend.

"that outfit looks very pretty on you baby, I knew it would" he smiles at himself this time, a proud look on his face as he juts his nose in the air. you laugh at him and roll your eyes, shaking your head eating the yummy lunch he's made you.

After eating, gojo finds himself taking a shower to freshen himself up as you sit in the middle of your shared bed, scrolling back and fourth through Pinterest and a few online shopping apps on your phone. checking the time, its around 5:00 now, so you huff and get up off the bed, walking over to your closet and pulling out a couple pairs of pajama shorts and a cute little top.

you start taking off your clothes, starting with your skirt and top, but to your dismay, your bedroom door opens. You squeal and cover yourself with your hands, only to realize its gojo and his appearance makes you want to fall to your knees.

A towel wrapped around his waist, another in one of his big hands, towel trying his hair. small drops of water drip off of his hair and down his chest and abs, your face heating up as you dart your eyes anywhere but him because you're nervous you might actually drop to your knees.

"hi baby- oh?" he takes note of your appearance; cute pink lacy panties and bra, white lace stockings going up your thighs you have yet to take off. gojo eye fucks you from the doorway, a small smirk gracing his lips as you squirm under his gaze. your arms are still hiding your body from him, but he can still see nonetheless.

"I was- changing.." your voice trails off and you look down at yourself, then back up to gojo, your cheeks still slightly pink. He smiles at you and walks over to stand in front of you. he tosses the towel into the dirty clothes hamper and places two of his hands on your wrists.

"let me see" his command is soft, making you almost float away. he pulls your hands down to reveal yourself to him fully, your pretty nipples showing through the thin cloth of your baby pink bra. your hands fall to your sides as gojo lets them go, one of his hands coming to wrap around your waist, the other gently using his index finger to lightly brush over your nipple, a very silent whine forcing its way out of the back of your throat.

He uses his finger a couple more times to brush against the soft skin of your breast before letting your body go, walking backwards to sit on the edge of the bed. he leans backwards onto one of his palms of his hands holding him up as he pats his lap with the other, his legs spread and inviting you in.

"come here sweetheart." you listen, shyly walking over to stand in-between his legs, looking down into his lap. his hand comes to stroke your hair, cupping the side of your face, his thumb dragging down to your bottom lip, caressing the plump skin. his thumb grips your chin, gently forcing your face up to look at his, your doe eyes round and big as you look into his eyes, making him want to fuck you dumb.

"can- can I please, hmmm-" you cut yourself off, suddenly too shy to say anything to him. Satoru tilts his head to the side, wonder written on his face as you stare at each other.

"use your words, pretty girl" you gulp, nervous to tell him what you want, but you do so anyways much to your objection.

"can- can I make you feel good.. please.." your hands fidget with the towel he's wearing around his waist, whining out your question. gojo shifts in his spot, smiling at you proudly.

"of course you can baby, such a good girl for asking so politely" your chest fills with love at his compliment, fingers still fidgeting with the towel. you move to start taking the towel off of him, revealing his half-hard cock.

gojo's hand leaves your face as you slowly sink to your knees, coming face to face with his dick. you grab the base of him, tightening your fist around his length, slowly pumping. his moan is raspy and deep, his abs still a little damp from his drying hair. you pump him a couple more times before kitten licking his tip and swirling your tongue. his free hand comes to stroke and carress your head.

you put his tip into your mouth and hollow out your cheeks sucking softly, humming at his familiar taste. one of his hands comes up and finds its way to the back of your head as he ushers you to take him deeper, so that's exactly what you do. you start bobbing your head up and down his length, your tongue rubbing on the under side of his cock, your cheeks still hollow.

a string of curses leave his mouth, throwing his head back as you take him so pretty. your eyes are up, watching all the thigh-clasping reactions he gives you.

"s-so good, you- you're so fuckin' good baby" his hips grind into your mouth, making you choke slightly, but neither of you care. your tough swirls around his cock, feeling him grow completely in your mouth.

you take him out of your mouth, and gojo looks down at you in confusion. you make eye contact with him as you stick your tongue out, letting your saliva drip off your tongue straight down onto the tip of his dick, making its way down to his balls.

gojo sucks in a breath at your actions, wishing he could take a polaroid of you in this exact moment its driving him so fucking mad how sexy you look. He grips a handful of your hair, forcing you to stand up with a yelp dripping off your lips. he sits up, using both of his hands to spin you around so you're back is facing him.

he pulls you into his lap, your back flush against his front as he scoots the two of you back farther into the bed. his still-hard cock pressing up against your back, but he doest care, all he wants to do is make you feel good.

"t-toru" you question as he uses his hands to spread your legs, one hand resting on your inner thigh as the other comes around to your throat, holding you in place. his face is right next to your ear, his breath fanning you.

"don't squirm around, 'kay love?" is all he says before the hand that was resting on your thigh comes to your heat, pulling your panties to the side. his middle and ring fingers press against your clit, massaging gentle circles on your bundle of nerves. you let out a whimper, signaling for him to continue.

satoru kisses up your neck, his hand coming down to fondle with one of your breasts underneath your bra, pinching and pulling your hard nipple, earning yet another sinful moan to drag out of your mouth.

his fingers work their magic, your wetness increasing to dampen your panties as well as his fingers. you turn your head to the side, burring your face into your boyfriends neck muffling your pretty sounds right into his skin.

you jut your hips forward into his hand, and gojo takes this opportunity to slide one of his long fingers inside your tight cunt, earning yet another moan from you.

his thumb moves to replace his index finger on your clit, fingering you.

"I said, dont squirm around, love" you nod your head, trying your best not to grind into his hand. he slides another finger into you, pressing his fingers upwards just enough for him graze your sweet spot instantly.

the moan you let out is louder than normal, telling him he hit the right spot. of course he knows that, he knows your body like the back of his hand.

his digits pump inside you, wet squelching sounds coming from just below you as his fingers graze your sweet spot repeatedly. your hands fly up to grab onto satoru's biceps, digging your nails gently into his arms.

his fingers pick up pace, rutting inside you fast, the wet sounds coming from your pussy getting louder. you dig your heels into the mattress below you, pushing yourself farther into satorus chest, your head shaking from side to side.

gojo can tell you're close, so he lifts his head up to your ear and whispers

"you close sweet girl?" he asks and you nod your head.

"y-yes dadd-" your body instantly freezes as does satoru's, stopping himself from fingering you further. his ears perking up at your words.

"sweetheart?"

"no, no no no" you shake your head, embarrassment filling your entire body as you try and get away from your lover, but his fingers exit your hole, his arms wrapping around your waist, turning you around to face him instead.

he grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him, but you divert your gaze onto anything else- not wanting to face the man in front of you.

"baby look at me" you shake your head with an embarrassing whine.

"honey, look at me please" much to your avail; you look at him.

"im- im sorry I didn't mean to-" he interrupts your sentence, shooting you a loving smile.

"sweetheart, its okay for you to call me that. you don't have to hide yourself from me, okay? I love you so very much" you shake your head, not believing his words.

"it- its so embarrassing." you're face turns even redder at his words. he shakes his head at you.

"oh baby, its not embarrassing in the slightest. there is no need for you to feel embarrassed my love" he pauses, kissing your pouty lips before continuing

"no need to be so shy in front of me, let daddy take care of you" now its your turn for your ears to perk up, your eyes getting wider at his words.

"I- I love you too..." you speak softly. gojo shoots you a soft smile, his lips find yours once more. picking up where you left off, this time more gentle; he moves his body to where his hands can slide down your waist, pushing you back against the mattress, his body hovers over yours as his hand retakes its place, coming down to slide under the hem of your underwear, his fingers instantly finding your clit.

you groan into his mouth, grinding your hips forward into his palm. he pinches and rubs your clit before sliding two fingers into your sopping wet hole, once again finding your sweet spot as small, while your hushed whimpers echo off the walls of satoru's skull

satoru breaks the kiss, moving towards your neck to leave deep purple bruises on your skin. your breathing is heavy as he plays with you.

his lips make their way down to the center of your breasts, using his teeth to bite the material and slide it up and over your boobs before gently licking your nipple. you whimper at his actions, still grinding into his hand as yours find their way to his white locks, gripping his hair as he sucks on your hardened bud. he lets go with a wet 'pop' and kisses down towards your stomach, getting onto his as he makes his way down.

he's now face to face with your pussy. while he takes his fingers out of you; you "hmph" in protest.

"shhh, angel. daddy's gonna make you feel even better" he says as he hooks two fingers into your underwear, pulling them down below your ankles and throwing them into the dirty clothes hamper, you lifting your hips to help him.

he spreads your pussy lips apart with two of his fingers, blowing cold air into you. you whine at his teasing as he does it again and again. satoru eventually darts his tongue out, licking a dot onto your bundle muscles. you attempt to grind your hips closer to his face, but one of his hands come up to your abdomen, pushing your hips down onto the mattress, keeping it there.

"don't move."

you obey. he darts his tongue out again, this time licking a strip up the slit of your cunt. he does this a couple more times before his lips eventually wrap around your clit, sucking gently.

your moans pick up volume the more he eats you out. your fingers lace into the bedsheets, grounding you from floating too far out of your body, but it happens anyways, instantly slipping.

his teeth drag against your clit before his tongue laps at you, your pussy beyond drenched now, but neither of you seem to care as he feasts on you like a starved man. his sucking gets harsher as his free hand slips two fingers into you, slowly pumping in and out of you.

the sounds of pussy eating and moans echo off the walls of gojo's house, good thing you live pretty far away from other people- or you would be screwed, because you're so loud.

so fucking loud as satoru fucks you with his fingers and tongue.

he's working fast, lapping at your cunt in quick, steady strokes. your entire body goes limp, and your moaning turns to babbling sobs, not a thought in your skull as you feel the knot in your tummy quickly unravel.

Gojo's crystal eyes look up at you once he senses your change of vocals. his mouth detaches from your clit and he hovers over your figure, his fingers still working inside you, his rhythm never faltering. the hand on your abdomen comes up to cup your cheek, looking deeply into your fucked out eyes, he speaks gently

"you gonna cum, little one?" he asks, his fingers never slowing down. you nod your head with a small, barley audible whimper.

"hold it." you shake your head as you squeeze your eyes shut, overstimulation overcoming your entire body as you shake in his hold.

"oh yes pretty, gotta' hold it for me, doin' so good" you feel like you're about to burst from the seams and he's telling you to hold it? you can't anymore, so you do the last thing you can in order to gain his permission.

"please, please please please daddy I can't" you squeal, begging him for your release as he chuckles from above you, a smirk forming on his lips as you beg.

"who owns you? who owns this pussy?" he whispers in your ear, his hand on your face coming down to your throat with a squeeze as a reminder.

"daddy does, daddy owns me!" you thrash under him, the cord in your belly snapping.

"that's right, daddy owns you. you can cum now sweetheart, im right here, daddy's got you" the nickname he refers himself as makes you melt- feeling so much more loved as you orgasm all over his hand, squirting so much your head begins to feel light while tiny babbling bubbles from your throat and off your lips. gojo can't help himself as he praises you, giving your forehead kisses as his fingers slow, helping you through your orgasm. your back arches into him and your head shifts to the side as his huge hand on your throat moves to caress your collarbones.

"my precious little baby, such a good girl, takin' my fingers so well" he praises you

"good f' daddy" you repeat to him, your voice small as you blush

"yes pretty, very good for daddy" he kisses your nose before pulling his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on them with a hum

"such a sweet taste from such a sweet girl" he compliments you, coming down to kiss you deeply. you can taste yourself on him. your hands wrap around his back, pulling his body into yours with a small huff.

he pulls away, looking down at your appearance. your lip tint smeared, your hair disheveled, and your eyes clouded over with lust.

"you wan' daddy to use you baby? stuff you full of his cock until you're beggin' me to stop?" he tilts his head, almost as if he was taunting you.

you nod yours, quietly begging as you speak

"yes please sir, please use me, need you so bad please" your eyes begging to be fucked deep into the mattress, and its driving satoru insane with every passing millisecond. he sits up, adjusting himself as he grabs your legs, throwing them over his shoulder. he positions his thick, pale tip at your entrance, slowly pushing himself in as you whine at the stretch.

no matter how many times the two of you have sex, it feels as though you never get used to how big his cock is, stretching you out every. single. time.

he leans down onto your legs more, your thighs pressing up against your body now as he forces you into a mating press. your hands make their way around his neck and towards his back, your fingers digging into him as he slowly pushes himself in. he can tell with the progressively growing distant look in your eye, he's losing you.

and he absolutely fucking loves it.

he adores it when you slip into being completely submissive, giving him full control of your body and trusting him completely. its almost like he's falling in love with you all over again.

and you love being able to provide that euphoric feeling for him. you two were absolutely made for each other.

his balls smack the flesh of your ass as he bottoms out inside you, you let out a choke as he does so, the breath being knocked out of you. he's just so fucking long.

he pulls out almost completely before thrusting his entire length back inside you, a mewl spilling from your lips. his thrusts begin at a steady rhythm, skin slapping and tiny sounds filling the room. both of your guys' bodies become hot, sweaty and sticky. its so disgusting that it turns you on even more. your arms loosely dangle from his neck as your boobs bounce with every thrust.

satoru moves his head down so his forehead is pressed against yours. he pecks your lips before his speed picks up to one that's animalistic, causing your breath to hitch and a loud squeal being ripped from your throat. his hands grip the mattress next to each side of your head as he fucks you into the mattress, throwing his head back while his Adams apple bobs up and down as a result of his loud groans hitting your ears, you taking pride in being able to give him such a reaction.

as your hands fall down onto the bed and your entire body feels like jelly; your orgasm approaches, sneakily and quick. you moan louder at the tight feeling in your abdomen, signaling to him that you're close, but he doesn't seem to care as he looks down at you, a smirk on his face.

your moans only make him go faster, and with his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust, you scream out in pain and pleasure.

"h-hurts, daddy sl-slow!" you beg, but when he clenches his jaw, that's when you tell he's also completely slipped.

"you can take it darling, 'm not done usin' you yet" he says to you, a low groan, sinister and deep shivers its way through gojos entire body, escaping out of his throat directly into your ears.

your pussy flutters around his cock as he fucking you through your second orgasm of the night, squirting all over his abdomen, but he doesn't care, his hips never falter his quick pace that assaults your body. tears well up in your eyes with how well he's fucking you. gojo takes note of your teary eyes and pouts.

"you look so pretty when you cry baby, can't help myself when you're squeezin' me so tightly" he can feel himself getting closer. your breathing is heavy and your eyes are distant, mewls and small babbles are the only sound coming from you. rough skin slapping sounds from satoru's hips snapping against your ass fill the room as your legs begin to shake once more.

Gojo looks down at you, the pout returning onto his lips as he speaks

"look at me little one" he says, one of his hands unlaces from the mattress and grabs the base of your jaw, and you literally can't disobey as your eyes find his.

"you gonna take daddy's cum like the good little girl you are? wanna be stuffed with me so full?" he looks down, noting the slight bulge in your tummy every time he fucks his cock back inside you.

"f-fuck" he curses at the sight.

you nod your head, incoherent begs spilling from your whiney lips.

"speak up sweet girl, can't hear you honey, tell daddy what you want" he says, the tears finally spilling from your eyes as you feel your next orgasm about to spill over you.

"y-yes sir, please use me please, c-can't, so close!" your eyes close, more tears spilling down onto your warm cheeks.

"such a good little princess you are, cum with me sweet girl, you can do it, daddys right here I got you" is all he has to say before you cream all over his cock once more. gojo's hand comes down to press on your lower abdomen as he thrusts himself into you, shooting his cum deep inside your tummy. his head flings back as he moans quite loudly, his lower lip coming between his teeth.

its a good thing you're on birth control

he can't stop himself when he thrusts softly into you again, you wincing as he does so.

he also can't stop himself when he puts your legs down onto the mattress, keeping one of his hands on your thighs to keep them spread as he loses himself again completely, thrusting up into your pussy as you squeal, attempting to scoot yourself back on the bed to get away from him.

"you can't run from me pretty, 'm gonna fuck my cum into you, make sure you know who owns you" he chuckles, his free hand coming up to take both your wrists in his hand, holding them up above your head as you squirm in his hold, trying to get away from him.

of course you know what the safe word is, as does he. but you don't use it, and the both of you know its because you're just such a desprate little whore who can't help enjoy being used in such a way, and it makes gojo absolutely feral.

"s-stop, please! it- it hurts daddy please!" you scream, wiggling around trying to get free.

"you know the safe word pretty girl, you can use it any time..." he pauses.. looking down at you

"you want daddy to stop breeding your cute little hole, hmm?" you shake your head from side to side, embarrassment coursing through your entire body as you do so.

"please, no dont"

"then stop beggin' for me to stop, because you know no matter how much you do, it wont save you." his thrusts pick up speed, making sure his cum seeps into every single crack and crevice of your insides, marking you his.

"you're gonna take my cock wether you like it or not, slut" his hands let go of your wrists, coming down to your face in order to shove two of his fingers down your throat. your lips close around his digits, sucking on them. you collapse on the bed, your body going limp as his eyes meet yours. droll begins to fall out of the corners of your mouth and down your cheeks and the both of you reach a maximum high.

you clench around his cock, tightening around him as he feels his dick twitch inside you.

"cum with me baby, doin' so good, cum for daddy yeah?" is all he says before you're gushing around him, his cock shooting ropes of cum inside you once again as the both of you moan in unison, a pretty melody only the two of you can create in such a perfect way.

it takes gojo a minute to cool down before he's pulling his softening cock out of you. it takes him one glance at your demeanor before he's rushing to cup your face, realization hitting him like a brick.

"baby? im so sorry did I go too rough" your breathing is heavy as you try to gain composure from the earth-shattering orgasms he just gifted to you, but your silence worries your lover

"honey talk to me please" he says, pulling out of you and moving to hover his body over yours while he cups your cheek with one of his hands, making your eyes meet his as he stares at you lovingly. You continue to try and regain your composure, but it takes you longer than normal, so you decide to whimper out short words

"thank you" you whisper and gojo's chest tightens at your words.

"oh baby, you don't have to thank me for taking care of my pretty little girl, its what I do sweetheart" he leans down and kisses your forehead before pulling back to look at you again

"are you okay angel, did I hurt you at all or go too rough?" he asks in the most sincere tone you've ever heard. you nod your head with a smile as you start to regain yourself

"no, you didn't hurt me, perfect" your broken sentence somehow makes sense to your white haired boyfriend.

"I love you my darling girl, I'll be right back" he says before exiting the room, only to renter not soon after with a clean rag.

he cleans you up gently, making sure you have to do little to no movement as he takes care of you once again. you can feel the love radiating off of him when he helps you slip on one of his lose shirts before he crawls into bed with you, getting lost in each others warmth for any more words.

[pinejayy]

╰➤ Forgotten Date || One Piece

featuring: luffy, law and kid

summary: you plan a date out for your dear boyfriend, but they seemed have forgotten about date night.

warnings: sad reader, angst, feeling left out, kid being kid (an asshole oof), curse words.

Monkey D Luffy

Planning out a date with your boyfriend wasn’t easy, considering there was always an enemy behind his back or he was saving. But when it came to a rather peaceful weekend you decided to plan a nice picnic date for the next island the shipped docked for your dear captain.

But considering it was Luffy something always came up with him, it’s either him saving some town for food or he’s too busy fooling around with Chopper and Usopp.

You even told him about the picnic and he seemed really excited considering you would be there and that he would get food he was really excited for the date…but that’s until both Chopper and Usopp challenged Luffy to some dumb stand off and of course he couldn’t resist.

Even going out of your to wear a cute outfit and he didn’t even show up to the picnic…to which it left you disappointed in your boyfriend..

Finally a peaceful day that you were finally gonna get some one on one with your boyfriend, you were really excited and even Luffy was quite excited that he couldn’t wait until The Thousand Sunny would dock to it’s next destination. You even went all out and dressed up quite cute and asked Sanji if he could pack a picnic basket. So once the ship reached its destination you kissed Luffy on his cheek and spoke softly. “I’ll set up our picnic not to far, I’ll see you soon.” And he smiled and patted your head and nodded. “I’ll see you in a few Y/N!” And with that you left to set up the picnic. Luffy was about to follow you shorty but some of the crew members didn’t know about your date plan. “Hey Luffy! Chopper and I challenge to a staring contest! Winner gets the last muffin in the kitchen!” Usopp yelled out. “YOU’RE ON!” Luffy yelled back.

To which a good while passes by, and the three were still in their little game which resulted into many rounds that Sanji came out of the kitchen. “Hey what are you idiots doing….wait Luffy? What are you doing here? Isn’t Y/N waiting for you?” And that’s when Luffy realizes. “OH NO!” He yelled out and quickly snaps out of it and was about to leave and that’s when you came back..quite upset, with tears streaks. And he immediately tried to walk towards you and he tried to apologize but that’s when you walked past him. “Wait! I’m sorry!! Hey! Y/N!” He called out, but you didn’t bother to look at him. Walking past everyone…and Luffy was standing there smacking himself on the forehead. Luffy hated when you were upset. Especially when it was his fault..it made him feel really awful.

“Ugh! I’m such an idiot!” He said. To which resulted Nami smacking himself across the head. “Yeah you are! Now you better make it up to poor Y/N!”

“I will!” He grumbles and rubs his head. Now he had to find a way to make it up to you.

Trafalgar Law

Dating the Captain of The Heart Pirates wasn’t a walk in the park and Law wasn’t an easy person to deal with. And to especially make date plans, he would always use the same excuse of he’s always too busy with paperwork or managing the crew. Which was fine and all because he’s captain and all but it seemed as if everytime he had time to breath he just wanted to be in his office.

Today was a quiet day, the crew could finally relax for the time being. You of course wanted to take advantage of the opportunity and have date night with your boyfriend. And you even suggested the idea while he was reading and he agreed to meet you in his private cabin after he was done with his chapter.

Jumping in joy you immediately ran out of the room to gather snacks and such. You just wanted to enjoy some time with Law. Even just simple cuddles would make you happy.

But of course Law got to invested into his book that he forgot about you and your little get together..great.

“Aw! Come on Law!” You whine softly. Tugging onto the sleeve of his collar. “Let’s spend the day together. It’s been awhile it’s since we’ve had us time.” And Law couldn’t help but grumble at your words. He really wanted to read his book but you do have a point. He doesn’t remember the last time both you and him had alone time. “Hmm I suppose I can put my book down for you.” He teases slightly. And you couldn’t help but smirk at his comment. “It doesn’t have to be to fancy…I just want some us time.” You say, and he gives you a sly smile. “Hm why don’t you gather our favorite snacks, and your favorite blanket and meet me in the Captain’s room. And I’ll bring my favorite Germa 66 comics. Just let me finish this chapter and I’ll be on my way. I promise.” And you jumped in joy and nodded. Quickly you ran out of his office to gather the things..

Time passes by and Law was lost into his book that he didn’t realize how much time passed by. His eyes just kept reading eating each word they came across. He quickly glances at the time and froze. It’s been almost two hours! He mentally cursed at him and slammed his book shut. Not even bothering to save the chapter and he grabbed his comic and made his way to his room..and once he opens the door he found you laying on the bed. Curled up into a ball.. “Hey…sorry..” He said and sat besides you. “I got my comics…” He said and waited for you to speak up. But nothing… “Hey…sorry about making you wait…I got lost into my book.” He said and tried to place a hand on your shoulder, to which you avoid. “Hey…I’m sorry…Y/N..” He spoke softly. “Yeah…I’m pretty sure your book was that good that you forgot about me.”

Law mentally smacks himself, and he tries to apologize once again. “Look…I’m here now…that counts right?” He said and you didn’t answer. “Hey I’m speaking to you. The least you could do is answer.” He said, getting annoyed now. Again he was greeted by your silence. “Fine. Don’t say anything. But no need to get jealous over a book.” He said. “I’m not jealous over your book…I’m just upset that how easily I was forgotten.”

Your words made Law feel terrible…he sighed and looks at you before walking out of the room. Assuming you wanted space. He definitely needed to make it up to you.

Eustass Kid

Getting a date with Kid was hard because he never wanted to that typical cheesy stuff. And he doesn't understand why you would want a date. You're already his lover and his your boyfriend. So what's the point of a date?!

But of course you would want some one on one with your boyfriend. But you knew that wasn't easy. Since he was always busy in his workshop working on his metal arm or some other stuff, He really didn't really bother with making dates and all. But of course you would get needy and beg Kid for a date that you planned out

And of course he agreed...only to shut you up. But deep down he's excited for a date with you. But of course he's not gonna tell you that! It'll make him look soft.

But once Kid is in his workshop he tends to block everything out. And that includes you too

Kid was in his workshop working on his metal arm, he always wanted to improve his arm for future battles. And at the moment you were in his workshop with him. Bored and you couldn't help but sigh dramatically. "A date would be nice. Ya know?" You say and nudge his arm and he gave you a stern look. "A date? You're already hanging out with me babe.” He said, and didn’t even bother to look at you. “Come on Kid…it’s a peaceful day. I would like a date.” And he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Not this again…dates are so cheesy. You’re already mine so what’s the point.” He grumbled not looking away from his work. “Ugh…come on Kid..I just want a nice walk, nice dinner.” You keep on talking and honestly Kid didn’t have the patience for your whining today and he sighed in defeat. “Fine! If it will get you off my back and to stop bitching, I’ll play date night with you.” He said, you smile and clap your hands. “Really?” And he just nodded. “Just go plan something. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.” He said sarcastically. You couldn’t help but smile at his cranky attitude and ran off with a grin across your face.

Whenever Kid was in workshop he loses track of time, he wasn’t aware of how much time passed by. Until he finally puts down his tools and sighed in relief. He looks at the time and mentally grumbled. Fuck…he forgot about you and this date. Might as well get this over with. He walks out of his workshop and he looked around for you until he found on the deck by the railing and he walks besides you, putting an arm around your shoulders. “Sorry about the wait, but you know my work comes first.” He tried to play it off but you immediately moved away. “Right. Work comes first.” You roll your eyes and Kid couldn’t help but groan. “I said sorry. What more do you want.” He replied back. And you shake your head. “I just wanted a simple date…just some time with boyfriend. But I guess that’s too much to ask for.” And of course Kid got pissed at your words. “No need to be bitch about it.” He snaps back. “Like I said. I don’t have time to play date nights with you. My work comes first.”

And you frown at his words, tearing up slightly. And when Kid notices your tears he quickly dials down his attitude. “Hey look…we can have this date…” He said and you shake your head. “No…like you said your work comes first.” You say and walk away before he could talk about. Leaving him dumbfounded and angry. “Fine! Well fuck you too.” He yelled. Not caring if the crew heard him…but in reality he felt awful. Even Killer shook his head in disbelief..

“Yeah…no need to rub it. I know I fucked up..” He groans and rubs a hand over his face. He needed to make this up. Somehow..

law taglist: @dreamcastgirl99

[multifariousqueer]

can you write miles 42 having readers bank account, card ALL that on his phone and gets mad if she purchases shi with money he didint give her. its really crazy but its miles 42....what do you expect??? hehe

Sure love!!!

A/n: y’all I love you so much but I need you guys to start requesting regular miles fanfic pls. Although 42 miles owns my 🩷

It was just a simple necklace. It was the Vivienne Westwood necklace that you saw everyone around you wearing and wanted so badly. You knew Miles would get it for you in a heartbeat but a part of you wanted to get it for yourself. It had been a long, stressful semester but you struggled through it all and got to a point where ou were passing with A’s and B’s. Coincidentally, you had gotten a job at Starbucks after months of applying and you had about $1000 saved up of your own money that you were waiting to spend on something special. That was, until that “something special” came along in the form of Miles.

You never knew what he did but you knew he was making 8x your salary in a month. It seemed like anything you wanted, you got when you were with Miles; shoes, clothes, books, makeup any and everything you wanted, it was yours in a matter of days. It’s worth mentioning that Miles is extremely overprotective and wants to know everything about what you’re doing and buying because he loves you and cares about your habits.

Even on Miles’s birthday when you dipped into your savings to get him the latest Jordan’s, he was furious that you had to use your own money:

“Damn Ma, these are valid. How much were they?”

“Oh don’t worry about it” you said

“I said, how much were they.” His eyes narrowing in on you because he knew how much they were because he was gonna buy them 2 weeks ago but decided not to.

“$500. I’ve been saving for them for you, baby. It’s all good” you tried to assure him

“Aight. thank you.” He said, pulling you close to him, the scent of the Dior Sauvage cologne you also bought him, filling your nostrils

But deep down you knew he was pissed off and mad that you spent your own money, so after a long talk about how he should be able to keep tabs on you and keep you safe, you gave him your Apple Pay and banking info for emergencies only but of course it’s Miles and being the overprotective boyfriend he is, he checks it everyday for any “extravagant purchases” made by you or someone else.

Of course he isn’t crazy, he set a $25 limit for you before he steps in and asks what’s up. Once, you were at a mall with your friend and found the cutest shirt at Urban Outfitters and decided to buy it. The price tag read $50 but you went ahead and got it; the same happened at Bath and Body Works and Tilly’s and as you made your way to the bathroom, you got a text from Miles:

Miles: did someone take your card?

You: no why??

Miles: why’d you spend $150 in an hour??

You: I’m at the mall

Miles: so? I pay for your shit

You: dawg it’s $150. It’s not that deep 💀

Miles: I ain’t yo “dawg” and yes it is when Yk I buy you shit

You: you aren’t my sugar daddy

Miles: I basically am atp. I’m sending you $1000, buy something cute

You contemplated leaving him on seen but you remembered how he hates that so you replied:

You: Okay

You had saved up enough to get the necklace and when you got it, you were ecstatic. You thought about all of the possible outfit combos and how good it will look against your brown skin but your thoughts were interrupted by a certain someone:

Miles: what’d I tell you, Mami?

You: ?

Miles: don’t play dumb, yk I would’ve bought you that necklace in a heartbeat but instead you wanted to be miss independent and buy it yourself. I guess since you’re so independent, I’ll stop sending you that $1000 every week. How about that?

You: ok

Miles: ?

You: we can discuss this when I get home

Miles: K

You: k

It was a long ride home but eventually you accepted that Miles was gonna rip your head off and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

When you got home, he had three of the necklaces, two huge teddy bears, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and the newest pair of Jordan’s waiting for you:

“What’s all this?” You smiled and asked

“I told you I’ll pay for your shit, y/n” miles said, with a small smirk on his face

[604to647]

Little Showgirl

12.8K / Modern AU Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: You do your roommate a favour that lands you in hot water with the head of security at Caesar’s Palace.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). The opposite of a meet cute (meet hate?). A little insecurity on Reader's part; no body shape or size is described even though Reader wears a showgirl costume (we assume it's an inclusive event). There is probably an age gap somewhere given that Acacius is canonically 50 (?), but I didn't intend to write one so feel free to imagine everyone at whatever age you want. Unwanted touching (not by Marcus), accidentally flashing, thigh riding, eventual nicknames.

A/N 1: Written for @toomanystoriessolittletime’s 47 Minutes in Heaven writing challenge, the prompt I got was 'Enemies to Lovers' - thank you for the fun event, Steph!

A/N 2: I don't know what happened with the w/c 😭😭 I need you to know I really tried to cut it down - sorreeeeee. We were supposed to go to a friend's vow renewal in Vegas this month, but cancelled our trip due to current travel advisories 😫, so maybe this was my way of visiting Vegas in lieu of actually going?

Apologies to Janet Jackson for dragging you into this 🙏🏻 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

You walk hurriedly down a lavish corridor on the concourse level of Caesar’s Palace, trying to maintain some semblance of grace and propriety while desperately holding your showgirl costume against your chest to prevent it from falling.  Your other hand clutches the costume’s feather fan prop and a sewing kit that one of the housekeepers mercifully offered you when you ran by.  Nodding politely to guests as you pass, you hope against hope that the heavy sequin and beaded outfit, whose back clasp is currently broken, doesn’t slip and give any of these nice tourists a real show.  All you have to do is make it to the employee change room to hopefully mend the garment, and afterwards go back to work with no one the wiser to your wardrobe malfunction.

Anxiety alleviating slightly as you round the corner towards the service elevator, your relief is short-lived when you see the elevator already waiting with its doors open and in it stands a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in celebratory Roman battle skirts of bright white and gold.

Dammit, not this fucking prick.  Just what you need right now.

The salt and pepper curly haired Adonis spots you just as you do him, and you swear you see his jaw tighten and tick beneath his matching grey flecked scruff; eyes narrowing, he reaches forward and you can see him aggressively pressing the Close Door button.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you mutter, doubling your steps; the beads and pearls of your loosened outfit sway violently, making tiny music as you rush to slip between the doors of the elevator before they close.

The man glares at you and you glare right back, reaching past him to swipe your (well, your roommate’s) access badge before realizing the button for the basement floor you need has already been pressed.  Great.  You’re both going to the same place.

“General,” you greet him, sarcastic.

The General nods in acknowledgment, squaring back the shoulders of his impressive frame, somehow making him even larger and more intimidating than he already is, before wholly ignoring you, choosing to stare at the cold steel in front of him.

2 Days Ago

“Pleeeeeeasssseeeeeeee!” Your roommate is on her knees next to you on the couch, hands clasped in aggressive prayer, pouting and eyes pleading.

You sigh, “Arishat, what exactly are you even asking me?”  You had heard and understood her perfectly the first time; you just want her to repeat it, hoping that upon hearing her own words out loud again, she’ll comprehend the absurdity of the favour she’s asking.

“You only need to give up your staycation for one day – and I’ll owe you forever,” her big brown eyes somehow growing twice in size.

Tilting your head, you give her an incredulous look but remain silent.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal!  You know how the Strip is putting on Golden Days of Vegas events for the next two weeks to attract tourists?  All the resorts are bringing back the glitz and glamour of classic Las Vegas – like a Rat Pack era vibe.  Won’t that be fun?”

“MMmhmmmm,” you hum noncommittally.  As locals, you and Arishat hardly even went to the Strip, but it did sound like a lot of fun for visitors to the city.

Not letting your lack of outward enthusiasm deter her, your roommate chippers on excitedly, “Anywaaays… Caesar’s Palace is going all out – hiring extra staff to be old school gladiator greeters, Cleopatra waitresses, and classic showgirls to wander the property!  Think of all those glamourous Bob Mackie inspired costumes!” 

“I bet the costumes will be gorgeous,” you indulge her a little, “but what does that have to do with me, babe?”

“Ummm… well, you know I booked the showgirl gig at Caesar’s…”

You did know.

“… but, Janet Jackson is considering extending her residency at Resorts World and is auditioning for background performers.  And auditions just happen to be the first day of Golden Days!!  I can’t do both!  If I miss the first day at Caesar’s then I lose an entire two-weeks of work!  But… babe!! It’s Janet!!  How can I give up a chance to try and perform with her??!”

She can’t.  You sigh again.

“So, you want me to be you for a day?”

Shuffling closer on her knees, Arishat, your bestest friend in the world who you know would move heaven and earth for you if needed, and who works harder than anyone to pursue her passions, takes your hands in hers, “I already have my ID card for Caesar’s – there’s no picture because we’re just temporary hires so it won’t matter what you look like.  I also have the costume – it’s beautiful, you’ll love it.  Please just fill in for me on the first day – it should be slow, mainly orientation, but I’m sure it’s just walking around the resort in groups and taking pictures with tourists… no performing or anything.  And the next day I’ll take over - no one will know I wasn’t there the day before and I won’t get fired!”

Your head swims with uncertainty – unlike Arishat, you’re not used to being in the spotlight or working in the entertainment sector, much more comfortable in the anonymity of your office job; but you can’t say no to her.  Closing your eyes and exhaling slowly, you let silence hang in the air for a second or two more, “Ok, show me the costume and tell me exactly what I have to do tomorrow.”

Her squeal nearly pierces your eardrum.

Yesterday

It’s not even 8 a.m. and you already regret agreeing to Arishat’s outlandish request.  First, navigating the Strip’s backstreets to the Caesar’s Palace parkade had proven to be a near Herculean feat in patience and focus, taking twice as long as you had planned for.  Now you’re stuck circling the parkade, crawling along at a snail’s pace in this concrete labyrinth trying to find the entrance to the employee’s parking lot.

Did they have to make it so hard to find?  And why is this place so huge?  There must be a million cars here.

Hands clutched tightly at ten and two, you’re hunched forward and squinting like an old lady, trying to read any and all signs in hopes that one of them will point you in the right direction.  You’re pretty sure you’re lost.  You know you’ve gone in this same circle at least twice.

Just when you think things couldn’t get worse, you spy a fast-approaching car in your rear-view mirror.  Instead of passing, the other car practically kisses your bumper and proceeds to ride your ass as you meander the parkade looking for the employee entrance.  And if you weren’t already unnerved, you see the driver of the car start to gesticulate wildly – throwing their hands up in the air, frustrated at your slow pace.

“Geez Louise,” you mutter, “just go around?”

But they don’t.  They just keep right on your tail as you descend deeper and deeper into the lot.  Mercifully, the parking gods take pity on you and you finally spot a small, discreet Employees ➡️ sign.  After heading in the direction indicated, you’re rewarded with another identical sign; about to celebrate finally being on the right track, you hear it:

Honk.

What the fuck?  Then again.  Honk.  Are you being honked at?

The car behind is still so obnoxiously close you can make out that the driver is a man whose eyes are making aggressive eye contact via your rearview mirror, and yes, he is in fact leaning on his horn.

Chill, dude.  You narrow your eyes, certain the driver can see your annoyed expression, and continue at the same speed, unwilling to miss what you’re looking for just to appease some impatient stranger.

When you finally come upon a gated entryway with a hanging “Employees Only” sign above it, you can’t help but do a mini celebration dance in your seat; pulling forward, you roll down your window and swipe the ID card Arishat gave you last night over the access pad.

Nothing.  The gate doesn’t lift and the card reader’s indication light blinks infuriatingly red.

Maybe you’re too far away.  You unbuckle your seatbelt so you can lean out the window, stretching your arm out to wave the card over the reader again.  Nothing.  You try again.  And again.  Angling the card differently each time, but no matter what, the control pad won’t recognize your card.

The driver side door of the car behind yours opens and out steps the largest man you’ve ever seen.  Impossibly broad, a wall of solid muscle whose physical prowess is evident in every stalking stride he takes towards your car, the imposing figure reaches your open window in just a few steps.  Your eyes can’t help but stare at the monstrous hand that comes to a rest on top of the access box, nearly dwarfing the machinery with its size.  Mouth agape and eyes wide, you follow the long line of the man’s equally massive arm to his face which has suddenly come into view. 

The face is older, knowing, lined with resolve.  Serious looking and anchored by a strong aquiline nose sitting perfectly between two piercing, espresso-rich eyes, the striking profile is bordered by scruffy but evenly trimmed facial hair that blends perfectly up into head of the same speckled chestnut and grey curls.  It’s a face you might admire as handsome if it wasn’t scowling at you.

The intensity radiating off the man is making you nervous, “Oh!  Hey, sorry… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong… it won’t register my card no matter how I try to sw-”

“Are you even supposed to be here?” a low, gravely baritone cuts you off.

Um, okay, rude.  Unease evaporating, you hold up your temporary employee ID indignantly, “Yes, I’m here to work Golden Days.”

The man inspects your card with suspicion and sighs in exasperation before snatching your pass out of your hand.  Okay, double rude.

He expertly presses the card right up against the reader and you see the light flash green before hearing the gears above the metal gate whirl to life.  Wordlessly, the man hands you back your card and starts walking back to his car.

“Thank you!” you call out to his retreating back, but when he doesn’t even acknowledge you, you roll your eyes and your window, ready to drive forward as soon as the gate’s lifted high enough.

Upon entering the employee parking lot, you find a free space almost immediately - and close to the elevators to boot!  Grinning that your luck has surely turned, you do a sharp left and back into the prime parking space – hooray!  You’re just cutting your engine when you see your shadow pull to a stop right in front of your car with the driver, still glaring at you, making a double-handed open palmed gesture and yelling what you think is, Are you kidding me?

With a quizzical look tinged in agitation, you shake your head at him, What?  As you step out of your vehicle, the man takes off at an aggressive speed, tires squealing as he races past the row of parked cars - but not before you see his upper lip curl up in a snarl.

What a jerk!

Just in case, however, you survey the space you’ve parked in while retrieving your things from the trunk – upon finding no reason not to park here, you quickly head over to the elevator bank, pressing your key card against the reader like you saw the man do at the lot gate to gain access.  You’ve just stepped into the elevator when you hear the thundering footsteps of someone running towards the alcove before beeping in.  Naturally, you hold the doors, but almost regret doing so when you see the glowering face of your new best friend.  He’s staring at you with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing, the intensity of which is so shocking, you find yourself shaking a little as you swipe you card against the elevator reader, momentarily forgetting which floor Arishat told you to go to.

“You’re going to B4,” your elevator mate gruffs, roughly brushing his arm past yours to press the button.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly.  Just because someone’s an impolite ass doesn’t mean you have to be as well.

The ride is eerily silent and oddly strained.  Small talk is out of the question, obviously - but the tension is killing you.  Just as you consider thanking the curmudgeon again for his help so far today, he opens his mouth.

“You took my parking spot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re. Parked. In. My. Spot,” the man grits, barely moving his lips.

You’re confused, “There wasn’t a sign saying it was reserved?”

“Doesn’t matter.  I always park there.”

And to think you were about to try and make nice?  The man is being completely unreasonable; you look at him in disbelief, snapping, “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“Well, what do you know?  You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t know how anything here works, and you certainly don’t know your place.”

The look on your face must register your utter shock at being yelled at by a total stranger, because for a second, the man’s stormy mocha eyes soften and flicker with something like regret.  He opens his mouth, though nothing comes out.

“Well, I know that you’re the rudest, most entitled asshole I’ve ever met.”

The behemoth closes his mouth and glares at you.  You glare right back.  Neither of you breaks eye contact until the elevator reaches its destination with a ding.

As the doors open to the welcomed sound of people chattering, rushing around and going about their morning, the man gestures with dramatic flair, waving for you to go ahead, “Ladies first.  Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

You walk out without a backwards glance, grateful that there’s clear signage indicating where the change room is so you can storm off without being seen asking for directions.  That better be the last time you see that dillweed.

---

Turns out you would see him less than an hour later.

The change room had been bustling and chaotic but positively charged with excitement and supportive female energy.  Happily, you know a few of the girls through Arishat and they really rally around you – helping tuck and adjust your showgirl costume, fixing your hair and touching up your makeup.  Still feeling completely out of your element, you appreciate their efforts to soothe your anxiety, assuring you the embroidered fabric of your costume only appears sheer, but actually provides sufficient coverage and that you look the part of confident, show stopping entertainer.

Currently, your giggling group joins other showgirls, Egyptian queens and men dressed as gladiators in a small meeting hall, ready to get your assignments for the start of Caesar’s Golden Days.

A hush falls over the room as several people enter and get up on the raised platform at the front.  Every one of the newcomers is dressed as a Roman gladiator, though their dress seems somewhat grander than those worn by the entertainment talent you’re sitting with.  Your eyes are immediately drawn to the largest, most broad-shouldered figure; the breadth of the man fills out his battle armour of dark leather and metal without an inch to spare, a golden medusa on his chest plate gleams impressive, ready to leap out at real or imagined enemies.  Dark leather skirts do nothing to hide the man’s wide, powerful thighs and you have no doubt that his arms are similarly burly, though they’re currently covered by a luxurious red cape with gold trim that fastens with authority at his thick neck.

Oh fuck. 

It’s him.  The muscular, drool-worthy snack you’re currently ogling is the same despicable cretin that made your morning a living hell.  Then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, the man turns his head towards you, eyebrows cocking in recognition.  His face morphs into what can only be described as a look of revulsion, eyes shooting daggers at you while his mouth pulls down in a frown of disgust.  You flinch as if burned and look away quickly, remembering the sting of his earlier words.

Feelings of inadequacy rapidly resurfacing, you force yourself to blink back tears, grateful for when the orientation begins.  The first presenter goes over the general purpose and expectation of your roles: walk predesignated routes around the property, meet and greet guests and tourists, pose for pictures, don’t break character, stay with your assigned group, use staff designated elevators and pathways to get back to staff only areas to keep up the “illusion” of your personas; it’s nothing Arishat hasn’t prepared you for. 

What is unexpected is the aplomb with which the next speaker is introduced, “Even when he isn’t dressed like a Roman goliath, this is the man who keeps us all in line and all of Caesar’s Palace safe and for that we’ve always called him our General.  Please welcome our fearless leader, Head of Security, General Marcus Acacius!!”

You roll your eyes upon seeing your parkade nemesis take the mic, annoyance grating in your chest until your heart drops into your stomach at a terrible realization.  Marcus is the HEAD OF SECURITY.  The very person whose radar you should definitely avoid lest he discover your falsified identity, is the very person you’ve managed to piss off and directly insult.  Shit, shit, shit.  If Marcus wanted, he could definitely get you, or rather Arishat, fired.

Panicking, you only half listen to Marcus’ remarks, barely registering the velvet honey of his baritone - commanding but so much more soothing than the indignant growl with which he addressed you earlier, “Members of my security team have been assigned to your groups to ensure that you all remain safe, that no guests or guest interactions cross any boundaries.  We will be dressed as you see here, similar to those of you playing gladiators so that we blend in; one or more of us will always be with your group, don’t hesitate to come to us with any concerns.  I myself will be walking all the routes and periodically checking in with each group.  Please don’t be shy about bringing anything to my attention either.  Thank you.”

After some applause, everyone gets up and starts filing towards the stage to get their group assignments.  As you patiently wait your turn, trying to exude some of that extra confidence that your admittedly beautiful, embellished showgirl costume deserves, you resign yourself to a mature, unpleasant decision. 

You’re going to apologize. 

As much as it pains you to gratify yourself to this egotistical douche nozzle, you can’t risk messing up your best friend’s gig.  Tracking Marcus with your eyes to gauge an appropriate time to approach, you’ve just step onto the raised platform when he happens to turn and look directly at you; seizing the opportunity, you step out of line and head towards him.  To your complete mortification, the General immediately turns around and starts walking away.  Dammit!

Quickening your steps, you attempt to catch up to his long strides that, if you were type to get paranoid about this sort of thing, you’d swear are speeding up at your approach.  Practically breaking out in a jog, you call out as discreetly as you can, “Mr. Acacius!  Wait, Mr. Acacius, I just want to – OOF!”

The titan halts and turns at the sound of your voice, but his unanticipated actions make him an immovable object to your unstoppable force as you crash with a thud into his towering mass.  To make matters even worse, in an attempt to not topple over completely, you do a little side shuffle and inadvertently bring down the heel of your bedazzled shoe right onto Marcus’ sandalled foot.

“FUCK!  OW – what the hell are you doing?!” the General roars and the entire room turns to stare at the commotion.

“Omigod, omigod, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to!  Are you hurt? Omigod, I’m so sorry!” you’re babbling, contrite and embarrassed; if you thought you were going to cry before, that was nothing compared to how you feel right now.

Marcus’ face is menacing, grimaced with pain, “OF COURSE it hurts!  You stomped on my foot for god’s sake.  How are never where you’re supposed to be?  Get back in line and get your assignment like everyone else!” 

Thoroughly humiliated and afraid of doing any more damage, you back away without another word, scurrying to the assignment line while trying to make yourself as small as you feel.  Afraid to look back, you miss the hard lines of the General’s face softening, looking like he might want to call after you before thinking the better of it and hobbling away.

---

Thankfully, the rest of your day passes uneventfully.  The work is relatively straightforward, though tiring.  As promised, the artisanal craftsmanship of your costume is a marvel, gorgeous but laden down with beads, gems, and pearls - it’s heavy.  The matching heels, also stunning, start to pinch, dig, rub in all the usual places after hours upon hours of non-stop standing and walking.  Unable to feel completely confident walking around in public in such state of dress, or undress rather, you happily let the other girls in your group shine, preferring to hang back and draw less attention to yourself.  Unused to feeling so exposed or needing to be “on” for such a long stretch of time, your social battery and energy levels drop gradually over the course of the day.

To your relief, you hardly see Marcus, though as promised, he does check in with your group periodically.  While you do try to stay out of his way, you can’t help but notice two things.  The first is that he’s highly respected and obviously very good at his job; more than once you witness his team and other resort staff acknowledging and deferring to his authority and the quiet command of his expertise.  He never barks orders or yell at anyone (just you, it seems), relying instead on confidence and a calm gravitas to charge his directives and fully control any situation.  If you’re being honest, not only is it impressive, it makes you feel safe being under Marcus’ care.

The second thing you notice is that he’s limping. 

You don’t dare attempt a second apology, though you doubt you’d be successful even if you were to try - the General appears to be taking great lengths to ignore you.  He asks after every person in your contingent and acknowledges everyone personally except for you, going so far as to avoid all eye contact and even averting his gaze when he addresses the group as a whole.  You suppose you can hardly blame him, but as the day goes on, it becomes harder and harder for your feelings not to be hurt by someone deliberately acting like you don’t exist; after an entire day of this exclusionary treatment, your irritation for the man reignites. 

By the time you get back to your car, thankful for the end of your shift and the comfy sweats you’ve changed into, your feelings for Marcus Acacius have reverted to what they were when you were standing in this exact spot earlier this morning.  You grab a pen and a pad of post-its from your purse; scribbling “RESERVED for THE GENERAL” in big letters, you slap the bright pink paper on the wall behind your car, glad that you’ll never have to see that egotistical perfect head of hair again.

Earlier Today

Damn you, Janet Jackson.  You silently curse the five-time Grammy winner as you drive towards the Caesar’s Palace employee parking lot, finding it with more ease than you did yesterday.

Last night, bone-tired and mentally exhausted, you had come home to a giddy and nervous Arishat grinning like a cat who just ate the canary, chirping, “How did it go?!!!”

You had told a white lie and said it was fine.  For all intents and purposes, it had gone fine.  You chose to omit the details of how you managed to make a mortal enemy of Caesar’s Palace’s Bonehead of Security, figuring it wasn’t worth worrying her.  Besides, what would it matter?  Your roommate would take her rightful place in the Golden Days line up the next day and Marcus, esteemed General, would be none the wiser – likely even smug in the certainty that he had run you off, when in fact, you would be curled up on your couch with a book freshly plucked from your TBR. Win-win-win, right?

Wrong.

“Oh goodie!! Because… I need you to pretend to me again tomorrow?” Arishat worked her pleading eyes while telling you the exceedingly good news that she had secured a callback audition… for the next day.  It was just one more day, you could do Golden Days for her for just one more day, right? 

Of course, you had agreed – if the Rhythm Nation was calling, who were you to stand in your best friend’s way?  Showering you with gratitude and massaging your tired feet while ordering your favourite Thai takeout, Arishat regaled you with the high points of her day: how iconic Miss Jackson herself was, which classic Janet jams were on the set list, the grandiosity of the show and of course… the cute boy she met who worked on production sets at Resort World.  You rolled your eyes teasingly, happy for her.

That happiness has brought you here now, slowly rolling past your parking spot from yesterday, already occupied by what you recognize is Marcus’ car; you spot your bright pink post-it displayed prominently on his dash– guess he saw it.

Knowing that Marcus is already here rattles you more than you’d like, but your friends from yesterday soon help you shake off any nerves with their hype and excitement for the day.  You head toward today’s briefing room with your group in good spirits, ready to jump start your energy levels with donuts and coffee from the complimentary snack table supplied by the hotel.

Though the donut selection looks to be fairly picked over by the time you get to the table, you do spot a lone crueller sitting on a tray in the middle of the spread.  Hand outstretched, you’re just about to select your favourite donut when a beefy, gold bangle decorated arm darts in front of yours and snatches it.  Taken aback, you chuckle, ready to jokingly (but not really?) fight this donut stealer, when your mood sours upon seeing who it is.

“You.” 

Of course it’s Marcus.  This man must have a sixth sense for ways to ruin your mornings.

When he turns to face you fully, you realize why you didn’t recognize him earlier - he’s not wearing the same dark leather gladiator armour from the previous day, but a crisp, white ceremonial ensemble that could be considered the day to yesterday’s night.  Whereas the imposing burnt umber battlements he wore yesterday conjured images of battle charges and military campaigns, Marcus’ soft white costume today is more suited for ceremony and celebration.  It’s gorgeously tailored, trimmed with gold tassels and embroidered laurels; adorning the chest plate are twin facing golden griffins signaling majesty and the splendor of victory – a sharp contrast to the attacking Medusa decorating the same torso yesterday.  Draping the General’s shoulders is a heavy cape of the same material and embellishment, broadening his already hulking frame even more.

He looks stunning.  And he’s still holding the last sugary glazed crueller between his thick fingers.  You’re not sure which makes you lick your lips.

“Is there something you need?” the question is asked in confusion, as if the man simply cannot fathom why you’ve invaded his space yet again, snapping you back to the moment.

“That was my donut,” you deadpan, pride having given up wasting manners on a man who apparently deigns it unnecessary to show you any of his.

“There wasn’t a sign saying it’s reserved,” Marcus mockingly parrots back your words from yesterday about his parking space.  Perhaps if you weren’t already seething from his previous treatment, you might spot the mischievous dance of his eyes and the slightly playful curve of his smirk, but all you see is a man who has antagonized you at every given opportunity choosing to be antagonistic yet again.  Ass! 

“Have it, General,” you snip back, abandoning your empty plate and stomping off towards the coffee.  Finding the pots empty, you grab a package of fresh grounds and are just looking for a new filter when you see the swish of someone’s grand skirts in your peripheral before a mitt of a hand opens the top of the machine right in front of you.

“Here, let me g-”

Exasperated that you somehow cannot escape this man, you snap, harsher and louder than you mean to, “I might not know much, but I know how to make a new pot of coffee.  So kindly, back off.”

A few heads turn towards your confrontation, further heightening your agitation; to his credit, Marcus takes the hint – holding his hands up in surrender, he tilts his head and purses his lips in bemusement before shrugging and backing away.

Finally, you huff.  Still breathing heavily and heart pounding, you make coffee, trying to take your mind off of your latest altercation with the most infuriating man you’ve ever met.

Little did you know that your morning was about to get worse.

Your feet, still sore from yesterday, protest right off the bat at being stuffed back into their bedazzled prison for another day.  Almost immediately, you begin wincing with every step – how does Arishat wear these types of shoes all the time?!  Hope she doesn’t mind you returning these filled with blood – yeesh. 

For some reason, the route your group takes today crosses the path of every lecherous creep that’s visiting Vegas this week.  Old men and frat boys alike interpret the “op” in photo-op as an opportunity for their unwanted hands to wander; you and your fellow showgirls peel sweaty palm after sweaty palm that linger too long off your bodies, swatting away too bold hands that treat the beaded embroidery of your costumes like some type of sensory play.  Your security team, and even the entertainers posing as gladiators, have to step in repeatedly to reprimand guests for their inappropriate behaviour.  On two occasions, you would not have been surprised if fisticuffs had broken out.

Halfway through the morning, you were ready to quit both for yourself and Arishat.  The only thing stopping you is the seriousness with which your security team is taking these transgressions; they consult you and the other girls on adjustments they’ll need to make in their approach to your safety and share the suggestions they’ll be bringing to General Acacius.  Despite your dislike for the man, you trust that he will take swift action.

The real icing on this cake of a day, however, comes just before lunch.  

Leaving the Venus Pool & Lounge, your group is on its way back through the Palace Tower when you hear a sharp snap right before a pop of air rushes down your backside.  To your horror, the front of your costume, heavy with its intricately woven gemstones and garlands of threaded pearls, starts to slip downwards; a quick check by your friends confirms your fear that the clasp on the back of the garment has broken, and the only thing holding the bedazzled fabric to your body is your hands.  With rising panic, you scrunch the fabric to your chest and hastily part from your team, desperately hoping you can make it back to the change room before inadvertently living out the cliché nightmare of being naked at work.

Present – Elevator ride

Still anxiously clutching your costume to your chest, you look anywhere but at Marcus - silently willing the elevator cab to speed up its infuriating slow descent; you’re convinced that every second that ticks by brings you closer to a humiliating loss in your battle against gravity.  

If only there was muzak or something to distract you other than the grinding clicks of the elevator’s gear mechanisms percussing the steady breathing of a man that refuses to look at you.  Oddly, you’re glad for his avoidance – you’re sure Marcus hasn’t noticed that you’re one hand slip from being half naked in front of him and the last thing you need is another scolding or scathing remark about how incompetent he finds you.  Eyes darting over, you use the opportunity to study him without scrutiny.

It must be nice to have such a tailored to fit costume, you think, admiring.  The white and gold costume looks made for the General, breastplate moulded to his thick trunk like plaster - how the hell is he so broad?  Those shoulder tasseled sleeves and cape must have been custom measured – there’s no way that this man’s expansive wingspan is regular.  The glorious drape of Marcus’ cape draws your eyes past the pleats of his victory skirt to his thick, muscular calves, practically exploding from his lace-up sandals.  Sweet Moses.

It seems that no one told your libido that the rest of you abhors this man, because the weight of his practically oppressive stature in this confined space has you chewing your lower lip, struggling not to squirm in place.  At least you’re not thinking about your broken costume anymore.  There’s a good chance that you might have been caught mid-drool by the man himself if it wasn’t for a sudden loud screech of metal grinding against metal reverberating through the elevator.  In shock at the piecing sound, you’re wholly unprepared when the lights start flashing and the carriage jerks violently to a stop.

Without warning, you’re thrown across the small metal box - Marcus, whose colossal mass has provided him more anchorage, reaches out to catch you before you crash unceremoniously into the mirrored wall.  Your hands fly out to steady yourself on his firm shoulders, face pressed against the stability of his hard chest while your body instinctively folds into the safety of the General’s hold.

When the lights stop flickering and the elevator’s bounce has stilled, you search for Marcus’ eyes, finding them to be wide and full of concern.

“Are you okay?” the usually gruff baritone is warm but urgent.

Voice shaky and still in some shock, you blink and nod, “Yes.  Thank you, Marc-”

You stop short when you hear the General’s sharp intake of air and see him quickly avert his eyes to look at the ceiling, “Um, your… uh, you seem to have… oh gosh… um…”

Confused by his sudden stuttering, you look down and with a gasp realize that when you reached out to grab onto Marcus for stability, you had let go of your costume – the embellished fabric has fallen and bunched up at your waist, leaving your top half completely exposed. 

With a cry of mortification, you push off of Marcus, scrambling to pull up your costume and cover your naked chest.  Marcus turns away to give you some privacy, then awkwardly spins when he realizes every inch of the elevator except for the doors is covered in mirrors; he finally settles busying himself with pressing various buttons on the panel.  All the controls appear to be dead, including the call for help button.

Still not looking at you, the General mumbles somewhat helplessly, “Uh… the line is dead.”

This is too much. 

You can’t help it - sinking down to the floor and crumpling as the stress of the day finally hits you, you start to softly cry.  Your feet hurt.  A bunch of neanderthals touched you today without consent.  You’re not even supposed to be here, but you feel the stakes of doing a good job as much as if you were.  You feel exposed and underdressed, and exhausted from being paraded into public as if you weren’t.  You’re stuck in an elevator with a man who absolutely hates your guts.  And you just flashed him. 

It’s all just too much.

“Hey, hey now.  Please don’t cry.  Are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, still unable to find your voice.  Just my pride, you think.

“Is it because… I… hey, listen… I didn’t see anything, okay?  You don’t have to cry about showing me… I didn’t see your… anything.”

Marcus crouches down and places his flexed, corded forearms on his knees, respectfully keeping his hands to himself but with his palms up in invitation.  You look at him, eyes sad and expression dubious.

He sighs in admission, “Okay.  I did see.  But please don’t be embarrassed.  I won’t commit anything I saw to memory, okay?  Consider me having seen nothing.”

Marcus looks so timid, voice eager to reassure that you can’t help but crack a smile, “Are my tits really so forgettable?”

So relieved at this glimpse of your good humour, Marcus lets out booming laugh that shakes the entirety of his massive form before plopping himself down next to you on the elevator floor.

As the General settles in, you find yourself admiring his deep-set brown eyes - you’ve never seen them flecked with gold and crinkled in mirth like this, the sight causes a surge of affection in your heart and your shoulders untense at the feeling.

While he doesn’t answer your question, Marcus tries to offer some reassurance, “Even if we can’t call out, I assure you my team in the control room knows where we are and are already working on the issue.  I’m sure the elevator will be fixed or help will be on the way shortly – you don’t have anything to worry about.”

You believe him.  Even if the two of you have a primarily contentious relationship, you can’t deny that Marcus is immensely competent – he keeps eyes on and hands in everything at Caesar’s, you’ve seen him take prodigious care of even the smallest details when it came to the security and operations of the resort.  If he tells you there isn’t anything to worry about, you trust that to be the case.

Nodding, you try to convey that you’re taking solace in his words, but you’re still holding yourself very small, clutching your costume as tightly to chest as you can.  Marcus remains concerned, “Are you claustrophobic?” 

You shake your head.

“Are you uncomfortable?  Or… am I making you uncomfortable?”

Marcus looks so thoroughly ashamed, you attempt to lighten the mood with a little lighthearted self-deprecation, “Well aside from the anxiety of breaking the back clasp on my costume, I’m as comfortable as I could be having gotten half naked in front of a man who hates me.”

“I don’t hate you,” the General sounds surprised, but his statement is said with certainty.

“But,” you struggle to articulate that despite the way you may have spoken to him in the past, the comment wasn’t meant as an admonishment but known fact, “I took your parking spot.  And I broke your foot.”

“Those were accidents.”

“You… yelled at me.  Said I didn’t know anything.  Made sure I knew you didn’t want me around you.  You said I didn’t know my place,” despite the recollection of those incidents no longer bringing you the same amount of anguish as they did yesterday, you still hang your head sadly.

You hear a slight shuffling as the General scoots a little closer to you.  Through the lashes of your downcast gaze, you see Marcus lift a hand, retract it hesitatingly before ultimately making up his mind to reach for you.  A rough thumb and finger gently pinch your chin and direct your face upwards.

In a tone softer than you would have thought possible, Marcus atones, “The way I treated you yesterday, the things that I said… they were unkind, unwarranted, and completely unforgivable.  I truly apologize.”

You cannot help but be touched by the sincerity you see etched all over his handsome face, the General’s soulful eyes pool with regret, shame, self admonishment.  Having already been disarmed by the gentleness of his tenor and the tenderness with which he’s hovering over you, you melt further at Marcus’ obvious guilt and the earnestness of his confession; besides, you’ve never been one to kick a gorgeous man when he’s down, “I suppose neither of us have been at our best.”

“Perhaps not, but I was arguably worse, and while you didn’t say or do anything to me that I didn’t deserve, I can’t say the same for my treatment of you,” Marcus hangs his head, recalling again his harsh words and ungentlemanly behaviour, “Let me make it up to you, Little Showgirl.”

The seemingly out of nowhere pet name catches you completely off guard and your eyes shoot up to meet the General’s, for the second time in a minute you find yourself surprised by their expression – the large, imposing figure who you felt had personally terrorized you for the past two days looks almost… shy.  Any remaining animosity you might have harboured, already fleeting from your rapidly warming feelings, evaporates at the look he’s giving you, “What did you have in mind, General?”

At your words, a heart stopping smile breaks out across Marcus’ face, stealing your breath – the weary lines of his face lift, crinkling near his eyes and around his mouth (is that a dimple you see?), softening and relaxing into that of a man ten years younger at least.  Holding out his hand, Marcus offers, “I could mend your costume for you?”

Whatever you imagined he might say, it certainly wasn’t this; the idea is so sweet and considerate, helpful and… adorable.  Now the one feeling shy, you sit silently on your knees and hand over the complimentary hotel sewing kit.

Marcus coughs as he starts to unravel the thread options, “Um, why don’t you turn around so I’m facing what needs to be sewn, and… I guess… adjust so that everything is where… I mean, the costume is how you want it to be?  And then I’ll sew the back together so it stays that way?”

You nod in agreement, grateful for the General’s comprehensive assessment and swift decision-making skills in even the most obscure of circumstances.  Shuffling to get into the suggested position, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together at how good it feels to let Marcus take charge of you.

After adjusting your costume to where you want it, you sit patiently and watch in the mirror as Marcus threads the needle, squinting and focusing so hard his tongue pokes out the side his mouth. 

He catches you watching in the mirror and gives you an apologetic look, “Don’t have my reading glasses on me.”  Goddamit, the man is even more precious than he was previously infuriating.

“Do you want me to tie the knot?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Marcus sheepishly relents, “here, let me put it directly in your hand so you don’t drop your costume… again.”

You might have retorted something cheeky if it wasn’t for the warmth of the General’s chest enveloping your back and his muscular arms encircling your body to hand you the needle; he’s so close that his breath dances lightly at the nape of your neck, causing the hair there to stand up - your body gives a little shiver.  If Marcus notices, he doesn’t let on, instead holding his posture steady and protective while you expertly tie the double knot needed at the end of the thread.  When it’s ready, you hold it out for the General to pluck from your waiting hand; afterwards, you look down to adjust yourself again, unaware of Marcus’ covetous gaze as he watches you in the mirror.

Once you’re satisfied, he pulls the fabric taut across your back and gets to work.

For a few minutes, Marcus works in silence; unwilling to disturb his focus, you stay as still as possible and amuse yourself watching this big, strong hulk of a man and his dainty sewing, his eyes soulful and lower lip being bitten in deep concentration for this nimble task.

Once satisfied with the foundation stitches he’s sewn, Marcus’ grip on your costume slackens, as does his tongue - somberly, Marcus speaks, “I’m very sorry again, Little Showgirl.  I know it’s no excuse for my behaviour, but I was having a bad morning when we met – through no fault of yours.  My building was having maintenance issues, so my alarm clock got reset and I woke up late.  Then there was no hot water and, if you can believe it or not, this is not the first elevator I’ve been stuck in in the last 48 hours.”  He heaves a deep sigh and your eyes soften with sympathy, “That’s all to say I was already running ridiculously late when I drove up behind you and I forgot my manners in my frustration and anxiety.  The truth is, I’ve spent the better part of the past few months dreading Golden Days.”

You tilt your head in understanding, “I’m sure it’s a lot of extra work for you and your team.  I can only imagine all the extra pressure you’re under.”

Marcus’ eyes find yours in the mirror and relaxes at their sincerity, “It is a lot.  There are a ton of additional logistical factors to consider, and every variable brings with it security risks that I’m responsible for assessing and planning for.”  He drops his eyes back down to his task, hiding in anticipation of his next confession, “But all of that comes with the job, nothing my team and I haven’t handled before.  What I really wasn’t looking forward to is… wearing this stupid costume.”

Your eyes widen at this unexpected revelation: Big Bad General, venerated and trusted by the entire resort to keep the ship right, flustered at having to wear a costume?  One that makes him look like an ancient god? 

“I know it’s the antithesis of where I work, but I’ve never felt comfortable with all the glitz and pomp of the Strip.  I love my job precisely because it’s behind the scenes, things run smoothest when me and my team escape detection.  Now, for two weeks, we’re being paraded around in the most ostentatious costumes I’ve ever laid eyes on – I can’t tell you how off-putting it feels to be nervous about coming into work, to do a job I’ve had for years, that I excel at.  All because I know I’m going to look dumb as hell doing it.  Just one more thing I unfairly took out on you, Little Showgirl.  I’m sorry.”

If only Marcus knew just how much you relate to feeling out of place in these costumes, “Oh Marcus, that’s all completely understandable.  I’m sure I did absolutely nothing to abate your anxiety or frustrations with my own behaviour.” Marcus opens his mouth to interrupt but you shake your head slightly and continue, “I know you’re going to say it wasn’t my fault, and while that might be technically true, I can’t help but feel terrible for making your day worse than it already was.  I’m sorry as well.  I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Little Showgirl.”

The two of you lock eyes and fix a look of mutual fondness upon one another in the mirror before you each look away, bashful.  Now that you’re no longer worried that Marcus harbours ill will towards you, you can’t help but be a little playful with the decidedly serious General – certain that beneath his gruff exterior is a kind natured and good-humoured man, “So you don’t hate me, but you were going to close the elevators door on me?”

“I was pressing the Open Door button!”

You giggle at the indignation in the General’s response and press on, “What about avoiding me all day yesterday?  Even when you’d check in on our group, you never spoke to me or asked how I was doing, even though you would ask everyone else?  And when you did acknowledge me, even in the assignment room, you looked at me like I infuriated you.  Or disgusted you?  Or both?  I know I’m not the most glamourous girl working Golden Days, but did you just find me… unacceptable?”  You try to keep your tone playful, but now that you’ve given voice to the words, you realize there’s still a small part of you that’s stung by the memory of Marcus’ treatment.

He must sense your trepidation, because you see his broad shoulders slacken in the mirror, regret once again lining his face, “Oh shit.  I didn’t realize that you’d- Fuck.  I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, Little Showgirl.  The truth is, I couldn’t look at you without feeling utterly ashamed at how I had spoken to and treated you earlier.  If you read my expression as being Infuriated and disgusted – you were right, but not at you, with myself.  I hope the way I’ve purported myself in the last twenty minutes or so has shown you that I’m not some pompous asshole who enjoys tearing people down; my behaviour towards you yesterday is the opposite to how I strive to conduct myself.  Seeing you reminded me of how abhorrent I was.  I never considered that my own self contempt could be taken in the way you described but that’s one more thing I must atone for.  I’m sorry again.”

Marcus’ apology is more heartfelt and self effacing that you would have thought possible from a man you were convinced was a self-important righteous jerkoff less than an hour ago.  Thoroughly disarmed by the way he appears contrite and genuinely remorseful, your heart reaches for the man, wishing to soothe his apparent distress.

Before you can think of something comforting to say, Marcus continues, “I apologize again if my behaviour ever made you feel otherwise, because you should know that you look beautiful.  I’ve thought so from the moment I first laid eyes on you - you’re the prettiest little showgirl I’ve ever seen.”

Still unable to put together the words, your cheeks warm and you blink appreciatively at the compliment.  Marcus receives your reaction with a boyish eagerness, hoping it conveys your forgiveness; giving you another small smile in the mirror, he returns to his sewing.

For a few minutes, you let Marcus work in silence as you contemplate him.  By now, you’re prepared to admit that you had previously judged the stunning man behind you too harshly; despite his confident and commanding presence, you’ve seen now that he’s hard on himself and not immune to insecurity – perhaps you can help remedy that a tad with a confession of your own.

“Marcus?”

The General acknowledges you with a hum even as his eyes remained focused on the work.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the Roman gladiator armour looks dumb.  I think you look really good in it.”

This catches Marcus’ attention and he looks up, “You really think so?”

“Um, yeah,” you say, suddenly shy, “It makes you look really… formidable and authoritative – not that you need any help in those areas, but the costume really amplifies your qualities.  The battle arena one you wore yesterday?  You looked like a brickhouse.  I think every gladiator who’s working Golden Days wished they looked half as good as you did.”  You’re trying to pick your words carefully so not to objectify the poor man, but you really want Marcus to understand that the idea he might not look good in this regalia is outrageous, “And this ceremonial one you have on today… it’s, excuse my language, fucking glorious. You look regal, impressive and… so big.  Honestly, you look hot in it, General.”

Vulnerable soft eyes meet yours in the mirror, holding your gaze as if to ascertain whether or not you’re being serious; you give Marcus your most sincere look and earnestly nod as if to say, Yes, you are hot, and he responds with a nearly inaudible whisper, “Thank you.”

Suddenly a sharp, searing pain pierces your back and you yelp in pain.  Marcus starts at your cry and upon seeing the agony on your face, looks down to find that he’s poked you with the sewing needle and withdraws it quickly, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

Frantically dropping the needle, Marcus gently rubs his large, rough hand over the pinprick wound, “Does it still hurt?  I’m so sorry, Little Showgirl.”

The pain having now subsided and further soothed by Marcus’ warm touch, you nod reassuringly, “It doesn’t hurt – I’m okay.  Just surprised me is all.  But we’re even now for your foot, right?”

Marcus looks up to see your cheeky grin - entire countenance relaxing, he chuckles, “Yes, we’re even now.”  He goes back to sewing.

Pleased as punch with your own merrymaking, you go back to eyeing the man still working diligently to help you fix your wardrobe malfunction.  With growing affection and, if you’re honest with yourself, attraction, you wonder again at how you could have pegged him for a self-centred jackass.  Though the air of his importance and authority remains, you know now just how earned and well deserved it is.  Far from being arrogant and pompous, Marcus is self aware, sensitive and not at all conceited – qualities that have raised him high in your esteem over the last half hour or so.

It's evident what a hard worker he is – his drive and competency, fuel for the already sparking fire low in your belly.  Your heart swells thinking of the immense pressure he puts upon himself to uphold what he considers to be honour, decorum – you wish you could take some of it off those broad, generous shoulders of his.  How would his near mythical wingspan look looming over you on your knees, ready and willing to give him some well-deserved respite from the weight of his duty by taking his monster co-

“All done,” Marcus announces, biting the thread before standing up to offer you a hand.  As the General gently hauls you to your feet, your other hand flies up to your chest, expecting the fabric to fall away from your body – but to your delight, it doesn’t move.  Lowering your hands tentatively, you feel the fit of the garment around your bust, waist and then hips – it appears secure, you beam, “This is perfect – thank you so much, Marcus.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll think it’s perfect when you see the sewing job, but it should hold and get you through to the end of the shift.”  Chuckling to himself, he watches fondly as you do a little test shimmy, beads and pearls jingling and dancing over your curves.  Smoothing down the embellishments so that they still, you feel Marcus’ gaze and cross your arms over your body for a bit more coverage, embarrassed at the impropriety of your earlier thoughts.

Misreading your discomfort, Marcus offers gently, “I mean it, you know?  You look gorgeous.  Beautiful.”  He fiddles with decorative enamel broach that holds his white cape at his collar bone, unclasping and removing it in one gallant sweep. “However, if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he carefully drapes the luxurious fabric around your shoulders, wrapping you in it completely, “you can wear this.” 

“Thank you, Marcus,” fully cloaked and cozy, you soak in the sweet gesture and Marcus’ compliment, breathing in the linger of his heady cologne on the garment.

The two of you stand looking at one another in silence - the warmth of the moment, full of fondness and affection, filling the small elevator.  If someone had told you this morning that you would feel a deep appreciation and attraction to this man you had sworn to loathed, you would have said they were delusional.  But now, you can’t even remember what you felt before, never mind why.

You want to repent and laugh, apologize some more – though you know he would never allow it.  Shifting shyly foot-to-foot, thinking of what you want to say, you suddenly feel the pinch of your shoes again, “Do you mind if I sit?  These shoes look great but they’re killing my feet. I should probably stay off of them for as long as I can before I have to go out again.”

Marcus joins you once again on the floor of the elevator, amused at the exaggerated sigh of relief you exhale as you start arching your feet and wiggling you toes after you remove the glamourous but offensive footwear.

“May I?” he gestures at your pointing feet.  At your little nod of permission, the General lays your aching feet in his lap and uses his big strong hands to massage and grip your arches.  His strength targets all the right pressure points so that relief is immediate.  You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes when he spreads his fingers around your heels and rubs tight little circles that nearly have you moaning, this is heaven.

“So,” Marcus gulps when he sees the pleasure overtaking your face, feeling himself harden beneath his battle skirts, “Aside from hurting feet, your costume breaking, and a horrid man terrorizing you, has the rest of your day gone alright?

Your eyes open to his affectionate grin, “Oh!  It’s been okay.” 

He wouldn’t be good at his job if he couldn’t read people and Marcus tilts his head curiously at your answer.  Though you could downplay today’s events, the General makes you feel safe enough to not want to, “Well, we had some… trouble.”

“Tell me.”

Even if you didn’t understand that he genuinely wants to know, the authoritative tone of his voice compels you to obey.  You think you would do anything that velvet baritone asked of you, and that thought alone sends a shooting pang straight to your clenching core.  So, you tell Marcus everything about the harassment and unwanted physical contact that you and your group encountered today; as you see the General’s eyes darken at the details, you hurry your storytelling to make sure he doesn’t blame his men, “Your team did a great job taking care of us and have already been strategizing on how to prevent these situations going forward.  They were great, really.  You run a good group.”

Marcus smiles at your sweetness, “Thank you.  I trust they did their best, and I’m certain they won’t be happy until we come up with new protocols to make things safer - everything will be discussed with the needed changes in place by tomorrow.  I promise you won’t have to worry about the same type of things happening when you come in tomorrow, Little Showgirl.”

Warming again under Marcus’ term of endearment, you decide that you owe him the same level of honesty and sincerity that he’s shown you, “That’s reassuring, Marcus - thank you, but I’m not coming in tomorrow.”

“What?  Why not?  Did you quit because of me?”   

You nearly laugh out loud at the panic in the General’s voice, though his crestfallen look and obvious disappointment make your stomach do an inadvertent flip, “No, no, Marcus, of course not.”  The tank of a man before you practically deflates with relief – it’s endearing.  Time to come clean.  “Since you already hate me,” you tease, pausing only at Marcus’ grumbled interjection of I don’t hate you, “I suppose I might as well tell you the truth.”

Marcus cocks his eyebrow quizzically as you confess your true identity and the reason you’ve been pretending to be in the resort’s employ these past two days.  Even as you finish with how your roommate will be done her callback by the end of day and that tomorrow, she would be here to take her rightful place for Golden Days, Marcus still hasn’t said a word.

Pulling your feet from Marcus’ soothing grip, you reposition yourself on your knees and shuffle over to the General, thigh to thigh, face to face, worried, “Have you changed your mind about hating me?”

Seeing that true concern laces your pretty face, Marcus gently takes one of your dainty hands in his and raises it to his lips; placing one soft kiss to your knuckles, he proclaims, “Never.”

You’re melting.

Confidence now partially restored by the tenderness of his gesture, you use the hold Marcus has on your hand to pull yourself closer, teasing glint in your eye, “So, now that I’ve confessed the truth to you, are Arishat and I in trouble?” 

“Well, technically, you committed identity fraud,” Marcus starts, pretending to look serious for only a second before letting his expression transform into one of mischief, “But seeing how you didn’t have any nefarious intentions… I guess I can look the other way.  Plus, you flashed me, so consider your penance paid.”

Your melodic laugh echoes off the walls of the elevator and Marcus’ heart swells at the loveliness of the sound.  “Thank you.  I appreciate your confidence that I’m not planning some kind of casino heist,” hand still holding his, you let your smile curve flirtatiously, “You really are very sweet, General.”

The mountainous man scoffs good-naturedly, “Don’t tell anyone, you’ll ruin my tough guy reputation.”

“It’ll be our little secret - just between us,” grinning, you peer at him coquettishly through your lashes, “Like what I look like underneath this costume.”

“Just between us,” Marcus swallows hard.

“Are you thinking about me half naked right now, General?”

“Yeah, I am,” he breathes, right before crashing his mouth to yours. 

Oh.  Marcus kisses like his professional moniker suggests: precise, unrepentant, powerful.  You push back with the same assertiveness against his lips and tongue, tangling your breath with his, trading in his air.  Without breaking the kiss, Marcus hooks his sculpted arm around your waist, cupping the plush of your ass in just one of his bear paws, he hauls you into his lap; you land with a giggly bounce, straddling one of the General’s thick thighs.  Your hands reach up to cup Marcus’ face, scratching through his well-groomed scruff while you nip and nibble at his lower lip; your chest burst with a school girl giddiness when you feel him smile at your kitten attack.

Beneath the cover of his cape, Marcus’ rough hands roam your body, trailing his thick fingers up and down the curve of your spine, making you whimper at the reverence of his touch.  Wide palms find the fat of your thighs and grip you with such want that you yelp and test the General’s hold with a roll against his leg that has him moaning your name down your throat.  You think you could drown in the sounds of this man falling apart beneath you.  Leaving his lips involuntarily, your body bows at the grip Marcus bruises on your body, whining as he kisses along your jaw, groaning, almost to himself, “So fucking soft.”

Hard hands travel to your waist with the discipline of a trained soldier, heavy palms working your soft flesh through your costume while a hungry mouth licks and snipes a path of pleasure from your ear down your neck that has you gasping and squirming.

“Marcus, please!” you cry out, voice hushed and desperate as the General’s hot breath rolls across the expanse of your throat.  He smirks at your neediness, greedy hands massaging their way up to your tits. 

“Gonna mark you up, so everyone knows you’re mine.  If anyone tries to touch you again, they’ll have to answer to me,” Marcus growls against the sweet spot at the bottom of your neck, sending your head spinning with his possessive tone and the hard suck of his mouth.

With Marcus’ hands now cupping your breasts, your hips are free to rock and grind on the flex of his muscular thigh – through the layers of fabric, the texture from the beaded details of your costume heighten the sensation from your movements on your drooling cunt.  You can feel just how wet you are by the slick glide of your folds in your panties as your costume catches roughly over Marcus’ leg.

Marcus’ mouth finds yours again, you kiss him back furiously – your tongue slides against his, eager to show him just how much you want him, need him.  He licks into your mouth and you swallow his throaty groans, answering them with your own half formed moans that he steals right back.

“You make the prettiest noises, Little Showgirl,” he purrs, hands kneading and groping your heaving breasts over the front of your costume.  You’re practically bucking now, about to beg again, for what you don’t even know when Marcus’ talented fingers zero in on your already pert and aching nipples, finding them with ease and giving each peak a punishing pinch and tug.

You quake and howl, the crisp sting sending a thrumming wave of ecstacy to every nerve ending in your body.  Yanking harshly on Marcus’ soft waves, you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer still, melding your lips to his and sucking on his tongue while your hips gyrate and swivel, seeking more pressure and friction.  Reading your cues perfectly, Marcus bends his knee slightly to give you more purchase and you lay a hot trail of open mouth kisses from the corner of his mouth along his chiseled jawline in gratitude.

“You’re killing me, baby.”  Baby.  The new pet name is exalted with a strained groan – what you would have interpreted as exasperation less than 24 hours ago is now delicious music to your ears, proof that you’re affecting the beast of a man beneath you as much as he is you.  You chuckle breathy and satisfied into the shell of Marcus ear, “Payback.”

The General’s response to your smug retort is to bite down on your shoulder, just hard enough to jolt you hard against him, dragging your needy pussy down the length of his thigh.  He smirks as he laves his tongue over the imprint of his teeth on your skin, soothing it while you whinny above him like feisty filly yearning to run free.  Bear paw hands continue to grab and squeeze your tits, pushing and pulling all your supple curves so that they mould to his palms, fingers tuning your sensitive nipples to try to find his favourite song: the one you’re singing in gasps, the sole lyrics his name in repetition, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.

“Wish I could just rip this costume off your pretty body and see those perfect tits of yours again.  Sew it back up after I take those cute little nipples in my mouth and suck on them until you scream.  Would you let me do all that, Little Showgirl?”  The General nips and snarls behind your earlobe, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume that’s wafting as your lap dance picks up speed, intensity.

“Yes, Marcus, yes!  I’d let you do anything to me.” 

Oh, he likes that.  Marcus drops a hand down to your ass and gives your bouncing cheek a sharp spank that sends you tumbling towards the edge of bliss, “Anything?”

You can barely string together a thought separate from the pleasure Marcus is giving you with his hands, his thigh, his mouth, but you manage to eek out a weak, “Anything.”

“You going to let me help you come?”

Nearly crumpling at Marcus’ dark tone, your head flops forward in a semblance of a nod.

Marcus’ hands grasp onto the meat of your hips and restrict your rhythmic movements against his leg – you whine in protest. 

“Need you to use your words, Little Showgirl.”  There it is again: the authority and command of his velvet voice; your cunt clenches, infuriatingly empty.  Panting and breath short, your eyes shine with desperation as your mouth slackens into a perfect prayerful O-shape that makes Marcus hiss, “Yes, please, Marcus!  Please help me come!”

Though he loves the sound of your sweet voice begging, Marcus is already far enough gone for you that he knows he would never deny you anything.  Fingertips digging into the globes of your ass, Marcus holds your hips firm and begins to saw you back and forth over his thigh, pressing you down while driving up his leg in order to ignite an electrifying connection with your cunt that you couldn’t have reached on your own.

Marcus handles you with the precision and skill with which he executes every assignment he undertakes; every pull and push builds you higher and higher, the breath stealing rhythm he keeps makes you gush - your pussy, slick with arousal sails smoothly over Marcus tensed muscles, throbbing as the familiar band in the pit of your stomach coils tighter.    

He’s all power and strategy, reading the ecstasy that paints your face like a map and orchestrating a building pace and intensity in his handle on your body so that your orgasm becomes an inevitability.  Euphoria blooming, you give yourself over to Marcus completely, trusting your pleasure in his capable hands.

“Oh, god, right there, General…”

“You can’t call me that, baby.  Or the next time one of my men calls me General, I’m going think of you.  Like this.  Bouncing and grinding in my lap, looking so fucking pretty.”

“Ngh, fuck! General…”

“Baby, what did I just say.”

You moan and goad him more, “… Acacius…”

Sucking the delicate skin at the base of your neck in between his teeth, Marcus hisses.

“Sir,” you draw out the last sound, rolling it from the back of your throat like a filthy hymn.

“Shit. My naughty little showgirl, you’re perfect.  Never going to let you go.”  The General crashes his lips to yours once more, desperate, messy.  Your hands reach for those broad shoulders again, holding on tight as you work in tandem with Marcu’s control of your body, finding that if you tilt your hips just so, the pressure of his thigh’s arch against the trimming of your costume catches your clit just right.  You break the kiss with a cry, the explosive pulsing from your overstimulated pearl rocketing you towards your summit.

“I’m so close, Marcus,” you rasp, back arching and bucking wild as you chase your release.  Awestruck by your desire wracked expression, Marcus pledges himself to your pleasure – rocking and guiding you to exactly where you need to be.  Everything tightens as you ride, clit brushing and flicking over that secret spot of your costume over and over and over.

“Take what you need, Little Showgirl,” grits Marcus against the column of your throat.  He nuzzles against every little hitch of your airway and sucks down the ambrosia taste of your skin, “Anything that’s mine to give is yours.  Let me give you everything, my lady.”

You explode with a sharp wail of the General’s name, coming so hard that you see stars.  Your orgasm rips through your body and it’s all you can do to hold onto Marcus, fingernails marking crescent moons into his shoulders through the luxurious fabric of his Roman costume.  Marcus gladly takes over, holding you through your high, safe and comforting as he continues to move you gently back and forth over the breadth of his thigh, thumbs drawing soothing circles over your hips as your shaking subsides.  You slump against his hard chest, completely fucked out.

Marcus’ hands caress your back, rubbing up and down your spine in a calming fashion to bring you back to yourself.  Hooded eyes lifting just enough to meet his gaze – your stomach flutters upon finding the General’s expression to one of awe and care; you’re so grateful and sated, about to say so when suddenly the elevator shudders harshly, lights flickering as the machinery above whirls back to life and you resume your descent.

Eyes widening at the unexpected movement, the two of you scramble off one another and onto your feet, though Marcus, ever the gentleman, remains on his knees for a little while longer to help you slip your feet back into your shoes. 

He comes to a stand by your side and pulls you close, tucking you under the safety of his wing.  That feeling of gratitude for his care surges through you again as you snuggle in tight.

“You okay, Little Showgirl?  Do you need a minute?”

You look up at Marcus to find his affection for you evident in the lines of his handsome face - it makes your heart skip a beat; you nod, eyes still glassy, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing faintly in your core.  The strength of the General’s arm curves around your waist, tightening and helping you forward as the elevator doors finally open.

You’re immediately met by a member of Marcus’ security team - a strapping man in gladiator dress that you vaguely recognize from yesterday’s morning briefing. 

“General, glad you’re okay, sir.  I can give you a brief rundown on what’s happened.”

To your surprise, instead of letting you go so he can confer with his lieutenant, Marcus pulls you closer and tucks you under his chin, letting you rest against his chest.  You close your eyes, comforted by the soothing rumble of Marcus’ baritone as it vibrates though his chest.

“Tell me.”

“There was a complete outage of service elevators in all the towers: Forum, Palace, Julius, Octavius, and Augustus – all simultaneous.  Call lines dead, no camera footage.  A little over half of the elevators were occupied when the disruption took place.  They’ve all come back online since, successively – Palace is the last.  You were stuck for 47 minutes.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“We’re still getting reports in but everyone accounted for is unharmed and doing alright.  I’ve taken the liberty of assuming you would want to give everyone impacted an early lunch and asked them to come see the resort doctor in the employee briefing room.”

“Good work, Darius.  Please ready a full debrief for me in the control room - I’ll be there momentarily.”

Even after Darius’ footsteps fade away, Marcus keeps you close and continues tending to you, dispensing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.  The two of you stay in a tender embrace until your heartbeat slows to normal and your breathing evens.

Kiss. “Little Showgirl.” Kiss. “I know this is terribly backwards.” Kiss Kiss. “But if you’re free after your shift tonight.” Kiss.  “Could I take you out to dinner?” Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss.

“I would love that, Marcus.” Kiss.

Beaming, you step back and unclasp the brooch of the victory cape that you’re still wearing; unfurling it from your body, you giggle as Marcus bends at the knee so you can swing it over his shoulders.  After refastening the pin, you pat and smooth down the luxurious fabric over the General’s broad frame, humming with satisfaction at how splendidly the breathtaking man wears it.

“Thank you, my lady,” Marcus proclaims, his good humour delighting you, “May I meet you here at six?”

Nodding, you place your palms gently on the golden griffins that span the front of Marcus’ Roman ceremonial dress, scratching your nails just deep enough so he can feel you on his chest, “Yes, please.  Are you going to be wearing this?”

“I don’t know, are you going to be wearing this?” Marcus reaches out to run a finger lightly over a row of pearls that decorate your collar bone.

Supressing a shiver, you shoot back, “I could be? I don’t know what you did back there – I might not be able to take it off.”

Leaning in, Marcus lets his breath ghost over your ear as his whispers low, “I could help you take it off.”

Catching the dark and mischievous glint in the light of his eyes, you pretend to be scandalized, “General!”  Smirking a little when you see Marcus inhale at your teasing use of his professional handle, you grab him by the fabric of his rich, sweeping cape and pull him back in, crushing your lips to his.  Marcus’ tongue darts out to match you move for move, stroke for stroke, licking deep and chasing you to the furthest corners of your mouth.  You let him catch you before withdrawing, leaving him chasing after your plush pout with a nibble and tug of his delectable lower lip.  Giggling, you wink at the General’s puppy dog expression before turning on your heels to head off to the change room, putting a little extra sway in your hips as you saunter away, pearls and beads clinking a seductive melody that calls to Marcus like a siren. 

Before he knows what’s come over him, his hand connects with the underside of your ass cheek, the consequence of his spank jiggling the plushness of your rear as you yelp in delight.

You keep on walking, throwing over your shoulder, “Hope you’re prepared to pay for that later, General.”

Chuckling, Marcus starts heading towards the security office, discreetly adjusting himself beneath the skirts of his Roman costume, knowing that you see him doing so by the crescendo of your sweet laughter, “I’m counting on it, Little Showgirl.”

NP Tagging a few people who encouraged me so kindly on my WIP Wednesdays for this fic - thank you bbs 😘: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @letsgobarbs @inept-the-magnificent @milla-frenchy

@sawymredfox @ace-turned-confused @evolnoomym @secretelephanttattoo @sunnytuliptime

@galway-girlatwork @itwasntimethatdidit40 @iamladyp @tuquoquebrute

[aceecee]

Insatiable

Rafayel x non mc reader

MDNI

can be read as stand-alone but read the series to gain a better understanding

will probably end up adding this to the series itself - Extra #6

TW: smut - semi-public sex, oral (fem receiving), dom raf, dubcon. aftercare, fluff, some angst, implied poly (Various x Reader), mc has a name and physical appearance, Rafayel both hates(?) you and yearns for you bad, themes of obsession and possessiveness

Masterlist

WC: 2.9K

Your mark was stupid.

In the defence of twenty year old Samuel Locke, he was just that - twenty. Though you’re not that much older than him, Samuel has lived a life of privilege. He’s never known hardship, his wealthy family made sure of that. While his parents and older brother make deals with your boss, Samuel does not. You have yet to determine if this is because it's kept from him or because he does not want to.

Three days of surveillance can teach you a lot about a person. You had to give credit where it was due, unlike those in his social circle, he had a good head on his shoulder. Average student who excelled in maths, part of the rugby team and handsome. But where he excelled and his friends failed was innocence, odd for a boy, especially a rich one. You didn’t think such a thing was possible, in your first life you never came across one but then again this is a world that’s been crafted for women. Fantasies like Samuel would exist here. 

Sylus had asked you to insert yourself into his life and figure out if he had any useful knowledge against his family, as a precaution. The only way you could think of finding out anything was by flirting, the poor thing had no experience with women or men, he was making it too easy. 

One of the bugs you’d planted in Samuel’s bedroom let you know he was going to a club with his friends today. Your outfit was carefully curated to the boy’s taste. Not too seductive and not too cute but a mix. A purple dress that hugged your figure just right with a neckline that showed a hint of what’s underneath. The dress stopped half-way down your thighs, not short but not long. All the accessories paired were simple. From what you’d noticed about the man, you were right out of his wet dream. 

The club was nauseating. There was a point in your life where you liked places like these. The blaring lights you’d get sucked into now gave you a headache. The intimacy of all the people around you now felt suffocating. Unfortunately, discomfort has become a norm for you.

Currently, you’re waiting around the bar, nursing a drink. Your eyes are trained on the black-haired man as he makes his way to the bar. His steps are a little clumsy, he’s tipsy. 

Perfect. 

Two bodies collide but only one is left soaked from the remnants of a drink.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry,” your apology draws attention from those around so you make sure to sound sheepish. Samuel looks annoyed for a second until his eyes meet yours and widen in surprise. He’s not subtle as he checks you out and the bright blush he sports after is not working in his favour.

“Here,” you say, reaching for napkins. “Let me help,” his breath hitches as you make contact with his shirt. Even though you’re concentrating on wiping away any liquid from him, you’re aware of the intensity of his gaze on you. “I-its okay,” he stutters, gently putting his arm on your wrist to stop it. You almost feel bad for the guy.

Almost. 

“No, it’s my fault,” your voice comes out a little choked as tears gather in your eyes. “I’m such a klutz!” It’s amusing to see the panic in his face. “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning or even a new shirt!”

“N-no really it’s okay.”

You pout. “I have to make it up to you in some way.” Samuel considers your words and when his blue eyes light up, you know you have him. “Then…join me?” he gestures at an empty booth. “All my friends have ditched me for hookups and this really isn’t my scene. Some company would be nice,” he looks down at your face. “Y-you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’d like to!” you point at the empty bar. “I’m in a similar position, I have no idea where my friends are.”

The two of you walk over and sit but when he makes no move to talk, it’s clear you’re going to have to take the lead. “I still don’t know your name, stranger.” The request perks him up. “Huh? Oh, I’m Samuel,” he reaches for a handshake, “Samuel Locke.” He must have realised this isn’t a business meeting because he tries to put his hand down but you put your hand through his before he can. The contact stills him. “Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Lilly.” 

A nickname will force closeness. 

Samuel loosens up after that and conversation flows naturally between you two. You’re careful to not ask about his family, this is the first meeting of many so there’s plenty of time for it later. He surprisingly gets you to genuinely laugh at some jokes. It’s after one that you feel a prickling sensation in your neck.

You’re being watched.

Samuel now has a couple of drinks in him so he doesn’t notice as your attention shifts. Bluish-pink eyes stare directly at you. The intensity of Samuel’s gaze earlier doesn’t even come closer to the way these beautiful eyes glare at you. They have your mind blank, your eyes hazy and your heart racing. They have you coming undone with just a look. They have you weak.

Rafayel doesn’t make a move after you notice. He simply sips the drink in his hand without breaking contact. 

You don’t know why he’s looking at you like that. He’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t like you. Actually not liking you would mean he felt something for you, no the man simply doesn’t tolerate you. You can’t think of a reason as to why when you'd done nothing to the man. After a while of his coldness, you chalked it up to him being like this with anyone not Mara (MC), his jokes and sassiness reserved only for her. You thought you were proven right by how he interacted with her compared to you. Except you saw how he acted around strangers he’d met or even acquaintances and it became clear this behaviour was just for you.

Again, you have no idea why. It’s not like you’re seeking him out, bothering him or annoying him. You actually go out of your way to avoid him, you have no desire to be in his life especially when he’s made it clear you’re not wanted in it. It’s not your fault Mara drags you to his house sometimes or to his exhibits, you can’t say no to her and she knows it. 

For some reason, she’s intent on you two becoming closer and neither of you are willing to deny her so a reluctant truce of sorts has formed. He’s civil with you, a simple “Hey” or “Move” will come out of his mouth from time to time. 

Which is why you have no idea why he looks like he wants to strangle you. Did he find out you like to call him blowfish behind his back? The man can’t treat you horribly and expect you to not give him a petty nickname.

“Hey? You okay?” Samuel’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You break eye contact and shift all your attention back to your target. “H-huh? Oh yeah, sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts,” you explain, giving him a smile. He blushes at it. “Can I have your number?” he blurts out without thinking. “N-no wait please ignore that.” You can’t help the real laugh that bubbles out. He’s charming in his own way. You reach your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers. “Give me your phone.” He’s quick to follow your command, fishing his phone out of pocket. You add your contact, the phone number is a fake burner meant exclusively for Samuel. You hand the phone back and smile when he stares at the screen like its salvation. 

The gaze still on you seems to intensify at the interaction. It puts you on edge and you need to collect yourself. You’re not letting fish man ruin this. “Hey, um, I’m just going to the bathroom. I��ll be back,” you inform the beaming black-haired man in front of you.

Two sets of eyes watch you leave.

The women’s bathroom is shockingly empty when you enter.

You walk over to the sink and splash cold water on your face. The heat from the lights and the stench of the place have you on edge. You’re still not used to being around so many people and it’s hard not to let it show. Of course the blowfish is no help either. 

Just what is his problem?

You raise your head and examine yourself in the mirror. Your real self is showing. The exhaustion in your eyes is screaming. With a sigh, you reach to grab some tissue, careful to dab the water away and not rub. The makeup on your face was minimal and waterproof but you weren’t taking any chances.

Your head subconsciously moves towards the door when you hear it open. The figure that steps through has you pause. 

“Rafayel? What are you doing?”

The man doesn’t answer, instead he turns to lock the door. 

Rafayel was already having a shitty day. From waking up and finding out that Miss Bodyguard cancelled their plans for an emergency mission, to having to deal with Thomas begging him to meet a client and said client wanting the meeting to take place in a club of all places. The cherry on top was having to watch you flirt with someone. Someone that wasn’t him

He hates that. Hates that he desires your attention. Desires you. 

Since he met you, he’s been trying to make a paint that was a match for your eyes. But something would always be wrong. The colour never shone like your eyes did when you saw sweets. It didn’t show your sadness at all. It never depicted the soft look you’d adorn when looking at someone you truly cared for. A look you’d never shown him and he’s to blame for it.

He feels for you exactly what he feels for his bride and it terrifies him. He’s filled with shame at the realisation but it’s true. He made his distaste for you clear whenever you met, it was childish on his part but what could he do when the woman he’s waited for all these years doesn’t remember him but loves another. That other being you. He still feels the sensation of his heart breaking when he saw the way Mara looked at you, her need to constantly keep a hand on you and the possessive way in which she held you. 

Then you started to pull away and it killed him. Rafayel has no answer for his behaviour. Without thinking he finds himself painting portraits of you, you’ve taken refuge in his mind and it’s affecting his work to the point he has to add something into it that reminds him of you or else he’ll go insane. Against his will, you’ve become his muse.

He’s aware you were flirting with that guy because it was your job. Rafayel has connections too but getting information of your allegiance with Onychinus had been hard. But he can’t ignore the jealousy burning inside him, eating away at his mind. It’s not the same jealousy he felt with Mara, no it was overshadowed by the need to make her happy. He doesn’t want you to be happy. He just wants you with him. 

And if he has to fuck that into you then he will.

Rafayel hopes Mara is content with sharing you because he’s not going to ask for permission. He’s going to be selfish. 

Any questions brewing in your throat end at the speed of which his mouth clashes with yours. The gasp that escapes you is greedily swallowed up by him. The harshness of his movement causes fire inside you. His kiss burns. It leaves you dehydrated and the only salvation is him. 

One hand snakes behind your waist, pushing your body even closer to his. His legs move forward holding you against the sink, your left hand is clutching at the edge for purchase. Your other hand sneaks into his indigo hair and he groans when you tug. His right hand that’s not holding on to you moves to the back of your neck, holding your head at an angle that allows him to kiss deeper. You don’t fight him for dominance. You let him take.

Your god demands a sacrifice and you’re devout. 

He pulls away and you’re left a mess. Breathing heavy and chest heaving while he looks fine. It’s then you remember that he’s not burdened by the limits of humanity and you find yourself involuntarily swallowing. His eyes follow the action and you are so screwed - figuratively and literally. 

“Why…How…What-” you can’t find the words to ask anything as your traitorous mind is still stuck on the assault on your lips. The hand on your neck loosens and gently cradles your face. It’s so unexpected that your mouth hangs open. He chuckles at it but you’re all too familiar with the guilt in his eyes. Before you can say anything, he picks you up and sets you down on the sink counter, his figure at home between your thighs. His hands grip tightly at their respective thighs. 

He puts his head into your neck and peppers it with small kisses. The last kiss lingers for a while. “I have a lot to make up for you,” his head is face to face with you now. The eye contact has your stomach doing flips. He brings your right hand up to his nose, sniffing at the wrist and taking in your scent. Everything about you is intoxicating but your scent drives him mad. You’re aware of the attention you capture but so oblivious to the devotion those closest to you possess. “You gonna let me do that, pretty?” His eyes have you in a trance as they stare at you - hooded and dark. He places a kiss on the palm. “You gonna let me apologise?”

You nod and faster than you can blink, he’s kneeling and reaching for the bottom of your dress. He bunches it up to your waist, the colour reminds him of his hair and the thought has him grinning. He pushes you on your back for easier access. You jolt when you feel the kiss on your clit. The sensation is too much, something you haven’t felt in years so your hands reach for his hair to try and stop him. It doesn’t work, in fact it seems to rile him up even more. You throw your head back when his mouth begins sucking through your panties. The material numbs the sensation a little while the action has you seeing stars. 

You bite your lip to stop the moans from escaping but a whine falls out when the sensation stops. “None of that, you brat. Let me hear you,” his hand cups your chin and he squeezes as a warning. You nod and that bright grin he had before returns. “Good girl,” he purrs. His finger’s hook into the sides of your underwear, pulling them down. You hear the intake of his breath as he’s greeted with you. 

His licks are wild with abandon. It’s clear that this is more for him than it is for you. Even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to stop the moans he’s guiding out your throat. It’s wet. It’s sloppy. Just the way you like it.

His eyes are trained on your every reaction, the expressions you make when he touches a certain area and what sort of moans he can pull out of you. He longs to tear the dress off and see every single area of your body, map every scar and blemish in his mind. Only then will he be able to complete those sculptures of you. But it’ll have to be for another time, when you’re in his bed and there’s no worry of someone barging in.

You’re sure that underneath your skin you’re red. The fire he’s tending to inside you still rages, it’s no way near satiated and as its keeper he’s all too aware of it. 

His assault quickens and you feel the pit forming. Your hands wave through his hair, guiding him in deeper, desperate for a finish. “R-rafayel…I’m…” He lets out a hum and the vibration of it is your undoing. With a loud moan you climax. 

Heat is all you feel, the cold of the mirror on your back is a deliverance. You press the side of your face into it, closing your eyes to gather yourself. Rafayel’s eyebrows shoot up in worry but none of it is seen by you. His hand presses up to your forehead and he lets out a curse. 

“Come on, let’s get you out of this stifling club,” he carries you out of the bathroom. 

Your target is long forgotten.

The two of you are in the bath together. 

He ran you a nice cold bath and got into it with you. You’re currently pressed against his chest with his arms around you. His finger’s are rubbing all over your body as you doze off. He’s finally fulfilling his wish of seeing all of you.

“Thought you hated me,” you murmur, sleepingly. 

“Me too.”

Taglist: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers

[melanchoire]

G!p Yujin x Rei x reader threesome: I have no plot , sorry😭 I’ll come back to this though if I think of one before you do.

this is going to have a lot of unnecessary plot because i got a little carried away but it’s anon’s fault for letting my brain do the work here ALSO this is long as fuck

cw: clit play, breeding, choking, creampie, degradation, dubcon??, hair pulling, hate fucking, humiliation, titsucking, unnie kink.

unlike other girl groups, you’re not the typical cheerful and charismatic unnie who is easily mistaken for the group’s maknae or looks younger than her age. you’re the ultimate pragmatist, the one who worries about schedules and makes sure everyone gets enough sleep no matter if the schedule is going to be busy or quiet this week. you’re the unnie who keeps the chaos in its place, not the one who contributes to it

during debut, the members thought you were just shy because you didn't know them personally due to how little you interacted and talked during your time as a trainee. but as time went by, they understood that in reality, you weren’t shy, but reserved

yujin was initially fascinated by you, seeing you as an older sister or a wise sorcerer, in her words. unlike gaeul who was the cute and small unnie who could play around with the other members, you were completely different from her! and well, puppy was by your side since you set foot inside the company

when you talked about your life before your debut, you talked about the usual things like school, work, and relationships, but yujin looked even more excited than leeseo when you talked about your private life. you had found it endearing, almost... naive. you thought she respected you. you thought maybe she admired you. but you were wrong!

the “good girl” role quickly dissipated. she was a walking, talking, puppy–dog–eyed menace. she spotted your temper early on, the crack in your carefully constructed composure. and she exploits it

yujin loves to push you to see how far she can go before you finally give up. the suggestive comments she makes to you do not go unnoticed: “i admire you so much, unnie. you’re so… calm. so mature. you’re really sexy.” “oh, unnie looks especially good today, doesn’t she? that skirt is… very flattering.”

but there are times when she forces you to respond to a scathing comment about your icy attitude: “unnie, you look very tense.” and you can only clench your jaw and resist the urge to click your tongue. “i’m perfectly fine, yujin. i’m just concentrating.” “what were you concentrating on? trying to remember how to smile?” she laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

and when you finally lose your cool, when your carefully controlled anger finally boils over, she doesn’t even listen to your scolding. you can stand in front of her looking at her with fire in your eyes while you spit venom and use your sharp tongue, but yujin is too busy imagining her running her hands through your hair while holding your head in place and fucking your mouth with her thick cock, making you swallow every last drop of hee seed. she wants to see those sharp, critical eyes soften, see them filled with an animal, pleading need

however, yujin’s annoying attitude isn’t just present in front of cameras or fanservice, but she’s like that in private too! she thanks the lord every day that you’re the oldest member of the group because it means you have more freedom when it comes to outfits and stylists can give you shorter and tighter clothes than the other members 😇 yujin never misses the chance to admire your body during album promotions, comebacks, concerts, lives, stages, performances, photoshoots, etc 😳 she’s always staring at you intently, biting her lip to hold back a smirk when during photoshoots you’re wearing a skirt that barely grazes your thighs or a shirt that is too tight and accentuates your chest — she practically drools!

you thought fans would be upset but they actually loved the ship of you two, saying that you’re the parents of the group: you, the serious and disciplinary mommy and yujin the fun and liberal daddy mommy 🥰 even when you tried to complain about this to gaeul because in your opinion you and she should be considered “mothers” since you two are the oldest in the group, she told you that since she was neither the leader nor the unnie of the group she didn’t give a shit about being seen as a parental figure

rei, on the other hand, was different from yujin. you two were the dynamic duo of the group, as you shared a love for cute and delicate things! rei loves to share matching things, especially when they are matching but in each one’s favorite color. cute friends who’re compared to the typical sweetie and grumpy duos like kuromi and melody, the nanas, etc

but she also loved to piss you off! in a more “friendly” and playful way, if you can call it that

outings were common between the two of you, and she has the most beautiful instagram feed, so usually she was the one taking your photos because she knew the good angles and poses. rei is your personal photographer because she knows how to take good photos, but sometimes she uses it as an opportunity to test your patience. maybe she’d make you pose while holding her phone in her hands, telling you to stay still and wait until she gives you the signal so you can move… but rei never takes the photo?? she enjoys watching the smile on your face fade away and bring with it that darkness your eyes have when you start to get in a bad mood, the ceramic cup losing its heat and the steaming coffee starting to turn into an iced coffee… she can’t help but grin when you give her a look as you set the cup down on the table with a thud

but rei makes up for it by taking decent photos of you when you leave the coffee shop and take a stroll around the city, admiring how the sunset light gives a special touch to the photos that look like girlfriend material… but the part you don’t know is that rei loves taking pictures of you because she looks at them while fingering herself late at night, imagining that it's you who’s touching her like that or it’s your pussy that she’s destroying

until one day during the album promotions everything gets out of control. of course, the girls know that you’re twice as serious during practice because you want everything to go well and polish up even the smallest mistake, but today in particular you were more unbearable and demanding than ever. the girls can tolerate being scolded when they make a mistake in a dance step or when it's more of a collective mistake, but you dared to raise your voice to leeseo and speak to her in the worst possible way and it was unacceptable 😤

obviously this started an argument with yujin because even if you’re a member of the group, the leader will not allow disrespect towards her members!! gaeul and wonyoung step in to prevent this from escalating, gaeul scolding you for acting this way and being a bad example and wonyoung trying to calm yujin down and make her see reason, while liz and leeseo witness this but liz hugs and comforts the maknae

yujin saying she wants to sort things out with you alone, gaeul and wonyoung exchange a look because they share a feeling that something will happen, but they let it go. so the members decide to leave the practice room for a while, except for rei who decides to stay because she’s the only one who can make yujin have her feet on the earth and become the silly puppy that she is again

you can’t focus on what yujin is saying because she looks so attractive when she’s mad… you try to pay attention to her words, but the frown, a look that could send you about six feet underground and a scolding full of arguments and reproaches that should make you feel ashamed for being an idiot before but you are more focused admiring how handsome yujin looks

“i need to get that shitty attitude out of you.” and suddenly yujin’s hands reaches her jeans and starts unbuttoning the button and lowering the zipper??

turning towards rei but she takes your face in her hands and begins to kiss you, swallowing your protests as yujin comes up behind you and grinds her erection against your ass…

then they manage to get you on your knees, yujin taking a handful of your hair to push your head against the ground while using the other hand to pull down your shorts along with your panties to the middle of your thighs, inserting her thick cock inside you with a single thrust of her hips

but as much as yujin is enjoying fucking you from behind with her hands on your shoulders so she can ram you in the animalistic and rough way that she loves so much, she notices that you’re enjoying this too much and won’t let it go, so she makes you match her position sitting on heels by taking one of your arms and pulling your body towards hers 👀

strong arms surrounding you as he hugs you from behind, pressing her chest against your back and fucking you in a way that only allowed you to babble and be mess of whines and breathy moans

“is this what you needed, unnie? are you always acting like a bitch because you weren’t getting a good fuck?” she slips an arm between the valley of your breasts, her hand closing around your throat with her fingers applying gentle pressure to your neck so you remember she is there, while her other arm goes down around your waist and holds a strong grip to press you against her body

but rei is the complete opposite. yujin can be all rough and dirty, but she is sweeter and softer, although part of it's so yujin doesn’t lose her mind so much and fuck you too stupid

“you shouldn’t be so cruel to unnie, yujin–ah. she can barely take it.” and rei slides her hand between your thighs, massaging your clit at a speed that drew a sigh from you due to how your bud was throbbing with need but at the same time it wasn’t something in your favor because you were beginning to feel more overstimulated and sensitive

and she lowers her face to your chest and takes a nipple in her mouth 🥴 just the sight of rei’s full lips and hot tongue could make you cum in less than a second

although rei has to kiss you to silence your moans because you were starting to get very noisy and they couldn’t risk being found by the staff or any company employee!! kissing you and muffling your noises with her lips and continues to play with your clit, while yujin is behind you fucking you like an animal and panting against your ear like a dog 😵

yujin cumming inside you at the same time you cum on her cock 💪🏻😋 although she doesn’t let you take a moment to catch your breath because she immediately immediately removes her cock from your pussy and rei stops holding you from the front, letting your limp body fall forward and rest exhausted on the ground, face down and hips slightly up just enough to see yujin’s seed slowly oozing out of your cunt and sliding down your thighs

and well, since that day, you know that when you get to the dorms you will always be assured of your dear leader fucking you to reward you for being an unnie who takes care of the whole group and relieve her own stress as a leader, and a bestie with whom you can scissor and kiss for hours and hours

[ha-youwish]

Rating the FFXV official minecraft skins

Of course ffxv has a fucking minecraft crossover, but since theres not really that many popular major characters they have made some.... interesting picks for this. let's take a look

the chocobros. the guys. yup. thats them. its hard to see gladio's nose so it kinda looks like his eyes are hella far from his mouth.

either way they all look gay as usual 10/10

ardyn's look here is a little less detailed than i'd want it to be. it doesnt capture the look of all the layers he wears (maybe it needs more contrast?). his mouth is so wide for what. also i want his hat. where is it.

give me the hat. 7.5/10

lots to talk about here. regis is looking pretty damn accurate. luna is a little bland, even with her normal clothes being white i feel like there could've been more detail. the rest of these capture the general vibe tho the level of detail is unequal smh. i like how cute iris's outfit is.

overall, luna 6/10, the rest 8/10.

i was lamenting the lack of tits on cindy but the wise @orangenuggets let me know its bc of the top surgery. 10/10

aranea, wedge, and biggs. i pretty much only remember aranea, and honestly there should be another version of her skin with the helmet that shit went hard. i like the hat on biggs, even though i had to double check which one he was oops. the helmet for wedge looks a little awkward it doesnt feel like he's a character here

10/10, for aranea and biggs, 7/10 for wedge

this is what i call the "why are you here" section. we have evil science guy, that one blond bitch who like immediately explodes and dies, the fucking nifflheim emperor, gilgamesh??? daemon ravus??? whoever the fuck this is???? why are you here. who wants to play as any of these guys except for like. ffxv minecraft roleplayers.

the skins are accurate i guess. 5/10

they decided to put some of the enemies from the game in here. as someone who hardly remembers any of them its similarly as "okay. why" to me as the last group. the tonberry is cute and kinda dinky looking. i really like the mindflayer design surprisingly... that def brings it up a point

overall 8/10 for these guys

MASCOTS YAY, these are all pretty cute and bulky, really gives off the costume feeling. the chocobo bigass beak is adorable i like it a lot 11/10

gentiana's design here actually goes way harder than i thought it would. she slays 20/10

now for the astrals! shiva is so blue. i need like 10 more of her thank you. 10/10

the god of being sososo mad at everyone. i think if there were more raised textures on the body it'd be cool ykwim? 9/10

its ramugh. if only you could remove the leg walking animation so he floats ominously. i suppose there's mods... 9/10

titan. his design was pretty simple already but somehow this doesnt look like him to me? am i crazy? 7/10

bahamut that stupid god that i hate. i hate how sick this looks. i hate him. 10/10

and last but not least.... the design that sucks the most......

LEVIATHAN. WHAT THAT THING. 10000000000000/10

i think the lesson to be learned here is that you can tell how good the original design is when you're forced to simplify it. and also dont make minecraft skins of an angry water snake thing.

[rocketbaby]

Heelloooo! I haven't ever really sent out a request of my own to any author so I'm not sure how it works wizhuejss but omgosh I love your writing so so much I cant help but atleast give it a chance yk :p

I was wondering if you could maybe write a bakugo x reader where the reader is an extremely girly girl and kinda like the total opposite of bakugo? Kinda like how his parents relationship is with mitski being all bash and loud and then theres masaru. I dont mind any scenario you have in mind whether its suggestive or not just have fun while you write it if you want to :p, that's all ty!

MHA master list

I hope it meets your expectations<3 I dunno exactly what you meant by extremly girly girl but I wrote what i thought of when you said that :( . Also please keep in mind I don't write for Kats that much so this is ass. I would say these are mostly some head cannons. Please excuse any grammar mistakes

trigger warning - vulgar words/swearing

Katsuki Bakugo x girly reader

Katsuki never thought he'd end up falling for a girl like you. He actually didn't think he'd fall for anyone at all but here we were.

You were such a sweetheart compared to his rough and mean personality. He honestly has no idea why you'd even like in the first place..when you guys had met he didn't like you at all.

Your personality and just you overall were the exact opposite of him which he hated back then. He told himself that if he'd end up dating someone it would be a person similar to him, with a tough personality and strong character..and then he met you.

It didn't take long for you both to fall in love. He started finding you somewhat cute and he cringed at that thought at first. He couldn't lie though, katsuki kinda liked how you dressed. You would mostly only wear cute,fancy outfits, usually containing of white/pink thigh warmers with a pretty little Skirt and a cute top. You'd also wear lots of accessories like bows, jewelery and more.

Most of the times you wear your outfits in warm,cute colors like red white pink yellow and maybe even light blue/baby blue. Well surprisingly, Katsuki caught a liking for it,for your outfits.

Head cannon that this man becomes a lover boy when he meets the right person

You love him and his personality too even though he's sometimes embarrassing you in public. You'd go out with him on dates and he would randomly start a fight with one of the waitress's there because he thought the food wasn't cooked properly.

You being a sweetheart,tried to calm him down and assure him that it's not the waitress's fault. Of course Katsuki didn't really listen,he made a scene there while the whole restaurant was staring and whispering.

Obviously,you tried interfering.

"Not now,babe. I need to have a talk with the dude who cooked this shit right here. It doesn't even look edible"

You didn't know what to do anymore and you could just stand back and look at him being a dumbass. He was so fuckin embarrassing.

"You expect us to eat this bull crap?! Even a seven year old kid could do better than this!"

"I came out here with my girl so we could enjoy a good meal and this is what we get? They should hire me,for fucks sake! I'll do the cooking!"

He has absolutely no shame.

This took you by surprise but you found out Katsuki loves to watch you do your make up. He often compliments you on it, alongside with your outfits. That's one of the main reasons why he loves taking you out, because he adores seeing you get all pretty for him.

"The makeup really fits you,love. And that little shit you put on your lips,that glossy thingy,it makes your lips look so much more kissable"

Another thing that he really loves about you is your voice. God it sounds so sweet and nice,he definitely forces you to whisper or talk to him while he falls asleep.

You just sound so feminine and that attracts him. He never thought he'd be into that.

It was so calming to him because his voice is rough and sounds mean. He's loud and vulgar and you with your voice are exactly the opposite,that's what makes it so special to him.

Also because he is a fuckin dumbass and a rude bitch, people are never being kind to him and they also speak poorly to him and about him, he's not used to anyone talking so sweetly..so when you did,he immediately fell in love even harder.

He'd lay his head on your chest, getting comfortable and he would just tap your forearm to get your attention properly.

"Mmh..I wanna go to sleep..do your thing baby, please"

You giggle, knowing what he wants. You were confused on why he'd find this so pleasing but it's not like you mind.

He falls asleep the next second. He can't stay up late,never. Not when he hears your pretty voice.

[nshmuras]

SWEATER.

where its definitely sweater weather, and of course he had one for you.

genre : fluff

pairing : nishimura riki x fem!reader

buns notes : i wanna wear a sweater but its too hot where i am... so if its cold in your state this is for you.

Summer had past and winter approached almost rapidly, you and riki suffered the most since you lived in the coldest part of Korea. so you can imagine how annoying it is.

Despite that riki had plans to take you out and really didn't mind being in the cold meanwhile you hated it.

But you pulled through since your boyfriend took his time planning to take you out to a restaurant.

You currently were dressed cutely, some articles of your outfit providing warmth but... you didn't have any sweaters.

Oh well! it couldn't be that cold right?

Wrong.

Now, you walked beside riki as his arm was around you.

Even if he was warm and fuzzy you still shivered slightly, and obviously since riki was a observant boyfriend he was already opening up his snapbag.

"Here." He abruptly pulled a sweater over your head that just so happened to match your outfit.

"Oh-... thanks nishi.." you sheepishly smiled in embarrassment but he just nodded and pat your head.

"It's turning into sweater weather yknow? be more mindful. you hate the cold.." He sighed and tried to act nonchalant.

But deep down he felt a pang of satisfaction knowing he helped you.

And you felt even more comfortable with him with you, oh and plus the sweater too i guess.

taglist : @wonsdoll @kairoot @mmygnolia @sojuvile @onlygarden @elysianiki

[pukefactory]

I LOVELOVELOVELOVE UR WRITING SM!!1! its so scrumptious /pos <33 could i please request shrimpo headcanons with a reader who is the complete opposite of him? they’re very sweet and kind and shrimpo is…shrimpo lmao. tysm if you can! :33

Thank you, anon! I’m glad you enjoy my writings. This is such a cute prompt, and it’s my first time writing Shrimpo, so I hope it meets your expectations!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི HELPLESS FOOLS ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

✦ Summary: A compilation of headcannons featuring Shrimpo and an overly sweet reader.

✦ Character(s): Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

✦ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

✦ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

♡ It’s probably obvious to say that Shrimpo absolutely despises showing affection and dislikes receiving it even more (or at least that’s what he pretends), but you don’t really give him much of a choice. No matter how often he pushes you away, you always return with the same unwavering determination. Your kindness is just as relentless as his disdain, which makes you two an oddly fitting pair.

♡ Initially, he bullied you more than he did most others, driven by your unwavering kindness toward him. He resorted to his usual antics—yelling, claiming to hate you, and both verbally and physically pushing you away—classic Shrimpo behavior. Despite his efforts to repel you, he soon realized that his usual tactics were ineffective. Reluctantly, he began to tolerate your presence, much to his frustration and your satisfaction.

♡ It’s no surprise that Shrimpo gets hurt frequently—almost daily, in fact. Whether it’s from fighting with other toons or simply stumbling into various accidents, he often ends up covered in bumps, bruises, and small cuts. Fortunately, you’re always there to patch him up. He’ll grumble and yell the entire time, of course, but he reluctantly allows you to apply bandages and bandaids wherever they’re needed. Amusingly, a few days later, he’ll return and demand that you remove them immediately which is likely his way of showing he trusts you with his care.

♡ Whenever you’re at risk of being harmed by a Twisted or any other threat, Shrimpo never hesitates to rush in, scoop you up, and lift you into the air while making a swift retreat. He shouts at you the entire time as he charges toward the nearest safe spot. However, the moment you reward his efforts with a quick kiss on the cheek, his demeanor shifts entirely. His iconic angry expression remains, but now it’s accompanied by a deep scarlet blush as he stomps his feet and marches off in flustered indignation.

♡ When he opts to trade his usual outfit for his Dark Spikes attire, you shower him with affectionate compliments, which quickly tests his patience. He’ll yell at you before storming off, but when you persist, continuing your praise, he’ll metaphorically cover his ears and scrunch his face in frustration, attempting to drown you out by shouting over your words. The only remarks he seems to accept without protest are when you call him “cool” or “awesome.”

♡ Shrimpo regularly creates chaotic messes, tossing and throwing things around for no apparent reason. He usually leaves the mess for the other toons to deal with, who understandably complain the entire time. Except for you, of course. Since he endures your over-the-top kindness so often, he makes an effort not to create too much of a mess when you’re around, just to avoid watching you clean it up with such relentless cheerfulness. However, when he inevitably does make a mess in your presence, he’ll surprisingly pitch in to help. “I’M THE BEST AT CLEANING! WHY ARE YOU EVEN TRYING?!” He’ll shout.

♡ If you attempt to hold his hand, he’ll immediately pull it away and shout that he hates hand-holding and doesn’t want to be touched. However, you persist despite his louder protests and attempts to shake you off. Eventually, he gives up and begrudgingly allows you to hold his hand whenever you like, all while muttering angrily under his breath. Over time, though, he starts grabbing your hand first and declares he hates not holding hands. I suppose that could be considered a victory.

♡ Hugging him was an enormous challenge at first. Whenever you wrapped him in a tight, affectionate hug, he’d scream and thrash like a child mid-tantrum. His relentless flailing made it nearly impossible to hold on, and he always managed to wriggle free within seconds. Did that deter you? Absolutely not! In fact, you started hugging him even more often. While Shrimpo still isn’t a fan of your embraces, he seems to tolerate them when he’s particularly overwhelmed with anger. At least now he has a reliable way to calm down, even if he never says it aloud.

♡ Shrimpo is incredibly picky about his food, despising most dishes and the toons who prepare them. Often, he won’t even consider trying something if he dislikes its appearance or smell. That is, of course, with one exception—your cooking. Initially, he refused to eat anything you made, but after sneaking a bite of the pancakes you prepared when you weren’t looking, he suddenly couldn’t get enough of them. You always decorate them with a whipped cream smiley face and a syrup heart around it. Though he grumbles and eats in a strangely aggressive, messy way, he secretly loves it. He even has a soft spot for the smiley face.

♡ One thing he truly despises is the ironic heart-shaped pattern on the back of his head, but you absolutely adore it. You often tease him about it, calling it adorable while lightly poking and prodding at it as he furiously shakes his head in a futile attempt to make you stop. He’s secretly relieved that you’re always behind him when you do this; he’d be mortified if you saw his flushed, blushing face.

[anticanonsposts]

König the ken doll

thinking about when König starts dating you, the little fashionista, who has their own sense of style, and lets you drag him to the mall even though he hates it there because there's too many people and he sticks out. but he guesses that with you by his side its not so bad really.

anyways, you take him into store after store, picking out different pieces and outfits for him to try on, he tries on every single one, because he just loves you so much

he's never been in a situation where all of the attention is on him...in a positive way

but there you stand every time he opens the fitting room doors, your eyes raking up and down his body, making him squirm under your gaze

he even does little spins for you so you can decide what things are best with a 360 view

once you had bought all of the purchases at every store (he paid for all of it bc it makes you happy and its for him anyways)

now anytime he wears one of the pieces or outfits you can't take your eyes off of him, sometimes you whistle at him as if you were a scummy man, always commenting on how good he looked. and his blushed face was so cute, the way even his nose would get so pink