#why did this idea come to me i have no idea

[synvil]

Recording.. // Pornstar! Rafe Cameron x Pornstar! Fem! Reader

a/n: welp, this will be interesting. there’s so many ways this can go but let’s see which one i came up with.

synopsis : getting to work with the famous, most current top rated star in the porn industry was a dream. Let’s see how it turns out for you. pornstar! au!

warnings : explicit content! penetration, choking, cunnilingus, afab!, multiple orgasms, roughness, squirt, etc.

“[Name], thank you for coming. Did you get the email regarding today’s content?”

Shaking hands with the producer, you share a smile and nod, pulling away. “Yes, I read through it. I’m alright with it all.”

“Great, and I take it you’ve already showered and cleaned up before coming? Any questions?”

You nod again to the first part before thinking for a moment and parting your lips to speak. “Actually, I just wasn’t sure who I would be working with today. That wasn’t clear in the email.”

The producer exhales in understanding and hears the door opening, “Actually, we needed confirmation that he was willing to come in today,” and a tall, muscular and toned male steps out, a towel around his neck and in nothing but boxers and some gym shorts. “And there he is. Cameron!”

“Cameron..?”

The male who steps out looks up as he ruffles one end of the towel against his head of hair. “Yeah?” Almost immediately, he locks eyes with you.

Holy shit.

THE Rafe Cameron. The highest rated star in the industry, where every man and woman alike would kill to meet the handsome stud, much more, to work with him.

Must be a fever dream.

When you first auditioned to be part of this industry, Rafe was only beginning to take off.

And now that you were one of the top stars alongside him, Rafe was the highest rated one, and every woman who ever had the chance to work with him, could never be the same.

Thing is, you had no idea what he was like. Was he rude? The pompous kind of asshole? Or was he charismatic and sweet? But if he was, was it just for show?

Many thoughts begin to flood your head until you realize the producer and Rafe have been talking, and now he’s coming over to you, hand extended out.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Y-Yeah, same.” You mentally curse yourself out for your anxiety and shake his hand but even more for the fact that you have yet to make eye contact, still glazing over his dripping wet bare body.

Rafe follows your gaze and gives a small chuckle, a charming smirk following it as he pulls away. “Sorry, thought I’d get a quick shower in before we start our filming.” He explains but you just manage a small nod. “R-right.”

The producer comes over and pats both of your shoulders. “Alright, now that we’ve done introductions, we’ll go over the scene once more with both of you and we’ll get started. Rafe, why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll get [Name] prepped?”

Rafe nods and gives you one more glance, his smirk still shining at you. With a wink, he turns away and takes his leave.

That smirk.. it sends a certain thrilling feel of desire in your stomach and you swallow thickly before attempting to focus your gaze on the producer, who begins to instruct the scenes.

Here you are..

“I can’t believe you!”

You shout as you slam the front door behind you, just for it to open a second later and Rafe coming in. “God, you’re insufferable!”

The current scene was you and Rafe coming home from the bar, celebrating a night of a special occasion, you had gotten a promotion at work.

And now you were rushing inside, having caught your on and off boyfriend of two years, openly flirting with another woman right next to you, once again.

At least that what it looked like to you, but your boyfriend has cheated before, and you weren’t going through it again.

“Would you just listen to me for one second?!”

Rafe’s voice follows after you while you take off your heels and throw it his way. “Don’t fucking talk to me!”

He narrowly dodges the heels thrown at his face before the expensive bag in your hand is also aimed for his head.

“What are you doing?” He asks, catching the bag with a scoff as you retreat to the kitchen.

“Take it back. I don’t want it anymore, we’re done.”

“Done? So you’re just giving all the things i bought you, back?” Rafe looks at you in disbelief as you begin to take off the jewelry on your person and drop it on the counter with a clink.

“I’m done with second chances, you asshole. You can’t just do one nice thing for me, one night.” I curse, slamming my hands down on the countertop as I turn to face him.

Rafe calmly sets the bag down as he stands opposite of you of the counter and sighs softly. “Baby, you’re not thinking straight, just let me explain before you-“

“Before I what? Break up with you for the final time?” You pull off the bracelets until you’re finally free of any jewelry and slide it towards him. “Take it all back.”

This time, Rafe can’t help but curl his lips into an amused smile, as he watches you return everything on you that he had bought for you.

“All of it?”

You tsk and point to the doorway. “The heels are back there.” You remind him though he was obviously aware.

“Alright, everything.. then the dress is included, right?”

. . .

“W-What?-“ Clearly taken back, Rafe’s lips forms a smirk at your clear surprise.

“Last I checked, I bought that stunning black gown you’re wearing tonight.. to celebrate.. remember?”

His words cause you to purse your lips and you’re aware of his slow advances towards you as he rounds the island counter in the kitchen. Rafe doesn’t break eye contact, keeping his eyes trained on you as he does this.

Tensions are high and you know he’s right, but you also know what will happen if you take off the dress.

However, behind the facade, behind the cameras rolling, your inner self is ready to burst. Your cheeks are beginning to flush and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on your body, trailing up and down your figure. Whether or not he was in character was unclear but it still made you wet with arousal at the sight.

Reluctantly, you bring your hands up to the straps, pulling it to the side of your shoulders and down slowly.

Rafe’s eyes hungrily takes in your fully naked form, you weren’t even wearing panties.

Your lack of undergarments weren't part of the script, which you can tell catches Rafe by real surprise momentarily, but it quickly dissipates into a smirk instead.

“No underwear?.. How naughty of you..” he murmurs as he finally makes it to your side and you fight the blush that’s threatening to spread and darken further.

“Shut up-“

Rafe just chuckles at your reaction as his hands sneaks around your bare waist. He looks down from his height with a certain glint in his eyes. “Hey, i’m not complaining..” He says as his head moves to your neck, kissing your collarbone softly. “it's kinda sexy..”

What the hell, I can’t respond.

He’s so hot.. i need to talk.. but im speechless..

My heart is pounding so hard— Relax, [Name], this is all just acting- Rafe Cameron is just acting.

You’re overthinking, stay professional!

But the next thing you knew, Rafe Cameron’s lips were smashing against yours in an intense, heated kiss.

And the faint whimper that escaped your lips wasn’t fake.

Needy hands roam your body everywhere, his lips planted on your neck and kissing every inch of your skin. He raises his head up to your ear and whispers, his breath hot. “You good?” It was quiet and subtle, not loud enough to pick up on the microphone hanging near us.

You nod faintly, and he grins, not waste another second ravishing you.

All the prior anxiety and worries you had faded and you found yourself melting into the kiss, Rafe’s muscular arms lifting you up by the waist and placing you on the counter, the cold touch making you gasp.

That gasp was enough time for him to allow his tongue to slip in, the muscle exploring inside your mouth, making you moan lightly.

Every movement was full of passion, Rafe fondling your breasts, giving each mound a full squeeze. His fingertips pinch your buds, a gentle twist causing you to send a breathy sigh. Your hands find their way to his hair and tangle your fingers in the locks of his dirty blonde locks.

Rafe's low chuckles reaches your ears again as he travels up to nip at your earlobes. His right hand goes down to dip between your thighs, his index finger planting itself right at your clit. He rubs it a few times before whispering, "So wet.. I can't wait to taste your pretty pussy.."

It's almost a growl when he says it, sending rushes of adrenaline through your body and the boost of arousal grows further in you.

The Rafe Cameron gives you one last kiss on the lips before he slowly slides down to his knees, muscular hands grabbing a hold of your thighs tight and firm, and being face to face with your already glistening pussy.

He licks his lips and doesn't hesitate to dive face first, tongue taking a long lick to your folds before going down on you. "O-oh, fuck-" Your eyes flutter shut at the wet sensation, a sharp inhale slipping out.

Holy shit, it felt incredible.

Rafe's tongue moves in circles around your clit a few times before continuously slurping up your juices that leaked from your folds, devouring your pussy like he was starved.

Your hands prop up your body by placing it firmly on the surface under you, but you can't help the hand that goes to tug on his hair and push his face deeper in, which causes him to chuckle deeply, the action creating vibrations through you.

"Oh god, Rafe." You breathily pant, his grip forcing your thighs to remain spread while his tongue prods at your entrance, pushing in and out. "Shit.. you taste incredible.." He mutters as his nose buries itself against your clit. The feeling is enough to send you into overdrive, your head tossing back and a tightening in your stomach makes you cry out.

"R-Rafe, I'm so close-"

Grinding your hips against his face, you illicit a loud mewl of pleasure, your body sending shocks throughout as you tremble from a hard orgasm.

Despite your fluids gushing down his chin, he continues to delve deeper in, overstimulating you, causing your thighs to shake as you cry out again, making him laugh.

“Aw, was it too much for you, sweetheart?” He grins mischievously and you flush, ignoring the way your heart flutters at the nickname as you attempt to catch your breath, watching as he licks his lips and stands up straight, ripping off his button up.

You can feel your mouth going dry at the sight of his toned, chiseled abs, the sweat glistening on his skin but what widened your eyes was the sight of his hardened bulge through his trousers, and you reach for the hem of his pants and pull him close, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Remembering you’re still on camera, you speak, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” You mutter, staring into his eyes while your hands palm him softly, working to unzip his zipper. But your words only cause him to flash a smirk as he helps you undo his trousers. “Oh don’t worry, sweetheart, by the time i’m done with you, you’ll forget about tonight.”

Crashing his lips with yours, you grunt but let him pull you even more towards the edge before pulling you down to the ground, his hands pulling the waistband of his pants and boxers down.

He strokes himself a few times, your eyes unable to help itself to the sight and you swallow thickly.

“Something wrong, baby?” He hums in amusement and you turn away a bit bashfully. “Not at all.”

Turning you around so you faced away from him, he breaks into a smirk as he wraps his arm around to give you a hand necklace, your throat firm in his grasp. Lining himself up at your entrance, he leans in close and speaks lowly. “Good, because I don’t intend to stop.”

Without warning, he inserts his length inside and you cry out a noise of pleasure. Your back at arches and he tightens his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. “Heh, shit, you’re so fucking tight..” It almost seemed like it was actually Rafe saying this to you, instead of his character, but you didn’t have much time to think about it after as he begins to thrust into you from behind.

“F-Fuck-!”

One hand goes up to grab ahold of his arm that was holding your neck, and the other holds onto the counter for support. Every hard thrust causes your breasts to bounce as you two move in sync, Rafe doing deep but slow thrusts. His other hand is firming holding your waist but it travels up to grope your right breast, squeezing it hard.

Strings of moans are filling the room, and you momentarily forget the audience and cameras on you as all you can focus on is Rafe’s cock penetrating you hard.

He’s so deep.. i-i can’t think straight- it’s too much..

i’m so close- no wonder he’s so popular..

Rafe pulls away from your neck to use both hands to hold your hips firmly, his own picking up the pace as he begins to fuck you fast, the wet juices squelching each time your skin makes contact.

His hand goes down and his finger flicks your clit and it’s starting to send you over the edge. “Rafe..” Whimpers escape you as you dip your head down, clenching your fists on the countertop tightly.

“R-Rafe, fuck, you’re so deep.. i-i’m gonna cum-“

Rafe just smirks as he rubs your clit further, continuously thrusting you harder and faster until he feels a gush over your release and he pulls out, watching as your pretty glistening pussy squirts all over the floor.

“Fuck.” He bites his lip at the sight as he feels his own building up, and he spins you around while you’re panting. “Get on your knees,”

You fall to your knees to his command, and watch as he strokes himself fast and seconds later, his cum spurts its white salty liquid over your face, painting it like a canvas.

He pants heavily, catching his breath while you do the same, eyes fluttered shut at the warm liquid drips down.

“And cut! That was great, now get cleaned up you two!”

“You alright, [Name]?”

Still on the ground, you barely register a voice is talking to you while you appear dazed and confused.

Rafe has some skin-sensitive wipes in his hands, gently rubbing your face to wipe off any of his fluids before carefully helping you to your feet. “Did I go too rough on you?”

“I’m alright, thanks..” You whisper, feeling the exhaustion take over you. You lean onto Rafe, who holds you securely against his chest. “If it’s any consolation, today was fuckin’ amazing..” He chuckles lightly as he presses a tender kiss to your temple before guiding you to the couch where you can rest for a bit.

“Yeah?.. I think i understand why so many women gush over you after working with you.” You giggle weakly, sending an appreciative look when he sets you down gently, placing a blanket over you. He also chuckles lightly. “Yeah, but I think i’d like to work with you again, sometime soon. Maybe we can talk about our next filming together over dinner?”

Your stomach feels as though butterflies are doing flips inside you at the assumption of his words. “Are you asking me out, Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe merely shares a wink before pecking your forehead and getting up. “I’ll let you figure that out. Meanwhile, I’ll head to your room and draw you a bath to clean up.”

He takes your hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it before smiling your way and then turning to leave. Maybe he wasn’t acting the whole time.

“.. Rafe Cameron just asked me out..”

Best filming job ever.

a/n: hello all, hope you enjoyed! :) merry christmas. i shall have the first post of my camgirl series out soon!! <3

i’m sorry if this seems like such a rushed abrupt ending but i wanted to finish this in time for christmas :)

[kathleenkatmary]

This is really is not by any means new. When I was a kid in the 1990s and early 2000s, I thought my family was middle class because my parents said we were. It wasn't until I was in my 20s that I realizes we were 'lower class' and always had been. And talking to my parents helped me realize that their thought process around the thing was a messy melange that even they didn't really seem to understand. When we talked about things like how they accept money from the nuns at the school my mom taught at to be able to afford Christmas gifts for my and my brother more than once and there were times when we were in real danger of losing the house, there did seem to be a very real awareness that, no, this was not the experience of a middle class family.

But when I asked them why they always said and acted like they were middle class, I got a mishmash of explanations. The financial situation of my dad's family was much worse when he was a kid, so he figured anything better than that was a class upgrade, and while my mom's family's situation when she was a child was better than ours, she didn't see our situation as that much worse, so she just kind of saw it as being on the same level. We always had food on the table and we never "worried" about stuff like that, even though sometimes it meant taking charity from the people my mom worked with, so it didn't seem right to them to act like we were in the "same situation" as people who did have to regularly worry about food. They bought a house, however falling apart it was, so how could they be lower class? And there was a lot more of that, that sort of "well, we still had these necessities, even if we had to struggle for them, so we can't really put ourselves on the same level as people who did" mindset.

And I noticed that even though they didn't explicitly say it, there seemed to be a lot of shame associated with the idea of being lower class. Which I don't think would come to a surprise to anyone, especially for people who was around in the 1980s and 1990s. As much as that sentiment that poverty is a personal failing is still alive and well today, it was so prevalent back then. That idea that if you were poor, if you were lower class, it was entirely because of the decisions you made, your own failings. Can't pay your rent or mortgage? Well, what did you do wrong to put yourself in that position? Can't afford to keep your kids fed? God, you're such a bad parent, why don't you make better choices that put your kids first?

And I don't think that lumping in better off middle class people in with the upper class is new either. Resentment toward people with more has always been a thing. And when you do have so little and you are seeing things through that resentment, it can be really easy to look at someone who has so much more than you and not really see the distinction between them and someone who is truly wealthy.

This loose grasp of class definitions, people assuming themselves to be middle class when they're not, and not being able to see the distinctions in wealth is by no means a new thing that's only just starting to happen with the younger generations. It's always been around, I just think that the shape it's taken has shifted with the way the culture has shifted. But that sort of "I have a roof over my head and I can feed myself so I must be middle class" mindset and the "those people have a lot more than I do so they're just as bad as the billionaires who are actively ruining our lives" ideas aren't new at all. It at least goes back to the baby boomers, and really, considering the stark class divides of the early 20th century, I'd wager that it probably goes back even before them.

And that makes sense, because it's clearly proven to be an effective method of the ruling class.

Ive noticed recently that my generation has... no concept of what the various economic classes actually are anymore. I talk to my friends and they genuinely say things like "at least i can afford a middle class lifestyle with this job because i dont need a roommate for my one bedroom apartment" and its like... oughh

You guys, middle class doesnt mean "a stable enough rented roof over your head," it means "a house you bought, a nice car or two, the ability to support a family, and take days off and vacations every year with income to spare for retirement savings and rainy days." If all you have is a rented apartment without a roommate and a used car, you're lower class. That's lower class.

And i cant help but wonder if this is why you get kids on tumblr lumping in doctors and actors into their "eat the rich" rhetoric: economic amnesia has blinded you to what the class divides actually are. The real middle class lifestyle has become so unattainable within a system that relies upon its existence that theyve convinced you that those who can still reach it are the elites while your extreme couponing to afford your groceries is the new normal.

[linearities]

ᅟᅟᅟ☆ ｡⁠ UNDER THE MISTLETOE ～ !!

a mistletoe hanging above your bed? surely your roommate is just getting into the Christmas Spirit... right?

pairing: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT!!! +18 MINORS DNI!!!! oral (fem receiving), pussy drunk seonghwa, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cursing, kinda perv!seonghwa (?), not proofread!!!

notes: why hello there my loves :3 it's been a long while since i've written smut so please forgive me if this is bad :/ merry (late) christmas and happy new years to all of you!!!!

taglist form. · masterlist.

divider here.

you should've suspected something when you got home from work and found a mistletoe hanging above your bed. you thought it was just a cute little detail your roommate did, a cheeky little thing as a lot of others he had a habit to do. sliding into the christmas spirit, you know?

walking inside the apartment, seonghwa was quick to take your bags and help you out of your coat, even going as far as kneeling in front of you to help you take off your shoes. you found it suspicious, yet didn't say anything, knowing that sometimes he'd go overboard on the pampering and all of that, catering to your every whim. according to him, he just wanted to "be a good roommate". you shrugged the thought away, letting him guide you to the bedroom, chuckling as soon as you saw the garment hanging on the wall.

"what's this?" you asked, looking at him with a playful undertone in your voice. he shrugged with that cheeky smile of his, looking at you with soft pleading eyes as he brought his hands to the first button of your blouse. "fuck it, why not?" you thought, nodding at him in encouragement. slowly, he started unbuttoning your blouse, taking his time popping every button. you could hear his breath hitching as the fabric slid off your arms, falling on the bed.

in your defense, you had always found seonghwa pretty cute, and having him undress you like that after a long fucking day of work was almost a dream come true. he was that boy who's jacked and kind Sabrina Carpenter had talked about, so you wouldn't complain at all. he laid you on the bed, softly brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"you're so beautiful…" he murmured, admiring your features like you were his dream come true. his christmas miracle, "can i kiss you? since we're under the mistletoe and all?"

that got a giggle out of you, and you nodded, joining your lips in a sweet kiss. it was christmas, after all. what could possibly go wrong? except his kisses grew hungrier, greedier, and his hands slowly started to roam over your upper body. you held his wrists, breaking the kiss to properly look at him, only to find pure and raw adoration and desire in his gaze. where the fuck did this come from?

"hwa, i don't know if that's a good idea-"

"please," he interrupted you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, "i promise i'll be good for you." you sighed softly, thinking about it. again, what could go wrong? it was just harmless fun between roommates, under the excuse of a mistletoe.

little did you know you were in for a long night.

"tasting so good, my christmas gift," seonghwa groaned, your legs hooked on his shoulders as he kept relentlessly making out with your pussy, licking, sucking and kissing your clenching core like it was his death row meal.

you, on the other hand, already had tears in your eyes, coming out of your third orgasm of the night. you couldn't get him out of you at all. you had pushed him only to have him place your legs on his shoulders. you had tried to crawl away, only to have him grab you by your hips and drag you closer, burying his face on your sweet cunt again. seonghwa was completely pussy drunk, pushing you over the edge again and again and again until you were a shivering mess, whimpering and sobbing in overstimulation.

"hwa… hwa, f-fuck, 's too much… too much…" you cried out, hands on his head trying to push him away, your protests falling in deaf ears since he was too far gone to even register what you were saying, murmuring praises on how good you were for him, how beautiful you were, how sweet you tasted, how divine you smelled.

"so perfect f' me… so sweet… so wet, so tasty…." he kept praising, not even realizing how your legs were shaking and ready to give out.

he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, only stopping when he was satisfied, your clit swollen and your legs spasming on his shoulders. sweet little kisses trailed up your body, worshipping your soft skin in pure adoration. his eyes roamed over your face, admiring your fucked out features and the tear streaks on your face.

"so beautiful…" he murmured, peckering his sweet little kisses all over your face, capturing your lips and making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"you're insane," was the only thing you could get out, panting and sweating under him, "and a pervert."

he giggled, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, "don't act as if you didn't enjoy it."

that earned a smack on his shoulder and a chuckle out of him, "shut up."

"merry christmas to you too, roomie," he murmured, laying on top of you and pecking your lips.

"merry christmas, seonghwa," you chuckled, wrapping your legs around him and finally surrendering to the feeling, allowing yourself to relax under his weight.

hi hello it's your girl meggie :3

if you read until the end thank you so much i literally love you mwah mwah mwah

merry christmas and happy new years, babes <3 gonna bring more treats to y'all soon, just you wait.

xoxo, meggie.

[beloveds-embrace]

your omega simon idea makes me both soft for him and salivating at the thought of protecting such a big strong guy, urgh i love it. Giving Si and you a big forehead smooch, i love your brain😩 Very much hoping that your brain keeps thinking about omega simon so we get to feast on this damn good food too

Omega simon does unbelievable things to me 😩 and I am giving you a very big and loud smooch back!! <3 have this little Drabble that i wrote fast (so pls excuse any rushedness and mistakes 😔)

The hangar was buzzing with activity as they finally touched down on base, but neither you nor Ghost paid it any mind. The moment your boots hit the concrete, exhaustion weighed heavier than any gear strapped to your bodies. Without a word, without even glancing back at the others, the two of you slipped away like smoke. Silent, deliberate, and entirely focused on one thing: rest.

Price, Gaz, and Soap barely had tme to finish unloading before they noticed your absence.

“Where the hell did they go?” Soap asked, looking around like the two of you might reappear from thin air.

Price’s eyes scanned the hangar for a sharp second before he sighed, already putting the pieces together. If anything, he’d expected this. “Probably holed up somewhere to rest.”

Gaz groaned, though he couldn’t hide the fond smile that cracks on his face. “They could’ve at least told us first.”

“They didn’t have to,” Price said knowingly. “You saw the state they were in.”

And they had. Weeks of back-to-back missions, constant stress, and frayed nerves had worn everyone thin, but you and Simon had carried it differently. Instincts that screamed for comfort, security, and stability, but the battlefield offered none of that. Now that you were finally safe, it made perfect sense for the two of you to disappear and soothe those raw, overworked instincts.

It took them almost an hour to track you down, and when they did, it was clear why you hadn’t wanted to be found.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of detergent and something softer- vanilla and Simon’s deeper cedarwood scent. Blankets, pillows, and their clothes had been piled high, creating a warm cocoon against the outside world. You were curled up in the center, tucked against Simon’s broad chest, your breathing slow and steady for the first time in days. He had one arm wrapped protectively around you, his mask discarded, revealing a rare look of peace on his face- what part of it that wasn’t buried in your hair.

Soap hesitated at the door, lowering his voice instinctively. “They look…”

“Content.” Gaz supplied, leaning against the frame.

Price crossed his arms, face softening the longer he looked at the two of you. “They needed this.”

It was rare to see Ghost so unguarded, but here- with you- he looked safe, grounded in a way the others knew only you could manage. Your hand was fisted lightly in the fabric of his shirt, and his nose rested in your hair like he’d been breathing you in for hours.

“They’ll come out when they’re ready, let’s leave them to rest.” Price murmured, already turning to shepherd the others away.

“Should we leave food out for them?”

Gaz snorted, rolling his eyes, and gave Soap an amused look. “They’re not strays, Johnny.”

But the idea stuck, and before long, supplies were quietly left at the edge of the nest- water bottles, snacks, and extra blankets. None of them entered the space, knowing better than to disturb their omegas when they were finally at rest.

And when the two of you eventually emerged, bleary-eyed and loose-limbed, the pack was waiting- ready to gather you both into steady, grounding embraces. No words were needed. Just their presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

You and Simon had each other, but you also had them. And in a world that demanded too much, that was enough.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[zephyrchama]

Seeing Satan interact with strays around the RAD campus gives you an idea. You decide to try it out when he's alone in the household library later.

As usual, he invites you to sit with him. When no one else is around, it's fine if you sit in his lap. It's your special privilege.

You take a peek at what he's reading. It looks boring, though his eyes are glued to the page. His blue irises shift in the light as they go back and forth across the page. It's a pretty sight.

When you raise a hand to his cheek, Satan leans his face into your palm. A natural gesture. He doesn't even look up. It signals the perfect time to put your plan into action. You begin to move your fingertips, gently scratching around the bottom of his ear in small circles. Just barely grazing his skin with your nails.

He stiffens with a look of pure confusion. Concentration broken, his gaze is finally directed at you.

Now that he's not distracted by the novel, your other hand makes its way to the crown of his head for more scritches. You go back and forth, mimicking the satisfying way Satan always does it to the strays around town. His soft blonde hair parts easily as you lightly scratch at his scalp.

"What do you think you're doing?" A blush spreads across his entire face, from cheek to ear. Perhaps your experiment went too far.

"I thought you'd like this," you admit. It seems to have the opposite effect, though. Instead of relaxing, Satan was straining his entire body. His grip on the chair's arm dug into its upholstery. You drop your hands and opt to lean against him instead.

He places his book aside. "I do. Why did you stop?"

"Really?" With newfound confidence, you graze two fingernails against the bottom of his chin, working in small zig zags. "So you like this?"

His breathing turns erratic. Satan grabs your wrist in an oddly strong hold and orders, "wait. Not here."

In a rush, he clutches you against his chest and stands up. There's so much force behind his movement, the armchair skids back several paces. It'll be faster if Satan carries you, and you can keep scratching his chin while he walks.

"Come with me, we'll try this out again in my room."

[harmonyrae]

A Not So Silent Night...

Merry Christmas, again! This is the NSFW continuation of A Christmas Kiss - things do be getting spicy on this Christmas night...

Synopsis: You surprised him with a Christmas office makeover. But the best decoration? The mistletoe. The angel is on the tree, the halls are decked, it's time for presents. And one present is... it won't be a silent night, that's for sure.

The crackles and pops of the fire and the sultry notes of Santa Baby drift through the air as Sylus kisses you once more. After placing the angel on the tree, he resumed kissing your neck. Gently at first, but an occasional bite nearly caused your knees to give out. Sylus, of course, noticed, but he didn’t tease or slow down. He spun you around and lifted you up, his arms tucked under your ass. He smiled up at you as he made his way to the couch.

“Do you want to continue?”

His question surprised you. He lowered you both on the couch, moving your legs to straddle him comfortably. You lock your fingers behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair with your thumbs. You swear you had so many plans for today, but they all flew out the window when you hung that damn mistletoe. 

“I do have other presents for you. And I know you got me presents, the twins already tattled.” 

“I hope they don’t know about their presents then.”

“You got Luke and Kieran presents? That’s so sweet!”

“I got them muzzles cause they can’t keep their mouths closed.”

You clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. The thought of the twins in muzzles to punish them for yapping too much is just too good. Come to think of it…

“Did you really get muzzles for them? Or are you joking?”

“Why? Did you want one for yourself?”

“Might be useful… for things…”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, the hint of a smirk on his lips. His gaze dropped to your lips and you couldn’t help but lick them. The idea of Sylus in a muzzle so he can’t sass you while you explore his body has made your mouth very dry all of a sudden. 

“Is that so?”

You smile, shifting your hips slightly. The subtle grind forces a groan out of Sylus, it takes you by surprise and you let out a breathy laugh. You trail your hands down his chest as his circle around and under your ass. He leans forward to capture your lips once more, but you lean back  suddenly. He glares at you.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I just…” You hesitate, you can feel the warmth in your cheeks.

“You just what, sweetie?”

“I’ve thought about this moment and I guess I had… thoughts? Plans?”

“Oh, you’ve thought about this, have you?”

“And that is why I want you in a muzzle.” 

Sylus lets out a laugh and tucks his arms under your ass once more, lifting you off the couch with ease. You wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Sylus…”

“Let’s get in those matching PJ sets and I’ll have the chef bring our dinner in here. We can open the presents after. How does that sound?”

“Damn, Luke and Kieran do need those muzzles. Those PJs were supposed to be a surprise!”

Sylus chuckles as he carries you out of his office to change. 

An hour later, you’re in your festive sleep set and sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. Sylus’s chef had prepared roast pork and your favorite potato dumplings. Sylus brought out one of the rarest wines in his collection and instructed the chef to bring the dessert and leave it on a cart outside the door. With that, Sylus sent him, and the everyone else on base, home early and you both settled in for the night.

“Do you like the pajamas I picked?”

Sylus glanced down at his pajama pants covered in candy canes. It came with a matching shirt, but Sylus opted to go shirtless for the evening. Damn him. You were already regretting the pajamas you had chosen - long pants and long sleeves? You were burning up from the inside out at this point next to the fire and Sylus sitting there looking, well, perfect.

“They’re very comfortable. I’m just glad you didn’t make me wear those reindeer antlers.”

“Luke and Kieran put those on voluntarily! They’re really embracing the holiday spirit. It’s cute.”

Sylus nods before sipping his wine.

“They’ve never celebrated the holiday. Even before finding me.”

“Then I’m glad they’re having fun. You should take a page from their book. You’d look adorable in antlers!”

“Do I not look adorable already?”

Your cheeks flush and you sit up on your knees to stand before Sylus can make another joke. You gather the presents from under the tree. Sylus had brought in a few boxes while you were taking off your makeup. You were shocked at how many boxes there were now.

“Sylus.”

“Hmm?”

“Please tell me these aren’t all for me.”

“And if they are?”

“Sylus!”

“I won’t apologize for spoiling you. Especially during a holiday you love so much.”

You can’t argue with him there. You finish hauling the boxes over to the coffee table as Sylus clears the dishes and takes the cart back into the hallway. There’s one gift you are terrified to give him and no matter how perfect this day has been, you can’t convince yourself to give it yet. You quickly stuff it under the couch next to you before Sylus comes back in the room. Maybe later? 

“Okay, who goes first? Or should we go back and forth?”

“This is your holiday, sweetie. It’s your call.”

You pick up a small box from his pile and hand it to him before picking up one from your own. You’re careful not to shake it, no matter how tempting. 

“We open at the same time, okay?”

He nods. He starts peeling the sparkly green paper off the box. The golden wrapping paper on all of your gifts feels fancy and it’s wrapped so perfectly. It almost feels like a crime to tear it off, but it doesn’t stop you from shredding it like you are a kid again.

Your stomach flips when you see the tiny box, it’s a ring box. You had wanted to take the next step, but this is several steps… You slowly open the box, holding your breath. The ring inside isn’t an engagement ring, and you almost laugh at the fact you thought Sylus would propose like this. Or that he’d propose at all after a few months of dating. 

The ring is a tiny ruby on a silver band, but there are cat ears attached and accent stones making them shine in the firelight. A tiny cat ring with a bright ruby gem. It had to be custom made and it fit perfectly on your middle finger. 

“Is it a little too on the nose?”

You’re about to make a joke, but when you see his brows pinched and his ears nearly glowing red, you hold your tongue. You realize he’s nervous.

“It’s adorable. I mean it.” You slip the ring on and hold your hand out to examine it. You look over to see Sylus smiling while he fiddles with the unwrapped box in his hands. “Your turn, open it!”

Sylus returns his focus to the box in his hands. He opens the box and pulls out a book. He takes a moment to read the cover, but a smile crosses his face before he can say a word. 

“A book about history's most notorious criminal masterminds?”

“From Al Capone to Jack the Ripper and it even covers the legend of that guy from Philos who started the illegal protocore trade.”

“I look forward to reading it, thank you.” 

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, his approval of his gifts mean more to you than you realized. You turn to pick up the next two gifts. Neither of you hesitate to start opening the boxes now. Yours is a bit larger and you gasp when you see the brand on the heavy wooden case. 

“Hero Leather Works? Sylus!”

You open the box to reveal a brand new custom holster. The deep chocolate leather and shining golden buckles take your breath away.

“You mentioned your holster was getting old.”

“You remembered? I said that nearly 3 months ago!”

“And you still haven’t replaced it. So I called in a favor.”

“With the most famous leather artisan in Linkon? They’ve been booked for months!”

“Like I said, Hero owed me a favor. And you needed a holster.”

You drop your gaze and hold the holster in your hands, stroking the leather slowly. Tears build up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Without looking up you urge Sylus to open his present.

“Okay, okay, your turn.”

He opens the bag and tosses the tissue paper over his shoulder onto the sofa. He stares into the bag, he chuckles under his breath. He finally pulls out two plushies. A dove and a crow, connected at the wings, their heads turned toward each other so their beaks touched. 

“I got it custom made from the same company that made the big crow plushie you got for me. This one is a bit smaller, since I know you’re not a huge fan of plushies. I just thought –”

Sylus leans over and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I take it the crow is me and the dove is you?”

You smile and he pulls back to kiss your forehead. 

“I love it. It’ll have a permanent spot on my desk.” 

The tears you fought off a few minutes ago threaten to fall once more. You clear your throat.

“How about you pick the present we open next?”

“Now that is a good idea. I was wondering when I’d have a chance to ask about the box you stuffed under the couch, guess I won’t have to.”

You stop breathing. Your heart pounds in your ears. How had he seen you do that?

“Oh I just…”

He reaches past you and pulls the box from under the couch, setting it on the table in front of him. You’re tempted to grab it and chuck it in the fire, but you can’t seem to move. Is this what they mean by “frozen in fear”? Sylus lifts a small slender box from your pile and sets it before you before leaning back on the couch and holding his present up to examine. 

“Why would you hide this one in particular? How curious.” 

You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of this paralysis. 

“I wasn’t hiding it, it must have just slipped under there by accident.”

“Kitten, I always know when you’re lying.”

You glare at him.

“How?”

“Oh no no no. I’m not revealing that. It’s too much fun watching you try to wiggle your way out.”

You sigh and cross your arms in defeat. Your heart is racing so fast your chest hurts. How could you have been so confident and sure when you bought it, but now you are convinced you are going to ruin everything? Sylus pushes your present closer to you.

“Open.”

You take in a ragged breath. You tear off the red satin ribbon and tear off the gold paper to reveal a long slender velvet box, much like the ring box. You tentatively open it and gasp when you see its contents.

A silver chain necklace holds a delicate silver charm in the shape of an elegant dragon. Its tail wraps around the ruby heart shaped stone while its wings curve inwards to secure the sides. The head rests on the gem, its eyes two smaller rubies. You find yourself captivated by the charm, your hands tremble slightly and a tear spills over.

Sylus reaches out and wipes away the tear with his thumb. He shifts closer to you, placing an arm around your shoulder. He doesn’t speak, he just holds you and lets you take in the gift. A gift you didn’t understand, but loved instantly. You finally turn to face him.

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Would you like to put it on?”

You almost blurt out yes, but your eye catches on Sylus’s gift, still sitting on the table. Your stomach flips and you feel heat spread from your chest to your center. The only thing you can think of is that gift and this one. 

“I would, but only after you open your gift.”

Sylus squints at you, but doesn’t argue. He pulls the gift over and starts to peel the paper away. He is purposefully going as slow as possible, he can feel how nervous you are. He is enjoying this way too much. You lean over and press your mouth to his ear.

“If you keep teasing me, you won’t get to see me wear it.”

You feel his body tense, his jaw clenches. You place a soft kiss on his cheek and lean back. The nerves you were feeling earlier vanish. If he could tease you, you could tease him. He picks up the pace and finally reaches the thin box. As he opens the lid, you watch his face. His eyes widen, his breathing quickens, a blush spreads across his cheeks and down to his chest. He sets the box on his lap and pulls out the contents.

His fingers trace the thin red lace of the bralette. Tiny red hearts adorn the sheer fabric, but not nearly enough to hide anything. The matching red lace thong follows, the ribbons at the hips tie together to secure it to the body. A matching garter and red lace robe lay at the back of the box. You can help but smile as you look down at the necklace you still hold in your hand. The red matches the ruby perfectly.

“So you hid this present because you changed your mind?”

His voice is gruff and breathy. You almost jump up to straddle him at that very moment. His words are full of doubt, but his voice is full of desire. You dare to shift closer to him, lifting your hand to pull his chin in your direction.

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to go there yet. But I never changed my mind.”

His eyes drop down to your lips, then down to your neck and chest. You drop your hand to his chest and feel his heart racing. He lets out a shaky breath before returning his gaze to the box on his lap. He returns the contents and closes the lid. He turns to you, the box directly between you both. That familiar smirk returns.

“Change. Now.”

You place the necklace back in its box and close it. You hold it out next to the box he holds.

“But first, put this on me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He takes the box, removes the necklace and unclasps the hook. You reach to pull your hair up and he wraps his arms around your neck to secure the necklace. The cold metal almost stings against your hot skin. Sylus reaches down to straighten the charm, allowing his fingers to linger on the exposed skin of your chest.

“Hurry.”

You stand and calmly walk out of the room, but as soon as you reach the hall you are a fumbling mess. You damn near skip down the hall to the nearest room. You slip into the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Is this really happening? Are you about to put on sexy lingerie and parade around his office like you’re a present to be unwrapped? Oh god you hope so.

You strip out of your festive pajamas and freshen yourself up a bit before slipping on the silky two piece. You’ve never been one to love or hate your body, but as you look in the mirror now, you can’t help but feel unbelievably sexy. The red is bright, the ribbons delicate, your skin soft, your nipples hard and the butterflies in your stomach are making it hard to breathe. You slide the garter up your thigh and drape the robe over your shoulders, not bothering to tie it. You gently open the bathroom door and look both ways up and down the hallway. You know Sylus sent everyone home early for the holiday, including Luke & Kieran, but you were not used to walking around wearing so little, especially here.

You speed walk to the office and pause before placing a hand on the handle. Would he like what he sees? Would you be enough for him? Would you satisfy him? Would he still want you to take the lead or would he take control? What if you couldn’t get there? Would that make him feel bad? What if you can’t get him there?

You take a deep breath, you knew you were being ridiculous. The way he kissed you earlier? He wants this. God, he wants this. Memories of your kiss flood your mind and you press a hand to your chest trying to slow your breathing. Open the door. You just need to open the door. Everything else will come naturally. So you do it. You open the door.

Most of the lights have been turned off, the glow of the fireplace and the candles around the room cast dancing shadows against the walls. Sylus leans against his desk with a glass of whiskey, facing the door. He glances up at you as you slowly make your way towards him. He drinks you in, his eyes barely knowing where to look first. They linger on your chest before lowering to your nearly completely revealed cunt. He nearly breaks the glass when he sets it on his desk with a clink. 

You stand in front of him, his eyes now locked on yours. He slowly lifts his hands to your shoulders, stroking the sheer fabric. He tugs at the fabric and pulls it over your shoulders, you let it fall away and onto the floor. His hands return and finally glide over your skin. Chills spread over your arms at his touch. His fingers glide down your arms to your hands, he pulls you closer to him placing your hands on his hips. 

“If you had taken any longer, I would have come looking for you.”

You laugh and gently squeeze his hips, his fingers trailing up and down your arms.

“Maybe we’ll play hide and seek later?”

Sylus laughs, it’s not his usual laugh - it is darker, you feel electricity flicker across your skin. He moves his hands down to your bare waist and you nearly moan. His hands on your skin feels even better than you imagined. 

“I doubt I’ll be letting you out of my sight the rest of the night, sweetie.”

And before you could say another word, he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. His hands circle around your waist and pull you to him, your hardened nipples press against his chest. You let out a breathy moan, your hands grasping onto his shoulders. He reaches down and tucks his hands under your ass, pulling your lower half directly to him, his thigh settling between your legs. He slowly shifts his leg, the friction just enough to make you painfully aware of how wet you are.

“Sy…”

He grunts against your neck before straightening and swiftly turning you both around. He lifts you and places you on his desk before spreading your legs and slotting himself between them. You feel his erection now, pressing against your stomach. God, he’s big. Your mind goes blank as his lips meet yours again and his hands move your arms up and around his shoulders.

He grinds against you, letting you feel him. You are thanking every deity that Sylus is the one taking control because your brain is short circuiting. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your core is so tight like you did countless sit ups, what is this man doing to you? 

His mouth has moved from yours to your neck and down your chest. You tilt your head back and close your eyes, trying to make breathing your only priority. His fingers trace the lace of your bra from the back to the front. The throbbing between your legs is getting so intense you barely register that he has pulled one of the straps of your bra down exposing your breast. His lips close around your nipple and you gasp. He keeps a hand on your back, giving you the resistance you need to arch and press your chest into his mouth. His other hand squeezes your breast, peaking your nipple and making it easier for him to suckle. He gently bites down and you moan loudly. No one has made you moan just from nipple play, but you realize now, it doesn’t matter what Sylus does, you’d be moaning for him.

He unclasps the bra with his hand at your back and pulls the straps down your arms. He tosses it to his desk chair before diving down to give your other breast the same treatment. Your hands thread through his hair and down his back. You’ve started grinding against him now, desperate for more. He finally reaches a hand down to run a finger along the fabric over your entrance. As soon as he feels the wetness he releases your breast with a loud pop and meets your eyes.

“Already soaking through your present?”

You glare at him, but he presses his fingers firmly against the fabric leaving you gasping. You nod frantically trying to get him to stop teasing.

“We should get those off before you ruin them.”

As he says this, he tugs at the ribbons on the sides. The fabric falls away and settles onto the desk. He wraps an arm around you, lifting you off the desk leaving your panties behind. He bends to pick you up properly and you wrap your legs around him. He lets out a soft whimper when he feels your bare cunt against his stomach. That sound alone nearly made you come. 

He lowers you down onto a soft blanket in front of the fireplace. He places kisses all over your face, your neck, your chest. He starts lowering himself to your stomach and when he places a kiss to your hip you finally register his intentions. 

“Sy, wait –”

“Shh…”

You look down at him and see his eyes sparkle in the firelight before he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing clit. The sight was intoxicating enough, but the feeling of his tongue lapping at your swollen clit over and over before sucking it into his mouth was euphoric. He pressed his tongue against your entrance, his nose pressing perfectly against your clit. You arch your back and feel your hips twitch with need. 

“Sy… Sylus… I need… I need more– oh god…”

The rumble of his response against you sent your hips thrusting upwards. He tucked his hands under your ass, giving you the leverage to continue the movement. He finally pressed his tongue into you, swirling against your walls, his nose massaging your clit. And every time you grind yourself against his face, his grunt of approval sent vibrations up your spine making your legs shake. 

You had no time to warn him, the pressure built and spilled over so rapidly you would feel embarrassed if you weren’t so deliriously happy. You hear him groan and his hands knead your ass as he takes everything you gave him. When he lifts his head, his face is coated in your arousal, a love drunk expression painted on his face. You smile and giggle at the sight.

“Sorry I couldn’t warn you…”

He gets onto his hands and knees crawling back on top of you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Always keeping me on my toes.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck. You let your hands drift down his chest. You wanted to feel him, to see him, to not be the only one exposed. Your fingers trace the hem of his pajama pants. He lifts his head to stare down at you.

“Already wanting more?”

“From you? Always?”

Your quick reply surprised even you. But you weren’t lying, “always” was the right word. Being with him made you happy and horny and peaceful and daring. His eyes dropped to the necklace, the charm still cool against your skin. Sylus runs a finger over the charm, a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. You wanted to ask why a dragon, but you also didn’t feel like you needed to - it just felt right. You pressed your fingers against the hem harder, pushing the fabric down to his hips. 

He looks into your eyes as he pushes himself up to his knees. He tucks his thumbs into the hem of his pants and boxers and pulls them down letting his cock spring forward. He tosses the clothes onto the couch before returning his gaze to yours. You felt your chest tighten, he was big, but not scary big. You’d always wondered what you’d do if he was too big - like in those trashy romance novels. 

He lowered himself over you once more. His tip grazes your inner thigh making you spread your legs wider on instinct. He looks down to see you spread yourself for him and he lets out a soft moan. 

“Stop that.” You breathe.

He looks at you, his brow raised in surprise. You reach up and pull him down on top of you. You nearly swallow his tongue once he parts his lips. All the fear and nerves from earlier are long done, you needed him inside you. Now.

You reach a hand down and wrap it around the base of his cock. His breath catches and he pulls back to look down at you holding him. You stroke him gently, building intensity based on his breathing. He sinks his head into your neck as you continue to pump him. When he starts placing messy kisses to your collarbone and those soft moans start slipping out one after the other, you line him up with your entrance.

When he feels his tip press against your folds, he pulls back and looks down at you.

“Are you… on the… pill? Do I –”

“I’m on the pill, I want you – god, I want you inside me Sy. Right fucking now. Please…”

Hearing the urgency in your tone, he reaches down and moves your hand away. He presses his tip further into your entrance, your arousal making it easy to initially slide through. You feel his breath against your ear.

“I won’t take it easy on y– you kitten. Remember you asked – fuck… you asked for this.” 

You dig your nails into his back as your chest heaves, your chest brushing against his with every breath.

“Fuck yes…”

At your response, he sinks himself into you. Not too fast, but he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t take breaks to let you adjust. You feel the delicious stretch and cry out, letting your nails drag across his back. You feel his muscles ripple in response. His pelvis now pressed against yours, his cock twitching as your walls squeeze him. 

He lets out a deep groan before he pulls back and starts thrusting into you, slow and deep. You lock your ankles around his waist. His movements pick up pace, you hear the slapping of skin against skin. Your chest burns, tears spill from the corners of your eyes, pressure builds once again, but you’re determined to ride this high as long as he lets you.

The way Sylus moans is unexpected. It’s needy, but he meets those needs himself. It’s like he knows how badly he needs you and he has no doubt he’ll get what he desires. You know if you were in control he would be desperate, but how your body is responding to his has proven to him that you will never deny him. Even if you tried, you would give in eventually. 

You curl your fingers into his hair and hold him against you as his thrusts turn savage. He’s hitting that spot that makes you see stars with every brutal thrust. Your moans turned to grunts and then screams of ecstasy. His moans have been replaced by soft whimpers of your name in your ear. Your heart flutters, his desire has taken over and the only thing he can say is just your name. 

His whimpers stop suddenly, his breathing shakes, you know he’s close. You start thrusting your hips upward and before long he is coming, hot and fast. Your second release of the night is almost immediate once you feel his body shake and his lips find yours again. You whimper and moan into each other's mouths as you ride out your high together. 

The crackle of the fire and the soft Christmas music slowly comes back into focus. He rests his forehead against yours, keeping himself tucked inside your warmth. You unhook your ankles and let your legs fall open. He sinks down to his elbows, your chests pressed against each other.

“I think I might like Christmas.” He sighs contentedly. 

You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @cordidy

[rafedarling]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

pairing: husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader

summary: rafe cameron was your everything, your husband, the man who once promised to love and cherish you unconditionally. despite your inability to speak, rafe always treated you as though the world revolved around you. but your perfect life comes crashing down on an ordinary monday when you…

warning(s): reader in this fic are mute, so if you felt uncomfortable please click back, will see you on jan 9. infidelity, emotional distress, angst.

must read: italic mean sign language.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. i don’t know but this idea came up after i went to the toilet 🫠 i’m tagging no one since i’m writing this for fun and might deleted if i felt it’s needs to be remove and hope you enjoy!! 🌟 . taglist | ask

Just like any other Monday. You were sitting on the edge of your bed you reached for your phone to check the time. That’s when you saw it… a text message from an unknown number.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the notification. You weren’t one to invade someone’s privacy, even Rafe’s, but something about this felt… off. When you finally opened it, your entire world shattered.

The message began with ‘Hi, I’m Sofia. I didn’t want to do this, but I think you deserve to know.’

You froze, dread pooling in your stomach as you continued reading. Sofia laid everything out; dates, times, even explicit details. She wasn’t apologetic; her tone carried the confidence of someone who knew she had already won.

Sofia wasn’t just anyone.

She was the friend Rafe had introduced you to months ago, the one he’d reassured you was “just a friend.” She was gorgeous, effortlessly confident, and everything you weren’t.

Most painfully, she could speak.

The betrayal hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at your phone, your breath hitching your so tight you couldn’t even breath.

You wanted to scream, cry, or yell so badly but you couldn’t. That had always been your curse your inability to voice your pain.

Instead, you stormed downstairs, gripping your phone tightly. Rafe sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone while sipping coffee, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

When he saw you, his face lit up.

“Morning, babe,” he said casually, his tone warm and easy.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you slammed your phone onto the table, the screen still displaying Sofia’s message. His eyes flicked to the text, and the color drained from his face.

“What”

He reached for the phone, but you yanked it away, glaring at him as your hands began to move.

“Who is Sofia? And don’t you dare lie to me.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Babe, it’s not”

“Don’t!” you signed sharply, your movements quick and angry.

“Do not call me that right now. Answer the question. Who is Sofia?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his hand raking through his hair.

“She’s… She’s no one. She doesn’t mean anything.”

So you admit it happened.

“I—” He faltered, his eyes pleading.

“It was a mistake, okay? A stupid mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”

You stepped back, shaking your head as tears burned your eyes.

“How could you?” you signed, your movements slower now, weighed down by heartbreak.

“I trusted you. I loved you. Was that a mistake too?”

“No!”

Rafe’s voice cracked, and he took a step toward you, his hands reaching out as if to ground you.

“It wasn’t a mistake. You weren’t a mistake. I swear. You’re my everything.”

“Clearly not,” you signed, bitterness dripping from your fingers. If I was, you wouldn’t have done this.

He pressed his palms against his temples, exhaling shakily.

“I don’t know why I did it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was stupid, I was feeling… I don’t know, lonely?”

“Lonely?” Your hands froze mid-motion, your eyes wide with disbelief.

“You think I don’t feel lonely? I live in silence, Rafe. Every day. And yet I stayed. I fought for us. But you…” You stopped, your chest heaving as fresh tears slid down your cheeks.

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking.

“I know, and I hate myself for it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” you signed, your movements trembling.

“What does she have that I don’t?”

Rafe looked devastated, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Nothing,” he said firmly.

“She doesn’t have anything you don’t. You’re everything to me.”

“Clearly not enough for you to keep your promises.”

He stepped closer, his voice urgent. “Please, don’t leave.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking into a million pieces. The Rafe standing before you now was a shadow of the man you thought you knew, and yet, his desperation was tangible. Part of you wanted to believe him, to cling to the love you’d shared for so long. But the pain was too raw, the betrayal too fresh.

You wiped your tears, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Rafe called, his voice shaking as he followed you.

“Where are you going?”

You paused, turning to meet his tear-filled eyes. Your hands moved slowly, deliberately, as you signed one final word

“Away.”

“Don’t,” he begged, his voice breaking.

“Please, give me one last chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you how sorry I am.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you opened the door and stepped out of the door, leaving Rafe behind.

But this time, love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time in years, the silence between you felt unbearable.

[regthomas1728]

Bare with me, I’m gonna actually try writing…(written on my phone, sorry for mistakes)

***

Your humble sandwich shack was recently upgraded to a small hovel. You now do specialized drinks and sandwiches.

Of course, you also had to get better insurance when you moved into the rent to own two story building in the city.

Not just any insurance! You needed insurance to cover hero and villain damage. You live in the city that birthed the greatest heroes and deadliest villains. While the chance of being murdered is extremely low, the chances of losing a house or building due to the fights were incredibly high.

High enough, insurance companies decided to make a pretty penny on all the people of the city.

You owned a small business that was rapidly gaining popularity. To keep up with demand, you decided to capitalize on the idea of heroes and villains. You began catering to tourists and eventually became one of the reason people visited the big city.

You began naming items on your list after heroes. Sandwiches and drinks alike had catchy names such as “Spexpresso” in reference to the fastest hero and the fastest acting coffee any coffee addicts have had or the brisket sandwich called “Smoked Pixet” named after the fairy hero named Pixie.

You thought it was funny, some of the customers thought it was creative, but the real fun came in the drawn cartoons merging the heroes with their respective menu item.

You bought a couple tv’s to showcase any submitted art and attention for your sandwich joint grew.

It wasn’t until the second hero stopped in, in their hero getup, and ordered their sandwich that you realized you were at the top.

Hey! The first one might have been a fluke or an accident.

Maybe you fumbled over your words but everyone was star struck.

“Good sandwich, I’ll have to get Euro in to try the gyro.” The hero chuckled on his way out, taking another big bite of his sandwich.

The customers and you let out a big sigh—you hadn’t even realize you were holding your breath—and then the little caf filled with laughter. It didn’t die down for a week—your caf was expanding and it took so much out of you until you hired three more people. All three workers were college students and you hired them within two weeks of the second heroes visit.

A few months later, your menu had changed greatly as new heroes wanted a spot on the menu and heroes already on the menu wanted to change certain ingredients.

You catered to a fee and stood your ground with most. The heroes respected you more for that as did the customers. You still made their sandwiches the way they preferred when they came in.

It was crazy for you to think about. You knew the orders of some of the most popular heroes and they came at regular intervals to get their lunch or dinner.

Marketing heard about your setup and chose to setup times where heroes would take photos with fans. You were gaining publicity and hero agencies were jumping on the band wagon.

You politely declined interviews or let your employees sub in. You weren’t someone who liked to be on camera and even the smooth talking lava rock hero couldn’t make you budge.

He did enjoy the spicy sandwich you made in his honor.

After all the humbug settled, you found a steady rhythm. But, all good things must come to an end.

After closing shop at 10:00pm, you were on your way to the car when you heard a voice call out to you from across the lot.

You turned at the sound, startled and trying to remain calm. Just because murders didn’t happen often didn’t mean they never happened. You were desperate not to be in the three percent.

“Why haven’t you made sandwiches for villains?”

“What?”

“Villains eat to, ya know?”

Not that you hadn’t thought of it but you didn’t think it’s go over very well. Not with heroes frequenting your place.

“I’m not too sure that’s a good idea. I don’t need heroes and villains fighting at my restaurant. I have insurance but it could never be that good.”

The man stepped out of the shadows and you realized you just told the most wanted villain no.

“Work on those sandwiches and I’ll work on a compromise.”

“You sure? I could just make you a sandwich under the table…? You could stop out back and grab it to go?”

The villain, covered in shadows and red (was that blood?), shook his head and took a step back.

“No. Put our sandwiches on the menu after a weeks time.”

“It’ll take longer than that to establish a villains menu and a good advertising strategy.”

“Well…I’ll have the hero and villain compromise figured out by then. The timeline isn’t up to you. I look forward to your work.”

“You’re not going to kill me if you don’t like the sandwich, are you?”

With shadows covering his exit, all you heard was an evil laugh that reminded you despite his absurd request, he was still a villain who made up one or two percent of the kills in the city over the last ten years. Okay…maybe not that many but you knew it was a lot! You just didn’t know ALL the statistics regarding heroes and villains.

While a normal person may have brought the conversation up to one of the many visiting heroes or maybe called the police, you brought out your folder of dreams and got to work on sandwich ideas.

And sure, you told the shadow villain that it would take more than a week to get started on this idea but you may have lied. It would take no time to start the menu—no the real issue was convincing civilians and heroes to accept a few changes.

One of the changes would be making a seasonal menu. Which would not correlate with actual seasons but rather about keeping scores between favorites sandwiches and drinks.

The advertising took some time and planning, you only had a rough outline of what that would look like.

By the end of the week, you were positive you’d be getting another visit from the shadow villain but it wasn’t him who called out to you in a parking lot. It was the number one hero.

“Y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sandwich shop.”

“But you haven’t tried anything? That’s a real shame.” You smiled, turning your key into the car and starting the heat. You sat in the seat with your hands in your pockets and the door open. The hero walked a bit closer but kept a respectable distance.

“I heard you got a visit a week ago from…a mutual acquaintance.”

You frowned, your brow crinkling.

“I think? I think I know who you’re talking about.”

“Do you get so many visits from villains?” There seemed to be genuine concern in the pull of his smile. “He’s requesting your restaurant be made neutral territory. No arrests, no fights.”

“Sounds like an ideal insurance policy.”

The hero grimaced but nodded.

“I’ve agreed. I’m sure it wont be much use but I’ll ask anyway. One, is he pressuring you?”

“Not really. I’ve had the idea in mind for a while.”

“I thought so. So, is there any chance you tell me who he is?”

“I don’t know him. But even if I did, I wouldn’t put myself in the middle of the most powerful villain and every hero and hero agency. I’m powerless not stupid.”

The hero seemed surprised by your response but quickly covered it with a small smile.

“Right. Well, if you need help or if any of the villains try anything, I’d feel a lot better if you had this.”

He took a step forward and held his hands out, dropping a small device in your open palm.

“If you press that button, it’ll call me directly. You don’t have to say anything when it calls—very few people have it and know to only use it in an emergency. I’ll come running.”

“Flying.” You correct lightly with a soft smile.

“Flying.”

Business returned to normal and within a month you were preparing the advertisements and informing your regular customers of the upcoming menu additions and changes.

Heroes were a bit distant at first, not excited about the change, but the number one hero quickly helped with the transition by becoming a regular customer. He visited and chatted with you every Friday.

Villains, on the other hand, were much quicker to visit and test the boundaries set by both heroes and villains.

Just when you’d had enough, the shadow villain you hadn’t seen since the night he proposed the new menu showed up.

“I believe I made myself clear! Neutral territory. No stake outs, only steak cuts!”

That earned a laugh from you, nervous chuckles from civilian patrons, and an earnest smile from a couple heroes.

“I’ll have a conversation with you after your shift. I shouldn’t have had to find out from that snotty number one hero that you were having difficulties with my crew.”

“Don’t you threaten me, Shadows.”

“Shadows?”

“I don’t know your name, sorry.”

“I’m literally the number one villain. I have a reputation that exceeds me. I’m a symbol!”

“Bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”

Luckily, he was in a playful enough mood to see the joke for what it was.

“Perhaps. I’ll take the sandwich you have undoubtedly made after me. I’m surprised I haven’t seen it in the advertisements.”

“I wanted to wait until you had tried it.”

“Naturally. Only you would make a guinea pig of me.”

You took fifteen minutes to make his sandwich and his sidekicks drink. You brought it out, a breath nestled deep in your chest clawing out but unable to until he stamped his approval on the sandwich you made with him in mind.

“How is it?” The number one hero stood directly behind the most wanted villain with a bright smile on his face.

With his mouth full, the villain rearranged it into his cheek to say: “Give me a second to savor it.”

The hero looked down, his hands on his hips as he awaited the answer you were eagerly shaking for. You were jumping with excitement as he took another bite.

“It’s a winner!!” You did a little happy dance and the few people watching cheered with you, grinning almost as madly as you were. Almost.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. I’ll give you that. I’m not a pickle person, though.”

“I’ll tell you like I’ve told everyone else! That is a damn good sandwich and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna change it because of personal preference.”

The cheers died down, the hero shifted his weight from his front foot to his back, subtly getting in a defensive position.

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll still make you a sandwich without pickles but that’s the one going on the menu. Glad you like it.”

The villain walked out with a small smile that disappeared into the shadows along with him. That grin was the last thing you saw of him.

“I’ve never seen anyone talk to him like that.” The hero spoke with note of admiration and shock, eyebrows nearly to his forehead.

“I won’t back down to anyone.”

“I suppose that’s a good trait to have. Almost gave me a heart attack but, a good trait nevertheless.”

He ordered the same sandwich and complimented you with a wink.

“When do I get a sandwich?”

You own a sandwich shop in the heart of a superhero city. After gaining customers by making sandwiches based on heroes, you decided to try making some based on villains. Today, a villain stopped to review theirs.

[mofongomuncher]

HER

(Ekko x reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko, Jinx, reader ¡

Ekko slammed the door behind him so hard it rattled the frame, his breathing ragged.

"What the hell were you thinking Y/N?" he growled, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn't even look at her at first, pacing back and forth, his fists clenching at his sides. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?"

Y/N flinched at his tone, but her own anger was already steaming beneath the surface. "Don't talk to me like that..." she snapped, straightening up.

"I just saved your life."

"Saved my life?" Ekko whirled on her. His dark brown skin glistened with sweat, the usual vibrance in his eyes replaced with irritation. "Do you even realize what you just did? You don't "save" someone by throwing yourself into a fight you don't even understand?! You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"I wasn't going to stand there and watch her kill you Ekko!" Y/N fired back, stepping toward him, her voice trembling now.

"What was I supposed to do? Let her put a bullet in your cranium?"

"I had it handled!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small space.

"You stepping in didn't help—it made everything worse! You always think you're helping...but you're not! You're just another person I have to worry about, another liability!"

Y/N recoiled as if he'd slapped her, tears now already pooling in her eyes. "Liability?" she repeated, her voice low. "That's what I am to you hm? A liability?"

"Yeah..." he snapped, frustration thick in his tone. "You're reckless, you don't listen, and you have no idea what you're even doing. You think you can just walk into my life, into my fights, and just fix things?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like I don't understand! I've been by your side through everything! I've fought for you, bled for you, and this is what I get? You calling me a liability because I tried to save your ungrateful ass?"

Ekko froze for a moment, his shoulders stiffening. "You don't get it, okay?" he said, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "This isn't just some fight. It's—it's her."

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Y/N froze, her heart sinking. "Her?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Ekko turned away, his broad shoulders slumping as he ran a hand down his face. "Jinx..." he said, the name slipping out like a curse and a prayer all at the same time. "She's not just some random enemy Y/N. She's..." He stuttered.

"She's not who she used to be. And seeing her like that—it messes me up.."

Y/N stepped closer, her tone sharp with pain.

"What does that even mean Ekko? That you still care about her? That you still love her?"

Ekko's eyes widened, his breath hitching. He opened his mouth to respond, but the silence stretched painfully between them.

"That's it, isn't it?" Y/N said, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're still in love with her. That's why you don't want me stepping in. You're not afraid for me...no—you're afraid for her."

"Shut up..." Ekko said, his voice low and strained, his expression crumpling for just a second.

"No.." Y/N snapped, her anger laced with heartbreak. "I'm not going to shut up. You're still in love with her Ekko. Even after everything she's done, after what she did to the firelights?!"

"It's not that simple." his voice broke slightly. "You don't know what it's like Y/N." His voice dropped, trembling now. " I still want to save her."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, her tears coming harder now, her vision blurring. "And what about me huh?" she asked, her voice quieter.

"What am I to you Ekko? Just someone to fill the void until she decides to randomly come back?"

He flinched at her words, guilt flashing across his face. "What—That's not what this is.." he said, his voice soft and desperate. "I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what?" she interrupted, her voice cracking. "Didn't mean it like that? Because you did, Ekko....You know you did."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was true.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, but she backed away, shaking her head.

"I've given you everything." she whispered, her voice trembling. "And it's still not enough...It's never going to be enough, is it?"

Ekko's his voice softened. "Please, don't say that."

Y/N wiped at her eyes, her chest tight with the weight of his words. "I'm sorry Ekko. I tried. I really did try... but I just can't do this anymore."

She turned away, her body trembling as she made her way to the door.

Ekko's voice stopped her before she could leave.

"Y/N please!" he said softly. "I...I'm so sorry."

Y/N didn't look back. Her hand reached for the door handle, and stepping outside.

The door clicked shut, and Ekko was left standing there, staring at the place where she had stood just seconds ago. The weight of her absence settled heavily in the room. His fists clenched at his sides, his body still trembling as the reality of their argument hit him.

He let out a shaky breath, his tears threatening to fall once again. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But no matter how much he wanted to fix things, he just couldn't do it, not for jinx, not for Y/N.

She was gone now, they both were.

And he couldn't do anything about it.

More stories will be added on Wattpad soon!!

[the-odd-shu]

Fluffy scenarios for clear skin

Another Lab Illustrator Reader installation!

Masterlist

Previous:

Characters: Jayce, Viktor, Gender Neutral Reader (Reader uses they/them pronouns)

Established: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (POLYCULLLEEE)

Reader to Jayce: Do you ever look at Viktor when he's thinking and want to kiss every inch of his face?

Jayce taking a slow sip from his hot drink: No. I think he would bite me if I tried.

Reader: Maybe. But whenever he pouts, his eyes go all thoughtful and distant, and I can hardly control myself.

Jayce: Please continue to control yourself. I don't want to have to write an accident report because you lost a nose.

Reader sighs again: Would you bite my nose off if I kissed every inch of your face instead?

Jayce no-rizz Talis then proceeds to choke and nearly perish on his drink.

In summary, Reader's partners sometimes give them cuteness aggression.

Just the image of Viktor doing that adorable pouting face, and Reader calmly setting down their pen, getting up, crossing over to Jayce's desk to get rid of their cuteness aggression via kisses on poor Jayce instead.

I kind of like the idea of them doing this instead of crowding Viktor when he's clearly trying to think. Whereas Jayce is just constantly on the look out for touch and validation, so it works out great for him. He melts under the attention, more than happy to put his notes aside for a moment in favour of a rather lovely excuse for a break.

They're quiet about it, but sometimes the movement will pull Viktor out of his musings regardless, and he'll just frown at the pair of them acting like idiots.

And if he insinuates he's feeling a little left out, you bet Reader is going to calmly drag him close and touch temples with him - a deeply personal Zaunite display of affection - which would have a whole new adorable expression appearing on Viktor's face and would send Reader IMMEDIATELY into going back to attack Jayce instead of smothering to poor, overwhelmed man.

In a similar vein of thinking, it would definitely be manadatory for Reader to give into it, just once.

Maybe Jayce is conveniently out of the room, and maybe Viktor is just RIGHT THERE, PLAINLY in sight. And maybe, just this once they SIMPLY CANNOT contain themselves. Viktor is right there and they're not getting any work done because they can't tear their eyes off him.

So they give in, and pepper Viktor's adorable pout with kisses. And the man is just BAFFLED! It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and then he's letting out flustered strings of words in both his mother's tongue and Piltovern Common, and he's shoving them away by their cheeks.

Reader of course isn't deterred, and just ends up grabbing the hand to kiss his knuckles. Viktor glares down at them with a look of resignation and burning red ears.

Jayce comes in like: what did I miss.

Reader: Turns out he doesn't bite.

Viktor: Not yet. Don't tempt me.

Jayce is rewarded with a forehead touch for simply existing that time round - the significance is not lost on him and he feels touched.

Viktor's that choatic boyfriend that hears you complaining about a colleague one too many times, and then proceeds to inconvenience them in the most subtle and irritating way known to man, all whilst giving you a shit-eating little smirk as he sits back and watches the world burn.

"That fucker giving you trouble Darling? No worries, I stole all of his left socks and buried them in the staff room plant pot after hours."

"They said what about Jayce?" A beat of silence.

"Viktor?! Where are you going with that washing up liquid."

"Nowhere." Very obviously makes his way to the kitchen.

Said co-worker that was talking shit then begins complaining that every cup of coffee they make tastes like soap!

Someone talks shit about their partners:

Jayce 'can we talk about this' Talis: "here is a thirty page essay as to why you're wrong, and I have a PowerPoint slide prepared with additional evidence if you will please take a seat and allow me to reeducate you."

Viktor who will resort to psychological warfare to get his point across correcting them, whilst also blatantly gaslighting them into believing that Jayce and Reader can do no wrong, and they were in fact crazy for insinuating such cruel things about either of them to begin with.

Reader who stabs first with their artist-grade scalpel, and asks questions when they're incapacitated and bleeding out on their floor: "Say that again, to my face this time. Go on, I dare you."

(There is a reason why Jayce and Viktor ((the pacifists)) do not teach Reader how to use any of the hextech devices. They will commit murder and refuse to regret it whilst Jayce sweats bullets and Viktor stares on, mouth aghast by the sheer brutality of said murder).

"He deserved it," Reader will explain simply.

And Viktor will go, "perhaps, BUT YOU COULD HAVE LEFT HIS HEAD ATTACHED!"

Jayce who's trauma raises its head when his partners are cold. Blankets. Warm drinks. Heating on full blast. That snow storm did a number on him and he HATES the winter because of it.

Are you shivering? Is Viktor? No stress, he shall simply have to BECOME the blanket to keep you both alive and well. It is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Viktor who's upbringing in Zaun sometimes makes him precious with food. Not because he was starving, but because sometimes he couldn't have as much food as he wanted, simply because money was tight growing up.

Maybe he has a sweet treat, and ends up breaking it into threes to share with you and Jayce.

Maybe there's only one tea bag left, so he settles for water, despite having REALLY wanted that cup of warm tea.

Maybe he's waiting for seconds for dinner, but there's only enough left for two more portions, so he says he's not hungry anymore.

Viktor who will sometimes feel the gnaw of hunger but make a hot drink to soothe his stomach instead of actually eating something, because its only so far into the day, and if he doesn't eat now, then he won't be as hungry later-

Safe to say, his partners notice. And Jayce keeps the kitchenette well stocked with drinks and snacks alike, whilst Reader will stop by a bakery or cafe in the morning to bring him a proper breakfast, as well as breakfast for themselves and Jayce so he doesn't feel like he HAS to share.

[ozzgin]

It's Christmas Eve, and you wake up to a baby outside of your home. Your yakuza friends quickly come to your rescue, and thus begins your journey of finding the baby's parents. Daitou ponders his own future family with you. content: female reader, violence, mentions of pregnancy, based on Tokyo Godfathers

[Yandere Yakuza Masterlist] | [More Yandere Works]

You stare at the little basket in disbelief.

On the front steps of your apartment complex, a lone baby is crying and shuffling in the bundle of stale sheets. The event would've been baffling enough by itself; even more incredulous is that someone has decided to drop an infant in the middle of a yakuza quarter, in winter, during a gang war. You glance at the bullet holes left in the entrance wall with pursed lips.

You do the only reasonable thing that comes to mind: call Daitou.

As you settle the baby in your much warmer living room, you hear the door rattle. Daitou barges in, face pale as a sheet. Behind him, Kazuya struggles to catch his breath.

“Why- Why didn’t you tell me,” he shouts, collapsing to his knees.

“What? I literally just did,” you argue, eyeing him in confusion.

Kazuya pats his friend’s shoulder, giving you an awkward smile.

“Just my two cents, (Y/N) love, but perhaps telling him ‘I have a baby’ wasn’t the smartest idea. I didn’t have time to explain the logical fallacies to him.”

Indeed, it was a speedy affair. They were hanging out at the headquarter across the street when Daitou answered your panicked call. He nodded, hung up, then sprang out of his seat, bemoaning that he’s the biggest dumbass on this Earth. How could he have missed the fact he’d gotten you pregnant? When did it happen? Was it a surprise birth? There was no time to consider the logistics – he ran, and ran, indifferent to Kazuya’s desperate pleads to listen.

“Oh my God,” you whine, ruffling his hair. “I found the baby, you idiot. Outside my apartment. It was there, in a basket. I hear it crying this morning and went downstairs to see what’s happening.”

The dark-haired man swings his head back up, having finally connected the dots. The movement is so abrupt, his prosthetic eye plops out and rolls away inconspicuously. You catch it before it reaches the edge of the sofa.

“So, what now?” the blonde man is the first one to break the silence. “Does it have a return address?”

“Nothing,” you confess. “We should figure something out; I don’t have any food or diapers.”

“We could keep it,” Daitou mutters mainly to himself. Maybe it was fate, y’know? Or something like that.

“Yeah? Are you going to breastfeed it, momma?” Kazuya groans, flicking his friend. “A stray cat caring for another stray.”

He’s about to place a cigarette in his mouth, but you slap it away and angrily gesture towards the baby. Ah, yes. Of course. He stuffs it back into his pocket, and continues:

“I say we take the kiddo over to our brothel. Plenty of girls that’ll have a better idea.”

You nod thoughtfully. Kazuya’s mom is one of those girls. How many children came out of this business, you wonder? You wrap the infant back into its sheets, and carefully lift the basket.

The street is suspiciously empty as you make your way to the soapland. Well, it’s Christmas Eve, after all. You recall last year’s Family event, when you met Boss for the first time. Back then you were pouring sake for all the underground elite, now you’re carrying an abandoned baby around. It seems that peaceful holidays aren’t something you can enjoy with the yakuza.

In an immaculately ironic timing to your complaint, a loud, thundering sound flashes past your ears. Before you can turn around, you feel Daitou’s brawny arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you in the air. You let out a quick, involuntary shriek.

“Keep your head down,” he barks, suddenly grim and serious.

Kazuya mutters a curse under his breath, swiftly turning on his heels and shooting at targets out of your sight. You’ve been caught in one of the armed conflicts.

What a day, you think, hands gripped tightly around the basket. The baby is crying, the bullets are pouring. Daitou is holding you with one arm, the other is occasionally returning the shots.

“You get used to it,” you whisper to the infant. “I’m telling you now, there’s no better company than these two.”

It’s probably better to not be involved in the first place, of course, but if you do find yourself caught in gangster business...Kazuya and Daitou are your guarantee to survival.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, your feet touch the ground once more. The matron of the brothel hurries over, fanning herself and tugging at the collar of her kimono.

“My, what a mess. I hope you managed to put a few holes in those rascals,” she says in a husky voice. One can immediately guess she’s a heavy smoker.

She notices your unusual package.

“What’s that?”

“Haven’t you heard? (Y/N) and Daitou are parents,” Kazuya announces with gravity.

The rest of the women gather around, gasping and cheering. You elbow the blonde man, furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“Nonsense. This baby was dropped this morning in front of my building. We thought we’d-”

“Ah!”

One of the women steps forward, inspecting the basket with trembling hands. She narrates the story to you: her friend – the mother – was involved with one of the rival Family members. She’d planned on running away with her partner, you see, but escaping the biggest yakuza branch with a baby in the backseat wasn’t an easy task. She begged to drop the newborn in her friend’s care before her departure. They’d decided on a locker by the train station to perform the unusual exchange.

“I waited for hours, but she never arrived,” the woman concludes. “My God, I thought the poor kid froze to death in one of the postal boxes. She must’ve gone for the nearest convenient hideout!”

You hand her the bundle, and she scurries towards the neighbouring room to do a proper health check. Daitou follows her movements in silence.

“Don’t tell me you wanted to keep it,” you joke.

Kazuya jumps in with a smirk:

“Are you kidding me? He probably planned a whole family trip on the way here.”

The yakuza coughs dryly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“D-don’t be ridiculous, man. If we’re done here, I’ll be taking miss (Y/N) home.”

The idea of starting a family with you has crossed his mind, certainly. On the other hand, Daitou isn’t in a rush by any means. He’s rather enjoying the current arrangement, and he loves having you as the most important thing in his life.

“Oh, will you be staying over?” you turn towards your boyfriend. “I haven’t finished wrapping your presents.”

He twirls the glass eye nervously. If you ask him, he’s already gotten the deal of a lifetime. You.

[crimsonrubie]

Goofy Socks

So I was walking in a store and stumbled upon the most goofiest looking socks and had to get them no matter what.

And naturally, I had to write a small skit on this.

Pairing: Husband!Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Some swearing but nothing extreme, its Bakugou, and of course lots of fluff!

"What the hell are you wearing?" Katsuki asks with the most disgusted expression and you purse your lips to stop an obnoxious snort from escaping.

"Socks?"

"Take them off." You gasp dramatically and bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around your socks clad feet, just in case he gets any ideas to take them off himself.

"What why?! They're cute!"

"They're weird as hell! Where did you even get those?! The black market?!" His concern about the socks was setting you off and you couldn't hold in your laugh anymore and burst out in laughter, wheezes escaping you as your not-so-amused husband watches on with grit teeth and crossed arms.

"Oh come onn they aren't that bad! I was getting some groceries when I saw them and I couldn't resist!!"

"They're hideous. And you have the real damn thing right here." His furrowed eyebrows and cute pout made you realise that he was probably, maybe, definitely jealous.

"Aww is my Katsu jealous that I might love his socks' persona more than him?" You coo at him and yelp when he suddenly tackles you on the couch, a breathless laugh escaping you as he pins you down and grumbles.

"Fine you don't want to take it off? I'll just have to keep your attention on me rather than those cursed socks."

You giggle in amusement and kiss him sweetly on the lips. "You always have my attention 'Suki, no socks with your face can ever compete."

"Tch, damn right. Now come 'ere" You hum as he leans down and kisses you deeply than the last one and you smile into the kiss, knowing he will always have your full attention.

[roonotrue]

Twisted Wonderland - He Hears You Singing (About Him)

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Heartslabyul Edition, Savanaclaw Edition

Prompt: While relaxing, and doing chores around the Ramshackle dorm for your weekend restoration of the barely standing building, your thoughts drift to love songs from your old world. You think of songs that remind you of your closest fellow NRC student and significant other, and end up singing one while you work.

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and they are referred to as 'MC/Prefect' in this one. And let's all just agree that MC is a great singer- cuz some of these songs have mad vocals that I would never dream of trying to sing myself with my incredibly average voice, and I imagine a lot of you are the same.

Included Characters: Octavinelle Edition!

Warnings: None.

Request Rules & Information Here

~~~

Azul Ashengrotto - "Adore You" by Harry Styles

- Why did he stop by Ramshackle? He can't remember. It was something about taste testing the new spring menu, maybe? He's not sure it matters anymore, given how enamored he is with the sound of your voice right now.

- Is frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, he hadn't even realized it was you singing (he thought it was from your phone or something on a radio) until he turned the corner and saw you.

- When you see him, he turns all kind of shades of scarlet, embarrassed at being caught staring, but he quickly composes himself.

- Immediate compliments followed quickly by an offer to sing at the Mostro Lounge sometime- you'd be paid generously of course-

- On the outside he's acting cool, but the song in question really did fluster him quite a bit, and thoughts of you singing it again just for him keep intruding in his mind, and if you look closely you can see his ears remain a pretty shade of pink the whole conversation after.

- Does truly think you would look stunning dressed up in lavish clothes, preforming on the stage of the Mostro Lounge, are you sure you don't want to? He'll throw in a free meal plus pay!

"My, my, MC, that was a lovely performance. You should put those wonderful vocals to use, I'm sure everyone would be in awe of you at the Lounge. Some may even show up just to see you- I certainly would."

~~~

Jade Leech - "Dive" by Olivia Dean

- He's honestly quiet pleasantly surprised when he enters Ramshackle (without knocking of course) and hears your wonderful singing voice.

- A soft (dare I say genuine?) smile makes it's way to his face as he approaches the living area where you're cleaning, and stands patiently in the doorway for you to finish the song- one he's never heard before but it flows rather smoothly, much like the jazz played at the lounge.

- He finds the lyrics rather intriguing too, now what would inspire you to sing such a romantic song? A crush perhaps? The idea of you having enough of a crush on someone to sing such a song about them makes him... Well, he'll just focus on what he has right in front of him for now, and save those pesky feelings for later self-analysis.

- When you catch him he is completely shameless in his staring, as a matter of fact, his smile grows, before he gives a curious tilt of his head and motions with his hand for you to continue.

- What? Your voice was beautiful, of course he wants to hear it more. What's he doing here? Oh, well, he's come to ask if you'd like to be the first to taste test the Mostro Lounges new spring menu.

- Sure he didn't knock, but it's honestly your fault for not locking the front door- oh, the locks are broken? That can't possibly be safe. Perhaps you should stay at Octavinelle until they are fixed, that way he can hear your voice much more often.

- As a matter of fact, instead of 100 thaumarks a night for a room, he's sure he can arrange for you to sing at the Lounge every night for payment instead.

"Oh, please don't mind me, continue. Your voice is quite delightful, you should consider singing at the Lounge- though, I'm not sure I want anyone else to hear you but me..."

~~~

Floyd Leech - "Risk" by Gracie Abrams

- oHohOHo, you're never gonna live this down PT. 3

- The moment he barges into Ramshackle in a poor mood, looking for his favorite Shrimpy to cheer him up, he freezes at the sound of you're voice.

- But not for long.

- One second, you're alone, singing as you do some chores, and the next second you're being spun around in Floyd Leech's arms as he laughs cheerfully.

- He loves your voice. Keep singing! He wants to dance with you while you do! Forget those boring chores! He's here now, so you can both have fun! You're so adorable he could squeeze you till you pop!

- You should come by the lounge sometimes and sing to him to make his shifts less boring. He's sure Azul wouldn't mind- and if he does, then you two can just leave and have your own party elsewhere!

- He will, without a doubt, demand that you sing to and for him at the most random of times, hell, he might even barge into the middle of your class in a foul mood and demand a serenade from his Shrimpy.

- If you truly won't sing to him, his mood may worsen and you won't see him for awhile while he sorts himself out, whereas if you do sing for him, he will immediately start to feel better.

- The best moment he could ask for to fix his mood, is laying beside you his head in your lap, while you sing. It helps him decompress, and feel so much better from whatever was overwhelming him or souring his mood.

"Shrimpy~! Nice set of pipes! Well, don't stop singing, let's dance together! I knew you'd be doin' something fun, you always cheer me right up!"

~~~

Can you guys tell that Octavinelle is one of my favorite dorms? Particularly the twins? Especially Floyd, his unpredictability with his mood swings are very relatable as someone with severe untreated ADHD and bipolar tendencies. I just think he's neat guys. And fun to write. Anyway! Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you next post! ~ Roo

[girderednerve]

this post is old but i saw it going around again & it's driving me nuts. this is an extremely bad historical summary? parts of it are outright wrong & the framing is nonsensical, multiple people have chimed in to add "more" information but no one seems to have taken issue with the content of the original post. anyway it's somewhat strange to say that the church 'began forbidding' christians from participating in moneylending (pawnshops are also moneylenders; banking didn't really exist in europe until the latter middle ages), because the text of the bible itself treats loans as a form of charity which should not bear interest between community members. there are a bunch of patristic commentaries to this effect, but there are also a bunch of rabbinic commentaries to this effect! because it was a moral rule for both groups of people, and indeed for muslims! however, to lend money at any sort of scale, you need to charge interest to cover for the risk that you won't be paid back, so there's friction between practical exigency & ethical doctrine. it turns out that there was a centuries-long moral crisis about the expansion of a market economy & the development of finance, which cannot be usefully boiled down to the idea that money was 'unclean' (extremely vague term; also, if the church simply thought that, why were there so many lavish churches & well-heeled priests?). it is broadly true that medieval european jews were excluded, often violently, from fully participating in christian society & that several engaged in moneylending, using the out-group loophole to lend at interest to gentiles. however, a bunch of christians just lent money anyway; actually, most moneylenders in medieval christendom were christians, and most jews did other work. the idea that jews were substantially engaged in early finance was first an antisemitic myth, propagated by christians who were trying to resolve the moral & practical conflict of moneylending by displacing it; then it was a philosemitic myth, recuperated by late nineteenth century scholars who saw in jewish moneylenders evidence of a unique jewish contribution to the development of europe. but it never reflected the daily lives of most medieval jews & we can do better than this, guys, come on

[alatismeni-theitsa]

It belongs there for sure! I'm the last person to expect a foreigner to know about the Odyssey. But it's surely weird how many people have never heard of what The Odyssey is when their nations (like the UK and the US) have made it their mission to cosplay as "the rightful heirs of ancient Greek civilization". The people who wonder about it are certainly not pretentious. The Odyssey is close to the Bible in popularity in the West.

We didn't read a single Shakespeare play in Greek school either but I still know he's not a USAmerican writer. And I believe the majority or Greeks know this as well. Sure there are a few Greeks who may have no idea of Shakespeare's ethnicity. In cases such as these it would be great to admit "hey I didn't pay enough attention to cultural events all these years" and google that shit before writing something profoundly stupid online.

I think it's fine for people to wonder "how did you not know what the Odyssey is" because that means you didn't pay attention to cartoons, children's books, movies, plays, reenactments, retellings, ancient Greek museum exhibitions, documentary about Greek antiquity, bookstore sales on Greek mythology books etc etc.

The media on this Epic is so many that people rightfully wonder why someone hasn't heard of it. I'm not saying it's a crime not to have heard of it but let's not pretend this ignorance is the norm.

And before you come at me, the first two times I, a Greek in Greece, saw anything Odyssey-related was via a USAmerican movie and a French cartoon. We're talking about media with a wide reach on this side of the world, which are difficult to miss.

So before being so proud as to declare "I don't know what that shit is / don't expect everyone to know about it" take a minute and google it 🤷‍♀️ And don't hit me with the shit "they didn't teach us that in school". School is over, kiddo, and it's your sole responsibility to learn useful information about things your country considers important.

(edit: In case this isn't obvious, I'm mostly speaking about western countries here. It wouldn't be as a shocker if someone from - for example - Myanmar, went "Hey what's this Odyssey about?" People understand that the distance and history of one's nation play a role in what books they're exposed to)

I’m living for The Odyssey discourse on Twitter right now because some people are like, “You’ve never heard of the odyssey” and other people are like, “some people don’t speak English and haven’t read your little American book.”