#anyone know the designer of these dresses? i think they’re the same | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rinhaler · 2 years ago

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NOTSCAREDNOTSCAREDNOTSCARED!

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭frat boy!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (mostly shameless smut tbh) Notes: first fic on my new blog and it's absolutely disgusting, enjoy. Warnings: 18+, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, virgin killer!oliver, implied virgin reader, tit sucking, pussy eating, biting, fingering, marking, love bites ♡, creampie, spit, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed any!! Words: 5.3k

What a naïve little thing you are.

That’s the first thing Oliver thinks when he sets his sights on you. A shy, sweet girl wearing the one and only cocktail dress you probably own. It’s so simple but makes a loud statement. You don’t look like the other girls here. You aren’t wearing designer clothes that fit you like a glove, no. The ill-fitting garment you’ve chosen to wear speaks volumes to your innocent nature and your lack of confidence. You don’t have friends, do you? You’re here, alone, in the sleaziest and most prolific fraternity on campus. Of course, it’s a party, and anyone is welcome to attend. But the fact that you decided to come here, alone, makes him think you might be a little stupid.

But that suits him just fine.

He doesn’t approach immediately, for fear of giving the game away too soon. He bides his time and observes your behaviours and mannerisms as you wade through the crowds. His eyes have followed your longing gaze a few times and noticed how you keep looking towards the kitchen. It’s the busiest room in the house right now, he assumes. That’s where the keg and all of the alcohol is.

But almost as soon as you look that way, you avert your eyes and look elsewhere in search of a place to belong. You’ve tried starting a few conversations with the girls, but Oliver knows how catty and mean they can be. Poor thing, fresh meat like you doesn’t stand a chance.

You’re lonely, aren’t you? You’ll feel better with a little company, yeah?

He carefully walks by you in a way that will cause you to spill the drink from your grasp. And with that, this sinful game can begin. The one in which he tells you how sorry he is for causing an accident and ruining your dress. He’s so apologetic that you just can’t help but forgive him right away. And his attractiveness doesn’t go amiss. The kindest person you’ve met thus far just so happens to be so deliciously handsome.

“Let me get you a refill, it’s only fair.” he winks. And you hate yourself because your stomach flits at the casual gesture. It’s probably a line that he uses on all of the girls he meets at parties like this. It’s plain to see that he’s confident. You’re sure there won’t be a shortage of girls throwing themselves at him after a gesture like that.

But you aren’t stupid enough to be the same.

He seems older, by at least two years. He seems comfortable enough here to get you a drink so maybe this is his party. He could have a girlfriend for all you know that is in another room and completely oblivious. You don’t want to make waves before you even experience your first day of class.

People seem friendlier towards you when they notice you with him. Is it genuine? Or could they be laughing at you? His hand resides in the small of your back as he guides you far into the kitchen; until you’re standing between an island counter and the fridge. Your body is warming, and, fuck, he can feel it. You’re so shy. He hasn’t seen a girl like you in a long time. The slightest bit of attention and touching and you’re putty in his hand. What a good girl you are, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

You watch him, carefully, as he rummages through the fridge and grabs a can of beer.

You’re a little deflated as he cracks it for himself and begins to chug.

“I didn’t catch your name.” he states as his unmistakable eyes watch you intently. He has eyes you’ve never seen before, and you’ll have a hard time forgetting. Mismatched purple and green. They’re dull, but not uninteresting by any means. They’re the eyes of a man who always gets what he wants. Those eyes beautiful eyes… they’re bored because they are a prestigious, all access key to gain whatever his heart desires. You hum, hesitating for a moment until you decide you’re too awkward and uncomfortable to hide your name from him. “Oh, that’s a real pretty name. I’m Oliver.” he introduces himself.

“Hey… Oliver.” you smile, unsure of how to respond. You’re so on edge. His peculiar eyes are examining each and every movement you make like you’re being graded. And your heart is pounding… you can’t help yourself. Nobody here has extended so much as a pitying smile. You want to pass his test, he’s the only person being remotely nice to you. But still, there’s a gnawing feeling eating away and corroding your insides and it makes you feel like a criminal, like you’re doing something wrong.

Like you absolutely should not be talking to him right now.

“You’re pretty too.” he smiles, brazenly. His voice is so deep and charming, a sonorous lull as he knows all he needs to do is utter these three simple words to get a girl like you to be completely and utterly captivated. It’s such a pathetic, insipid sentence and you can’t stand that it’s working on you.

You get a full view of his wide, toothy grin and you sense that he’s trying to extend a gesture of trust to you. And you’re encapsulated by it. Pristine pearls almost blinding you and short circuiting your brain as you arrive at the realisation that he might be perfect. His features nothing short of perfection and accentuate his beguiling persona that you can’t get enough of. You haven’t even noticed the way your chest is heaving as you devour a mind-altering cocktail with him as the main ingredient.

And he can’t help but chuckle when he notices how flustered you’ve become from his words, you adorable thing. Three little words are making you squeeze your thighs together and fold your arms over your chest. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed the quickened breaths you’re taking and the dampening forehead you’re suddenly trying to wipe away. He’s noticing everything about you and making mental notes in his mind he will use later.

Do you know how vulnerable you’re being?

You should know better than to be so visibly rattled by him. He may be handsome but he’s hardly screaming upstanding citizen at you. It’s the facial hair. It’s so grotesque and sleazy and wholly unpleasant. And still, the only thought swirling around your tiny, tipsy mind is how it would feel against your skin as you kiss. How would the scruff feel between your inner thighs as he devoured your petalled flesh. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, you aren’t sure what’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act, do you?

“Don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer. The smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s familiar, it smells expensive and suits him just fine. The type of fragrance you’d save for a special occasion to make an impact and impress people you’re around. Your nostrils flare as you inhale more. More of it. More of him. You need more.

He angles his head as he monitors your response to his proximity. He grins when he notes that you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Moving them a few times before you decide to grip the overhang of the counter behind you until the skin covering your knuckles are taut, turning white. You want to feel his chest, don’t you? It’s so broad and muscular and peaking under his shirt, he doesn’t blame you. You probably haven’t had much experience with a guy like him.

He's more than happy to show you.

You’re starting to think your heart is packing up its belongings and preparing to flee from your own chest as you feel it beating rapidly against your ribs. He’s so intoxicating, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed by the mere presence of him. His body is trapping yours against the counter. He’s so damn tall, taller than you could have possibly imagined now that he’s pressed against you like this. Your cheeks fill with heat, and you think you might actually faint against him if he doesn’t move away. “There are bad guys at places like this, y’know? Dangerous place to be so pretty.” he warns you, whispering gently in your ear. The tone rushing through your veins and forcing you to shiver. His eyes meet yours after he speaks, his stare willing you to understand what he’s saying.

“T-Thank you…” you mumble.

“Hey, don’t worry so much. I’m the house president, I’ll keep an eye on you.” he assures you, moving away ever so slightly while keeping a lingering hand on your shoulder. A commanding touch to make your body and your mind focus on him. His hand is cold to the touch and you realise it’s from holding the metal can, cold from the refrigerator. The cooling caress of his fingers is polar opposite to the warm smile he’s offering you. You aren’t sure what to do or say, but you need not worry about yourself anymore. He had intended on doing all of your thinking for you tonight, anyway. “Oh, shit, you wanted a drink, right? Let me get one for you.” he speaks, his body moving to act before you can even answer.

“U-Um…” you hesitate, seeing him grab a bottle of rum and a mixer. You hate spirits because they always get you embarrassingly wasted. There are four prominent occasions in the forefront of your mind as you reminisce on the states you’ve found yourself in after drinking spirits. The smell alone is enough to make you gag, but you do all you can to ignore it. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself, you don’t want to do something humiliating that will be talked about for years to come.

You aren’t a prude; you aren’t opposed to getting drunk. You just don’t think it’s a good way to introduce yourself.

He’s moving so fast, and his back is to you as he pours your drink, the red solo cup obscured from your vision as he fills it to the brim for you.

You dumb little thing.

Isn’t this something you’ve been warned about? Not letting your drinks out of your sight at any point, ever. Of course you have, it’s rule number one of going to parties or nightclubs or anywhere that your drink can be tampered with.

You just aren’t thinking straight.

And why would you?

You’re so out of place in this big, intimidating environment. You’re hardly going to suspect the first person to show you a bit of kindness is actually the shadiest guy at the party. But deep down, you know you should consider everyone a suspect after hearing what he had to say. If the guys here are so shady, why does he stick with them? If he’s the president, why doesn’t he tell them to do better?

These few fleeting thoughts have been nothing but. Passing ideas that you thought of and discarded as quickly as they arrived. You can’t live your life in fear or you’ll never make any friends here. And he’s going to all of this trouble for you. You’re nobody to him, and he’s still finding it in his heart to extend a benevolent demeanour to you and making sure you have a drink and a friendly face to keep you company for the night.

So you aren’t going to think twice that he’s slipped something in your drink, you can’t see what he’s doing, but for some reason, you trust him. Would you trust him, still, if he wasn’t so good looking? Would you trust him less if he hadn’t announced he is the fraternity president? He knows you’d never have trusted receiving a drink from him if he just offered it to you out of nowhere.

He’s happy he didn’t have to work too hard, you aren’t completely stupid, but you’re still dumb enough to accept a drink from him like this. You barely even think about it as he flashes you a beaming smile and hands it to you. Hell, it might even loosen you up. You knock half of it back in three seconds and you giggle after the fact.

He’s laughing too.

But it’s at your expense, you poor, sweet thing. You’re going to be seeing so many stars tonight, a sight reserved for Oliver’s favourite angels.

“You’re crazy, huh? You like to party a lot, baby?” he wonders, taking another swig of his drink as he rests against the fridge beside him.

“No, never! This is my first big party.” you confess, and he doesn’t miss the way you slightly cringe at yourself for saying something you must think is a little embarrassing. “I mean, I’ve been to parties… this one is just—”

“You’ll get used to it.” he tells you. “The first one is always memorable, though.”

“Really? How come?” you ask, curiously.

God you’re so cute, it’s killing him. Even he can’t hide the smirk forming on his face as he tries to conceal it with his beer. He decides to not answer. Instead, he admires the way you look disappointed at the prospect of him losing interest in you. He thinks he could bathe in the watery sheen glossing over your eyes as you worry that you’ve said something so stupid that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

He's such a disgustingly vile man. All he can think to do is refuse to put you out of your misery. Instead, he revels in the way you knock back the rest of your drink. The way your eyes widen paints a perfect picture in telling him it was too strong for you. Stronger than anything you’ve ever drank in your life. And that’s without the added ingredient he decided to slip in.

“I— do you have a girlfriend?” your question is abrupt as you wipe the excess liquid from your plump lips. Your watery eyes watching him keenly as you do your best to decipher his intentions.

“No.”

You scoff and shake your head. “I don’t even know why I asked you that, as if you’d tell the truth.” you mumble to yourself, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. And just as you’re about to walk away, he responds.

“I don’t care if you know whether I have a girlfriend or not. I would only care if I was trying to fuck you.” the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease. Like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even thought of it. And you feel a wave of humiliation crash throughout your body; you feel a current trying to drag you under and suffocate you under the foaming sea.

“Y-You aren’t?” you need to stop talking. You need to stop embarrassing yourself like this. For his benefit. For the other people in the kitchen with you. It feels like everyone is staring at you and laughing at your expense. Maybe you’re just drunk and being paranoid. You should go, you should sprint out of here with whatever small scraps of dignity you have left.

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out to yours to pull you closer to him. It trails, up your side and to your chin as your eyes fixate on his. His thumb smooths over your chin, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. He tilts his can of beer onto your lower lip. The golden, yeasty liquid spills from the metal container and onto your tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as all you can do is stand there and take it. Your little throat expanding with each glug of the disgustingly bitter drink.

Your body is once again pressed against the counter. He snickers when he feels your body jolt against his as you hear the sound of the beer can he was holding clattering against the tiled floor. And he takes great delight in the way your body melts against his touch as he places a hand on your hip. The other, smoothing the shell of your ear before he levels his mouth with it.

“I don’t need to try, I’m going to fuck you.” he whispers, he kisses against your ear a few times and the sound rushes straight to your clit. You squeeze your thighs together again hoping to alleviate the brewing tension. You pray you were discreet enough for him to not notice.

You weren’t.

And it’s worse as he kisses your neck so openly in front of everyone. He sucks and sucks and sucks until his name is signed in blue and purple blooms against your skin. You bite your lip, internally cursing him for forcing you to have to wear a scarf for the coming weeks until it fades away.

“S-Stop it.” your legs buckle and there is something wrong with your eyes. The room won’t stop spinning. You didn’t drink that much, did you?

“Woah!” Oliver exclaims as you fall into his hold. “You don’t know how to handle your drink, hm? I think you need to sleep it off.”

“T-Tax—”

“No, no. I’d be a terrible host if I made you get a taxi all by yourself. C’mon.” he lifts you with ease, your entire body limp in his arms. And he just can’t believe how lucky he is. How blessed he is to be born so genetically gifted. Because he knows there is no way in hell he’d be getting away with this if he wasn’t attractive. Girls looking at him like he’s some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Him, a hero. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

There’s no way you’re forgetting your first frat party.

He’ll make sure of that.

As he passes a few of his brothers on the stairs, they all share a knowing look. Like this isn’t the first time Oliver has been in this predicament. And it surely won’t be the last. He winks at them as he walks by, and he puts you down as he reaches his door, your body dropping like a stone as he lets you fall with no care.

You can do nothing but groan as he drags you by your underarms and into his room. God you want to go home. Not to your student accommodation. Home. You want to be with your parents and under your own roof, sleeping in your own bed. It’s hard to even tell where you are. Are you still in the kitchen? No, there’s no way.

All you can think about is how tired you are.

Suddenly, you’re in the air, being flung onto a nearby bed. You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you. You’re no longer in control and you can’t move your limbs how you want to. You want to use your legs and walk right on out of here and into a taxi.

But you’re lucky, really.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s all his. His to do whatever he wants with. You can’t move, and yet Oliver is going to be kind enough to move you however he likes. Maybe you don’t feel so lucky about it. But you’re just confused right now. Oliver knows you wanted this. Wanted him. The pill in your drink was just a little insurance policy to make sure everyone got what they want.

He prefers girls like this anyway.

Nice ‘n pliant.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, lecherous hands feeling each and every inch of your body. A curious hand reaching up to touch the fat flesh of one of your tits as he massages it over your tiny little dress. “Think you can wear something like this and expect me not to fuck you?” he whispers.

“Mmmpf…” you hum, there’s still a little defiance in you. At this point, he wouldn’t mind if you were on the cusp of sleep. There’s something so special to him about extracting salacious moans from unconscious bodies.

“’m just getting you out of this little thing… gonna find a comfy t-shirt for you to wear to sleep.” he assures you. He wonders if you believe him. He almost believes himself. But as he pulls down the strapless bust of your dress and your supple flesh is revealed to him, the thought of covering it again dies an instant death in his mind. “Fuuuuuck, gorgeous fuckin’ tits.” he moans, his bulge straining against his jeans as envisions himself sucking them until they’re puckered and raw.

He climbs over you, your tiny frame beneath his domineering one. He’s sure you hadn’t neglected to notice how muscular he is before you passed out, even beneath his clothes. He must be some kind of athlete. He’s too beefy not to be. And boy, does he use his weight and size to his advantage when he’s dealing with delicate things like you.

His head practically falls from his shoulder as he decides to let his fantasy come to life. He licks and laves over your tits individually until he gets a little rougher. Softly nibbling the tender buds until they are aching and so sore. His teeth bruise your flesh as he marks them. An assortment of canines and molars as well as decorative love bites.

Any chance you had of forgetting this party are gone.

You’ll know what happened to you.

You might even remember who did it.

But there’s no way a sweet, timid freshman like you is going to have the courage to tell such an unbelievable tale. You might think there are steps in place to protect innocent things like you. You’re a victim, after all. You need protecting. But once again, that would just be so telling as to how naïve you truly are. Drugging pretty girls at college parties is never going to end. The staff, the students, even the police are never going to side with you.

And why would they? These false statements issued by the board, talks of ‘standing with victims’ and offering a listening ear are nothing but lip service. The institution you have found yourself in will say anything to seem like a worthwhile choice. The right and most beneficial choice to you and your future.

But the harrowing truth is that they don’t have time to protect girls like you when they are too busy covering up the messes of men like him.

He pushes your dress up to your midsection, exposing a pair of white lace panties.

“Awe, for me? You knew you were gonna get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” he asks. But of course, you’re unresponsive. His finger prods at the thin material, an involuntary laugh leaving his lungs as he is greeted with the feeling of your soaked underwear on the pad of his digit. “Too dumb t’speak right now… good job your cunt is telling me how much you want me.”

His thumb circles your clit over the material. And even he’s a little dumbfounded at the way your body betrays you. You squirm and your brows furrow as you try to stave off the pleasurable feeling. But for all he knows, you could be trying to fight him off.

He doesn’t care, though, your pussy already gave your true feelings away.

Even he can’t ignore the way his cock is leaking at the sight of your tight heat becoming exposed as he peels away your panties. A slick string connecting your sex to the material.

You must be a virgin, he thinks. Virgins get wet so easily. He suspected it from the moment he saw you. You’re so awkward and uncomfortable around people, but especially guys. You fumble over your words, and you can’t flirt to save your fucking life. But he didn’t care. The thought of your first time being with him was enough to make him want you. And even if you have fucked before. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. The very thought is enough.

He pins your knees to your chest, and he begins to feast on your dripping cunt. You shudder as your body feels the tension building with each suckle and slurp against your clit. It’s unrelenting, he can’t get enough of you. He’s fucking addicted to the taste of your slick and he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it. Your left leg ragdolls as he lets go, opting to slip a finger into your unprepared hole without stopping his assault on your swollen clit.

And without hesitation, he’s adding another. He takes his time scissoring you open, and by now he’s convinced you’re a virgin. You’re so fucking tight. There’s no way you’ve had a dick inside of you. Or if you have, it must have been small.

You won’t have to worry about that with him.

Even unconscious, he’s sure you’ll feel how he’s gonna stretch you.

Your lazy groans are like a cheer to him. Your body is telling him what a great job he’s doing. How close you are. How badly you want to cum in his mouth and douse his thick, calloused fingers in your syrupy sheen.

The tip of his tongue lashes over the throbbing button at the apex of your thighs. He doesn’t particularly care if you take him well or not. You’re going to take him regardless. But he isn’t so heartless he won’t try and make it a little less painful for you. He’s urging you to cum for him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen in a bid to enhance your pleasure. With each whip of his tongue against your clit and every press of your spongy insides with his fingers, he’s trying to drag you over the edge.

Your lifeless body surprises him once more.

He pulls away and observes the way your pussy pulses and your walls tighten around his fingers as you begin to cum for him. Your spent little cunt drooling around his thick digits and coating them in your slick. You even moaned for him. Not loudly, of course. A few tell-tale grunts to let him know you were happy with his work.

His eyes ogle your tits once again, admiring the way your chest rises and falls as he sucks his fingers clean. You’re so fucking cute. You must be heaven sent, the way you stepped into the frat may as well have been a gift with a garish bow from Santa Claus himself.

He unbuckles his belt with one hand whilst squeezing and pinching your nipples once again. They’re so pretty, the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen. He’s rock hard in his jeans, leaking like crazy and desperate to be buried to the hilt in your sweet little snatch.

And his heavy cock springs free, the tip leaving evidence of just how desperate he is on his v-neck shirt. Pearly pre shimmering against the black material that is soon to dry and harden and meld with the cotton fibres. But he can’t find it in himself to care. He pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner of his room, he’ll deal with it another time. There’s something much more entertaining lying atop his sheets right now.

“Mmm… think this is gonna hurt sweetheart. But you’re gonna be good ‘n take it f’me, yeah?” he lines himself up with your entrance and gives your still body one final look before breaching your insides with his thick cockhead. “Fuckin’ hell you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight, might cum just from this.” he speaks.

He knows you can’t understand him, but he can’t stop himself from communicating with you anyway. He needs you to know how special you are. That out of all of the girls at the party, he chose you. Don’t you feel special? He’s sure you will when you’re stuffed full of his cum. It’ll all dawn on you tomorrow and you’ll feel so honoured that the one and only Oliver Aiku fucked you open and covered you in so many pretty patterns and was even kind enough to pump you full of his cum.

You have no idea how much restraint he’s showing by not instantly splitting you open on his thick, heavy cock. He can’t help but feel that slowly plunging into your virgin walls is a better display of claiming your body. It’s almost torture for him, easing in inch at a time at an agonising pace.

And when he’s fully sheathed inside your suffocating walls, the pleasure is almost too much, he could shed a tear at the feeling. But, of course, he won’t. He’s prioritising the task at hand.

He holds under your knee and pushes it further into your chest and begins to slowly roll his hips. It’s hypnotising, the way even out of consciousness your eyes can still roll back into your skull. He takes note of how he’s moving when your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Oh baby… right there? Like it when I fuck you there?” he wonders, experimenting with his movement and speeding up ever so slightly. His cockhead is nudging your g-spot so perfectly. It’s so deliciously soft, and those saccharine expressions you’re donning are about to drag him to an early demise.

His grip on your thigh is harsh. Another galaxy of purple bruises forming under his fingers on your doughy skin. He hasn’t noticed. It’s second nature to him to be a little rougher than intended. But it’s part of the fun, right? More little discoveries for you to find in days to come.

He’s entranced by the way his cock vanishes inside of your cute cunt. He’s being swallowed whole by your sticky lips. The sound reverberates throughout the room. The suctioning sounds of you pulling him inside and the tackiness of your pussy and his cock meeting again and again and again.

Your eyes squint as he yanks down your jaw until he sees your tongue. He’s so abhorrent and even at this point he knows this to be the truth himself. He just can’t fucking help it. He wants to do anything and everything to you. He wants to humiliate you because you’re just that special to him. With a cartoonish ‘ptuh’ sound, a glob of spit has landed on your tongue and is slowly sliding down your throat.

With a few more presses of his tip against your sweet spot, you’re spasming around him again. Maybe you liked it after all. You wouldn’t cum if you didn’t. Do you like being taken advantage of by reprehensible scum like Oliver Aiku? Do you like being unconscious while getting your insides pummelled? This might warp your tiny little mind. Maybe you’ll think this is love and this is what you’re meant for. It is, as far as Oliver is concerned. He doesn’t let up humping into your tiny hole. He spits in your mouth again, and it’s the final straw to pull him into his oncoming bliss right along with you.

“Little slut,” he pants, his hips faltering as he feels himself reaching the precipice. “Mine. My little slut. My fuckin’ cunt. H-Hear me? Mine.” he practically growls as he shoots load after load into your unprotected womb. “Ah— fuck. Fuuuuuck—” he finishes, fucking his viscous seed back into you.

He pulls out immediately after, admiring the way his sperm drips and squelches out of your spent cunt. You’re clenching around nothing, poor thing. You must miss him.

But you don’t have to worry. You won’t have to miss him for long. You’re not done, after all. He just needs some time to recharge. He wasn’t just going to fuck you once and be done with you. Not a perfect little pussy like that, no. Those drugs will be in your system for a few hours.

He’s far from done with you yet.

#oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x you #aiku x reader #aiku smut #aiku oliver x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #bllk smut #tw noncon #tw somno #tw drugging #tw biting #tw marking #tw spit #tw alcohol

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months ago

Text

High Fashion

Synopsis: Valentino’s never been met with someone he can’t have. Until you.

Navigation!!

Warnings: Valentino x fem!reader! mentions of drinking / gambling! Inspired by the song High Fashion by Addison Rae!

The first time Valentino saw you, he thought you were a mirage.

Dripping in diamonds, clad in a designer dress that clung to every flawless curve, you walked through his club like you owned the place—because, in a way, you did. You were untouchable, a goddess carved from obsidian and silk, and everyone in the room knew it. Demons with status whispered your name like a forbidden prayer, their gazes lingering but never daring to reach out.

And Valentino? Oh, he was hooked from the moment you didn’t look at him.

He was used to being the center of attention, used to the way demons threw themselves at his feet for a taste of his wealth, his power. But you? You didn’t flinch under the neon glow of his kingdom. Didn’t bat an eye when you strode past him, your heels clicking against marble as if you were walking down the runway of Hell itself.

It drove him insane.

So he did what he did best—he chased.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” Valentino drawled, leaning against the sleek bar where you sat, swirling a crystal glass of top-shelf whiskey between your fingers. “Most people at least pretend they’re impressed when they see me.”

You took a slow sip, your gaze finally meeting his. It was almost cruel, the way your lips parted, the way the ice clinked against the glass, the way you looked at him like he was nothing more than background noise.

“And I’m not most people,” you replied smoothly, voice dripping with unbothered luxury.

Valentino grinned, sharp and dangerous. He liked games, especially ones where the stakes were high. “That so?” He tilted his head, his four glowing eyes raking over you. “Then tell me, doll—what’s it take to impress someone like you?”

You exhaled a soft laugh, placing your glass down with the grace of a queen. “Something money can’t buy.”

His fingers drummed against the bar. “Lucky for you, I don’t just got money, sweetheart. I got power. Influence.” His voice dropped, sultry and low. “Charm.”

You arched a brow, utterly unimpressed. “I’ve seen men richer, stronger, and smoother than you. They all think the same thing—that they’re the exception.”

That—that was new.

Valentino didn’t get rejected. Ever.

Most demons either feared him or wanted him. You? You were completely indifferent, and it only made him want you more.

He chuckled, flicking the end of his cigarette before taking a slow drag. “That’s cold, baby. Real cold.” His gaze flickered to the diamonds laced around your throat, the designer heels that probably cost more than some demons’ souls. “But I gotta say, you got good taste. Who’s the lucky bastard keeping you dripped out like this?”

You smirked. “I am.”

And that? That hit him like a bullet to the chest.

No sugar daddy, no rich bastard funding your lifestyle. You weren’t arm candy—you were the whole damn banquet. A woman who owned herself, who didn’t need anyone.

Fuck.

You were dangerous.

Valentino leaned in closer, voice like velvet. “Lemme guess. You don’t do favors, don’t take orders, don’t settle for less than perfection?”

You met his gaze, unshaken. “I don’t settle at all.”

Goddamn.

He’d never met anyone in Hell who could match his arrogance, his fire, his hunger. But there you were, sitting pretty with a glass of whiskey and a smirk that said you knew exactly how much power you held.

Valentino loved a challenge.

For weeks, he chased.

Invitations to exclusive parties, front-row seats at fashion shows, extravagant gifts that anyone else would have killed for. Valentino wasn’t just a man—he was a brand, and when he wanted something, he got it.

But you?

You didn’t play by his rules.

Each gift was returned untouched. Every invitation politely declined. Every attempt to pull you into his world was met with that same knowing smile—the kind that made his blood run hot.

Still, you never told him to stop.

Because, despite your distance, you liked the game too.

“You know, most girls would be on their knees by now,” he murmured one evening, finding you at a high-stakes poker table in one of Hell’s most exclusive lounges.

You didn’t look up from your cards. “Then maybe you should be chasing most girls instead.”

Valentino laughed, low and husky. “Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted most girls, I wouldn’t be here.”

A subtle glance, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Then why are you?”

Because he was addicted. Because every time you turned away, he wanted you more. Because you were the only person in Hell who could look him in the eyes and not flinch.

He smirked, tipping his sunglasses down just enough for his glowing gaze to meet yours. “’Cause I like the way you make me work for it.”

The night he finally got you alone, the air between you crackled with something electric.

A private suite, overlooking the neon-lit sprawl of Hell. Valentino leaned against the glass wall, swirling his drink, watching as you draped yourself over the plush leather couch, legs crossed, diamonds catching the low light.

“You really don’t break, huh?” he mused, voice laced with admiration.

You met his gaze, slow and deliberate. “Would it be fun if I did?”

His grin was wicked. “Not one bit.”

There was a beat of silence, thick and charged. Then—

“You really think you can have me?” you asked, tilting your head.

Valentino exhaled a slow chuckle, stepping closer. “Baby, I don’t think—I know.”

Your smirk was intoxicating. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

And just like that, you stood, brushing past him with a whisper of perfume and promise, leaving only the ghost of your presence behind.

Untouchable. Unattainable. Unfazed.

Valentino let out a low whistle, watching you go.

He’d never wanted anything more.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin demon #isuckatwritingsobenice #valentino x reader #hazbin valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino x reader #the vees

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j23r23 · 15 days ago

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Ooo hiii again!

If it’s okay, can I please request a (Tan lives) Tangerine x fem!civilian!reader where they are married and she’s pregnant with his baby daughter. She knows about Tan and Lem being assassins but she doesn’t love her hubby and brother in law any less💜 They’re both SUPER protective of her and she’s 100% living a life of luxury with the money burning a hole in Tangerine’s pocket. Anyway, she’s really sweet and innocent, and Tangerine and Lemon make sure to keep their job away from her (as much as possible), like Tan doesn’t even share the gory details with her (even if she asks he’s like, “Don’t worry about it, love”❤️) . But she gets caught up in the middle of their most dangerous job (the Bullet Train job) because she (after craving something out in the city) goes on the Bullet Train to travel there? (At the same time the assassins are running amuck). Needless to say, Tangerine about has a heart attack when he sees his very pregnant wife on the train and does everything he can to protect her from danger and to get them all off the train (Tangerine, Lemon, Y/n all get off alive and well!!)

Okey, this took me like ages... im so sorry. I do hope its to your liking...

Strawberry Mochi

Tangerine x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

warnings - none, just fluff

If anyone had told you a few years ago that you’d end up married to a professional assassin — one who dressed like he belonged in a 70s gangster movie and spoke with the kind of thick London accent that made you melt — you would’ve laughed and rolled your eyes.

But here you were. Mrs. Tangerine.

Seven months pregnant. Living in a ridiculous five-star hotel in Tokyo at the moment— a private suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline, a bathtub the size of a swimming pool (so you can submerge that bump finally!), and a closet bursting with designer gifts your husband couldn’t resist buying.

“For my girls,” he always said, big hand smoothing over your growing belly.

You knew what Tangerine and Lemon did for a living. You weren’t naïve. And you didn’t love them any less for it.

In fact, you loved them more — for how fiercely they loved you. How they shielded you from the world’s ugliness. How Tangerine tucked you into his side every night, murmuring.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, love. Never."

He was good at keeping his job separate. No blood on his hands adn always a fresh suit when he came home. He would never talk about his jobs. If you asked, he’d just kiss your forehead and say, "Best you don't know, sweetheart. You’re too precious for all that."

You weren’t reckless. You stayed home like he asked, most days.

But that evening, you’d been hit with the strongest craving for the strawberry mochi you’d seen in a tiny shop downtown. You couldn’t stop thinking about it. It consumed your whole brain. You needed it.

"Just stay in, alright? Wait for me," he’d say with a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. "It’s not a place to wander alone in your condition."

You meant to listen. God, you meant to. But that craving, that tiny bit of hunger, tugged harder than his words ever could.

And the quickest way there? The Shinkansen. The Bullet Train.

You promised yourself you'd be quick. In and out. You even left Tangerine a sweet little note.

"Gone to get a craving! Back soon! Love you xx"

You never — never — could have imagined that your husband’s latest job would also be on that train.

At first, everything seemed fine. You boarded, found a seat, adjusted the flowy dress you wore over your bump, and settled in for a short ride.

Then chaos broke out like a spark catching fire. Shouting. Screams. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot muffled through the walls.

Your stomach dropped.

"Oi! Get the fuck outta my way!"

You knew that voice.

You turned just as a flash of blue and gold — your husband’s suit — barreled down the corridor.

"Tangerine?" you gasped.

His head snapped toward you — and the look on his face was pure, blinding panic. Like he'd seen a ghost.

"Sweetheart?! What the fuck—!"

He sprinted toward you, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, and immediately started checking you over — his hands running over your arms, your face, your belly — frantic, desperate, like he needed to make sure you weren’t hurt.

"What're you doin' here, love?!" he rasped, still holding your face, his large hands smushing your cheeks together.

"I-I just— I wanted some mochi—" you stammered between your puckerd lips.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed out, voice cracking. "You’re bloody pregnant, on a fuckin' train full of assassins!"

You nodded weakly, with big doe eyes.

"It's alright. I'm here now. I've got you." He wrapped one arm around your back, the other bracing protectively over your bump, positioning himself between you and the chaos like a human shield — solid, steady, unmovable.

"Lem!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Lemon appeared seconds later, face wild until he saw you — and then it was full of the same fierce terror. "Oh, bloody hell, what is she doing here? She's pregnant, man!"

"No shit!" Tangerine barked. "Thats why we’re gettin' her off this fuckin' train right now."

You crossed her arms, pouting. "I just wanted Strawberry Mochi."

Lemon froze, eyes wide. "Y- you want… mochi?" He turned to Tangerine, eyes even wider, then back to you, shaking his head.

"In the name of—"

Lemon immediately moved into a defensive position, eyes scanning for threats.

Tangerine shielded you through the chaos, barking threats at anyone who came too close. Lemon covered the rear, pushing through cars and avoiding fights whenever possible.

When a passenger tried to intercept, Lemon floored him without hesitation, knocking him out cold with one brutal hit. "Don't you even think about it, bruv," he growled.

The three of you finally reached the end of the car just as the train began to slow — the next station coming into view. Lemon stood by the doors, looking far too relaxed now.

“Wher is that Mochi place again, love,” he teased, winking at you. “I’m suddenly feelin’ like I need a bite myself. You’ve got me craving strawberry mochi now.”

Tangerine shot him a look, still keeping his arm wrapped around you. “Oi, not the time, Lem. Let’s just get off the bloody train in one piece, yeah?”

Lemon shrugged with a grin. “What? Can’t blame a man for developing cravings too.”

The train finally screeched to a halt at the station, and the three of you stepped off onto the platform, the night air cool and crisp. Tangerine stayed glued to your side, his protective hand still resting gently over your bump, while Lemon casually walked beside you, still humming a little tune like the world hadn’t just nearly torn itself apart around you.

As you walked toward the exit, Tangerine’s grip tightened just a fraction. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smiled, feeling a wave of comfort wash over you despite the madness. "I’m fine, Tan. I’m fine. But... could we get that mochi on now?" you teased.

Lemon grinned, nudging Tangerine with his elbow. "I knew she’d still be thinkin’ about it."

Tangerine rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the fondness in his gaze. "I swear to God, you two," he muttered, but there was no heat in his voice.

For now, everything was alright.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fic #tangerine fluff #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine fanfic #tangerine x you #tangerine x pregnant reader #tangerine x female reader #j23r23 ask

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strawberrystepmom · 4 months ago

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bakugou x f!reader. part 3 of a mini series called by heart. part 1 can be found here, part 2 can be found here cw: mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content, weddings. | word count: 2.8k, reading time: ~12 minutes

The morning after.

You managed to rise at the same time as Katsuki, his incredibly loud alarm blaring through the wall that both of your beds are against on opposite sides. It only sounded once, naturally, yet you found it impossible to go back to sleep knowing he was stirring just a few feet away.

He robbed you of the opportunity to witness him covered in dawn’s first light. Does he look like he’s on fire, a mythical hero from an old tale when the sun streams through his downy blonde body hair and tinges it red? Could you ever convince him to linger between the sheets after that alarm goes off, wrapping your thigh over his and kissing the planes of his chest?

Shooting up, you decided to simply start your day instead of following such a dangerous line of thinking down an unknown path.

One workout, shower, and ‘got frustrated while getting dressed and left a tornado of sequins and leather shoes behind’ scenario later and you are finally making your way down to the resort’s restaurant for brunch.

Katsuki, of course, is already sitting at the place designated as his with his name. Yours is directly next to him.

You’re in a better mood today and didn’t concoct any plans to make him grovel for forgiveness overnight. It’s like turning over a new page in a fresh book, getting to know each other all over again for the first time.

Right?

Sighing to yourself, you guess that probably only works with people whose secretions you don’t remember the taste of. Or something.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you inhale in and out for one beat and hold your head high walking toward the table. There’s no reason not to take last night at face value and see the hatchet as buried. You’re a few steps away from finding out if it is or not either way.

“Morning,” he offers as you come closer.

His table setting has only minimally been rearranged, tea on the left and water on the right. You pause for a moment to watch him slowly start to change your setting too, moving your coffee mug and water glass around and fluffing your napkin.

“Good morning, I hope you slept well.”

He snorts at your formality and refuses to encourage it further, instead reaching for the sugar he knows you take in your coffee and tearing the wrappers in half, pouring a stack of three into the bottom of your mug.

“I can’t believe they’re using sugar packets at a place like this.”

Giggling, you pull out your chair to sit down, leaning close to him in the process.

“You’re such a snob.”

If this assessment were coming from anyone else he’d be wildly insulted but it’s you. So you get the ‘he’s used to your incessant ribbing’ eye roll.

“Is it really that horrible to want to see people get what they pay for?”

Steadying your chair by pushing the toe of his dress shoe against the leg of it that rests closest to him, he pours coffee over the sugar while you sit. He leans over the table and picks up a spoon, stirring your drink to make sure everything is distributed the way it should be (read: the way he thinks it should be), tapping it delicately on the ceramic lip when he’s finished.

“Look around this place and imagine how much it costs - it’s absolute bullshit there are packets instead of cubes.”

It never fails that you forget how refined he is between your periods of time spent together so it’s a treat to see the careful consideration he puts into nearly every move he makes. What he lacks in soft skills with his words he makes up for in impeccable manners when they matter the most, habits you’re sure his mother gave him no choice but to adopt to offset his natural unruliness.

Finally situated and seated, you turn toward your male counterpart and grace him with a wry half-smile.

“Better let Deku know they’re slighting him out of at least one yen per grain of sugar.”

The tension that flared during your conversation last night appears to have been put to rest if you’re comfortable enough to make a joke. Unfunny as it is, it’s a good sign that you’re ready to move on. Finally discarding the spoon, Katsuki folds his arms over his chest and glowers in your general direction.

“Are we…?”

He doesn’t want to be any more of an asshole than he’s already been and assume, so he trails off. You pick up your coffee and sip, placing it down with a smile.

“Good?”

A solemn nod from him, arms still folded. “Yeah.”

Pretending to waffle for a minute, you puff out your lips and look around the dining room, humming to yourself.

“Hmm…I have a few more questions but consider yourself off the hook. For now.”

Exhaling loudly through his nose, you find yourself wondering if it isn’t a sigh of relief. What, exactly, he’s feeling relieved about is anyone’s guess. You have no plans of letting it derail your day that is going to be filled with brunch, hugs, and girl time with the rest of the bridesmaids that will be arriving today so you change the subject.

“How was Midoriya this morning?”

You place perfectly made coffee down and reach across the table to dish up berries onto his plate and yours, subtly reminding Bakugou that the groom to be isn’t only his friend, turning your body to fully face him.

There’s no sense in asking how you even knew the two of them went for their usual morning run together, he’s well aware that info came directly from the bride. The blonde shakes his head thinking of his lifelong friend’s ear to ear grin when discussing his soon to be wife. Even while feeling a little anxious he didn’t bother to hide his joy and how lucky he feels to spend the rest of his life with a woman he unashamedly called his other half.

Clearing his throat upon realizing it feels a little heavy with emotion, he decides to choose his words carefully. The term other half has danced around in his mind since Izuku said it hours earlier.

What does it mean to be someone’s other half? Is it to make them better? To fill in their gaps and let them do like in return?

It’s a lot to consider. Too much, actually. He reaches for his water and takes a sip, coming to senses enough to speak.

“I can tell he’s excited, he asked me to read over his vo—-“

“There you are!”

Before he can finish that thought, another sound Katsuki wasn’t looking forward to hearing all weekend captures the attention of the other guests who turn their heads to see the source.

His mother.

“And you too!” She calls, pointing at the occupied spot next to her son to which you respond with a wiggly fingered wave and a lazy grin.

Mitsuki Bakugou, aging gracefully and claiming naturally, approaches the two of you with the same determined smile you’ve seen her son wear on a few occasions. She and Masaru made it last night between the welcome dinner and his time at the bar with you. Their son welcomed them with mostly fake reluctance.

Truthfully, he’s happy they’re here. They’ve cared about Izuku as much as they have him throughout their lives and it seems only right they witness the newest beautiful branch of the Midoriya family tree sprout.

He simply doesn’t want to deal with both you and his mom at the same time. You’re high maintenance in different ways - she with her fierce spirit and you with your unfortunately difficult to ignore nature - and he has a duty to fulfill.

“I asked her to tone it down this weekend,” he mumbles under his breath and sips from the water he’s now nearly white knuckle gripping.

You fake pout in his direction, reaching to pat one of his cheeks but he dodges you at the final second.

“She’s just excited to see her handsome baby boy. Have a heart.”

If side-eyes could kill, you’d be a cadaver yet it doesn’t deter you from leaning in closer, the space between your chest and his shoulder getting too small for comfort.

“Oh that’s perfect! Hold on, let me get my camera…”

The woman of the hour has finally made her way over. Her son grits his teeth and looks away, refusing to bother hiding his annoyance. It’s the most childish habit of his that has hung over into adulthood. If it were seen as less uncouth to simply physically remove yourself from situations you don’t want to be in, he’d just do that.

“Hurry up,” he warns with arms folded over his chest.

“Not until you uncross your arms,” his mother sing-songs from in front of the two of you, phone covering her features.

He unfolds his arms and lets them dangle rebelliously at his sides. You lean in as close as you can without potentially getting bit, putting on your very best photo smile, sitting frozen.

“Pull that woman closer to you or so help me...”

Without any warning, Bakugou’s arm snakes its way around your shoulders and pulls you against his side. Attempting to keep your smile and show no surprise, you clench your jaw tightly knowing he’s almost certainly doing the same. Big fingers cup your shoulder, almost tenderly, and his smile is tight but there when you steal a glance at him and just like that the flash goes off.

Backing her phone away from her face, his mother beams. “I might need to frame that one!” She flips her phone around to show off the photo.

His arm around your shoulder, the trace of a real smile on his face and not just the fake one you assumed he had. You, face turned to look at him with tenderness you’d usually reserve for a man you’d be calling your lover.

To the unfamiliar, you two would look shockingly…together.

“It’s good, mom. Thanks for taking it.”

He pushes the phone away, hoping to get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later. His mother is insisting on sticking around, picking around the table and making little notes about what she sees aloud. Of course this is no big deal to her.

“Sugar packets?”

The Bakugou matriarch wrinkles her nose in disgust while plucking one from their ceramic home causing you to swallow a laugh. Katsuki throws up his hands as if to say “told you so”.

“I said the same thing and she acted like I was crazy.”

Mitsuki hums to herself, placing the packet back in its cradle and zeroing in on you with a smile. “Well when it’s finally you two’s turn we’ll make sure there are cubes, won’t we?”

The warmth drains from your face, eyes widening and before you can catch yourself to prevent the horrified expression from being seen you’ve been spotted. Such open disgust has told him more than you ever will. The blonde next to you snorts bitterly and looks away yet again in an effort to distance himself from the situation.

“Lighten up, I’m just messin’ with you both.” She digs in her purse, eventually giving up and dropping her phone inside. “Anyway, I need to go find Inko. I need to see how she’s handling all of this for when it’s finally my turn.”

Kissing her son atop his head and ruffling his hair, she wiggles her fingers at you while taking her leave with no idea about the mess she’s left behind.

“Are we…?”

It’s you asking it this time, a little alarmed by his distance and silence and that his eyes haven’t even bothered to turn toward you since you were caught.

“Yup,” he emphasizes the “p” with a popping noise while leaning across the table to dish up his plate. “Have some questions just like you but we are so fucking good.”

Despite his obvious annoyance and the way he speaks through gritted teeth, he spoons out portions of each of the dishes on the table onto your plate alongside his own.

The meal is consumed wordless and awkwardly, his eyes staying glued to the edges of the room until it’s time for you to go join the bridesmaids at the spa.

#bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #kendall writes #by heart

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dioslesbianwife · 1 month ago

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Hi pookiee I hope life’s good, can you do jofoes with a trad goth y/n? If that’s okay with you ofc!

mhm, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Dio

Thinks your style is divine. He fully supports the aesthetic because it matches with his theatrics too.

“You walk like a queen of the underworld… how wonderfully fitting.”

Encourages you to wear extravagant Victorian-style dresses and capes- even gifts you outfits from expensive designers.

If you wear black lipstick, he insists on having you kiss him somewhere easily visible just to leave a mark. It becomes a game.

Doesn’t see your look as odd, he sees it as royal. Anyone who stares gets a very cold, threatening glance.

Kars

At first, he doesn’t “get” fashion in a modern sense. But when you explain the history behind trad goth- classic horror, existential beauty- he becomes obsessed.

“So your aesthetic honors death as an art? I like that.”

Finds your love for graveyards and gloomy poetry oddly relaxing. Will read Poe or Shelley with you under candlelight.

Once tried eyeliner after watching you put yours on. It was…intense.

Lowkey finds it hot when you wear lace and sheer fabrics, especially when they’re all black.

Kira Yoshikage

Slightly unnerved at first. “Why are you dressed like you’re attending a funeral… every day?”

But the longer he’s around you, the more he finds your style oddly calming. You’re consistent, quiet, and unbothered by judgment.

He likes how meticulous your makeup and wardrobe are, it reminds him of his own perfectionist tendencies.

He grows to enjoy the aesthetics of dark nail polish and lace gloves. He’d never say it, but he thinks you’re beautiful in a haunting way.

Diavolo

Thinks it’s gorgeous. Loves how you make people uneasy just by walking into a room.

“Your darkness is not a mask. It is a warning. Good.”

He’s obsessed with your aura. He’ll watch you put on your eyeliner like it’s a ritual.

When you light incense and play Bauhaus or Siouxsie & the Banshees in your bedroom, he just melts.

Very much into watching horror movies with you, especially obscure, psychological ones.

Doppio

At first, he’s confused. “Why do you look like you live in a haunted mansion?”

But he quickly finds your style fascinating. He likes how you look like a storybook ghost- soft-spoken but eerie.

He wants to wear eyeliner and fishnets to match you, but he’s terrible at applying it. You have to help him every time.

Will call you a “creepy cutie” and mean it with all his heart.

Brings you skull-shaped trinkets and dried roses like they’re love letters.

Enrico Pucci

Conflicted. On one hand, you look like sin personified. On the other hand…you’re beautiful.

Eventually he convinces himself that your darkness is a form of honesty in a corrupt world.

He listens to your poetry and quiet rants about the decay of society with the same reverence he gives scripture.

You two have deep talks in dimly lit chapels. He respects your love for darkness, but secretly hopes his presence might influence you someday.

But when you quote gothic scripture back at him in debates? He smiles. You’re irresistible.

Funny Valentine

Finds your look strange, but secretly enjoys how it makes others uncomfortable. You stand out, and that’s valuable.

"A patriot must accept even the strangest forms of expression, if it is genuine.”

He's fascinated by your love of vintage, your style aligns with old American mourning traditions, which he knows well.

Thinks your long black skirts and veils are elegant. He would definitely ask you to accompany him to formal events just to watch people’s reactions.

He likes the idea of America having a goth First Lady.

Diego Brando

Doesn’t get it at first. “Why do you look like Dracula’s girlfriend?”

But when he sees you walking with full confidence through a crowd of shocked people, he’s immediately into it.

The rebellious side of him actually loves that you’re unapologetic about looking like a vampire.

He teases you about your black lipstick constantly, then smirks when you kiss his cheek and it leaves a mark.

Secretly loves your rants about the romance of death and decay. “You’re insane,” he says- but with the fondest grin.

Tooru

Intrigued. Deeply intrigued. You’re unlike anyone he’s met.

“Are you doing a bit? Or is this…just how you are?”

Tries to “get inside your head” by analyzing your playlist, books, and favorite black dresses. He’s quietly obsessed with decoding you.

Loves watching you sit in silence with a book of morbid poetry while dressed in full black velvet.

He tests your vibe by playing goth rock music around you to see your reaction. When you vibe harder, he’s like “...Okay yeah. You’re perfect.”

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yngtort · 1 year ago

Text

—skintight ❄️

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Kinkmas day 3

xfem!reader mdni. 1.6kw. In which Chris really likes that dress you’re wearing

Baby, what’s taking so long?

“We’re gonna be late.” Chris said he knocked on the bedroom door.

He waited impatiently for you to come out, not knowing what was taking you so long. He just wanted to make it to his parents dinner party on time.

Like he gets that you want to impress his family, but it’s not really that big of a deal. His mom and dad already loved you for who you are, and he felt like you didn’t have to go all out every-time you see them.

“Y/n, come on.” he said, finally opening up the door.

his plan was to come in and drag you out the house, half naked if he had too. But when his eyes landed on you, wearing the cuntiest mrs.claus dress he’d ever seen, he changed his mind.

He was losing it, looking at how the dress hugged everything just right, showcasing every curve that he’s touched and kissed.

And those fucking fishnets.

The way your thighs strained against the diamond pattern made his mouth water. it took everything in him not press your face into the mattress and fuck you until bed gives in.

“What do you think?” the question was almost taunting as Chris watches you do a little twirl.

“I think I want to stay home.” He moves closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I don’t want anyone seeing you looking this good.”

You chuckle softly, “sorry, love. But we can’t ditch your parents.”

Chris groans, dramatically throwing his head back like a child. As much as he knew his parents wouldn’t actually care if you didn’t show up, he also knew that you were really excited to see them.

“Fine, fine.” He pouted and you can’t help but place a kiss on his soft lips.

“One more-“ “Chris.”

From the moment you stepped in the house, chris just couldn’t keep his hands off of you. with every step, he was trailing behind you, keeping his hand latched to your side.

you tried to brush him off as you talked with his mom, helping her set up the dinner table. And you’re more than happy when mrs.bang declines his offers to come along as well.

“What’s gotten into that boy? It’s like you casted a spell.” mrs.bang jokes as she sets the last plate down.

“It must be all the eggnog.” You reply and the older woman laughs.

“Whatever it is, I hope it gets me some grandkids.”

This was the reason why you adored his parents so much. They’re so lovable and easy to get along with, much like their son.

“What are you two over here gossiping about? The foods gonna get cold!” Mr.bang says with a hearty chuckle, taking his designated spot at the dinner table.

You watched as the rest of the family followed suit, sitting down at the table. you do the same, taking the empty seat beside chris.

“Hey you.” He says with a cheeky grin, hand automatically landing on your thigh.

“Hey.” you reply

Throughout the course of the dinner, his fingers just kept playing with your fishnets. Slipping his them through the holes, feeling the thin layer of stockings that your wore to keep you from getting cold.

His mind went rampant, thinking about ripping them right off you and using them to tie your hands together.

“Right, babe?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts in an instant.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what were you saying?” He said blinking at you like a dear in head lights.

A sigh leaves everyone’s lips at the table.

“your mom suggested that we stay here for the night, since it’s so late.” You explained.

“And you agreed?”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Because he wants to go home and hear you scream his name, that’s why.

Chris press his lips into a line, not saying a word. you had already taken up his parents offer and he really didn’t want to make a scene by begging you to leave.

So in the end, he’ll just have to fuck you here.

you’re at the sink, watching the dishes on your own after offering to do so.

Of course everyone protested, but you convinced them that it’s the least you could do since they’re letting Chris and you stay there.

you sigh to yourself in relief as you get down to the second to last plate, hands tired and pruned from all the washing.

“Love,” a voice calls from behind and you don’t budge when two bulky arms wrap around your waist.

“I’m almost done, Chris. go to bed.” You say, rinsing off a dish.

“But I wanna help you." He whispered, grip only getting tighter as his head fell into the curve of your neck, placing soft kisses there.

“I don’t need help.”

"Yes, you do." He insisted, his voice husky with desire. “You’re taking so long already.”

“You’re so stubborn. Just go-“ your breath hitches, feeling his innocent kisses switch to sucking and biting.

“C-Christopher stop it.” You slap his arm, “that hurts.”

Chris hummed softly, letting go of your skin with a soft pop. “Can’t help it. You just look so delicious standing here.” He whispered, rocking his against you and you gasp.

“you’re hard..?”

"Been like this since I saw you in this dress." He admitted, his voice rough. "I want you so bad, y/n."

his hands slid up to cup your breasts, pinching and rubbing your nipples through the thin material.

“We can’t do this in your parents' house.” You protested despite how turned on you were getting.

"I don't care." Chris rolled his eyes, "We’re going to make love. Right here, right now."

he pushed you against the sink, his thick, hard cock rubbing against your backside. You don't even have a chance to think before your fishnets and stockings are being ripped open.

“Wait, wait.” "No more waiting." He hissed, sliding his hands over your lace panties and pulling them to the side.

"I want you bare for me." his fingers traced the slick folds before sliding inside you, filling you up with two fingers.

“Y-you’re insane”

“You love it," he grunted, punctuating his words with hard slaps against your ass. “You love being taken like this.” He pushed his fingers deeper, stretching your tight channel.

You absolutely fall apart on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as he pumps you restlessly.

“Gonna come on my fingers, hmm?” He whispers into your ear, nipping at it right after. “Go ahead then, beautiful.”

you bite back your moans as your orgasm rushes in, still trying to be mindful of the people within the house.

“That's it." Chris praised as you coat his digits. He pulls them out slowly and your hole puckers for more. it was such a pretty sight, ripped tights, soaked thighs— his dick twitched in anticipation.

Chris hands shook slightly as he pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He positioned his tip at your entrance, teasing it just to get a reaction out of you.

“channie, please.” you whine, wiggling your ass back.

Your boyfriend chuckled, “soon, sweetheart.” he said before sinking inside. He hissed at how tightly your wrapped around him like he hasn’t fucked you enough.

“fuck, you’re so big.” You mewled.

"Not big enough." He growled, starting to move within you, his hips thrusting hard. The feeling of his cock stretching you walls drove you wild, every nerve in your body was in flames. “Wanna break you open, make sure you can only fit me.”

The kitchen was filled with heavy breaths and the sound of the water running. You had no idea if his parents could hear you from their room, but at this moment you didn’t care. Just wanted to be used by the man behind you.

Chris' thrusts were hard and fast, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he took you from behind. every time he hit your g-spot he got closer and closer to cuming.

“I love you so fucking much.” He groaned into your ear, hips stuttering. “wanna cum inside today. Can I? Fill you up with my seed?”

“yes, please” you granted, feeling your peak rise for the second time. “I need it.”

“Take it.” his fingers tore into your skin as he emptied himself inside. His cock throbbed, pulsating with each powerful stroke, leaving you quivering and sated. the white liquid dribbles down whatever’s left of your outfit, eventually getting soaked up in the fabric.

“I’ll have to buy you a new pair, won’t I ?”

“Not if you’re just gonna fuck em up again.”

Tinytag list (open, comment if you wanna be added) : @foxinnie8 @panjakes @sydnerss @sunnyyangie

#kpop fanfic #stray kids imagines #kpop imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #straykids x reader #bangchanxreader #stray kids smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x you #bangchan fanfic #bangchan fic #straykids smut #kinkmas stray kids #nnipadz

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seasidefallenangel · 3 months ago

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game au: voicelines 2

notes: fluff, paralive game au, no content warnings, sequel to this based off these two asks ; i didn't do allen because i dislike him lol and couldn't grasp his character

༄ anne faulkner

⁀➷ about their lover:

“oh! what shade of purple do you think is nicer? my partner said they love the way i look in it, so i’ve been buying more clothes recently. the way they fawn over me is so cute!”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“isn’t this picture so cute?! i know polaroids are such old tech, but they’re still fun to use. this one was after our third date. they kept losing at the ring toss game trying to win me a stuffed animal, so we just went to the store and bought matching ones together. i think it’s much more special that way.”

⁀➷ true self:

“ah, this is so embarrassing. i hate for you to see me crying.

my mother called and i’m sure you can figure out how that goes. honestly, when i first decided who i wanted to be, my partner was the only one who accepted me with no questions. i think i loved them well before that, but that moment really solidified it, you know?”

⁀➷ the future:

“do you think it’s too soon to design my wedding dress? aha, i know, i know. but it’s not as if i’d marry anyone else. normally i hate thinking about the future - i just like living in the moment, but how can i not be romantic when they’re the one involved?”

༄ hajun yeon

⁀➷ about their lover:

“surely you’re not thinking about making a move on my partner, right? a downgrade such as that is a bit much, even for them.”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“honestly, they’re far too sentimental. you’d think it’d kill them to think with their brain instead of their heart for once. they still keep the ticket stub from our first date in their wallet. how foolish can someone get?”

⁀➷ unconventional relationship:

“... what an idiot.

eavesdropping? you should mind your business better, you know? i’m talking about my partner, but i suppose that comment applies to you as well. regardless, what kind of person blushes when they’re insulted? the meaner i get, the more they become infatuated with me. i’ve never seen someone with less survival skills than them.”

⁀➷ the future:

“i truly pray they’re not foolish enough to expect marriage from me. there’s not much the lesser yeon can offer them anyway. i doubt my parents would even bother showing their faces at the ceremony. hm? can you tell me exactly where i said i have no interest in it? i’m simply pointing out the illogical facets of the idea.”

༄ nayuta yatonokami

⁀➷ about their lover:

“hey. if you were matching things with your partner, something subtle is better, right? i used to think this stuff is kinda lame, but i guess it’s nice when it’s with them.”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“kanata and i prefer not to live in the past. nothing good happened back then anyway. well, aside from meeting my partner. even compared to shiki, something about them was just different when we clicked. i’ve never been that lucky in life, but if meeting them was the sacrifice i had to make, then i’d do it over again.”

⁀➷ dress-up:

“blue is a better compliment… green? yellow is too invasive - oh. i didn’t hear you come in. you can leave it on the counter, thanks.

hm? oh, my partner’s been wanting to change up their style a bit but didn’t know where to start. i figured i could help them out a bit since it’s something i already enjoy. huh? i didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but they said the same thing as you. it’s not like i mind at all, especially for them.”

⁀➷ the future:

“god, i love my partner but they kept me up all night watching cheesy rom-coms. we made fun of them most of the time, but some they seemed interested in certain things. maybe i should… nevermind. i don’t wanna move too fast. we’re still young, you know? but with that said, i still want them in my life forever. maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad.”

༄ kenta mikoshiba

⁀➷ about their lover:

“fuck off and eat shit, stupid. just cause i’m stuck in this place doesn’t mean they’re up for grabs. ‘sides, they'd never fucking go for you.”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“ugh, i’d rather get shot than think about middle school. the only good thing about it was meeting that idiot. you should’ve seen their math scores. totally fucking useless. they’re lucky i was nice enough to help them. well, that and the fact they paid me to tutor them.”

⁀➷ co-op:

“ack, no - to the right, dumbass! we need healing more than buffing right now. i’ll cover you but don’t fucking jump into the middle of fire. god, you fucking suck at this game.

ha? the fuck do you want?! oh, it’s late already. just deal for a few more minutes. i’m tryna make my partner suck less shit than normal at this. d’ya have any idea how hard it is to be the brains of this relationship?! gh! you weren’t supposed to hear that - no, i think you’re smart. quit yelling at me!”

⁀➷ the future:

“you’re either braindead or a stupid ass idealist if you think we’ve talked about any sort of future together. i’m fucking trapped in this shithole, genius. i still don’t even know when my sentence is supposed to be up. pfft, as if i’m breaking up with them before that. ugh, i hate thinking about all that gushy adult shit anyway.”

#paralive x reader #paradox live x reader #paralive scenarios #hajun yeon x reader #nayuta yatonokami x reader #anne faulkner x reader #kenta mikoshiba x reader #paralive imagines #fluff #headcanons

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halfmoth-halfman · 2 years ago

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prologue

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

ii. a collection of strangers (a series of secrets)

You can only describe them the same way you can the rest of the club’s workers—stunning.

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

iv. the night was young (and so were we)

Surveying the competition turns out to be code for going on a club crawl and getting obscenely drunk.

v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

vi. would you give the devil this dance

You can’t let yourself be haunted by your past forever, and, unsure as you are, you know one thing to be true: You’ve never felt safer than you do around him.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

viii. but i can't help failing in love with you

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding. Safe.

ix. the rumor burned straight through the town (and as it grew, so did her vow)

Kyle doesn’t think much of you the day you first walk into the club.

x. everybody thought the truth had been caught (her reputation began to drown)

You haven’t looked at your wedding photo in years.

xi. screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing

Everything you’ve experienced in the past four months pales in comparison to how your heart shatters at this moment.

xii. it won't cost you much (just a single drop of blood)

Who knew rock bottom looked like standing before a wall of mirrors in a bespoke wedding gown?

xiii. little girl gone

You’re shocked into consciousness, startling awake in a pile of plush blankets and cloud-soft pillows.

xiv. nothing makes me weak now (you better run for your life)

The news of Price’s arrest—of your alleged murder—sends you into a state of shock.

xv. won't forgive what you did (i've never hurt anyone, now it's time)

They float somewhere between too compliant and too afraid, like they’re scared you may snap at any given moment. Whether they worry it’ll be in anger or anguish, you don’t know. Price is the worst of them all.

xvi. what you'll see is the worst me (I will ask you for mercy)

The nights are the hardest.

xvii. for if i'm going down i guess i'll take you with me

By the end of the week, the plan is set.

xviii. i'm free darlin' (i revenge, i revenge)

Your world is engulfed in fire and blood.

epilogue. it's a new dawn, a new day, a new life (and i'm feeling good)

The beginning of the rest of your life starts with a single, admittedly awkward, therapy appointment.

Extras

karma is a cat purring on my lap

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

my personal hcs for canary

canary's dresses

canary's wedding dresses

canary and adler headcanons

how the 141 makes their money

how the gangs run their businesses

random designer dress headcanons

alternate ending ideas

songs used for chapter titles

soap hcs + canary and price children hcs

canary + 141 age headcanons

#modern warfare masterlist #fic masterlists #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

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firestorm09890 · 7 months ago

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stray canto vii part 1 thoughts (warning: long)

so many cool new designs!! it made me realize how few of interest we got in Canto VI. Then almost everything was pretty standard (classic maid and butler outfits, lots of suits, Cathy had a fancy dress at least? and everything was brown. yes I know, T Corp color drain, but still. and Öufi came before season 3 ended so that didn’t count), but this time we have Camille, the P Corp guys, Fanghunt Office, Hugo I guess, Hong Lu’s sister, the firefist guy? if he counts? he barely appeared, Sansón, and all the fancy dressed up bloodfiends. woo babey!!

speaking of Jia Xichun, I like her! She’s cute! I didn’t expect to see anyone related to Hong Lu, but in retrospect I probably should’ve, since his turn is next and his family is massive. I hope nothing bad happens to her. I've never read Dream of the Red Chamber

also speaking of Hugo, lol. lmao. when he was talking about pressing the button to get the reward I was like “oh hopkins 2, got it” and then Ryōshū sliced off his hands so I guess… not hopkins 2

ALSO the blonde Fanghunt guy is named Romero, which is apparently the name of a character in Vampire: The Masquerade. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an intentional reference

Sinclair cursing that one guy out was so awesome. I remember when Canto V part 2 came out and he censored himself saying “Bitch Brother” people were worried that the new translators were making him softer than he actually was, but, nah, he tries his best to be a polite boy but when he’s actually genuinely pissed off he does not hold back. Ryōshū correcting him BUT THEN SAYING HIS INTERPRETATION WAS GOOD absolutely killed me. my son demands respect

it’s a good day to be a Leviathan fan

The scripted loss encounter was so cool. They set you to level 45 no matter what level your LCB Don is, and take away all your EGO except the base (which you can’t even use), and I don’t know how far you can actually get in this fight because I flipped tails every single time and lost every clash

let’s talk about the Barber! leave it to Project Moon to look at the character who didn’t have very much of a personality who stuck around with the priest and attempted multiple plans to bring Don Quixote back home so he could become sane again (and burned a bunch of Quixote’s chivalry books, also with the priest), and turned him into an insane vampire woman with big scissors and a shrill cackle who stitches masks onto people’s faces.

interesting choice to have Sancho and Dulcinea both named in a single line and then not acknowledged or mentioned again

Sansón! so based on his story log portrait background being bisexual, the blue name, and him resembling someone in Demian’s group in the Limbus Company PV, I feel confident saying he’s part of Demian’s Group. The spot where his Sign would be is covered by his mask, though, so no one in-universe knows

I think this is why Sinclair was cast in the role of the Knight of the White Moon: he also has the sign, which Sansón (who is the Knight of the White Moon) would be able to see, and even if other sinners have it too, they’re not Demian’s special guy. everyone else, though, seemed to be cast in the most humiliating role possible: horse to be ridden for Gregor, wild animal for Heathcliff, random peasant for Rodya, presumably homeless old person for Outis

ok Sansón. in the book, he’s a young college student who read the first part of Don Quixote and, in part 2, approaches Quixote saying he’s a big fan and encouraging him to go back out and do more knight stuff. However, he actually just thinks Don Quixote’s antics are very amusing and isn’t actually an earnest supporter, and is conspiring with the barber and priest to get Quixote back home to stay. the way they (priest and barber try to bring him home in part 1 is by tricking him with an adventure that’s conveniently in the same direction as their home village, but then they get sidetracked in an inn for a long time so they just put him in a cage and drive him home. in part 2, they want to play on Quixote’s terms for a more effective result. near the beginning of the second part, they have Sansón dress as a knight (called the Knight of Mirrors/Knight of the Forest. these titles have no significance in the book but apparently the mirror thing forces Quixote to see himself as the frail old man he is in Man of La Mancha), say his lady is fairer than Dulcinea to get Don Quixote to duel him, and then make Quixote promise to stay home for a year when he loses. however, Sansón is the one who loses, because he wasn’t expecting Quixote to actually be good at jousting. Later, near the very end, which iirc is 3 months after the first encounter, another knight called the Knight of the White Moon issues the exact same challenge to Don Quixote (it’s just Sansón again, and "White Moon" has no significance in the original book either), but this time Sansón wins, so Don Quixote goes home, dejected, and then becomes “sane” again and dies.

Since this Sansón is part of Demian’s group, I don’t think his intentions will be the same- the Barber was a bloodfiend, and he sees beyond the ambitions of the bloodfiends now- but it’s fun to know how he is in the source nonetheless

I really like how he didn’t show up after the Barber’s defeat to say something cryptic and then leave, he told us quite a bit, and though his methods were… questionable, he DID force the sinners to actually finally pay attention to Don Quixote

speaking of the stage play, I like the juxtaposition between Sansón’s play and the Barber’s. in a different context, what Sansón did might’ve been framed as horrifying, and we’d be talking about how uncanny and unreal this is, but I don’t think that’s the intention here. the sinners might be playing roles, and all the enemies are cardboard cutouts, but it’s better than putting targets on real people (though I guess they’re not “people”, they’re bad, bad, bloodfiends). the cheerful music in La Manchaland is distorted and out of place, while the stage play is nice in comparison. the music for the talking sections is a bit too upbeat for the situation, but the music during the battles really immerses you. guitar! trumpet! maraca! this music is clearly composed to emulate spanish music, and it’s very earnest, which I think is important, with how easily music sets tone in media.

in both cases, Don Quixote is in a delusion. nothing in the stage play of her adventures is real, but she’s also completely wrapped up in the narrative of evil bloodfiends without the knowledge that she is one. a violent nightmare and a peaceful dream, both of which she needs to wake up from.

they both do this thing with black-and-white thinking, too. there’s a difference between the “good” bloodfiends, which you should get along with, and the “bad” ones, which you need to kill (though Don sees them both as bad), and then the bandits in the stage play are cartoonishly evil and love to bully the weak. except it seems the first is the narrative the Barber wanted to sell, while the second is Don Quixote’s reality… I mean, the play is definitely inaccurate, but we’ve seen how Don behaves

if you follow me for kingdom hearts and are for some reason reading this you know how much I love Nobodies in kh. people who used to be human, but aren’t anymore, who look close enough but are different on an intrinsic and physiological level, that everyone automatically treats as unreasonable monsters that need to die when they’re more complicated than that… I love it so much, I’m cheering and clapping whenever bloodfiend morality is brought up. Moses said that Larierre was cordial and offered her a place to sit and talk, but then also said bloodfiends are insatiably hungry and you shouldn’t underestimate them. agh I love it

also THE MUSIIIIIC every fight theme so far has been a banger. songs that were already good but with typical carnival instruments, big brass swing, the aforementioned nice spanish music, and the fucked up and evil sequel to dubstep electroswing featuring evil laughter

and finally, the helm of mambrino. in early part 1 of Don Quixote, he sees a barber (COMPLETELY unrelated barber to the other barber btw) carrying a basin on his head, and thinks it’s the amazing mystical Helm of Mambrino, so he attacks the barber and steals the basin. Don Quixote wears it as a helmet a few times and everyone thinks it looks really stupid. they did not fight a bear for it, nor did they go into a cave. idk what this might actually be in the City. either we’ll see or we won’t

#limbus company #project moon #aoaaagghhhhh #canto vii spoilers #limbus company spoilers #emil sinclair #don quixote #nobodies #<- mentioned #sanson carrasco #bluejay reading log #me post

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voltronisanobsession · 2 years ago

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Ok I had a pjo thought

What if reader was a child of Aphrodite BUT they were like the complete opposite of what a kid of hers would be?? Usually children of Aphrodite are known to care about their appearance, hair, clothes, etc. but reader is the most raggedy looking person to ever step foot in camp.

So like I haven’t read heroes of Olympus yet, so bear with me as I’m mostly gonna mention Percy, Annabeth, anybody whose mentioned in the first series. But I can just imagine Percy, Annabeth and Grover coming across reader one night and just seeing them going ham on a monster and absolutely demolishing it. Talking to them, reader is like super gruff and not so pleasant, constantly looking over their shoulder looking for any new threats, hair pointing in every direction, but still being able to look good despite it all. Like they know that reader has been surviving out in the world for a while with the dirt that’s littering their body and clothes.

It takes some convincing on their end to bring reader back to camp, but they eventually agree to go along with them. For sure Percy thinks reader is like a a child of Ares or something because of how blunt and crude they are. The other campers side eye reader once they all get to camp because DAMN do you look rough all over the edges.

Now imagine their absolute SHOCK when you reveal that you’re a child of Aphrodite. Literally no one is expecting it, not even Chiron fully believes you until you pull out a necklace that has Aphrodites symbol etched on it. Reader is everything Aphrodite doesn’t stand for, which they brush off. Dirty, almost matted hair. Dirt all over your face. Clothes sagging on readers body. Rough hands from handling your weapon after all these years. The kids of the Aphrodite cabin visibly cringe.

And you KNOW that being like this pisses Aphrodite so much. You’re dad didn’t want you and your mother never really paid attention to you, so the one way to get one of their attentions was to be everything they would despise, or highly dislike. You would have the disapproving stare of a goddess than be forgotten about entirely by your family. Of course you would never tell this to anyone, but Aphrodite would know. She will always be able to read you and your intentions.

Getting back on track, now having all these beautiful and drop dead gorgeous kids as your half siblings, they are immediately gonna do a deep clean on reader. After cleaning, your new siblings are gonna trim and cut readers hair, style it, get you new and fashionable clothing, all that fun stuff :D They love playing dress up with reader, everyone surrounding them as they prep you up for the new day, talking and tapping their hearts away while you silently drift away into your head, enjoying the attention you’re receiving.

Now when reader steps out of the cabin, everyone is gonna be STARING at them because HOLY MOLY IS THAT THE SAME PERSON??? Like your natural beauty is literally SHINING THROUGH YOURE PRACTICALLY GLOWING (which is not a coincidence since Aphrodite would totally give you some kind of blessing)

Of course that doesn’t change how reader doesn’t even act like the other Aphrodite kids, participating in sword training, climbing the rock wall, causing the others to wince at all their hard work gone down the drain. It’s during this time where reader does feel like an outcast in their cabin though because they aren’t able to relate with their half siblings as they talk about hot celebrities, or the new perfume Prada released, or the talks about designer luxury brands.

I think Annabeth would get along with reader though since to an extent, they’re able to relate to at home problems. They would grow pretty close, which means that reader would show her the special abilities they have, like charmspeak, which is an ability that uses the users voice to make a person do whatever they want. I did a bit of research about the Aphrodite cabin and saw that it’s a really rare thing for a child of Aphrodite to have. It also explains how reader was able to survive so long on the streets, often using this ability to get food, cash.

When it comes to fighting, normally Aphrodite kids usually sit things out, but not reader. No, no, no, reader immediately jumps into action, fight or flight mode activated. I like to think that despite her not liking how you chose to present yourself, Aphrodite does care for you, often silently giving you a blessing of protection while you fight. Idk it just seems like whenever you fight some monster, a pink aura tends to surround you instantly.

Overall, opposite child of Aphrodite reader is a badass. They really bring change to the cabin, showing their half siblings that there’s more than just sitting down and looking pretty.

ARGH SORRY I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS DOWN😫😫😫💔💔💔

#pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo #child of Aphrodite reader #percy jackson and the olympians #x reader #percy jackson x reader #pjo concept #pjo aphrodite #pjo x you #percy jackson

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wehangout · 5 months ago

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Shameless DVD Commentary

The wonderful @i-think-you-mean-reduction asked for a DVD commentary on Suncatcher! This was the first time I'd read it since finishing, so that was a lot of fun, too! This whole thing got away on me, so hit that read more if you want to read more 💜 as usual, thanks to @callivich for starting this awesome idea!

Which fanfic is your DVD commentary about?

Suncatcher!

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

Okay, I started posting this in March of 2022, which leads me to believe I started writing it in 2021 (I'm on a borrowed laptop, so can't check). It took some time to finish because ~real life~ and word count hits 58,592.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

Oooh, okay. This post. If you don't want to click, it's a text post saying "au where thief!cas tries to ride dean's dick and keep track of when his flashdrive is done stealing the contents of dean's computer at the same time". Obviously, that kind of scene never happened in Suncatcher, but vibes, you know?

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

Mostly Mickey because almost everything I write is Mickey pov. But I did experiment with this by writing those 3rd person Ian snippets, and literally the only reason for it is so the reader could be there for that moment of realisation when Ian figures it all out.

What was your favourite scene to write?

I don't know that I have one, but I really enjoyed the scene where Mickey asks Ian to come to Mexico. Getting to write them being soft, even just for a minute, was nice. And literally any of their flirty banter was fun to write lol.

How did you come up with the title?

I feel like this doesn't need an explanation, lol. I will say, though, I had three other titles in mind. I had "Denouement", "Encontrar", and "Atrapasol". Encontrar means "to find" in Spanish (because I knew it would end with them in Mexico), while "Atrapasol" means "suncatcher". At least, according to Google translate lmao.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

I did a reread in order to write this commentary, so, please, have a list of moments, foreshadowing, and references.

* Mickey's nautical-themed sleeve! “Sailing? Nah, man. I just really like pirates.” Get it? Because he's a thief? And pirates steal shit? Literally no one caught onto that haha * “Uh … growing up the way I did, I’m probably better at the B&E itself rather than tryin’ to solve it.” -- Mickey literally says this in the first chapter lmao * His mind doesn’t go over every detail of the North Side burglaries and he doesn’t obsess over the thief committing them. No thief. Just a bartender. Just Mickey. -- Um, hello? * “Never gonna give that up, are we?” “Never gonna live it down.” “Those aren’t the lyrics.” “Okay, lyric police.” -- 27 Dresses, thank you * Ahh, Mickey's blowjob tattoo. The amount of erotic tattoo designs I looked at for this, but nothing was right. Until Mitch 💜 * He snorts. “Clearly you don’t know many writers.” “I don’t. Should I?” “No. They’re the worst.” -- I'm dying 😂 * Well, this really has turned into a commentary, huh? Apologies. * "A little dry, to be honest." Chapter 3 and 9. Did anyone catch that?

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

The last two chapters. Life completely turned upside-down on me and I couldn't write a thing. Zero motivation, infinity depression. Then, at the beginning of this year ... I dunno. I don't know what happened, but suddenly I was writing again and I haven't stopped yet.

Favourite line in the story?

“Catch me if you can, motherfucker.”

“Two, I give you the keys to the cuffs and leave. But first I suck your dick until you come down my throat.”

“I’ll give you what you want, Red, you just have to decide what you want more; the thief, or his mouth?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers. “You did everything, Ian.”

“Interesting,” he says. “I was already half in love with you by then.” 😭

“I’m gonna fuck you now. You know that, right?” You groan and drop your head. “You might just break my fucking heart if you don’t, Gallagher.”

“So long as that lover is you, Gallagher.”

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story?

Yeah, but only chapters 9 and 10. Initially I was going to write Ian having a depressive episode and Mickey talking to him about everything while he was down, but I hated the idea. I didn't want it to seem like Mickey/the thief was the cause of his episode, and I also didn't want to use it as a tool. The idea changed into a possible attack on Ian, but that still wasn't working for me. So, instead, you got the scene with Mickey handcuffed and Ian asking questions. I switched the vulnerability around and made it way more fun.

If you are writing a particular trope or genre, was it your first time writing this?

Nah. A little crime with my romance is my go-to lol

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

Finishing it. Kidding. Kinda. Not really.

Actually, though, the dialogue and banter is pretty good. It reads very natural, so I'm proud of that.

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story?

Only what I mentioned above. I wrote the attack on Ian, Mickey sitting with him in hospital ... it wasn't good.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

Oh, the moment where Ian finds the camera and leaves it. He'd just heard Mickey tell him that he stopped watching before things got interesting, and that's what he's thinking about as he puts the camera back down with a smirk. About Mickey not stopping just as things get interesting. I had thought about writing it, too. A scene where Mickey doesn't close the laptop, working consent into it and Ian putting on a fucking show

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

I don't think so. I'm pretty happy with most of it.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

Kinda did. Wouldn't be opposed to doing more. All the cream pie banter I'm rereading is def giving me inspo for if I write more of them oops

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

I think I mentioned this in the commentary for Thicker Than Forget, but Jim Morrison/The Doors lyrics. I don't know, man, it just works for me haha.

Also the name thing - Gallagher/Ian/baby and Mickey/Mick.

There's also the line "It’s gone from bartender and customer having a bit of fun flirting and teasing, to silk sheets and Nine Inch Nails pounding through the speakers." - The NIN might be a reference to Help Me (Tear Down My Reasons) 😏 iykyk

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

Excited. Probably more excited to post ch2, though, just for the reaction to Mickey being the thief haha

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

@whaticameherefor always 💜

Ask your followers to pick a snippet (no more than 500 words) and share your thoughts about it.

@i-think-you-mean-reduction asked for the scene where Ian asks Mickey on a date which I've pasted below.

A couple of notes on it:

The Riverwalk Cocktail Festival is a real thing in Chicago

I put a stupid amount of research into finding them the perfect date and this just fits.

Reading it back, I love that the Mickey doesn't think of the thief or anything to do with that shit once during this conversation. It's just two guys who like each other, and one's asking the other out on a date. It's just happy.

I think Mickey was so surprised that Ian was asking him out that everything he said and felt and thought was genuine. He even has a moment of "Fucking finally" that he doesn't mean to say, but 100% means.

I'm sad they never did it.

“Just my gut.” He pauses. Smiles. “Speaking of … in the interest of trusting my gut with my personal life as well as my professional life, have you heard of the Riverwalk Cocktail Festival next month?” Your heart skips a beat. Yeah, you’re heard of the fucking festival, and you can’t believe Ian’s doing this. “I’ve been a few times,” you tell him. “Sandy and I go under the pretence of work, and then get shit-faced.” “Okay, so do you maybe wanna go again?” He fingers go back to the coaster, but again he keeps eye contact. “But, you know, with me instead of Sandy.” There’s nothing romantic about the Riverwalk Cocktail Festival unless you go to the Riverwalk Cocktail Festival with romantic intentions. If you go with a date then it’s stupidly fucking romantic and you and Sandy used to talk shit about those assholes every chance you got, but … But the idea of being one of those couples, of going with Ian and having it be romantic … it makes you sick to your stomach how much you like the idea. “You askin’ me on a date, Gallagher?” He stares at you, eyes wide and honest. “Yeah.” “Fuckin’ finally.” You don’t mean to say it. You think it and you mean it, but you don’t mean to say it. Ian’s smile, though, makes the slip worth it. “So that’s a yes?” “Yeah.” “Good.” He smiles. Fucking beams. “Because I’ve already bought tickets, so I would’ve been kinda fucked if you’d said no.” “You already bought tickets?” “Some might call it presumptuous; I call it optimistic.” You shake your head. “Ian, man, those tickets are expensive as fuck –” “Doesn’t matter.” “Matters. At least let me pay you back for mine.” You already know he won’t let you pay for both of them. “Not a chance. This is me trusting my gut, asking you out, and feeling really good about it.” A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” He smiles right back. “You wanna pull me out of that good feeling, the one I get when you agree to go on a date with me, by bringing up my money woes? Or do you wanna talk about our date and agree upon matching outfits?” “You better be fucking joking.”

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

So, as mentioned above there was a good chunk of time where nothing was updated. If you were someone who left a kudos or a comment or messaged me on here during that time, or even continued reading when I finally updated, please know it meant a lot.

#shameless dvd commentary #suncatcher #jen talks #my fic #gallavich #ian and mickey

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