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visionsofmagic · 8 months

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day 3: fushiguro toji [size difference]

࿓ synopsis • you bet you can have toji raw & dry with only one go.

―❦ nsfw, pet names, a bit of daddy kink, rough!toji, humiliation, bet, brat!reader, roughness, raw, dry, big!toji & small!reader, f!reader, riding, swearing, inner speech [‘is all I believe] • 1.3k • I have never wrote for him but I hope it feels canon. also, I literally have a thing for menace characters. ehe. anyway, enjoy! [kinktober m.]

a deep chuckle comes under you, sending chills down your spine, making you want to hide your face from the owner of the sound ‘cause you can feel how he is teasing you, finding it entertaining how you try to sit on his thick cock even though the intense sensation coming from your tight pussy flows through your body, making you breathless because it’s too much.

“toji –“ you say between your breaths, looking up to his face only to find him looking right back at you – well, he sees the most pathetic version of you but wasn’t this what you wanted? his expression says; wasn’t this what you begged for? silly girl, he said the moment you tried to say you can handle it – handle to take him dry, without any preparation. thinking she can handle it? cute.

of course, you wouldn’t stay back, not after hearing all the stories about how it felt like euphoria and hell at the same time to have it dry, raw, in one go. you who believe you want it to be harder, rougher, deeper each time you have sex with toji directly went to him, saying how you want to try riding him but without foreplay.

he laughed at you – in a such teasing way that your anger rose up, causing you to play the card he could never refuse; bet.

he agreed after a quiet time, but not because of the bet – the challenge, but for the chance to see you eat your own words and witness your struggle on his cock, and he was right, as always.

“what is it princess?” he mocks, teases – a bit of mischievousness inside his sparkling eyes looking up at your face full of tears – his cock isn’t inside you! “is it too much?” he enjoys this more than you do, apparently, because he is just lying on the bed, hands on the back of his head, staying behind him, and a smirk that screams how he has no desire to hide his enjoyment stays on his attractive face.

“fuck y –!”

“tch tch tch,” he shakes his hand to left and right, showing his amusement, “how nasty,” he looks at you with a new expression and you know that one very well – he is one step behind forgetting about the bet and fuck you the way he wants – not with the one you begged for. “but you disrespect me one more time and I will shove my cock right into that fucking tight pussy in one go.”

his treats only make you get wetter. you find yourself wanting him to do that – without leaving it to you, he should be the one who enters into you in one go ‘cause clearly, you can’t do it; it just doesn’t fit!

keeping your mouth shut, you place your left hand on his exposed biceps, the hotness flows from there to your palms as your other hand travels to your slit with the intention of fingering yourself a little bit so that he would fit – you can’t stay any longer. you need him inside you, right now.

however, toji gets what you’re doing. his bigger hand finds yours, caging it with his after pulling it to himself, making you fall into his chest, nose to nose – eyes to eyes. danger radiates from him as he speaks, “you wanted this slut, so, bear it,” his other hand positions on your waist, pushing you down; his cock’s tip enters into you, earning a low moan from you. “lower yourself down princess.”

he uses cute pet names but the eyes don’t lie – his eyes tell you that you should lower down or else the consequences will be really bad, so, you do what he tells you, lowering your body down inch by inch, realizing how it was a bad idea since you two have different proportions in terms of size – how dumb you were to think that toji’s, a man of twice the size of you, will go in that easily.

“fuck - ! agh, toji - daddy! ‘is too much!” you say, looking at the sight of your cunt being ripped off with his cock each passing time as it gets into you deeper and further.

he leaves your hand, touching your face instead and you can feel half of your face disappearing within it, “so the slut finally has a brain that works, huh?” he asks, “didn’t believe when I said it would be too much. a fucking dumbfucked woman who thinks she has the skill of surprising me,”

he leaves your body entirely, leaving you surprised as he puts his arm on his eyes, closing them and saying, “get off of me. need sleep, not a dumb whore.”

you stay like that, not moving, not taking your eyes off, comprehending what’s happening.

his massive body doesn’t move an inch either, however, from the voices you hear, you can say he’s about to sleep – sleep?!, you ask inside your own head, heat rising up that comes from anger and disbelief. who thinks he is to leave you behind like this and go to sleep in the middle of the sex?!

the madness you have never had takes control of your mind and body in that moment after you realize he doesn’t give a fuck about you or the reason why you tried to do this – making him go crazy while you ride him raw and dry.

no logic side on the brain, not anymore, your hips move on their own, “fuck this shit,” you say and add before going further, “I will show you how this dumb whore will make you sweat.”

a scream comes from your parted lips, the burning sensation takes all the breath you have, the mind turns into dizzy, eyes half-closed yet see the man underneath you taking his arm from his eyes – well, half-closed eyes now, and ears hear the words he says, “fuuck –!”

even though your hips ache in pain, pussy is already on fire, and you throw your head back – such pleasure coming from both his situation and his cock that fills you without leaving any space, you moan his name.

it takes you a few moments to adjust it and move but you have no time; you have to provide that no one can fuck him like this.

hips move up and down, eyes now at his face, daring him to look away – to avoid your eyes; he accepts the challenge, hands are put on your ass, squeezing the flesh, breaths mix with each other and the only voices in the whole room are his swears, growls and even moans within your high pitched moans, the lewd sound of thick pussy hitting the pussy, balls following – everything seems so euphoric.

riding him with the help of him lifting you up and down in sync with your movements, you hear your own name on his lips. it’s hurt like hell to let him shove himself into you at the pace he wants to after you cum two times, the muscles begin to hurt, the mind goes blind from time to time, and keeping your words about how you can make him sweat, he finally takes the control; he hugs your smaller frame, rolling over so that you can be under him, he enters your now wider pussy one again but somehow, it’s still tight.

“pretty slut,” he says, hands staying on the sides of your head, his body covers yours, you feel vulnerable when you compare your small body with his yet it gives excitement when he turns your back to him, his chest touching you from behind, and his fingers open your folds apart, cock entering slowly, “did so good for me, now, let big daddy reward you, fuck that pussy ‘till it fits in one go. after all,” he says, pulling his cock only to push it in you with one go – so full, so filled. wasn’t he holding you from the abdomen, you would jolt into the bed. “it’s what my princess wants, right?”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina ! thank u pretty!

#💦 kikntober 2023 first week #kinktober 2023 #day 3 #fushiguro toji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x f!reader #toji x reader #jjk x reader #toji smut #jjk smut #💌 by me #SO EXCITED BECAUSE I WROTE HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME EVEN THOUGH I READ ABOUT HIM SO MUCH #HOPE YOU HAD FUN! THANK YOU FOR READING!

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intoanotherworld23 · 11 months

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Wrapped Around My Throat

Pairing: Reader x Joel Miller

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, THIS ONE SHOT CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT SO YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, use of sex toy, use of vibrator, mild choking, sex, unprotected sex, p in v, swear words, minor fingering

Length: 900+ words

Summary: Joel wants to try some new things in the bedroom with you, and he unlocks the wild animal tearing at the cage

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

Laying on your side with Joel behind you as he was holding your leg in the air. Your arm gripping his thigh hard as you felt him going in and out of you. His arm underneath your head giving it something to rest on.

Feeling every thrust pushing in and pulling up driving up a rhythmic beat. Loving the thickness of his cock stretching out your inner walls. He was guiding you to the edge of pleasure. Feeling him pulsing inside of you both of you pushing each other into a frenzy.

"Oh fuck." You cried out as he slide his cock easily in and out of you.

“You are absolutely soaked.” The sounds of your wetness echoing around the room.

He was breathing heavily into your neck as he continued to pump his cock inside of you. Inhaling your scent of need and desire like it was the worlds sweetest smell. You felt so incredibly full, and you didn't know how you were going to take anymore.

“That feel good baby?”

“Mhm.” Nodding your head unable to find the words to speak.

“Aw did you forget how to speak?” His tone condescending.

The scruff of his beard was scratching against your neck, and he whispered dirty things in your ear. Your head thrown back so he had easy access to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses along the skin. Your eyes closed in pure ecstasy you didn't want this feeling to end.

You could feel the juices from your pussy slopping against your thighs every time he drilled into you. Your ass cheeks slapping against his pelvis with each movement he made. Your pussy making a squishing sound that made you feel flustered.

"Hold on." He mumbled against your ear as he stopped thrusting inside of you to reach into his drawer digging something out.

You whispered for him to continue having been close to your orgasm you didn't want to lose it. Whining when he was taking a little longer than you would have liked.

Looking over quickly to see what he was doing then leaning your head back down. Feeling a cold object touch your wet folds, and then a high vibration buzzing against your clit making you squeal.

"Shit just like that Joel." You moaned out your pussy clenching around his cock.

Joel has always talked about using a toy on your during sex. He just never expressed when he wanted to do that. Now here he was deep inside of you while rubbing a vibrator against you.

“I can feel you squeezing my cock baby.”

Lifting his leg up even higher so he could get in a deeper angle. His cock slamming into your sweet spot making you see stars. Sweat was forming around your back and forehead. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours making your cheeks heat up.

Both your bodies rocking back and forth clashing into each other. The bed was shaking underneath you hearing then creak from the bed springs. If he kept going like this you were worried he was going to break the bed.

“God you drive me so fucking crazy.” Growling in your ear as he nipped at it.

He moved the toy around your clit harder and harder. That fire was forming in the pit of your stomach and you knew you weren't going to last much longer. Your legs were shaking feeling yourself getting closer to release.

“Stretching this tight cunt out.”

“Joel.” Whining pathetically with your mouth wide open.

“I know baby I know I’m gonna get you there.”

Not even knowing what to do with your hands either having them on his body, or in your hair. At one point while his one hand was moving the toy against you, his arm that was underneath you moved slightly. His hand reaching up to grab you around your neck lightly choking you.

A smile appearing on your face making him rut into you even harder. He loved seeing you like this and what a desperate wild animal you were becoming. He’s never wrapped a hand around your throat, but he was just living in the moment.

Applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to your throat so you could still breathe. It was overstimulating but absolute fucking bliss. Joel could see it written across your face, and he wanted to keep that image in his head.

“Fuck you look so good like this sweetheart.”

Both your bodies were rocking back and forth together in unison. The smell of sex and sweat was filling your nostrils. Moans and groans echoing across the room. Joel was straining himself waiting for you to reach that sweet release.

"Oh god I'm gonna cum Joel." You whined pushing your head back.

“That’s a good girl for me.”

Joel groaning as he felt your pussy squeezing his cock. Your hips began to move in the rhythm of his cock. Still continuing to use the toy against you egging you on. Stopping for a quick minute, before his wrists would start snapping the toy against your clit and folds.

Your breathing was becoming heavier by the minute. His hand using the toy kept the tip of it against your clit pressing down harder so your back was arching against Joel. He was always one to tease you, and bring you to tears when it came to sex.

"Cum all over my cock baby."

That was all it took before you felt your toes curling in the air, and you pussy squeezing him so tightly as you came around him. The pit of your stomach coiling as a wave of warmth rushed over your body.

“Oh fuck I’m there sweetheart.” He warned you through his teeth.

Feeling your body drop dead slumped against him as he pumped into you a couple more times. Groaning loudly as his cock twitched inside of you before squirting his warm load into you. The both of you out of breath after your kinky lovemaking.

Leaning his head forward so his forehead was pressed up against your shoulder. Giving you little tender kisses his hand running circles on your thighs in a soothing way. Feeling your eyes becoming heavier as you strained to keep them open.

There was no way your body was going to be able to move. Your legs felt like cooked noodles, and your hands were lightly trembling. It was an intense feeling almost like a rush of excitement or adrenaline.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you.” His soft hands touching your neck.

“No it actually felt really good.” Confessing as you looked away feeling slightly embarrassed for liking it so much.

“Good cause we are definitely doing that again.”

His hand reaching down between your legs to your raw cunt. Gasping as he gently pushed a thick finger inside of you. Your inner walls spreading open around it as you selfishly lifted your hips it. Feeling like you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle anymore, but Joel knew you could.

Joel grinning as he watched the expression on your face. Knowing that he had you exactly where he wanted you. He wasn’t exactly done with you yet, and had more in store for you.

“Get ready for a long night sweetheart.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #Pedro pascal imagines #Joel Miller imagines #Pedro pascal x reader #Joel Miller x reader #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal fic #Joel Miller fic #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us imagines

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loki-cees-all · 6 months

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Hello and hi, my lovely!

I have this scenario for you that I sometimes think about.

How would Loki react if you (the mortal he might have feelings for but he’s not quite certain yet) were the only one to acknowledge his birthday? Maybe you put up a few balloons and even buy him a little cupcake with a candle on it? How would he react?

Happiest of birthdays to you! You’re a joy to know!! I love you!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Cupcake For a God {Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader

Summary : Loki’s birthday is approaching, and it forces himself to reconcile who he wants to be versus who he actually is, and to reflect on his almost certainly unrequited feelings for you.

But what if the feelings weren’t unrequited?

W/c : 1.9k words

Content/Warnings : Angst, a bit of fluff

Author's Note : I swear I tried so hard to make this not so angsty! Please forgive me, Saz! 😭😭😭

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

There were a lot of things for Loki to dislike about living on Midgard.

For starters, he was being forced to live there, inside Stark Tower with the other Avengers as penance for his crimes. It was only fitting, they’d told him, that he should assist in their efforts to keep the mortals safe because he was the reason they needed protecting in the first place.

Loki didn’t bother telling them what Thanos had done to him after he fell from the Bifrost; truthfully, he still didn’t quite understand it himself. That entire year was a blur to him - a painful concoction of lies and manipulations and tears and blood that left him unable to tell the difference between fact and fiction, even almost two years after the torture had began.

He didn’t want anyone to know how weak he was, about how much he’d lost himself. If they knew how vulnerable he was, they might decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and send him to the dungeons of Asgard instead.

Another thing he disliked was the forced pleasantries and unnecessary rituals humans had developed with each other, and by extension, him. The humans would smile as they past him by on the street, but it was a falsity every time; the sentiment never reached their eyes, and Loki could smell their fear from several blocks away.

Loki knew they didn’t actually care how his day was going, that their concern only went as far as making sure he wasn’t on the verge of invading with another alien force under his command. He wasn’t, but honestly, if it meant everyone kept their distance, then he wasn’t going to argue with it.

It wasn’t fair to say that Loki preferred being alone, but he was certainly used to it, and that was in direct contradiction of the forced socialization he had to endure on Midgard - press conferences, team building exercises (which Loki believed was just an excuse to consume copious amounts of food and drink), training sessions, something called “movie nights”, and missions across the world to dismantle S.H.I.E.L.D.’s various bunkers and bases.

It was so much talking, and even more listening. So much lying and pretending that everything was fine, that Loki didn’t feel like a caged monster, and that everyone else wasn’t waiting for the littlest thing to completely set him off.

But Loki was trying as hard as he could to ignore the dull ache that haunted his dreams and every waking moment. He knew he had hurt people, he knew he needed to make up for his grievous transgressions, but he didn’t know how else to make up for it all. So he pressed on, through the discomfort and awkwardness, in the hope that one day everything might become a little easier.

The one bright side to all of this, the one shimmering ray of light amidst the sea of gray, was you. Loki didn’t quite know what to make of his attraction to you - was it real, or was it just your absence of fear in his presence? Had it just been too long since he’d felt the touch of another, or were you actually everything he’d ever wanted?

Loki almost didn’t want to find out, in case it wasn’t real. Because your smile reached your eyes every time you looked at him, and your laughter was like sparks blowing across the embers of a dying fire…but he couldn’t shake the fear that it could just be another trick.

Perhaps his mind still hadn’t fully recovered from Thanos’ torture. Maybe Thor had put you up to this, as a way of making assimilation easier for him.

Because why else would you look at him like that? Why would you go out of your way to sit next to him during the team’s movie nights? Why else would you lean towards him on the couch and fall asleep against the shoulder of a villain, of a monster, of a fool?

It was stupid, and pointless, and illogical, and just like him to irrationally want something he couldn’t ever have. He was a God, and you were a mortal, and it would ultimately end in heartache either way. So while he had the chance, Loki forced himself to remain content and to just linger in the question of what if you could want him too.

The final thing about Midgard, and the one he despised the most, was the mortal obsession with birthdays. Loki was grateful the Asgardians never paid any attention to such silly and exhausting traditions - which was surprising, considering how much Asgardians loved frivolity.

So he really shouldn’t have been shocked when Thor discovered, and subsequently fell in love with, the concept of birthdays. His brother immediately requested his mortal companion Jane to perform the necessary calculations to determine the Midgardian equivalent of Thor’s birthdate - and Loki’s as well, which his brother gleefully announced to the entire team and embarrassed him to the deepest pits of his soul.

A massive celebration was planned for Thor, with enough food and drink to sustain a small country, and on the special night, flashing lights and loud music bathed the massive common room of Stark Tower in merriment and laughter. Everyone was invited, and it would have been rude for Loki to not make an appearance - but it wasn’t because he wanted to admire you in your party dress, although that was a very lovely bonus.

But as gorgeous as you looked - the longer the party went on, the sadder Loki became. Everyone was talking, smiling, and dancing, congratulating Thor on his many accomplishments and swapping happy stories of all the good times they’d had together. It was painful to witness, to know for a fact that no such party would be happening for himself when his birthday rolled around.

Loki tried telling himself that he didn’t want it, and that he’d be miserable during it. He tried convincing himself that it would be too loud, and too bawdy, and vain, and that he didn’t need other people’s reassurances that they were happy he was there with them. He told himself he didn’t need it at all, that he was completely fine without it. But it was a lie, so of course it didn’t work.

As the days approached to Loki’s birthday, he became even more withdrawn than usual. With the exceptions of necessary missions or training, he stopped leaving his room. He was silent during travel on the Quinjet, and refused your invitations to further movie nights, even though the disappointment on your face ripped him apart in ways he’d never experienced before.

He felt like he deserved to suffer, to collapse in on himself like a dying star because he knew he’d never be worthy of the love and attention his older brother seemed to collect so effortlessly. It wasn’t Thor’s fault; it was just Loki’s lot in life. And the further he receded, the more likely his heartache would be justified, and he couldn’t be surprised if he was already disappointed.

The evening of his birthday was the worst night he’d experienced in a long time, not since the day he let go of the Bifrost. Loki didn’t even come out of his room for dinner that night, choosing instead to feast on pain, and anguish, and regret, and all the feelings he hadn’t ever had the time to process over his thousand years of existence.

Thor tried several times to lure him out of his room, to no avail. Loki wouldn’t leave - no, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t bring himself to witness the fact that they’d done nothing special for him, even though he’d be furiously uncomfortable if they did.

As the hours passed, he tried to distract himself with sleep, and then reading, but neither did the trick. Eventually, he curled up on the window seat of his private quarters, wrapped himself in furs and pressed his forehead against the glass, watching the tiny little mortals going about their nights in blissful ignorance of the god suffering fifty floors above them.

And Loki was so lost that he could barely respond to the cautious knock on his door, the one that threatened to pull him away from his misery. But his heart leapt in his throat when he heard your voice calling his name, and he wanted so much to let you in, to feel you next to him.

But the urge to say something cruel, to push you away and continue on alone, was just as strong. Loki didn’t know which to concede to, even as his feet slowly carried him to the door. He didn’t know what he was going to say, even while his fingers raked through his messy curls and rubbed the pain from his eyes.

He felt ridiculous as he hesitated to open the door; he was a God, and once the most fearsome villain this entire planet had ever seen - but here he was, nervous and split open and too raw to simply open a door and look upon a beautiful woman while he was hiding away from his birthday.

There was a soft rustling sound on the other side of the door, and Loki’s forehead rested against the wood as he heard your footsteps quietly retreating down the hallway. He’d waited too long, paralyzed by his self-indulgent indecision, and it had pushed you away.

He thought about yanking the door open and calling after you. He considered begging for you to come back. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around you and to pull you closer, but all he could manage was to gently pull the door open after he was sure you were gone.

On the floor of the hallway, waiting patiently and comfortably for him, was a beautifully-decorated cupcake and a note resting on a small paper plate. A single candle rose out of the emerald and sapphire swirls of frosting, and the pink paper was folded in half, with his name written in the loveliest cursive on the outside.

Loki fought back tears as he retrieved the gift from the floor, and he cautiously balanced the plate in one hand while holding the note in the other.

Hey Loki,

I know birthdays are hard; they’re hard for me too. But hopefully this treat makes you smile, even just for a second.

I’ll be awake for a little while longer - stop by my room if you need to talk. I promise I won’t find it weird :)

XOXO

P.S. I’m really glad you’re here, even if you’re not ready to accept that yet.

He swallowed hard as he stared at the most generous gift he’d ever received. He didn’t know if you even fully understood what you’d just done for him. He fervently wanted to go after you, and he desperately wanted to continue hiding.

But you’d extended an invitation, one he could feasibly take you up on. No one would argue it wasn’t in his right to do so. And Gods above, he wanted to, more than anything else he’d ever wanted. But would it be worth it, or would it just make everything worse?

Loki tore his damp and heavy eyes away from the note and glanced up and down the hallway. He shut his door, just as quietly as he’d opened it, wondering if it would be a mistake to allow his heart guide him to where he’d rather be.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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enviedear · 6 months

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nsfw billy headcannons (begging with tears in my eyes) 🤲🏽

billy bonney nsfw alphabet

how about an entire alphabet's worth? tbfh i just needed an excuse to do one of these for billy, plus i had a few billy smut hc requests!

request

a = aftercare

billy is sweetheart after. he cleans you up, is nice enough to don his clothes and run outside to the well to bring you clean water to wash off with. he'll be so gentle with the rag along your body, leaving little kisses in its wake. he holds you close afterward, mumbling sleepy sweet nothings into your neck. he's clingy after he fucks you proper, wants to keep you hitched to him. he feels safest and most as ease in this setting, and he tries his hardest to show you just how much it means to him.

"m'pretty girl, you're so perfect."

b = body part

he loves his hands. he's good with them and they don't look half-bad. in honest, he really didn't have a favorite until how long your eyes would linger on them. after that, he's constantly showing them off for you. fiddling his thumbs in your peripheral until you give him your undivided attention or running them along your shoulders until you're whining for him.

"what're you starin' at, honey?" he'd ask, wise grin plastered onto his face. you'd advert your eyes from his, "hush, outlaw."

his favorite innocent body part of yours is your eyes. he'll often compliment them, swear that they're like the stars above. to him, they are. you always look at him with geninue love and he feels undeserving. now, his favorite indecent part of would have to be your breasts. there i said it. he's a boob man. he wouldn't care about what they looked like or the size— he just wants to touch and watch them bounce when you ride him. he's obsessive, always reaching for them when the two of you are alone. and every time he takes you out to ride, his hands will work their way up to your bust.

"hold the reins, sweetheart." billy requests, voice rolling and deep. you furrow your brows, taking the reins, "why? what are—" you don't have to finish your question, feeling the gunslingers' rough hands against the soft flesh of your bosom, "jus' want to hold 'em, honey."

c = cum

billy likes to finish on your stomach. wants to watch just how much he can leak onto you, how well he can paint you with it. i think he gets his fix by seeing how much you can make him cum. you'll look up at him, blissed out and in a hazy afterglow, watching his face contort into pleasure as he releases, spewing his large load onto your tummy.

"see how much you get out o'me? m'good girl."

d = dirty secret

his dirtiest secret is how pitiful he is for you. if anyone knew how much he depends on you, his sweetest comfort, they'd surely use it against him. billy truly wants nothing more than you and a home, living out your days in bliss. he's whiney for you, touchy when you aren't getting the message quick enough. when he finally gets you to bed, arms caging your frame, he's whimpering and praising you for everything under the sun.

the outlaw pushes into you slowly, letting out a treble gasp, "fuck, feels s'fuckin' good sweetheart." you let out a breath, mouth slacking at the sight above you. he buries himself inside of you, whipering as you clench around him in an attempt to adjust. he lets out a longdraw curse, "wanna be inside ya' forever," a shakey breath, "i'll do anything for ya. anything."

e = experience

he's not doing too bad! before you, he had a few nice ladies, but he doesn't know everything or what to say all the time. it gives you the opportunity to be plenty of his firsts, though. he'll mostly take the lead in bed but if you ever try or say something new, he's flushing and flustered.

"you like when i do that?" you ask, staring down at billy, his eyes shut and ghost of a smile on his lips, "hm? let m'hear you, daddy." his brows furros, lips gaping, "sweetheart..." you grin, know you've got him right where you want him, "c'mon, gimme more." you watch his eyes roll back before he lets go, singing your praise and moaning into your ear.

f = favorite position

would you hate if i said cowgirl. he loves watching you on top of him, craves it. getting to see you come undone above him elicits something wild within him. he also loves the lotus, loves the way you grab his shoulder and press your forehead into his. he can't get enough of you and he feels so close to you when you're like that.

g = goofy

billy doesn't mind cracking a saccharine smile during the deed. he likes showing you that you're safe, that this whole exchange is safe. he never wants you to be scared of him. he's too amazed you're not already to ever jeopardize it. he won't be cracking any jokes while you're at it, but he doesn't mind being sweet for you.

h = hair

this is the wild west baby, lover boy's got some hair. he'll try to clean up whenever he can, but it's such a long hassle he usually opts not to. i don't think he'd necessarily be completely wild, but certainly has hair down there.

i = intimacy

so romantic. he just wants you to feel hoe much he loves you, how much you work him, how much he needs you. if he can't get the words out, he'll just show you. he's apt to kiss you everywhere he can, twice over. he'll mummer adorations on your flesh, basking in the entirety of you.

j = jack off

before you, i don't think he got to as much as he wanted. he's been on the run, hungry, and tired, the last thing on his mind is fucking his hand. and then after you, he doesn't really have a need to. if he wants pleasure he'd rather seek you out and wait until you want him.

"need something, billy?" you ask, smiling knowingly the tall man. he sighs, mirroring your own smile, "you, if you'll have me."

k = kink

he loves marking you up with lovebites. can't get enough of it really. he loves seeing the bruises on your pretty skin, a rebellious display of indecency. they're always given with the best intention though, his way of showing you and the world how good you make him feel.

also exhibitionism. not so much because he likes the thrill of getting caught, but because he's wild and isn't above having you outside. a stretch of meadow? he'll lay you down on the earth like you're the most precious thing in the world.

l = location

as he's a man on the run, a warm bed. nothing beats it. sometimes, he'll go for the great expanse of land that is the west, but usually, he wants you in a bed.

m = motivation

anything you do turns him on and keeps him going. he's sincerely obsessed with you. but your touch, with sinful intent or not, makes his brain go to mush. he loves it if you card your fingers through his hair, rub his back, or interlock your fingers with his. you're so beautiful to him, he always gets flustered by your touch. end result being the both of you high of eachother and sweaty.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

hurting you. he can't do it. he doesn't mind things like spanking or orgasm denial, because he never takes it far enough to harm you. his spanks are firm but light, his goal is to build your anticipation and not leave you bawling on his lap. he wants you to feel good, wants to be the reason you feel good, and hurting you like that doesn't give him that pleasure. he's a sweet lover, he'll be rough when it's fitting but never cruel.

o = oral

billy eats you out like a man starved. he's fully in it for you, but the way you sound due to none other than his mouth? that alone has him thrusting into the bed, roused purely by your own delight. he loves it when you want to reciprocate, he'll never turn it down. he loves the way you look with a mouth full of him.

"you taste s'good, sweetheart. want you to cum for me, let m'taste it."

p = pace

billy is mostly slow and rough. he'll fuck into you with deep and meaningful thrusts. he likes drawing out both your pleasures and tries to hold out until you're begging and pleading for him to let you cum. he also always tries to finish after you, he knows it draws out your orgasm and he finds nothing better than for you to feel good for as long as possible.

q = quickie

billy will take whatever you give him. if you want a quickie he'll give you one. i see this being the start of a great many of the times he takes you outside. walking along the road back to your home together and studying his pretty face, you can't help but reach out to him with a mischievous smirk on your face. billy will oblige you, taking you up against some poor ranchers' barn, whispering for you to stay quiet.

"hush, baby. don't want anyone to hear." billy whispers, faint smirk on his lips.

r = risk

being his girl is kind of the riskest part of being with him, but he's game for some risky activities. i could see him handing you his gun laid beside your sweaty bodies, forcing your hand to center the barrel at his temple. you'd be at a loss at first, even more so when he asks you to pull the trigger.

"what?" you gasp, hand going limp. billy doesn't stop his thrusts, "pull the trigger, sweetheart. if i'm to die it'll only be at your hands." you stay silent, stunned by his actions. he straightens your hold, "s'not loaded, honey," he smiles when you huff, bringing his hand down to your bulb, massaging gently, "but i meant what i said. you've got my life in your hands."

s = stamina

billy can definetly go for a while. he'll need quick between rounds, but you'd have to be doing a lot to wear him out. it doesn't help that he has a constant need for you. he'll try to get you to cum in so many different ways before he ever slips in, spending hours on you in complete devotion.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

did they have easily accessible sex toys in the wild west ??? idk but either way i don't think so. i do see him being very confident (rightfully so) in his own abilities. (not that he'd be against them completely)

u = unfair

billy is always a little bit unfair because he loves to tease. he really doesn't think there's anything better than the way you look deep in the thralls of ecstasy. he'll work you up when he knows the both of you can't act on it, just because he knows it'll have you a complete mess later.

v = volume

billy is pretty vocal, he's not giving you ear-splitting moans, but he is giving you wanton whimpers and needy groans. he's a rambler mostly, prattling nonsense while he slips in and out of you. he talks you through the entire act too (looking at you, anon who sent that into my inbox ur so right) he'll be so quick to tell you you're doing a good job. he also growls when he finishes, teeth barred and eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"thats m'girl, let go, i got'cha."

w = wild card

i think billy would have a secret breeding kink. he'd be pretty resolved not to finish inside you, not until his life is stable he thinks, but he craves it. he wants as many little ones as you'd give him— wants to be a father so long as you're the mother. he just wants life with you, every part, so the idea is in the back of his mind everytime he's buried within you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

this man is six and a half, veiny, and with a banana curve. the tip is deep pink and the most sensitive for him.

y = yearning

he has a constant sex drive for you. if you want him, he's yours. he thinks about it at least a few times a doy, he can't help it, you're too good to not think of in his opinion.

z = zzz

billy likes to cuddle and talk before drifting off. he wants to make sure you're okay afterward, but also he just wants to be close to you. mentally and physically. i think he'd get his most peaceful sleep after he takes care of you, satisfied by your enjoyment and lulled further into sleep by your sweet hold.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

#billy the kid x reader #billy bonney #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #tom blyth #tom blyth!billy the kid #coriolanus x reader #corio x reader #coryo x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney x reader

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honey-on-your-tongue · 1 year

Note

Do you write Jake and human!reader? SO SORRY, I have the nastiest, sluttiest size kink I’m-

YES I DOOOO. I have a few drafts I just haven't uploaded 🤭🤭

Here's a small sneak peek tho:

“Shh, easy, easy,” Jake coos, caressing your thighs as he drips lube on his cock, ensuring he's slick so it won't hurt you.

You're in headquarters, in your bedroom, and well, what's wrong with taking advantage of the fact that it's just the two of you in here?

Except, of course, for the fact that Jake's cock is huge, and you're not sure it'll even fit.

You take a deep, shaky breath and nod as he aligns himself with your entrance.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me, 'kay?” he says to you.

“Yes,” you reply, taking a deep breath as Jake slides in. The stretch he offers is painful, a sharp sting that shoots through you until the thick head of his cock makes it inside of you, and you sigh softly as the pain decreases.

“You okay?” Jake asks, your tiny body caged under his massive one.

You nod. “'m fine,” you reply, hips starting to grind against him in a silent plead for more.

Jake grunts. “Slow, baby, take it slow.”

You whimper. “Need y'so bad,” you mewl, relishing in the sensation of his enormous hands on your hips. “Want y'to fuck me already.”

Jake chuckles lowly as he sinks deeper inside you, your tiny pussy so tight around him that he can barely keep himself together. “So fuckin' small,” he groans. “You tiny little thing, 'm gonna fuckin' ruin you one 'f these days.”

“Yes,” you whine. “Please, fuck, I need it so bad.”

Jake shakes his head. “Not until you get used to my cock, baby. I'll hurt you,” he tells you, pushing his cock as deep as it'll go, until the thick head touches your cervix. But you're barely taking half of him. Jake chuckles quietly. “Someday, kid, I'll have my entire cock in you. When you finally learn to take all of it.”

You mewl, mind, body and soul lost to the pleasure. You swear you can feel him in your lungs from how deep he is, swear he's too deep in you for you to ever recover.

Jake glances between your bodies and is pleasantly surprised to find that his cock is bulging through your stomach, and as he starts thrusting, he can't take his eyes off how deep inside you he is.

You're a blubbering, mewling mess, your body writhing under Jake as your little hands rise to his large arms, and you hold on for dear life. Your nails dig into the hard muscles there, feeling them flex with every move he makes.

“Goddamn,” Jake hisses as you clench tighter; so tight, he can barely move inside of your cunt. “Relax a little f'r me, hm?”

You nod weakly, doing your best to do as asked, and then Jake's pounding you, his cock bruising your cervix, his girth almost tearing you in half. He presses against your g-spot, making you moan and gasp.

Tears of pleasure brim over your eyes, spilling as your eyes flutter shut and you cry out, “Fuck, Daddy! More, please!”

Jake loves it when you call him that, so, obviously, he obliges, using one of his huge hands to find your clit, his long, rough finger tracing over the excited, needy nub.

The feel of Jake's hugeness compared to you drives you crazy. The way his finger covers your entire clit, the way his cock is too long to fit in you, the way you feel like a measly little doll under him...fuck, it does things to you.

And then Jake's kissing you, his teeth dragging over your lips, his tongue tracing your jaw, his rough voice saying, “Come for me, girl. Come on daddy's cock, hm?"

You whimper, body shaking, legs trembling. The pain Jake's cock gave you is long gone, confused with the pleasure until all you feel is unmanageable ecstasy.

Your orgasm crawls up your body, blossoming deep in your core and reaching your chest, your limbs, making your thoughts hazy. The pleasure is coiling within you, ready to snap, and you gasp, “Daddy! Daddy, please!”

And Jake knows that tone. He knows exactly what it means, so he keeps his pace steady and fucks you until you're hurdling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you and making you sob, delighted, at the relief his cock has offered.

The way you tighten around Jake while you come pushes him to his own orgasm, his load spilling inside of you, too much for your poor, stuffed pussy to bear, and it drips out of you even as he keeps filling you with his seed.

You mewl lowly when he pulls out of you, leaning back to see the fuckton of his cum that drips from your puffy cunt. With one long, thick finger, Jake pushes his cum back inside you, and you shudder.

“Keep daddy's cum there for me, yeah?” he says. “I like knowing it'll be dripping out of you all day.”

-----

Blog masterlist

#avatar jake sully #avatar smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #dilf jake sully #inbox <3 #pls ask me stuff #:)

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aklaustaleteller · 1 month

Text

Some Invisible String

Ever since the news of Klaus' death reached her, Y/n's heart remained shattered as she happily accepted the sole purpose of her immortal life to be mourning her love. But then a looming shadow out of the Mystic Grill catches her attention and to whom is it that some invisible string had tied to her for centuries?

Warnings - a lot of grief in the beginning but it ends happily I swear! Word Count - 1.9k

And part two to 'Should've known' is here!! I don't know how the hell did I manage to involve the song Invisible String into this, but it's turned out to be quite cute in my opinion, so I hope you like it as well <3

Y/n lived on to live a life as merely a withered shell of who she used to be. That new vampire girl who had found solace in Klaus’s human arms and in art, the one who had just begun falling back in love with life was long gone, stripped off of Y/n as if she’d been skinned alive.

Doing anything sent a heartstopping wave of hurt rippling through her flesh and bones. When she breathed it felt like air burned her lungs and tried to strangle her heart, leaving her mouth as she'd wake up gasping for it to return back inside and finish the job.

Tears pricked her eyes each night, her sniffles blocking out the air making her throat feel like it was being ripped out, her lungs and heart as if they were collapsing. That’d be, until she’d finally fall into that peaceful slumber in which she’d always return to lay in Klaus’ arms after being torutured by the grief that consumed her wholly.

So wholly that her sole purpose for the immortal life ahead of her felt like it was to mourn and grieve her love. Something that she’d been willing to do just to preserve her love for him, for always and forever.

But living in a world that took birth, grew old and then died, Y/n could go anywhere she wanted, anywhere but home to Klaus. She was left with no other option than to just flee before she could even mistakenly call a place her home.

It had been three hundred years. Three hundred years of restless nights, lifeless days and a heartless blood thirst that had her leaving a trail of blood behind on her move. So many years spent hiding her face beneath cloak-hoods, running into other supernatural creatures who were immediately frightened by her post in the vampire chart, and running away from the stupidly careless killers who couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that were she to die, every single vampire would end up dead too.

It was rare for her to lose her patience, but it happened nonetheless – on the nights that she wanted to be wanted, to be loved and to be held so desperately that she couldn’t bear sight of a beating heart that was caged in the warmth of another’s safe hands.

No matter where she went, she couldn’t forget about him. It had taken her a while to realise that she didn’t want to forget him, but in the meantime that she hadn’t, she had turned away from everything else that she loved. From art, to history. Everything.

She avoided all of her dark red dresses as they reminded her of him never once failing to tell her how much he loved the colour on her, so much so that he’d bring that colour to her face while he’d slowly slip the dress off of her. So gentle was his heart that he even loved the crimson red that would slip out of the corners of her mouth when she’d feed, either off of him or anyone else – the way he’d wipe it off for her, and kiss her on the very same lips made her heart race to the point that she felt like she might just die from his touch.

On letting another hand graze her frame, she couldn’t help but stop it before things could escalate because her heart couldn’t let her mind to just let go for a little. Looks of disappointment and calls of slurs would be thrown at her by betrayed men, smirks or sympathetic looks passed to her by women who were witnesses to the assault.

Despite the cunning shards of her broken heart cutting her on the insides, she woke up every day and went outside to explore, just so that she could tell Klaus about it on starry nights, which were getting rarer and rarer in some places, Y/n had realised.

Just like every other morning since the past fifty or so years, she woke up and got decent before leaving her house. This day, she was walking the streets of Mystic falls, a small town that might’ve been attracting a little too much trouble than it can handle. And it was always the teenage girl with two vampires brooding over her who seemed to be the main magnetic pull, taking everyone who loved her with her into the dark pit that she’d dug herself.

Strolling inside the Mystic Grill, Y/n looked around and her eyes quickly met with the raven-haired man’s, who waved at her like he was a Villain going around toying with people like his puppets. It made her chuckle but despite that, she walked over to him and sat on one of the bar stools beside him.

“One Old fashioned please,” she told the bartender before turning to face him with a smile on her face. “So Damon, got another deal to make this morning?” She teased him, smirking once he was rolling his eyes.

“You know me so well,” with a sarcastic smile, Damon downed the rest of his drink. “And yes, I have got one,” he admitted, still.

Since she’d set foot in this town, the whiny group that consisted of him and his friends had been breathing down her neck, trying to strike a deal with her left right and centre as if she was going to say yes just out of pure annoyance.

And they should’ve caught by now, the fact that she wasn’t one to lose patience over such lousy things but she didn’t mind the constant bother, it kept her busy and a little entertainer, dare she say.

She would even sit with them in their boarding house and point out the unimaginably huge plot holes in their plans that led Damon to slam her into a wall with his hand around her neck. “You make one for her if you’re so clever, then,” he’d snarl and before he could let her go, she’d have smashed his face right into the wall she’d been pinned to.

“How stupid do you have to be to make such mistakes is beyond me,” she’d sighed. “One of these days you’re going to get your heart bloody ripped out,” she almost advised him, narrowing her eyes when he rolled his, holding his head in pain.

But still, because she’d crashed into people who were somewhat similar to her and didn’t need to hide from, she found herself wanting to stay a little longer, maybe she was finally going to let it rest and begin picking up the pieces of her broken heart. She doubted she was ever going to be able to put it back together, but at least she would have them picked up.

“What is it?” She asked Damon, knowing that even he knew that it’d be rejected the moment he’d spill it.

“We are going to kill Katherin…” Damon trailed off, not even meeting her eyes because despite the fact that he’d convinced everyone back at the house, he knew that this was nothing but a dire call for a mess out of stupidity.

They sat in there for a while, Y/n pointing out mistakes and Damon glaring at her before fixing the hole and moving on. The time had quickly escaped them and as their conversation neared an end, a strong force of gravity began pulling her heart down into her stomach, knowing that the restless night was finally creeping up on her, all over again.

She hugged him quite awkwardly because of Damon’s disdain regarding touch, and walked behind him as they exited the place. The sun had begun setting, causing the anxiousness inside Y/n to begin eating away at her for the night. “I hope I won’t have to see you tomorrow, you exhaust my brain,” Y/n mumbled, fishing out her car keys.

“Oh c’mon, you know my stupidity will kill me,” he repeated her words, making her roll her eyes with a grin forming on her face. Biding their goodbyes, Damon crossed the road to walk home while Y/n went to her right, towards her car.

And it was then when she noticed a dark figure looming in the shadows, making her clutch her keys tighter. God, she truly wasn’t in the mood to kill today.

“And you are?” She asked, still at the very distance that she’d stalled at, her vamp-instincts buzzing underneath her skin, preparing her to defend herself from a possible attack and to kill the darer.

The man walked out of the shadows then, the streetlight shining down on him. He slowly raised his gaze but when it landed on her face, all arrogance and smugness dropped down from his face as he felt his breathing come to an abrupt stop.

Y/n knew she most likely had the same expression on her face as the man standing in front of her, and she began taking hindering and wobbly steps towards him. “Is that you, Nik?” She breathed, her whisper loud enough to be caught by his mystical hearing.

When he didn’t move an inch, her hand frantically moved to place itself on his neck. “Niklaus?” She called louder this time, bringing him out of his trance as a sudden rush of air hit his lungs.

“Y/n,” he whispered, his hand coming to hold hers and in whoosh they had their arms wrapped so tightly around each other that it was a surprise not a bone had cracked. Klaus’ body immediately came to rest as it remembered this feeling to be the very same as when Y/n used to hold him, back in the days.

Klaus was really here and she was in his arms, and he was holding onto her with just as much desperation as she was.

She brought herself away from his neck, tears leaking out of her eyes as she scanned his face. “How?” Her question came out in a breath that Klaus immediately sucked in, pressing his lips to hers.

Passion coursed through their bodies as Y/n’s body moulded itself around Klaus’ to grasp at every scrap of touch it could find. Her hands clutched the collars of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer to herself while she pushed herself into him, her nose smushing against his cheek.

And Klaus’s shoulders were bunched up beside his neck as his hands cupped her cheeks, holding her still as his tongue clashed with hers, eager to claim back what's been his for a long time.

To catch their breaths, they broke the kiss but Klaus made sure he was still holding her and he looked into her eyes when she rested her forehead against his’.

“It was your blood,” Klaus smiled at her, watching something light up within her eyes on realisation.

“I’ve spent all these years looking for you,” he continued, pressing a quick kiss on her mouth. “It was as if there was some invisible string, tying me to you,” he looked at her so softly with tears reddening his eyes that Y/n couldn’t help but let slip a broken sob, her face wet with her own tears.

“Isn’t it so pretty to think?” She asked him, voice barely above a whisper as her mouth brushed against his when she spoke. “That a single thread of gold tied me to you?”

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

Text

Misty Eyes ~ Part 4

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past & Flashbacks)

Word Count: 5041

Misty Eyes Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: This new life feels like a dream, and you're finding it hard to believe. How could you be here, how could you be safe? How could you be wanted?

Author's Note: Heeyy, so I swear there's smut in here, but our misty eyed reader has trauma, so a little patience is required.

Thank you so much @pinejayy for this delicious request!!

Rating/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Kissing, Shame, Blood and Violence, Vomiting, Minor Character Death (unnamed character), Sparring, Childhood Memories, Chaste Childhood Kiss, Teasing, Tickling, Yandere Doflamingo, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Hair-Pulling, Birth Control, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there!), Forced Pregnancy (Implied/Intended), Sterilization (Implied/Intended), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Soft Trafalgar D. Water Law, Other Additional Tags To Be Added

!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore

“You’re such a–”

Law kissed his laugh into your mouth, and you couldn’t hold onto your outrage.

Instead, you held onto him.

Law.

He was alive. He was with you. He was kissing you.

One of his hands teased into the hair at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing along your cheek. You didn’t know what to reach for, your fingers clawing into his shirt while you went to pieces.

His kiss was somehow desperate and gentle. Deep and slow, with needy sounds shared between you. Writhing under the weight of his body, your eyes went misty from overwhelm. You wanted to pull him inside your chest, keeping him in the hole he’d carved, so you could feel this way forever.

“Are you okay,” he breathed, his thumb smoothing away the grateful tears.

“So good,” you laughed, the sweet smile he gave pulling a happy sob from your throat.

Law kissed along your temple, your cheek, following your jaw down as you gasped, your breath shuddering through you. He breathed along your skin, tracing the tip of his nose, then his lips over the crook of your neck before leaving gentle kisses, a deep hum vibrating through him.

Your skin was electric, shivers running through you as you arched your back. Breathy whines escaped you, crying out when he rasped your name.

You tugged at his shirt, moaning as you yanked it up to feel his skin. He pulled back from your struggle, and your breath caught when he stared down at you. His golden eyes were dark as he pulled his shirt off, your eyes fluttering back at the sight of his tattooed skin. His body caged you in before he tasted your lips again.

He was still pinning you, your thighs trapped beneath his weight.

But that gave you more access to pull at the buttons of his jeans, whining when he stopped your frantic fingers.

“Can I take my time with you,” Law asked, his husky voice making you shake. He brought your knuckles to his lips before he looked around, brows creasing at the sight of hate papering the walls. “There’s a couch in my quarters next door, do you–”

Your breathless “yes,” interrupted him, and he kissed you again before helping you up. He laughed at your pout when he pulled his shirt back on, before leading you by the hand.

“Aren’t you the captain? Can’t you do what you want,” you whispered behind him while he looked back and forth down the hallway.

He ignored you, pulling you toward the next room when he saw the coast was clear. You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped, echoing down the corridor. Your laughs only grew when he huffed, pressing you against the closed door when he got you inside.

“Do you remember sneaking into the storeroom to steal weapons?”

His scolding glare faltered, his lips quirking as you watched the memory form in his mind.

“Yeah, you got us caught,” he taunted, tracing his fingers along your hair, his eyes seeming to eat up every detail of your face. Including the indignant furrowing of your brows.

“I did not! It wasn’t my fault, I only tripped because Cora dropped his…”

It was subtle, but the slight grimace on Law’s face made you want to never speak again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t think I know what really happened with you and–”

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna talk about it,” Law straightened, pulling back from you before adding, “not right now.”

How do I fuck up literally everything?

“Come on,” he tugged at your fingers with a small smile. His quarters were large, and you bit your lip at the sight of his bed, his covers ruffled from last night’s sleep. He gestured for you to join him on the couch, but you skirted around him.

“Oh my gods, are you kidding me?”

A large set of shelves lined the wall behind the couch, and you misted out of his grabbing hands to get a closer look.

Turning back to him with a laugh, your eyes wide with gleeful shock, you pointed at the displays.

“I haven’t seen these in ages!”

You reached into the shelf, picking up one of the early Sora comics from its display stand.

“Hey, careful,” Law cautioned, throwing his long legs over the back of the couch to take the thin book from your grasp.

“Really,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as he returned the book with care. You looked over the rest of the shelves, leaning in to examine the rows of coins he’d displayed between the comics.

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“Hobbies are important for maintaining mental health,” he said blandly, not meeting your eyes as he looked over his collection.

“Whatever you say, nerd,” you laughed, touching his waist to force him to look at you. “I think it’s cute.”

He scowled as you bounced on your toes, narrowing his eyes before giving in, pulling you into a kiss.

“Shut up.”

His soft command touched your lips, your laughter still humming through the kiss. Grinning, you curled your fingers into his black hair.

“Make me.”

Law huffed a laugh, your favorite smirk shining through before you squealed as he picked you up. He sat you on the back of the couch, legs scrambling around his waist. Your mind was empty of everything, but the need to feel more of him.

Until you slid backwards.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized, gripping your arms before your back could hit the cushions with your head toward the floor. He helped you turn, moving your legs to the side so you laid across the long couch.

“Already trying to kill me?”

You couldn’t remember feeling this light, this free, as you did teasing him. As he crawled on top of you, the weight and scent of him making you sigh. The feel of his tongue trailing your neck before he nibbled at your ear, bringing another squeal while you shivered. The look in his eyes almost brought tears to your own.

I can’t believe he’s real.

“Not yet,” he purred, tracing his hand along your waist. He kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you until you couldn’t take it. You whined, fighting with his shirt until he grinned and pulled it off.

“Impatient–” he scolded, giving a surprised laugh when your hands reached the waistband of his jeans again. Law moved you gently so he could sit beside you, but you wasted no time in straddling him. You’d already tossed your shirt aside, fingers reaching for the clasp of your bra.

“Hey, hold on, Y/N,” he hummed, hugging you against him to slow you down. The sound of your heart somehow pounded in your head, even though it was trapped in the next room.

Law sat back, his warm hands stroking down your arms.

“You’re gorgeous,” he praised, eyes soft as he gazed at you. His head fell back, letting out a surprised moan when you rocked your body forward. The feel of his hard cock through all that fabric stunned you, and your body grinded onto his on instinct.

His whispered, “fuck,” was lost in a feverish kiss, and you managed to tear your bra off while his strong hands pulled your hips down further.

“Wait,” he muttered, voice almost pained. Pulling away, his eyes rolled back slightly at the sight of your bare chest. You had to bite your lip hard not to reach for him again.

“What is it?”

Worry had broken through your question, and you couldn’t fight the fears that crept in. Both of you panted for a few moments, lungs fighting for air after stealing it from each other’s lips.

He doesn’t want me. How could he want me after Doffy touched me?

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay,” he checked in, smoothing the hair from your face. “We don’t need to rush anything.”

You knew his words should be comforting, but the hot pressure of tears built in your throat, your mind filling with the torment of words that you knew weren’t your own.

‘My disgusting little doll. So pretty. So sick. That’s the only thing you’re good for, huh? Such an empty little toy. Maybe one day you'll be worth more. Think you can carry the blood of kings in this weak body of yours?’

“Y/N? Y/N, you’re safe.”

Part of you heard his voice while your body stayed frozen, eyes stuck wide as your nails dug into his shoulders. Fighting to shake free, you mumbled what was meant to be an apology as your hands slumped onto your lap. The sticky weight of wet cement kept every thought and movement sluggish, and you barely reacted when Law pulled a thin blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping you up.

“Mmsrry,” you slurred, unsure how long you’d been frozen. He rubbed his hands lightly on your blanket covered arms, shaking his head.

“Don’t be. Just let me know what you need, okay? Can I get you some water?”

A jarring laugh fell from your lips, but you managed to nod. He sat you on the couch, fussing with the blanket to make sure you were comfortable and covered. Burning tears pricked your eyes as he went into an adjacent room. The sound of running water covered a strangled cry, but your eyes were dry when he returned with a glass.

Law sat on the coffee table, but stayed quiet, leaving your thoughts to berate you for putting him through this. Shame piled on you, until something in you cracked open, his gentle question opening the way.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You can do surgery,” you remembered, the words rough and empty.

“Yeah, I can,” he confirmed after a pause. Your body almost went slow again, but the urgency of terror pushed you, forcing you to reach for help.

“Can you, please… please, sterilize me?”

Your fragile voice strained high at the last words, and the rocking of your body sped up, your eyes clamping shut.

“Please, Law, I can’t–”

“I’m right here, Y/N. You can talk to me.”

Tears fell onto your thighs as you looked down. Nauseating guilt poured through you, a confession flooding from your lips like bile.

“I was selfish. I wasn’t ready. I’m too weak.”

Law argued softly, his hand on your shoulder doing nothing to stop the stream of ugly truths.

“I tricked… I made her help me,” you bawled, memories flowing in until you shook with shame. “Baby 5 still does everything. I took advantage of her. He would have hurt her, killed her! I’m disgusting, I’m sick. How could I–”

“Y/N, stop,” he commanded, shocking you into stillness. “You are not sick. You were a prisoner. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I–” you choked, blinking into his steady gaze, “Doffy said I’d finally prove myself if I… If I could carry a superior life in my body. If I could survive it tearing itself out of me.”

Your ragged breath caught in your lungs at the sight of Law’s towering rage, a barely contained snarl only dropping when he released the bruising grip he’d taken on your shoulder. You interrupted his apology, somehow feeling calmer after his display of anger.

“Baby 5’s compulsion has only gotten worse over the years,” you explained, detached from the story now as you followed Law’s orders. “I told her I needed her help, and she did it, even though she disagreed. Even though she would be punished if he found out.”

~🔪🔫🗡️~

“Shouldn’t you be asking the young master about this,” Baby 5 frowned, crossing her arms as she assessed you.

“Yes, but–”

“Are you keeping secrets from him,” she accused, one of her arms shifting into a sickle to hold against your throat, even though she knew it wouldn’t connect. “I knew you were weak, but I never thought you’d be a traitor.”

“Please, Baby 5,” you begged, hands misty as you held them toward her, “I need you. I need your help.”

“... You need me?”

~🔪🔫🗡️~

The gravity of what you’d done sank into you again, but his waiting gaze pushed you through, separating from the pain and shame behind your confession.

“I wasn’t ready. I never wanted to be ready. Especially for him. Even when I wanted to be his, I never wanted that. He promised I’d be rewarded, that I’d be worthy of the family. But I never wanted kids, and I knew that he… I knew I might not survive–”

Fear and bile caught up with you, leaning forward over your lap to hit your fists against your forehead.

“We’re safe here,” he reminded you, grabbing your wrists gently until you shuddered, sitting up again.

“I couldn’t go anywhere without him knowing. I wouldn’t be able to hide pills without someone finding them, and reporting me. Everyone…” you choked out, swallowing the humiliation that threatened to spill into the world, “everyone knew what I was. Everyone knew that the only thing I’m good for–”

“Stop saying that,” he seethed, his knuckles going white as his fists clenched in his lap. The rage in him relaxed your body, nodding before you went on.

“I made Baby 5 steal birth control shots for me, and she’d give them to me every three months. I put her life at risk, he would’ve… I’m so selfish.”

Your sins were revealed as the man before you shook beneath his skin. Watching the play of muscles flexing in his jaw was almost soothing.

“I have two months left of this shot,” you pleaded, head falling back against the couch. “Please do the surgery. Please.”

Law stared at you for too long. Your body went weak, slow tears dripping down your temples to your ears, and you were too spent to wipe them away.

I’ll never be safe. Doffy will find me. He’ll chain me up until I give him what he wants. I’ll birth another monster that will taste my blood on their lips before I’m free to die.

If Doffy doesn’t just torture and kill me as soon as he catches me.

“I can do it in a way that can be reversed,” he breathed, his words icing your veins, “but I don’t know another doctor that would know how to reverse it for you safely.”

“I don’t want it reversed,” you flew forward, clawing at his hands. “Just do it, please! If you can reverse it, you don’t have to believe me, but I swear it’s what I want.”

“... Can we think about it for a few days,” he coaxed.

Slow hit your system again.

Of course he wouldn’t do that. It’s all I’m good for.

“I’m not saying no.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, the embarrassment of this whole interaction making you want to sleep forever. “I’m sor–”

“Stop,” he rasped, his fingers in your hair as he cradled your face. “How can I help you feel better right now?”

Another manic laugh left your throat, and you cringed at yourself, fighting not to apologize again.

“Do you,” Law cleared his throat, a tentative smile tugging at his lips, “do you wanna read Sora with me?”

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Do you miss that little traitor?”

“N-no, Doffy, I just–”

He snatched the wanted poster from your grasp, sneering before ripping it in half, letting the pieces fall to the marble floor.

“It’s funny,” he huffed, pinching your cheeks between his long fingers, “you’ve been so loyal all these years, and that boy betrayed our family. But he’s the useful one.”

Holding in your cries at his punishing grip, you braced yourself for whatever came next.

It was a brutal kiss, and you fell into it, giving everything you were to your king.

Doffy pulled back, that wide grin beaming down at you, his fingers tracing your face, pressing into your mouth.

“Such a pretty doll.”

~🦩🦩🦩~

Small whimpers from your own lips shook you awake, and you stilled. The heat and pressure of Doffy’s body didn’t seem to be near.

And the sheets weren’t silk.

“Good morning,” Law rasped, his hair beautifully mussed as he looked up from a book. The couch looked cozy with his pillow and blanket, bringing a disgruntled whine from your throat as you stretched across his lonely bed.

“Are you up for work today?”

He chuckled at your second whine, and you felt his weight on the edge of the bed while you buried your face in the pillow.

“You don’t wanna disappoint Ikkaku,” he teased, shaking your shoulder gently. “Believe me, I know.”

More wordless complaints made him laugh, and that sound alone got you to shake your sleep away.

That, and the soft kisses he gave, the slow sharing of morning breath that kicked you both to the bathroom to brush teeth, fingers pinching at each other's ribs.

So fucking cute. Until you left his quarters, and he held up that stoic face in front of his crew, even though you could tell they saw through it.

The Surgeon of Death. That angry, smirking, dangerous kid that turned into a vicious Warlord of the Sea.

He was a sweetie pie.

I can’t wait to call him that.

You had a feeling that “Weps” would be your favorite position on the ship. There was something about the sonar that scratched a part of your brain, and Ikkaku was still the most relaxing person to be around. No need to fill the quiet with chatter, and no personal questions to skirt. Just instructions, a few jokes now and then, and the occasional “no slouching at sonar, slacker,” always followed with a wink.

“Ooh, I think you’re in trouble.”

Your head shot up at her whispered tease, only to find Law's grumpy face assessing you from the doorway.

Was I slouching?

“Our new recruit will join you for morning shifts for the rest of the week, and I expect a full report on her performance.”

“Yes, captain,” she nodded, her face matching his serious tone. You tried not to gulp.

“Come with me,” the captain ordered, and you found yourself slipping easily into obedience, low level anxiety wrapping comfortably around you.

“Am I in trouble,” you tried to joke, keeping your voice quiet in the halls.

“What? No,” he shook his head, gesturing to the now familiar door. “It’s lunchtime.”

Your soft, “oh,” was drowned out by the crew, although there weren’t many in the galley at the moment. Jean Bart’s greeting boomed from his massive form, the sound heavy enough for multiple pirates.

Anxiety stuck with you throughout the meal, up until Law brought you to the training room.

“I thought we were doing an interview today,” you asked, feet still planted in the hallway.

“Changed my mind. Unless you’re too scared to fight me,” he deadpanned, walking into the room without glancing to see if you’d follow. That feeling was back. That familiar, yet thrilling feeling of playful competition, and it pulled you out of your spiral.

“Jerk,” you huffed, chasing after him.

“Disrespecting your captain again,” he tutted as he pulled you onto the mats. He faced off with you with a smirk, looking you up and down while you moved into a fighting stance. “You’ve got the nerve to mouth off when you’re this out of shape?”

You were the first to strike this time, and it did not go your way.

“You know, you could be a little nicer,” you grumbled, nudging his book with your toes. After an embarrassing training session, annoyingly separate showers, and a dinner with too many energetic crewmates, you shoved your feet onto his lap while you stretched across his couch.

“Could I?”

The purr in his voice made your breath hitch, pressing your toes a little further into his lap until he tossed his book on the table.

He caught your feet, tattooed hands rubbing gently before he pushed them away. More guilt and fear that he didn’t want you started to creep in, until you felt his weight. Until he kissed those doubts away.

“How could I be nicer,” he rasped, his facial hair making you shiver as he breathed along your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist, loving the quiet gasp he let out.

“Fuck me, Law.”

His body moved against yours, just a bit, and your back arched at the feel of his fingers digging into your hips.

“Please,” you begged, with your nails twisting through his hair, “I want you.”

He kissed you again, and his heavy-lidded eyes rolled back when you scraped his bottom lip between your teeth.

Your body mourned the loss of his heat as he sat back on his heels. The urge to grab him, to pull him toward you, to take him in, had you fighting yourself, but you couldn’t stop your body from writhing. Near-panicked fingers dragged over your own clothes, and you tried not to sob with need.

“Y/N,” he coaxed, his ragged breathing like another temptation you had to fight against, “I want you to feel safe. We can stop anytime, you can tell me–”

“Please, gods, fuck me, Law. I nee–”

Your desperate moan echoed into his mouth as he grinded against you. He helped you rip the shirt from his body, then pulled you up to sit as you tore the suffocating fabric from your own skin.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Law swooned, going to his knees on the floor for better access to trail his lips down your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. He let out a needy moan when you threw your bra to the side. You nodded as he glanced up at you, then arched your back when he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples.

He massaged your breast while he sucked and swirled his tongue, his free hand rubbing a thumb across your other nipple, balancing out the attention. You leaned back on your hands, gasping when he switched sides, when he moaned with your flesh in his mouth.

Then you pulled at his arms, needing to feel more of him. You agreed to his breathy, “bed,” and kissed your way across his shoulder and neck while he carried you across the room.

Your long lost friend crawled onto the bed on his knees to lay you down gently against the pillows, and you couldn’t take another second of waiting.

Finally, he let you tear at his jeans, falling forward to cage you in while you reached into the stiff fabric. Taking his cock in your hand for the first time, even still constrained in his tight pants, made your mind go blank with need. The veins pulsing beneath your fingers sent your body bucking beneath his.

“Wait,” you pleaded, pathetic noises leaving your throat as he moved away. But his movement just brought his lips down your skin again, until his darkened eyes looked up at you from between your legs, his fingers dancing at the waistband of your pants.

“Yes,” you ordered before he could ask.

Running your fingers along your inner thighs, you lost yourself in the way he looked at you. Law’s eyes devoured every bare inch of your skin, the wet aching center of you just waiting for him to take you.

“Please,” you begged again.

He let out a sound that might have been a growl, but it was lost when he plunged his face into your folds. You cried out his name, reaching for his fingers that had wrapped around your hips, then tugged at the strands of his hair again, clinging while he ate at you.

The sensations were overwhelming, his hungry tongue, his facial hair teasing at your skin, the whimpers and whines he sent vibrating into that sensitive piece of you. His little sounds got louder each time you pulled at his hair, as you tried to draw him up toward you.

Law drank you in like you were the last bit of water left on the planet. Kissing, and sucking, and plunging deep, his eyes burned hot while he watched you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he slurred, messy face coming up for air for just a second. He thrust against the mattress, his jeans undone, but still restricting him while he writhed.

Tugging at his hair wasn’t enough, now you were reaching further. You scratched at his shoulders, your fingers dragging across his skin as you fought to pull him up. He just moaned at the contact, bringing his own fingers to push inside you, curling gently while he sucked your clit.

Your back arched for him, but your breathing turned to chaos. The word, “please,” filled the air, but your voice was broken, almost panicked.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright,” he pulled away, wiping his face before he moved out from between your legs. He touched your cheek with his fingertips, sitting beside you as his soothing voice surrounded you.

“You’re safe, it’s okay. What do you need– whoa!”

His pants had to come off. You needed to make him feel good. The need was so intense, so vital, you didn’t think you could breathe until you felt his pleasure.

“Fuck me, please.”

“But you–”

You interrupted his counter, sitting up to kiss his still wet face.

“Please, Law. I’m telling you what I want,” you pleaded, your hands playing dangerously close along his stomach, but waiting for permission. “I want this. I want you.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you–”

“I promise.”

He stared for a long moment, and you almost sobbed for him, aching for him now. When he crawled off the bed to strip, you forgot everything else. Those gorgeous tattoos added to the work of art that was his lean, sculpted body. The sight of his thick cock springing free from those tight pants, already so swollen and dripping for you, had you twisting in his sheets.

“Law, need you…”

“I need you too, Y/N,” he rasped, crawling up your body again. He scanned your face, bringing the hard length of him to slide along your core, arching your back while he drenched himself in you. “So wet…”

Another delicate kiss left the taste of both of you on your tongue before his eyes drank you in. A small, impatient whine started to form in your throat, but the slow stretch of his leaking cock took your breath away.

“You feel incredible,” he sighed while you pulled him closer. His lips traced down your jaw, under your ear, letting you hear his soft, eager moans as he filled you. You could feel every vein throbbing as his shaft dragged through you, until there was nowhere left to fill.

He stayed for a second too long, fully hilted within you, but your demanding body took over.

Law moaned, bracing himself on an arm to keep from falling onto you. Your hips were driving up to meet his, fucking onto him while you panted, starved for him.

“Gods, you’re perfect.”

His praise was joined by deep, rolling thrusts that sent your eyes fluttering white. Still writhing beneath him, you gasped when his lips found yours again, one of his hands stroking your hair.

“How does this feel, baby?”

He started to ask more, his voice rough as he checked in, but you couldn’t help but laugh. He started to slow, but you clawed at him.

“So good,” you grinned, fighting to hold in another giggle. “You feel so good, sweetie pie.”

Law’s face, heavy with a mix of heat and concern jerked a bit, his eyes narrowing on you as his lips twitched.

“What’s that now,” he dared, shoving into you just a bit faster while you choked on gasping laughs.

“You’re supposed to be,” you paused, overwhelmed by the feel of him, “so scary. But you’re just a sweetie–”

He shut you up with his tongue down your throat, his fingers fisting into your hair, but not hard enough. Breaking off the kiss, he flashed you that wicked smile, meeting your challenge to prove you wrong.

Your frenzied screams filled the room, but his blown out eyes never left your face, watching your every movement. Still so sweet while he hammered his cock into you. Emotion started to hit, and you didn’t want him to notice and stop. It just felt like a dream, being here with him. Any moment you would wake up to silk sheets, and invisible strings.

Gratitude flooded you, even as your body hit a plateau.

“I need you,” you begged, watching him start to lose that control he clings to. “Law, need to feel you come, plea–”

His thumb carved with the letter, “D,” found your clit, and you clenched your muscles while you screamed for him. You thrashed, letting your legs shake around his hips, and his thrusts stuttered, still so hard and deep as he moaned your name.

He kissed you while he came, and you melted, your body swallowing him in. You wanted him to fill you forever, the hot spill of his pleasure more precious than anything you’d ever held.

Your bodies stayed entwined, breathing into each other as you fought the pressure in your eyes. It felt like ages, yet still not long enough, when he threatened to pull away, leaving a beautiful whisper against your cheek before he moved.

“I missed you, Y/N.”

“Missed you too, sweetie pie,” you teased. You let your body drift into the air, a cloud of delicate water floating above the bed. Ethereal giggles left your form when Law grunted, the lower half of his body falling to the mattress without yours to rest inside.

“Oh, I’m gonna get you for that,” he growled, rolling onto his back to look up at your hovering mist.

“Not if I get you first,” you threatened with a kiss. You’d gone solid, straddling him, and giggling into his mouth when he dug fingers into your thighs. His low, dangerous chuckle made you shiver, gasping when he touched your face, rubbing his thumb across your lips.

“You already got me,” Law teased, his eyes still dark as they poured over you. “Now it’s my turn to make you come.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I felt bad for all the smutty stop and go's, but I hope you don't mind. Trauma takes time, and healing isn't a linear path, but that doesn't mean that pleasure is out of the question. Patience, and a caring partner can make all the difference. I hope that none of you relate, but if you do, you're not alone. 🖤

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @nothing-but-brass

Part 5

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undiscovered-horizon · 8 months

Text

"She is not a bird" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

In a colourful dress, she busses around, Time and time she turns her head, gives a smile, You could swear you saw her wings yesterday, How she hid them under the dress, But she’s not a bird, Can’t you see? She is not a bird.

Hvitserk has no interest in medicine or healing. Despite that, he has found himself watching one of the healers as she’s running back and forth between beds. She’s been at it for hours now and Hvitserk begins to wonder how come she’s not tired yet. Her feet and hands are equally quick as they had been when they arrived at the camp after the battle. The mesmerising glint in her eyes, something between curiosity and adoration, is still just as bright. Whenever one of the wounded warriors wants to talk to her, she sits at the edge of their bed. Her head nods gently before her lips curl into a reassuring smile and she says something in return. Maybe she’ll even chuckle at something. From where he’s standing, Hvitserk can’t make out her words but he can quite clearly see the faces of the people she’s talking to and it makes his curiosity consume him entirely to know what words turn agony into peace.

Lost in his own thoughts, the young Viking doesn’t notice jarl Friedgeir approaching him.

“Enchanting, isn’t she?” he asks with a smirk. He’s seen this scenario one too many times to have any doubts about what Hvitserk is thinking about. Friedgeir himself has been in that very same position before.

Friedgeir Esrason is nimble for his age. White and silver hair circles his tired face like a halo. Sun-damaged skin makes him appear even older, although fuller of life. It’s a testimony of long days spent on adventures, seeing what the world has to offer. Despite nearing grandfather’s age, his torso is broad and his arms are about the size of a shieldmaiden’s thigh. Brass bracelets clink every time he moves his hands. The purple material of his tunic is clearly worn out, tearing in places of the most friction.

“She is,” Hvitserk admits.

Jarl puts his heavy hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. For a moment, the young warrior wonders if Friedgeir could actually crush his bones should he squeeze his fingers a little tighter.

“Can I entrust a secret to you, son of Ragnar?” Friedgeir asks in a low tone. His grey eyes look around the two of them as though expecting to find a prying set of ears. Everyone besides them appeared too preoccupied with their own duties and worries to care about the gossip shared between the Jarl and the famous Lothbrok boy.

Hvitserk looks at the older man with a frown.

“My brothers and I have risked our lives for your cause, Jarl Friedgeir,” he reminds the ruler. “I have no interest in breaking your trust. You know that already.”

“Good.” Friedgeir pats Hvitserk’s shoulder. He must be unaware of his strength as the gentle slaps are actually quite forceful, making Hvitserk answer his own question about crushing bones. Friedgeir can definitely turn someone’s skeleton into dust with a squeeze. “My wife mustn’t ever hear what I’m about to tell you. That girl…” he makes a pause and points his finger at the healer, “I think she might be a bird.”

Taken aback, Hvitserk looks up and down the Jarl.

“Did the Swedes hit you on the head?” he asks half-heartedly.

“I wish it was that. But no.” Friedgeir laughs bitterly and shakes his head. A shadow of melancholy flies past his sun-damaged face only to reside inside his silver eyes as a teary glint. “I always knew there was something strange about her but I came to understanding only after seeing the great viziers of the East and their pets locked in golden cages.”

Hvitserk glances towards the healer. His eyes follow her like hawk in hopes of some enlightenment that would make Friedgeir’s words clearer to him. Alas, she appears as she did before - enticing and human.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

The Jarl lets out a sigh.

“Just look, dear Hvitserk. See the colourful dress like a parrot’s feathers.” Hvitserk has never heard of something called a parrot, so he is left to assume that they must look nothing like the birds in Norway. “And look at men’s faces when she talks to them. Pain and suffering change into hope and peace. The only time I’ve seen that was when one of the viziers asked his angry guests to listen to his oriole singing. After an hour, no one remembered what they were fighting about.”

Time as if slows down as Hvitserk is watching the healer sit on the edge of a cot belonging to a dying man. She holds his hand tightly and tirelessly wipes cold sweat from his forehead. The warrior is stuttering, fever and pain making his wants incomprehensible. The woman sitting beside him only nods her head, offering a warm smile and a short response. Soon, the man falls limp. His eyes turn blank as his head rolls lifelessly to the side. The healer squeezes the corpse’s hand and only then gets up to continue her work. A pair of healthy warriors wrap up the body in blankets only to carry it away, to the place where a great pyre will burn after nightfall.

Hvitserk is more intelligent than the jarl. More perceptive. He’s seen geese flying southwards when winter was coming, only to come back after snow thaws. But not her - she stayed until the warriors’ skin turned cold and grey. Let go of dead hands only after the heart stopped, never earlier.

“She’s not a bird,” the young Lothbrok speaks up. Friedgeir looks at him curiously. “Can’t you see?” he asks with a chuckle on his tongue. “She must be a Valkyrie, leading fallen warriors to the gates of Odin's hall.”

The Jarl only nods slowly, pondering Hvitserk’s words.

“If she is, perhaps death isn’t a too high price to be by her side.”

But he’s too young to be this patient and Hvitserk has to find a reason to be beside her now.

You’re taken aback when someone suddenly takes the wooden crate from your hands. The unexpected helper reveals himself to be none other but Hvitserk with a playful grin on his face. Despite giving all he could in the battle, just hours prior, he appears to still be vigorous as though the fight was a mere warm-up.

The man puts the heavy crate on his shoulder, securing it with one arm. What has given you backpain and cold sweat, seems like no chore to him. The Ragnarsons really are a different strain.

“Where do you want this?” he asks casually.

“At the pyre.” You point in the vague direction of where the bodies will be burned. “Illness thrives within the old, used dressings.”

Hvitserk begins wandering to the place you have pointed out and, not sure why, you begin to follow him. His strides are long and sure, his breathing calm and steady. He hardly fits the image of a man who had to fight like a rabid dog to survive just earlier that day.

“Are you not tired afer the battle?” you ask him. Confusion slips past your words.

“I am.” Hvitserk glances at you. It’s a quick look but you manage to notice him staring you up and down. “But I thought you might need help. You’ve been tending to the wounded for hours.”

A melodic, light chuckle escapes your lips.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His playful half-grin turns into a genuine smile. Staring at the road ahead, he almost looks bashful.

“I have a habit of admiring enticing things,” Hvitserks admits.

You feel your cheeks burning at the nonchalant compliment but you don’t let him notice that. Neither do you let his sweet words distract you.

“Then you must lead a busy, beautiful life.”

The man’s voice seems faraway and absent as he answers, as though his mind is suddenly occupied with vivid daydreams:

“Not yet.”

The noise of the camp is inaudible now. Only pine trees and wild berries accompany Hvitserk and you. A murder of crows suddenly takes flight as you pass by. Their cawing echoes through the empty forest.

You can’t quite put a finger on this sensation but something about Hvitserk makes you feel warm and calm inside. It’s the same feeling one experiences when sitting in front of a warm hearth after spending long hours in the cold. When the blood begins flowing again and the relief of not freezing to death is forgotten, the warmth and safety make one sleepy and giddy. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

Hvitserk sets the crate down with a low thud. The sound shakes you awake from your thoughts. A strong, putrid smell of blood, fresh wood and animal fat fills your nostrils. Even after all those years, it never gets easier to prepare people for their final journey.

“Thank you,” you begin awkwardly. Some more anxious part of you is suddenly terrified that he will somehow learn of your thoughts about him. “I don’t know if I could have carried it by myself all the way here.”

His lips curve into a sly grin and you can tell he’s about to weave a string of charming words but something about him distracts you instantly. Hvitserk’s shirt, once greyish-beige, is now brown and crimson. Not thinking much, you suddenly grab his arm. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest when you roll up his sleeve to reveal a, re-opened wound.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you state.

Hvitserk is unsure whether your stern gaze scares him or excites.

“It’s nothing.”

He tries to roll his sleeve back down but you swat his arm away. Pushing down on his shoulder, you force him to sit down on the ground with you.

“Well, it’s definitely going to scar,” you say quietly as you inspect the deep cut in his skin. “But the good news is, some women like men with scars. I know I do.”

You take out a sewing needle made from animal bone. For practicality, you’re used to wearing it pinned somewhere in your clothing. After all, one can never know when they might need it like when a handsome, charming Viking suddenly needs his wound stitched. Gods work in mysterious ways, truly…

A drop of blood drips from the wound each time you push the needle through the pale skin. Hvitserk is impressively collected - he only grunts a few times and clenches his teeth.

“All done,” you whisper more to yourself than him. In a quick, mechanical manner you wipe the skin of his arm again and roll down the sleeve of his shirt.

You’re standing up when Hvitserk decides he’s not quite done being the apple of your eye:

“How hurt does a man have to be for you to stay around longer?”

As though he didn’t just get stabbed eigh times in his cut and bruised arm, he’s staring at you with than same insufferable mischieviousness that you’ve grown to love so much. Sometimes you wonder whether this is exactly the reason he’s never had trouble charming women.

“A broken rib would do it,” you say with a shrug. “Or you could just ask.”

Suddenly, Hvitserk jumps to his feet. A newfound fire is burning inside him - a flame known only to those, whose affections are returned.

“Please?”

Jokingly, you frown at him.

“I didn’t know the Lothbroks knew such words,” you say in a surprised tone.

You feel his fingers dragging up your arm until his palm gently brushes against your cheek. The skin of his hand is dry and calloused, standing in a stark opposition to its owner.

“We hold it for special occasions.” Hvitserk’s voice is low, almost raspy.

“And me standing here is somehow special?”

“You don’t even know,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your cheeks. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

“Then tell me.”

At that moment, he knows he will have his entire life to remind you just how special you are to him; he will have his whole saga to love a Valkyrie.

#vikings #vikings tv series #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fanfiction #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk fanfiction #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk x you #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk fanfic #vikings x you

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urhoneycombwitch · 2 months

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in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy 💖 (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

wc: 3k

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader

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pascallllllll1 · 1 year

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Crimson Tide

Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: Reader gets her period and Pedro helps;)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: blood, period talk, swearing, mentions over the counter pain medication, brief daddy kink(common this is about Mr “I’m your daddy” what do you expect?), unprotected sex, if you notice anything else that should have a warning just lmk!

Hi everyone! This was a requested and I hope I did the idea justice. Quick fyi this is my first time attempting to write smut so bare with me y’all!🤣 requests are currently open:)

Regret burned inside you fueling your already emotionally fragile state. The warning signs were right in front of you. First you noticed your breasts engorged this morning getting dressed before work, your nipples aching and chaffing against the rough fabric of even your softest bra.

Then there was the mental health break you had to take at work due to crying so much from the separation anxiety rippling through you because Pedro wasn’t present. In fact he was home working in his office. But the text you’d received from him about going to the gym later and not being home when you’d be arriving set off every panic alarm in your body at the thought of being away from him any longer than originally planned.

Finally, and what should’ve had you sprinting to take 2 blessed tablets of Midol, was the slight pressure building in your lower back followed by tight twisting tendrils of sharp pain wrapping around to cup your lower belly around an hour before you’d be heading home for the day.

The entire 30 minute drive home the pain only intensified with each passing minute causing you to grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. After pulling up the driveway and into the garage to park the cramps had you doubled over kneeling on the ground the second you’d gotten out of your seat. You sobbed silently praying for the pain to ease up enough to allow you the chance to run inside quickly and down some painkillers, and as if mother nature heard your cries she relieved enough of your anguish for you to accomplish just that before starting up again.

Now, you lay naked curled in your fuzzy Sherpa blanket centre of yours and Pedro's massive shared bed in a nest of blankets, impatiently waiting for the pills to work their magic feeling trapped in your body. The world is so unfair.

***

A hand removes the blanket from over your head ruining your perfectly cocooned bundle of warmth and has your eyes hesitantly blinking open from your nap.

“Are you ok, pretty girl?” A deep angelic voice asks. You look up to see Pedro let out a sympathetic sigh before shedding himself of any clothing and joining you in your nest.

“It hurts so bad Pedro and I think I’m bleeding now.” The thought of getting up out of bed right now and away from Pedro’s safe embrace to put in a tampon has tears spilling all over again. Massaging your sore belly he shushes you and tells you to relax and let him hold you. After some time passed and you’d calmed, Pedro let his right hand travel between your sticky thighs tracing the wet skin closest to the source of your womanly problems.

“I can help you, let me help you.” He begs starting to suck and bite little marks down your throat while running his hands up and down your sides. Once he arrives at your chest he's wrapping his mouth around your pebbled nipple sucking on it before releasing the bud with a pop! He proceeds to kitten lick the sensitive area making your pussy clench around nothing. With your growing neediness you wrap your legs around Pedro’s hips locking him against you.

“Please, I need you.” You gasp. Lifting his head up Pedro lands both his hands on either side of you caging you in, you place one firm hand on his shoulder the other one weaves your fingers through his thick hair tugging hard earning you a throaty groan in response. Pedro then leans forward to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, his tongue fighting yours for dominance. One of his hands is moving to line up the fat head of his cock to your fluttering hole eager to welcome him home, the initial stretch of him filling you has your head falling back onto the pillow and crying out his name.

“T-take me so well.” He mutters, starting to slowly drag his cock back out and giving no warning before quickly burying himself to the hilt deep inside you then relentlessly begins pounding into you. If you weren’t so cock drunk maybe you’d be more embarrassed by the wet squishing sounds filling the room but at the moment your only concern was with how full Pedro made you feel.

“You feel so good baby-mmmphfucK. That’s right. Fuck your self on my cock princess.” His praise has you damn near strangling his cock from how tight you squeeze around him and being the good girl you are, you give him exactly what he wants, continuing to roll your hips meeting each of his hard thrusts.

“So close daddy.” You whimper to him feeling the pressure of your impending orgasm building ready to burst but needing just a little more to get you there.

“Sssh baby I got you. Daddy’s got you.” He coos at you as he reaches down to draw fast circles on your clit and sinks his face into your neck pecking soft kisses behind your ear.

“I-I-“ you gasp, unable to speak.

“That’s my good girl.” He groans out before asking, “you want daddy’s cum now?” You nod your head eagerly, mumbling in confirmation still too dazed out of your mind to respond with real words. He loves when you get like this, too drunk on him and his cock to form any thought or sentence your only purpose being to let him use you. His warm breath fans over the skin of your neck with each grunt and moan he blesses you with. Pedro’s thrusts become more erratic and sloppy as his high approaches before stilling inside you and shakily painting your walls with his seed softly reciting his love for you like a mantra. A peaceful quiet takes over as the two of you bask in the warmth and comfort of each other’s bodies.

A final kiss is placed on your lips before Pedro’s rolling out of bed to run you a hot bath, he’d planned to clean up and redo the bed while you soaked and unwind. He turns around to double check you’re ok before entering the attached bathroom and meets your tired regard with a sheepish grin admiring your fucked out current state;

“…No… prom..ises..” You hardly get out. Shaking his head, Pedro just lovingly laughs to himself before going back to his initial task of running you a bath.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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glimmeringtwilight · 1 month

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Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in.

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it.

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough.

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside.

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls.

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room.

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep.

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun.

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad.

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days.

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there.

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned.

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes.

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage.

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone.

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it.

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake.

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains.

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope.

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes.

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror.

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down.

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway.

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up.

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you.

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor.

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him.

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you.

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch.

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that.

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you.

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No-

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again.

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell.

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known.

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both.

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest.

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to.

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

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blu3-tea · 29 days

Text

Gift - G/t

TW: Pet trope, swearing.

Premise: A world in which genetically engineered tinies or Littlins are viewed as pets. Ellen is gifted one on her grandpas' party, as she had graduated the week before.

Word count: 1,352

Note: I'm considering of writing more parts to this.

………………………………

The dining room was livelier than ever. Chittering voices drowned out the clattering of forks and knives ripping through the steak. The smell of her aunt's golden casserole was overpowering. Colourful banners hung from all four walls. Rotund balloons were thrown around the room by her little cousins, across the dining table at times. Her grandpa, who was now a grand 80 years old, would occasionally join in their game, grinning like a schoolboy.

It was very rare for all of the family to gather together at once, so Ellen tried to capture every memory on her cellphone. They almost seemed normal. She showed the pictures she had taken of her grandpa blowing out the birthday candles to her aunt.

"Ellen! Come over here." Her dad called from the other end of the table. As she slid behind the occupied chairs, he placed a large box wrapped in blue wrapping paper in front of him.

"It was my idea." Her grandpa chimed in.

Her parents beckoned her to unwrap the gift right there and then with bright smiles. Her dad boasted about how expensive it was and Ellen in turn had repeatedly explained that she didn't need such expensive gifts.

"But grandpa should be opening his presents tonight."

"This is an exception. Come on! It can't wait."

Ellen felt a fluttering excitement grow in her chest, as she gingerly teared away the wrapping. What kind of computer had they bought her? Was it a monitor instead? Perhaps a jewellery box with the porcelain twirling ballerina inside? With a utility knife she carefully cut through the wide tape at the top of the box. She leaned over the open top. Her smile faded away.

Inside was a small hamster cage. Its floor was covered in spruce shavings. A blue plastic structure with a round roof stood in the corner, from where a tiny face peaked out from. Their eyes met her eyes for a moment, which felt like an eternity. The face disappeared back underneath the plastic.

What the actual fuck.

"Well, what do you think?"

"It's..." she forced a smile on "Wonderful."

"Before you go we'll give you its food."

"Ah... great. Thanks." She hugged them tightly, even though her skin tingled with disgust.

"Won't you take it out?"

"I-" Ellen stammered and glanced at the cage.

No, no, no.

"Yes, of course. I'll, umm, take them somewhere quieter." She shot a worrying glance at her clumsy cousins.

Before her parents could protest, she swiftly picked up the box and carried it upstairs to the spare bedroom. She slammed her door behind her and set the box in front of the nightstand. She kneeled down before it, looming over it.

She had always wanted to adopt a pet, either a dog or a cat. The last one, a goldfish, wasn’t fed whilst she had gone camping. So, when she had returned she found it floating on the water’s surface; her parents had forgotten to feed it. As long as she lived with them she could not have any pets or plants. Now, that she bought her own apartment she daydreamed of having a little furry friend run around the place.

What she never wanted was a littlin. The uncanny human resemblance cringed her. She knew that they were technically human, just shorter. Perhaps it was the sheer size difference that threw her off. Whatever it was that made her fidget with her dress and avoid looking at the box, she had to face it.

Ellen released a shaky breath.

Just do it already Ellen.

With stiff hands, she removed the cage and put it on the nightstand.

"Hello?" She didn't mean for her voice to crack.

A tiny figure marched out from the plastic cover to the centre of the cage. Under the yellow light, Ellen saw a bony girl with untamed, short, curly hair and chocolate coloured eyes as round as buttons. The littlin had to crane her head up to meet her gaze. She greeted her back, showing a toothy smile and placing her hands on her hips.

Ellen couldn't help but scoot a bit further back.

Just why?

………………………………

Finally the cage was taken out. Any more hours left in that darkness and Nelly would have lost her marbles. Just as practiced, she presented herself as best as she could, in the hopes of making a good first impression and getting some food to eat. In her mind she battled the thoughts of hunger. She had to stay attentive for her new owner's commands.

For a couple long seconds the giantess remained silent. Her titanic eyes darted around the cage.

You hate it too? Great. Then for the love of god change it.

Nelly kept her stance friendly as she stared at the giantess, whose eyebrows twitched a bit into a frown, barely enough for a human to notice. She noticed a big lump travel down her throat - she had discreetly gulped.

I'll enjoy her nervousness while it lasts.

It felt somewhat empowering to watch a human struggle to meet her gaze and feel uncomfortable in her minuscule presence without even having to do anything. Every time, however, they turned into the others. She was no exception.

Two minutes had passed and Nelly's hands started to sweat.

What was she waiting for? Did I already fuck it up?

First impressions dictate almost everything. If you’re “good” you’re fed and cleaned right away, even though they toy with you at the same time. The next days they keep coming back, cooing at you to come out. If you’re gifted to children that a completely different story, which she didn’t need to worry about for the first time! That giant was unmarried and single, with no animal pets whatsoever; she heard her parents talk about that as they were strolling about the pet store. She seemed perfect. She would probably leave her alone most of the time and keep her well-fed. To Nelly she had won the lottery.

Just then the giantess turned to the box and dove her hands inside. She frantically rummaged through it, as if she had lost something. Nelly eyed her curiously.

"Is there a return card in here?"

Nelly's face momentarily went blank.

Return? We barely spent five minutes together! What the hell is wrong with her?

She couldn't- she wouldn't return to that hellhole they called a pet store.

"No, there isn't." Her smile returned.

"Does the shop accepts returns?"

"No." She lied. Hopefully, she’s naive enough not to google it.

The giantess crossed her arms and closed her eyes, creasing thin lines around them. Nelly's heartbeat quickened. That was certainly not a good sign.

Would she instead leave her at a park or on the streets? Her mind raced with all the horrors she would encounter if that were the case. Dogs, cats, birds, kids, rain, wind - everything out there can tear her apart.

"Do you mind staying in that cage a bit longer? It's just that there's kids downstairs and uh- you know. The party will be over soon." The woman explained quickly.

"No problem at all!"

Good enough. I might have more opportunities to convince her to keep me. Perhaps I should take on a more talkative approach.

"Alright. Great. I'll be right back." The woman hurried back to the dining room, making sure to silently close the door behind her.

Nelly could still hear the humans' loud voices and music, but at least she wasn't right in there pressing her hands against her ears to muffle the deafening noise.

She limped to the wall of the cage behind her and slumped down against it, her right leg bent close to her chest and her left one outstretched, releasing a sigh of relief. Even though it's been a year, her left leg still screamed with pain every time she moved it. It couldn't be helped. She had to perform for survival.

………………………………

Thank you for reading!

Part 2: click here

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t community #gianttiny #gt #g/t writing #giants #gt community #sfw g/t #gt prompts #sfw gt #gt/tiny #gt writing #sfw giant/tiny #giant/tiny writing #sfw giant tiny

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thatgirlstrawberry · 1 year

Text

How to Lie to a Behavior Analyst - pt. 6 (Last Part)

In which it's the end

Warnings: angst, guns, cursing, the word slut, kissing, fluff, lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Y/N’s entire body froze and her eyes filled with tears. The gunshot shocked her, she wasn’t expecting it.

Suddenly, the lights in the entire hospital began to flicker on and off and a robotic voice came over the intercom.

“Code red. The hospital is now on lockdown. All exterior door are shut and will not open back up. Please seek cover until the code red is lifted.”

That message repeated over and over again and Y/N got on her knees on the bed. “Dad!?” She called. “Spencer!?”

There was another gunshot and she flinched backwards. The shots were heard not too far from her.

She crawled off her bed and let her feet hit the floor silently.

“Code red. The hospital is now on lockdown. All exterior door are shut and will not open back up. Please seek cover until the code red is lifted.”

Her heart pattered agains her rib cage. She winced and let out a pained noise when there was a sting in her arm. She looked down and took a deep breath before tearing the IVs out of her arm.

“Code red. The hospital is now on lockdown. All exterior door are shut and will not open back up. Please seek cover until the code red is lifted.”

She stalked towards the door and placed her hand on the round handle. She sucked in a breath as she pulled the door open slowly. She stepped out. She didn’t see anyone when she looked to the left but when she looked down and to the right her eyes widened and a horrified gasp left her mouth.

“Dad!” She cried. Her legs gave out and she crawled to him. Blood poured from his right shoulder. “Oh my god! Are you— dad, can you hear me?”

Her father groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Get b-back in the room.” He told her. She pressed her hand up against his shoulder.

“What? No! I need to stay with you!” She cried.

She heard a scared whimper from behind her and looked back. There was a nurse crying in a crouched position on the floor.

“Hey!” She called to her. The nurse looked up. “Come here, please.” The nurse nodded quickly and got up slowly.

Y/N grimaced as she started to drag her father backwards and into the room she came out of. He made pained noises. The nurse followed her in and she looked up at him. “P-please help him.” She nodded.

The nurse inhaled deeply and nodded. Y/N looked back down at her father who was breathing heavily. “What are you doing?” He asked. “You need to stay here.”

Y/N’s lip quivered. “I can’t, I have to find Spencer. Which way did he go?”

“Code red. The hospital is now on lockdown. All exterior door are shut and will not open back up. Please seek cover until the code red is lifted.”

That menacing electronic voice shook Y/N to the core. “Please, dad.” She said, a tear sliding down her cheek when he looked as if her wouldn’t tell her. “I- I love him. Please.”

“Ben said he was taking him to the roof.” Rossi coughed out. He wheezed and looked up at his daughter. “I need you to be safe.” He nodded. Y/N got back down next to him and kissed his cheek.

“We’ll come back to you. I swear.” She nodded. Rossi used his good hand to pull his gun out of his waistband and handed to her silently.

She took it and got up, heading for the door, her hospital gown feeling tight against her chest. Sure, she had an FBI agent for a father but the didn’t mean she’d ever used a gun.

Her hands shook as she made her way through the hospital looking for the stairwell or an elevator to take her to the roof.

She took a deep breath in when she turned a corner and almost shouted when she saw an elevator. She quickly rushed across the way and pressed the up button on the panel.

The doors opened quickly like it had been waiting for her and she stepped inside.

“Ma’am, ma’am—“ She saw a security guard rushing towards her as the doors were closing. They shut and she pressed the R button, sighing in relief.

Her heart seemed to beat faster than it ever had as she watched the numbers on the top of the screen going up.

“Code red. The hospital is now on lockdown. All exterior door are shut and will not open back up. Please seek cover until the code red is lifted.”

The elevator stopped and dinged. Y/N took a breath as the doors swished open and she stepped out, her bare feet stinging against the concrete of the roof.

It was still pitch black outside. “Spencer?” She called out into the windy night. She spun around, looking in every direction. “Spencer, where are you?”

“Y/N…” She turned around and saw her boyfriend with a gun to his head.

Her mouth fell open as she looked from him to Ben who was standing there with tears in his eyes and a smile. She quickly pointed her gun at him— or she hoped she was pointing it at him— and blinked.

“Ben, what the hell are you doing?” She asked, stepping forward a bit. She realized that probably wasn’t the best idea because he was holding her boyfriend hostage quite literally on the edge.

The man inhaled through his nose and shut his eyes. “I just wanted it to be my turn.” He shook his head as tears cascaded down his cheeks. “And I thought it was when I met you until I saw you getting fingered in the fucking bathroom like a slut.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and her head tilted to the side.

“That door that your boyfriend escaped from?” He chuckled. Y/N bit her lip.

“I’m s-sorry.”

He shook his head. “I never got what you two have. I’ve wanted this for— I don’t know how long and the second I met you, I thought I found it.” He laughed maniacally. “I never got any love from anyone.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut when the barrel of the gun was pushed harder into the side of his head. Y/N inhaled deeply. “Ben, I’m sorry.” She swallowed and glanced at Spencer. “I should have realized sooner that it wouldn’t work out with Spencer and I.” She nodded.

His eyes opened and his brows furrowed. “Y/N, what?” He had caught on quick.

She scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re a lying son of a bitch.” She let her father’s gun fall down to her side.

Ben’s eyebrows shot up in amusement.

Spencer swallowed. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart beating quick in her chest. “I don’t think I can.” She glanced down at the metal pipe by their feet before looking back up at Ben. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance, Ben. You deserve a chance.” She held out her hand and smiled at him.

The man let out a sigh of disbelief before looking at her. “Really?”

Y/N nodded and let a small giggle fall from her lips. She saw his body moving away from Spencer and dropped her father’s gun.

Ben’s head hung as he cried and walked forward. Y/N glanced at Spencer who was grabbing the metal pipe by his feet.

She focused back on Ben who was closer now. He dropped his gun and shuffled towards her. Before he could reach her, he was struck over the head with the pipe and sent to the ground.

Y/N’s eyes glazed over and she let out a breath as she stared at the unconscious man. “Y/N.” Spencer’s voice brought her out and she looked up at him, her eyes softening.

She wrapped her arms around them as he did her and stood there in a tight hug, no words being spoken but a million things being said.

They heard the shouts of security and police pushing through the doors of the elevator but stayed there in each other’s embrace.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.3monthslater.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

“Dad, I’m here!” She called pushing open the front door to her father’s home. She had food in her hands.

He invited her over for a movie night. She was at his service acting as a nurse after he got shot. Stayed with him for a few weeks.They flew back to Virginia two days after the whole incident.

Ben was arrested and Y/N heard the end of him at some point. Spencer left that same night because he thought she’d need space. He wanted her to have as much time as she needed to think about all of the things that went wrong that night.

She really didn’t want him to go but there was nothing she could think of to say to make him stay.

They didn’t speak to each other or see each other since that night. Hadn’t called or texted. Nothing. Nada.

At first, it had been refreshing to not have to sneak around like a teenager but it got worse when she went back to her own empty apartment after her dad was cleared and she didn’t feel the need to be a nurse anymore.

She set the food down on the kitchen counter, setting the fresh bouquet of flowers down as well.

She heard footsteps and smiled when she saw her dad come into view. “Hi, dad!” She walked over to hug him.

“Hi, sweetie.” He kissed her cheeks and squeezed her tight. “Ugh, I missed you.”

Y/N chuckled. “You saw me last week.” He shrugged and scurried over to the bag.

“Ooh, ingredients for carbonara.” He hummed. “Our favorite.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

After dinner had been made, she and her father sat in the rarely used dining room and sipped wine while talking about random things.

After a rather interesting conversation about pasta, he cleared his throat. “So, have you… spoken to Spencer?” He knew she hadn’t.

He’d seen Spencer moping around the BAU for the past three months, giving out fake smiles and little to no non-interesting facts about something completely irrelevant he’d read somewhere.

Y/N sighed and tipped her head back, downing the rest of her wine. “Uh… y’know, I haven’t gotten around to it.” She shrugged. He squinted his eyes and saw how hers deflated.

“Really…” He nodded.

She hummed. “Yeah. You uh… you don’t have to worry about us anymore. I’m pretty sure that it’s over.” Her mood seemed to change as expected.

Rossi shut his eyes. He saw how much this was affecting both of them. “And… you’re okay with that?”

Y/N have a fake smile and she cleared her throat. She didn’t have the energy to lie anymore. “No.” She stated simply. “But if you really don’t approve, then I won’t blatantly disrespect your wishes.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Y/N, you’re a grown ass woman.” Her eyes popped wide in surprise. “I mean sure, I didn’t really like the fact that you two were sneaking around but if you love him, I want you to be happy. I Can see how shitty your mood has been these last few months.”

Y/N smiled and looked down at her plate. “Really?”

Rossi smiled and nodded. “Really. Your happiness means more to me than my stupid wishes.” His daughter sat there for a moment with her hands fidgeting under the table. “Y/N?”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Get the hell out of here, kid.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

She drove to Spencer’s apartment. She had no plan of what she would say or how but she just needed to see him.

She parked her car right outside his building and walked up the stairs hurriedly. She let out a breath when she reached his door and shut her eyes before knocking.

She heard a groan and footsteps shuffling towards the door. Mid swing was when she heard his voice. “Penelope, what the fuck do you want-“ He stopped when he realized that it wasn’t Penelope but it was Y/N. “Y-Y/N?”

She looked at his face, noticing the scruffy beard around his cheeks and his sad, dark eyes. “Oh, Spencer.” She let out quietly. Just seeing him like this made her tear up.

Spencer's lip quivered and he leaned forward, gently burying his face into her neck and wrapping his arms around her, not saying a word.

Y/N swallowed and stood on her toes to wrap her ar,arms, around his neck. She backed him up into his apartment so their moment could be more private.

"I thought- I thought I wouldn't ever see you again." He spoke into her skin. She breathed his much missed scent and squeezed him tighter.

"I would never leave you like that." She whispered.

After a few more moments of standing with each other, Spencer pulled away. "What are you doing here? I mean- why are you just now coming back now?"

She smiled up at him. "Because I realized that I need to do what makes me happy. And being with you does just that."

Spencer leaned forward, his lips longing for a kiss. She leaned up and pressed her lips against his, smiling a bit. "You make happy too. I was a mess when we were apart." He spoke as she pul.ed away.

She giggled a bit. "Now, we can be a mess together."

--------------------------

I literally hate to be that author but they live happily ever after!!! I hope y’all liked the ending and I didn’t disappoint because I feel like I suck at endings lol

I'm so glad that you all loved this story as much and I a, kinda sad that it's ending but I seriously can't think of any other ideas that won't be boring for yall to read. Anywayysssss

Love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

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lixzey · 8 months

Text

Letters

warnings: child abuse, mentions of blood, starvation and dehydration of a child, locking up a child in a basement/cage, beating up a child, etc.

a/n: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION ‼️‼️‼️This has very detailed scenes which may not be suitable for everyone. The next six letters will be the same, so heads up!

The Twelfth Letter

Timothée held the twelfth letter in his shaking hands. He wanted to go and just rip the damn letter open, but he was scared—of what he would read in the letter inside the tear-stained envelope. Timothée had an idea about what was written in the letter, making it harder for him. A part of him wanted to know about everything she had been through. But the other part of him was already furious and will not be sorry for what he might do to the people who hurt Y/N based on what he would read.

Timothée sighed, running a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath. He slowly opened the envelope, his fingers running over the adhesive, before pulling out the letter dated August 8th, 2023.

Dear Timothée,

So, where do I begin?

Can you please, please, promise me that you'll keep this a secret? Swear, this one you'll save?

Okay, okay, so here's the story of my life.

The day I arrived at my aunt's home, I had no idea how my life was going to turn out. At first, she was kind. She made me feel comfortable, like I was her own child. But after two weeks of being in her care, the nightmare started.

I was advised not to go to school for the time being because of the trauma I had gone through. I loved it, honestly. I stayed at home, ate cookies and chips, and watched TV—all that normal kid shit. But one day, when I was sitting in the living room, peacefully watching Baby Loony Tunes, my aunt suddenly grabbed me by the arm, dragged me all the way down to the basement, and threw me against the hard wall. As a little girl, I didn't understand; I was confused. What did I do to deserve this? Was I a bad girl? I had so many questions running through my mind at that time. It turns out that my parents' assets were repossessed by the bank. All the money, jewellery, and house are gone. My aunt only agreed to take me in because of the benefits of it, and once it ran out, she turned into the devil.

She left me in the basement for days without any food or water. And whenever I would cry, she would come down and throw me across the room and tell me to shut up, or she would beat the crap out of me. I was terrified. I hoped and prayed that it was just some sort of nightmare and that my parents would get me out. I spent my nights in that basement curled up in the corner, hugging my knees to my chest and wondering why I was being treated like that, trying as much as possible to sob silently until my body just gave out and I lost consciousness.

It went on for weeks. It got worse and worse each and every day. She treated me like an animal locked up in a cage. I was given, occasionally, mostly scraps and leftovers, and given my situation, I was grateful for that, even if my body was suffering from starvation and dehydraton. At that point, my mind knew what I was: an orphan who no one wanted to take care of. A burden, a waste of space, nothing.

I get beat up almost every day, like the time she lost a pair of earrings. I remember it vividly, like each and every one. She accused me of escaping the basement and stealing her precious jewellery. I told her I didn't; I begged her not to punish me; I begged and begged, but all of it was in vain. I got kicked in the stomach hard until I was spitting out blood. She split my lip, almost knocking out a few teeth. My face got bruised and puffy from all the slaps I got. After she was satisfied by all the blood, she tied me to a pipe in the corner of the room. She left me there for another week without food or water. The blood on my shirt dried on my skin, and every time I moved, it hurt so much that it felt like I was tearing off my skin every time I tried to move. Days later, I was jolted awake when my hair got yanked hard, pulling away from the corner. I was thrown into a cage—a real fucking metal cage—and doused with ice-cold water. The water felt like knives against my skin as I felt the dried, blood-soaked shirt tear away from my body. I screamed and cried as I tried to stay away from the water, like a tiny kitten. I was left in the cold and dark room, naked and curled up in the corner of the metal cage, whimpering as the pain settled throughout my body.

You might be wondering, “Why the hell did no one do something?”

Well, no one could hear me from the basement that was nearly three feet down. Or maybe no one really cared.

The basement didn't have that much stuff—only old books, magazines—which I've read to pass the time before I got thrown into a fucking cage like I was dangerous or what—and a full-sized mirror, where I used to sit in front of and look at my bruises. I often lay there in the dark of the night, fearing monsters like any other kid would. But the real monster was the person I called my 'aunt'. I kept holding on to a dream; maybe that's the one thing that kept me sane in that prison. I had nothing else left, only memories of the past.

During those days, the memories of the past gave me hope. That one day everything will be back to the way it once was, but it never happened—nevertheless, I kept holding on, like I said, because it was the only thing I had left of my past life. But now, the memories of the past haunt me. I keep on trying to leave it all behind, but somehow, life has got it in for me.

I was a kid. A kid who didn't know anything better. A kid who only wanted her parents to protect her from all of the monsters. But instead, I was left to fucking fend for myself in the cruel, cruel world. I didn't know how to cope with it, so all I did was cry. Which made my suffering much, much worse, whenever she heard me. So, as much as possible, I tried to muffle my sobs. Maybe there was a monitor down in the basement, because how the fuck would she hear me from three feet down?

Anyway, that's all for now, I guess.

There's still more, Timmy. I swear, the next years of my life were….I'll just write it down in the next letter.

Always remember that you are the light of my life, alright? The only good thing left in my life, even if you're not mine, is that I love you.

All my love,

Y/N.

Timothée felt his blood boil. Everything in Y/N's letter was far worse than he had expected. The anger he felt for Y/N's so-called 'aunt' was beyond words. How in hell could someone hurt a child? A ten-year-old child who had just lost her parents in an accident in front of her eyes, for fucks sake! Timothée took a deep breath, folding the letter and placing it back in its envelope before standing and walking to the plane's bathroom. As soon as he locked the door, he buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, so badly it hurt. He wanted to hurt someone, and that someone, who was first on his list in red marker, was Y/N's aunt. There was so much that Timothée wanted to do, but right now, he knew he couldn't. And it was making him crazy—crazier by each second, probably. He couldn't understand how Y/N lived through all the suffering. He couldn't understand why life made her suffer at such a young age. He couldn't understand what Y/N did wrong to deserve such misery.

Timothée slowly lifted his head and faced the mirror. Tears were streaming down his face as he realized the feeling of guilt that was eating him alive. Had he received her letters earlier, maybe he could've helped her. Maybe he could've been there for her in some way, making her feel better. But he didn't, because the letters came a year late. Anything could have happened in a year, or even in a month, for that matter. Timothée opened the tap, splashing water all over his face to ease the myriad of feelings that were slowly eating him up. He stared at himself in the mirror. His curls clung to his forehead and neck, water droplets cascading down his pale face, his eyes starting to get puffy and red, and his lips quivering. He sighed, grabbing the individually wrapped, warm towels from the nearby stack and wiping away the remaining water on his face. The warmth made him feel a bit better, though there was still a lingering feeling of guilt in the back of his mind. What was he supposed to do now? He had this sickening feeling about the last six letters. But he wanted to know more and understand each and every ghost of her past that kept on haunting Y/N.

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @lilmaymayy @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29

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starryficsfinishwen · 8 months

Text

✧!。◟[kinktober 2023] ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ — PGR & GI x reader [week 2]

write it on my neck, why don't you?

a.n. - hueheu midterm week this week and so much has/is happening, I'm super sorry for the delay. now you might be asking why they are paired with the other "evil" men, but I assure you: they're all randomly grouped LOL also, I hit 100 followers already, I'm so happy!!! thank you so much!! let's see what I can do, but I can assure that I'll try harder to post more now~ thank you so much ❤️

pairings - ascendants [roland, von negut] + sumeru, inazuma, and mondstadt men [alhaitham, albedo, ayato, diluc] x fem!reader

word count(s) - 400 to 2000+ words heuehueh (you can tell who I'm biased with, welp)

kinktober masterlist

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW THEMES: hate sex, corruption kink, orgasm denial, mirror sex, dry humping, shower sex, temperature play, sadism, degradation (bitch), sum praise kink. a bit of pet names (lamb, little lamb). slight bdsm (constraints). oral sex w/ handjob (m!receiving; von negut, diluc). sub!men (albedo, diluc). a little predator, prey? (von negut). STRONG USE OF LANGUAGE.

special mention: banner credits to @/rookthorneartistry, @/cafekitsune

! — Roland: Flambeau [ hate sex + orgasm denial ]

“My, what a sight to see.”

Roland's words were laced with amusement as if mocking you— tear-strained cheeks and quivering lips. His hands gripped your chin hard, caging you in between his arms.

“Shut up, Roland,” you spat out, “y-you're so weak.”

A surge of pleasure makes you choke on your own words. You're in his lap then, legs spread open and hung over his knees. Roland jerked his hips upward, a loud squelch as his dick throbs within your overstimulated walls. You whined softly, feeling the tip nudge that one spongy spot inside of you.

“Me, weak?” His laughter, although it brings you anger, tickles your chest, diving straight into your stomach, “said the girl who actually begged me to fuck her.”

“Roland, I swear to- ah,” you moaned out pathetically, his free hand caressing your clit, “ngh, n-no more...”

“Who would have thought that Luna's little lap dog is actually a bitch in heat, mm,” Roland dawdled out, laughing as he pinched your nub, “oh, did you like that? When I called you a bitch?”

“Fuck you.”

“Am I not doing you that favor already?”

You fumbled with your hands— tied tightly with your scarf —but all you could touch was the cold metal plate in his chest. Your anger bubbles brightly in your chest, yet all you can breathe out is your incessant moaning.

“I should admit: you look pretty when you're spewing nonsense to rile me up.” He chuckled, causing your pussy to flutter around his cock, “But you look the prettiest when you're ever so desperate to be fucked by me.”

When he was done playing with your overstimulated clit, he brought two fingers to your mouth, to which you obediently started sucking. Roland grunted in your ear, the other free hand dragging from your shoulders to your breast, causing you to jump.

“But I do admit, you look too beautiful when you're busy sucking on something else.” Pretty and beautiful is an understatement, not when you're mindlessly sucking his fingers as he toyed with the insides of your mouth, breathless sighs combining with your desperate grinding on his dick.

“Shit,” he breathed, licking under your ear, “squeezing me already. Your pussy is so greedy,” he called your name, voice dripping with sin and lust.

“I hate you,” you moaned out through your bared teeth and his fingers when Roland began to rut into your hips with reckless abandon, “I fucking hate you, Rola- ah, there, please-”

He groaned once more before grabbing you by the hips, manhandling you to the nearest table, uncaring whatever was there. Your chest lay flat on the surface, his hands now gripping as he fucks you on the corner of the table. Too fucked out to care, you moaned out his name as he rammed into you. And he felt like like it was second nature at that point— your erratic breathing, your pussy twitching and holding him like a vice grip. Hissing through your tight walls, Roland pulled out, the tip of his reddening dick teasing through your slit. You whined from the loss of pleasure, the only heaven that he denied you from—

“You've been nothing but a little tease.” Roland sighs, “Guess being a little bitch really makes you a brat, hm? Did Luna teach you that?”

Without a warning, Roland slammed his dick in one swift motion, the impact sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body, a cry of his name catching the both of you off guard. But Roland, he was too cruel for you; he effortlessly brought your hips higher to him, flushed against him. He saw a frothy white ring forming at the base of his dick, and he only laughed more.

“How about I teach little bitches like you on how to behave properly.”

! — Von Negut: ??? [ corruption kink ]

“Did your parents teach you not to stray from the right path?”

Lithe footsteps echo throughout the abandoned chapel. Your steps, unlike the ones trailing behind you, falter as you hear them not too far behind you. You were sure you were careful; you thought it was the priest guarding the chapel, or a nearby construct guard, but as you turned, you were met with unfamiliar golden eyes.

His complexion is human; hair tousled and soft, face relaxed as moonlight seeped through broken stained glass. He wore clothes that you only read from the books you've found during your hunts. And most importantly, the glint of his mask catches your attention.

He isn't from this town.

“Who are you?” You asked, voice trembling as you held onto your bag. He shouldn't find what you've scavaged; it's enough to feed for yourself for the next few days before the harsh winters would come to haunt you again.

“Little lamb,” he spoke, walking ever so slowly to you, “I should be the one asking you that question: who are you? And why are you even here?”

You hold onto your white hood, shifting to let the cape cover you, “I'm...sorry. Is this your property? I promise not to touch anything else. There was a blizzard outside, I found this place by accident. I will leave in a while-”

“-No, you're fine.” The man halts in front of you, golden eyes devoid of any emotion, that you thought he was a construct. “I don't mind trespassers. In fact, I think you should stay until the blizzard outside stops; you'll be safer here.”

“Thank-” you choke a cry, “thank you so much...”

“However, you should tell me; no wanderers would easily find this area. How did you find this place?”

You never noticed that he was closer than he was earlier. A hair's breadth away from seeing the lies you've concocted. You look away, dazzled by his eminent beauty.

“I...really got lost,” you held your breath, “I strayed from the path I was supposed to follow and the snowstorm led me here...”

“Alright, then can you explain the food you've stolen?”

“I didn't-!” you cried out, but the intense gaze he had on you made you shut your brain, “I-I found them...”

“You do realize that liars need to be punished, right?” Stoic expression on his face, yet a dull ache ran through your body and...down there. Punishment? What was it?

“I know you stole from us, little lamb.” he reached out to touch your chin, your hood dropping as your face is finally revealed to the mysterious man. “Bad girls like you need to be punished.”

“I-I'm not a-”

“On your knees.”

It was an order. An order, voice authoritative and firm, that made you sink to your knees, the bag of food forgotten as you dropped them to your side. What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly drop to the floor?

You squeaked as he approached you, his nether regions closer to your face. Upon further inspection, a noticeable outline was seen, haloed by the broken lights.

“What a good girl, such a good little lamb.” The praise made you throb down there, now confused with the situation.

His gloved hands find themselves resting above his bulge. You swallowed your pride, as he spoke again, “I'm sure you humans have never heard the art of procreation, now that the punishing virus has been rampant. Have you heard of it, little lamb?”

“N-no...” you meekly admitted, yet you knew something related to what he meant, something that your late parents had spoken about, “I haven't...”

“That is your punishment.” He said, and you try to look for some emotion on his face, but cold, lifeless golden irises only stare back at you, “for breaching boundaries that you never should have reached.”

He dips his head low, that only moonlight and you could hear, a shadow overcasting his face, “for straying the path you should have taken instead.”

Your heart thrums harder in your chest— thump, thump, thump, —wildly, as the mysterious man unzips his pants, revealing a long, thick cock, littered with a prominent vein on one side, tip oozing with something sticky. You've been warned about men and their sadistic tendencies, that sex is bad when you're only a young girl trying to survive the storm and the virus. But seeing one, something so large and thick in reality made you question what you've learned.

“Pretty...” you unconsciously spoke, “I-I mean-”

The man only chuckles, “you think so, mm? Well, why don't you use your hands first.”

Shakily, you tried to hold onto the thing. You were very uncertain, but the loud noise the man made only encouraged you to touch more.

It's soft— you noted. Although long, it curves perfectly in your hand, and you try to touch the veins littering across the shaft. He only moans further, and down there, you've been throbbing alongside your heartbeat.

Was this really a punishment? You somehow enjoyed it, rubbing the shaft and eventually toying with the tip of his leaking cock. Suddenly, he grabs the top of your head, pushing it for your mouth to meet his dick.

“Easy now, little lamb,” he chuckled, “You think you could stop at that?”

You whined as he nudged his dick to your mouth, smearing the liquid to your lips. “Open your mouth. Let's see how good you are with it.”

You obliged to his wishes, uncomfortable yet feeling... unnaturally hot as you struggled to take him whole in your mouth. Tears like diamonds form by the corner of your eyes, but when you looked up, his golden irises reflected an emotion that you were familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time—

Lust.

“Good girl,” he spoke through gritted teeth, labored breaths filling the room, “I thought you'd be inexperienced, but look at you.”

He shallowly thrusts in your mouth. You try to breathe through your nose, but his grip on your head, and the dizzying, overwhelming feeling of pleasure slowly corrupts your mind.

And it's something that the mysterious man wants.

You feel his cock a bit bigger in your mouth, and you try to protest, but he quickly pulls away, his dick coated with his pre-cum and your saliva.

“Open your legs, little lamb,” you do as he asked, trembling as you feel something wet dribble down there that you almost whined, “mm, that's it.”

He leaned down, swiftly taking your panties, aware of the thin slick webbing them. Embarrassment fills you, but a new wave of pleasure replaces it with a small moan, as you feel the tip of his dick rub your clit.

“W-wait, sir-”

“Von Negut,” he smiles sadistically as he rubs his shaft over your drenched little pussy, “I want you to call me that while I claim you. That's my name. Try to say it.”

“S-Sir...V-Von Negut...”

“Mmh, that's right,” the golden irises only glint the same as his mask, “that's a good girl.”

In one swift movement, he sinks his whole cock into your pussy, feeling your walls tremble violently as you came on his cock for the first time that night. Von Negut marvels at you, your way to corruption.

“This is your punishment for straying from the right path, little lamb.”

! — Alhaitham: Admonishing Instruction [ mirror sex ]

Once upon a time, you said— quite proudly, to add —that you could take on the Grand Scribe without losing.

“Seems like you've miscalculated,” chuckled Alhaitham, as he grunted into the crook of your shoulder, his breath sending tingles from your tear to the tips of your toes, “you really ran your mouth dry, [Y/N].”

So there you were— split apart on Alhaitham's big cock, legs trembling as he pried them open on his legs, your fingers betraying you as they fumbled to rub your clit and open your hole wider. You whined louder, head thrown back onto Alhaitham's shoulder, refusing to look at yourself in the mirror that he placed in front of you.

“Ngh, no, no more,” you cried out, “y-you're too big, 'Haitham ... s'big,”

“Hm? Already?” He teased you mercilessly, thrusting harder on you, that you heard a loud squelch from where you're connected, “mm, I thought you said you could take me.”

“T-This doesn't count,” you whined, “n-no matter how many times we d-do this...you're just too b-big...”

Alhaitham couldn't lie, not when his ego was stroked like how your pussy enveloped his hard cock. He laughed, fingers aiding your own to rub your overstimulated cunt.

“That's good, isn't it?” He breathed deeply to the crook of your neck, nibbling that one spot that made you shake in his arms, “this pussy is accommodating me just right. I know you can take it more, dearest. I believe in you.”

You moaned, as if answering Alhaitham's mockery. One of his hands grabbed onto your hips, dictating you to his rhythm, causing you to jolt.

“See, this is the problem: I put this mirror in front of you, in front of us, so you could see how beautiful you are when you're busy jumping on my cock,” he tsked, your pathetic whines falling deaf to his ears, “why don't you listen to me and look at yourself in the mirror?”

You didn't listen. Instead, you shook your head, burying your face into his neck. “N-no, don't wanna...”

Alhaitham sighed, his thrusts becoming slower. You whined from the slowing loss, as you were already trying to chase your high. Alhaitham may be a tease, but he's patient and kind — he wouldn't cum unless you listened to his commands.

“Come on, darling,” he taunted, one hand gently holding your chin, “don't you want to cum, hm?”

Defeated, you let Alhaitham's hand lead you in front. By the time you opened your eyes, your pussy throbs.

Were you always this pretty? Looking nearly fucked out, legs trembling, body littered with bites and hickies, and how you looked perfect, slotted just right in Alhaitham's body. His large cock buried deep in your walls, and you were quite sure your pussy was greedily sucking him in, ever so perfectly split apart by him. Alhaitham was the prettiest— broad shoulders and sculpted body towering over yours, caging you just right. A loud moan escapes your lips, and Alhaitham thinks it's the best one, as your walls flutters around his cock.

“You like that, don't you?” He chuckled deeply, leaving another hickey on the side of your neck, “you like it when you see yourself in this mirror, being fucked by me?”

“A-Alhaitham,” you moaned, feeling his cock sink deeper, just nudging that one spot you've been looking for all this time, “f-fuck, right there, right there please- ah, hah-”

“Fuck,” he cursed, impatiently slamming his hips to you, sturdy fingers still gripping your chin to stay still, “we should do this more often, hm?”

“Don't look away; I want you to see how we look when we cum together.”

! — Albedo: Kreideprinz [ dry humping ]

You've always known that the Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt was an eye-candy.

Soft, fluffy hair (Klee said so, while you accompanied her during your walk to Starfell lake,), calculative teal eyes, a gentle baritone that makes you feel lightheaded whenever he talks to you. It's impossible not to fall for someone like Albedo. A man like him, with a life so guarded and clear, would always uphold his image.

That is, until he starts whimpering under you.

Trembling lips and teal eyes looking at you for mercy. You're straddling him— the heat of your cunt directly on his awfully hard and clothed dick, his hands holding your shoulders, and yours on his. How did this happen? You can't remember much; only when your cunt catches the outline of his bulge, that you moaned out Albedo's name, that he whimpers more under you.

“[Y/N],” he breathed out, the cloud of smoke escaping your lips, “m...more, please.”

A haughty laugh from you. You grind at the delicious friction, one that made Albedo moan louder.

“Oh, the Chief Alchemist is asking for more?” You teased, the torchlight behind you granting you the chance to see the strained look on Albedo's face, “I thought you said you're done.”

“Ngh, I-I am,” he muttered, “b-but you're still here...you're still teasing me.”

Your mind is mushed, drowning in Albedo's scent— cecilias and the snow —and you roll your hips closer to him, twin moans from the both of you.

You forget you're an assistant, and he's your boss; right now, in this small space of the cave, you would chase your high with the man you've been pining on all this time.

“Don't you like this?” Your faux innocence is alluring to Albedo, much to his chagrin, “you're awfully hard, Albedo. Do you not want to be relieved from this?”

“Ah, I would, if only Sucrose and Timaeus were not-”

“-Don't say other people's names when we're like this, Albedo,” you hold Albedo's jaw in between your fingers, staring deeply into his teal irises, “I get jealous rather easily.”

You leaned down to kiss him, to which he reciprocated; unconsciously, you grinded hard on him, the outline deliciously rubbing your clit and catches your weeping hole. Albedo groans into your mouth, hips jerking as he comfortably finds the spot that made your knees weak.

Grinding, panting, incessant touches— it's mesmerizing, it's intoxicating; the smell of your arousal clogging his rational thoughts, and the heat of your bare cunt staining his trousers. Forget it then— Sucrose, alchemy, the world; heaven descended and landed on his lap, in the form of you.

Relentlessly, he ruts into you, both your moans swallowed by each other's mouths. Hands tangled in the expanse and gaps of skins that can be reached, reckless abandon to the point of intoxication.

Albedo fits perfectly with you; it makes him wonder what it'd like when his dick sinks into yours?

That very thought sends him to his climax, lips detaching to groan to you, hips jerking uncontrollably as he cums in his underwear. You followed after, cunt sitting on top of the outline of his dick. Both of you try to catch your breaths, content with each other's warmth.

“So,” he spoke after a while, hand slipping underneath your coat, “would you...mind staying the night?”

! — Ayato: Pillar of Fortitude [ shower sex ]

Taking a shower is one of the ways for Ayato to de-stress after a long, long day. Seeing you is also another way.

But having both at the same time? What a perfectly good way to de-stress.

“Archons,” he breathes, “you're taking me so good, darling.”

You moan out in response, arms trembling to support yourself as you held yourself against the wall, Ayato rails you from behind.

“A-are you sure?” you whimpered, “I-I haven't really prepared for this...”

“You're perfect, god,” he pants, lips finding refuge in the nape of your neck, thrusts still going strong, “you've always been a good little wife to me, darling. You need no preparation, I know you'll take what you're getting.”

There's something about today though. Naturally, Ayato is a careful man, he'd never do something like this as he respects your privacy. But you know, the very moment he came home, he was ready to ravage you.

“I've had a terrible day today,” he paused, a slow and careful thrust to your pussy, “you...just you, you clamping down on me is just what I need.”

The shower water drips down to you both. You forget your fingers pruning, you forget how wet you are; just that Ayato is here, and he's fucking you until you can't walk. Just when you thought he can't get any deeper, he raised one of your legs closer to his chest, a loud moan as an answer to his actions.

“A-Ayato...!”

He slung your leg to his arm. His other hand, from your chest, drifts down to your pulsating cunt, strumming on your clit. The coil in your stomach knocks as your second orgasm for the night draws closer, Ayato's dick nudging on the sweet spots that's making you see stars.

“Why don't you cum for your beloved husband, darling? I want to feel you cum first, before I fill your womb with my seed.”

! — Diluc: The Dark Side of Dawn [ temperature play ]

Although he may not admit it, but Diluc's orange eyes glowed in the dark, anticipation and excitement reflecting as you slowly dragged his zipper down ever so slowly.

“Must you tease me this way, love?” He groaned, seeing as you laughed at his demise.

“Mm, maybe?” Giggling, you dragged out his pants even slower, “it's fun teasing you this way.”

“You are cruel.”

“I am a saint,” you grinned, taking the surprise out of your breast, a small container in your hand, “and you are following what I'm saying.”

You opened the container. You are immediately met with the smell of asters and wine, courtesy of Albedo's experiment. It's a surprise, really— how your lover, Diluc, decides to join in on your antics.

“Is that Albedo's new experiment?”

You nodded, “he was using slime condensate as a new form of lubricant. He wanted to copy that consistency, and here we are now.”

“It sounds successful,” he coughed, “are you sure there are no other side effects?”

“One way to find out,” you hummed, grabbing a scoop with your fingers, before rubbing it in your hands, “I'll be testing this out now.”

Without breaking eye contact, you looked at your husband as you carefully grabbed his half-hard cock. Must have been the reaction with the cold condensate and his natural body heat— he throws his head back into the pillows, groaning. It felt...nicer in your hands. His thick cock comes to life, already hard and hot in your hands. Graciously, you rub along his shaft, paying close attention to the prominent vein by the side of it. He groans and growls louder, fingers gripping the sheets. You revel in his actions as you pump him, occasionally rubbing the tip of his reddening long and hard cock.

He looks amazing when he's writhing under you, as if your control was enough for him to feel this way. Your pussy throbs at that thought.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Mmph, fuck,” he moaned softly, “i-it's cold, but at the same time, i-it's so hot...”

His hips jerk to your touch, as if sensitive. The gears in your head starts to turn, but it's too late— Diluc cums in your hands, a low groan escaping his lips.

Warm, creamy cum overfills your hands. You can't help but grin, the new lubrication extending his orgasm as you pump his dick more.

“Mm, cumming already, love?”

“I-I- uh,” he shook his head, an arm over his eyes, “sorry...it felt so good...”

“No worries,” you beamed at him, lowering down to meet his still-hard cock, “let me clean you up.”

Diluc shot up, only to find you already sucking the tip of his dick, his hips jerking once more as he felt your warm mouth down there.

“Hah, love, w-wait,” he reached out to grab hold of your hair, tugging as you bob your head, struggling to take his whole dick into your mouth, “s-slow down, please...”

Diluc wasn't joking; you tasted the coolness of the lubricant, but at the same time, it lingered with his heat. Your tongue teasingly licks the prominent vein, and Diluc harshly tugs on your hair.

“L-love, wait, f-fuck, hah,” Diluc's cock feels bigger as you try to swallow him deeper, “I-I think I'm coming-”

But you stopped before he could finish that statement. Saliva drips out of your mouth as you catch your breath, staining your nightgown. You look up to see Diluc's flustered appearance— flushed cheeks, labored breathing, and twitching cock. You licked your lips, before taking the container to Diluc's hands.

“Rub me, Diluc,” you spoke, flirty and honest, “I want to feel what you're feeling, too.”

Without hesitation, Diluc scoops with his fingers as you straddled his legs, leaking little pussy presented neatly to him. Your lover growls, as he lightly smears the lubricant across your cunt, your moans intertwining with his. You felt the cold seeping through your hot skin now, and it makes you want more.

You quickly slid and grinded your weeping cunt along Diluc's shaft, your moans and his getting louder as you feel pleasure builds up faster than ever. You looked deeply into Diluc's warm eyes, as you aligned your pussy to his hard cock, entering into you in one fell swoop. Cold and hot lingers— outside and inside of you, as you felt his cum fill your womb. Diluc growls in your ear, and it makes you grab onto his shoulders, nails digging deep there.

“Let's see how many times we can come from this, darling.”

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-ˋˏ starryficsfinishwen ˎˊ

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