#and you can fill yourself with better people

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. “So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about “the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[hearts4hughes]

present wrapping - nicholas chavez x fem!reader

holly jolly november

you and nicholas are sitting on the living room floor surrounded by wrapping paper, ribbons, and half-wrapped gifts. nick, looking a bit lost, holds a lumpy, unevenly wrapped box in his hands while you can’t help but laugh.

“okay, so… what exactly is this?” you giggle, pointing at his interestingly wrapped present.

with a sheepish grin on his face, he blushes, “a masterpiece? or maybe an abstract art piece. wrapping paper’s like my worst enemy right now.”

“yeah, i can tell.” you smile as he scratches the back of his neck. “give me that, i’ll teach you.”

half-wrapped present in hand, he shuffles closer to you on the floor. you take the present from him, removing the wrapping paper, and placing it down. as you explain to him the steps of present wrapping, he can’t help but be distracted by how pretty you looked under the christmas lights.

you and nick had always been close friends. you met through a mutual friend and clicked instantly. people joked around calling you platonic soulmates and nick always smiled, internally wishing for more. and now, with your soft voice and stunning face, it was harder for him to hide his feelings.

“earth to nick?” you snap at him and raise your brows. “are you even paying attention?”

he blinks his thoughts out of his eyes and nods. “uh- yeah.”

you roll your eyes with a playful smirk. “well, you better be because i’m making you do it yourself afterwards.”

he chuckled. you were always sassy and sarcastic, two of the many things he loved about you.

“and done!” you held up your perfectly wrapped box with a box fastened on top. “why don’t you try it? just fold and tape, it’s pretty simple.” you say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world as you hand him the roll of tape and wrapping paper.

his mouth is agape at how easy you made it seem. “you mean, try to not tape my fingers to the box?”

“exactly. small goals.” you begin laughing as he manages to tape down the paper without issue. he looks at you with a smug expression, taking pride in how he did the first step.

you watch as he focuses, carefully folding the paper like you showed him, his brows furrowed in concentration. there’s something endearing about how hard he’s trying, and you can’t help but smile.

“not bad… okay, okay, you’re actually doing pretty well,” you say, grinning. “maybe i am a good teacher.”

“or maybe you just have the patience of a saint.” he chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder.

finally, he secures the last piece of tape, then looks at the gift, a bit crooked but charming in its own way.

“there,” he says, looking at you proudly. “what do you think?”

“i think you’re a natural.” you both laugh, the sound warm and easy.

there’s a quiet pause, and you realize how close you’re sitting. the christmas lights cast a soft glow, and for a second, you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

“thanks for helping me… and for putting up with my terrible wrapping skills,” he says softly.

“hey, anytime,” you reply, meeting his gaze, your voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s actually kinda fun.”

a beat of silence falls over the room like snow on christmas eve. the two of you gaze into each others eyes and for a moment, time froze and only the two of you existed. nicholas’s eyes flickered between yours and your lips.

without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle, unexpected kiss that feels like it’s been waiting to happen for a long time. it’s soft, warm, and perfectly timed, just like everything else tonight.

he pulls back with a smile. “sorry, i-”

you interrupt him, “i don’t mind.” your face is flushed with maroon hues. you try to regulate your breathing.

“good, because i’ve been wanting to do that… well, for longer than i’d like to admit.”

you lean into him with a content smile. in that moment, you felt whole. like whatever had been missing inside of you had suddenly been filled. you both let out a small giggle, content with this now cherished moment.

[lucentloo]

Gift Giving

Summary: Spencer and reader share the love language of gift giving, however, Spencer seems to get reader gifts that she feels like she shouldn’t have since she can’t afford the same for him. 

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Wc: 1740

Content Warnings: Female reader, somewhat poor reader, not feeling good enough, gift giving love language for both Spencer and reader, no y/n, first fic ever, there might be swearing but I doubt it, season 6/7 Spencer, reader works in a restaurant, that should be all (If I’ve missed any please tell me)

a/n: I'm sorry if this sucks really bad but it's my first time writing and I thought I'd give it a try, thank you for reading and if you have any tips for me to get any better please share, have a nice day/night!

You’re staring at the small box on your counter as you hold the phone to your ear waiting for Spencer to pick up. The case he's working on is a crazy one though so you don't have much hope. You wait a few more seconds before giving up and stopping the call. The box on the counter is black with a pristine white ribbon tied and a bow on top. This is the third gift this month from your boyfriend and he doesn’t even have a reason.

You chew your lip as your eyes narrow at the box as if your glare could make it disappear from your kitchen. But alas, it stays exactly where it is. 

You don't hate the gifts, in fact gift giving is one of your love languages, you just feel so guilty that you can’t give Spencer anything back. You’ve tried to buy him something nice one time but that left you without food for a week and you couldn’t do that again without starving yourself. 

With a sigh you grab the box with the silver necklace and make your way to your bedroom to get ready for bed. After you shower and get into your pajamas (Spencer's hoodie and fuzzy socks) you climb into bed and contemplate what to do.

Ever since you were little you were always the kid with the worst birthday present at parties, or you were never the wished upon secret santa at christmas. You don’t have enough money to lavish your love on Spencer like you wish you did. It made you feel bad whenever you got something knowing you couldn’t get him anything like it in return.

You turn on your side and try to push away that persistent feeling that you’re not doing enough, that Spencer deserves someone who can afford to love him. Eventually you grow too tired to think anymore and slip your eyes shut. Sleep comes easier than it should that night and you’re only woken by your alarm early in the morning.

Spencer was worried.

He usually feels at ease with you and knows he can trust you to take care of yourself when he’s gone. However, this week you’ve barely seen him let alone your own bed. Anytime Spencer calls to hang out or take you out on a date he’s interrupted by a, “sorry handsome I’ve picked up the night shift,” or, “I’m filling in for Sandy since she’s out for the day, sorry baby,” and he can’t seem to find a time, day or night, that you’re available.

So he comes up with the only solution. He’s going to your work to forcefully pull you away from your job and take you to his apartment. When he gets there he’s surprised to see that the restaurant is quiet and not bustling like usual. He only spots two people eating at a table and one server walking around. That server isn’t you.

Spencer walks up to the server, Kate, and asks if you’re on break.

Kate looks at Spencer in surprise. “Um no, she left a few minutes ago to go home. The boss made her, apparently she’s been here for, like, three days straight.” she says the last part in a whisper like she’s gossiping to her friend in her high school cafeteria.

Spencer nods and whispers a quick “Thank you” before going back out to the parking lot. He knew he saw your car when he drove in here and decides to check the employees parking, just for reassurance.

Sure enough when he got there he saw your car parked right in front of the back entrance. The car was on and it looked like it was ready to go at any minute. Spencer furrowed his brows as he got closer and looked through your window. There you were, in your car with your uniform still on, sleeping like a baby.

Spencer smiled despite his concern, admiring your peaceful state in the quiet of the night. He doesn’t want to wake you from your sleep knowing it’s probably the most you’ve gotten all week but he needs to make sure you’re okay. 

Spencer knocks on your window and gives a slight chuckle when you jump up in shock. He smiles awkwardly and gives a little wave as you look at him with hard eyes that turn soft when you realize who it is. You unlock the door and step out with a stretch. You yawn before slumping against Spencer.

“Hey baby, why are you sleeping in your car?” Spencer asks softly. He’s trying not to wake you up too much as he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you upright. His heartbeat soothes you enough to let you stay in the drowsy state you find yourself in. Spencer feels you lean more weight on him as your arms encircle his slender form.

“Got off work and felt too tired to drive home.” It was hard to understand you since your face was pressed against Spencer's chest but he heard you well enough to look down at you in concern. He held onto you tighter as he sighed before bending down to pick you up. 

“Let’s get you home sweet girl,” Spencer whispers into your ear as you shut your eyes again and fall back asleep. 

When you wake up the next morning the first thing you register is Spencer's arms around your torso and his breaths blowing down your neck. You groan and shield your eyes from the sun that shines through the curtain and turn your body until you’re cuddled up into Spencer's hold. Your face is pushed into his chest to better hide yourself from the light. 

Spencer shifts slightly and you feel his hand start rubbing up and down the expense of your back. You take a breath in and you’re immediately comforted by the familiar smell of Spencer. He somehow still smells like coffee despite just waking up and he’s got the lingering smell of his cologne that he wore the night before.

 You pull back slowly to look into at him with a small smile before recognition flashes through your eyes. “I’m not at work,” you whisper to Spencer, “I had an early shift today, Spence, baby, I need to be at work.” You try to untangle yourself from Spencer’s tight hold on you but don’t succeed. “Spencer, I'm not joking. I need to leave.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

You look at him, not amused. “No?”

Spencer shakes his head again as his arms hold you impossibly tighter. “No.”

You sigh and stop struggling. Finally looking into his eyes you see the confusion and concern that’s directed at you. And damn does that make you feel guilty. The little seed that was planted at the beginning of the week just keeps growing and growing.

Spencer seems to sense the conflict you feel and kisses the top of your head. “I need you to take a break and tell me what’s going on. You’ve been distant and short with me, and I miss you, I want to see you.” Spencer whispers the confession in the silent room and it makes you tear up a little.

Your head lowers as you try to hide yourself under his blanket. The embarrassment floods through you as guilt eats your inside whole. “I’m sorry,” is all you can manage to say to him. 

Spencer hums in acknowledgment before sitting up and bringing you with him. He sits you on his lap so you’re facing him and he lifts your chin so he can peer into your eyes. “Baby, there’s no need to say sorry, just tell me what's going on in that head of yours, hm?” 

You take a shaky breath in before slowly letting it out to keep your tears at bay. The attempt seems futile though as you can’t seem to hold it together. “I can’t get you anything nice.” You say in a whimper as small sobs escape your lips and you hide your face in his neck.

Spencer’s lips turn down in concern as he thinks about what you just said. His thumb draws small circles on your waist as he contemplates how to go about this. “What do you mean sweetie? You give me nice things all the time.” Spencer tries to point out the things you’ve given him in the past - cookies, a new tie, the pen he uses every day - but it just makes you feel even worse. Those are things that shouldn’t even be considered gifts, let alone nice ones.

“No, n-no, you always get me these necklaces and, and books, and things that I could never afford.” Your sobs interrupt your speech slightly but It doesn’t deter you. “I just want to repay you, give you something nice for a, a change but instead I wo-worry you.” You burst into tears again as you squeeze Spencer tighter.

“Woah, woah, okay, hey, it’s okay. Baby I don’t need those kinds of gifts, I just need you. Is that why you were overworking yourself?” Spencer asks in a worried tone. His lips find the top of your head again as you nod your head against his neck. You hear him sigh before pulling back slightly. You raise your head to look at him and he wipes your tears away when he cups your cheek.

“Your health and happiness come way before an object I don’t even need.” He says in a stern yet soft voice. You lower your head to hide your face but he moves his head as well to keep eye contact. “Hey, I’m being serious, I don’t want you to work yourself crazy just to afford a gift. You’re way too important to me.” Spencer whispers the last part before giving you a soft kiss. 

You sigh after the kiss and look up at Spencer. “But that’s how I show my love, I don’t see you a lot so I like to give you gifts.” Spencer smiles as his thumb strokes your cheek.

“So keep giving me cookies and pens, they really do make my day.” Spencer goes in for another kiss that has you smiling more than you have in days. 

“Okay,” You whisper against his mouth.

Spencer kisses your cheek, then nose, then your other cheek, then your eyebrows, he does this until you’re a giggling mess. “I love you so much.” He finally says as he kisses your lips again.

“I love you too.”

[greengoblinswifey]

Super Eater—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— nicholas loves eating your pussy, anywhere and anytime. based on this request.

warnings— oral(f receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, pussy worshiping.

a/n—the title is actually sending me LMFAOAOA. working on the requests slowly but surely <3

Nicholas had a devotion to your pleasure that was almost relentless. Every so often, he’d give you this look—a mix of awe and pure need, and you’d know exactly what he wanted, to eat you out. It didn’t matter where you were; he was completely undeterred by anything. He did not care. All he cared about was his tongue in your pussy.

One night, the two of you were driving back from a date, winding down a quiet road surrounded by trees. Without warning, Nicholas pulled over, his face determined and eyes gleaming. “Nick, what are you doing?” you asked, your laughter mingling with excitement.

He gave a sheepish grin before his voice dropped to a murmur, filled with that familiar intensity. “You know I can’t wait, I need to taste you now.” The night proceeded with your legs in the air in the backseat of his car, and him not caring about the slight uncomfortable position he was in as his tongue sucked on your clit.

Then there was that afternoon while out shopping. The two of you had barely stepped into a dressing room when Nicholas gave you a look that you recognized all too well. “We’re in public,” you whispered, but he only shook his head with a playful smile.

“No one will hear,” he reassured, already leaning in. “I just need to show you how much I love eating your pussy.”

At a family gathering, Nicholas found a chance to slip away with you upstairs, where he gently pulled you into an empty bathroom. You let out an incredulous laugh, whispering, “This is not the place.” But he just gazed at you, completely unbothered, his cheeks flushed with his usual sweetness yet edged with that fierce determination.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, his voice reverent. “I need to feel you cum on my tongue.”

As usual, you gave in to his need and ended up with your own panties in your mouth as Nicholas lapped at your juices. Your taste was better than anything his family had cooked that evening.

Another time, the two of you were at Cooper Koch’s rooftop party. The music thumped in the background, people mingling just outside the stairwell where you both slipped away. He had that look again, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled you close. “Here? Seriously?”

With a soft, unbothered grin, he whispered, “I just need a few minutes to eat you out baby, you drive me insane.”

After each of these spontaneous moments, you couldn’t help but ask him. “Nick, I don’t get it. You love doing this more than anything. Why?”

He chuckled, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks, before looking at you with complete sincerity. “I don’t know if I can put it all into words. It’s fucking everything about you,” he said, voice reverent, “the way you smell, the way you taste, I love watching you lose yourself, how you get all squirmish.” His voice softened even more, gaze affectionate yet intense. “I just want to make love to you like this. Make love to your pussy, show you how much I fucking love it. It’s about you and making you feel good, that’s all I fucking need.

His words though so dirty, left you feeling adored, with no doubt of just how deeply he cared about your pleasure. He absolutely worshiped you, especially your pussy. He always believed women when they would talk about the power of the pussy due to how much power yours had over him. It was like it was tethered to him, like it called out to him. Like it craved his skillful tongue the way he craved to taste and savor it too.

One night, a particular premiere you attended was packed, the energy high, and the atmosphere electric. You and Nicholas had just snuck into the bathroom for a quick breather when he turned to you, eyes filled with a familiar look of lust.

“Nicholas, no,” you whispered, laughing softly as he stepped closer, his hands wrapping around your waist. “We can’t, not here.”

“I need to,” he murmured, almost pleading, voice husky and low as he licked his lips. “Please, I can’t wait. I know you’re aching to have my mouth on that clit.” His lips ghosted along your jaw, and before you could say no again, you felt yourself giving in.

The way he touched you was always more than gentle—it was worshipful, his mouth leaving you breathless and gripping onto him for support as he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world. His skillful movements had a way of knowing exactly what you needed, drawing out every little sound until you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally left the bathroom, both of you were trying not to laugh, cheeks flushed and pulses racing. You caught a knowing smile from Cooper waiting outside who must have heard, and Nicholas just pulled you close, grinning as you both walked away, hands intertwined.

“That was risky,” you said, breathless and still tingling.

He just smiled, leaning close to whisper, “Worth it. That pretty fucking pussy is worth every second of it.”

He loved when you were in the comfort of your own home, how he could bend you over anywhere, and anytime—not that he couldn’t and didn’t do the same thing when you were out. It’s just that being at home made him able to savor you even more. There was no one to interrupt, no reason to look over his shoulder, no reason to make it quick though still savoring your taste but faster as to not raise suspicion.

If you were in the kitchen making something in those tiny little booty shorts, your coils free and just one of his t shirts draped over you, he’d hike it up, pulling down your little shorts and burying his face in your plump ass, his tongue darting to lick your pussy from the back. You’d be standing up convulsing, your hand gripping the counter as he knelt down behind you, absolutely ravishing you like a man possessed.

He would not stop until your legs turned to jelly and you’d fall to your knees, but he was relentless.

On this particular night, something feral awakened inside him. He was always feral but there was something different. Maybe it had to do with you being out of the country with your girls for the week and not having any physical contact. Whatever it was, it had Nicholas worked up the moment you left and the moment you called him to pick you up from the airport.

He hugged you tightly, placing your bags in the trunk and you immediately noticed that familiar glint in his eye. You sighed internally, knowing this would probably lead to a session on the side of the road but you were shocked when he just drove straight home. Though, his hand remained on your thigh the entire drive, moving to your clothed pussy and rubbing periodically.

“Fucking hell you tortured me,” he began, “one whole fucking week without your pussy in my mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, staring out the window as you pulled into the driveway, not knowing just how serious and feral he was.

You barely finished your long, relaxing bath when Nicholas appeared, sweeping you into his arms before you could even catch your breath. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and needy, his hands trailing over your still damp skin as he pulled you close.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I missed your taste, your scent, the way you’d writhe under my touch, scream my name, fucking the everything. I need that pussy, now.”

His intensity left you breathless, and before you knew it, he was leading you toward the bed. “Sit on face,”he whispered, eyes dark with anticipation. “Let me show you just how much I worship this pussy.”

You felt a shiver run through you as you settled above him, and he looked up at you with a grin, his hands holding you close as he murmured, “Perfect.” His movements were filled with a fierce, passionate need, each touch and kiss a reminder of how much he’d missed you, his hands steadying you while he worshiped every inch.

The feeling was like ecstasy, you were high in the clouds from the way he lapped at your juices, his tongue flat against your pussy then curling and flicking exactly where you needed it.

His little moans of content had you shivering and holding on to the bed frame for support.

You gasped, overwhelmed by his intensity, and he looked up, grinning as he said, “Don’t hold back, I want it all.”

You couldn’t hold back if you wanted to, his tongue was practically penetrating your hole as he shoved it inside, sucking and licking everything that came out of you.

“I love this pussy, you’re amazing, everything about you,” he groaned.

Your cries grew louder and more desperate, each time you felt like you were on the edge, he’d slow down his movements.

“This pussy is heaven, I’d die if I couldn’t have my mouth on it.”

“God, mm- this fucking pussy has me in a chokehold.”

“So tight, you’re just clenching around my tongue.”

“You’re so perfect, this pussy is perfect in every single way.”

“I could have you on top of me for the rest of eternity.”

“Grind on my face, rub your pussy all over my face, give it to me baby.”

His words had you sobbing in pleasure, and he kept you on edge so you could get even more sloppy and needy for him. Your pussy practically soaked his mouth and was dripping down his chin.

“Please Nick, I really need to cum,” you pleaded.

“Just a bit more baby, I need to have you soak me a little bit more.”

Nicholas had you on the edge for what felt like forever, teasing and taking his time, his mouth moving over your pussy with a focus that made every nerve in your body come alive. He looked up at you now and then, that glint in his eye as he paused just when you were about to fall over the edge, whispering praises and reassurances.

“Fuck, I’d do anything for you, you have me under your spell,” he murmured, his voice warm and low, sending another shiver through you. “So perfect for me, every single part of you.”

Every time you felt yourself getting closer, his pace would change, drawing you back just enough to keep you in a state of dizzy anticipation. The way he looked at you, like you were all he ever wanted, made you melt as he made love to your pussy and worshiped you.

Finally, when he decided you’d had enough, he held you steady and whispered, “Let go for me baby, I want you to squirt all over my face, I’ve got you.”

At his words, the dam inside you finally broke, and the release was overwhelming. You trembled beneath his touch, feeling completely lost in the intensity of it as he held you, anchoring you through every moment. You soaked him, your orgasm spraying from you as his face and chest was drenched in your juices. His grin, proud and gentle, was the last thing you saw as he lifted you from on top of him lay you down and kissed you softly, murmuring, “Perfect. My perfect girl.”

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

too obsessed with this series to stop (i also think it's so hilarious this started as a oneshot request 😭) ur brain just couldn't stop ⬇️

It was a burden you bore silently, the weight of protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

GIGI WROTE HER FOR ME

There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream. You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

god i love ur writing i swear this fic gets better with a new update

“They chew up people like you.” “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

oooo reader 1: rafe 0 she ate him up

"Change of plans."Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing ominously in the small space. 

why was this so clever (also rafe's obsession w locking people in rooms 😭)

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him. Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before dashing out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

i honestly would've sat in my room n draw or smth

Were you getting mugged?

with no money 😭

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

hes so kinky (do it)

“Show me.”“Uh?”He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

i just realized why ur writing is so magnetic; it's because u write almost like a screenplay, like i can visually see all of ur scenes played out on a show or a movie or something; especially your dialogues like it belongs in hollywood

“Atta girl.”

pls sir, just one chance 🛐

“They’re about you.”"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."Your brows pulled together, “What is?”He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

oh my GODDDD

These were dangerous waters. If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

im giggling so hard rn

“Tell me stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

he's so whiny i love him

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

i'm so quiet during this smut scene bc im enjoying it too much

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

he's so hot ohmyfuckinggod

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips. The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

back to our regular scheduled program: emotions

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."“But it’s wrong.”“I know, pretty.”

they r so enemies to lovers u did this so well

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”“Promise?”He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.“Promise.”

i love them so much i could cry

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | god this smut scene was TOO good i gotta say ur best work to DATE 🤭 okay, okay, but onto the real business. i think what i love about this part (i think this has to be my favorite part by far) is that, like i said, ur writing plays out like a movie. the way you describe things with such beautiful prose and the way their dialogues bounce off each other. i always compliment your dialogues because it's so true, i am in absolute love with the way it feels so rich and organic and unpredictable (not in a bad way). like there's a conventional storytelling to certain scenes/dialogues but you always manage to surpass expectations and make it innovative and engaging! i fucking love how you build the intimacy through rafe and reader through touch and little acts where you have to read between the lines to understand. and when i get them? 🫠 reader is so independent and stands on her own shit which i love and it reminds me a little too much like me (who said that) but overall, for this specific part, i was obsessed with their banter during the gun scene, and during the smut (of course) but just truly, the way you WRITE it's so so incredible. i'm trying to find better words to explain myself. i love how rafe was yearning for her so badly during the smut, but he backed off bc she said so, and kept asking for clarity and she gave it. it gave me butterflies fr (u saw how quiet i was during that whole scene i barely annotated) and i love the way he kept praising her (blushing fr 🥰) because ur dirty talk is TOP TIER!!! and lastly lastly, the way their fears is embedded in things changing and how they have to confront this new reality of them falling for each other 💘

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin. With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself. While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages. You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into this situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible. It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group. Kie, Pope, John B…They weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a delicate balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence. You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in a turbulent life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst. It was a burden you bore silently, the weight of protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity. While others your age worried about trivial matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending storm in his eyes. You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream. You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, and for a moment, he looked like he might’ve backed down. But then his expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," he said, his tone condescending. "You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too,” you said, your voice low and steady. "And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

The defiance in your fixed look mirrored his own stubbornness. Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that. For a moment it looked like he might’ve argued. And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing ominously in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, fury and panic mixing in your chest. "Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no response from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing. He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different. Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, its frame sturdy and dependable.

That’s it! You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances. Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was sturdy enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building, the ground looming ever closer with each passing moment. 

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, your voice urgent, “It’s important.”

After a moment of hesitation, he relented, quickly scribbling down an address on a piece of paper and thrusting it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him. Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before dashing out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand, a feeling of unease gnawing at the pit of your stomach. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline surging in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shout, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a brief moment. You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, his agitation palpable in the confined space of the alley. “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp, his frustration evident. “You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm, his touch firm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden shifts in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

You only gaped in disbelief. “What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, his tone firm, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at Rafe’s chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe said, nodding in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained steady, unwavering. Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, now? “I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him. You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded, his voice softening slightly as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, the weight of what just transpired settling heavily on your shoulders, as you and Rafe sat in silence, the events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly; his expression unreadable. "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“Hey, look at me,” he said, voice weirdly soft, “We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere. There were more important matters at hand. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream. You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe. The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt, a stark contrast to the chaos that seemed to constantly surround him.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t. You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you. It was a lot to process, the realization that you had become a part of his nightmares, a constant haunting presence in his thoughts. Rafe’s fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and a rush of memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. But as it lingered, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, like a balm soothing an old wound. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up. It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

Once again, you felt a rush of conflicting emotions coursing between you. Guilt, fear, desire, all intertwined in a tumultuous dance within your heart.

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you felt deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. And you melted into his embrace, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead. All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. 

But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible over the beating of your heart.

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering like a promise of things left unsaid.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee. When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead. Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Rafe's hand tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again, “Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him, face twisting into confusion.

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you shifted, turning onto your side to face away from him.

Rafe moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like a shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters. If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

Your pulse quickened, and your skin tingled. An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you shifted again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse with purpose, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head. Rafe's response was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches that sent shivers down your spine. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question settling over you. The uncertainty, the fear, and the desire all came down together in a chaotic swirl. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted. You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire coursing through your veins.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit. You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss. You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts blurring as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening, each movement driving you closer to the edge. Rafe's breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me cum,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised, his voice a rough whisper. “Want to feel you cum around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your core. Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he gently withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky and all rough against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven. The friction was maddening, each movement sending volumes of satisfaction through you.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he struggled for control. “You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much to bear. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in. His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again rapidly. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so close. His hand on your clit moved in time with his hips, each touch sending you spiraling higher.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan in response, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You trying to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix. Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn of desire ignited into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch. You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole. The taste of him filled your mouth, a heady mixture of the cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours. The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Cum for me, pretty,” he urged his voice rough and filled with need. “I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

That was all it took. With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe and desire, his hands never leaving your body, grounding you through your orgasm. As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips soft and tender. He murmured soothing words, his voice a sexy whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own racing pulse, a reminder of the connection between you. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the waves subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, "I want to feel you cum inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass, "Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open, dark and intense as he watched your reaction. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His hands roamed over your body, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel you cum."

The pet name did it. His response was immediate. With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he drove into you with a powerful thrust. His pace was relentless, his movements fueled by a desperate need to reach his release. His face was a mask of intense concentration, his jaw clenched as he pounded into you. The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, creating a symphony of raw passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Cum for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising. And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. your own body still buzzing with the aftermath of your pleasure. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that rendered you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, his touch kind and reverent.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips. The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as Rafe's lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss a stark contrast to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but the dam broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed his voice a comforting balm to your frayed nerves. "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the gentle strength of his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you didn’t feel so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else. He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up fear and anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering in a gesture of reassurance. "I know, Maybank," he whispered, his voice steady and unwavering. "I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?" you asked, almost in disbelief.

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. The comfort of his embrace, his steady presence, was grounding you. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you strength. After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[minimomoe]

The Little Things

AN: I was listening to Sexy to Someone by Clairo and thought of Nanami. short, fluffy drabble

You stood in front of the elevator and waited for the metal box to ascend to your floor. It was 8pm, well past office hours, but time waits for no man and you had work to finish. All that mattered now is that you were done. You could slip out of your drab work clothing and crawl into bed as soon as you got home.

You had hoped that you could ride down alone, but you found yourself holding the door open for Kento Nanami, your unrequited work crush. He swept in, his cologne filling up the air and you didn't find it nauseating in the slightest. It was clean, green, and oh so sexy.

"Thank you for waiting for me. Most people would let it close in my face."

"You're too not bad of company," you teased.

He smiled back down at you and you felt heat rush up to your face. It wasn't fair at all. He couldn't be this gorgeous with pretty brown eyes and be one of the nicest people you have ever met. You might not even make it down the elevator with how fast your heart thumped in your chest.

"So why did--"

"You look--"

You had both started talking at the same time. He laughed, apologized, and asked for you to go first.

"I was just gonna ask why are you staying so late?"

"They're pulling a lot of people from my department. Someone had to pick up the slack," he sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and it fell over in perfect tresses. How annoying. How gorgeous.

"Tell me about it. They're doing the same to us in the marketing department. The quarter's almost over so hopefully the workload will lessen."

You could do this with him. Small talk. Safe talk. There was nothing that could go wrong here. Nanami couldn't hear your heart racing in your chest. You just had to keep your cool.

"What were you going to say?" You remembered.

"Oh-- it... I don't think it matters anymore."

The handsome, suave Nanami was stuttering. You had the man stuttering. You snapped your head forward as if you were afraid you messed with the balance of the universe. He cleared his throat and looked at you once again.

"I hope that this doesn't come off... inappropriate. I think that blue looks wonderful with your complexion. And you got new glasses last week. I never got to compliment them."

Your ears were ringing. Did you hear him correctly? Nanami watched you, has kept you in his sights to know that your glasses have changed and complimented your favorite work dress. You peered up at him and his ears were flaming red. Your unrequited work crush could possibly be requited after all.

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami," you said softly with a shy smile. "It almost looks like were matching, right?"

He looked down at his own blue suit and chuckled. "It does, doesn't it."

The elevator dinged and the doors slowly slid opened. Nanami held his hand out for you to leave first and followed behind. You were keenly aware of how close he was to your body as you both said goodnight to the security guard on your way out of the building.

"Well... Good night to you too, Nanami. Try not to work yourself too hard this weekend," you waved. You started on the opposite direction before he called out your name.

"Would you... like to have a meal with me? I know a place," he asked.

You bit back a smile. Never would you have imagined that Kento of all people could get so shy. He patiently awaited your answer but you noticed his jaw tightening.

"I don't know. It's getting pretty late," you teased.

"This place is only open from 8pm to 12am. And a meal is always better with someone to eat with."

He was practically begging you to come with. You gingerly took your step towards him and his smile widened.

"I can take your bag," he offered. He slipped it off your shoulder and you softly hissed at his fingers grazing your shoulder. His eyes darkened at the sound but kept on strutting down the street. Once again, his ears were blushing and you internally squealed. To think that you were rushing to go home only to end up on a date with Nanami. Was this a date?

Only your brain to mouth filter was broken, and you actually asked the question out loud. He gave you a fond look. "I would like for it to be."

You hooked your hand around his raised arm. All this time you thought that your feelings would never be reciprocated, but it looks like you were sexy to someone after all.

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[agirlwithglam]

how to have an alluring and magnetic aura always?? even when you feel insecure 💞

hi pookie!

ok so first, fix the insecure part. because you shouldn't be wanting to be attractive and appealing to others when you're not even that to yourself! people see and feel the vibe of how you feel about yourself and if you're insecure, then they can see that. how do you expect people to love and accept you if you don't yourself?

so first to have a magnetic aura, grow yourself. become confident, evolve as a person, learn new things, be cultured, etc. learn more about yourself first. anyways, heres some tips;

how to be magnetic and alluring

⭐️magnetic people are charismatic! take an interest in others, make them feel seen and heard. to be honest nowadays its not even so hard to do that because so many people are obsessed with their phone or all they do is always talk about themselves. imagine how appreciated someone would feel if you actually took the time to make them feel seen and appreciated and loved as a person? stop focussing on making you look magnetic and alluring, and start focusing on how you can make other people feel better!

also along with this, be kind. you do not wanna be one of those fake confident people who think theyre confident but are actually really rude. no. instead, ask people about their day, check up on them. be a good person. be empathetic and show sincere interest in others!

⭐️your vibration. below i have put a vibration chart. when you are vibrating at a higher level with joy, love, and peace, you can easily attract much more and much better into your life! but when you're vibrating in the lower end of the spectrum in fear, guild, and anger, then people can also sense that and will stay away from you.

to get your vibration higher, what you can do is do things that make you happy, make you laugh! whether thats spending time with people you love, watching a comedy, dancing all your heart out (dancing is a very good option btw), do it and see how you feel after.

⭐️dont overshare about your life. let there be a bit of mystery around you. let people wonder a bit about you. dont tell theme very single story of your life- and learn that its okay if theres parts in a conversation where you're silent and have nothing to say. pausing to actually take the time to think about what to ask is much better then desperately trying to fill the conversations with meaningless stories about yourself.

⭐️BE AUTHENTIC. if youre trying to be someone else or copy their personality, how they talk their style, etc completely- people can sense that low vibrational energy! they can sense that you dont feel comfortable in the person who you are which then makes you more repulsive to others. always be fully and truly yourself.

not everyone will like or love you for being yourself, but you need to stop seeing that something so bad and scary. its actually good to be disliked because then you will attract so many lovely better people for you who love you wholly for the person you are!

⭐️present yourself in the best way possible. a way that makes you feel confident in yourself. a way that makes you step out into the world and truly believe that you can do anything. i dont mean be super obsessed with your looks, but take care of yourself. have good hygiene. smell nice. wear nice clothes that make you feel better. when people see that you're taking care of yourself and you really care about yourself, they will reflect that to you.

⭐️have an open body style! make eye contact and dont close your body- that will make you look reserved and as if you don't want anyone to come to you because you're too scared. don't be afraid to TAKE UP SPACE!

your to-do list:

when you're having a conversation with someone else, listen to all the words they say, how they say it, how they feel about it, then ask questions about it it will much more naturally come to you when you arent spending the entire time thinking about what to say to please them

go check up on a friend or a love one right now. text them saying how are you? let them know you're thinking of them.

start doing your favourite hobbies, stuff that your younger self loved doing.

actually take care of yourself when you go out. get your nails done, brush your hair, lip gloss, etc.

next time you're in a public space/ an event/ party, have an open body langauge and DON'T cross your arms!

do something that will raise your vibration

[tessieee]

“Out of everyone in the Human Realm, why me?” MC x Main 7

Pairings: Obey me! Lucifer x MC, Mammon x MC, Leviathan x MC, Satan x MC, Asmodeus x MC, Beelzebub x MC, Belphegor x MC

༺═────────────═༻

It had been a particularly long day at R.A.D. Your professors droned on about subject matter you had been too drained to read about the night before, results for a test you were not confident about came in and you did way worse than you were expecting, and your nights grew shorter as you tried to keep up with the particularly hard material you were given that week. 

Once you finally arrived at the House of Lamentation, you kept your interactions with the brothers curt– no one failed to notice your slumped shoulders and distant answers. Your door shuts behind you, your body sliding slowly down the door. Dark thoughts raced through your mind a mile a minute as you buried your head into your hands. Why am I even here?

 The weight in your chest became heavier as the days went by and it wasn’t unusual for you to have days where you'd feel like you were incompetent. That there would be so many better choices for a human exchange student other than yourself. There are smarter, prettier, more athletic people. Why you? 

Not much time passes before you hear a knock at your door, and you promptly let the demon in.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · Lucifer ~

The first thing he notices about you is your teary eyes, usually filled with the same wonder for life he lost so long ago. It broke his heart to see you this way. Still, he remained stoic; someone had to be levelheaded. 

“I brought your dinner.” His eyes trail up and down your vulnerable figure, taking in your emotional state. “If there is anything I can do to alleviate your distress, please tell me.”

And there he was, sitting on the floor by your bed right by your side. He’d insisted that you accompany him to his room but you refused to move. Curled up into a fetal position, you were basically cemented onto the ground. At first, he’d been taken aback by your sudden outburst– the sobs that racked your chest while you spilled your whole day onto him. All he did was sit there and listen, which was just as much as you could’ve asked for. Lucifer trailed his hand to your upper back, caressing it softly until you leaned into him. When you finally took your face away from your knees, he was greeted by your puffy eyes and snotty nose. You felt embarrassed but the day had taken its toll on you and you were too tired to care. 

Lucifer gazes at you sympathetically, he knows better than anyone what it’s like to have days that wear you down. He also knows that outbursts with the intensity yours had aren’t just from momentary things, this was something you’ve kept over time. He curses himself for not noticing sooner, perhaps he could’ve had this conversation with you sooner.

“This might be stupid but,” The demon perks up at your shaky voice, raspy from the lament. “I just felt so pathetic. I started to question… Why me? Y’know?”

“I don’t. Do you mind elaborating on the subject?” His expression shifts from sympathy to confusion. 

You sniffle, finally regaining consciousness after the crying spell. Wiping your tears from your red, swollen eyes and taking a deep breath, you finally answer his question.

“I mean- I just feel so… Insignificant.” You start, looking off to the side, almost ashamed to admit this out loud. “Out of everyone in the Human Realm, why me? What’s so special about me?”

You continue, once again allowing the words to spill from your lips.

“There’s nothing about me other humans have if not more! What if you all visit the human realm one day and you meet other humans and you realize that I’m not..”

“Not what?” 

“I’m not anything special. Nor important.” His expression became more tender as you admitted the main thing that had been bugging you all this time. He could see the way a weight lifted off your shoulders and your teary eyes seemed to relax. At last, your body relaxes the muscles you never recalled tensing up in the first place. A comfortable silence ensued in your words, followed by Lucifer pulling you closer to him so your curled-up body rests more on him. You take a moment to notice he’d been sitting criss-cross the whole time. This distracted you enough to let out a sigh of relief. The eldest demon brother rests his head on yours, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head and taking in your scent. “You’re missing the bigger picture, here.” He murmured.

“Huh?” Your thoughts were so loud, you almost missed it.

 “It’s offensive to yourself to take away so much credit from a remarkable human.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again.

“My brothers and I have been around much longer than you. We’ve all known humans; what they're like, and what they’re capable of. You may not be worthy in your impossible standards, but to us– to me– you are more than enough.” Fat tears roll down your puffy cheeks once again, yet these are silent. You smile at your lap as his words sink in, allowing yourself to relax more into Lucifer’s frame. He welcomes you in, allowing the both of you to share a moment. He believes in you, he always has. “Thank you, Lucifer.” You sniffle, sincerity laced in your words. “Thank you so much.”

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Mammon ~

 No words are exchanged between the two of you; simply relying on facial expressions to end up in your favorite spot to gossip in the room. However, at this point, it was unfair to reduce your bed to simply gossiping. Over time, Mammon had practically moved in at this point. He kept a spare charger and toothbrush there– you never complained.

He cradles you gently in his arms and lets you cry, similarly to how you had comforted him countless nights after arguments with his brothers that got out of hand. You two were a team, the terrible twos, two peas in a pod. He was your first, and you, his human. The sight of you broken down in his arms, distraught to no extent, truly unsettled something in him. Moments you had spent with him fly through his head as he searches for a sign as to when you started to feel this way. Was it something he said? Or did? To be fair he did only sell one thing, but if that’s what had you in this state then he’d go to the ends of all three realms to get it back. 

 The secondborn ran his fingers through your hair, being careful to not tug too hard on the tangles. Cooing quietly, attempting to soothe your obvious pain in any way possible. To his relief, you eventually calmed down enough to tell him what exactly was going on. You don’t think much as you tell him about your day, running by every incident in every class. Mammon takes note of the way your body shivers and grows colder as you speak of the anxiety-inducing day and doesn't miss a beat before messily throwing your comforter over the both of you. The cool cloth smelled like a pool of the both of you, taking you back to a multitude of memories of the both of you staying up far longer than you needed to simply talk.

“And with all of this, I just couldn’t help but think that I’m just not good enough.” You cry out weakly, exhausted from your outpour. “That if you met literally any other human you’d realize I could never live up to them. You’d all forget me!”

Hearing you say this tore his heart apart. 

“Oi, whaddya’ even talking about?” He was dumbfounded by your feelings. How could his human feel this way? His human! The thought of you being anything along the lines of what you claimed to be confused him. You could just look off to the side, heat rising to your face in slight embarrassment. He was acting like you'd just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Don't go sayin' stuff like that about ya'self. I'll sock you in the face if you do."

You scrunch your nose in amusement before returning to the same sad pout. Doubts continued to cloud your mind just as quickly as they left.

“Out of everyone in the Human Realm, like, ever. Why me?” You hiccup quietly, wiping a tear with the side of his shirt leaving behind a small, damp, glossy spot. Mammon flashes you a look, usually, this would earn you a playful shove but this wasn't something he'd fix with jokes or banter. He supposes he’ll let it slide. For now.

“Well… cuz’ yer’ uhh..” The avatar of greed struggles to find the words to properly express the utter adoration he has for the human in his arms at this very moment. At the same time, he dealt with the shock of hearing such a thing come from you. The thought alone of him giving someone else the same time or feeling the same way for someone else just made him uncomfortable. He swore he'd end the person who inspired this insecurity in you. So many feelings seem to cancel out the moment he attempts to say them out loud.

“Listen, I dunno’ why or how Diavolo picked you, but I’m damn glad he did.”

You don’t hide your disappointment at the short response he gives you. Luckily you read his expression as deep in thought, so you give him a moment. 

“All this time we’ve spent together, Human, is the most fun I’ve ever had running get-rich-quick schemes or even getting my ass whooped by Lucifer or– or in class–” He stops himself before he can continue rambling to you.

“Point is, yer’ irreplaceable! There's like a trillion humans, right?” “Well..!” You start with a gentle correction before he continues. “An’ there's only one you. I’m lucky to be the one to enjoy you, so don’t go round’ letting others enjoy you too, kay?” His words tug at your heartstrings resulting in a big goofy grin spread upon your pink and puffy lips. You nod your head at your first man, being more than happy to comply with his request. No one gave you such validating reassurance quite like he did. Who could blame him? You were his human after all and when you struggled he promised himself he'd be there just as much as you were there for him.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Leviathan ~

“I-I know you’re upset! So I brought some snacks and games– or we can just watch something and not talk! Your choice! Or– or we can talk about it. Do you want to talk about it?” The rambling demon stands at the foot of your door, your red eyes and tear-streaked face look up at him sourly. You almost felt bad since he was being so nice and his attempt at comforting you was so cute. 

“Hey! Don’t zone out on me like that!” He pouts, brows furrowed with worry. “Do you want to be alone?” “Not really, please come in.” He nods and complies, blushing furiously at the position he found himself in. What would others think if they saw him going into your room alone?! With presents! And a desperate expression!

“Set that stuff down anywhere,” You sniffle quietly, looking up at Levi whose arms were full of comfort items he’d brought for you. He awkwardly dumps some of the things on your bed and the floor in no particular order. The air between you two is tense, he wonders if he’s the right person for this job. Then again, he wanted to be the one to comfort his player 2. 

“Can we just play Devilkart™ for a little bit?

“Please.”

And so, the two of you played Devilkart™ until you could finally breathe without sniffling every five seconds. The quiet time allowed for you to relax, usually Devilkart™ nights are full of yelling curses at each other and bets as to who’d win, but tonight you both just sat there in comfortable silence. The sounds from the TV comforted you, the soft lighting of it in your dark room and warmth from Levi’s body shifted your mind from its corner in your brain. 

 After a couple rounds, you scooted closer to Levi who failed to react nonchalantly as you felt his body tense when your head rested on his shoulder.

“Wh–oa. You okay? 

“It’s not fair, I could never be as great as some of the humans out there. I’m not worthy of being here.”

“What?” He blinks, shocked by the sudden confession. Your words process in his head and hit too close to home. You sounded like him.

“That’s… that’s not true and you know it” Levi shifts the position you two are in, this time allowing his arms enough space to hold your shoulders. As to make sure you hear what you’re about to say— as if he could yank you out of the slump you were in, dust you off, and the balance would be restored.

Was it bad he wanted to kiss you?

“What if Diavolo picked a celebrity, or a model, or an idol!?” Your hands trail to his wrists, holding tightly but not pushing away. More tears race down your face, shameless and loud. 

“You’d all have no idea who I am— out of everyone in the Human Realm, why me?” 

“Because you’re— you— you’re special! How do you not see it?” His voice raised slightly, getting heated as you did. Leviathan takes a moment to lower his tone again; it was beyond him why you felt this way, he couldn’t fathom someone so perfect ever feeling anything but. If he had your charisma, your good looks, your wit— he doesn’t know what he’d do but he just knows it wouldn’t be feeling this way and it certainly wouldn’t be seeking out the comfort of an otaku.

“You’re like… my— my confidant! Thanks to you my stats are— they’re stronger than ever!” You could cook an egg on his face, burning to the touch. 

“Really?” His reference momentarily allowed you to sniffle your emotions down. Knowing him, he was anxious out of his mind to confess how he felt. 

“D’aw!” You coo teasingly, sniffling once again and rubbing your cheek against the hand still gripping onto your shoulder. The atmosphere alone felt hot, he was flustered. 

“Levi, that was sooo sweet!” 

“Huh?! What’s with that shift?!”

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Satan~

He had noticed that you were struggling in class, confirmed by when you went to his room one night to ask for help with an assignment. Since then he’d been trying to help you, you seemed okay. That didn’t prevent him from being disappointed in himself when you came home and locked yourself in your room. 

Satan had been in your room way less than you’d been in his. His hand gripped your favorite book tightly as he stood awkwardly in your room. You let him in, now what. It was unusual for him to go into situations unprepared like this, he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shrug, dejected by the day’s events. Exhaustion took over your body and the last thing you wanted was to expel your burden onto him. Satan’s expression softened from seeing your mood shift. At least you weren’t crying anymore?

“Lets lay down. How’s that sound, hm?” He nods towards your bed, you lead the way.

The avatar of wrath displays impossible softness around you, stroking your hair with one hand and skillfully holding onto your favorite book in the other. You feel the vibrations from his chest where your face lies, his rich voice bringing your favorite characters to life. He’d introduced you too the book not long after you first made a pact with him. Since then, you’d read the copy of it he and you shared. The book was loved, usually Satan wouldnt be able to stand the tattering of a book but the little notes and scribbled annotations peppered on the margins stood out. It was more than just a story now; a display of your blossoming friendship, the small fingertip touches whenever you’d exchange the book between you two to read the week’s notes from the other, and the way you began to look forward every time you planned an exchange of the book. 

“There are few people whom I really love,” He reads, leaning his head on top of yours. “and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I–”

Satan stops himself; he took note of the way your breathing steadied and your eyes drifted shut. Your form lay against him peacefully as he slowly put the book away and readjusted your position so that you could both drift off to sleep.

When you woke up, there was a cup of tea by your nightstand. Steam was still emanating from the top of it– you take it in your hands and blow gently. Too tired to process the absence of warmth that Satan’s body provided before he left, you take a small sip of the herbal liquid. 

“Ready to talk about it?” He appeared from the front of your door, shutting it gently behind him. His brothers were worried sick and flooded the fourth eldest with questions about how you were doing and if an intervention was required. He simply reassured them that everything was under control. 

“In hindsight, it’s kinda’ silly. I don’t want to trouble you with it” 

“If it’s about you, it's never silly. Talk to me, please?”

You sigh, eyes dashing to the side as he approaches the side of your bed taking a seat for himself. The sip of tea you took sits warmly in your mouth, any attempt to stall admitting to him how you felt. You swallow hard.

“I just feel like… In comparison to other humans, I fall short.” You tangle a hand through your hair tugging at the strands gently. The demon on your bed shifts his body more towards you. You had his attention now– intrigued by your insecurity he stays silent hoping you tell him more.

“Makes me think, out of everyone in the Human Realm, why me?” A short pause fills the air with tension. “I wish I was special.” 

“But you are the most remarkable human I’ve ever had the privilege of spending time with.” His words seem to heal something in you. You wondered when you began to care so much about what he thought of you. “Truly, I have never caught myself admiring a human with the same intensity.”

Your heart skips a beat while he’s speaking. The grip on your mug tightens and the look on your face reads disbelief. How long has he felt this way? 

“Ad–admiring? Satan..”

“Believe me when I say you are anything but unremarkable. You’ve worked your way into all of our hearts… Mine especially.” A soft blush crept onto his face, you noticed. 

Satan held much more passion for you than you originally thought. Your arms wrap themselves around his neck to bury your nose in the crook of his neck and he wastes no time before returning your affection. You couldn't quite put your finger on his scent, but you knew it smelt like home. 

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Asmodeus~

Asmodeus followed you to your room the moment he saw your teary eyes. The two of you had been inseparable since you arrived at the Devildom. Whenever your attention wasn’t being demanded by all of the other responsibilities you bore simply by being a human and existing in the Devildom, you were in his room. No one had ever made him laugh the way you did, regardless of what you two were talking about. Lady Luck worked her magic when he met you. 

“Oh, darling…” A sympathetic look laced his porcelain features at seeing your trembling shoulders. Choking on your sobs, you shove your hands towards your face being embarrassed to be seen this way. You felt like a mess, you probably looked like one too. Overhearing your classmates during lunch enlightened you to what they considered you to be. Sometimes you forget that outside your circle of love provided by the exchange program, a lot of demons still had to shift their mindsets when it came to humans.

Little time passes before the avatar of lust takes your body and pulls it close to his. Seeing you this way made him anxious, though he’d never admit it out loud, he liked how it felt. Asmo wanted to care for you almost as much as he cared for himself and it showed. He never missed a chance to offer you some sort of joint self-care sessions that you grew fond of over time.

“That's it, love.” He cooed, peppering kisses on the top of your skull as you spilled muffled wails into his designer sweater. “Cry it out.”

 Panic struck his face for a moment, maybe putting more thought into drabbing down before comforting you would have been the smart choice. What a silly thought! It was impossible for someone like him to drab down. 

The texture of the cashmere comforts your nose that you’d rubbed raw.  was broken by the demon’s quiet humming. An unfamiliar melody lulled you to a less troubled state, gentle and kind. Asmodeus’ flirty behavior turned you off when you first arrived in the Devildom. Back then everything was so new and overwhelming and a part of you couldn’t stand all of the demons around you. Being received with such affection was a foreign feeling to you which you just excused as ingenuine. That didn’t stop your mind from wandering every once in a while– with all the touches on the shoulder when he’d run into you after class, the back rubs when you’d spend the night gossiping in his room, the charged eye contact when he would do your makeup– you couldn’t help but look forward to the next time he would be around.

“Darling, why don’t you tell me what’s going on now?” His cold hand soothes your red-hot face, your sobs had eased into quiet huffs. “Keeping this to yourself won’t relieve the pain in your chest.”

A sigh follows Asmo’s words. You never had to deal with anything alone now that Asmodeus was by your side. His presence felt so bright in comparison to yours– how he always knew how you felt and what you needed was what confused you. To have someone be so attentive to your needs and the push and pull of your emotions was new to you. When you drowned in your feelings he was always there to save you. For a while you were suspicious of his intentions– unsure if the interest he took in you was anything genuine. But now you realize that you had never felt so seen by another entity before and by having someone to help you recognize your worth, you began to appreciate life.

“I can’t shake the feeling that if you guys ever meet another human… I don’t know Asmo, this is pointless, I feel better now!” This earns you a deadpan from the demon.

“What about me interests you so much?” You raise your voice, eyebrows arched with annoyance. Emotions clouded your judgment making it easy for you to fall back into your old thinking habits. You found it unfathomable for someone to care for you without hidden intentions and not knowing if Asmo had any frustrated you.

“I don't deserve this!” Your hands motioned between the two of you pointing out his affection.

“Asmo, I feel awful.” You frown. “I had an awful day and heard awful things from the people in my class and–” Silence. 

“Out of everyone in the human realm, why me?” Asmodeus furrows his brows, exhaling sharply. Your words didn’t go without hurting. He figured that he had nothing to hide from you so that that would earn him some trust. This didn’t stop him from brushing it off; your insecurities already haunted one person and he couldn’t make it become two for your sake. 

“Because a human quite like you is hard to come across. Your soul is like a diamond, love. The toughest, shiniest, most eye-catching diamond.”

“You don’t mean that.” Bitterness is laced through your words. You didn't understand why he felt this way about you. The unknown regarding why he felt that way flustered you, everything about your borderline erotic friendship with the avatar of lust flustered you.

Your heart skips a beat and a quiet sniffle breaks the silence. Asmodeus made you nervous. Sure, he was never shy with letting you know how he felt about you, but you were at your lowest and here he was; with you. Then it dawned on you. Anyone else could’ve come to check on you but it was Asmodeus who followed you straight to your room, as if he could feel what you felt. You wanted someone to chase after you and somehow he knew that. It irritated you and made you swoon at the same time. Realization dawned on you. The demon cradling you in his arms wasn’t the root of your frustration but the fear of being known the way he knew you.

 You learned a lot from your time with Asmo. Thanks to him you knew you deserve the love he gave you. 

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Beelzebub~

After hearing your door slam shut the brothers could only shrug at each other. They shared confused looks until they all landed on Beelzebub, who had been shoving some of your favorite snacks into his pockets and grabbing some for himself on the way to your room. 

“Should we come too?” Belphegor chimes in. The sound of your door had stirred him awake. His groggy expression provoked a softness in his brother’s face. 

“I think that would overwhelm them.” He says, barely swallowing the food in his mouth before speaking. “Be right back.”

Hastily he makes his way up the stairs to your room to not be tempted to eat the snacks he saved for you. Luckily, the ones he brought for the road had been devoured after you let him into your room.

Beelzebub was faced with your red nose and teary eyes. With a sharp inhale, he pats his bulging pockets which he packed full of snacks for the both of you. 

“Hey. Can I come in?” You nod and sniffle. A weak smile graces your sad features at seeing the avatar of gluttony at your door. Over time he’d become less aloof around you and since you’d started to spend more time together you had a firsthand experience of how loyal and caring he really was. Having him there in your room checking on you made you flustered, you liked it— you like him— a lot.

His large hands dug into his pockets, emptying out the contents before taking a seat on your bed. Beel pats the seat next to him which you trudge over to and take a seat. 

“Beel?” You rest your head on his shoulder. The bag of your favorite chips crinkles loudly as you tear it open. “D’you ever feel like you’re nothing special?”

This confused the demon by your side. What did you mean, nothing special? He couldn’t imagine you and those words being in the same sentence, much less spoken by you. Spending time with you and knowing of your equal fondness and understanding towards Belphie made you practically perfect in his eyes. To him, you oozed kindness. Yet he understood where you were coming from. To be reduced to one word to summarize your entire being was an experience he was far too familiar with, even with loved ones. Seeing your hurt-ridden face felt like a punch to the stomach. 

“All the time.” The words come out quietly from his mouth as if he’d also been admitting something. His strong hand reaches over your body and into the open chip bag you had yet to eat out of. The sounds of his crunching serves as white noise while you think. You couldn’t possibly fathom someone like Beel feeling the way you do. If you looked like that you’d probably be an asshole, you were hot so you figured you’d never have to be nice to anyone. You chastise yourself for your thought process.

“People will have their idea of you,” Beelzebub rubs your back gently and an empathetic look in his eyes glistens in your direction. “If that's all you are to them it says more about them than you.”

Your smile becomes genuine as he cheers you up. Perhaps he’s the type to pay attention during the pep-talk before a big game of Fangol. The thought made you laugh sadly. Beel catches a glimpse of your expression. He smiles too.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You say a thoughtful frown etched onto your features. Reaching into your bag of chips you grab a couple to hold in your mouth while you and Beel sat there. The plush mattress dips under your weight as you take a seat right behind where the sixthborn was sitting. He turns to look at you with confusion but you take his face in your hands and gently turn it the other way. Beelzebub doesn’t question you when you start to run your fingers through his ginger locks and he knows better than to comment as you start to braid strands of his hair together. 

“That tickles.” He says through a mouth full of the chips you made the mistake of abandoning on the floor near him. You give him a tired giggle which is all you can muster up. The demon gives himself a couple of seconds to finish up the bag before continuing with his point. He felt like it wouldn’t be fair to you to just leave it like that. A part of you still looked upset.

“There’s no one like you out there.” Assuredness drips from his words. As if he’d practiced this in the mirror a million times over before heading to your room. “Not in all the three realms.”

“You’re special to us all and I..” He hesitates for a moment, furrowing his brows in thought. Why did he feel shy all of a sudden? A light blush dusted his cheeks as thoughts about you ran through his mind. “Really think you’re special.” 

“Very detailed, thank you, Beel.” You say with feigned satisfaction. The hair you were braiding slipped from your fingers as the demon turned to give you an incredulous look. Laughter bubbles in your chest at seeing the way his head tilted, you were fond of the demon and not fond of the way it felt like you’d just kicked a puppy in front of him with the expression he was shooting in your direction.

“I’m kidding.” You slid your arms around his neck, resting your weight on his built shoulders. That’s a feeling you’d never get tired of. “Thank you, Beelz”

A large hand trails toward your forearm, which grounds you in the moment. Suddenly you both become aware of how close you are to each other. You can feel his breath on your arms; he’d pull you closer if he could. 

“Yeah.” The simple response from the demon certainly didn’t speak for his complex feelings for you. He knew he’d do anything to keep that pretty smile on your face. 

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Belphegor~

“Hey, you’re kinda’ being really loud. Do you mind– uhm…” 

Belphegor was faced with the unexpected. He assumed that when he’d go complain to the human you’d apologize, laugh it off, and invite him in– which he would’ve reluctantly accepted whilst already falling asleep in your bed– but there you were, sobbing and glaring furiously at him. Did he even do anything?

“Whoa, alright what’s with the face? Let me in.” You grumble something under your breath that you’re glad he doesn’t hear. The door creaks as he pushes through it and scans your room, eyes locked onto your soft, unmade bed. Not that he cared.

“I dunno Belphie…” You stare helplessly as he walks by you. “I don’t feel good right now.”

He shrugs you off. There’s nothing he couldn’t help you get over. Someone like you shouldn’t have to be worried about anything. You have one of the most comfortable beds in the Devildom and seven doting demons who care about you— if that isn’t the makings of a stress-free life he didn’t know what was.

“Kay’ then.” The demon makes himself comfortable on your bed. You helplessly watch as he curls up in your crying spot. 

“What I meant was that I wanna’ be alone?” 

“Belphie?”

He was fast asleep. Of course, he was! Why would you expect him to respect your wishes? Frustration displayed itself proudly on your face as you watched the seventh-born sleep. You were jealous of how peacefully he slept.

“Whatever. Why would you care?” You mumble, taking advantage of the fact he was knocked out cold. “You of all people would agree I’m not shit.”

The floorboards creak quietly as you pace around your room, rubbing up and down your arms for comfort. If you stopped moving you’d likely start crying again and you’d rather not wake Belphegor just for him to see you cry.

“Of course I’m not special.”

“This is so stupid. Now I can’t even have a pity party in peace.”

 You feel the tears well up in your eyes again. Just when you managed to stop them your tear ducts were betraying you. The steady flow of tears began once again, your chest heaving with sorrow. No sounds escape from your mouth until you have to inhale again. Trying to keep yourself quiet, you slap a hand over your mouth. Heading to the bathroom to cry seemed like the only valid solution at this point.

“Why do you want to be special so bad anyway?” The avatar of sloth’s drowsy voice snaps you out of your ramble. His eyes shift lazily across you, taking in your distressed appearance. You whip your head around towards him making a pathetic attempt to clean your face from the tears and snot that expressed your dread.

“What?” You stutter out. A quiet yawn is emitted from the demon before he sits up to face you.

“What’s so good about being special that it deserves to have you pining for it like this?” This earns a scoff from you. 

“You were listening the whole–” You cut yourself off before setting off on the demon. To alleviate the pressure of an oncoming headache you pinch your nosebridge, hoping the tension won’t get worse. “Belphie, I feel like I’m gonna break down. If you don’t care to help then leave.” 

Mentally you cursed yourself for allowing Belphie to see such a side of you. Even when you were trying to be stern your voice shook with uncertainty and hurt. He seems to visibly soften with your words, understanding that now wasn't the time to banter or push your buttons. It wouldn't be fun to see your reaction if he did. Belphegor stifles a yawn which turns into a long sigh.

“You’re pacing y’know” You shoot him a furious look before he speaks again. “Look, it's just lame you think this way cuz’ you don’t even have to try to be unique.”

You let him talk this time. 

“It’s what draws people to you. I mean, who else can deal with our problems the way you do and then still have energy to give after.” A soft grin graces his lips. “I’d be exhausted.”

Damn it. How emotional were you exactly? Tears slipped out of your eyes as he spoke, your heart holding on to every word and the knowledge that Belphie did understand. Part of you was afraid you’d just be brushed off by the demon but after everything you had been through with them made it silly for you to think so. Belphie cared for you too, in his own way. He nods to the side you usually sleep on and makes room for you to lie by him. Not much time passes before your head is resting on the nook of his shoulder and his fingers trail shapes lazily on your side. You always forgot how tired breakdowns made you. You always forgot how safe sleeping by Belphegor’s side made you feel, ironically enough. Whether you were special or not to everyone else stopped concerning you so much now that you knew how special you truly were to someone who never would’ve given humans a chance in the first place. With your mind finally at rest, you could drift off to sleep.

༺═────────────═༻

Oh mty glob finally its done T_T I'm so sorry for taking a billion years on these I tried my best to not make any part longer than the other or anyone OOC. Im super anal when I see a character I really like is OOC so if anyone sees that and has tips for how to write them I'm all ears!!

Thank u for reading <3

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[httpmellari]

woah how does one use tumblr??

“ like always, — bub. ”

poolverine oneshot | no warnings besides some mild sexual jokes and mentions of blood | FLUFF

· · ─────────────────── · ·

most people think that wade wilson — better known as deadpool — is completely unable to share a sweet moment with an individual without making jokes about the sexual innuendo that filled the air.

and while that’s 100% true,in certain moments,when he’s still groggy with sleep,cuddled up with somebody,it’s more than guaranteed that his brain,fogged up by the amount of sleep he had just gotten,won’t be able to process the sentences enough to make a sexual joke in reply — if he didn’t have any nightmares, that is.

and maybe that was what logan loved most. — and LOOK,not that they don’t have the freakiest sex drive ever,but sometimes a soft awakening thanks to the warm sun seeping through the blinds is just what he needed.

and that was what was happening. probably thanks to the previous night.

which i won’t go in too much detail about,however,i can assure you that the honda odyssey was NOTHING compared to it.

· · ─────────────────── · ·

Logan burrowed deeper into the warmth of Wade’s chest,all spooned up in his arms; the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby that chased away the remnants of the night’s dreams. The sunlight poured in gently, casting a soft glow over the room, illuminating the tangled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them.

With a soft grunt, Logan stretched out like a lazy cat (like one that was left by the dumpster for a week,but that’s another thing.) his muscles unfurling as he extended his limbs, pushing against the mattress with a sleepy determination. The bed creaked softly in response, the frame shifting under the weight of his solid form. It was a symphony of motion—Logan’s broad shoulders and defined chest rolling into Wade, who melted into the mattress, his arms instinctively tightening around him.

Logan’s head was still nestled in the crook of Wade’s shoulder, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against his cheek as he inhaled the faint scent of lotion and the lingering trace of warm skin. He could feel the subtle rise and fall of Wade’s chest, a soft pillow for his morning reverie. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he let out a low growl, a half-assed attempt to shake off the drowsiness, and stretched again, arching his back like a feline.

As he stretched, Logan felt the familiar twinge of soreness ripple through his muscles, a reminder of the previous night’s escapades. He grunted again, this time louder, a gruff sound that rumbled in his throat.

“Ugh, damn it, Wade,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Too old for what, exactly?”

Wade replied, his voice still thick with the remnants of sleep, the cheeky undertone unmistakable even in his drowsy state.

“I thought we were both very much alive and ‘kicking’ each other’s asses—or, at least, one of us was. You just laid there grunting like an overstuffed cat.”

Logan cracked one eye open, peeking up at Wade.

“Yeah, well, this ‘overstuffed cat’ has his ribs crushed trying to turn over for an hour. Thanks for that,” he shot back, letting his head settle back against Wade’s chest, the warmth still inviting despite the lumpiness of the shared mattress.

“Hey, you know I’m not responsible for your physical state,” Wade said, a smirk evident in his tone. “I mean, have you seen yourself? You’re the human embodiment of a muscle truck, and yet you complain like a squirrel who stubbed its toe on a tree. It’s downright adorable.”

Logan snorted, half-amused and half-annoyed.

“This adorable muscle truck is going to stick you on the couch for a week if you keep this up,” he grumbled, stretching again, this time more exaggeratedly, eliciting another creak from the bed, as if the frame itself was groaning in sympathy.

“Consider it price of admission for sharing your life with me,”

Wade countered, and Logan could almost hear the grin in his words.

“Just think of it as a reminder that our love is like, well, a good taco—slightly messy but oh-so-worth-it.”

“Love tacos now?” Logan muttered, trying to find a comfortable position amidst the soft chaos of limbs and blankets. Despite the soreness, there was something perfectly soothing about their banter, the easy flow of conversation wrapping around him like a warm cloak.

“Why not? Tacos are exciting, delicious, and they can really spice up a boring meal,” Wade quipped, a playful glint shining in his eyes, even while he remained semi-horizontal.

“Besides, your refusal to admit how awesome I am just makes me want to tease you more. It’s like a taco with extra hot sauce—way too tempting to resist.”

“are you gonna stop with the tacos?” Logan rolled his eyes, though a small smile crept onto his lips. “Keep talking like this and I’ll be tempted to throw you out of this bed myself.”

“Is that before or after I get to take you out to brunch?” Wade asked, feigning innocence as he shifted slightly, causing Logan to feel the warmth of his skin even through the thin fabric of their clothes.

“Brunch? Do you even know what time it is?” Logan replied, suppressing a yawn that threatened to break free, still half lost in the comfort of their cocoon.

“Time to start thinking about breakfast. I mean, since the ‘muscle truck’ is so sore, the least I can do is prepare some carbs to revive you,” Wade said, making a show of trying to move out from underneath Logan’s weight.

“No. Stay here,” Logan insisted, though he knew he wouldn’t actually stop Wade if he wanted to get up. “I’ll just—uh, I’ll curl up and get some more sleep. The soreness will sort itself out.”

“Now who’s being adorable?”

Wade chuckled, but just as he shifted again, Logan feigned a playful growl. In one swift motion, he unsheathed his claws, the glint of adamantium catching the morning light as they punctuated the space between them. Without much thought, and driven entirely by a mix of sleep and mischief, Logan pressed his claws into Wade’s chest, eliciting a dramatic gasp from the merc,the blood staining the bed sheets.

“Is that how you’re gonna play it today?” he said, his voice teasing despite the extremely mild pain. “You know, I’ve had worse wake-up calls. It’s kind of sexy, actually. A little stab-and-go action to start the day.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t be encouraging me,” he said, though the corners of his mouth were betraying him, twitching into a smile.

Wade arched an eyebrow, looking down at the crimson spot blooming on the new bedsheets.

“Oh, great. Bloodstains before breakfast? I was gonna try to keep the place looking classy!"

He quipped, feigning distress as he playfully pressed a hand to his chest where Logan's claws had punctured. “And here I thought last night was already going to leave its mark on the sheets. Looks like it’s both of our faults—talk about a messy night!”

Logan's eyes darted down to the growing patch of red, and he couldn't help but let out a small snort of laughter. “awh shit’ now they’re even dirtier.“

“Relax, peanut. You know the drill,” Wade interrupted, flashing a grin that could only be described as devilish. “Besides, I think it’s an improvement. Gives the bed some character, don’t you think?”

Logan let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head slightly as he withdrew his claws. “You’re stupid,and insane.” he said, but his tone was surprisingly affectionate, the tenderness rising in spite of the ridiculous situation.

“If I remember correctly, ‘insane’ is just a fancy way of saying ‘free-spirited’,”

Wade quipped back, shifting to give Logan a playful nudge. “But hey, since you already got the sheets all messy, wanna grab some breakfast together? I’ll make you a mocha-flavored protein shake to help with your ‘old man’ muscles, and I’ll even throw in some of those fabulous pancakes you love. — without burning the kitchen,this time.”

Logan poked him in the shoulder, still slightly irritated at the sight of new blood staining the sheets.

“I’ll just have a plain old cup of coffee on my own — on the couch, if you’re that keen to sleep on a blood-soaked mattress.”

“ ain’t you just sour in the mornin’ peanut? “

“like always, bub.”

· ───────────── ·

art by: drizzledrawings on ig

[gremlingirlsmell]

nuh uh.

i dont appreciate your condescending word-twisting tone. i never attacked people identifying as femboys. but let's break it down

One could argue the semantics of what makes a slur, but in the end, does it even really matter?

i didnt say that only semantically it is a slur. i said it is effectively used as a slur, meaning it fills exactly the same niche that trap has filled before. we're all on the same page that trap is a dehumanizing slur, right? it is a specifically transmisogynistic stereotype imposed on transfems to third-gender/degender us. but, it's also an identity many people (re)claim for themselves. i just noted it's also semantically similarly constructed like other transmisogynistic slurs like shemale (and ladyboy too and theres more that elude me rn, btw)

One could even argue that calling someone an egg is transphobic.

no :) good job sprinkling this nonsense in completely unprompted. (suggesting/joking someone might be trans is not inherently transphobic. if you get offended at the notion you might be trans, thats transphobia or internalized transphobia. the "egg prime directive" is inherently transphobic, by asserting calling someone "trans" is bad. just because some people have no tact or are parasocial with it towards strangers online, doesn't mean that egg-jokes are inherently bad or even "transphobic")

"Transmisogynist" and "trans person in denial" are not the only two options here

no i don't think so, and in a reblog addition i went a bit more into this. notice how i said "there's overlap"? that was of course a simplification. i think there is nuance to this. imo transmisogyny-affectedness absolutely can act on a scale: for example i think self-identifying femboys who were camab are actually tma! But! they don't get as much brunt of transmisogyny as say a transfem who loudly demands being seen as a woman. another important point is that tma people themselves can be transmisogynistic too, even really vile in some cases. I'm not saying everyone identifying as a femboy is necessarily acting transmisogynistic, but many are. I'm not saying everyone identifying as a femboy is necessarily tma, but many are.

(and if you're a tme person who was cafab and identify with the femboy label, you're not better than someone who's tme who was cafab who identifies as a trap or shemale, etc. you're misappropriating and reclaiming slurs that are just straight up not yours to claim. or to approximate the aesthetics of transfeminized people. you're definitely not using it in a good-faith way, you're using it in the fetishizing third-gendering way in that case, to be clear)

GNC people and crossdressers exist

yeah, and i have absolutely no problem if you call yourself GNC or a crossdresser. it's even preferred. it's just simply not the same as self-identifying with a transmisogynistic slur, right? we can agree on that?

their existence isn't inherently wrong or detrimental to trans people

i agree. no, their existence is not inherently wrong. but that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying the language used to construct the term, the way it is culturally used, and the behaviour of people using it is transmisogynistic. nowhere did i claim people are inherently wrong for being GNC, that's a whole new sentence.

So what you call "third gendering terms" are always going to exist. Nonbinary, in of itself, is treated as a third gender by even non-binary people.

not what im referring here to at all. i mean third-gendering as in involuntarily third-gendering (and so in turn degendering/misgendering) transfems, denying their femininity, and forcefully placing them as an "other" third gender or sex (like trap, shemale, femboy etc) in society

also, nonbinary is not just a "third" gender: hi i'm a nonbinary transfem who is NOT identifying with that at all. for many it's definitely more complex, and many nonbinary identities dont lie inside of the gender binary or this constructed trinary, at all

And there are always going to be people who use terms for GNC people to describe trans people lmao.

literally if you use femboy for others who dont explicitly identify that way (or for fictional characters; or you hinge your sexuality as bisexual/pansexual/whatever because youre into "femboys"), you're 100% using it in a transfem-fetishizing, third-gendering, degrading way. you are being transmisogynistic, by asserting this identity upon transfems.

it's all about actions, and these are specifically transmisogynistic. i don't actually think the question "are femboys transmisogynstic?" is constructive. you gotta look at the actions of people, the question should be "is femboy a transmisogynistic term?". and yes, it definitely is in my honest opinion. but it also of course depends on how you use it.

i thinkt the core issue is that femboy is effectively a transmisogynistic slur, it absolved trap as a more socially acdepted alternative, and it is similarly constructed to other transmisogynistic slurs like shemale. it's a degrading third-gendering term

that means most people using it, will use it as such. most people claiming to be attracted to "femboys" or calling people femboys, who don't self-identify as such, are fetishizing transfeminized bodies.

and the people using it as a self-identifier, can use it in a fetishizing way, or in a reclaiming it as a tma person way. and there's a lot of the first that are just transmisogynists, and a lot that are just eggs, and of course some overlap

[starlightsuffered]

Forbidden (p1)

Info - forbidden love, trickery, accusations, getting caught having sex, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation and oral, sex on a horse, cream pie, cock warming, mentions of injury, murder, cheating

"I'm so glad your family is visiting," I gasped into his mouth. I was riding his cock in my room.

"I love you so much, you don't know how I've missed you," Hal muttered into my ear.

"Darling, I can barely focus without you around. I hate this," I said as he slowly rutted his large cock inside me. I remembered how we started all this.

It had been three years ago, and he'd caught me in a spare room, touching myself. I'd been horrified to be caught. I thought he'd call me a whore, or degrade me for doing such a thing as a Princess, but instead he'd come to me and bent down.

"Next time you feel this way, call on me," he'd said before giving me the best head I'd ever experience. Sure it had started out as a pleasure thing, but as it continued we'd fallen for one another. When I'd been injured falling from my horse, he'd visited immediately to "pay his respects" but really he told me he loved me. He'd gently made love to me, so as not to hurt me.

I remembered how he'd cried to me the night my engagement to Lord Appelion had been announced. He'd begged and begged me to run away with him, but we both knew how badly our countries needed us. We couldn't do it. So now it was letters and hook ups. We were blessed that our countries were close.

"Just focus on me for now. How do I feel? I've been out of practice, with only my hand for so long," he said sadly. Whenever he reminded me of his loyalty to me, my heart soared. It was never something I had asked of him. I wouldn't have denied him the right to pleasure. However, he was loyal.

"I just adore how you feel. You stretch me out so damn well. I love that you marked me, you don't usually let yourself do that," I said as I lovingly brushed the purple spot on my chest.

"Because after I fill you to the brim with cum, I'm going to tell your father who I am marrying," he growled.

"No need to alert me," came a dark voice.

"Father," I said worriedly.

"You are engaged!" He roared.

"But I love Hal. Hal is a king, much better than a lord. Can't I marry him instead?" I asked. Hal was grabbing a blanket to cover my body. I wrapped it around myself so I could go to my father.

"Please," I begged, touching his bearded face.

"We're kicking him out immediately! You are forbidden to see him!"

"No! No!" I cried as guards entered the room. Man handling Hal.

"I'll come back for you my love, you have not seen the last of me," he cried. I wept on the floor and my father left me there.

We wrote to one another in secret. I used a fake name for him. I called him Timothy. He told me he would find a way to marry me. I told him it was hopeless. I was going crazy without him all my days were dark and grey. I missed my Hal.

"Your highness, we couldn't stop him!" Said one guard. "He was actually killing us."

Hal came in disheveled and bloody. He held a long sword out in front of him. He often said he loved how I didn't cower away from his angry side.

"By order of the royal Court of England, I am taking y/n as my wife," He announced. Only the king knew we'd been a couple. To everyone else this must be odd. I think Hal was betting on that, the publicity of the moment. The King wouldn't want to disappoint his people.

"You cannot order that!" Spat my father.

"I can, because your daughter has stolen something from me, it is why I cant be faulted for charging into this room!"

"She hasn't stolen anything!"

Hal stalked to me, a foreign ferocity in his eyes. His eyes were always soft when he looked at me. He was a good actor. He grabbed my hand harshly and yanked down my sleeve. On my hand was a glittering ring he'd given me the day he'd confessed his love. It was Unmistakably English and expensive.

"She stole this, and it is much more valuable than her, but I'll take her in trade," he said loudly. He squeezed my wrist gently, to let me know he didn't mean what he was screaming.

My father was in a hard place. Either he reveal I had cheated on my fiancée and make the people think I was a whore, or he would have to give in to Hal's request.

"Take her then you malevolent scoundrel!" He snapped. Hal Escorted me from the room harshly. When we were alone on his horse he finally was himself.

"You're brilliant Hal," I said, leaning back into him as we rode.

"I'm just so happy to see you," he kissed my neck. "I had an idea on the way over here. Why don't you sit on my cock as we ride love."

We stopped the horse and he got out his cock. I lifted my skirts and he was soon nestled inside me. We began to ride again and the movement of the horse provided much pleasure. By the time we reached his castle we'd both cum many many times. We entered into our new life of love, as the castle doors shut.

[ruhlare]

when it comes to certain people, you don't even have to try to replace them because what they offered wasn't much. it's like they were the void and now, thankfully, they're gone.

[triaelf9]

hey folks who interact with creative works online! just a tiny PSA

If you don't like a character, that's totally fine! If you have a different reading of a situation in a show & have issues with stuff that's going on, that's also fine.

What is NOT fine is to ACTIVELY SEEK OUT fans of the characters you don't like and talk shit about them, the characters they have feelings about, or the content they've posted b/c you, Freddy McHatesalot really needs to tell everyone how much you dislike a...fictional character.

You are totally welcome to consume content in your own space in whatever way you see fit. It is disrespectful of the fandom space to try to drag other people into your space and interact with you if they don't want to. And dunking on a character in writings or art of them is fucking rude as hell to the person who put work into into the creation they made out of some feelings they were having.

Also. side note, it is possible to enjoy a character who is Wrong About Some Things or Isn't Doing The Right Stuff In The Right Situation. Sometimes it's possible to like a character and disagree with them, and shitting on people b/c you can't see what they see in a character is pretty trash garbage and is 90% of why I just make silly little art for me and my own silly feels and hope folks get a chuckle or some enjoyment out of it too.

[moonsrune]

"Is that....is that so hard to believe?" The smile on Tyler's face should reassure her that he's not insulted. He's just very curious about her and the way she thinks. Especially when it comes to him. When he first stepped foot into Riverwood, he let people think he was a psychopath. A lot of people didn't want him there. Astrid Larson even put together a petition to kick him out of their school. She made an argument that the rest of the students would be unsafe as long as he was there. The petition got over one hundred signatures before Nina scared the poor girl to death. In some ways Tyler felt indebted to Nina, but things are different now. She's meaner than everyone else. The only people he has a problem with now are other guys. They feel threatened by him because he's smarter, better at sports, and doesn't mind throwing the first punch in fights. Then there's Jake, who rallied the entire basketball team against him. "I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable." Tyler looks into her eyes and then back down as thoughts of his foster mom fills his head. He wants to tell her about Ms. Tinsley, but he's not ready yet. "In France, I wanted it to be special. It was the best sex I ever had." That might sound like a lie, but its the truth. They didn't rush through it and the most important part wasn't the climax. They took things slow and learned what the other liked. No one's ever done that for him either. "I read somewhere that you give a piece of yourself to each person you're intimate with. So when you're with people who don't care about you, that part of you goes missing and you can feel its absence. It's like you lost something. I hope you know every part of you is safe with me, pretty eyes. I don't want to hurt you."

Most guys wouldn't have given her the option of sleeping next to them without any strings attached. Then again, Tyler wasn't like most guys their age. For starters, he grew up in a world absent of love. That forced him to become stronger and hardened from a very young age. But, also wise and mature beyond his years. Which Brooke, could admit she found incredibly sexy. There was so much about Tyler that Brooke was genuinely attracted to and she couldn't shake, even if she wanted to. "You want to lay together? And... cuddle?" Try as she might to hide her surprise, she can't. Regardless, a smile warms it's way onto her face as she finds herself guided back to his bedroom. Behind them, Brooke is the one who closes his door softly and climbs into his bed first, where she extends a hand out and pats the wide, open space next to her. "Do you know if you snore?" It wouldn't really matter to her if he did but, it was worth asking as she laid her head down to rest on his pillow and propped herself on her side so she could face him. This way, they could talk for a little. "Thank you, by the way." If it wasn't already obvious, she admired him for being the perfect gentleman despite everyone thinking he was a brute or a murderer. "For not pressuring me to do stuff. Even in France, you.... you respected what I wanted and went at my pace. I don't think most other guys would have done that." Even Jake, who she always thought would claim her virginity some day. Maybe, it was for the best that he didn't. Maybe everything happens for a reason and it was always meant for Tyler instead.

[gibbearish]

ive seen ppl saying smth in the wider plagiarism discussion to the tune of "don't worry anxious people, it's impossible to accidentally plagiarize!" and i feel like that lacks a lot of nuance that anxious brains like mine latch on to to just dismiss the possibility outright, as well as a lack of life experiences fueling it.

it is possible to "accidentally plagiarize" in that you can read something, forget about it, then a while later have your brain spit the ideas back out without telling where it got them. so of course you just assume they're yours and share them as such, because That's Where Most Of The Thoughts In Your Head Come From! and it both is and isn't plagiarism, you weren't /intending/ to pass someone's else's work off as your own, i'd even say in a way you were just as much a victim of misinformation as your audience. but you very much so did still resuse the work of someone else, even if you don't remember it.

but in my experience, this kind of thing also happens to a lot of people. you tell a friend a joke then wake up in a cold sweat two days later realizing the reason they didnt laugh was because they'd told you that joke a month ago. you reply to a friend's text and after sending you realized you ended it with the same exact phrase as theirs. you're writing edgy poetry and write a line you really like only to see it in a text post two days later saying youve already liked the post. like, it happens. so if it DOES happens and you're just honest and explain, people will understand. something like "oh shit im sorry, i totally have read that, i mustve forgotten and only remembered bits and pieces and just thought they were mine. thank you for letting me know and for the source" works wonders.

people know you can forget things. people won't automatically doubt your apology just because all true plagiarists say it was accidental. HOPEFULLY people can understand the nuance between a genuine remorseful explanation, and a thief who hoped no one would find out scrambling for excuses for why they did it. and those who can't, that's a them problem, not a you problem, you've taken responsibility for your actions as much as you can. they think the answer is simple, that the only thing stopping you from saying "yes i did it on purpose, i knew the whole time and deliberately copied them" is shame/inability to admit to your actions. but sometimes things AREN'T that simple, so imo ppl who are shitty to you for not following the script they made up for you in their head should be ignored

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

girl math is not whatever tiktok thinks it is girl math is me getting a 100% on my quantum physics assignment because i know what the fuck i’m doing