#and then began my scheming)

[ysabellious]

“It’s true I can block out the pain. I don't feel any pain anymore!”

[museoftheprophet]

Outside :3 in theeeee camp shirt because I cannot take it off. I’m making more.

[bosspigeon]

what was the relationship between gortash and your durges pre-lobotomy? how do they feel when they meet him again?

:3 soooo originally i thought it would be REALLY funny if Gortash was shooting his shot so hard but Maw (pre-lobo Moss~) was just So Autistic he just didn't get it

but then i realized i could go deeper and much more painful :3c

i stand by Moss being a Big Ol' Virgin before Astarion, bc i, personally, think that makes for a very fun(ny) dynamic and also fits in with the character i've already established for Maw, and that was that he was so single-mindedly focused on his duty to Bhaal and his destiny that he didn't really bother with seeking out any sort of bond with anyone, much less enough for him to start feeling sexual attraction towards them. his duty was Murder and he was very, very, very good at it, and that came from a lifetime of dedication

but i think, meeting Gortash, someone he saw as more of an equal than even Orin (who he saw as his lesser by virtue of him being made by Bhaal from his own flesh and her being a second-generation spawn from a first-generation spawn that he still considered imperfect as well as misguided wrt his ideas about Blood Purity) and eventually befriending him over their shared passions and dedication to their respective patron gods, opening him up to actually making his own adult bond with someone else for the first time in his entire life

his relationship with Gortash started as a business deal and eventually turned into companionship and his first genuine friendship. and from there, feelings began to emerge on both sides, but seeing as Maw had a lot of practice shoving down any Softer Feelings he may have had (and an adolescence of Firm Guidance into perfection overseen by Sceleritas, who served Bhaal first and foremost) so before Orin betrayed him, they never got further than a very heavy, very dangerous Almost.

[eternal-reverie]

finishing love between fairy and devil reminded that I had another c-drama (Love like the Galway) that I had paused watching and now that I resumed it, uhh I think I lost track of the ongoing plot and character motivations/backstories 😬

[yanderedrabbles]

The North Wind & His Bride

The North Wind was the coldest and cruelest of winds. So when a man came to your father's door claiming to be him and asking for your hand, your father was quick to turn him away.

"My daughter is too bright and too kind to be wasted on the worst of the winds. Come back once you learn to carry spring on your breath instead of snow."

And all that night the wind whispered down your chimney. You dreamt strange dreams - of the colours found only at the edge of the world, of snow flurries and seas black as night.

The man returned the next day. And your father once again refused him. "Come back when you can grant succor to the poor and the pitiful and not freeze them where they sleep."

That night, the wind keened even higher and rattled the window shutters. You dreamt of a wedding dress with frost for lace and a ring the gold of sunrise on snow. When you woke, your ring finger was cold as ice.

The man did not come again that day and you huddled close to the fire, rubbing warmth back into your bones. Your father paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the wind.

That night, the air laid still as in a coffin and you slept the black sleep of the drowned. You woke in time to see the first snow of the year, two months too early.

Your father's crops froze in the ground or rotted with the thaw. He paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the creditors.

When next your suitor came, your father's good manners had been worn down by debt collectors and bank notes. He snapped at the wind like a thing cornered. "Come back when you can guide ships safe to port and not wreck them on icy shores."

That night, a blizzard blew in from the north and any creature not crouched by the fire or huddled indoors was found frozen solid. You dreamt again, of a man with cold hands and even colder eyes who danced with you under foreign stars.

Your suitor did not come again but terrible news did. Your brother's ship was wrecked by a storm high on the winter coast. All souls were lost.

Through your grief, a terrible anger began to grow.

When next your suitor came, you greeted him at the door. He had a face as finely chiseled as an ice sculpture and eyes the deep black of the hinterland sea.

"If you would have me as your bride, then I will have a dowry from you."

He took your hand in his and his touch chilled you worse than a corpse's would. He looked at you with a hunger born out of winter and scarcity and cold.

"Anything. Ask anything of me and you can have it."

All through your brother's funeral you thought of ways to avenge him. And now you asked the North Wind for the one thing you thought he could never obtain.

"In a kingdom far south of here, where the snow never falls and the winter never comes, there is a jewel carved from the sun God's bones. Bring me that as a wedding band and I will be your bride."

You thought he would flinch or ask you to reconsider. Instead he bowed and kissed your hand and said he would soon return.

You felt your hope slipping, but he did not return the next day. Or the day after that. The end of autumn came without snow or gales or the return of your suitor. Slowly, you began to breathe again. Began to heal from your brother's death. Began to dream of summer and love and fresh fruit bursting between your teeth.

The winter equinox dawned with clear skies. There was to be feasting that night, and dancing. You dressed your hair with silver chains and sweetened your lips with winter berries. When the music started, one young man after another swept you into his arms and spun you around the bonfire. You tilted your head back and laughed and flirted and forgot all about your suitor.

Near midnight, the wind started to blow. The fire hissed as snowflakes drifted down from suddenly cloudy skies. Your dance partner caught one on his glove and offered it to you. Daring and high on the thrill of dancing, you licked it off his finger. "Tastes of winter in storm," you teased and when he took you for another dance, you wondered if you'd caught yourself a husband.

He spun you around but the arms that caught you were icy cold even through the fine velvet of the wearer's suit.

Midnight tolled and you looked up into the eyes of the North Wind.

He pulled your hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against your skin. At his touch, even the bonfire at your back seemed to lose its warmth.

"The journey south was wrecked with danger and the sun almost melted me clean away, but I have brought your dowry."

Before you could pull away, he slipped a ring onto your finger. It was the gold of fire and sunset and desert sand, and it's warmth spread through you.

The snow turned into a blizzard but you didn't notice it. The wind outside the safety of his arms was sharp as stinging nettles and the townsfolk called to each other in panic, barely able to keep their torches from blowing out.

The North Wind kissed your cheek, eyes glimmering with triumph.

"You're mine now. My spring bride, my dearest love."

All your dreams of a sweet summer love melted. When the snow finally settled, you were no longer in the town square but in a throne room at the edge of the world. Green and blue lights danced in the sky and shone through the palace ceiling, bathed your new husband in all the colours of his kingdom.

He leaned forward and claimed his first kiss.

When you pulled away and tried to step out of his embrace, he tightened his grip and his smile both.

"You are my wife now," he explained in a voice as comforting as frostbite, "And a wife cannot refuse her husband's love."

Your sun ring was the only spot of warmth on your body and you clung desperately to the anchor it offered.

"I would not refuse you, husband of mine. But I am the daughter and the sister of common men and there are traditions to uphold before I can climb into your wedding bed."

"What more must I do to have you?"

What would he be unable to do, here at the end of the world?

"Build me a fire that burns all day and all night on one stick of wood and you can have me as promised."

"These are strange traditions you have, wife of mine. But I have come this far to have you, and I will go further yet."

He left you with a flurry of snow and the hissing shriek of a gale. When he was gone, you paced the throne room from one end to the other and could not find a door. Everything about the room was as stark and cold as he.

Exhausted and chilled, you sat at the foot of his throne. What terrible thing did you do to earn the love of the North Wind? You wiped away your tears and then jumped at the hissing sound they made when they touched your ring. Like water spilled on coals.

"You've melted his heart," your ring hissed. "And he cannot afford to let you go."

You stared at your hand. Eventually you found your voice and the strength to ask, "How do I escape him?"

"Trick him. His heart holds all his power. If you have it, you can ride the wind far from here. He was once a man and still might be tempted into a deal."

The ring was silent after that and you waited for your husband's return with bated breath. It was dawn when he came to you, a branch slung over his shoulder. It was of a dry, white wood that you didn't recognise.

There were no fireplaces in the North Wind's palace and so he laid the branch at your feet before he lit it. It caught with a harsh crackle and fire spread across it in a greenish haze. You stretched your fingers out to feel the heat and even the meagre warmth of it was a comfort.

But that comfort turned to a slow dawning horror when you realised the branch wasn't turning to ash. The fire ate at it but the wood refused to darken.

"It's a branch from Death's own orchard," your husband said proudly. "It can burn for eternity and never go out."

"Well done," you said, even though your lips were numb from panic. "But we must watch it burn for the full day and night or else our marriage cannot be consummated."

He sat down beside you and curled his arm around your waist. "It is an easy task to watch this fire, wife of mine. When I grow tired, I need only think of the reward that awaits me."

For a whole day and night, the North Wind held you his arms and watched the fire burn. When Dawn's light touched his palace again, he kissed your shoulder and then your neck and then your lips. He sighed with a deep contentment.

"At last I will have you."

With each kiss, you felt yourself grow colder. With each caress, the binding ties of marriage grew tighter. All night you thought of a trade to offer him and now you said it aloud.

"Husband of mine, I will come willingly to your bed and serve willingly as your wife. But I would ask you first for a boon."

"Ask, wife of mine. If it is mine to grant, then I shall grant it."

You slipped off his lap and turned to look at him.

"I would have your heart."

The North Wind sighed and miles away, a gale began to form. "You already have it."

"So have said countless suitors over countless years to countless girls. And still they were unfaithful, unkind. If your love ever turns away from me, I will be stuck here at the end of world with naught but sea bears and ice hounds to comfort me."

The North Wind sat on his throne and regarded you with eyes old as the mountains. In his own hall, in his own country, he did not seem like a man who could easily be tricked. Still, you tried. You let your hands drift across his cheeks and up his thighs, let his skin bask in the warmth of your touch.

"Grant me this, husband. And I will be yours for eternity."

Was it lust or love that made him hand you a knife and bid you cut out his heart? He guided your hand to the tender spot between his ribs and the bare skin of his chest almost made your reconsider.

The blade was carved out of whalebone and moonlight and he was bleeding before you even pressed down. You thought of your brother, drowned in the ice so far from home and found the strength to slice into him.

The blood that welled up from his chest was thick and black as oil. Where it touched your skin, hoatfrost bloomed.

He didn't seem to feel any pain - he only pulled you higher up his lap and watched the guilt and horror flicker across your face.

When the cut was deep enough, you pushed your hand into his chest and felt for his heart. His organs were colder even than his skin and it felt like you'd sunk your hands into snow.

The beating of his heart mirrored yours and when you finally grabbed it, the thrumming of his blood sounded just like your own.

You held the North Wind's heart in your hand and pulled it from his chest.

All at once, in all the countless winter kingdoms, the wind stopped howling and the snow grew still.

His heart was the size of your palm and oozed icy blood over your fingers. It was so cold that at first you didn't realise the numbness in your hand was spreading. It crawled up your arm like a burning frost and locked your bones in place.

You couldn't drop his heart even if you tried.

The North Wind looked at you with an indulgent, amused smile. And when the ice reached your heart he leaned up and kissed you.

He kissed you and for once his lips felt warm, felt human. Dimly, you realised it wasn't him who was getting warmer, it was you who was freezing over. Becoming a thing of ice and hunger as he was.

"Now you need never fear I will abandon you." The North Wind ran his hands up your sides and warmth bloomed in his wake.

"Now you can control the wind as I do and ride it to the furthest reaches of the world. You can swim with the sea bears and dance with the witches."

You looked down and realised his heart was almost gone, melted into your bones and blood.

He kissed you again. "My love, you are as free as the wind."

It wasn't until then that you realised the cost of freedom. The cost of having the North Wind's heart. And when he drew you up in his arms and lead you to your wedding bed, you were too cold to turn him away.

[aomiiine]

PRAEDATOR CALEB who was assigned for you to monitor and investigate down in at his prison, chains on restraining his wrists together behind his back. His demeanour was menacing, cruel, infuriatingly teasing—overall unfriendly. Yet despite it all, he keeps fishing for your attention.

you were enforcer, someone tasked to take care of praedators like him. Your prisoners were supposed to be yours to control, but somehow with Caleb, it was like you were his plaything instead.

Ridiculous, you thought. He should be under your rule. And that was exactly what he wanted too.

So here you were, in the darkness of his confines, defined jaw in your firm grasp as he bared his teeth at you, attempting to fight against his muzzle. His dog tag was nestled into his mouth, your thumb against his lip making sure it stayed there. Caleb was frustrated, no doubt. Sexually so.

“Think putting your pretty heels on my thigh’s gonna do something, dear enforcer? You’ll have to get bolder,” the chained man taunted, suppressing a groan that threatened to erupt from his throat at the feeling of your sharp heel pressing down hard on his inner thigh, the flat surface of the sole grazing close to the raging erection he had throbbing in the confines of his pants. But it seemed like he refused to acknowledge it, keeping fierce eye-contact with you shamelessly even at his unsaid intentions to use your anger to get him off.

MDNI (18+) -> you get him off with your heels, perv/shameless caleb, light dirty talking, restraints (he’s chained up), eye-fucking your tits, he’s so fucking down bad lol, dom-ish reader but caleb intends to regain control

“You’re a sick perv,” you spat with a glower.

“Quit talking as if you aren’t one too,” caleb scoffed with a sneer, spitting the dog tag out with canines gleaming under the fleeting white lights of the officers light-tower.

Your face heats up a fraction at his swift response, brows knitting in disbelief at his brazen words, foot pressing harder in retaliation.

“Fuck, cat really got your tongue, huh?” The praedator hissed at the pressure, hips rolling in search for more of that delicious friction he desperately needed. He didn’t care if you were an enforcer tasked to tame him—his heart and mind demanded your attention and touch, regardless of how he gets it.

“If that’s the case, then you should really give me the opportunity to bite it next,” he said soon after he adjusted to the new sensation, feral eyes now flickering frantically between your eyes and the heel on his cock—soon to be, on his cock.

“Unbelievable,” you exhaled sharply, finally deciding to put him out of his pitiful misery for friction and using the flat surface of your shoe to press of his hard on, making little to no effort to rub his aching flesh up and down, earning a deep moan from him.

It was almost like he was on the brink of ecstasy already, lips parted for quick breaths through gritted teeth. Caleb’s chains rattled wildly, forearms and biceps flexing from how much he wanted to move much more, to grind up against the firm surface of your heel. The sight mesmerised you, leaving you entranced and sinfully wanting to see more of your unpredictable praedator.

so you exerted more force, showing mercy by setting up a steady pace that would surely get him. And true to thought, it did. In seconds, he was panting like a dog, chest heaving up and down and hips jerking forward desperately.

“Goddamn, officer, you really know how to please a rabid stray,” he grunted, head thrown back then forth when he felt his cock twitch in his pants, growing painfully aroused that he could feel the pre-cum drench his boxers. “Gotta do this more often, officer,” he huffed, drawing in you in with a glance up to you, a dreamy smile that felt more seductively mischievous and less scheming.

“Hmph. Dream on, Caleb,” you tsked, crossing your arms over your chest, amplifying the curves of your tits that he began to eye-fuck the rest of the time. What was worse is that you knew that he was doing it—you just didn’t say or do anything to stop him. You liked it, seeing him having to swallow the saliva that collected in his mouth in his attempt to not drool at the sight of your standing tall over him. It made you feel in control, wanted—even though the control was truly in his busy hands rather than yours. He’ll take you down from that high as soon as he gets the lock of those chains binding his wrists open. Then, you’ll be the one seeing him from above.

[moonlight-joy]

The Dragon’s Defiance

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Queen Alicent Hightower attempted to humiliate you, the pregnant wife of Daemon Targaryen, by summoning you to the throne room in a calculated power play. However, Daemon fiercely defended you, publicly dismantling Alicent’s scheme and forcing King Viserys to intervene in your favor. Alicent’s plan backfired, exposing her desperation and strengthening your bond with Daemon. Together, you stood as an unshakable force, a reminder that dragons bow to no one.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The Red Keep had always been a maze of whispers and shadows, but since Queen Alicent Hightower had risen to power beside King Viserys, the castle walls seemed alive with sharp ears and sharper tongues. You had lived within these halls long enough to understand how quickly alliances could shift, how loyalty could be traded like coin. Yet, for all the intrigue that surrounded you, you had never let the weight of court life break you.

You were Targaryen, wife to Daemon Targaryen—the Rogue Prince—and mother to his children. For over a decade, your union had weathered storms that would have destroyed others. Now, pregnant with your fourth child, you carried the latest testament to the strength of your bond. But this time, the storm came not from without, but from the very heart of the Red Keep.

The morning had been peaceful, the sun streaming through the windows of your chambers. You reclined on a cushioned chaise, a hand resting on the swell of your belly as you read. The warmth of the fire lulled you into a sense of calm until hurried footsteps interrupted the tranquility. A servant entered, pale and trembling.

“My lady,” the servant began, their voice unsteady, “the Queen requests your presence in the throne room.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “In my condition?” you asked, your hand instinctively cradling your belly.

The servant hesitated. “Her Grace insisted, my lady. She wishes to… address you before the court.”

You understood immediately. This was no simple summons; it was a calculated move. A veiled insult. Alicent had always sought ways to assert her power, to remind others that she ruled beside the King. Now, she sought to humiliate you in front of the court as she had done to Rhaenyra years before.

“Fetch my husband,” you said firmly, closing your book. “I will not attend alone.”

Moments later, Daemon entered, his steps deliberate, his expression dark. The servant recounted the Queen’s summons, and as they spoke, you could see the fury building in your husband’s eyes. His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides.

“She dares to summon you like this?” Daemon growled. “In your condition?”

“She wishes to make a spectacle,” you replied calmly, though your pulse quickened. “To remind me—and the court—that she is queen.”

A dangerous smile spread across Daemon’s lips, one that never reached his eyes. “Then she will be reminded why I am her greatest threat.”

He helped you to your feet, his hand gentle but unyielding as he guided you. “You will not walk into her trap alone,” he promised. “And if she dares to humiliate you, I will tear her games apart.”

The throne room was filled when you arrived, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on you. But you held your head high, refusing to show any weakness. You were a dragon, and no Hightower would ever make you cower. Your hand rested lightly on Daemon’s arm as he led you into the hall, his presence a shield against the sea of whispers.

Queen Alicent stood near the Iron Throne, draped in green silk that shimmered in the torchlight. Her smile was thin, her eyes sharp as they fixed on you. King Viserys sat upon the throne, his frame frail, his face lined with illness. He looked troubled, his gaze flickering between you and Alicent.

“My lady,” Alicent greeted, her tone sweet but laced with malice. “It is so good of you to join us. I hope the walk was not too taxing in your… delicate state.”

You met her gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I am quite capable, Your Grace. Though I admit I was surprised by your summons.”

“It is important for the realm to see the strength of its women,” Alicent said, her voice carrying through the hall. “Just as Princess Rhaenyra demonstrated after the birth of her sons.”

The implication was clear. Alicent wanted you to endure the same humiliation Rhaenyra had suffered years ago, parading yourself before the court mere days after childbirth. It was a calculated move to demean you and remind the court of her power.

Daemon’s low chuckle broke the tension, drawing every eye in the room. “You must be mistaken, Your Grace,” he said, his voice as sharp as Valyrian steel. “My wife is no servant to be paraded before the court like a curiosity.”

Alicent’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “It is a gesture of unity,” she replied, though her tone tightened. “One that would surely be appreciated by the people.”

Daemon stepped forward, his presence consuming the room. “Unity?” he echoed, his voice mocking. “Unity is forged through respect, not humiliation. My wife carries a Targaryen heir. If you think I will allow her to be used as a pawn in your games, you are gravely mistaken.”

A murmur rippled through the court, courtiers exchanging wide-eyed glances as Alicent’s composure slipped. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and her voice rose. “You overstep, Prince Daemon. This is not your decision.”

Daemon’s laugh was cold, his violet eyes darkening with fury. “Everything concerning my wife and child is my decision. And you would do well to remember that.”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point until Viserys raised his hand, his voice weak but firm. “Enough,” he said, silencing the court. “This matter is settled. My daughter-in-law will not be subjected to such treatment.”

Alicent opened her mouth to argue, but Viserys’s glare stopped her. She curtsied stiffly, her expression tight with barely concealed anger. “Of course, Your Grace.”

As you left the throne room, Daemon’s hand remained on your back, his fury palpable. Only when you were alone in your chambers did he let his anger spill over.

“She will pay for this,” he said quietly, his voice cold and dangerous. “Alicent forgets that dragons do not bow.”

“She sought to humiliate me,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “But she failed. Thanks to you.”

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he cupped your face in his hands. “I will not let anyone harm you,” he vowed fiercely. “Not her, not anyone. You are my wife, my queen, and the mother of my children. Let her play her games—I will burn her ambitions to ash if she dares threaten you again.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “We are stronger together,” you said softly. “Let her see that she cannot break us.”

Daemon kissed your forehead, his lips lingering as if to seal his promise. “Together,” he agreed, his voice low and certain. “Always.”

Word of the exchange spread quickly, the whispers echoing through the Red Keep. Alicent’s attempt to assert her dominance had backfired, and even her closest allies began to waver. The queen had sought to humiliate you but instead found herself exposed as desperate and grasping.

Within your chambers, there was peace. Daemon remained vigilant, his protectiveness extending to you and your children. The tension of the court lingered, but in his arms, you felt safe—untouchable. Alicent had underestimated the fire that burned within you and the bond you shared with your husband.

You were a dragon, and dragons did not kneel. Together, you and Daemon would ensure the world remembered that truth.

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[seumyo]

husband!bakugou thinks you’re a hypocrite

Photo albums are a way to physically preserve memories. Memories that should’ve been buried with the past—forgotten as the years go by.

Thankfully, Mama Mitsuki lent you Bakugou’s old photo album when you mentioned it in passing. A thick photo album that had “Katsuki Memory” in its title and even a design of a cartoonish bomb, finished in this beautiful silver and gold. Fancy for a baby album, but they could afford it, so you didn’t have much say.

Your husband’s sprawled across the bed with his head in your lap, scrolling through his phone, absolutely oblivious to your scheming.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Bakugou grunted, not looking up.

“You were… Katsuki, honey, the light of my life—you were such an ugly baby.”

That got his attention. He set his phone aside, sitting up immediately. “The hell?”

You turned the album toward him, pointing at a grainy, slightly overexposed photo of newborn Katsuki. His face was scrunched up, red and wrinkled, his head oddly shaped from the ordeal of birth.

“I mean, look at you!” you said, unable to keep your laughter contained any longer.

He snatched the album from your hands, staring at the photo in question. “Tch, all babies look like this.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Yes they do!”

“Kats, I love you, but I’ve seen plenty of newborns, and most of them are at least kinda cute. You, though? You look like a grumpy little potato that just got yanked out of the ground.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his ears turning red as he tried to defend himself. “I just got born! Give me a break!”

You doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach. “Certainly born with a face that only a mother could love.” A face that you also loved.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He closed the album with a loud thud and tossed it onto the nightstand. “You’re lucky I don’t blow that damn thing to bits.”

“Your Mom would be devastated. I would be too.”

“Shut.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your laughter dying down. “I’m sorry, hun. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting that. You’re so good-looking now, but baby Katsuki? He was… something else.”

Bakugou crossed his arms, glaring at you like a sulking child. “Bet you weren’t some perfect baby, either.”

“I was adorable; thank you very much,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

“Show a picture or you’re lyin’.”

You showed him a newborn picture of you, and that shut him up. Bakugou had lost the battle and the war—because the gods must have a favorite.

“Fucking unfair,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. You looked so cute and small. Who knew this little spawn would be his wife someday?

You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Hey, ugly or not, you’re my grumpy little potato, and I love you.”

He grumbled under his breath, but the way his hand found yours and squeezed it gently told you he wasn’t really mad. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“No promises.”

Bakugou grunted. Fucking perfect.

-

“Awe, look at him, Katsuki,” you murmured, brushing a gentle finger across your son’s chubby cheek.

The little boy was fast asleep, his tiny fists curled in his adorably tiny mittens near his face. His resemblance to Bakugou was uncanny—he had the same spiky tufts of blonde hair and a natural pout that made your heart melt. The chubbiness of his cheeks was a bonus, seeing that a healthy son was all that you could ever wish for.

Bakugou sighed quietly, his attention drifting to his son. “Tch. ‘Course he is. He’s my kid.”

You chuckled, glancing at him. “I mean, yeah, but he looks just like you. I can’t believe it.”

“Why can’t you believe it?” He can’t help but ask.

“Because,” you began, your voice dropping into a joking tone.

“Remember when I saw what you looked like as a baby? And, well…”

He narrowed his eyes. That again.

“Don’t start.”

“I mean it, though. He’s adorable. He even has your pout.”

Bakugou leaned forward, resting his arms against the crib, although not putting his entire weight on it. “Yeah, and? You callin’ me cute now?”

“Maybe. But only because you look better now than you did when you were fresh out of the womb.”

“Hypocrite,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re sittin’ there, gushin’ about how cute he is,” he said, gesturing toward their son. “But when it was me, you couldn’t stop talkin’ about how ugly I was. And now you’re all, ‘Oh, he looks just like you!’ Make up your damn mind, woman.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to wake your baby baby boy. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little harsh about baby you. But come on, Katsuki. He’s the improved version of you.”

“Improved, my ass. He’s just like me, end of story.”

“He got my eyebrows, that’s for sure. See? Improved version.”

“You have a problem with my eyebrows?” He scoffs in mock offense, crossing his arms.

You leaned toward him, a playful glint in your eye. “Well, if he grows up with your temper and your attitude, I’ll definitely know where he got it from.”

“And if he grows up teasin’ people to death like you, I’ll know where that came from,” he replied, though there was no real heat in his words.

You both fell silent for a moment, your eyes drifting back to your son. The little boy shifted in his sleep, letting out a soft coo that made your heart swell—like it could burst any moment now.

“Hun,” you said softly, your teasing tone gone. “He really is perfect, isn’t he?”

Bakugou leaned closer, resting a hand on your shoulder as he gazed down at your son. His usual sharp expression softened into something almost unrecognizable—pure, unfiltered love.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He is.”

You looked at him, smiling. “You’re going to be such a great dad, you know that?”

“Tch. Of course,” he muttered, though the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’ll be the best dad the world has ever seen.”

...

“Just… don’t let him see my baby pictures in the future, got it?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

For now, anyway.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[smokingsoothesthesoul]

# DREW STARKEY — LIVE TALK SHOW

ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ ────୨ৎ──── drew’s first time on a talk show, which just so happens to be jimmy fallon’s and he’s known for scheming. he surprises drew starkey with his celebrity crush. which just so happens to be you.

ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ — pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey !

author’s note: please show some love, also this is my first time posting on here, and i don't know how good my one-shots are. enjoy!

word count : 1.8k

you were known for being one of the most famous actresses sought after. they’d been right for it, your acting was phenomenal. as much fame as you had, you never really let it get to your head, knowing where you had come from was the most important thing to you. 

not only that but you were also known for the activist and humanitarian organizations you’d created or supported alongside other celebrities, like angelina jolie, phoebe tonkin, daniel craig, etc.

so when daniel craig’s managers reached out to you it wasn’t a big surprise, apparently they had been reached out to by a talk show if they could invite you along as well. knowing daniel was more than glad to pass the invitation along, you accepted. 

you wondered why they’d want you there seeing as queer had just premiered, and that had nothing to do with you

—

drew had been nervous, he’d be on a talk show, but nonetheless he was a wreck. it took him forever to decide what he’d be wearing, ultimately deciding on a charcoal grey, and white tux with a black tie. he hoped his outfit would be fine for the show.

as he waited backstage for his introduction he paced around nervous, spinning his gold ring on his finger, an anxious tic he had. 

before he knew it, he heard jimmy fallon, “ladies and gentleman, let’s welcome the man everyone's been talking about, he’s rising to fame, the one and only drew starkey!” he announced as drew walked out and shook hands with the bodyguard on his way to the main set. 

hearing the loud cheers and roars of everyone was amazing and he couldn't help but be shook to his core, never in a hundred years would he have expected this. 

he waved to everyone as he made his way over to jimmy and shook his hand, before he proceeded to sit down in one of the couches.

“so drew we’re glad you accepted our invitation, isn’t that right?” jimmy asked the audience, before they all roared in agreement.

“i’m honored, thank you for inviting me.” drew replied confidently, knowing he was nervous inside.

“so we know you’ve been chasing gold for about four years, and now you’re in a queer relationship with daniel craig, james bond, which has premiered if i’m correct?” jimmy asked, knowing the answer but trying to build up the conversation.

“yes, out in theatres about a week ago.” drew replied. 

“how did that transition work, you know, from filming a show where you don’t really have a romantic relationship until recently to a full blown queer relationship?” jimmy asked curiously.

“honestly, a bit overwhelming and a lot of anxiety from my part. not more so because of the transition but just because i knew i had to ace this role. getting the opportunity to work alongside daniel craig and for luca guadagnino was truly the opportunity of a lifetime. whatever time it was, i knew i had to give it my all. sometimes i doubted my performance but daniel helped me and gave me advice whenever i needed it,” drew replied, while he felt himself relaxing a bit as he got comfortable enough to share personal details.

“there was even a time where,” drew began before lightly biting his lip amused at the story daniel shared with him, before continuing, “daniel told me of an experience he had with another co-star. basically when you first film scenes and most of all when they’re scenes like we were filming, the first day on set really is just practice. not reading lines, but actually practicing how certain scenes will go. in our case mature scenes were what we focused on at the beginning seeing as we’d be testing out our chemistry.”

“anywho the point is that once we were literally in the middle of a bed scene, nothing too explicit, and daniel chuckled when i fucked up a line because instead of saying ‘we can’t be doing this’ i said ‘we shan’t be doing this.’ he literally rolled out of bed and said he had to take a breather, i was confused, i mean we fuck up lines sometimes but never enough to call break,” drew explained.

“yeah normally that doesn’t happen, i would’ve been nervous,” jimmy commented.

drew laughed and nodded his head, before continuing, “i was dying of anxiety in the inside, i was like did i fuck up this badly. and i guess daniel could see it written on my face, which is when he walked over and explained how in his last role the same thing had happened with his co-star. and i couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief and literally said, ‘thank fuck’ to which he laughed at as he walked away to get a water.”

jimmy let out a chuckle at the ending of his story, and said, “oh my god i would’ve died of laughter too.” 

drew nodded as he swiped his backhand on his nose, a reflex of his, before replying “yeah i definitely would’ve too but honestly i was too nervous at the time, now i think back on it and laugh about it.”

“actually there was something i was looking forward to, with you here, let’s show this clip,” jimmy said motioning towards the tv for the audience.

before they knew it, drew was being interviewed by a reporter who asked who his celebrity crush was, ‘y/n y/ln’ he answered without falter.

as the video ended drew couldn’t help but let out a chuckle and turned to jimmy while he began, “is that still true?” 

drew knew the answer to that, and nodded, “yeah it is,” he replied confidently.

“we have a surprise for you if you look at the monitor,” jimmy said before motioning towards the tv.

if the world could swallow drew up whole, he’d let it. at that moment. because then and there on the tv, where times he’d stated his celebrity crush was y/n to interviewers and it was playing in chronological order.

as the video ended jimmy looked at him and playfully asked, “anything to comment?” 

drew couldn’t help but cover his mouth with one hand before sliding it down to reply, “genuinely that’d be mine if i could somehow reach her.”

“well who knows maybe one day you will,” jimmy commented supportively.

“unless i get the courage to actually dm her, it’ll be a pending matter,” drew replied.

“why the need for a dm? i’m right here,” you said after making your way quietly behind him signaling the audience to not spoil it.

at that moment, drew froze up, and instantly rose up from his seat but slowly turned around, not knowing if it was real.

as he slowly turned, you waved at him and slightly giggled at his nervous reaction. you waited for him to say something before you said anything else.

as you stood there waiting, drew finally caught a grip and let his charm play out even if he was a train wreck inside. 

“i’m drew starkey,” he introduced, stammering quite a bit. 

“i know,” you replied smiling.

hearing that drew’s brows rose in confusion, he didn’t expect that. he was a nobody and you were everything.

“i was invited to your premiere but i ended up in the er or else i would’ve been there, apologies,” you said, genuinely honest.

drew was lost for words, yet jimmy asked him, “drew you still there or are you too starstruck?” 

“mhm,” drew nodded, not necessarily indicating which one but they could all guess.

he couldn’t get over the fact you’d just apologized for not attending his premiere, gosh he was literally about to faint before he talked to himself in his head ‘get your shit together before you scare her’ which he proceeded to do, and extended his hand for her to shake.

“none of that, my mama taught me better than that” you replied before walking closer to him and pulling him into a hug.

drew couldn’t believe this was happening but reacted fast enough to not make it seem awkward for the audience, at least that's what he hoped and reciprocated the hug. wrapping his hands around your body.

as they pulled apart, you walked up to jimmy and shook his hand seeing as there was a literal desk between you both and greeted him. 

“jimmy it’s been a while,” you commented.

“glad to have you back on here,” jimmy replied genuinely.

“now that we’re dealing with a starstruck man, we actually have a few live questions, if you don’t mind answering them?” jimmy asked.

“of course, ask away,” she replied amused, wanting to know what was being asked.

jimmy read from his phone, “how does it feel to be drew starkey’s celebrity crush?”

“well honestly, and i quote, from the man himself, ‘i’m honored,’” you replied knowing drew was known for his replies of being honored.

next to you drew couldn’t help but smile amused knowing he said that quite a lot, he hadn’t been lying he really was honored. but to hear that you were honored he thought of you a certain way, well that was the most fucking honored he’d be in his life. before, now, or after.

“what do you think of drew starkey and his roles?” jimmy asked, reading off the second question being asked by the audience.

“well honestly, i’m definitely an outer banks fan. i’m glad he’s finally getting the recognition he deserved, i’ve been there since season one, people now are barely catching on,” you started.

as you replied, drew couldn’t help but feel touched at what you were saying. he really had just risen to fame this past year, with the new season of outer banks even though he’d been there since day one of the show.

“i’ll admit this new season and the past one that came out, i couldn’t help but feel a tad bit jealous that our local psycho was tied up and locked in with someone,” you admitted lightly, chuckling amused.

“for me this is a situation where i love the actor but hate the character unfortunately, because rafe deserved better, in this season four that came out. sofia betrayed him and genuinely frustrated me,” you explained.

drew couldn’t help but feel touched at how you were talking about his character, because it was something he’d poured his heart into. 

“one last question for both of you before we go,” jimmy asked before a drum roll sound came on to build anticipation.

“have we created a successful cupid match?” jimmy asked, to which the audience cheered, curious as well.

at that moment both drew and you gazed into each other's eyes, “only time will tell,” you answered truthfully, ‘but maybe we’ll get there’ you tried to communicate that through your gaze with drew. 

the cameras cut and now there was a rising to fame actor, holding out his hand for a famous actress to take. 

and that she did.

[p1astr81]

just a prank - op81

in which: Lando has his friends over, and while his roommate is taking a shower, they decide to play a prank on her. Oscar is the one to come to her rescue.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x Lando’s roommate!reader

warnings: uni au, fluff, bullying lowkey, use of y/n, a little objectifying, my first fic on here so pls don’t be rude

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧

Y/N just got off work, and she desperately needed a shower.

Wanting to become a physiotherapist, she worked part-time at a private secondary school alongside the athletic trainer to make some money while she studied at uni. She was helping one of the football athletes. He’d sprained his ankle earlier in the season, and she was having him do a few exercises to rebuild his strength in that foot.

Long story short, three boys came in asking for her to tape up their knees. Before she could say anything, one of the boys “tripped” and spilled an entire can of Red Bull down the front of her. The nice football player offered his shirt to her, but she politely declined. She’d remained in the sticky clothes for the rest of the day. And as soon as she got home, she jumped in the shower.

Conveniently, her roommate, Lando Norris, forgot to tell her that he invited a bunch of his friends over. So a quarter of the way through her shower, the shared apartment became filled with boys.

“What is taking her so long? I have to piss,” Keegan complained. Lando just shrugged. “Oh!” Carlos exclaimed, like a lightbulb just went off in his head. “Let’s play a prank on her.” He suggested. “Like turn off the lights?” Max Fewtrell asked. “Or turn off her music.” Ginge grumbled. The pop music was blasting, filling the apartment with the vocals of various pop girls.

“I was thinking more like take her clothes,” Carlos said, a mischievous tone about his voice. Lando laughed. “Just say you want to see my roommate naked, mate.”

Oscar thought they should leave her be, but he wasn’t friends with everyone in the room. Only Lando. And he didn’t want to be labeled as a kill joy, so he stayed silent.

“It’s not just me, I think everyone wants a piece of her.” Carlos defended himself, glancing at the others in the room who hesitantly nodded along—well, except for Oscar. “You’ve got your share already, haven’t you?”

Lando shook his head. “Nope, she sees me as a ‘friend’.” He shared, unamused. The room winced at the fact he’d been friendzoned. Carlos got up from the couch, and headed down the hallway where the bathroom was located.

Y/N heard the door open and groaned. “Lando how many times do I have to tell you, you have to knock before coming in.” You scolded, but instead of the usual sassy response you’d receive, it was silence. The door clicked closed, and you peaked your head out, not noticing anything different immediately.

Carlos emerged from the hallway. “Got the clothes, and the towel.” He held up the items proudly. The group of them cheered. Something inside Oscar’s stomach twisted. These aren’t the people he thought he befriended.

after around fifteen minutes, the shower water turned off, and her music followed quickly after. “Lando!” She shouted but got no reply. So she stuck her head out of the door. “Lando! Give me my stuff back!” She demanded. This time, she was met with laughter. She quickly realized it wasn’t just Lando in the apartment. Panic set in.

Her roommate seeing her without clothes on was one thing. She could live with that embarrassment. He accidentally walked in on her changing once before. But by the sounds of it, there were at least five other people out there. The status of their phones—whether they would be recording or not—was completely unknown to her.

She shut the bathroom door, and began scheming. Her first thought was the shower curtains, but the rust had fused the clips of the cheap hangers together. She could use the hand towel, but that wouldn’t cover much. Toilet paper wasn’t an option, as there was so little left in the roll that it would help just about as much as the hand towel. She was left with pleading.

She stuck her head out the door again. “Lando, come on. Just give me a bath towel at least.” All she heard was laughter. “I’ll buy you take-away for a week.” She tried to bargain. Again, only laughter. She huffed. Knowing most of Lando’s friends were pining after her, she tried to bargain with, “I’ll kiss every one of you if you just give me a towel.” There was no laughter immediately, as if they were actually considering it. It gave her a little bit of hope. But it shattered moments later as they began to laugh again.

Seeing as bargaining didn’t work, she was reduced to begging. “Lando, please.” They only laughed harder, but their laughter was soon replaced with cries of disappointment. “Mate, don’t.” “Come one man don’t be a wet blanket.” “Dude she was gonna have to come out eventually.”

Her saving grace appeared at the end of the hallway, her towel in his hands. While the hallway was dimly lit, the floppy hair on his head couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else. Oscar was always her favorite out of all Lando’s friends.

He stopped in front of her. The bathroom light illuminated his face enough for her to see his small smile. “Thank you so much.” Her words came out with a sigh of gratitude. His smile widened as he nodded, his hair flopping along with his head.

She closed the door on him, and re-emerged seconds later with the towel wrapped about her. “Oscar,” she called to the man who was stood at the end of the hall. He turned to her with a raised brow as she caught up with him. She took his arm, passing the group of booing boys on the way to her bedroom.

She brought Oscar into her room and locked the door behind them. “Oh, no. I didn’t do that to get anything in return.” He quickly said, his eyes wide. He did not want her to feel like she was obligated to give him something.

“Trust me, I know.” She smiled. “You’ve always been my favorite out of all of Lando’s friends. You’re the only polite one.” She shared while digging through her dresser for new pajamas. Carlos was still holding her other ones hostage.

“Oh, uhm, thanks.” He scratched the back of his neck. He was looking everywhere except at her. “Turn around for me.” She requested, and he quickly listened.

His cheeks went red when he heard her towel drop. He wanted to take a peak. Like the other boys, he did think you were very attractive. But unlike the other boys would have, he didn’t try to steal a glance at you. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very good looking?” She asked.

“My grandma called me handsome once.” He shared. Her laughter rang out, the angelic sound floating right to his ears and making his head feel a little lighter. “Funny, good looking, and polite. It’s a wonder you haven’t been locked down yet.” She laughed again.

Oscar didn’t know what to say to that, so he just laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’m probably making this really weird. I just wanted to thank you.” She apologized, her voice sincere. Oscar shook his head quickly. “It’s not weird, and you don’t need to thank me.” She heard in his voice how nervous he was, and smiled softly at him. “You can turn around now, by the way.” He did, and bit back a laugh at the set of hot-pink pug pajamas she’d put on. “Don’t laugh. They’re all I have clean.” She sighed.

“‘M not laughing.” He stated, though his voice was very clearly on the verge of breaking into hysterics. He couldn’t help it, and after a few seconds let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, alright. You can get back to your friends now. Sorry for keeping you.”

“Eh,” Oscar stammered. “I’m a bit afraid to go back out there, if I’m honest.” He confessed with a nervous glance toward the door. She shrugged. “You could stay here with me. I don’t mind. I was just going to watch a few episodes of Brooklyn 99 before going to sleep.”

He hesitated. “If you truly don’t mind.” She shook her head and scooted over to make room for him in the bed next to her.

Morning arrived, and when Oscar stretched his limbs, he found himself unable to move a great part of the left side of his body. Glancing down to investigate the problem, he found y/n at it’s source. He realized he never left her room last night, and as a result, they fell asleep together.

Slowly, he sunk back into the mattress, doing his best to keep her from waking. She looks inexplicably tranquil beside him. A small smile graced her lips as her head laid on his chest. An arm of hers was draped across his torso, and she had a leg laying cross his, disabling his ability to move them freely. He didn’t mind, though. In fact, he found himself at peace.

Despite his attempt at not disturbing her, she began to stir. She blinked repeatedly, trying to wake herself up. She let out a sigh before lifting her eyelids. She looked up at Oscar through her lashes. “Oh,” she muttered, lazily pulling herself away from him. “Sorry about that.” She apologized. Oscar found her groggy voice somewhat endearing. “I suppose you should get going, then.” She stood, stretching her arms toward the sky.

Oscar nodded. “Only if you let me take you out tonight.” He didn’t know where the confidence came from, and as soon as he got the words out, he began apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I’m not normally- I didn’t mean-“

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” She interrupted his fumbling, smiling warmly at him. “I’ll walk you out.”

On their way out, they passed Lando, who was toasting pop tarts. “Have a fun night?” He asked bitterly.

“Calm down, we didn’t fuck.” She rolled her eyes before adding, “If we did, you definitely would’ve heard.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved her off. “All the guys aren’t too fond of you now.” He told Oscar, who shrugged. “They’re not the kind of blokes I care to be friends with, anyway.” Y/n smiled up at him.

“Oh!” She hummed, facing Lando. “and you’re going to have to cook your own food tonight. We’re going out.”

Lando rolled his eyes as the toaster popped from behind him.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

happy birthday, baby (part two: birthday boy)

(boyfriend!rafe x girlfriend!reader two-shot) (18+ only)

summary When Rafe's birthday finally rolls around, it's your turn to show him just how much he deserves to be celebrated. you never expected to be the one whose deepest wish comes true...

content dirty filthy birthday sex, pinv, light bondage, m recieving oral, use of ‘daddy’ sorry, 18+ minors do not interact!

(part 2 to this fic, but can be read separately)

-----------------ꪆৎ‎---------------------

“Tastes so good, baby.”

Little crumbs of red velvet cake collect at the corners of Rafe’s mouth. You laugh and brush them off with the pad of your thumb. 

He’d made you swear not to buy him anything for his birthday, “‘s just another day…” he’d say. But it wasn’t just another day, not to you. Today was the day your universe began, all those years ago. So you’d made all his favorites, a five-course meal with a big finish: a triple layer red velvet cake, extra frosting.

“What did you wish for?” You ask hopefully, plucking the blown-out candles from the cake, licking the frosting off. A little dab of red frosting lingers on your cheek, making Rafe smile, but he doesn’t wipe it off, not yet.

“Nothin’,” he shrugs.

Your brows furrow in disappointment, you were trying so hard to get him to buy into the celebration of his birthday, to make him feel as special as he made you feel, and his answer seemed to confirm he wasn’t, “Oh. Okay.”

You step away from his hold and start to gather the dishes, failing miserably at hiding your disappointment. Rafe just smiles up at you, grabbing your wrist as you reach out to grab his empty dinner plate, pushing it out of the way with his other hand as he pulls you forward to sit on his lap.

Perched on his thighs, you avoid eye contact, feeling silly for being so emotionally invested in this. His grin never falling, he places two fingers under your chin, pulling your face to look at him. 

“I didn’t make a wish,” he begins, using his thumb to pull at your pouty lower lip, “because I already have everything I could ever want right here in my lap.”

A blush tickles the apples of your cheeks, warming at his pretty words. You smile big, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his firm shoulder.

“Oh,” you laugh softly into the warm skin of his neck.

“Yeah, oh,” he teases you, his hand rubbing loving strokes on your thigh.

“Wait a minute,” you pull back suddenly, brow furrowed. “I’m supposed to be saying nice things to you!”

“No one’s stopping you,” he chuckles, lifting your hair and brushing it over your shoulder so he can kiss around the strap of your dress.

You pause him, hand on either side of his face to reclaim the moment. You lean forward so you’re the one kissing him, starting gently with his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper to him.

“You do?” He teases, as if you don’t already tell him twenty times a day and every single night.

“You know that I do,” you roll your eyes, reuniting your lips with his, then moving your kisses over to his cheeks and across his jaw, whispering sweet nothings the whole way.

When you pull back, his eyes are half closed, chest rising and falling heavily. He’s right where you want him, but tonight, the goal is to push him over the edge. You ponder what you can do to get him to let go completely, to give you the raw energy you know he’s been holding back. 

Impulsively, you dip your finger into the thick icing on the edge of the cake, coating your fingertip in red frosting, and bring it to his lips. An incredulous smirk painted on his lips, his eyes narrow at you; the look a mix of what’s your game? and do you know how fucking hot that is? 

After a beat, he draws your finger between his lips with a swirl of his tongue, the movement so sweet and so sexy you nearly swoon.

His hands grip your waist and he pulls you in closer, and you feel his hardness bury itself into the soft underside of your thigh. He has that familiar mischief in his eyes, like he’s scheming. 

Then he leans forward suddenly, warm tongue licking the frosting off your cheek. You gasp and giggle, laughing loudly until your silenced by his tongue dragging its way across your cheek and into your mouth, kissing you slow and sloppy.

The two of you are always like this, all over each other, addicted. But something about tonight feels different. You couldn’t give him any presents, but you were ready to give him everything else you had. Everything you’d been too nervous to ask for, hoping he’d say it first.

He squeezes your waist, grinding you into him, and you know it’s time.

“I know you said you didn’t want any presents, but I got you a little something anyway,” you scrunch your nose with feigned guilt, though you weren’t actually sorry at all.

“Oh did you?” He tightens his grip on your hips, but you manage to wriggle away from him with some difficulty.

He scoffs in annoyance when he’s alone in the chair again, so you lean down and leave a peck on his pink lips, “I’ll be right back. Wait for me on the couch, yeah?”

“You’re real bossy for someone who was not born today,” he quips, not rising from the chair as instructed.

“And you’re very unspoiled for someone who was,” you explain, “I think we need to fix that.”

Rafe falls back onto the plush couch with a sigh as you disappear into the bedroom. The long, heavy day wears on him, his head falling back to stretch the tightness in his neck. He wishes he didn’t always feel so intensely, wishes a day could just be a day and not a weighted reminder of his messy past. He wishes, desperately, something could just drown out the noise, that someone could come take the weight of his shoulders.

Like an answer to his prayer, you appear in front of him. 

You lean on the doorframe seductively, one arm up against the wood, popping out your hip, a silhouette he wishes he could bottle up and consume whole.

You’re wearing a silky, red lingerie set, the bra featuring a big bow tied in the middle, pushing your breasts together and begging to be untied. You do a little spin so he can see the similar bow tied over your ass, cheeks perked up nicely by the sky high heels you’ve added to the ensemble, clicking on the hardwood floor as you twirl for him.

“Holy shit,” he stammers, adjusting himself on the couch, already straining against his slacks just at the sight of you, all done up for him.

Rafe leans back on the couch, He raising both arms, fingers laced behind his head, doing everything he can to stifle the impulse to jump up and untie those fucking bows. He does that a lot, holds himself back, afraid to show you all of his fire and find out it’s too much for you.

“You,” he chuckles darkly, eyes twinkling with lust and impatience, “are unbelievable.”

“D’ya like it?” You bite your lip, fingertips twirling the ends of the ribbon innocently.

“Come here,” he raises his eyebrows incredulously, motioning for you, “come see just how much I like it.”

An excited giggle rises from your throat, your heels tapping as you hurry towards him. He opens his legs for you to stand between, rubbing your hands over his shoulders. The ridges of his taut muscles are visible under his black button down, still in his suit and tie from his long day at work. He turns his head to kiss the inside of your forearms, smirking knowingly as he snaps the silky pink scrunchie on your wrist, “what’s this for?”

“You know what it’s for,” you smirk, running your hands up the side of his neck and onto either side of his face, “gonna give you everything you like.”

“Yeah?” He asks in a low grumble, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he examines the bow over your tits, now resting perfectly in front of his face.

One hand playing with the cartilage of his ear, the other runs up to the top of his head, lacing into his messy hair, tugging gently to lift his gaze to your eyes.

“Is that what you want? You want me on my knees for you, birthday boy?”

Steadying himself, he places his hands on your waist, the bob of his Adam’s apple prominent with the way you’ve got his head pushed back. He swallows, something holding back his answer. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you reassure him, “you can ask for what you want.”

This is one of the many things you love about him, he’s so aggressive and demanding with everyone else in his life, but still hesitant to be too rough with you. Today, though, you wanted all his fire, craved that fury, determined to snap his restraint.

You tug a little harder on his hair, “I’m your present, Rafe. I want you to open me up and do whatever you want with me.”

His nostrils flare, sparks flickering in his eyes. His hands slip down to your barely covered ass, squeezing the soft flesh so hard in his broad palms you gasp and stumble forward slightly. He takes advantage of your body coming closer to his face, leans forward and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your hip, right above the line of your panties.

A high pitched gasp leaves you, picking up into an involuntary squeak as his teeth mark your skin. He pulls back and licks over the bite mark he’s left, blowing on it gently, lighting up your body with chills.

“Mine?” He double checks.

“All yours, always,” you nod, still breathless from his possessive display. “Tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

“Get on your knees,” he finally demands.

“Yes sir,” you nod, unable to hide your giddy smile, releasing his hair from your hand and lowering to the ground.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and you almost let out a frustrated sigh, assuming he was changing his mind. Before you could remind him that you wanted this, he grabbed a pillow off the couch, placing it down for you to rest your knees on, still loving on you even when he was about to do filthy things to you.

Your eyes are full of hearts as you kneel down on the pillow, gazing up at him lovingly once you’re settled between his legs. You pull your hair up, putting the scrunchie to good use, and sit back on your heels to take him in.

The sight of you, perched for him, eyes full of lust as your chest rises and falls with arousal, is all the gift he needed. But you’re nowhere near done spoiling him yet.

Once he’s settled back on the couch, you sit up, running a hand up each of his thighs, stroking slowly as you near his belt buckle. His abs tighten as the tips of your fingers brush against his stomach. Your eyes go wide at the large indentation of his cock against his pants, thrilled that he’s so hard already, the thought of his perfect dick sending butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

“Got me so wet thinking about taking you in my mouth,” you confess.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shhh,” you shake your head slowly, not even entertaining the thought.

After pulling the button from its loop, you unzip his slacks slowly, Rafe lifting his hips from the couch so you can pull them down just enough to reveal the outline of his pulsing cock straining against his briefs.

Focused, you lean over him, fingertips teasing the waistband of his Calvin’s, and place the gentlest of kisses on his clothed dick.

“Just wanna be your dirty girl tonight,” you say before dropping another kiss to the very tip, savoring the salty taste of his precome seeping through his boxers. “You gonna let me?”

Rafe nods obediently, eyes wide with amazement that you’re this good to him, “yes baby, give it to me.”

With that request, you pull the band of his briefs down, allowing his cock to finally spring free, humming contentedly at the sight. Before palming it, you pull his hand from your throat and move it to your hair. He catches on and wraps his fingers around your ponytail.

You wrap your fingers around his base, dribbling a glob of spit slowly from your lips onto the head, using it to ready him with a pump of your fist.

Rafe’s eyebrows knit together, in awe of you as he always is.

“Such a pretty cock,” you hum, “been waiting all day to taste you. I think about this dick all the time.”

It isn’t just for show, though you are speaking a little filthier than usual to add spice to his birthday gift, you really do think about him so often. He’s given you so much, the life changing sex just one piece of the puzzle he’s assembled for you through his love and care.

Eyes darting up to lock onto his, you flatten your tongue and run a single stripe up the column of his shaft, finishing with a playful flick at the tip.

His whole body shudders, the fingers wrapped in your hair tugging so gently you wonder if you’re imagining it, his other hand balled in a restrained fist on the top of his thigh.

“You know I love you, yeah?” Rafe whispers, soft like a prayer, like they’re the last words he wants to say before his soul leaves his body.

“I love you more,” your lips curl into a smile, punctuating the statement with a swirl of your tongue over his now throbbing head.

“Not fucking possible.”

You slip the hand not holding his cock to your lips over his clenched fist, guiding him to unravel it and laces his fingers with yours. You finally hollow your cheeks and sink your head down on him, softly gagging as your jaw goes to slack to welcome all of him into your warm, wet mouth.

When he’s all the way in, you gag again, the motion of your throat clenching around him mixed with the pornographic sound forcing his eyes shut as he grits his teeth at the intense pleasure. You lift up slowly then bob at a steady pace, slurping and gagging as you go, making the prettiest sounds for him.

You pop off of him momentarily to catch your breath, “you’re so big, love. ‘M gonna have to go slow.”

“T-a-ake your time,” he stammers out, hips jerking up unintentionally as you wrap both hands around his shaft and begin twisting your strokes at a steady pace.

As you stroke him, you rise up on your knees so your tied up tits move with each stroke of his cock.

“You haven’t opened your present yet,” you angle forward, eyes drifting to your barely covered chest until he catches on.

Rafe pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers twitching with every stroke of your hand on his cock as he tugs at the edge of the ribbon covering your chest.

Pulling the bow apart, your tits bounce slightly, spilling out for him, and he nearly busts at the sight.

“Fuck,” he moans out. “I swear to god, baby, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time every time. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Still stroking him, you stretch up to kiss him, the soft skin of your nipple brushing against his leaking tip. Rafe gasps into your mouth at the sensation, and you look at him with wide, mischievous eyes.

“Did you like that?” 

You let your hardened nipple just barely brush against his overly sensitive tip again, and he’s nodding his head rapidly, “ye-yeah, yeah, yes…”

Lip between your teeth, you drag your nipple across his tip a few more times, collecting his precum on the hard bud. He’s nearly crushing your hand, biting back whimpers. You’re gasping again and again as your sensitive skin makes contact with his, surprised at how good it feels for you, too.

“This shit making you wet, baby?” He asks, eyeing the way your thighs squeeze together, body rolling desperately.

With a wicked grin you drag his hands to either side of your breasts, guiding him to squeeze them around himself. He lets out an immediate groan when you hinge your hips to raise and lower your torso, dragging his cock, sloppy from your spit, between your tits.

“Yes, so wet, Rafe. I love watching you fuck my tits, it’s so fucking hot,” you choke out between strokes.

He’s never seen you like this, so filthy and forward. But the beaming grin on your face as you watch him panting for your touch tells him you’re doing just fine, enjoying it even. He wants nothing more than to keep you looking like that, to keep making you feel good.

“What’d you wish for?” He asks impulsively.

“What?” You’re pulled from your focus on his pleasure at the unexpected question.

“On your birthday, what’d you want me to do to you?”

Your blush is immediate, shame swirling in your belly at the filthy fantasies that flash through your mind. You’re supposed to be making him feel good, but it’s these kinds of gentle reminders that he’s still in control that make your thoughts spiral to the dirtiest places.

When you don’t answer, Rafe leans forward, grabbing your hair again and tugging your head back just slightly, making you gasp at the pull. He kisses you hard and fast, a string of your mixed saliva hanging between your lips when he pulls back, just barely, to whisper, “said you were gonna be my dirty girl, yeah? Tell me what you really want, and I might just give it to you.”

The whimper that slips between your spit-slick lips is involuntary, and tells him exactly what he needs to know - that there’s more you’ve been waiting for, that you want him to be rough. Your next statement seals the deal.

“I wa…I wished you would tie me up,” you confess, voice so wispy and hesitant he can barely hear it. “I wished for you to tie my hands and fuck me ‘til I scream.”

For a second, you think he didn’t hear it, until he rises from the couch, forcing you to sit back on your heels. Rafe towers over you, his still-hard cock angry in your face. You look up at him from your spot on your knees, perched before him, gazing at your man with wide eyes. 

You gulp down the nervousness in your throat, knowing you and Rafe were about to enter territory you’d flirted with but never fully crossed over into before. 

He looks down at you, tilting his head. You’re so fucking pretty, perched for him, glassy eyes trained on him expectantly. He reaches behind your head and pulls the scrunchie out slowly, tossing it aside so your hair falls around your face. Hand returning to cradle your head, he thumbs your bottom lip gently, dragging it down with the pad of his large finger.

“Is that still what you want?” He breathes.

“Yes,” you nod.

“Good,” Rafe grabs both sides of his tie loop, pulling hard, exposed forearms under his rolled sleeves flexing as he tears the luxury fabric from his neck with ease like it’s some flimsy knock-off.

You’re practically drooling for him at this point. He rips his shirt open, revealing the sculpted chest and rigid abs you’ve been thinking about all day. He looks so fucking strong and powerful above you, it’s thrilling - the man everyone is scared of, you’d trust with your life. With your body. Giving it to him tonight, along with your whole heart, is the best present you can think of.

“Stand up,” he instructs.

You rise slowly, knees suddenly weak, trembling under his frame. He notices.

“You know I love you right?” He repeats his earlier words, but there’s something different about the question now. It’s a confirmation, and a warning. The subtext is clear in his low tone: ‘cause I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.

You nod slowly, grabbing the hand that’s not holding his tie, “Mhm, I love you too.”

“Good.”

He takes over your hand, pulling so you’re forced to spin, facing away from him. He holds your hand behind you, leaning low to drop a kiss over the racing pulse point on your wrist, another reassurance that this was all done in love.

Holding the tie between his teeth, he draws your other wrist back. Swift hands twist the tie around your wrists to hold them together tightly. 

“Lay down,” he instructs with a final tug of the tie that makes you gasp, making moving your hands impossible.

Your knees sink into the plush fabric of the couch, turned head resting against the throw pillows as you arch your back up, ready and waiting for him. 

The rest of his clothes torn off and strewn about the room, Rafe approaches, one knee in the cushions behind you. It’s just now that he notices your panties are crotchless, untying the bow over your ass with a smirk. Fuck does he love you.

His large palms glide over your ass, stopping to squeeze hard, “goddamn, I love this ass,” one hand wanders down, sliding through your slick folds without warning, making you suck in a sharp breath. “And I love this fucking pussy.”

One finger slips in, access to your core easy as ever with how drenched you are.

“You this wet from sucking my cock? Of course you are because you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“I love when you call me that,” you whine out.

“I know you do. Keep being good for me and I’ll say it again,” he adds a second finger, pumping harder than before, preparing you.

You whine and writhe below him, your wrists already straining against the restraint of his tie, desperate for more, “please, fuck me, Rafe. Please don’t make me wait.”

“What happened to ‘it’s your birthday, Rafe. I’m your present, Rafe’ huh?” He mimics your earlier words with a chuckle. He’s never talked to you like this, but you love it, knowing it’s all per your request he goes rough this time.

“But, y’know what?” Rafe wraps his hand in the tie around your wrists, tugging you toward him and making you squeak out a strained groan. “You’ve been so good to me all night, so I’ll give you what you want.”

He fists his cock, still wet from your mouth, in the hand not gripping the tie, guiding it toward your entrance. He starts with just the tip, making you arch your back to take more of him, confused as he holds still behind you. Just as you open your lips to question him, he tugs on the tie, pulling your body back so your pussy swallows his cock whole.

“Gah, fuck! Ohmygod, ohmygod do that again, please.” This position is everything you’d hoped it would be, and he knows it, grinning like a mad man as you babble below him. 

Rafe braces himself, one foot still on the ground for leverage, his other hand gripping your hip so hard the imprint of his hand is surely permanent. He slides back out slow before pulling you back again. And again. And again. 

Skin is slapping skin, and you’re barely coherent, a string of praises for him that he can hardly make out. He’s panting like a dog, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip as he memorizes the sight of your hands tied over your lower back as your ass ripples with each smack of his hips.

“So good…b-baby,” you croak out, the edge of something unfinished in your words.

He knew you were holding back one last thing, one last fantasy that you were denying yourself for fear of being too much for him. He needed to hear you say it, to know you gave him absolutely everything.

“Say it. Call me what you really want to call me. Let me hear it, angel.”

“Feels so good…d-daddy.”

You worried it’d be too far, but it felt so good, like honey dripping from your tongue, and it sounded like music to his ears.

“Ahhh, yeah, shit. That’s my good girl,” he drawls, dropping forward to sprinkle kisses over your spine. “How long you been waiting to say that?”

“Since the day I met you,” you admit, your brain is too high off of him to filter your thoughts.

Rafe chuckles darkly behind you, picking up speed as he snakes his arm around your waist, fingers dropping low to run over your clit. And just like that, your wish comes true - he has you screaming for him now.

“Ohhh fuck me too, baby,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “Thought I’d met a goddamn angel when I first laid eyes on you, looking so good in that little skirt, I knew I needed to have you. I knew you’d be mine. But I never could have imagined it’d be like this. That you’d be my slut and the love of my life? I’m the luckiest fucking guy on earth.”

Tears slip from the corner of your eyes, a swirl of the overwhelming pleasure and the immense love you have for him. He’s still pistoning into you, lips dragging up and down your spine, hand around the tie securing your wrists.

Your orgasm is building like a tidal wave, growing impossibly large and looming over you with the promise of destructive impact. The pleasure he’s giving you is building so intensely, you wonder if you’ll be able to handle it when it crashes on your shore.

Rafe knows it’s coming, knows you like the back of his fucking hand.

“Come for me,” he asks with another pull of the tie, fucking himself into you so deep you feel like you’re one body. “Be my good girl and come.”

“Yes daddy,” is the last thing you say before it hits you, soaking his cock and forcing him to empty himself into you, groaning your name like a gospel song into your ear.

He unties you almost immediately, and you know as much as he enjoyed having you like that, he’s still worried. 

You twist under him so you’re chest to chest, his face wrinkled with concern as he pants above you. 

Resting on one arm, he grabs your wrist, pulling it toward him to examine it closely. There’s a slight red mark where the tie was tightest, but they don’t hurt and you know they’ll fade within the hour. His face, however, is twisted in worry like you’re terminally ill. He kisses over the red marks soft and slow, as if he can heal them with just his lips.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, your chest still rising and falling as you return to earth from the heaven he gave you.

“I- I just…” you lay silent while he searches for his words. “I’ve hurt people before, I never want to hurt you.”

You pull your wrist from his grasp so you can cup his face in your hands, pulling his forehead to yours, “you didn’t, you couldn’t. I wanted it, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“You don’t have to do things like that for me,” he shakes his head, eyes closed with worry.

“You’re not listening to me,” you say a little louder, causing him to open his eyes into yours. “I’ve never trusted anyone enough to do something like that. I’ve never felt safe enough with somebody to ask for it. But I’d trust you with my life.”

“Really?” He mutters, jaw clenched tight, though his body starting to sink into yours is a telltale sign that he’s finally relaxing.

“I’m like over the top, disgustingly in love with you, actually,” you smile.

His lips quirk to the side, eyes twinkling with relief, “Oh yeah?”

Your eyes soften, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him closer, “I adore you, Rafe.”

“Babygirl, I adore you too, you have no idea how much,” he promises before dropping his lips onto yours, his kiss slow and unhurried, like he plans to stay here for hours. “And I think I’m starting to like my birthday.”

“Really?!” Your eyebrows shoot up in excitement, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Really,” he smiles. “As long as I always get to spend it with you.”

-----------------ꪆৎ‎---------------------

november 4th december 4th same difference. happy birthday, sluts.

remember! writers live off of reblogs and replies, don't forget to feed your faves <3

[snoopyhq]

Jealous viktor + reader 🙏

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ so with my best, my very best, i set you free

(i love laufey 🗣️ her cover of "i wish you love" with the icelandic orchestra? 2:49 of heaven)

type: viktor x reader

summary: headcanons and a drabble of jealous viktor. headcanons are pre-relationship, the drabble is the established relationship ✪ ꨄ︎

word count: 2415

a/n: OMG FIRST ASK I'M SO HONORED I'M SO EXCITED YIPPEE !!! will be working on the others whenever i have the time, but TRUST i am plotting and scheming <3 any other askers, feel free to drop by! i hope i did your request justice, dear anon.

It was unfair to you, and to him, in his most miserable moments of pure self-pity

Viktor envied those who were healthy. He wished he wasn't born with the circumstances he was dealt. He would trade anything to spend one day with a respiratory system that didn't choke him from the inside out every time he took a breath

He was jealous of you, initially, when you first met

You seemed to have it so easy

Easy laughter, easy conversation, easy friends. You had an established life, you were loved, and you held yourself together with such ease that he sometimes wonders how much you're really holding back

He feels bad for assuming you were dealing with awful problems. But it was very likely. I mean, who was truly that... happy? Well off? At ease with themself and their role in the world? He was probably projecting

And then you somehow, by all the miracles a human could possibly be granted, managed to worm your way into his life and secure yourself there too

Viktor vehemently rejected you at first. He was much like a stray cat. You just gotta continuously give them love on their own terms, and often times, it was slow, and that concept applied to Viktor too

It started with small things. Brief greetings where you called him by name

"Good morning, Viktor."

"Nice to see you here today, Viktor."

"Viktor, you have a good night ok? Get home safe."

Including him in conversations. Commentary about how you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time. The library, a cafe, randomly in the middle of a bustling street

You always had that breezy way of acknowledging things. What a nice coincidence. It was all genuine

You were pleased to be surprised by his presence

Wordlessly holding the door for him, even if you really didn't have to wait. But it was never a big deal, so

He pushed it away. Brushed it off, and tried to forget about it, but those little moments kept circling through his mind like an irritating tape he couldn't dislodge from the disc player, and turning the TV off wasn't doing shit when those scenes were basically burned onto the screen

Like the natural progression of the lunar cycle, Viktor found himself unconsciously expecting you in his life

He can't remember a time when you weren't

Your greetings, your little gestures of kindness, that skill of small talk that meant so, so much to him were cherished like an altar of worship

While he was in no way, shape, or form completely opening himself up to befriending any more people, he began to feel much more natural with you and others you gave your time to

Which brought him to his current bit of emotional turbulence

That prickling in his chest whenever he saw you with other people, giving them your precious words and quality time? Yeah, he shouldn't be feeling this

You were allowed to have other friends! You had people in your life before him, and it doesn't mean you consider him any less just because you spent a moment or two with someone else!

He would tighten his grip on his cane, those mantras feverishly chanting in his mind as he walked in circles, attempting to reign his emotions into a more rational state

He had no right to feel jealous like this, but he couldn't help it

Jayce was his only real companion before, and now that he was a council member, he had less time for Viktor. He had the city to nurture and shape, a big responsibility. The loneliness of the lab was barely a noticeable shift from before

Now, you arrived as if by careless chance, giving him another glimpse, another hit of company, and it was maddeningly cruel to have those doses be in such short time frames

He was given what he needed and wanted, but never fully

Accepting that reality was going to be harder than accepting you truly wishing to be around him, in all his sardonic glory, his blunt nature that had most other people walking away. Just not you

To grapple with this selfish desire was humiliating

He was fully aware of how innately human it all was. If only it were easier. Someday.

For now, he would wait and bask in all the attention and friendship you offered him so willingly

You stood in front of your mirror, going over your carefully put together look one last time. You wanted to look good, and having the outfit fall into place like how you planned it in your head always gave you an extra boost of happiness before you left the house. Straightening the collar of your top one last time, you were finally satisfied.

Viktor was waiting for you in the living room. He stood up when you finally appeared, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek and a murmured "You look enchanting, as always."

You laughed and hugged him.

"And you're dashing, as per usual."

With your arm linked through his, the two of you went on your way. He had planned the date tonight. The winding route led to the sparkling, five-tiered fountain that marked the center of the shopping fair. The flowing water sparkled and danced beneath the fairy lights strung through the evergreens surrounding the space, and orchestral music floated up from where the quintet performed.

You two often went here after a long, stressful week, dining at one of the outdoor tables and idly chatting before hitting a couple stores. Most of the time, it would be the bookshop, the local woodcarver, and then the bakery. You had made it a tradition to buy one another a sweet treat, and it was always a delight to see if your guesses of enjoyment would be met or not.

There was certainly not a lack of other people around you, many of whom were also hand in hand. The center was a popular spot for local students and couples to unwind and spend time together.

When you both had your fill of sights and perusing your respective comforts, you made your way back to the fountain. The musicians had struck up a lively waltz, and many were dancing along now. Both of you shared a look, and moved to join in, albeit towards the edge of the crowds.

Dancing with Viktor was one of your favorite activities. He moved with such assuredness and care for your space, making him all the more captivating in his graces. The respectful placement of his hand on your waist, never going too far and risking your discomfort in public, and never straying away lest he appeared bored, Viktor made sure you were his priority.

After the song concluded, you spun Viktor around slowly to the rhythm of the music drawing to a close, dipping him into a kiss during the final note.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, both from the exertion and from your affection.

"I'm going to grab a drink. We can head home after, if you'd like," you told him, head leaning on his shoulder as he walked with you back up the steps.

"That's perfectly fine. I can hold your bag while you do that."

Oh, Viktor. Ever the gentleman.

You went inside the establishment, and ordered yourself a shirley temple with sweet cream, fully planning to share with him. You knew he had a penchant for the more saccharine in terms of taste. While you waited to order, another patron joined you after placing their order.

"Busy place tonight, isn't it?" they commented.

You turned your attention to them, surprised a stranger was making conversation with you, but you didn't mind. All harmless small talk, after all. You would be leaving soon anyways when your order was finished, so why not pass the time with pleasantries?

"It's one of the most popular cafes around here," you replied. "Friday nights always means live music, so people love to flock here. I should know. I frequent here often." you finished with a smile, and received one in return.

They continued engaging you in conversation, and you soon realized it was taking a bit for your drink. A shirley temple wasn't complicated, and you were worried something was wrong. Maybe they were short-staffed tonight? Did an accident occur in the back?

"Are you worried about your drink?"

"No, not really. More so the workers here," you were honest. Some of them were fellow students you see at the academy, and others knew you as a regular, and you had grown quite fond of the staff as they were of you.

"That's a surprise. You're very sweet."

Their order quickly arrived, and they bid you farewell before departing into the night. You walked up to the counter, asking if everyone was ok. The barista reassured you, saying it was only going to take a little while, and that everything is alright now. Relieved, you went back to your perch.

Outside, Viktor was waiting anxiously. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.

When someone emerged from the cafe, he was tempted to get up and ask them if they'd seen you in there.

Yes, my partner. About this tall, very beautiful eyes, a smile you can't miss. Have you seen...?

God. He was contemplating approaching a stranger just to inquire about you. Luckily (or was it?) for him, they must've sensed him sneaking glances at the cafe and at them, because they approached him cheerily.

"You look a little lost. Need some help?" they asked.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just waiting for someone."

At that, they perked up.

"It wouldn't happen to be someone wearing the same colored blouse as your vest would it?"

Yes. It was. He confirmed it.

"That's perfect actually! I was just talking to them, and since you know them, do you think they would be interested in exchanging contact information with me? They were quite lovely company, and I wouldn't mind getting to know them better."

Viktor could feel his heart drop and the temperature in his soul rise several degrees. What was going on? Where were you? What had happened in those minutes that you were gone?

"I will... ask them," he attempted to keep his tone even. "Mind giving me your contact information to pass along?"

The stranger happily handed Viktor a piece of paper, their messy scrawl sending a sting of irritation through him. That penmanship was not worthy of you, and would certainly not compare to the intricate scripting of his own handwritten notes and letters to you.

When you finally rejoined him, you could tell immediately something was off. You questioned him about it, and he huffed, telling you not to worry about it as you walked home. He didn't even pay any mind to the bag that hung on your arm, too caught up in his insecurities and worries.

That stranger was so much like you. So approachable. Good conversationalist. He couldn't help but imagine a scenario of you two getting along a little too well, and that made something deep inside him hurt. Clearly, he wasn't as good as keeping his thoughts off his face as he believed, or you had simply gotten better at understanding him, because you promptly asked him again.

"Come on, Viktor. Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

"If you knew the full extent of what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't be so quick to call my mind beautiful," he grumbled tersely.

"You can't judge my reaction for me. Spill."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he confessed. It felt like ripping out stitches from his tongue.

"... someone at the coffee shop. They asked me if I knew you, and then asked if you would be interested in their contact information."

At that, you raised an incredulous eyebrow. Ah. You were blissfully oblivious of the jarring events.

"Viktor, I promise nothing is wrong. We were both waiting for our drinks, and they happened to be making small talk with me. That's all. I love you with my whole heart, and no one else can ever--will not ever--compare."

His heart fluttered. He knew that was the realistic truth, but it was nice to hear reassurance from you anyways.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"I mean it," you said sincerely.

Setting your bags and drink on the nearby bench, you swept him into your arms and twirled him around beneath the streetlight's warm glow.

"I love you," you declared, hands holding his face tightly. Your thumb brushed against the beauty mark above his lip. "And if you ever need reminders of that, you tell me immediately. I will literally drop everything and make sure your doubt disappears completely for as long as I can hold it back."

He gazed into your eyes, his own now slightly misted. Their glossiness reflected warmth and adoration as he took in your face. Seeing the conviction there did something to him. He didn't know what, but he found himself giving in to the urge to just close the distance and kiss you right then and there, open street be damned.

It began to snow. He only realized when he parted from you, the taste of your chapstick still lingering. He looked up, watching the delicate flakes be illuminated by the warm, golden glow. If there was a visualization for the love he felt, it would be that he decided. It all just built and built from all the little things, and filled him with such life it almost hurt.

"We should go home," he whispered, looking back at you.

"Oh yeah, we should. I was going to tell you!" you gasped, running back for your drink and the bag. "They gave me extra cakes and rolls. The last ones of the specialty desserts before their next seasonal delights, so we can share them." you beamed.

"Really? That's quite generous of them."

He wasn't surprised. You were just so damn lovable. He would give you all the baked goods you desired and more, if only for another smile from you directed at him. His fingers intertwined with yours, fondness consuming him as you chatted about the different flavors of the desserts, which ones you were most excited about, and which ones you think he'd like.

He had to agree with your assessments. A dark chocolate and orange mousse did sound quite appealing for him. He already knew he'd let you have the last bite, regardless.

"Oh, and Viktor?"

"Hmm?"

"You can throw away the contact. I don't need it."

I already have you.

[trulyumai]

belittling the reign

synopsis: the people began to doubt Geta, and in return, so did members of the senate. The emperor began to act wildly, his temper just a reach away. It all came crashing down when a man of the senate brought the empress up and how she would fall with the emperor.

pairing: Emperor geta / empress! reader

Warnings: Violence, anger, choking, death. Protectiveness/Possessive.

The room was dim, save for the flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. Geta sat at the long table, his goblet half-full, eyes fixed on the dull gleam of his dagger. He had been deep in thought, tired from the endless political maneuvering of the Senate, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his silence.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered—Marcus, a senator known for his sharp tongue and sharper ambitions. Geta didn’t look up as the man approached, choosing instead to swirl the dark wine in his cup.

“Geta,” Marcus began, his voice oozing with false politeness. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

Geta grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disdain. He knew this man all too well—his visits were never without some form of scheming. Marcus circled the room slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he moved closer.

“You know, it’s funny,” Marcus continued, his tone casual, though laced with something more sinister. “There’s been a lot of talk in the streets lately. The citizens are starting to wonder how much longer Rome will have to bear the burden of a violent ruler.” The man let out a chuckle, it reverberated through the room and Geta swore his fingers shook with an emitting anger.

The emperor’s eyes flicked upward for the first time, meeting Marcus’s gaze with a steely intensity. The senator smiled, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“They say,” Marcus went on, “that there will soon be a new emperor. A man who leads not with blood, but with wisdom. One who doesn’t lose himself to rage every time a senator dares to speak out. The people... they’re excited, Geta. They’re waiting for the day Rome is free of your wrath… Maybe Caracalla would be a better fit?”

Geta’s grip tightened on the goblet, the muscles in his arm tensing as he fought to contain his growing anger. “You tread on dangerous ground, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and cold.

Breath in. Breath out. Remember your wife, the sweet laugh, those little dimples that littered your face when he told a good story.

But Marcus was undeterred. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and smug as he whispered, “Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful. People don’t fear you anymore, Geta. They’re waiting for your death. And when it comes, oh how they’ll cheer. Finally, a ruler worthy of the Empire will take your place.”

A dark laugh escaped Marcus’s lips, but it was quickly cut off by Geta’s sudden movement. In a flash, the emperor had risen from his seat, standing tall over the senator. Marcus stiffened, but continued, confidence seemed to block the mans rational fears. “What will your pretty little wife do when you’re gone, I wonder? Maybe she’ll find solace in someone with real power.”

That was the last mistake.

Geta’s fury ignited like a wildfire, burning through every shred of control he had left. Before Marcus could react, Geta’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The senator’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing uselessly at Geta’s iron grip.

“You dare threaten my wife?” Geta growled, his voice trembling with rage. His face was twisted in a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he squeezed tighter. “You think you can speak to me of death? Speak to me of weakness?” He spat the words with venom, his grip tightening as Marcus’s face turned pale, then purple.

The senator’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in silent pleas for mercy, but Geta’s rage was far beyond words now. He lifted Marcus off the ground, the senator’s feet dangling as he struggled weakly. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as Geta’s expression darkened with each passing second.

“You thought you could replace me? With my own brother?!” Geta whispered, leaning in close to the dying man’s ear. “There will be no one else, dear Marcus.  I am Rome, hm? I. Am. Rome.”

Marcus’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still. Geta held him there for a moment longer, the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, before finally letting the body fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Geta’s ragged breathing. He stood over Marcus’s corpse, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his rage. Slowly, he lowered his hand, twisting and turning the jeweled rings around his fingers while wiping the sweat from his brow. His gaze dropped to the dead man at his feet, his heart still pounding in his chest, though calmer now.

A twisted calm, one born of violence.

“Threatening my liege. My Wife,” Geta muttered to himself, stepping over Marcus’s body as he made his way toward the door. “They will all burn before I leave the throne.”

-

The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering flames of the torches casting long, distorted shadows along the stone walls. Geta’s breathing was still ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as he moved through the empty corridors. His hands, still tingling with the memory of squeezing the life out of Marcus, twitched at his sides. Sweat clung to his brow, slicking his skin and making his tunic stick to his chest.

He could feel the weight of what he had done. The senator’s limp body, the satisfaction that had come when his struggles ceased. It was a different kind of battle—one where no soldier could see him, and no one could speak of it.

Yet, the thrill of victory felt different this time. It wasn’t the fight he was used to. He wasn’t on the battlefield, brandishing his sword, earning the respect of his men. This victory had been personal, quiet... but more satisfying than he could have imagined. Marcus had been wrong—there would be no new ruler. Not while Geta breathed.

He thought of the senators who whispered behind closed doors, plotting to strip him of his power. He thought of the citizens who questioned his rule, who had dared to entertain the idea of another emperor, a more peaceful one. And now he thought of those who might still move against him. They had made one fatal error—they underestimated his resolve, his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect what was his. He had been lenient for too long.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he neared the door to his chambers. The weight of his actions, the violence he was still capable of, burned beneath his skin, but as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the tension seemed to soften.

There, lying in the massive bed, was his wife—your form draped in blankets, the soft rise and fall of your chest showing the example of a  peaceful slumber. You were so..  completely unaware of what he had just done, unaware of the thoughts that now consumed him.

Geta stood in the doorway for a moment, simply watching. His wife had been the one constant in his life, the anchor to his rage. You had calmed him when no one else could. 

His breath still came in short bursts, his chest tight with the remnants of his fury. Slowly, he approached the bed, his legs heavy beneath him as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He collapsed beside you, the bed creaking under his weight. He was slick with sweat, the heat of the earlier confrontation still radiating from his body. He exhaled deeply, his muscles sagging as he sunk into the mattress.

His wife stirred slightly, your hand brushing against his arm as she mumbled something incoherent in sleep. Your touch was soft, gentle—so unlike the violence that had consumed him only moments before. For a moment, Geta considered waking you, telling just what had transpired, but no. You didn’t need to know about the bloodshed, the threat to their life. You didn’t need to carry the burden of his thoughts.

But in the stillness of the night, with his wife sleeping so peacefully beside him, his mind churned with plans. He would not be overthrown. He would not be replaced by anyone who dared to dream of ruling Rome in his stead. Geta would seek out the usurpers, one by one. He would find every senator, every noble, every conspirator who dared question his rule, and he would deal with them the same way he dealt with Marcus. There would be no mercy.

His wife shifted again, pressing closer to him, your hand now resting on his chest, and for a brief moment, the thoughts of violence faded. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her warmth, the way your perfect body curved against his.

But even as his breath steadied and exhaustion began to pull him into sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: no one would threaten his reign. No one would ever threaten you again.

And when the time came to deal with the rest of them, Geta knew, deep down, he would not hesitate. Rome was his. And he would destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

[osachiyo]

✦ BAD TIMING? ✦

⟣ ──┈ · · · + including : dazai, chuuya, fukuzawa, fyodor x fem!reader

⟣ ──┈ · · · + c/w : nsfw content (mdni), teasing, petnames, degradation, rough sex, prone bone, cowgirl, mating press, nipple play, cursing, cockwarming, mentions of nikolai + non consensual vouyer in fyodor's & more

⟣ ──┈ · · · + a/n : i wrote this with my pussy.

synopsis. . . you're getting your guts rearranged when− 'riiing!' the annoying sound of his phone ringing caught you both off guard, snapping you out of your dazed state as you both paused your nightly rendezvous. what's even more surprising to you is when he reaches over to grab the tiny device, answering the call− ugh, seriously?

.001 — Dazai

You whined at feeling Dazai's hips slow down, now completely flush against your ass, as he picks up the phone. "What could kunikida-kun possibly need from me, at this hour?" He muttered to himself, voice breathy and warm against the shell of your ear. Fuck, it was kunikida?

"Hello~ ku-ni-ki-da-kuunnnnn?" Your co-worker said in an annoyingly sing-songy voice, making the man in the other end of the line grumble in frustration. They began talking about some..mission? Anyway, it had been around 20 minutes since they've started talking? You couldn't exactly tell− or cared, honestly. The only thing in your fucked out mind was for dazai to close the damn phone and just fuck you already!

You showed your frustrations by huffing and angrily kicking your legs− turning your head to look back at dazai with a glare. He only smirked in response, shrugging before turning his attention back to the call.

You had no idea that dazai was aching to move right now, the feeling of your warm cunt pulsating around him was almost too much to bear. The way sweat gathered at the dip of your back, the way you arched for him− shit.

It had been a few more moments, you were so close to whine out complaints when dazai's hips started moving again, cock easily brushing against your sweet spot. You could still hear his voice from behind you.. he− he wasn't done with the call?!

You were about to ask him what the hell he was planning now− when long, slim fingers entangled themselves in your already messy hair− shoving your head down against the mattress to shut you up as he kept his pace, voice straining a little while he contuined his "very important" conversation with your other co-worker.

Lewd "pap! pap! pap!" noises of dazai's balls hitting your ass filled the enclosed room as you tried your best not to let any moans slip out− god, if he found out− "oi dazai, what're the weird noises coming from your side?"

Fuck.

"Oh uh− nothing, nothing at all, kunikida-kun," he breathed, free hand now coiling around your waist to rub at your neglected clit− making your back arch even more as you gasped out loudly.

"What the− are you sure? You better not be scheming anything bad right now, idiot."

"Of course not! mmh− so tight−!" he whispered the last bit, large hand now cluntching the flip phone in a vice grip as he watched his cock disappear inside of your slick folds− a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock.

"Huh? what's so tight? Dazai−"

That was the last thing you heard from kunikida before dazai's poor phone was thrown somewhere on the bed, the hand coiled in your hair now dragging you up− arching your back even more for him as he muttered soft curses into your ear.

You let out a pained mewl at your hair being pulled, desperate hands scrambling to claw and tug at the sheets as your back was flush against dazai's chest. "Ah− shiit−!" your eyes rolled back as the thumb circling your tiny clit sped up, the bed creaking loudly with each thrust of dazai's narrow hips against your ass.

"Yeah? you gonna cum, 'donna?" Dazai mocked, breath hot against your neck as he moaned lewdly at the way your pussy gushed around him− spraying the sheets with clear fluid. Dazai only groaned in response, "oh shit, fuuuck!− g'nna cum inside you, yeah? y' wan' that?" He slurred, you didn't get to answer before blunt nails meanly dug into your hips as he stilled− balls tightening as spurts of white filled your cunt before he fell on top of you.

You two laid there for a few moments, his cock slowly softening inside you− chest heaving as he finally got off, hissing from the loss of warmth. Dazai pressed a gentle kiss on your temple before walking off, most likely to grab a wet rag to clean you up. You got up with a sigh, running a hand through your messy hair when your eyes land on dazai's phone− it wasn't too far away from you.

You crawled closer to it, taking it in your hands when it lit up− "call ended now."

.002 — Chuuya

You were happily bouncing on your boyfriend's dick when the annoying ringtone of his phone went off. He sighed, lifting his head from the sofa as he reached over to grab the device, brows furrowing at the contact name.

You were sitting idly on his lap now, still impaled on his cock. "Who is it?" You panted, out of breath as you tried not to clench around the ginger's fat dick.

"It's.. boss. be quiet f'me, okay doll?" His voice was soft, but you know he meant it as a command.

You nodded innocently, urging him to answer the phone call. and he did, the way he immediately put on a professional voice sort of baffled you but hey, he was a mafia executive.

But the moment he put the phone next to his ear, you clenched around him tight— making him almost double over with a gasp as he gripped your hip for stability.

"Argh!— I mean- y-yes, boss!" He stuttered, face flushing as he grit his teeth, glaring at you as his fingertips dug into your plush hip, veins appearing at his temple as he mouthed to you to "behave."

Like hell you'd listen and torture yourself by cockwarming him. You only grinned mischievously before lifting your hips up and slamming down on his cock, his eyes shutting tightly as he tried his best not to moan out— he couldn't. Especially not with Mori on the line.

You kept pleasuring yourself on his cock without a care, even going as far as putting a show for him— your hands reaching to play with your tits as you softly moaned out his name, reaching to grab his hand but he only smacked it away, cock dripping with need as he tried his best to keep things professional.

"Chuuya-kun, everything alright on your side? I keep hearing these..noises."

The man in question knew he was fucked— he knew Mori already figured everything out, "uh— y-yeah, boss. I'm fine— fuck—!" Panting out the last part, Chuuya gripped his phone so tight that you worried it would shatter.

"Uh-huh.. Anyway, you had better call me back once you're finished with your.... current predicament. Have fun."

And with that, the Port Mafia boss ended the call, making Chuuya groan in annoyance before chucking the small device somewhere— "what the hell was that?" He growled, hand coming up to wrap around your throat as he forced you to stop your movements, cock nestled deep inside of you once again as your hips stilled. You whined from the loss of friction, the sound only making your lover's right eye twitch in annoyance— "such a poor, needy slut, ain't ya?" He held you down firmly before thrusting up, fat cock nudging against your sweet spot as you threw your head back.

"Ooh, f-fuck— my slutty fuckin' girl can't even stand a few minutes without cock, huh?" He stuttered, other hand reaching up to land a gentle but firm slap on your face. It didn't sting much, but was enough to move your head to the other side. You only whimpered in response, clenching around him even more as his thrusts sped up— growls and groans of pleasure escaping his own lips as he suddenly parted your lips with his thumb before shoving two gloved fingers down your throat— your eyes stinging with tears as the digits hit the back of your throat, tits bouncing up and down as he practically manhandled you like a ragdoll— settling you on your hands and knees without even pulling out fully.

"Argh- fuck—!" He moaned, burying his face into the dip of your shoulder, landing soft kisses on the smooth skin. "Ch-chuuya— s'good, feels s'good—" you slurred, eyes rolling back as one hand found your breasts— the soft flesh jiggling with each brutal thrust of his hips as he basically slapped them around, harshly pinching your nipple as his other hand found your clit— rubbing quick and fast circles on the delicate bud— making you clamp around his cock once more before gushing all over his cock and the expensive leather couch. Your juices ran down his balls to his thighs— the force of your orgasm making you limp against him. You'd probably fall face first onto the couch if not for Chuuya's vice grip on you. Whimpers and borderline pornographic moans left his swollen lips— before biting down hard on your shoulder, spurts of cum flooding your insides as you laid flaccid in his hold— a drooling, shivering mess.

Chuuya fell on top of you, the both of you laying in each other's warmth when—

"Riiiing!"

.003 — Fukuzawa

A pout graced your pretty lips when your husband reached for his phone— picking the tiny device up as he drew soothing circles on your hip, motioning for you to be quiet.

You tried your best to be quiet as he took the phone call, you really did! But the way his cock was nestled so deep inside you and the way you could practically feel him throb inside of your gooey walls— you really didn't wanna bother him or interrupt his phone call but... you couldn't help but whine softly, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit, clenching down on the older man's impossibly hard cock. Fukuzawa's eyes widened when his eyes finally focused on you, underneath him— little pants and huffs of his name rolling off your tongue as you played with yourself. Your other hand was playing with your nipples, softly tugging on them as you bit your bottom lip— which was already swollen. Your eyes were glossed over, hips dying to move on their own.

His jaw was clenched— free hand coming down to lift your legs and put them on his shoulder before he started thrusting inside of you with more vigour than before. It was like he was in a trance— the way your pussy fluttered around his pulsating cock, and the way his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust had you both panting. Your head spun with pleasure as he reaches down to press at your tummy— feeling his bulge. Fuck, he was huge.

The phonecall still went on, of course— but you know all Fukuzawa could think about was you, and the way your pretty cunt swallowed his cock. The noises leaving his mouth told you exactly what you needed to know— the slight stutter in his voice, usually gentle tone now gruff and slightly higher in pitch as he tried his best not to blow his load right then and there.

Not like you were any better either— hair disheveled, sweat dripping off your body as tears stinged at your eyes from the sheer size of this man— it didn't take long for you to cream and gush all over his cock— some of it even spraying on his abdomen. He saw the way your glossy eyes rolled back, your jaw slacked open as your high hit you like a truck.

To hell with the phonecall — he thought.

He cut off whoever was on the other line with a quick but curt, "I'm a little busy— I'll call you later", not even letting the other person respond before ending the call and placing the phone away— all his attention back was on you.

"Putting on a show f'me, sweet girl?" He grunted, dragging his hips back before slamming them against yours— "mmh! K-Knew it'd work— fuck!" You moaned, now feeling both of his hands pushing your legs back, knees almost touching your ears as he forced you into a mean mating press. You felt your high coming closer again— balls slapping against your ass, cock bullying that spongey spot inside of your gummy walls as he groaned sweet nothings into your neck— gruff voice drowned out by his own growls.

You could only babble nonsense and his name as you came hard for the second time that night— pussy clenching around his length and he could feel something snap inside of him— hips speeding up to an inhuman pace, losing their rhythm as he bottomed out fully. Balls pressed against your ass while he spurted out so much cum— some of it ran down your ass and on to the sheets as he slowly got up, pulling out of your cunt with a hiss and watching his cum gushing out of your cunt in spurts.

.004 — Fyodor

You were finally bouncing on Fyodor's cock after hours of teasing and cockwarming— your hips and thighs burned but it didn't matter to you at the moment, because you can finally reach that release that Fyodor has been dangling in front of you— or at least you thought.

Your heart dropped to your stomach once the ringing of his phone echoed through the room— an annoyed sigh leaving Fyodor's lips as he gently slapped your thigh, a silent order for you to stop and stay still.

"A noise and you're getting punished," Fyodor's voice was smooth, but the threat made you gulp, "o-okay," you nodded, accidentally clenching down on him from nervousness and he hissed— blunt fingernails digging into your soft hips. He let out a shaky breath before picking up the phone, it was sort of unsettling how his voice switched from breathy to normal in a second.

You didn't know the phonecall would last so damn long.

It had been almost 30 whole minutes since he had picked up the goddamned phone— and this was pure torture to you. The occasional twitch of his cock inside you made your head spin, oh and the way he'd glare at you when you clenched down particularly hard— it did nothing else but make you even wetter. He, on the otherhand, was completely fine— not a hair out of place as he spoke so casually about.. something. The only time he'd react is when your pussy contracted around him— which would only get a hiss, or hitched breath from the man. It pissed you off.

It was too much for you— your juices running down his cock and onto the leather chair, god - you were leaking so much.

Fortunately for you, he was done with the call soon enough— quickly placing the phone on the desk before whispering into your shoulder as he placed gentle kisses on your skin, "go ahead, myshka - move." His voice was soft, as if he was proud of you for obeying his order and being a good girl— fingers that were previously digging into your flesh now reached between your bodies to rub and flick at your clit, while you happily bounced on his dick. He may have been quiet as a mouse during the phonecall— but he couldn't help but let out soft grunts and pants as you expertly milked his cock, dry lips even letting out one or two whines as you kissed his neck, down to his collarbones— pale skin now adorning a heavy flush as your thighs smacked against his own.

Lewd squelches and noises of skin smacking against skin filled the dark room of his office— Fyodor's jaw clenching as he feels your walls - so soft and warm, squeezing his cock as if you were trying to milk him. He was going to cum soon— but he couldn't possibly finish before his darling, could he? Lithe and slim fingers sped up their movements on your clit as he bit on your shoulder— free hand pinching and pulling at your hardened nipples as you gasped, your own pace turning sloppy and uncoordinated as you clenched your eyes shut— cumming all over his cock as he held your hips down firmly, shooting ribbons of white inside of your walls, some of it dribbling down his balls to the leather of his seat.

You both were left panting, shivering as Fyodor drew random shapes into your shoulder— trying to come down from his own high. He pulled you closer after you both calmed down, your head resting on his chest as he placed soft kisses on the crown of your head, whispering how good you've been for him.

If only you knew the man also coming down from his high on the other end of the video call— white hair disheveled as he came all over his screen.

©sachiyoh — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

note. ik i said i'd add jouno but I lost motivation for this thing :( jouno will be added to another work, so sorry jouno lovers </3

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorahatsumi @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @hannzai @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch @chuuya-brainrot

[cruel-as-sin]

you like to say that you're right | logan howlett

↳ summary: you’re bored when you and logan are about to be on the way home. so, you decide to have a little fun… but the consequences might be worse than you imagined

word count: 4.2k

song: #icanteven | the neighbourhood

pairings: old man!logan x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn light plot, unprotected p in v (practice safe sex everyone!), established relationship, fingering, mean!logan, bratty reader, orgasm denial, rough sex, a little bondage, spanking (a couple times), predator/prey dynamics if you squint (listen….), possessive!logan, lots of marks and bruises, reader has a serious degradation kink, hair pulling, reader flirts with someone else to piss off logan (plays into their established dynamic), hints of misogyny (not from logan), aftercare, no use of y/n, pet names for reader - baby, sweetheart, whore, brat; consent is key here y’all (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: okay so this wasn't supposed to be what i wrote next but i remembered a dream i had like a month ago at this point that started JUST like this does and i couldn't not deliver... so have some insight into the way my feral subconscious mind works lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan knows how much you love to push his buttons. But even for you, this is a new level of crazy.

His grip on the steering wheel leaves his knuckles white as he watches you go. Across the parking lot, through the building of some random store. He’s pretty sure he can see some bullshit comic on display in the window.

When he catches you, you are in for it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Five minutes.

That's how long you have before Logan follows you into the shop and rains down hell upon you.

Your heart has been pounding nonstop since you leaned over to him from the passenger seat of the limo, your eyes flickering past him to the couple on the curb. The girl was trying- and failing- to flirt with him, and even from that distance it was clear he was uninterested.

“You know,” You began. “That girl really can’t take a hint. It’s a little embarrassing.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a moment, narrowing at your tone of voice. “What are you doin’?”

“Nothing.” You said innocently. “I’m just saying, someone ought to go over there and show her how it’s done.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.” He said dismissively, not buying into whatever scheme you’re trying to plan.

You hummed, leaning in a little further. “Guess it shouldn’t be me though, huh? Since apparently I can’t fucking get any other guys but you.”

Your words were an echo of his own a few days prior, one of the things he’d said when he was balls deep in you. You’d loved it, of course you did. You got off on him being mean to you, because you knew he never meant a word of it. And he told you as much at the end of every night, soft words and gentle kisses lulling you to sleep, wrapped in the safety of his strong arms and sworn promises.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t use this to have a little fun.

So that’s exactly what you’d planned. His gaze had landed on you again, eyes narrowing further, his tone shifting to more of a warning. “Watch it.”

You’d only gone to this plaza to pick up some medicine for Charles- done. But you didn’t need to be back across the border for a while. So it wouldn’t hurt to, say, go into the bookstore across the street and have a look around.

“I bet I can pull any guy in there.” You said, pointing at the bookstore that rests across the parking lot outside your window.

“Is that so?” He was taking the bait- he couldn’t help it. He always did.

“Mhm. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have one of those poor boys wrapped around my finger.” You giggled. Giggled, as if your boyfriend wasn’t glaring daggers through you.

It was his turn to lean in, whispering in your ear. “If you go in there, sweetheart, I’m gonna make sure you can’t stand for the next week. You got that?”

His threat sent a pang of heat to your core. Sure, maybe this was stupid, because even if you did pull a guy, that would only piss him off more, but that’s why you liked it.

You gave him a coy smile before leaning over to open your door. “Five minutes.” Come and get me.

From the moment you got out of the car, you knew you'd fucked up- because he let you. You could feel his stare burning into you as you closed the door behind you, your heart beating so loud you were certain he'd be able to hear it the entire way through the parking lot.

Your steps were quick, hurried- not panicked, but there was a sense of urgency to your movements. The whole time you were walking through the parking lot, you wondered if this was a mistake, if you should just turn back now, fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness before this went too far.

But it's too late now. You've already slipped through the door of the small establishment, sealing your fate with the ding of the bell and a click behind you.

The woman behind the counter looks up at you with a polite smile. "Welcome in! Is there anything I can help you find today?"

You return the smile with a slight shake of your head. "No, thank you. I'm just browsing."

She nods. "Let me know if you need any assistance."

You glance around the room, finding what you were looking for- a set of wooden steps, leading down to a basement. You head down slowly, finding the room below filled with comic books, action figures, and all sorts of trinkets.

Truthfully, you'd like to stay and look. But you're not here for that.

Pretty quickly, you spot a guy eyeing up the comic book section, as if he's searching for something in particular. You try the classic trick of wandering around the room appearing confused, wondering if he'll take the bait.

And, of course, he does. For a moment you almost feel bad that you're about to lead him on (and maybe bring down the wrath of your surely very angry boyfriend), but then he opens his mouth and all your regrets fly right out the window.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He says as he sidles up next to you. "Oh, you must be looking for a gift for someone, right?"

Yeah. Right. You internally roll your eyes, turning to face him with a wide smile.

"Actually, I was kind of hoping to start reading some comics myself." You admit, pretending to sound a little ashamed about it. "But I don't really know where to start." Your eyes light up, and before he can get out some sort of misogynistic remark, you continue. "You look like you know a lot about this stuff! Do you think you could help me?" You bite your lip in a nervous sort of way and bat your eyelashes at him.

Although he hides it, you can see him short-circuit for a moment, probably not used to so much attention from a pretty girl. I wonder why. But he comes back to his senses. "Of course I can. I'd be happy to help." He begins heading toward a set of shelves, and you follow him. "So many women get lost in this sort of stuff these days. They have no idea where to start, and just end up getting confused. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

If Logan wasn't t-3 minutes away from storming down the stairwell, you'd punch this guy in the face.

Instead you smile at him like he's the smartest guy in the world. "Yeah, me neither. I was really worried I wouldn't be able to figure out what I wanted." You say with a giggle. "I mean, there's so many of them." You add, gesturing to the long shelves filled with comic books.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what the guy says next, or what you say back. You’re too busy thinking about Logan- he’s the real reason why you’re here, after all.

You know Logan is on his way. He has to be. And knowing that means knowing your punishment is imminent.

It's exhilarating, it's terrifying- but in a good way, in the best way. The hunt, the chase, the lying in wait for him to catch you- it’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world. And you know he loves it too.

The guy off-handedly and quite awkwardly mentions how he goes to a local store nearby for fan meetups, and you enthusiastically tell him you’d love to go with him someday. Blech.

Ding.

Even from down here, you pick up on it. You don't need anything else to know that it's him.

You swallow nervously, trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your throat. This was absolutely a mistake, the kind that was going to leave you begging for mercy the moment you two got home.

...but in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

He's already at the top of the stairwell when you reach out and put your hand on the other man's arm, laughing at whatever joke he'd just made- you hadn't even heard him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Logan is down the stairs in seconds, a hand wrapping around your arm in an iron grip as he pulls you away from the guy. The guy takes a step back- it doesn’t take a genius to see the fury in Logan’s eyes as he leans down to mutter to you. "Come on. We're leaving."

You pout up at him, tugging lightly against his grip. “But I wanna stay and look at the comic books, baby.” An idea comes to mind, and you can’t suppress your grin. “Plus, I think some of them might have you in them!”

The guy is long gone now, and Logan is not amused by your attempt at a joke, his voice dropping to a tone you know even at your worst moments not to mess with. "Unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here like the brat you are, move. Now."

Yeah. Okay. You nod, squeaking out an “Mhm!” before he starts pulling you away.

As he drags you up the stairwell, you regain some of your composure and lean towards his ear to whisper. "Relax, baby. We wouldn't want to make a scene."

You're playing with fire and you know it- but he relents, his grip on your arm loosening, his hand instead reaching down to lace with your own, a hold that's just firm enough to remind you of who's in charge here. "Walk." He mutters under his breath, his voice a low, rough tone that sends a chill down your spine.

And so you do, waving a cheerful goodbye at the woman behind the counter and trying to pretend like you're not beading with sweat and dripping with arousal. Logan keeps his hand tightly laced with yours as you walk into the parking lot, opening the car door and giving you a gentle push into the passenger seat before slamming the door on you.

You get a single moment of peace before he comes around to the drivers side, getting in and starting up the car. You put on your seatbelt, knowing you've pushed your luck too far now to disobey him any further.

You open your mouth to speak, to try to diffuse the situation, but the look in his eyes as he drives silences you.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Had to go and piss me off, didn't you sweetheart?"

"It's not like I actually wanted him." You lean back in your seat, unable to foresee the consequences of your words until it's too late. "He was a misogynistic asshole. I should've punched him in the face." You grumble the last part under your breath, more for yourself than for Logan- but of course, he hears it anyway.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes landing on you.

"But you didn't, did you?"

You swallow, unable to get past the dryness in your throat and attempt to poorly defend yourself before he keeps going.

"No. You made him feel like he was somethin' special, actin' like you'd ever be with anyone but me." He shakes his head again, a chuckle escaping him. "Seems like I need to teach you a lesson."

Before you know it, you're home, the glowing light of sunset coming through the windows. Your pleas die on your lips as he comes to your side of the car, opening the door and dragging you outside and up the sidewalk.

"You know I didn't mean it, Lo-" You whine.

"Stop fuckin' talking." He grabs your jaw, holding it in place, squeezing your cheeks in a little too tightly- but you like it. "Just 'cause you didn't mean it doesn't mean you don't get in trouble, baby. That's not how it works."

Wordlessly, you nod. As best you can, anyway, given his death grip on your chin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Get inside." He releases you with a rough shove, and you fumble for your keys when you get to the door, some part of your subconscious trying to delay the inevitable- no, trying to draw it out, because you love this feeling.

He follows you in, and he doesn't even have to tell you to head to the bedroom- he just gives a pointed nod towards the hallway, and you obey.

He corners you immediately, his large frame boxing you in against the wall. "You've been a bad, bad girl, sweetheart." One of his hands grips your waist.

"I didn't mean it-" You protest, but your words quickly turn to a sharp whine as he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back.

"What did I say?" His tone drops lower, a raspy sound that makes heat pool in your gut.

Instead of continuing to argue, you just nod, another gasp escaping you when he tightens his grip and pulls a little harder.

He leans in, his breath fanning across your neck, his teeth scraping your pulse point in the teasing way he knows to be your weakness. His mouth comes up beside your ear, a soft murmur that's by far the gentlest thing you're going to hear until he's done with you. "You remember your safe word, baby?"

You nod, whispering it back to him in confirmation.

"Atta girl." He says approvingly, pulling away and returning his mouth to your throat. His grip on your hair keeps your head back, exposing your neck perfectly to him. He nips and sucks at the skin, leaving marks that won't go away for days- claiming you.

He pulls back for a moment to admire his handiwork. You lean in to kiss him, but a tug at your hair pulls you back, stopping you. "You think you deserve that?”

A frown comes to rest on your face, but you shake your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He loosens his grip just a little. “You don’t get my fuckin’ mouth unless I’m puttin’ these on you, you understand?” He leans back in, pausing to murmur against your throat, “Lettin’ everybody know who you belong to.”

You nod in agreement- not like you have much of a choice- and he seems satisfied, nipping at your neck again. When he’s finished- Jesus Christ, you won’t be able to go out for days- he steps away, shrugging his blazer off of his shoulders and draping it atop the dresser.

His eyes are on you, a menacing stare that had you swallowing nervously before he’s even opened his mouth. “Strip.”

You don't hesitate to do as he says. You don't take your time, you don't give him a show- not tonight. You're smart enough not to fuck around now. Your clothes come off quickly- your shirt pulled over your head and tossed to the side, your bra unclasped and landing near the door, your pants and underwear pulled down in one swift motion and left pooled at your feet.

Logan wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your waste and picking you up with ease. He lays you down on the bed, mouth trailing down your body at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving hickeys at every turn- you don’t even want to think about what you’ll look like tomorrow morning.

Finally, he reaches your thighs, and you inhale sharply as he leaves marks there too. Those always sting the most. Usually, he’d soothe the pain by moving his tongue to your clit, but his mouth strays nowhere near it today.

Instead he leans back, one of his hands trailing down your chest, the other holding you in place. His fingers move down past your clit, immediately heading to the wetness glistening between your folds. He swipes a finger through it, humming approvingly before he slowly works a finger inside you.

No matter how many times he’s filled you up this way, you’re always in awe of how even just one of his fingers can go so deep, please you so well. Your head is thrown back in bliss, and it isn’t long before a second one of his fingers joins the first.

He crooks his fingers up inside you, grinning when he hits that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. "There we go, that's the spot." You want to thank him, to verbally affirm his claims- but the moans leaving your lips will hopefully be enough to assure him that yes, that is the spot, and oh god please don’t stop.

It’s good, but not enough- and he knows it. He doesn’t touch your clit, doesn’t give you that final push over the edge. Instead he pulls his fingers out, placing them in your mouth. He doesn’t even want to taste you tonight. Obediently, you suck them clean, and he hums in satisfaction as he steps away, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Hands and knees, sweetheart." You do as you're told, a shudder going through you at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He roughly grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back and securing them together with his belt. Moments later, you feel the tip of his cock press against your dripping folds.

You whine, instinctively trying to push back against him. One of his hands goes to your hair, grabbing it and holding you in place, while the other brings down a harsh smack against your ass. "Stay fuckin' put."

Another whine leaves your lips, but you bite your lip and stay still even as he smacks your ass again. "Say it." He growls, not taking your silence as an answer.

You nod furiously. “I’ll be good.” You say through shaky breaths.

“Good.” His hands move down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh so tightly you're sure you'll be covered in bruises the next morning.

He pushes into you slowly, stretching you out in a way that burns just how you like it. He gives you a moment to adjust- only a moment- before he pulls all the way out and slams back into you.

The pace he sets is nothing short of brutal, and he’s pretty quickly reduced you to a shaking mess. Still, as always, it’s not enough. You need more, you need him, you need-

"Lo-" You gasp, barely able to get out his name.

"Hm?" He seems entirely unbothered, his tone barely changed, as if he’s not currently fucking you senseless.

"I need-”

"What's that, baby?" He hums, thrusting harder. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

You can only respond with a broken moan, your words dying on your lips.

"Guess you must not want it that bad then." You can hear that cocky fucking smirk on his face, can practically see it when you close your eyes.

"Need to cum." You whine, your words slurred and almost incomprehensible.

"Oh, you think I'm gonna let you cum, sweetheart?" He scoffs, the condescension in his tone going straight to the pulse in your core. "After the shit you pulled, you think you earned that?"

“Please-” You beg. “Please, Lo, please, I’m sorry, please let me cum, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just let me cum, please, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t mean it-” You’ve lost track of what you’re even saying at this point, desperately racking your brain for anything you could say to convince him to let you cum, to move his fingers down to your clit and rub it in those sweet little circles that will have you coming undone in moments. “Lo, baby- Logan, please, I need to cum, please-” Your words die down into nothing but desperation, a few words barely able to be made out amongst the rest of your nonsense.

Surely, he must let you cum now. You’ve (metaphorically) groveled for him, that’s always worked before.

But his hands stay right where they are.

It's a little embarrassing, but you never could cum without pressure on your clit. Logan is the only man you've ever met who hasn't judged you for it, hasn't let it be a blow to his self-esteem- though you're sure in the back of his mind he's made it a personal challenge to do it anyway. Today, it seems he's taking up that challenge- or he's just really, really fucking pissed off. It’s something of a weakness. On occasion, he’s used it against you, but never like this.

It's a lose-lose. Either you cum from his dick alone, and his ego shoots through the roof because you proved him right- or you don't get to cum at all, and he's satisfied that you've learned your lesson.

He's got you backed into a corner, right where he wants you. The corner, in this instance, being the bedsheets your face is now being squished into, your shaky knees threatening to give out as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, one of his hands still grabbing your hips as his other keeps your head firmly against the pillow.

It’s too much but also not enough, overwhelming you beyond comprehension yet you somehow still want more.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you think you might actually cum.

You try to tell him, to warn him, in case he truly doesn’t want to let you, but you can’t form words, let alone sentences. Instead all that comes out are increasingly high-pitched whines and gasps as your knees buckle and he hits spots so deep inside of you, you think you might pass out.

Finally, you manage his name again. “Logan-” You want to tell him, but instead you just keep going, his name falling from your lips like a mantra, a prayer. “Loganloganloganloganlogan-”

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” His thrusts become harsher, somehow impossibly deeper, reducing your prayers to nothing but babbled moans again. You don’t answer him- you can’t, how could you, with the way he’s hammering his cock into you right now?

“Words, baby.” He says sternly, but you both know you’re too far gone. Instead you just nod, pressing your face into the pillow in an attempt to muffle your cries. He grabs your hair, pulling your head up. “Go on. Wanna hear you cum for me. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock, you know you want to. Let everyone know who you fuckin’ belong to, who owns this pussy.”

You don’t think about the consequences this might have for his ego, or the way you’re not going to be able to walk for days, or the fact that maybe your neighbors might actually hear when you scream his name.

“God, you’re such a whore.” He mocks. “Pathetic.”

You aren’t even ashamed when his dirty words are the thing to push you over the edge.

You just let go.

His name rings in your ears as you scream, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, hard and fast. You can barely hear his grunts through the cloud of ecstasy you’re floating on, “There we go. Knew you could do it, knew you had it in you- fuck, sweetheart-” He growls, and moments later you feel him twitching inside of you as his own bliss hits, causing your orgasm to just keep fucking going.

Eventually, when both of you are done shaking, Logan pulls out of you. He flips you onto your back, his once mean grip now gentle as he wraps his body around yours as you try to breathe. Soft kisses pepper your forehead, your face, your lips, your neck- anywhere and everywhere he can reach, his beard tickling your skin. His hold is firm, grounding, and he murmurs in your ear. "You did so good, sweetheart. Always so good for me." You whine when his hand brushes against one of the hickeys on your thigh. "Shit, sorry." He pulls back, littering your face with more apologies. "Was it too much?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No." A small smile forms on your face. "But I might not be able to walk anytime soon."

He grins back at you. "Told ya."

You nuzzle your face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like smoke- he always does, but that smell has become comforting to you. The two of you stay like that for a while before he begins to pull away.

"C'mere. Let's get you cleaned up." He grunts, standing up and taking you with him. He sets you down in the bathtub, turning on the water.

"I'm gonna get some water and food for you. What do you want?" The mention of dinner has your stomach growling- but the thought of him leaving upsets you. Not now, not yet. You reach out a hand, grabbing him by the wrist. He looks down at you, quirking an eyebrow. “You want me to stay?"

You can only nod, and he kneels down beside the bathtub. “Alright. I’ll stay.” Your grip on his wrist loosens, and he brings your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your skin. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

True to his word, he stayed by your side for the rest of the night. Bathing you, drying you, carrying you to the bedroom to get dressed, setting you down outside the bathtub while he showered, then back to the bedroom to put his own clothes on. He ordered dinner, even keeping you with him when he grabbed it from the porch. He didn’t leave you alone, not once, and before you knew it you were drifting off to sleep, still nestled in his arms.

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @logansbaby @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @themareverine @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)

[zephyrchama]

Do you ever wonder if the Devildom has silly celebrity TV competitions like The Masked Singer?

A bright green peacock costume graced the TV's screen. The costumed celebrity gripped a microphone and swayed as he sang, commanding all attention from the audience.

"This guy's got a great set of pipes." Mammon was on the edge of his seat humming along to the classic tune. "Twenty grimm says he wins the whole season. And another twenty grimm says that it's Chort."

Satan raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's Chort. Could he even sing? Plus, didn't he disappear because of his massive debts?"

Belphegor nodded. "I heard he's been trying to dig a river for the last six hundred years. The show's hints made this guy seem pretty great. I think it's Vapula.

"You think?" Satan rested his head on his hand and listened. "He's really good."

Hundreds of long feathers splayed out gracefully from the back of the perforner's costume, as if hypnotizing the viewers.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Chort. He's probably on here to sweep the competition and pay off his debts. Not a bad plan." A scheme began to take shape in Mammon's brain. "If I call these production guys, they'll be beggin' to have someone like me on next season."

Asmodeus laughed, "you? Maybe in a few seasons after me. I know they're waiting to bring me on as a special guest."

"Wait, really?" Leviathan was only watching in case somebody sang an anime or game cover. Most of the time, he was boredly scrolling his phone and making technical remarks about the costumes. "C-can you take song requests?"

"It's not official yet " Asmodeus clarified, "but I know they'll want me on the show in due time. I'm just worried the mask will hide my true beauty."

The singer finished his performance with a dab and a bow. After racous applause began an excessively long commercial break. Interest in the room dwindled. Nobody cared much about curse insurance.

You hugged a cushion to your chest. Being unfamiliar with Devildom celebrities meant you couldn't play along, but listening to everyone's guesses was still enjoyable.

"That guy reminds me of Lucifer."

Belphegor and Satan made faces like they had just swallowed a frog. There was a beat of silence, then everyone in the room collectively went, "Nah."

"Where is he, anyway?" you asked.

"He said something about a favor for Lord Diavolo," Beelzebub replied through a fistful of buttered popcorn. "Won't be back until late."

"Ah."

When commercials ended, the show began to wrap up. The peacock costume reappeared as the judges tried their hardest to guess his identity. Despite its flat plastic eyes, the costume had a majestic air to it. The masked man still drew eyes even when standing still.

"Last chance for betting," Mammon said. He shook his coin purse. Nobody took up his offer.

With plenty of suspense, the emcee began to remove the contestant's mask. There was a solid minute of the camera panning between the stage, the audience, and the judges.

"Hurry up already." Belphegor tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV.

"I can't believe this!" the emcee shouted.

Asmodeus impatiently squeezed his hands together. "Well? Who is it!?"

"It's...!"

Confetti cannons and bright lights obscured the mystery man's face, yet the audience was going wild.

"I can't believe it!" The emcee screamed.

"If they cut to commercials again, I'm leaving," Satan sighed.

Thankfully, there were no more commercials. There were no more pans to the audience or the judges. There was only one person in the camera's focus.

"Your ruler of hell, the Avatar of Pride himself, the great Morning Star! It's... Lucifer!"

There was a sudden chorus of exclamations. "What!?"

Aside from the television, the House of Lamentation became dead silent. Beelzebub stopped, slowly lowering his hand of food while transfixed on the screen. Asmodeus looked like he was about to cry, having his position on the show stolen first by Lucifer. Mammon looked confused and swiveled his head around, stunned, as though his brothers were pranking him. Belphegor narrowed his eyes with displeasure.

You cautiously eyed Satan, ready to command him to stay if things got out of hand. He just stared at the screen coldly.

Leviathan was first to break the silence. "Wait, really? Lucifer's the peacock?"

"I knew it sounded like Lucifer," you bragged. You raised your arms victoriously. Your cushion flopped onto the floor.

Beelzebub was the only one to commend you. "Good job, I had no idea."

"So it wasn't Chort or Vapula." Belphegor began to drag himself off the couch. "Well, that was unexpected. I'm going to bed."

"What's the prize for this show? How much's he winnin'?" Mammon asked.

"Probably nothing. It's a small appearance fee and the rest is just exposure," Asmodeus explained. Him and Mammon both hung their heads.

Satan got up to grab the remote, mashing the power button until it clicked off. "This show sucks. Let's find something else to watch next week."