#and not in the way i like to be chained up

[lostfracturess]

say it again — satoru gojo x f!reader

you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

You've managed to keep your marriage to Satoru Gojo under wraps for nearly two year now. It isn't that you're ashamed—far from it.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers simply comes with complications, especially given his clan's tendency to meddle in everything.

So you both agreed to keep it quiet. No flashy announcements, no public displays, just you and him. Sure, it means wearing your ring on a chain under your clothes and careful planning for your living arrangements, but it's worth it for the peace and quiet.

That is, until you slip up at the most mundane possible moment.

You're both at an official appointment regarding some property documentation. The clerk has been droning on about paperwork when she asks about your relationship to Satoru for the forms.

"Oh, he's my husband," you reply absently, still scanning the documents in front of you.

The scratching of Satoru's pen stops abruptly. You look up to find him staring at you with the most ridiculous expression—somewhere between absolutely delighted and utterly self-satisfied.

"What was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

You blink, realizing what you've just said. "I mean—"

"No, no, say it again." His eyes are practically shining now. "What am I to you?"

"Satoru," you warn, very aware of the confused clerk watching your exchange.

"Come on," he says, leaning closer. "One more time. What am I?"

"We're in public," you hiss, but you can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes at you in that ridiculous way of his. "For your beloved husband?"

"You're impossible," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Impossibly charming? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly perfect as your husband?"

The clerk clears her throat. "Should I... put down 'married' then?"

"Yes!" Satoru answers before you can. "Put down that I am this wonderful person's husband. Their spouse. Their better half. Their—"

"She gets it," you cut him off.

But Satoru isn't done. For the rest of the appointment, he manages to work the word "husband" into nearly every sentence. "As her husband, I think we should sign here." "My lovely spouse and I would like copies of that." "Do you need both myself and my better half to initial this?"

By the time you leave the office, you're ready to strangle him.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say as you walk to the car.

"Can you blame me?" He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "It's not every day I get to hear you call me your husband in public. Usually it's all 'this is Satoru' or 'we're together' or my personal favorite, 'yes, I do unfortunately know him.'"

You roll your eyes, but can't help leaning into him. "You know why we keep it quiet."

"I know, I know. The clan would be insufferable." He presses a kiss to your temple. "But maybe we should tell them anyway? Can you imagine their faces when they find out we've been married this whole time?"

"They'll have our heads for this."

"Perhaps. But you have to admit, the thought is tempting. No more sneaking around, no more hiding that ring." He catches your hand, thumb brushing over where your ring should be. "I want everyone to know exactly who you are to me. And what I am to you. What was it again?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Come on," he coaxes, "just say it once more."

You pretend to consider it. "And what do I get out of this?"

"My eternal love and devotion?" He gives you a long look. "And I'll do the dishes for a week."

"You're supposed to do those anyway," you point out, but he's already pulling you closer, that insufferable smirk of his growing wider.

"Say it again, love," he says, and the way he looks at you then—eyes soft and full of adoration—makes your breath catch in your throat.

All your defenses melt away under that gaze, the one he reserves just for you, the one that makes you forget why you ever try to deny him anything.

"Husband," you breathe, and feel him tense slightly against you.

"Just like that," he whispers. "Though I prefer when you add my name to it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"That's what I do best," he says. "Besides, my darling wife, I think you secretly love it when I am."

The way he says 'wife' sends a shiver down your spine—something you know he notices from the satisfied look in his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly yours," he corrects, and despite his playful tone, there's something sincere in his gaze. "What do you say? Ready to scandalize some elders?"

Looking at him now, you can't remember why you ever wanted to keep this secret. "With you? Always."

He doesn't wait for more, just leans in and captures your lips with his, and you think maybe going public isn't such a terrible idea after all.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[shawtuzi]

request: ‘Can you please write a Toji x (blk)fem reader smut but she like one of those earthy girls with all the waist chains/beads and he like obsessed with her style and all the jewelry she wears. boho/earthy girls don’t get enough love.’

i hear you anon and i see you so here you go <333

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: drug usage (weed), oral m receiving, unprotected sex, riding, slight pussyjob, toji likes her sm so a lot of praise, PUSSYDRUNK TOJI!!!, sex outdoors (no one can see them hehe), creampie, an ‘i like you’ confession bc i’ve been watching a lot of rom coms lately///not proofread sorry :(

‘it’s a lot of lust not a lot of love’

you hummed along to the song as you made out with toji, your tongue swirling against his. your bracelets jangled against your wrist as you tugged on his soft locs, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you did so. “slow down toji, s’no rush,” you mumbled against his lips, teeth biting down the tiniest bit on his bottom lip.

toji tried to distract himself by toying with your waist beads, but it just wasn’t working. between the two blunts you both shared, along with a couple sips of wine—courtesy of you, there was just no way you expected him to be in his right mind enough for him to go slow. “i don’t want to go slow though,” he groaned, grabbing a handful of your ass over your skirt.

you kissed your teeth, now pulling away from the pouting man. you pushed him down against the blanket you had crocheted yourself, your hands now resting on his pecs. “you’re so impatient you know that? need my pussy that bad hm?” you giggled cocking your head to the side. toji gulped, his eyes finding it hard to stay locked on yours. eye contact with you was always so intense.

“yes….yes i am impatient and yes i need your pussy that bad.”

you smiled at his words, now leaning down to give him a slow kiss. you kissed your way down his jaw, to his neck, and finally down his chest. “damn….you got this worked up over a little kissing?” you teased, cupping toji over his jeans, earning a deep groan from him. toji didn’t respond, instead he just gave you the finger, too fucked out already to even come up with a proper comeback.

toji hissed when he felt you finally undo the button to his jeans, his leaking dick now free from its confinements. “go slow m’feelin’ a little sensitive,” toji grumbled and all you did was laugh, taking his throbbing dick in your hands. you gave the tip a soft squeeze, licking your lips. “now you wanna go slow? that’s funny,” you snickered, bringing his dick to your mouth, suckling the tip softly.

you ran your tip along the underside of his dick, fighting the urge to laugh again when you felt toji buck his hips up. toji wanted so badly to just push your head down, but you had just gotten your hair done a few days prior and he’d hate to cause you any discomfort. it was your first time getting passion twists and he was absolutely enamored with the way you looked with them.

“deeper—please go deeper y/n,” toji finally lifted his head up, now making eye contact with you but he reallyyyyy wishes he hadn’t. the way you were looking at him with those low, red eyes; eyelashes fluttering shut each time you took more of him in your mouth had him wanting to bust right then and there. toji felt his face flush, cheeks burning hot at the way you looked at him like he was the most precious thing to ever grace this earth—which in his opinion he wasn’t, far from it honestly.

toji’s eyes rolled back when he felt his dick hit the back of your right throat. “mmph fuck yeah—that’s that shit,” he groaned, bringing his hand to rest on the crown of your head. he didn’t grip it or apply any pressure, he just sat there and let you do what do best—suck the soul outta him.

the wind began to pick up, giving toji’s flaming cheeks a nice breeze to cool off. you made him so…so…beside himself. i mean for god sakes you had him fucking in the middle of a field of flowers, blazed out of his mind—it’s safe to say the grip you had on him was the most annoying shit ever.

“keep sucking me like that baby, f-fuck, take it deeper. be a good girl and take it deeper f’me,” you listened without protest, taking the last few inches of him in your mouth. toji was beyond fucked out, praises flying past his lips left n right and it only egged you on to turn him into even bigger pile of mush than he already was.

you pulled off of his dick with lewd pop! now paying attention to his swollen balls. toji’s body jerked, his heavy hand gripping onto your shoulder. “w—hah! w-wait y/n,” toji hissed, his jaw clenching impossibly tight. you lifted your head up, puffing air through your cheeks.

“i’m sorry i—”

“just shush toji.”

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before crawling up toji’s body, your lower half hovering over his twitching dick. you pushed toji down gently by his shoulders, humming to yourself at just how damn good he looked beneath you.

“you’re fuckin’ unreal,” toji sounded damn near breathless as he said it, his chest puffing up with each deep breath. his hand reached up to tug down your olive green, cropped tube top; his rough hands immediately latching onto your breasts.

“you really mean that or you jus’ fucked up?” you knew he meant it with all his heart, you just wanted to hear him say it. you blindly reached for the end of your skirt, tugging the soft material up your thighs. just as you pressed your panty clad pussy against toji’s dick he whispered the three words ‘i mean it’ in your ear, his teeth nibbling at your lobe.

the words ‘i like you’ were sitting so heavy on his tongue but he just couldn’t find the courage to tell you how he felt.

toji—a grown ass thirty four year old man who’s literally served time in the slammer was scared to tell you, a twenty something year old woman who was the literal embodiment of a fawn how he felt about you. what a joke.

“what are you thinking about?” you spoke softly, running your thumb over the stubble on toji’s jaw. toji shook his head, bringing his rough hands to your petal soft love handles.

“s’nothin.”

“liar.”

“i said it’s nothing.”

your breath hitched, mouth dropping open slightly at the feeling of toji’s dick pressed against your bare pussy. he felt so hot and soft against you and toji could certainly say the same thing about you. with one harsh tug toji ripped your thong off, tossing the semi soaked material to the side. you rlly should’ve known better with that one—toji hates whenever things are in his way.

“you’re such a liar toji,” your laugh was breathless as you began to slowly grind your pussy against toji’s dick. he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his brows furrowing in annoyance but mostly pleasure. he was already so close it was so fucking embarrassing. pre dripped from his throbbing tip and onto his clenching abs, creating an even bigger mess between the two of you.

toji bucked his up, puffing air through his cheeks to silently tell you he was more than ready for you. you gave him a small smile, your tooth gems glistening in the afternoon sun. “can i confess something toji?” you asked, lifting yourself up to balance your weight on your feet. you grabbed toji’s dick, swiping his tip between your folds before slowly inserting it.

you both gasped in unison, toji’s eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped his cock. “w-what do you need to confess you fu—hucking brat,” he growled, his fingernails digging in the soft flesh of your thighs. in one swift movement you sat all the down, toji’s balls now pressed snugly against your backside.

“i really, really like hanging out with you toji,” your voice was a little high pitched, rightfully so because you practically feel the trembling man below you in your stomach. you pressed your hands against toji’s chest, bouncing on his dick like your life depended on it.

you brushed a stray hair out of toji’s face, cradling his jaw in your palm that still smelled of the shea butter you applied before your outing. “you like hanging out with me too toji? you like me?” your tone was coming off a tad desperate but you could’ve cared less. toji’s adam’s apple bobbed, a pathetic whine bubbling in his throat.

“yes.”

“yes what?”

toji wrapped his arms around your waist, his feet planting into the ground before fucking up into you. “yes i fucking l-like you y/n, could you not—shit! fucking tell? jesus christ your pussy is so good,” toji couldn’t help the drool that slipped past his lips, it was impossible to keep his mouth shut at this point. your hands found themselves in toji’s hair, tugging roughly at the soft strands.

“i knew you did i just wanted to hear you say it. i like you too toji.”

i like you too toji.

toji halted his movements, his dick now in you to the hilt. you suddenly felt a warm sensation in your lower half and knew immediately that toji was in the process of cumming. you circled your hips as best as you could, milking him for all he was worth.

“hah f-fucking shit i can’t stop fucking cumminggg,” he groaned, burying his face in your sweet smelling neck; the scent of vanilla and caramel had him feeling more dizzy than he already was.

after giving toji a few minutes to catch his breath you sat up, his dick still sheathed inside of you. “look how messy,” you spread your lips, giving toji a mouthwatering view of your overly stuffed pussy. toji licked his lips, reaching over to down the rest of the wine that was in your abandoned glass.

“lemme clean you up.”

[cheolism]

CREATURES OF DESIRE.

✰ — choi seungcheol x yoon jeonghan x f!reader ✷ — summary: a scene between you, your advisor, and bodyguard. ✰ — wc is approx. 4k ✷ — tropes: royalty au; princess x bodyguard, princess x advisor; forbidden relationship; (blank)-with-benefits. ✰ — warnings: member x member x reader, threesome; undefined relationship. degradation kinks (cheol x hannie); praise kinks (cheol/hannie x reader), corruption and innocence kinks. blowjob (cheol receiving); anal (hannie receiving); oral sex, fingering (reader receiving). breeding kink (one mention). bickering (use of: brute, bitch, etc between cheol n hannie); adoration (use of sweet thing, precious, etc towards reader). strong influences of societal standards concerning female virginity. ✷ — rating: mature, nsfw; mdni. ✰ — note: this, to me, moreso reads as a snippet to a series, or a larger work, rather than a simple stand-alone. as such, if there is interest, i am willing to explore this story further. if you reach the end of the story and like it and are interested in seeing more, please let me know. there is outright gay sex between cheol and hannie in this, so if you don't like it please don't read it. thank you @seokgyuu for looking this over. this is a product of conversations between @wonustars, @hannieween, and @okiedokrie. tagging @shinysobi, @nebulousbrainsoup, @yuncheoligans, and @kwanisms bc you expressed interest once and i'm a slut for attention. apologies for the chunky warnings and note.

“there you go princess,” jeonghan coos, fingers tangling into your hair. his voice is deep, or as deep as jeonghan’s voice could go, and silky; it settles against your skin like a thin sheet, cloaking you in a soft, airy space. 

his fingers tighten their grip on your hair. you try to be good for him, try to let jeonghan take complete control. his fingers trail along your shoulder, slide underneath the silver chain of your necklace, and then he’s pressing your head forward. 

“good girl,” he hums, his free hand going to wipe a cheer from your cheek. “take cheolie’s cock like a good girl, princess.”

you’re doing your best. it’s just so hard. you’ve warmed up over the weeks with hannie’s cock, testing the waters with jeonghan’s smaller dick. it had been, admittedly, hard. you were applauded for your chastity, and in fact it was your selling point, what had so many suitors clamoring for your virgin hand in marriage. you had done nothing remotely like this before.

and you wanted to learn. for the last few years jeonghan and seungcheol had devoted themselevs to you. not only officially, but personally. you don’t know how many times you’ve had their fingers or tongues lapping at your pussy. but you wanted more. you wanted to do more than just dip your toes into the pool of desire. you wanted to completely submerge yourself. 

jeonghan had cooed and cupped your face in his hands when you came to him, pouting and begging for him to teach you how to suck cock. 

“sweet girl,” he had said, your advisor pressing a kiss to your hairline. “we’ll start easy.”

jeonghan’s cock, while smaller than seungcheol’s, still was not “easy.” seungcheol had helped ground you as you slowly, torturously, tried to take more and more of jeonghan’s cock with every passing week. he had settle heavy hands over your body as you tried to take jeonghan’s dick, words sweetly encouraging. from simply suckling on the tip to swallow around jeonghan’s length they had guided you, though seungcheol more than jeonghan. 

“he likes it when you choke on it,” seungcheol had murmured, nipping at your earlobe, “because he’s mean like that.” 

and you had choked on it. you couldn’t even get a fourth of the way without gagging at first. eventually, though, you were able to swallow down jeonghan’s dick until your nose was pressing against the base of his dick. you were able to let jeonghan fuck your mouth, though only if he were gentle. seungcheol had to guide him then, standing behind jeonghan with his hand’s on the younger man’s hips, rolling them forward and delivering sharp smacks to jeonghan’s ass every time jeonghan tried to fuck his dick deeper. 

you had been able to feel jeonghan’s cockhead press to the back of your throat and swallow around it; had been able to take it as jeonghan rocked his hips, dick slipping in and out of your mouth. 

but that was jeonghan’s dick; this was seungcheol’s. 

when jeonghan had untucked seungcheol’s dick from his trousers, you had, rather justifiably in your opinion, gawked. seungcheol’s dick is thick and long, and jeonghan had praised it as he fucked seungcheol’s cock with his fist. 

“get some of the lust out of him,” jeonghan said, throwing you a smile. “he gets rather pent up really easily. we don’t want him bruising that pretty little throat of yours when the american delegation is arriving in a few days.”

now, on your knees with your mouth stretched impossibly wide – again, in your opinion – and barely able to do anything other than suck at his cockhead, you can’t help but think your throat will end up bruised regardless of method. 

seungcheol’s hands were clutching at the underside of the fainting couch. his breathing was raggedly and loud, just as yours is. you try to look up at him from underneath your lashes, but then jeonghan shifts your head forward again, forcing more of seungcheol’s dick into your mouth, and you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut. 

his cockhead rests heavily on your tongue. you have perhaps a quarter of it in your mouth. it’s just – his dick is so incredibly thick and your lips hurt at the corners from where it forces your mouth to stretch wide. 

“fuck,” seungcheol hisses out. his hand goes to your hair. seungcheol barely manages to scrape his nails against your scalp before jeonghan’s hand is shooting out and grabbing his wrist, forcing seungcheol’s hand back to the seat.

“hands off the princess,” jeonghan scolds, “and use proper language. you’re trying to help her suck dick, not taint her mind with your brutish language.”

you want to remind jeonghan that you’ve been tainted every since jeonghan asked you three years ago if you needed help taking the edge off before the gala intended to honor your promotion to heir apparent; that he was the one who introduced carnal desire, that he was the first one to ever press his face to your – your pussy and lick at the juices that spilled there. 

but he knows this. 

you peak up at seungcheol. he’s glaring at jeonghan, thick brows furrowed. seungcheol seems to feel the weight of your gaze upon him. he looks down, big brown eyes meeting yours. 

immediately, and not coincidentally, a thick pearl of precum hits your tongue. he groans. you can’t help but swallow around his cockhead, tongue pressing against his dick as you try to swallow the pre on your tongue. 

seungcheol’s hips fuck forward in response. his dick is suddenly shoving further into your throat than you had anticipated, fat cockhead striking the back of your throat. 

you choke and gag, fat tears springing to your eyes. seungcheol curses; jeonghan shoves him back, seungcheol’s dick forced from your mouth.

“you idiot,” jeonghan hisses. you cough as jeonghan kneels beside you, one of his hands sweetly cupping the back of your neck while his other wipes at your tears. “don’t cry, sweet princess. it’s okay. ignore that beast. he just can’t help himself.”

“shut up.” seungcheol joins jeonghan on the floor. his brows are furrowed, eyes shining with concern. jeonghan, for all of his animosity, allows seungcheol to gather you into his arms. “i apologize, princess. i should have had more control over myself.”

“yes, you should.” 

seungcheol ignores jeonghan. instead he begins pressing sweet, gentle kisses to your face. you adjust yourself so he can kiss your face easily, and he does so. his kisses are light and you bask in them. 

he hesitates before your mouth. kissing is not prohibited. but it’s difficult.

you make the decision for seungcheol. you straighten in his hold, pressing your mouth to his. 

the kiss is chaste. the smack of your lips against his makes you flush. seungcheol pulls away after a quick second. kissing is so difficult between the three of you, or perhaps more accurately between you and your men, because it was always chaste and quick. they never nipped at your lips or slipped their tongues inside of your mouth; never allowed themselves to pour passion and desire into the kiss. you don’t know how they are able to seperate themselves from their lust. you, after all, are a creature of desire now; it is because of this you chase after seungcheol when he pulls away, trying to catch his mouth. 

seungcheol laughs, lifting his chin and turning his face from you. “can’t do that, princess,” he says. “i won’t be able to stop if you do.”

you pout at him. you don’t want him to stop. you never want either of them to stop. they stood behind you as an advisor and member of your personal guard. they kneeled before you in closed rooms, kisses to your neck and thighs and pussy. if you were a creature of desire, they were creatures of lust and corruption. they were the snake that sang in eve’s ear to take a bite of the apple, and now that you had devoured that apple whole you can’t help but want more and more and more. 

you don’t want them to stop. you never want to stop. 

“she’s been such a good girl,” jeonghan says, turning your head from seungcheol. jeonghan, too, presses a chaste kiss to your mouth. “we need to reward her.”

“i didn’t get to pleasure him thoroughly,” you protest. 

jeonghan frowns at you, as if you were a petulant child begging for sweets. he cups your cheeks. “you did well enough,” jeonghan announces. “and you did your best. that deserves rewarding, sweet girl.”

“but seungcheol –”

jeonghan sighs, as if you were impressing something severe and torturous upon him. “fine,” he says. “seungcheol may find his pleasure in me. i shall pleasure you, princess. this is more than the animal deserves.”

jeonghan helps you stand. despite the fact they never had you kneel without using a cushion, your knees still ached and legs protested. jeonghan cooed at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“up on the bed, princess,” seungcheol softly commands. he offers his hand to you despite the fact the bed – not your bed, for neither were willing to disrespect your virginal bed – was a mere few feet away. seungcheol leads you to the bed, helps you climb upon it. 

“to the head,” he says. 

you do as he says, feeling ridiculous as you climb to the head of the bed, knees catching the fabric of your dress. you huff and yank, and when you finally settle with your back against the elaborate wooden headboard it is to the sight of seungcheol devouring jeonghan. 

it’s horrid, you think faintly, at how wet the sight makes you. 

seungcheol is rough with jeonghan. he grabs at jeonghan, hands greedy and powerful. his mouth is insistent upon jeonghan’s, tongue dominating jeonghan’s mouth and refusing to allow jeonghan do anything other than whimper. one of seungcheol’s hands goes to jeonghan’s trousers, and then he’s yanking them down and revealing the pale skin of jeonghan’s legs.

seungcheol grabs a fistful of jeonghan’s black hair. he pulls jeonghan from him, and then he’s moving both hands to jeonghan’s waist to throw him onto the bed. 

“climb,” he says. 

jeonghan does as seungcheol says. he’s smirking when he meets your eyes, a devilish curl at his lips. 

“please kneel, princess,” seungcheol instructs.

you do as he says. 

jeonghan lays before you, his clever hands quick to shove down his trousers. he kicks them over the side of the bed. his dick is hard, erection making it curve prettily up towards his stomach. 

the bed dips under seungcheol’s weight. he has rid himself entirely of his clothing. his shoulders are broad and the outline of his chest curves gently, his dark nipples stark against his skin. his dick, just as jeonghan’s is erect. you marvel at it despite having had it – well, some part of it – in your mouth minutes ago. it’s big and, though you’ve only seen one other dick in your life, impressive. 

seungcheol braces himself against the bed, and you watch, mouth dry and pussy wet, as the muscles in his biceps bulge. 

jeonghan snorts. “arrogant show-off.”

seungcheol raises a thick brow, and then he’s climbing onto the bed. you watch, breathless, as seungcheol keeps his eyes locked on jeonghan’s. he looms over jeonghan, imposing. 

in another world, you think, he would be king. seungcheol commands a room better than any other; better than yourself, a blue-blooded royal. he is all authority. his body is thick with it, but more than that there is something about seungcheol’s soul that seems to radiate pure golden power.

you could bow to him. he wouldn’t dare ask of it – no one would without repercussions – but you would do it. 

seungcheol’s hands go to jeonghan’s knees. he tries to peel jeonghan’s thighs apart. jeonghan fights, laughing. seungcheol huffs. “don’t be a fucking bitch,” he says. 

“language,” jeonghan returns, letting seungcheol pry his legs apart. 

you wish – you try to swallow back these thoughts as if they were a particularly repugnant vegetable offered by a foreign dignitary – that you could be like them. you could offer all your gold and silver and silk and lands, and none of it would matter. you could never be like them. you were born to a life that forced you to be suspended above all others; to walk on roads glittering with emeralds and diamonds. expectations had to be upheld regardless of how you hungered. 

you wish you could take your desire as liberally as they did. how your cunt throbbed for this wish. you wish it was you parting your thighs for seungcheol; you beneath jeonghan. you imagine seungcheol between your thighs and jeonghan pressing his cock to your lips. 

you wouldn’t be able to take both, wouldn’t be able to handle jeonghan’s dick in your mouth while seungcheol’s was in your pussy. but you would try; could try; want to. 

jeonghan groans loudly and wantonly as seungcheol fucks his cock into jeonghan, the jade plug that so often was within jeonghan’s ass discarded onto the bed. jeonghan’s back arches off the bed, and you watch, completely entranced, as seungcheol’s cock sinks deeper and deeper within your advisor. 

jeonghan’s hand shoots out. he grabs at the fabric of your dress. you lean down and hold his fingers, jeonghan’s hand twisting to lace his lean fingers with yours and squeeze. 

“brute,” jeonghan gasps. “absolute beast –”

“shut up,” seungcheol bites. your pussy throbs with this selfish, horrid want as seungcheol draws his hips back. you can see the dark flesh of his dick as he does so, can hear the lewd squelching of the lube in jeonghan’s ass as seungcheol removes himself. 

seungcheol fucks back in. 

jeonghan moans, brows pinched together and mouth ajar. 

seungcheol thrusts roughly a handful of times before stilling, slapping his hand against jeonghan’s thigh. “take care of the princess’s pleasure, you selfish creature.”

“if you’d stop brutalizing me,” jeonghan retorts. 

“one of these days i will fuck you beyond the power of speech,” seungcheol says. 

“that would require you to be good at it,” jeonghan bites. he looks up at you, smiling despite himself. he releases your hand, grabbing at your dress. “lift your skirts for me, sweetheart. you need to mount my face.”

you blink down at him. you don’t quite understand. “mount your face . . . ?”

“imagine him an animal,” seungcheol clarifies. “that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“kneel around my head,” jeonghan says, ignoring seungcheol. “and i will pleasure you.”

confused, you do as he says. you bunch your skirts around your waist and awkwardly shuffle to kneel around jeonghan’s head. 

jeonghan’s hands slip underneath your skirts. you can feel his palms, warm and light, skim over your skin. he smooths them up your legs and kneels and thighs. they settle on your thighs, thumbs digging into the inner flesh. he parts your legs. 

then jeonghan is raising his arms, shoving the fabric of your skirts up further. he wraps his arms around your waist, and then he’s pulling you down. 

you let out a startled yelp, falling. you catch yourself on his chest. “jeonghan!” you curl your hands against his shirt, lifting your hips up off of him. “i will crush you!”

“good,” seungcheol says. 

“you won’t.” jeonghan’s voice is slightly muffled. you can feel his hot breath against your pussy and you realize just exactly what is about to happen. 

“if only you weren’t wearing your skirts,” jeonghan announces, “then i might see your pretty pussy.”

you gasp. jeonghan thrusts his tongue between the lips of your pussy, and then he is licking a broad stripe up your cunt. 

the surprised noise that leaves you is horribly loud against the quiet of the room. jeonghan licks at your cunt, and the warmth you have come to associate with carnal desire seeping into your soul begins to thicken. 

“you –” his tongue is clever and quick, licking from your clit to your hole and repeating. you want to speak, to protest. but his arms are tight around your middle, keeping you from moving away, and his tongue forbids any real speech. 

then jeonghan suckles at your clit. your knees weaken, and you slump against him further. 

you can’t see jeonghan, but you can most certainly hear him. the noises are absolutely lewd. they don’t belong here, you think, aren’t meant to be heard by your ears. the sounds are slick and loud and your pussy only seems to react positively. you can feel more fluid leak from your cunt, can hear jeonghan slurp against your pussy as he swallows it up. 

jeonghan’s body jerks beneath you. you gasp out, looking up. 

seungcheol is slowly fucking jeonghan. his hips are rolling forward. he isn’t fucking with abandon, but instead obviously taking his time, relishing in the sight before him. 

seungcheol smiles when your eyes meet. “how pretty you are,” he says. “our pretty princess.”

you open your mouth to speak but are cut off with a squeal. jeonghan is suckling at your clit, quick, sharp movements of his mouth. one of his fingers thrusts within your cunt, aimed the front of your body and striking that stretch of muscle that always sends a tingling sensation across your groin. the intrusion of his single finger isn’t so much, the slender digit spurring the hungry, all-consuming desire within you, making you want more.

“and how pretty you sound,” seungcheol chuckles. he fucks jeonghan aimlessly, unconcerned. “our sweet princess with her pretty little mouth and noises. always knew you’d sound sweet, princess.”

you furrow your brow. jeonghan pulls his finger from your cunt. he circles two of his fingers around your hole, relaxing the muscle, and then he’s sliding both of them inside. 

your lips part in a soundless moan. his two fingers burn considerably more than his single finger. it’s a sharp, burning, but not entirely uncomfortable pain as your hole stretches to accommodate the stretch. you can’t help but clench down on his fingers. your pussy gushes around them, and you feel blood flush to your face as the lewd noise. you duck your head, pressing your face against the fabric of jeonghan’s shirt. 

“how fucking precious,” seungcheol says. “hiding like that. how cute you are. how sweet.”

jeonghan pulls from your cunt with a slick noise that sends another gush of fluid from your pussy. “such a wanton little princess,” he says. you clench around his fingers again. “it’s cute how she reacts.”

“makes me want to fuck her,” seungcheol agrees. 

“could,” you gasp out, nose pressing against jeonghan’s navel through his shirt. “want you to. want you to – to fuck me.”

seungcheol curses, loud against the room. he begins fucking jeonghan with earnest. even if you couldn’t see seungcheol’s dick disappearing and reappearing inside of jeonghan’s ass, you could feel it with how every single thrust impacted jeonghan’s body. 

jeonghan’s mouth is forced from your cunt in favor of whining. his voice is high as he does, though still not loud. the sound of seungcheol’s hips slapping against jeonghan’s ass is decisively louder. 

seungcheol is – well – he’s fucking jeonghan like, you think, he’s desperate. he’s quick and harsh. 

“want you to fuck me like that,” you say, each word spilling from your mouth without you realizing it. immediately you feel blood rush to your face and fluid gush from your cunt. 

jeonghan moans against your cunt. seungcheol groans, and then his hand is darting out to tangle in your hair. the tips of your fingers dig into your scalp as he brings your face up and towards him, and then –

and then he’s kissing you. it’s not like any of the chaste kisses you have become accustomed to throughout the relationship between you, jeonghan and him. it’s – it’s like he’s trying to devour you, as he had with jeonghan earlier. his mouth is insistent, his tongue pushing through your lips. 

you instinctively try to close your mouth. you’ve never been kissed like this before. it’s – it’s bizarre, and you don’t know how to react. seungcheol growls, this low, devilish thing deep within him. his hand moves from your hair to your jaw, thumb hooking between your lips. seungcheol forces your mouth open so he can push his tongue back in, laying claim. 

they’re kissing you on both ends, you realize. seungcheol is claiming your mouth, jeonghan your cunt. 

you can’t think much after that. seungcheol spills inside of jeonghan, his kisses becoming less ravaging and more sure and stern. 

jeonghan whines. seungcheol exchales a laugh against your mouth. “make the princess cum first,” he commands, “and then i’ll think about you.”

jeonghan mumbles something against your pussy, but then he’s focusing on licking at your cunt again. he teases and sucks and presses against your clit, those warm sparks spreading through your groin. you can’t decide whether to chase the sparks or squirm away from them. 

seungcheol shifts, and then his hands are on your shoulders. he’s moving you, gentle. you whine as jeonghan is separated from your pussy, but allow seungcheol to continue. 

he settles you against the bed. he grabs a pillow, and as he does, you glance over at jeonghan. the other man’s chest is heaving as he fights to catch his breath. his face, you notice is utterly drenched. 

seungcheol lifts your lower half to settle the pillow beneath your hips. “have to do everything myself,” he says, pushing your skirt up. 

seungcheol spreads your knees apart, giving him a view of your fluttering pussy. he hums. “seems like he did a good enough job. unexpected.”

jeonghan exhales a curse. 

the man before you ignores this. instead he focuses on your pussy. seungcheol gives your pussy a sharp, though not painful, slap with the flat of his hand. you jump beneath him, gasping. 

“won’t take much to get you to cum,” seungcheol either observes or promises. 

then his fingers, far thicker than jeonghan’s, are pressing against your clit. immediately you are bucking up into them, trying to rub your clit against his digits and force stimulation. 

“how desperate you are,” seungcheol says. “i think i could really fuck you like this. bet i’d just slip in.”

“please,” you sob out. 

“you know i can’t,” seungcheol replies, voice gentle and apologetic. 

he slips his fingers on either side of your clit. he rubs at the muscle, and you imagine the sparks of electricity shooting through your body at the sensation. you always focus on the muscle on either side of your clit when pleasuring yourself, and it’s like seungcheol knows this. he rubs against it, hand heavy, words coated in silk and silver escaping from his plush lips. 

“so beautiful,” he praises you. “always so fucking beautiful. i can’t stand it. wanna ruin ‘n worship you. would you let me, you precious little thing? let me fuck you? would you sit on my cock like a throne, princess? let me fuck you and spill in you and make you heavy with babies?”

it’s like a rug being pulled from underneath you, or perhaps like falling. it’s sharp and dramatic as your orgasm rips through you, loud and demanding. you can’t think, can only feel, and even this is overwhelming. seemingly every part of your body tenses as your orgasm causes you to plummet, and you go blind with it. 

when you come to, you’re surrounded by jeonghan and seungcheol. seungcheol is nosing against your neck, humming and wrapped around you. jeonghan is completely nude, shirt discarded and dick flaccid. he is kissing at your jaw, sweet and lazy. 

“hannie,” you call out. 

“no sweeter sound has fallen from mortal lips,” he teases, pressing a final kiss to the hinge of your jaw. 

you whine. seungcheol laughs against your neck. “don’t tease our princess,” he says, though any bite has vanished from his voice. 

“our princess teases me,” jeonghan claims. he pouts back at you. “kissing seungcheol like that. you’ve never kissed me as he did you.”

you roll your eyes at him. you shift, sliding your hand into his long hair and tugging. 

jeonghan’s mouth meets yours easily, and you can’t help but hum as his tongue presses against the seal of your lips. you thought about teasing him, about pressing your lips firm and refusing him access within. 

but then you thought of your cunt, and how neither seungcheol or jeonghan would fuck it; how empty you were, how desperately you wished to be marked inside-out. it couldn’t happen; wouldn’t happen. no matter how much you lusted and desired there were lines that would not be crossed. 

you were a creature of rabid desire, only to be denied your hunger. you had to take what you could, what was offered. 

and so you let jeonghan lick into your mouth and seungcheol grab at your hips from behind you, settling into their touch. 

like what you read and want some more? send the author some support!

[xinganhao]

🔄 svt x reverse tropes.

✩ reversal of popular tropes, most of which are based on this post! established relationships, breakups, angst [if you squint], crack -ish, fluff, cussing. drabbles under the cut.

🔄 uno reverse card .ᐟ

seungcheol & mafia boss kidnaps you accidentally kidnapping the mafia boss.

seungcheol isn't really sure how he ended up in this situation. the cool metal of the chains feel foreign on his ankles, and he briefly considers trying to break through them himself. what kind of 'kidnapper' lost the key to their cuffs? he can only watch, exasperated, as you google how to pick a lock with a hairpin. you're sweating buckets. he finds it just a teensy bit amusing. "don't worry. i'll spare your life," he drawls as he leans back to watch you fret. "but only if you get me out in fifteen minutes. otherwise… well. that's debatable."

jeonghan & fake relationship breakup.

what was supposed to be an april fool's prank has ended the relationship that jeonghan never thought he'd be without. that isn't to say he hated you. god, no. if anything, he's convinced he'll love you to his grave. it's just— a different kind of love, he concedes, as the two of you hold hands underneath the table. mingyu jeers something about the breakup being a joke, and jeonghan shakes his head. "it's as real as they come," he announces. the two of you glance at each other when nobody's looking. it'll be your little secret, it seems.

joshua & marriage divorce of convenience.

it's a question of assets and inheritance, the whole reason why you and joshua have to 'divorce' in the first place. he's been incredibly vocal about his distaste— the thought of being away for you for ever a moment is ludicrous— but he'll grin and bear it, if it means the two of you can live a cushy life when you retire. still, he frowns as you sign off on the papers. he focuses on the promise of a second wedding. "i want a hundred guests." he wraps his arms around you from behind. "and a chocolate fondue. please."

junhui & there's only one bed there's too many beds.

how the hell did jun miss the fact that the listing said 7 beds, not 1? he'd tried so hard to orchestrate a little forced proximity moment with you, only to fail spectacularly. he lays on the top bunk of the double deck, staring at the ceiling, as he contemplates his life choices. you're still giggling in the bunk below him. "oh, shut up," he grumbles, though there's a hint of a fond grin on his face. maybe tomorrow night, he thinks, he'll recommend a horror movie. that way, you might ignore all the other beds and crawl into his.

soonyoung & miscommunication too much communication.

it's a little too hard to keep up with the string of confessions bursting out of soonyoung. the whiplash is dizzying, how he's going from talking about the way he felt when he first saw you, the crush that's been festering for weeks, the dream he had of you last night— and, oh, now he's on his knees. "soonyoung, please get up," you urge, horrified, but he stays on the ground. "isn't honesty the best policy?" he asks, eyes blown wide with overwhelming sincerity as he looks up at you. "c'mon, give me a shot! please, please, please!"

wonwoo & 'academic' rivals (except you're both teachers).

there's no way that you're the top class of the month. wonwoo has half a mind to march up to the principal's office and demand a recount. his eyes narrow in response to your smug smile— one that he'll wipe off your face if his life depends on it. "don't get cocky," he warns you below his breath. in his mind, he's already envisioning how he and his students can knock you off the leader board. this was not going to stand. "i'll get you next time," he says, and it sounds more like a threat than a challenge.

jihoon & fake dating everyone is convinced we're not dating.

this will definitely prove it, jihoon thinks to himself as he leans in to kiss you in lieu of a greeting. you let out a surprised hum against his lips but you melt right against him, your hand resting over his chest. for a moment, a stunned sort of silence befalls the room. jihoon pulls away with a dazed, almost smug sort of grin, only for his smile to falter when soonyoung loudly says, "wow. you guys are, like, dedicated to this bit, huh?" jihoon is convinced he's going to throw himself out of a window if this keeps happening.

seokmin & mean guy who's only nice to you nice guy who's only mean to you.

seokmin doesn't know how to explain it, but you bring out the worst in him. everything about your existence seems to just vex him, from your pretty smile to your bright laugh. he's generous in doling out grins and pulling out the charm for everyone else; when you're around, though, it takes a tremendous amount of effort to be normal. you're feet away from him, interacting with someone else, and it's grinds on his nerves. in the corner of his eye, he sees you giggle; something crawls underneath his skin. so annoying, he thinks. laughing with someone that isn't me.

mingyu & cuddling for warmth too warm to cuddle.

it's been four days, twelve hours, and twenty-six minutes since mingyu last cuddled with you. the two of you are sweating right into your sheets, the infertile summer heat made doubly unbearable with the fact the air conditioner is busted. "can't we just cuddle for a little bit?" mingyu begs, his sleeveless shirt clinging to his skin with every small move. he shifts on the bed to glance at you, a pout firmly set on his handsome face. "i'll run us both an ice bath afterwards, i swear. but i'll die if i don't get to hold you tonight, love."

minghao & fake amnesia.

"except for the amnesia?!" "i know! i know!" minghao screeches, uncharacteristically panicked as he meets junhui's disbelieving gaze. "i— i panicked okay?! it's not my best work!" minghao hadn't known what to say, really. it wasn't everyday that you ran into the one who got away while grocery shopping. he'll be damned if he's dragged right back down under, so he had let out a little white lie of having memory loss. "god," minghao groans, running a hand over his face in frustration. "i need to start googling what webmd has to say about amnesia…"

seungkwan & dating your best friend's enemy's sibling.

this is seungkwan's favorite place in the world: the railing of your balcony, waiting for you to look his way. it might be easier to date if your brother didn't hate his guts, but seungkwan's more than willing to make a couple of concessions. you've made a romantic out of him, it seems, because now he can only think of shakespeare whenever you come to sneak him into you room. the sight of you puts an easy, almost giddy grin on his face. "my lady," he coos, quoting romeo and juliet because he knows it will make you laugh. "my love."

vernon & love hate at first sight.

vernon has never been a believer in reincarnation. that is, until he met you. he's convinced the two of you have met in some past life— how else to explain the immediate hatred he has for you, the moment he laid his eyes on you? it's an undeniable, searing kind of loathing, almost laughable in its intensity. no person should be allowed to feel this passionately about someone. and yet here he is, his typically cool demeanor cracking like ice in the face of your fire. you have him melting for you, in more ways than one.

chan & true love's hate's kiss.

"let's make this quick," chan snipes, even though he's in no position to be making demands when he's the one calling in a favor. you shoot him a withering glare but you comply all the same, because he promised he'd owe you absolutely anything after this. a stupid true hate's kiss. chan squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the worst smooch in the world— only to be jolted by the soft press of your mouth against his. you taste… sweet. huh. when you pull back, your part of the deal fulfilled, chan instinctively leans forward, chasing your lips.

[topoillogical]

I'm really not at all convinced that this is a wise risk assessment. Firstly, you yourself admit that the person on the street could have a condition that means your drinking is fatal to them. Are you stalking all your victims to check for anemia or other medical conditions before attacking them?

Secondly, I'm not convinced that the blood shortage situation is as critical as you imply it to be here. There is constant influx and outflux of blood, things expire, etc... plus, blood drives always ramp up when blood banks are in need. If a vampire is consistently siphoning from a bank, it is less likely that they will suddenly be missing a blood bag when they need it

Thirdly, if we assume vampires are people who die without access to blood, then they are disabled and deserve the same resources as any other disabled person. Including blood.

But finally, and most importantly, attacking a random stranger on the street essentially guarantees a painful and traumatic experience for them. I would rather take the risk of a blood shortage ending up killing someone, than the risk of my attack ending up harming/killing someone.... PLUS the guarantee of causing psychological trauma

Vamps deserve blood bank blood as much as anyone else. Please. Do not attack people on the street????

Another way to think about this question is to imagine that it is about a person who needs an expensive medicine. It is better to steal that medicine from a pharmacy (and risk a shortage killing someone else who needs it) than to mug someone on the street in order to pay for it. Why? Because the guarantee of traumatizing someone is worse than the chance that you will kill someone due to supply chain issues. If you steal blood/meds dozens of times you probably might kill someone else who needed it. But also the pharmacy/blood bank will ORDER MORE. On the other hand, attacking people in the street dozens of times results in dozens of traumatized people and honestly at some point you WILL fuck up and kill someone by not extracting their blood properly

TL;DR: I really dont like this post

Honestly, I love the idea of a vampire who only drinks blood taken from blood banks and hospitals, because it so beautifully encompasses someone who's more concerned with the vibes of something than the actual impact of it.

Drinking from someone on the street, barring some other condition they may have, isn't likely to kill them unless you gorge yourself. Taking blood packs? There's always a shortage of blood, and having even less of it runs the very real risk of getting someone killed in a way that is wholly out of your control once you've sipped on that blood. Someone you can't assure the innocence or guilt of, if you're the type of person who cares about that.

Despite that, in popular stuff, I often see discussions of drinking from a blood bank being somehow better or preferable, and yeah. No. The only thing it does is make you feel better while doing more harm, because of that degree of removal. You're effectively drinking blood from someone on the cusp of hypovolemic shock, but since it's not straight from the tap, some people seem to think it's better.

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The Shadows We Share

The damp, cold air of Stillwater Prison clung to every stone, the metallic tang of despair thick in the narrow corridors. Caitlyn adjusted her rifle strap as she followed the warden, her sharp eyes scanning for any sudden movement. She wasn’t here to gawk; she was here to get answers.

Vi, walking ahead of her in tense silence, had been more than reluctant to return. Stillwater was a scar, a place where guilt and anger intersected with memories she couldn’t fully ignore. She had grudgingly agreed to let Caitlyn help her—after all, Caitlyn wasn’t one to give up once her mind was set. And Vi? She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d left something behind here. Or someone.

As they reached the farthest block of cells, the warden slowed. “You sure this is the one you’re looking for?” he grunted, gesturing to a cell shrouded in shadows.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Vi shot back, her voice sharp. Caitlyn glanced at her, sensing the tension beneath her bravado.

The cell in question wasn’t like the others. Its occupant didn’t bother pacing or glaring through the bars. Instead, they sat on a cot at the far end, back straight, head tilted slightly as if aware of their observers before they even approached.

When the figure turned, Caitlyn couldn’t help but notice how striking they were. The sharp planes of their face, the unmistakable strength in their posture, and yet, there was something else—a cold, calculating air that seemed almost suffocating.

Vi’s breath hitched. “Y/N?”

The woman blinked, recognition flickering across her stoic features. “Vi.” Her voice was low, even, as if the years hadn’t passed. “Took you long enough.”

Caitlyn watched the exchange curiously, her rifle steady in her grip. Y/N—Vi had called her that—wasn't just another inmate. There was a history here. She could see it in the subtle shift in Vi’s demeanor, the way her usual cockiness dimmed into something more subdued.

“Who’s this?” Y/N asked, her tone neutral but her gaze landing on Caitlyn with an almost clinical assessment.

“Caitlyn,” Vi muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s with me.”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked into what might’ve been a smirk. “With you? Didn’t think you’d take to making friends with enforcers.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Vi shot back, her fists clenching. “But you—you’re alive. How the hell are you here?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, the chains on her wrists clinking faintly. “Where else would I be? People like me don’t get to walk free, Vi. You know that.”

Caitlyn stepped forward. “And who are you, exactly?”

Y/N’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unyielding. “Someone who doesn’t need to answer your questions.” Her eyes flicked back to Vi. “But maybe you should answer mine. What are you doing here?”

Vi exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “We’re here for something else. Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

“You didn’t expect to see me because you forgot me,” Y/N replied flatly, her tone cutting but not bitter. “Not that I blame you. You had other priorities.”

“I didn’t forget,” Vi said, her voice low, almost pleading. “I thought you were—”

“Dead?” Y/N offered, tilting her head slightly. “Close enough.”

Caitlyn, feeling the tension growing, intervened. “You’re from Zaun?”

Y/N raised a brow. “A long time ago.”

“She’s more than that,” Vi interjected, her voice laced with guilt. “She’s—she was like a sister to me. She taught me how to fight, how to survive. Vander trusted her with everything.”

Caitlyn frowned, the pieces starting to fit together. Y/N wasn’t just another criminal. She was someone Vi had cared about deeply, someone who had been part of her past long before Stillwater.

The conversation shifted as Caitlyn pressed further. “If you were that close to Vander and the others, why are you here? What happened?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened, her expression unreadable. “Zaun has no shortage of people who want you dead. I made a living off that fact.” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Apparently, the Piltover authorities don’t appreciate hitmen in their streets.”

“You were arrested for assassination?” Caitlyn asked, her voice sharp.

“Among other things,” Y/N replied nonchalantly. “Stillwater’s my penance.”

Vi shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration flashing across her face. “You could’ve gotten out. You’re too smart for this.”

“Getting out isn’t the problem,” Y/N said quietly. “Staying out is.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Caitlyn glanced between them, sensing that there was far more to this story than either of them was letting on.

Before the conversation could continue, the warden returned. “If you’re done reminiscing, we’ve got schedules to keep.”

Caitlyn nodded, but Vi hesitated, her gaze lingering on Y/N. “We’re getting out of here,” she said firmly. “All of us.”

Y/N raised a brow, her expression skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Caitlyn stepped forward. “It’s not simple, but it’s possible. If you’re willing to work with us.”

Y/N studied her for a long moment, her piercing gaze seeming to dissect Caitlyn’s every word. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play nice.”

Vi smirked, the tension easing slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N’s voice stopped them. “Vi.”

She looked back, her expression softening slightly. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

The Escape Plan

Henlo, I do have a second part of this if you all want it. So if you do comment and like. If anyone of y'all have any requests then you can also leave those in the comments or in the submission box thingy

Okiee byeeee

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When they are your guardian/teacher figure

(This idea has been requested by several lovelies and anons who wished something along those lines. It was a long while back, so I apologize if I couldn’t tag or respond to one specific ask.) 

(Platonic, gn reader is a child. Short domestic satire)

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia (+ small Arlecchino bonus)

✧ Due to some mysterious circumstances that were too irrelevant to reiterate, Pierro was known to attend to all matters regarding your well-being. Though the Jester himself seldom graced the Palace of Snezhnaya, the sight of a diminutive, silent child was even rarer. That small, elusive child – was you.

“As your knowledge blossoms, so will you understand the merit of growth. The more hunger for knowledge you possess, the greater your intellectual progress shall become.” – The Jester spoke formally, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed off into the snowy horizon behind the window. “To withhold knowledge is to forsake power, and thus, you must wield it as a weapon.”

But when Pierro turns to face his audience, all he can see is your peering eyes barely peeking from the enormous desk. Sitting on the armchair that is way too big for you, your short legs barely touch the ground. And it doesn’t help that Pierro’s words are perhaps too… eloquent for someone your age. 

“That is to say, little one, I am telling you forgot to do your homework. Again.”  

You blinked.

“Little one,” – Pierro began carefully, his eyes narrowing. He knew your innocent silence was a cunning sign. Sensing his suspicion, you hopped off the armchair with agile speed and darted away. “Little one-! Return here at once!”

But your small form carried you off in the palace hallways, hopping under tables and chairs, you tested Pierro’s resilience as he chased you. Panting and screaming that you’ll “never succumb to the enemy” that is your homework; you refused your academic tasks and yearned to be what you truly are - a menace to the Jester’s sanity. 

Yet despite the countless times you ran away like a little criminal and the many times that the Harbinger caught you swiftly in his gloved arms, he could never raise his voice at you. His scoldings would be met with sulking. Your woeful expression always softened his sternness, leaving him with two outcomes: either you would tire him out by running, or he would tire you out by following you.

And as the night wore on, the result always remained the same. Both of you found yourselves dozing in an armchair, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and lulled into slumber by the crackling fireplace. Pierro nodded off gracefully, his head resting gently on his knuckles, while you, enveloped in sleep and warmth, lay cradled in his arms, protected from guilt in the peace of Pierro's private sanctuary. Running around does tire one out, after all. 

✧ Impressive in his ominous stature, Il Capitano towered above the smaller child. Despite your shy demeanor, you still stuck closely to Il Capitano's side, often hiding behind his coat; your hands clutching the fur as you shielded yourself from the intimidating Fatui troops working alongside him. 

Capitano, however, harbored reservations. The training grounds were no suitable habitat for a small one like you. He was hardly a natural caregiver and yet, he knelt beside you, his pitch-black visage peering straight down at your awestruck expression. He expected his unwelcoming helmet would frighten you off, yet all you did was place your tiny palms on his helmet and exclaim: “Capi!”

“This place is not for a child like you. You shouldn't wander around these parts, darling. They are dangerous and you're much too small for the many sharp weapons stored here.”

You smiled at him, curiously trying to reach for the golden chains around his helmet. It seems you weren't afraid of him.

“You may be a fearless little warrior, but you must stay on your guard. What if an enemy came to swoop you up, small one?” - Capitano lifted you high, his armored hands careful so as not to poke your smaller figure. You just emitted a small happy “wee!” in response.

How easy it is to crack a knight's exterior solely with a childlike smile. 

That's how you found yourself under his protective wing, never once heeding his warning as you continued to follow him diligently. Whenever the Harbinger was training, you watched. Whenever he did his usual warm-up push-ups, you tried to mimic. You obviously failed and quickly plopped onto the floor by the second push-up. 

“Easy there,” - Capitano offered you to sit cross-legged on his back while he continued his pushups. You were much smaller anyway, so whether you hung on his forearms whenever he lifted weights or did pushups, it barely posed a physical challenge. You, however, were beyond gleeful to be involved in his training, your face awash in wonder as he hoisted you up with ease while you perched serenely on his back. 

It's comical how this captain's reluctance turned him into now a caretaker of a small wee one; and an excellent one at that. He often carries you around, ensuring you are eating well after he is done with his morning training, and silently relishing your little yawns whenever you fall asleep by resting your head on his shoulder. 

✧ Il Dottore sat behind his desk, the solitary glow of the desk lamp casting long chiaroscuro shadows that slithered across the lab. It was another silent night, save for his swift scribbling over scientific reports. Suddenly, The Doctor felt a tug at his leg. Humming in response, he glanced down to find none other than you looking up at him with a small bundle of your favorite comforter clutched tightly in your tiny hands. 

“Hm? Can't sleep?”

You nodded. 

With great care, Dottore lifted you to his chair and placed you beside him. One hand resumed its task, grasping his pen to scrawl his intricate research calculations, while the other rested securely on your back, ensuring you were steady on his lap. With a sleepy haze, you observed his writing - so many big words and different numbers. You pointed at one and inquired:

“Dottie… what is this word?” 

“This is pronounced ‘metamorphosis’. To describe a transformation or change from one form to another, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly.”

“Meta-fofis…” - you imitated to the best of your comprehension.

"Meta-morph-o-sis."

You parroted in a murmur, to which The Doctor rewarded you with a hair ruffle. While his reports were nearly complete, he paused, pointing to another word on the page: “And this, little one, how do you pronounce it, remember?” 

“Um, axono-trophy.” 

“Indeed, well done. And what is the meaning of Axonotrophy?”

“A condition where axons are destroyed due to disease.” 

A prideful gleam graced Il Dottore's features. Your answers reflected not only a keen absorption of the various biological terminology but also his own success in mentoring you. Perhaps for regular children, such tedious topics are far from entertaining, yet The Harbinger saw the way your eyes beamed with curiosity at the many tomes of books, reports, and vials. And he would never forbid your curiosity like his homeland once did.

“A brilliant scholar in the making, little one. Excellent job,” - he patted your hair, letting you comfortably settle on his lap to rest. You hugged your comforter as he continued to work, a big yawn escaping you. Unaware of when you succumbed to the lulls of sleep, you drifted off, cocooned in warmth and security while Dottore silently finished his reports. 

✧ Scaramouche released a vexed sigh, his patience being tested. He wasn't on a Fatui mission by any kind, yet his solitude began to wane as a smaller figure kept following him around in a less inconspicuous manner. 

“You know you're not being sneaky, right? Stop following me around, kid.”

You flinched. The Harbinger turned to glare at you and you felt even smaller as he scolded you. You hid the item you brought behind your back, trying to conceal your bruised knees and scratched little fingers.

“I’m… I'm not following around, mister,” - you defend meekly, but Scaramouche only crossed his arms. “I made you a gift!” 

What sort of present could a child even muster for a Fatui Harbinger, Scaramouche mused to himself. You looked so unkept, hair tangled, and dirt stuck to your sandals as if you stumbled somewhere around a grassy hill. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow but reluctantly obliged. He kneeled before you – “Spit it out, kid. What do you want?”

You stepped closer and with naïve determination - you handed him a crocheted little toy. It was far from a professional mastery, with some knots uneven, but the vision was clear. This little toy resembled Scaramouche, with short dark hair and a funny flat hat. 

“I made this for you! Mister looks very pretty, like a doll! So I tried… to make one.” 

Scaramouche stared silently, his lips parted. The black buttons of the round doll stared back at him. A brush of a certain memory swept him like the gentle breeze of early autumn; your bright determination, so radiant while you were so small, left him frozen. He saw all this before when he donned a different name, a different time. And although he wished to scowl and say ‘Why the hell would I want a doll?’ - he never dared to. 

Instead, he held it up carefully and muttered – “Hm, I suppose it looks like me. Not bad. You did this all on your own?” 

You nodded eagerly. The Harbinger decisively offered his hand, your smaller one clutching onto him as if he were an older sibling.

“Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up and tidied. Goodness knows when you last had a good meal, too.” 

✧ What a jubilant day it was for Pantalone. He has just returned from a shopping venture; his servants aiding him with bags of newly ordered accessories and state-of-the-art attires. Little you sat plopped on a soft cushion, yet even to someone as minute as you comprehend the Harbinger's energetic pacing. It was one of those days when the 9th would go on some tangent about Mora. Again. 

“You see dear, Mora is the true physical leyline of the human world,” - he stood behind you, busying himself with styling your hair delicately while you sat in front of a dresser. “It is what ensues power, gaining influence of the world's machinations.”

You watched as he proudly brushed and styled your hair, spending more time picking up the newly brought ties and accessories than actually styling.

“But there is more to it!” – Once satisfied with your tidy appearance, the Regrator picked you up in his arms, lifting you to his level. “I am not speaking about monetary gain, my little gem. I am speaking of what you value most in your life. 

With one arm securing you, his second arm reaches for various items. He sets out some precious jewelry on one side, their shiny gemstones gleaming with pristine silver. Then he set down some soft plushies. Even the Fontainian toys he purchases are of foreign mastership with unique designs. And on the other side of the dresser, the last item he placed was stacks of your favorite books and pencils. 

“Say, little one. Of all these things, which is most important for a young gem like you?” 

Pantalone held you securely in his arms, a thoughtful look on his expression as you blinked in wonder. It seems he tried to give you some sort of speech about the difference between monetary gain, hedonistic lifestyle, and the value of work. Shiny riches, toys, or books. He waited patiently for you to choose, hoping that the simple representation of items would convey the seriousness of his questions. 

You, however, simply blinked and peered at those jumbles of items. Instead, you turned to inspect him and decided on a straightforward answer: “Pantalone!”

So you just wrapped your arms around him. 

The Harbinger tried not to weep. He never considered himself an option when comparing his value to Mora. He embraced you tightly in response, you were already wiser than him in many regards.

 ✧ the 11th of The Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, was no more. Now there is only the Greatest Toy Salesman in Snezhnaya. Or so would be his title if it was a synonym for beating bad monsters because you believed it most earnestly. 

Eagerly, you followed whenever Childe was training, thinking that the shiny big weapons were something of joyous intrigue. The young harbinger would drop everything at once and swoop you in a hurry before you touch the sharp blades. 

Interesting gauntlets worn by Anemoboxer Vanguards? Touch. 

Interesting pyro-infused rifles held by Pyroslinger Bracers? Touch. 

Dual blades gleaming whenever Pyro Agents tossed them? Also must touch.

All that and more were followed by Tartaglia’s hurried ‘No!’ as he rushed to your side. You were a small bundle of energy. And suddenly Childe realized how much of a nuisance he must've been to his dad when he was younger.

“Kid, how many times have I told you,” - he sighed, pulling you up over his shoulder. “Touching is a no-no if something is sharp!”

Hence, to put your curiosity into use, Childe made a miniature wooden bow for you, your new toy. Decisive in teaching you the baby steps of handling a bow, Tartaglia considered himself to be well off in the art of shooting lately; his posture even became better when aiming the weapon. This will be a good start to mentor you.

You were ecstatic, even if your arrows would plummet to the ground or way behind the shooting range. After all, similar to your curiosity, Ajax was also once a restless child like you. 

✧ You stared up at the red crossed-out pupils boring into your soul. The tall lady stared back, her gaze locked into a cold narrowed shape. Arlecchino regarded you carefully, seeing your hesitation when you noticed her ashen black hands. Was it your child-like curiosity or fear that struck you to freeze still? Because the 4th of Fatui Harbingers knew the scent of gullible reticence.

“Go on now. Why the hesitation, child? Something struck your curiosity or is it fear?”

You stayed still, mustered up your courage, and stated: “Eyes… pretty! Red and black.” 

Father’s narrowed gaze falters. It seems she misjudged you, you weren’t skittish like the usual little youngsters. A spirit of curiosity at such a young age must be nurtured. Thus, The Knave offered her hand, and your smaller one eagerly held onto it, inspecting the unique markings on her fingers. 

“Hm, if it's a curiosity of the unknown you are displaying, then you must be a brave little one. But if it's flattery you’re trying to achieve, then know that it will get you nowhere.”

You obediently picked up the pace, walking alongside her, hand in hand, while Arlecchino’s heels clacked against the floor. Her shadow cast upon your smaller one, enveloping you like an unassailable eclipse against the world. 

(as always, thank you everyone for the kind words and messages! Dw I see and read your asks❣)

[inkdrinkerworld]

Could I request a Dealer! Remus x Shy! Reader where reader is absolutely terrified of buying their own stuff but her friends are trying to help them out of their shell so instead of taking the money R gives them to buy for them, thier friends write down what they need to say and tell them where to go. And thats where Reader meets Remus (Who is infatuated with them after interacting with them for the first time). If you don't feel like writing it thats totally ok :)))

mary encourages you to buy the weed yourself because she’s pretty sure remus likes you wc:736

“You can do it, babe.” Your friend cheers softly as she hands you a piece of paper with what you need to say.

You’re terrified, knees knocking in the passenger seat as you attempt getting out for the second time.

“Can’t you do it? Please? What if I mess up?” She shakes her head. You’re a shy thing by nature to people who you don’t know and this is a new dealer you’ve only seen twice. You’d never spoken to him and hence the fear for embarrassing yourself in front of him.

“You won’t mess up. He’s nice anyhow, so if you do he won’t care.”

He is nice. Remus, the dealer you’ve seen twice, is as polite as can be and is a gentleman in a way you thought couldn’t possibly exist anymore.

You steel yourself with a final sigh and open the door.

A bell jungles as you push the dispensary door open, and as you take a couple steps inside, a head of sandy brown waves pops up.

“Hiya,” Remus calls, smiling when he sees it’s you. Your chest tightens as you receive his full attention. You can feel your fingers tingling as he waves you over. “Just you today?”

You shake your head, swallowing harshly before saying, “Mary’s in the car.”

He nods, scratching his chin, “Making you do all the hard work huh?”

You offer him a smile but it’s all tight lipped and wrong. If Remus notices, he doesn’t say.

“Could I get our usual?”

You’d look down at the paper if you didn’t feel like he’d be scrutinizing you. What type of smoker is scared to buy their own product?

“Your usual? That’s two ounces right?”

Your hands shake as you pull out a chair at the table.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Remus smiles when you sit at the counter, your legs swinging as you watch him weigh the product.

“Oh,” your voice shakes a little, worse when a single wave caresses Remus forehead and he looks up at you through his lashes. He’s dizzyingly pretty. “And um, two of your snickerdoodle cookies if you have them.”

Remus nods, a kind smile on his face. You’re the cutest customer he has, shyness included. Remus has heard you with your friends when you’re relaxed but he quite likes you to himself.

“That’s no problem, dove.”

Your chest burns at the moniker. You twist the garnet ring around your finger, the stone moving from the outside of your hand to the darkness of your palm over and over.

“Did you finish your book?” Remus asks, remembering from your last visit that you were reading a winter fantasy with your friends.

You perk a little, shoulders relaxing a bit. “I did,” you slide your pendant across the chain as Remus comes to the counter with your bag of cookies and your weed.

“Was it any good?” He smells like weed but something peppery and citrusy under it. Like peppercorns and oranges, and maybe a little pine.

You nod as he rings up your bill. You tap your card on the screen.

“It was, the ending was a bit unconventional, but I suppose that’s fantasy.” It’s the longest sentence you’ve ever spoken to him and for it you’re granted his full smile. The one that makes the scar through his lip look like silver. He really is a handsome man.

“Maybe you can loan it to me? That way we can talk about it better. And while you wait for my thoughts you could read one of mine?”

You give Remus a careful smile of your own. “That could be nice.”

He nods, “Give me a call then and we can meet up to exchange them then. Make a date out of it. Yeah?”

Your eyes widen, Remus thinks of the wide eyes of a horse instantly. The wide, trusting but wonderstruck look they seem to have is mirrored in your own.

“Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

Remus rounds the counter to walk you to the door, his hand hovering over your back and you find even the ghost of his hand pleasant. “My number’s on the cookie bag. Have a good rest of your evening, dove.”

“Than-“ you cut yourself off. “You too Remus.”

Mary’s smug as ever as you sit in the car, her rear view mirror showing Remus leaning on the door as she pulls off. She knew you had it in you.

[gold-for-xp]

Like a lot of things I feel like this stems from solid advice being put through a game of telephone and coming out the other end extremely unhelpful. Like, I've read a decent amount of blogs or had some conversations where a dm prepares a conflict or a dungeon challenge and says something along the lines of:

"I have no idea how the pcs are going to solve this"

And I think that that's good. Creating open ended problems with no one right solution is good, it requires the pcs to be proactive, and the gm to think through their actions. And a lot of times the players will come up with something that the gm didn't think of, but would work according to the rules of the game or the situation being presented. And it's fun for a gm to present the group with a bizarre task only for them to slice through the gordian knot.

But open-ended challenge ≠ puzzle/riddle. And when a lot of people get their gm advice through a chain of dnd lifestyle influencers, the conclusion they come to looks way more like "bullshit a puzzle" than "set up a conflict with no one right answer". When the curtain is pulled back on the one, it makes people feel clever for being able to use their own problem solving skills to come up with a unique solution. On the other, it's the same as a boss monster having an undefined amount of hp and the gm deciding their death whenever; it makes it seem like actually putting thought and effort into the game is worthless.

My least favourite GMing "hack" that gets passed around is "make puzzles/riddles with no fixed answer, and then whatever answer the players guess, make that the right answer."

If the game I'm running is going to have riddles, it's because I have players at the table who... like riddles? And for those players, the fun of a riddle is the moment where it clicks and you get the satisfaction of figuring it out. Which just isn't likely to happen if the riddle is just some vague, evocative nonsense that validates whatever guess they make.

So, presumably, this hack is for making riddles for a table full of only people who do not like riddles. Which invites the question, "why are you making riddles for a table full of only people who do not like riddles?" Do you just feel obligated to?

I guess if so, then here is my hack for you: I absolve you. You are no longer obligated to include riddles in your game of people who don't like them. Go forth, my child, and riddle no more.

[sierrale8ne]

two words. crotchless panties. do what u will with this request 🤷🏾‍♀️

paige bueckers x fem!reader

nsfw // fingering, oral, bathroom sex, munch paige is back little bit of butt stuff, i got #carriedaway

kalena speakss 🪽! we on freak timing today guys! a lil fic to keep y’all happy until i drop chapter 12 of fdafn. enjoyyyy 🫂

She’s trying to kill you.

Well, not literally, but close enough because the Kith polo shirt and back slacks and those fucking loafers are making your knees fucking weak.

It’s big east media day, and as a media intern you were lucky enough to get the opportunity to fly out to New York and interview some of the athletes today.

You worked through some of the Marquette girls, the UConn team as well, but you had to keep away from her. From Paige.

Your relationship was complicated. Namely the fact that you were having casual sex. Paige was cool about it all, and so were you. However, the pressure of her staring at you and making your cunt soak in the confinement of your pants was not something you wanted in front of your peers.

You sit with your legs crossed towards the back of the group, getting a head start on some reports that would be waiting when you got back to Storrs, when Paige takes a seat next to you.

“It’s taken.” You mumble, eyes still glued to the small tablet.

“It’s not.”

“You know that how?”

“Been watchin’, ma. You and this tight ass outfit.” She mumbles the last part under her breath. Her finger darts out from her lap, running over your bended knee.

You’re wearing a brown striped monochromatic button up that hugs your waist, the black dress pants tight on your hips. You look good, as always, but it’s something about the business attire you have on that makes Paige’s mind travel to an otherwise dirty place.

You stand up, turning off the device and sticking it in your purse as you wipe off the back of your pants. “I have work. And so do you.” You mention, giving her a cunning grin as you begin to walk off.

She’s chasing after you, fast. “I’m all done for today. Why you ain’t interview me earlier? I was lookin’ forward to it.”

Fucking killing you.

When you look back at her, Paige is smirking, her long legs in stride as they catch up to you. Her diamond studs glisten in the light of Madison Square Garden.

“You’re a distraction, P. I have a job to do.” You mumble.

Paige hums. “You think I wasn’t distracted seeing you in this? Your tits are damn near falling out of this shirt.” She says under hear breath.

You’re immediately soaking again.

Paige has a way of making you forget all of your morals. You didn’t do casual, yet here you were with her. It’s how she convinced you to spend the night, or to let her eat you out in the back of her car. It worked every time.

And it always started like this: the teasing.

“Paige, c’mon.” You beg, trying to hold onto what was left of your sanity. You stop in your tracks, turning to face her with a pleading look.

“Let me.” She states, firm and serious. “Y’know Ion even need five minutes.”

That’s how she got you, convincing you to step into the closest bathroom. Your arm wrapped around her neck while the other tugged her to you by that chain. The cross on it nearly burns your hand as Paige’s lips slotted against your own.

“Can’t ever fuckin’ resist me.” She comments with a smile, hands holding onto your waist as she backs you into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

“Shut up. I’m givin’ you five minutes.” You breathe and your tongue prods at her bottom lip, slipping into the warmth of her mouth. It’s messy, saliva swapping between you both.

You allow her to back you into the sink, hands gripping at your ass and teeth biting at your lip.

The purse on your shoulder falls to the floor and you pull back, catching your breath while Paige instantly grabs at your waistband.

She undoes the button of your pants. Her fingers deliberately and delicately popping the button.

Her hand slips into the confinement of your pants, traveling further in search of your clit. When she finds it, and the lack of material that covers your sopping wet cunt, a moan tumbles past her lips. Loud and guttural and almost full of shock.

You’ve done a lot of things; nudes when she’s at practice, copping a feel under the table, even shameless makeouts at Ted’s. You two have done it all, but crotchless panties was wild even to your standards.

“Fuck, P.” You sigh and Paige applies more pressure.

“Fuckin’ slut. Y’showed up to work like this? You crazy?” She asks. Paige looks at you like a piece of meat, and that, combined with her middle finger on your clit does a terrible job at helping you keep your composure. “Been wantin’ me, yeah?”

You attempt a nod, “You like easy access, right?” You tease, breath shuddering as Paige pulls her hand away and you see the way your slick drips down her fingers.

She had barely even touched you.

“Hurry up.” You rush out, hands gripping the collar of her polo and pulling her lips to yours. This kiss felt necessary. It was eager and filled with emotion and excitement that you both carried. Her tongue navigated your mouth while she tugged down your pants down to your knees.

You try to gently pull away, but Paige pulls you back with a hand at the back of your neck. “In a minute.” She responded, each movement calculated.

You finally do pull back, breath deep and ragged, a string of saliva connects your lips. She licks it away and without a word she spins you around and bends you over the counter.

The air hits your cunt immediately, forcing a gasp from your throat. Paige’s hand follows, giving a sharp slap to your ass that makes you jolt.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

“Paige, I don’t have all d—”

“Unbutton, your shirt.” She instructed while sinking behind you. You watch that blonde hair, that is just a twinge of pink, travel behind you until the soft thud of her knees htting the ground follows. “Bra too.”

You try. You really do, but Paige’s hands shock you by spreading your folds apart. Her hands cold and a bit rough as they scissor you open.

“More. Fuck, more, please.” You whine, pushing your hips back against her.

“I did this shit to you, baby? You get all wet from watchin’ me answer a few questions?” Paige teases, pout obvious in her voice. You’re lucky she can’t see your face in the mirror, the obvious flush on your face would be too embarrassing to handle.

You don’t even get a chance to respond before the warmth of her tongue wipes away any other thoughts.

It’s criminal how good Paige is at this. How her tongue navigates through every line of your pussy like she’s made for it.

Her large hands press to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to get better access to the depths of your cunt. Paige’s nails dug into the flesh while her tongue pushed in and slowly fucks into you.

“Oh! God, yes, P.” You groan, slamming your hand down on the counter to keep you stable.

“What I say about that shirt?” She grumbles against you, pulling back briefly to see just how good you look from behind. The curve of your ass and the slight pucker of your asshole, your cunt dripping and the juices trailing down your leg.

Those panties aren’t helping, hugging tight to your core and a darker shade of burgundy, from her own spit, than the one she saw a few minutes ago.

Paige dives back into you, humming as she suckles on your swollen clit.

You know better than to piss her off, so you unbutton the shirt, following that by popping the clasp on the front of your lace bra. Hushed moans spill from your lips as you grind back against Paige’s magical fucking lips.

She was so messy with it, her head shaking side to side. Her tongue stretched flat over the expanse of your pussy.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” Paige mutters, pulling back to spit down your backside. Her thumb trails through your folds, making you shudder, until it reaches your ass. “Lemme have you here?”

You think she’s crazy. Either sex deprived or pussy drunk but you still let her. You’re nodding, desperate for her to touch you again. Whether it’s her lips around your clit or her tongue in your ass.

“Hurry up, oh my God.” You groan, pushing back once more. Paige’s thumb circles your ass before she sinks it deep, hooking it inside of you and going back to wrapping her lips around your clit. Paige sucks on it like a fucking pacifier, running her tongue over the hood.

“Fuckin’ tight. You such a slut for it, huh?” She degrades with her mouth busy. Her thumb fucking into you at an ungodly speed.

Your breath hitches and your legs start to tremble. “Paige, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, that pit in your stomach feeling like fire. Your lip finds its way between your teeth in an attempt to quiet your moans.

“Hold it jus’ a lil longer, ma.” She commands.

Again, you know better than to disobey her, so you do. Your eyes bore into the mirror, watching her stand up behind you, her face completely covered in your arousal. It drips down her chin, some staining the top of her shirt.

Paige’s thumb finally leaves you, making you feel like you can breathe again. She reaches forward with her other hand, wrapping it gently around your neck, and pulling you into a kiss.

You taste very bit of yourself on her tongue as she kisses you slow. It distracts you from everything. Which gives the blonde a perfect opportunity to sink her finger into you.

“She’s so wet for me, ma.”

You try to hide the face you make at the stretch, your cunt opening up for her like that was its job. You pull away from her and your jaw falls slack, gripping the edge of the sink as she moves it faster.

The echo of your arousal is loud, probably heard by your peers out on the floor right now. But you don’t care. It feels incredible, like she was made for you. And Paige feels it too.

“So perfect, baby.” She whispered into your mouth before turning your face so you see yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, eyeliner on your lower lash line slightly smeared and your hair disheveled. “Jus’ sucking me in.”

A response built on your tongue, seconds away from traveling to her ears until she slipped another finger inside of you. You watch as Paige’s eyes slightly roll at the squelching sound.

“Fucking—shit, oh my God.” You moan, this time it’s too loud.

The hand that is splayed across your chin moves to cover your mouth. “I know it feels good, but you gotta stay quiet, baby.” She says, curling her fingers until they hit that one gummy spot and you’re nearly falling apart.

Paige looks incredible. Her lips pink and swollen, those crystal blue eyes drinking up every inch of your body through the mirror. It’s literally a scene from a movie. The lights dim and illuminating over every single detail of the both of you.

Your tits bounce with each thrust of her fingers, giving her more motivation to keep going.

Her hand leaves your mouth to knead one, pinching at your nipple and tugging it until her name spilled out of your lips like a broken prayer.

“Paige! Yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck!” You babble, head falling back onto her strong shoulder as she speeds up. And you’re gushing, all over your legs and all over her hand.

“You wanna cum for me?”

“Please. M’right there, P.”

“C’mon, mama.” She leaves a kiss to your neck, followed by a bite to the same spot. “You got it, princess. Let me have it.”

And that’s all it takes for the cord to snap as for you to let go on those fingers, a hushed cry leaving your mouth as your body writhes.

“Good girl. So good, look at that.” Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head at the praise. Paige’s finger’s finally slow as they work you through it, her other hand leaving your body to run a hand through your hair.

“Fuck.” You breathe. “I said five minutes.”

“I couldn’t help myself, those fuckin’ panties you got on. You knew better.” She defends, kissing your neck as her fingers finally leave you.

[chrissturnsfav]

singer!reader and rapper!chris going out in public for the first time as a couple 🙏🏻

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader go out after announcing their relationship

the moment you step out of the sleek black escalade, a wave of flashing lights explodes in your face, blinding and relentless.

your hand tightens around chris' as your heels hit the pavement, instinctively seeking reassurance in his presence. he’s calm, or at least he looks it—a towering, cocky figure in his signature oversized fresh love hoodie and chain glinting under the relentless camera flashes.

but even his steady energy doesn’t make the chaos any less overwhelming.

the paparazzi are like a storm, shouting questions, calling your name, calling his name. they surge closer, despite the burly bodyguards who form a human barricade around you.

"chris! look over here!"

"are you two moving in together?"

"how does it feel to finally go public?"

their voices are a chaotic blur, jabbing and prodding with every invasive question. you feel chris start to stiffen beside you, his towering frame cutting through the chaos like a wall, but even he can’t ignore how relentless they’re being.

you're both used to this, living in the fame, being bombarded by paparazzi and invasive questions. but this time it's different, both of you have never been so viciously swarmed.

“back up!” one of the bodyguards barks, his arms spread wide, but it barely makes a dent. a camera flashes inches from your face, and you flinch instinctively, your free hand darting to adjust your sunglasses.

chris’s hand tightens around yours, his grip almost too firm now, and you can feel the frustration radiating off him like heat beneath the confident front he puts up. “yo, chill!” he snaps at the crowd, his voice deep and cutting through the noise.

the shouting doesn’t stop, though. if anything, it grows louder. they’re not just taking pictures—they’re circling, pressing, trying to get closer. one of them stumbles into the bodyguard’s arm, and that’s when chris loses it.

“yo, BACK UP!” he bellows, his voice booming above the chaos. the air seems to shift. the crowd pauses for a fraction of a second before surging forward again, emboldened by his reaction.

his jaw clenches, and he pulls you tighter to him, his protective arm curling around your shoulders. you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back. “fuckin' relax!” he shouts again, his voice sharper now, almost furious.

part of you wants to tug him toward the safety of the restaurant doors out of anxiety, but another part is relieved he’s standing his ground. you glance up at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“chris,” you murmur anxiously, just loud enough for him to hear.

his gaze snaps to yours, his features softening instantly. he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if to clear it. “i gotchu,” he mutters, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. at his words, you grow a bit calmer and you believe him. you always do.

chris squeezes your hand again, his grip firm and grounding. he doesn’t let go, not even when someone shouts something crude about your shimmery mini skirt, not even when you falter slightly on the curb.

finally, the heavy doors of the upscale restaurant swing open, and the noise dims, replaced by the cool hum of ritzy music and polite conversation.

chris lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but laugh—quiet, nervous, but real.

he glances at you as he tugs you along to make his way up to the hostess podium, his brows furrowed, "what?" he murmurs, a small chuckle leaving his lips at your laughter.

you shake your head, snickering as you speak over the chatter, "just never been swarmed so bad like that before."

chris smirks cockily down at you, leaning down to speak in your ear, "get used t'it."

thank you for reading! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer x Reader - Nowhere To Run (NSFW)

Inspired by @nyx-umbrakinesis's short story

***WARNING: Elements of dubcon/CNC in a roleplay setting; please do not read if these subject matters are disturbing to you***

You laid your head against the pillow on your bed, on the verge of drifting off to sleep when suddenly, you hear the sound of your door creaking

Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a start to see a shadowy figure standing in the door frame

"H-Hello? Who's there?" You called out.

"The figure didn't answer; but he chuckled darkly as he closed and locked the door behind him

"Oh my dear, I can't believe you couldn't recognize me!" Lucifer spoke as he loomed over your quivering figure

"M-Mr. Morningstar, sir...why are you here?"

"There's no need for that, my little angel, you can call me Lucifer. I do hate formalities."

His charcoal hand ran down the side of your cheek; you wanted to flinch but remained frozen

"Lucifer...why are you in my room?...Is something wrong?"

His yellow eyes flashed at the question, enabling you to see the devious grin plastered on his face

"Yes, there is," he responded lowly. With a snap of his fingers, golden chains latched onto your wrists, your arms forced above your head as the angelic chains wrapped themselves around the bedframe

You were trapped

No matter how hard you pulled, your restraints wouldn't budge

You tried kicking your legs but they were met with the same fate; chains clinging to your ankles as they were forcibly spread apart and now latched onto the metal frame of your bed

"The problem, sweetheart, is that you're too alluring to resist anymore.~"

Lucifer’s hand traveled up your thigh slowly, goosebumps littering your skin as he did

”And I wouldn’t think about screaming, darling,” he threatened playfully “No one’s going to hear you. This room is soundproof, I’ve made sure of that.~”

“P-Please, I-I don’t…”

”Aww what’s the matter? Don’t tell me you don’t want this.~” Lucifer pushed past your nightgown, his fingers pressed against your already damp panties, “Seems to me like your body is telling a different story, my pretty girl~”

You couldn’t stop him as he shoved two fingers into your cunt with no hesitation

You yelped, thrashing around desperately trying to free yourself from this, but it was all in vain

Lucifer laughed at your futile efforts, continuing to pump his digits into you, faster and faster until you had to fight to form a coherent thought

“So much protesting and yet your body craves me, craves my touch…why is that I wonder?~”

”N-No…p-please…You can’t…”

”Oh, but I can, and I will.~”

Lucifer was relentless with his pace, stretching you out on his fingers

Lucifer’s smile never faded as he watched your body betray you

He pulled his fingers from you, running his long forked tongue along them

“Absolutely divine, perhaps another night I’ll be able to feast on your intoxicating taste. But for now, I think it’s time I claimed what’s mine.~”

In a flash, your nightgown was ripped from your body, exposing your supple flesh the the hungry demon king who hovered over you

“Absolutely perfect~” he whispered into you ear as he began kneading your breasts with his clawed hands

You shaking only made things worse as your body continuously made contact with Lucifer’s clothed erection

“Eager, are we?~” he teased. You shook your head, trying to protest; but your sounds were cut of as Lucifer’s lips captured yours before you could say otherwise

His hands traveled further down, making quick work of your panties, tearing them off effortlessly

“Lucifer…” you begged pathetically

A small genuine smile crossed his face for a brief moment, only for his eyes to flash red as he snarled,

After snapping his clothes away in the blink of an eye, he slotted himself between your quivering thighs

“You’re mine, do you understand?” he growled as he pushed just the tip of of his aching cock inside of you

You cried out as a response, feeling the rest of his cock work it’s way inside of you, stretching you out completely

“Tell me,” he commanded as he began to thrust his hips into you repeatedly “tell me who you belong to.”

“Y-You…” your breathed out weakly “I’m yours…”

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he praised you, the movement of his hips becoming more and more erratic with every passing second

He leaned down and pulled you into another searing kiss, his cock hitting your most sensitive spot over and over again, tears pricking your eyes

“I…I…” your voice was all but gone, desperate moans replacing the words you really wanted to say but couldn’t

“You’re close aren’t you, gorgeous? Does my cock drive you insane? All that struggling and for what? Just for you to succumb to the pleasure I knew you craved. Now, what do you say?~”

“T-Thank you…”

“You’re more than welcome, my sweet pet. Don’t hold back on me now. Cum on my cock, sweetheart, cum for me…Let me feel you come undone because of me.~”

Almost as if on command, your body spasmed as you came around him, squeezing his cock with your overwhelming climax, screaming as you did

“T-There you go,” Lucifer cooed, “So good for me. But it’s my turn now.~”

Lucifer pinned you down my your hips, holding your body still as he pounded into you relentlessly, chasing his own high

His ragged breathing revealed how close he was, the mask he had thrown was slipping fast as his orgasm rapidly approached

“Mine…minemineminMINE F-FUUUUUCK GAAAHHH…I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU

His cum filled your insides, spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs, his thrusts refusing to slow until he felt utterly drained of everything he had

Lucifer collapsed on top of you, breathing heavy and holding your close

He snapped his fingers, the chains disappearing immediately so that you could wrap your arms around your lover

“That was so good, Luci, I loved that.~”

“It was?” he looked up at you with his soft your eyes. “I didn’t go too far, did I? I wasn’t too harsh or mean or…”

“No hon, you were perfect. You played your role so well! I must say, you can be very intimidating when you want to be! You were very convincing.~

Lucifer beamed at you, burying his face in your chest

You kissed the top of his forehead, twirling his hair in your fingertips

“Thank you, love” he leaned up to kiss you. “Let’s get you cleaned up now, shall we?~”

[sherewrytes]

Plug Kento Nanami

Plug Nanami: Who shows up on time, every time, dressed like he’s on his way to a party or club instead of making a drop-off, with perfectly rolled joints and not a single hair out of place.

Plug Nanami: Who never raises his voice but somehow manages to make you feel like you owe him more than just payment with that low, smooth tone of his.

Plug Nanami: Who refuses to let you short yourself, sliding a little extra into your bag with a soft, "Consider it a bonus for being such a loyal customer."

Plug Nanami: Who texts you after every transaction with, "Everything to your satisfaction?" like he’s taking customer service to a whole new level.

Plug Nanami: Who only ever stays for a quick chat, but the way he adjusts his glasses and lets his eyes linger on you a moment too long makes your heart race.

Plug Nanami: Who once showed up in the middle of a rainstorm, soaking wet but completely unbothered, handing over your pre-rolls with a deadpan, "You’re lucky I prioritize good clients."

Plug Nanami: Who has this effortless dominance about him, the kind that makes you want to do things just to see him smirk in approval.

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once in your oversized sweats and bonnet and still said, "You look good," like it was a fact, not a compliment.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t miss a beat when you flirt with him, offering a small chuckle before responding, "Careful now. I don’t mix business with pleasure… unless you’re willing to change my mind."

Plug Nanami: Who makes it very clear he’s not just your plug but also someone who notices everything, including when you’re stressed or looking run-down. "You need to take care of yourself," he says softly, slipping your favorite chocolate bar into your hand without a word.

Plug Nanami: Who’s always clean-cut, rocking a crisp white tee or a fitted hoodie, gold chain resting against his chest, looking more like a businessman than someone pushing product—but you know better.

Plug Nanami: Who runs his drops like clockwork, his Hellcat pulling up smooth and quiet. He leans out the window with a calm, "You good? Don’t keep me waiting too long."

Plug Nanami: Who surprises you with how he speaks—smooth, deliberate, but with just enough edge to make you sit up and pay attention. "You know I don’t do half measures, ma. You get the best from me, every time."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off the bag—he stays a little longer, leaning against the doorframe with a calm confidence, arms crossed, giving you a look that says he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t deal with nonsense, shutting down any funny business with a sharp, "Don’t play with my time." But with you? He’s always patient, his voice softening when he says, "Take your time. I’m in no rush."

Plug Nanami: Who tells you he doesn’t do freebies but somehow always slides you a little extra. "Just quality control," he smirks, though you know he’s lying.

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his stash on lock, never running out of the best strains, and every time you ask where he gets it, he just chuckles and says, "That’s my secret."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once buying from someone else and didn’t say a word until his next drop-off. "Whatever they gave you? Trash. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you’re never disappointed again."

Plug Nanami: Who shows up in his car, windows cracked, bass low, smelling like clean cologne and a faint hint of weed. He smirks when he catches you looking. "You like the vibe, huh? I can give you more than just this."

Plug Nanami: Who noticed you peeking at his tattoos one time and rolled up his sleeve just enough to show them off. "Curious, huh? Maybe one day I’ll let you trace them yourself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you try to flirt too hard, chuckles low and deep, leaning closer to whisper, "You know you’re trouble, right? Keep talking like that, and I might start making house calls for more than just business."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask why he pushes product when he clearly doesn’t need to, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes the best things come from unexpected places," before giving you that look that leaves you questioning who’s really in control.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t react when you tease him about being too refined for this game. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping. "Don’t let my look fool you, baby. I know exactly what I’m doing—and I know you love it."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you at a party once, surrounded by people you didn’t know, looking out of place. He walked right up to you, slid his arm around your waist, and whispered, "You good? Or you need me to remind you where you belong?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hesitate to pull you aside when someone else tries to step to you, his tone cool but firm. "She’s with me. Don’t make me repeat myself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you’re standing at the door in nothing but booty shorts and a cropped hoodie, doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sweep over you, his voice steady but rough. "You knew I was coming, and this is how you answer the door? You trying to start something, Y/N?"

Plug Nanami: Who stays calm when you playfully call him "Mr. Businessman," but steps closer, his broad shoulders towering over you as he murmurs, "Keep testing me, and I’ll show you just how serious I can be."

Plug Nanami: Who has this habit of brushing his fingers against yours when handing over your bag, just to see you react. And when you hesitate, he smirks. "What? You shy now? You weren’t shy last week when you were talking crazy to me."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask for recommendations, takes his time explaining the strains, his voice low and intimate like he’s telling you secrets no one else gets to hear. "This one’s for relaxing. But this one? This will have you feeling nice and warm. Could even help you sleep... if you’re alone."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hide his jealousy when he spots you dancing with some random dude at the club again. He doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. One hard look from across the room, and he has you second-guessing every move.

Plug Nanami: Who waits for you by the bar, calm but commanding, sipping his drink like he owns the place. When you finally approach him, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Was that supposed to make me jealous? 'Cause all it did was remind me who you’re really coming home to."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just say things to say them—when he tells you, "You’re mine," he says it with a quiet intensity that makes your heart race, his hand resting lightly on your waist like a promise.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t let you forget who’s in control. When you try to test him, he tilts his head, studying you with those sharp eyes before muttering, "Careful, Y/N. You don’t want to see what happens when I lose my patience."

Plug Nanami: Who, when he finally breaks that calm exterior, has you pinned against the couch, his hands firm on your thighs. His voice drops an octave as he says, "You think you can tease me and get away with it? Let me show you how wrong you are."

Plug Nanami: Who has you breathless by the time he’s done with you, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers, "Next time, don’t make me wait. You know I’m not good at sharing."

Plug Nanami: Who, even after all that, stays to clean up and roll another joint for you, his demeanor back to calm and collected as if nothing happened. He hands it to you with a small smirk. "Don’t say I never take care of you, ma."

Plug Nanami: Who always makes you feel special, even in the smallest ways—like when he leaves your place, pressing a kiss to your forehead before saying, "Stay out of trouble. I’ll be back when you need me."

Plug Nanami: Who, despite his smooth and professional vibe, lets his street-smart edge show when it matters. Like when he rolls up late at night after you text him about some dude getting too friendly at the bar. He leans against his car, arms crossed, his tone deadly calm. "You good? Or you need me to handle something?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t flinch when you ask why he’s so quiet during his drops. Instead, he gives you a slow, knowing smirk. "Why talk when I can let my actions speak for me? You like what I bring, don’t you?"

Plug Nanami: Who, after spotting you dancing with another guy at the club when your out with your friends one night, waits for you outside like he’s completely unbothered. But the second you walk up to him; his voice is sharp. "Next time you feel like playing games, make sure I’m the one who gets to win."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you tease him for his clean-cut image, throws it right back. "Don’t get it twisted, Y/N. Just because I dress like this doesn’t mean I can’t get dirty when I need to."

Plug Nanami: Who finally snaps one night after you keep pushing his buttons, pinning you against the wall, his lips grazing your ear as he growls, "You like testing me, huh? Let me show you why that’s a bad idea."

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his car spotless, but when you ride with him, lets you kick off your shoes and play your music, saying, "Don’t get used to this. You’re lucky I like you."

Plug Nanami: Who always gives you the best quality, but one night, he surprises you with a strain he says is "special order." When you ask why he’s letting you try it first, he shrugs casually. "Because I know you appreciate the finer things. Just like me."

Plug Nanami: Who never loses his cool but lets his territorial side show in subtle ways. Like the way he casually slips his arm around your waist when you’re out, his grip firm enough to make anyone watching back off.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off weed—he becomes the only person you trust with your stash because everything he does is handled with precision. "You’re too good for anything less than perfect, Y/N," he says, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that makes you forget to breathe.

Plug Nanami: Who stays just long enough to remind you why he’s different. He doesn’t just pass the bag; he holds your gaze and leans in close, his voice low and deliberate. "Anything else you need tonight? You know I got you."

Plug Nanami: Who, after you’ve pushed him to his limit, leaves you breathless and spent, only to calmly adjust his hoodie and smirk down at you. "See? Told you not to test me."

Plug Nanami: Who, as he’s leaving, tosses a wrapped pre-roll on your table with a smirk. "That one’s on me. Thought you might need it after… all that.I'll be back later. I got another drop off"

[mantis-lizbian]

minor point, but i think i'd say the point isn't necessarily to "play a different game" but rather to be more honest with yourself about what a game's mechanics and themes are and aren't. you can defy those expectations still, but you're going to really struggle if you do so blindly, without taking into account how the game resists it.

to take it outside of the realm of D&D specifically, and use other games as a point of comparison, i recently ran a game in Masks: A New Generation set in the universe of Worm, a web novel by Wildbow.

Masks is a game about teenage superheroics and figueing out what kind of person you want to be. it has numerous mechanics and decision choices that work to highlight the tumultuous experience of being a teenager trying to find a sense of self and figure out how to deal with all the expectations and drives both within and without. around this central core, the mechanics regarding the superheroics are fairly "four-colour", that is. they're roughly on the level of your average late '90s to 2000s superhero cartoon like Teen Titans, Static Shock, the '90s Spider-Man TV series, or X-Men: Evolution. while these shows still have beating up bad guys and the occasional dark plotline, they don't really even come close to how dark the average shonen anime can get. vombat in Masks focuses more on emotional states than physical damage, and losing combat tends to mean letting the villain escape or fleeing yourself rather than even necessarily getting knocked out, let alone dying.

so using Masks to model the grim, often hyper-violent world of Worm is... tricky. when, in complete lieu of hit points, represents taking lumps in a fight by your character getting angry or hopeless, it takes a lot of work to model fights with characters who fight so viciously as to do things like... suffocate someone with a swarm of bugs, plant bombs inside people's necks, or just... being a giant nazi wolf made out of chains and blades. and that's not even mentioning the Slaughterhouse Nine which, uh... yeah, the people above? they're the average, everyday, street-level villains, so i'll just let you imagine what a gang of internationally recognized serial killers are like in this universe.

so yeah, very much a conflict between the rules system and the kind of game i wanted to run (and Worm very much isn't Worm without the extreme violence - i'd argue as a crucial part of its counterintuitively positive and optimistic thesis). but i saw a way in which Worm explored themes of identity and becoming that very much fit in with how Mask focuses on them, and so i chose to make it work anyway.

and it took a lot of effort, but i did manage to make it work without even rewriting or homebrewing any rules. the point is that you absolutely can tell a story that conflicts with the themes and mechanics of a game, but just like breaking rules of writing, you have to know and understand what you're doing with it and why in order to avoid simply highlighting that dissonance, or worse it actively disrupting things.

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[strnilolover]

NNN - baker!matt - pregnancy cravings

Pregnancy had turned your cravings into tiny adventures — ones Matt never hesitated to take on. Every craving, no matter how specific or inconvenient, became a mission for him to make you happy. His dedication wasn’t just about food; it was about showing love in the sweetest way possible.

-

001 - Pretzel’s

It was just after midnight, and you were wide awake. You couldn’t get comfortable, shifting every minute until you finally gave up — staring at the ceiling. You tried to think of things to help you drift off for the night, matt’s sleeping figure next to you should’ve lulled you to sleep a while ago — but it didn’t.

But as you continued to look at the ceiling, a strong craving hit you like a lightning bolt — soft, warm pretzels. The kind sprinkled with coarse salt, dipped into cheese sauce, and melting in your mouth. You groaned, turning over in bed.

The action made Matt stirred beside you, his head turning to look at you as he blinked his eyes heavily. His sleepy voice breaking the silence after a moment. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he said, his voice rough.

You looked at him the best you could through the darkness in the room. “I can’t stop thinking about pretzels,” you admitted, feeling silly.

He raised a brow, a teasing smile forming on his lips. “Pretzels, huh?”

You nodded sheepishly, hating the fact that you woke Matt up now because of yourself. “Yeah, but it’s late. Forget I said anything.”

Matt shook his head, “Not a chance.” He said, slowly sitting up, rubbing his face before slipping out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “You’re getting pretzels.”

You sat up, watching him. The feeling of guilt starting to prick at your gut. “Matt, you don’t have to—”

He held up a hand, silencing you. “I’m not running out to some chain store. I’m making them for you, and they’re going to be better than anything you’d buy.” he said softly, turning to navigate through the room until he made his way out the door. You slipped out of bed yourself, slipping your slippers on as you followed behind.

You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he moved with sleepy but determined precision. He mixed flour, yeast, and water, kneading the dough with steady hands. After letting it rest, he shaped it into perfect twists, brushing them with butter and popping them into the over that was already heated.

The oven filled the kitchen with a warm, toasty aroma. Matt yawned but didn’t stop, whisking up a cheese sauce as the pretzels baked. When he finally pulled them out, their golden-brown color made your mouth water. He quickly sprinkled the coarse salt on top of them, then putting the cheese sauce into a bowl before plating it.

“Fresh and homemade,” he said, setting a plate in front of you. “What do you think?”

Quickly you dipped a piece into the cheese sauce and took a bite, moaning in delight. “These are amazing. You’re amazing.”

Matt chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Anything for my girls.”

002 - Pancake’s

It was the middle of the week, and the world was going about its day — but all you could think about were pancakes. Specifically, fluffy, golden pancakes topped with fresh berries and whipped cream. But you didn’t want just any pancakes; you wanted Matt’s pancakes.

When he came home from the bakery, you greeted him with an almost guilty expression. “Hey, babeee.” you sang, dragging out the pet name as you looked at him.

“What’s up?” he asked, setting his bag down and pulling you into a hug. His arms were strong and comforting, his clothes still smelling like the bakery which only triggered your craving even more.

Your face was pressed against his chest as you smiled. “I really want pancakes,” you blurted out against him, pulling back to tilt your head up.

Matt grinned. “Pancakes?” he teased, bringing his face down to press his lips against your temple in a soft kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled down at you. “I think i can do that baby.”

And soon enough, you followed him into the kitchen, watching as he tied on his favorite apron. He grabbed ingredients with practiced ease, pouring flour, sugar, and buttermilk into a mixing bowl. He whisked the batter until it was smooth and poured it onto a sizzling griddle.

You were always amazed at how easy it was for him to make such things in quick time — watching as Matt flipped the pancakes with precision. You sat there with your head in one of your hands, the other rubbing your swollen belly.

You loved watching him in his own environment, how happy he got even if it was to make the things you wanted. Soon enough, he plated a stack, layering them with berries and a generous swirl of whipped cream. Then, just because he knew you so well, he drizzled a little maple syrup over the top.

When he set the plate in front of you, your stomach practically growled. “These look better than a restaurant’s,” you said, digging in, groaning as the food hit your tastebuds.

“I love you so much.” you said, your words muffled by a bite of food. Matt chuckled, “I love you too baby..both of you.” he said, resting a hand against your stomach as you continued to eat.

003 - Cookie’s

You were curled up on the couch one evening, enjoying the show you had turned on the tv. Your hands instinctively rubbing small circles across your belly, gasping softly when you would feel the soft flutters and kicks against your hands.

When the craving hit: warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies — You could almost taste the melty chocolate and buttery dough, the thought consuming your mind. But, you wanted Matt’s homemade cookies.

Your head turned in the direction to where Matt was sitting, his nose buried in the pages of a book. “Matt baby?” you spoke, the sudden noise startling him slightly, making him look up from his book.

He gently set the book down with a knowing smile. “Yeah sweetheart?” he said, slowly getting up and making his way over to you, crouching in front of your sitting figure. “Can you make cookies?..but not any kind, chocolate chip ones?” you asked shyly — it was still hard to ask for things a little.

Matt nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Of course i can baby, anything for you.” Without another word, he got up and headed to the kitchen.

You stayed in your spot on the couch, too warm and comfortable to move and the thought of ruining your comfort made you cringe. You could hear the sound of bowls and trays clinking, along with measuring cups and ingredients being poured into the bowls.

As the cookies started to bake, the smell filled the house, making your mouth water. “You should bottle that scent,” you teased as you spoke in the direction of the kitchen, loud enough for him to hear you. “I’d wear it as perfume.”

Matt’s laughter filtered into the living room, the sound of him pulling the tray out of the oven came right along with it. A few moments laster, he came back into the living room, holding a tray of breath golden brown cookies that looked delicious.

“Be careful baby, they’re still kind of hot.” he warned, and you acknowledged it, making sure to blow the cookie off before taking a bite out of it. The chocolate oozed, melting away in the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you said, closing your eyes. “These are better than I imagined.”

“Good,” Matt said, leaning down to steal a bite from your cookie. “Because I made enough to last you through the week.”

004 - Mac and Cheese

The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a cozy gray light over the living room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, but no amount of cozy could compete with the craving that had been building for hours: mac and cheese. Not just any mac and cheese—Matt’s mac and cheese. The kind that was creamy, cheesy, and baked with that perfectly crispy breadcrumb topping. Just thinking about it made your stomach rumble.

Matt walked into the room, drying his hair with a towel from showering just moments ago. He noticed the way you were staring out the window, looking distracted.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked, leaning against the arm of the couch.

You sighed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I want your baked mac and cheese.”

His face lit up, his grin soft and knowing. “Mac and cheese, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. “But only the baked one with the crunchy topping. You make it the best.”

“Well,” he said, pulling the blanket off your lap and giving your belly a quick rub, “you’re lucky I love you, because I wasn’t planning on cooking today. But how can I say no to my girls?”

You followed him into the kitchen, settling at the counter as he began pulling out ingredients. Watching Matt cook was always mesmerizing — he moved with such precision, each movement purposeful and confident. He tied on his apron and shot you a playful wink before getting to work.

First, he boiled a pot of water and tossed in the pasta, his favorite brand of elbow macaroni. While that cooked, he set up a saucepan to make the cheese sauce. You watched as he melted butter, whisked in flour to create a roux, and then gradually poured in milk, his wrist moving smoothly as the sauce thickened.

“This is where the magic happens,” he said, grinning as he reached for blocks of cheese. He grated a mix of sharp cheddar, mozzarella, and Parmesan, folding them into the sauce with care. The cheese melted into silky, golden perfection, and he dipped a spoon in for a taste.

“Want to try?” he asked, holding the spoon out to you.

You leaned forward, blowing on the sauce before tasting it. The richness of the cheese mixed with the creamy texture made your eyes close in satisfaction. “That’s amazing,” you murmured, licking your lips.

Matt chuckled. “Good. It’s about to get better.”

Once the pasta was drained, he tossed it into the cheese sauce, folding it together until every piece was coated. The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering smell of melted cheese as he poured the mixture into a baking dish. Then came your favorite part: the topping. Matt mixed breadcrumbs with a little melted butter and a pinch of Parmesan, sprinkling it evenly over the top.

“This is what makes it the best,” he said, smoothing out the topping with the back of a spoon.

Into the oven it went, and the wait felt like an eternity. The two of you stood in the kitchen, chatting about your day, but your eyes kept flicking to the oven, waiting for the top to turn golden and crispy.

Finally, the timer dinged, and Matt pulled the dish out with a flourish. The mac and cheese bubbled at the edges, the breadcrumbs perfectly golden. He set it on the counter, letting it cool for a moment before serving you a bowl.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sliding the bowl toward you.

You didn’t care about the heat. You dug your fork in, pulling up a cheesy, crispy bite and blowing on it quickly before popping it into your mouth. The combination of creamy pasta and crunchy topping was everything you’d dreamed of. You let out a satisfied groan, resting your hand on your belly. “Matt, this is ridiculous. How are you this good?”

He leaned against the counter, watching you with a smug grin. “Years of practice — and a little extra love just for you.”

You took another bite, savoring it before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

Matt laughed, reaching over to brush a kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I plan on spoiling you like this for the rest of our lives.”

That night, curled up on the couch with Matt beside you and a second helping of mac and cheese in your bowl, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about the love and care behind every bite. And with Matt, there was no shortage of that.

© strnilolover

a/n : ik this is a little different but this was the only way i could see it in my head. also i was going to write a 5th one but then didn’t. but enjoy these!!