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#but... it's. idk. it might be cruel. if he's in pain it's cruel to not end his suffering

bitchimasnake-sss · 6 months

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"stay, please" ft. the monster trio!

in which, nightmares plague them and you're the only remedy

ft. luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader

set-up: late night nightmares give way to very vulnerable boyfriends i see (i couldnt bring myself to pick sad gifs for them tho, idk use your imagination)

warnings: none!! wholesome shit all day every day :)

luffy:

- luffy is always a heavy sleeper - no, like quite literally - he sleeps on you like a log, unmoving until you're physically shoving him off and throwing him off the bed - so, in the dead of the night, when he pulled you closer against his chest and held you tighter, you simply assumed it was no big deal - but his hands are tightening around your waist, his breath seems laboured and as you throw him a glance over your shoulders, you see his brows furrowed together as if he was in pain - "yn, no. yn-" his voice sounds distraught, hands trembling against your figure "luffy?" you whisper, gently putting your arm over his, "luffy, hey?" - his breath seems more laboured, as if it hurts just to breathe - you were shaking him awake, "luffy, wake up, come on" - when he did, his eyes were teary and he buried his head into your hair. relief flooded his voice as he kept holding onto you, "you're okay right?" "ofcourse i am. are you?" "i-" he sneaks in a quick breath and then looks at you, "yeah" - you run your hand up and down his arm gently, other coming to rest on his cheek, "nightmare?" - he stays silent for a second, just looking at you. then he whispers, "i thought i lost you" "i'm right here" you flash him a small smile, chasing it with a small peck on his lips, "i promise" "you promise?" his features stay unmoving, still grim "i promise" you're rubbing soothing circles on his cheek - a second passes before either of you speaks up. it's him who does. - he presses his hands over yours and whispers slowly, "stay with me, please" "i wouldn't be caught dead anywhere else" - and then he's picking you up, "we're awake and im hungry so might as well-" - he made you help him raid the pantry and feed him emergency snacks to soothe him again - one of these days, sanji's gonna put a biometric scanner at the kitchen door and luffy's gonna go feral - that is your version of doomsday - what a menace i love him

zoro:

- it was a sickening routine as far as you remembered. you hated it to your very core and yet, you couldn't do anything as it played out - every once in a while, when the fates were a little too cruel, zoro would slip out of the bed, careful not to wake you up. - he'd slowly close the door behind him, stepping out onto the chilly deck - it wouldn't take you long to notice the abrupt coldness next to you where zoro should have been - and you would usually walk out and find him peering at the sea, tension etched into every muscle - your hands would wrap around his waist and you would press your face against his sculpted back. you would feel his body ease under your familiar touch, the tension fading away and leaving behind another young man "zo'" you would whisper, "'nother nightmare?" and he would just gave you a curt nod - that's how it usually went. he wouldn't elaborate, he would just hold onto you till all his worries slipped past him and then he'd carry you back to bed - he wouldn't bring it up again in the morning and it was a silent agreement that you wouldn't either - but today, his body shivered, trembling against your feather-like touches "zoro?" you're panicking, turning him to look at you, "zo' are you cry-" - he pulls you towards himself, his head on top of yours, "i thought i fuckin' lost you i-" you bury yourself against him, "i'm right here, look" "you wouldn't leave right?" his voice is gentle, "i- you'd stay by my side, right? please" - you look up at him, pressing a kiss on his cheek, "ofcourse i will. where else would i go?" he gives a small smile, "wherever you go, stay away from that shitty cook" "ah, don't worry. you can ensure that by showering for once" "oh, really?" he scoffs playfully, "only if you join me" - he carries your blushing figure into the room and you fall asleep with him tangled against you - you did take him up on the showering together offer tho, ur a slave to the temptations of the flesh it seems

sanji:

- honest to god, i believe he is the kind of guy who doesn't wake you up - but over the years, youve caught onto the pattern - it's always the days where he either sneaks off into the kitchen, saying that there's just some recipe he thought of that he needs to try or he sits in the bed, silently basking in the venomous thoughts - some nights, you feel his warmth pull away and he's sitting beside you, back against the headboard - his breath is laboured and his eyes are screwed shut as he tips his head backwards - your hand is on his knee, grounding him back to reality "sanji?" you mumble as you sit up, "you okay?" "did i wake you up?" he mumbles back with a look of concern, "im sorry, my love" - but you're already settling in between his legs, your back flush against his chest. you bring his hand and intertwine it with your own, bringing it to your lips to press a small kiss - it ends with you talking about something else to get his mind off the bullshit "what if we have like 4 moons and we don't know?" "i don't think that scientifically possible, darling" "anything's possible. never say never." - on nights you find him in the kitchen, you silently walk in there and sit on the kitchen counter, asking him what he's cooking - you entertain him with mundane bullshit as he cooks - 9/10 you fall asleep in the kitchen and he has to carry you back - cooks you the same dish later again cause while he was carrying you back, luffy stormed into the kitchen, ate whatever it was and fell asleep on the fucking kitchen floor. - sanji's considering putting a biometric scanner at the kitchen door now

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satorusluver · 7 months

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Minors DNI

Reader x Sukuna smut

Warnings: Degradation, name calling (slut, whore), dubcon(?)

Idk, I'm not super familiar with all the warning terms but there's definitely an unhealthy power dynamic with the reader being implied to be a servant/concubine. I mean, this is Sukuna we're talking about, if you're not into sexy villainous assholes why would you be reading this? Lmao

Never written degradation before but Sukuna is hot and evil so I figured I'd branch out a little. This was pretty experimental for me, hopefully it's not terrible lol.

True form Ryomen Sukuna who takes you roughly from behind, one pair of hands firmly gripping your ass, sharp nails digging into the skin slightly as he forces your hips back and forth so fast, using you as little more than a fleshlight. His other pair of hands cups your breasts, pinching and tugging on your nipples until they become all puffy. Lewd, sloppy, wet sounds can be heard from your sopping cunt as he pounds into you. And the sounds coming from Sukuna's mouth are almost more animalistic than human, deep growls and snarls and occasional cruel laughter when you whimper.

"Such a greedy cunt, it's c-clenching around me so hard, fuck." His voice is low and gruff, and each thrust is harder than the last. "I'm gonna fill this little cunt to the fucking brim with my cum, you hear me? Don't you fucking dare ask me to pull out."

He grins down at where his dick is disappearing into your wet hole, each thrust causing you to take his length all the way until the black rings around the base of his cock are hidden inside you. His hips snap back and forth, going as deeply as possible each time, and your eyes water at the feeling of the fat head of his dick ramming against your cervix. You whine, trembling beneath him at the mix of pleasure and pain his brutal pace causes you.

"Aww, does that hurt? Is it too much for my filthy little slut to take?" Sukuna mocks you, his face twisted into a cruel grin. "Well that's too fucking bad, because you're mine, you understand that? It's your job to take me, every. last. inch." He growls the last few words in time with his thrusts.

"The only reason I even kept you is because of this fucking tight little hole you have here. Fucking sucks my cock right in every single time, shit."

His words are so fucking mean but his thrusts are so perfectly angled at your g-spot that you find yourself cumming around his dick, your inner walls clamping down on him, covering his length in your slick as you cry out his name.

"That's a good little whore. Fuck, I love when you tighten around me like that."

So many hands, one grabbing you by the back of your hair and pressing your face into the pillow, another still roughly pawing at your breast, another holding your waist to keep you in place, and yet another delivering a hard slap to your ass that has you yelping out in surprise.

And Sukuna has endless stamina, he'll fuck you until your hole is overflowing with his cum. Until you can't hold yourself up anymore, and you're nothing but a panting mess lying helpless on the bed, your sore, overused pussy leaking trails of his thick, white seed down your thighs.

"Look at you," Sukuna says as he stares down at the mess he's made of you, his voice taking on the closest thing to softness it's probably capable of. You think you might be imagining one of his hands running along your lower back in a way that could almost be described as gentle.

"You always take me so well, my pretty little cockslut. Such a good little servant, I think I'll keep you around for quite a while."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n

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genacity · 6 months

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DAY SIX. BURNING TIES

ft. simon “ghost” riley — call of duty

you and your partner ghost have to train on how to get out of hostage situations. luckily for you, you’re good at tying knots.

ruling. suggestive — mature content

content warnings. sadist! reader, masochist! ghost, bondage, temperature/wax play, nothing actually inherently sexual ?? besides vocabulary and the fact ghost has his cock out

an. this is short and bad bcs tbh i didn’t wanna write this one and idk how to write ghost. enjoy

kinktober 2023 masterlist

simon groaned as you held the lit candle over his exposed skin. grunting against the restraints you had so effortlessly used to tie him flush against the metal pole that rendered him near motionless.

you were supposed to be training for a hostage situation— said that tying him up was supposed to help.

and now, he was staring at his flush cock being illuminated by the light of a long, flickering candle. where the hell did you even get one of those?

but he didn’t dare question it. not when his eyes were watching as the wax slowly began to melt down and—

“fuck!” simon thrashed against the ties with a loud groan as the drop of wax fell right onto his lower abdomen. he gulped, panting as he tried to find his way out of the rope restraints.

“hurry up,” you prompted. “if you’re this slow in a real situation, by now you’d might as well be dead.”

he hissed. “can’t help it, it’s— shit!” simon was promptly cut off as another drop of wax hit his skin, just at the base of his cock. “fuck, that hurts!”

you laughed as he jolted from another fresh splat of wax hit his skin. “this hurts? wow, i’d expected a lot more from you.” you chuckled, and ghost grunted in response.

the ropes slowly began to loosen around his wrists. good, he was close to freeing himself somehow. simon couldn’t take any more of this— never had this been a way he’d trained to handle a hostage situation.

a large glob of fresh wax dripped down from the burning candle right down onto the base of his cock and right then and there he could have screamed. when you proposed the idea of using wax to better the training, never did he imagine it would hurt so bad.

it was borderline cruel the way you laughed as he struggled. the way you just sat and watched him nearly cry at every drop of wax that hit his skin.

simon was just about to free himself from the restraints holding his arms down when a drop of wax hit his tip and he moaned.

not out of pain. this was a pleasurable moan. not like before, when every noise was a grunt or groan of pain. this was a rough, strained, unmistakable noise of pleasure.

your eyebrows raised and simon froze, no longer struggling to move. “what was that?”

“nothin’.” he dismissed, continuing to writhe against the ropes. but you bent down and held the candle just above his twitching cock— reddening tip flushing from the heat beating down from the candle onto his skin.

“that was not nothing.” you insisted. “did that feel good, simon?”

you tipped the candle as another fresh drip of wax dribbled from the tip of the candle and simon visibly began to panic. it clung to the rim, threatening to fall, and when it did, fresh onto his shaft, he jolted and moaned again.

you couldn’t stifle your laughter. not when you watched his hips buck up, thick cock nearly tearing through the flame and burning himself. it would have if you hadn’t pulled it back.

“oh my god.” you snickered. he panted, still focused on trying to escape the confinements of the rope.

“this ain’t funny, y/n.” simon grumbled, but was promptly cut off by another droplet of wax onto his balls and he choked. “ah. hey, fuck.” his expressions and reactions were just too good to stop short.

good thing you brought a few more candles.

#@ genacity kinktober 2023 ! 🩸 ☆#sub ghost #sub simon riley #sub cod #dom reader #sub character #dom reader smut #sub character smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kinktober

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lady-ashfade · 2 months

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All For Us

Day 16 of celebration marathon

Luke Castellan x Apollo!reader

-♡ ask: this might be a lil confusing idk but can u write something where it's the scene that luke's scorpion thing stings percy and like luke is trynna convince reader to come with him

-♡ words: 700

-♡ good thing I read the book- and posting this 20 minutes early

-♡ warnings: short, angst, betrayal, percy literally dying, book spoilers? Idk if they still counts here

maybe you should have paid more attention.

there were times were you saw the look in his eyes while he talked about the gods to the younger kids. you knew him, you could hear the venom in his voice when he tried to hide it. you also knew how his cheek creased when he smiled, how his eyes looked with tears stinging them, how his face tightened when he was mad. after all that you may have not knew him like you thought you did.

he had taken percy alone at his celebration and you wanted to join them so you looked for them. never did you think you’d hear what you did, see what you saw.

“luke?” you whisper and step out from the tree you hide behind. both pair of eyes turn to you, one with surprise and widen, the other panicking and scared. the scorpion was crawling up percy’s leg and you tried to not spook them.

“what are you doing here?” just a few seconds ago luke was smirking but now his face fell. how could he be so cruel and acted worried?

“let percy go, he’s just a child.” your feet slowly moved forward while your hands stayed in front of you. “I understand, you know I do— but this isn’t the way to get back at the gods.”

“and what is? should we sing a song?” his growl set shivers through you spine. he’s never snapped at you like that. his eyes never looked at you like that. you take a deep breath and glance down at percy as he tries to stay still.

“kronos? luke really?”

“I have to do this, like you said— you know. come with me and I promise it will be better then what it’s like now.” you try and move back when he walks towards you with his eyes going back to love. even know he was just as beautiful, he was yours.

“I can teach you. we can command a army together, can’t you see I’m doing this for us? our future can be better then what they promise us. stick by my side.”

once he is in front of you his hands reaches up to your cheek. it’s so hard to not pull away from his touch. “you know I’d never lie to you.” tears pooled in your eyes as you look along the face you knew. the scar along his cheek, the smile he tried to give you, but the guilt and sadness was new.

“I love you,” you lean in to press a kiss to his lips which he was glad to expect. you pull away and pain captures your heart and makes it ache. “but I will never turn my back on camp.” you push him away and reach for your own weapon, tears now spilling from your eyes.

luke stands there with a sour look and his chest falls heavily. the look you both shared was twisting the fate you once shared, lovers no more.

you turn when percy groans and moves. the scorpion laid sliced by his side but his hand injured by its bite. you rush to him, you look up at luke with anger. “you’re a monster.”

“you loved that about me once, just because it’s towards him now shouldn’t change anything. goodbye, my love.”

his sword spilt open a portal and he hopped into it without saying anything else. you cried and forced yourself to pay attention to percy for now. his life need to keep you going. so you dragged him to the creek as he still held some strength to move with you. you hoped it would heal but the water did nothing to him so you screamed for help.

in the end chiron come and took him from you. you sat in the creek and let the water flow around you and soak your clothes as you sobbed. was it in anger? was it sadness? you had no idea what you felt in that moment. in times like these he would wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was going to be okay, that he would never let anything happen to you.

what were you supposed to do with him gone.

Taglist: @maria699669 @purplerose291 @itzmeme @ravenmedows @repostingmyfavs

#luke castellan angst #luke castellan x reader #Luke castellan x reader angst #Percy Jackson x reader #platonic!percy jackson x reader #angst #lovers to enemies #percy jackson and the olympians x reader

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luveline · 8 months

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Idk if you’re still taking requests for Hotch but if you are— when I have bad anxiety I get a head to toe rash- hives and super itchy/hot. And Hotch comforts them/takes care of them, lots of reassurance. Thank you!

thank you for your request ♡ gn!reader

"Don't be so rough with yourself," Aaron says. You're in such a sad mood that he's managed to become the chipper one of you both. "Let me see."

"I'm not being rough," you insist, smoothing Aloe Vera down your leg with two cruel hands.

You're being normal. Anything beyond petting is too mean for Aaron, though, and he takes your hands.

Sleeves rolled to the elbows already, he certainly doesn't care about how messy and gross this feels. Head to toe, hives spot your skin. They crop up whenever you feel acutely anxious, worsen your anxiety by ten, and then linger unhealed. Aaron never signed up for this, and he's never baulked either way. You might even say he likes it. Not your incessant itching, but getting to help.

Your foot on the bed, leg held up, he squirts Aloe Vera into his hands. It's cool, kept in his fridge specifically for you, a gesture that manages to cheer you up some.

"You're rough," he affirms, passing big palms up and down the flanks of your shin with a familiarity to aid your calm. His touch feels better than any medicine, though the itchiness prevails, and you're glad for it when he stops and ushers your opposite leg onto the bed.

You curl a hand into his shirt to stop from falling over. "Sorry," you say.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it, honey."

"It's gross."

"Not any more gross than me." He's methodical at first, spreading the translucent gel in equal palmings down the length of your leg. He forgets what he's doing halfway through, feeling at your knee and inner thigh like he would laying in bed together, touching just to touch.

"You don't get hives when you worry."

"No, I get wrinkles. Mine are permanent, so really, you shouldn't complain." Your laugh makes him smile, happiness stickying his tone as he murmurs, "I should say sorry to you. I'm harassing you."

He pushes the hem of your pyjama shorts up a touch as he spreads cold gel there. The linen shorts stick to the gel as soon as he moves his hand. You fan your face, feeling uncomfortably hot and scratchy.

Aaron helps you put your foot back down on the floor and sizes you up. You've managed to cover pretty much every hive at this point, your skin shining with a green hue if you catch it in the light the right way.

He sits down at the top of the bed and opens his nightstand drawer. Inside is a number of things, a cell phone, pills, a bag of throat soothers. He reaches toward the back and unveils a handheld fan, charged and raring to go as he turns it on and points it in your direction. The Aloe Vera suddenly feels wetter, the cold providing a quick relief.

He's already asked you what's worrying you. He knew before the hives that something was wrong, not just because he's a profiler. He really, truly cares. Aaron's frowning now like the pain is his own, waving the fan in a gentle side to side. Your eyes slip closed, content to feel it wash over you like a rare breeze in the middle of summer.

"You know the worst part about all of this?" he asks.

"What, baby?" you ask, lips barely parted. This is the most escape you've found all day. "You can't kiss me?"

"I can't kiss you," he says firmly. "How'd you know?"

"You always say stuff like that."

"You always provoke me…" Aaron shifts closer, taking your hand into his. "Feeling any better?"

You preen at his soft touches, his thumb skirting lightly across your fingertips. "A little."

"This is better than the Chinese menu, right?"

Aaron had taken to fanning you with takeout menus whenever you got too hot before his recent purchase. He fanned you for hours, until you could imagine the twinging ache in his biceps, his overworked wrists, never once complaining.

"This is amazing, Aaron, thank you," you breathe out.

He kisses your fingertips. "You're welcome."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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siriuslysmoking · 2 months

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Defeated

A/N: I hate my mind. Anyways I could do a part two and answer some of the other open ended plot points

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort, crying, uh did i say hurt already? Angst

-Please, stay where you are Don't come any closer Don't try to change my mind I'm being cruel to be kind-

He smiles as you walk into his dorm, "Hello, Amore."

Your hands shake as you walk in, closing the door softly behind you, he meets your eyes when you don't respond. "What's wrong? What happened?"

You try your best to harden your gazen, "We're breaking up."

"w-what?" Theo looks taken aback, "What are you going on about?"

"I'm leaving you." You hope he didn't hear the break in your throat as you uttered the words. You try to clear the sadness out of your throat.

"Why? I- I thought-" He pauses and stares at the wall with a thoughtless expression. "I thought we were okay."

Please, don't fall apart. I can't face your breaking heart

"We're done, Nott." You turn to leave, but he jumps up, grabbing a hold of your wrist, not hard enough that you couldn't slip away but, strong enough for you to know he wants you to stay. You don't have enough energy to tear your arm from his grasp. You try to memorize his touch for the last time, remember what his hand feels likes on your skin.

"I'll let you go, if you give me a good reason to." It's not above a whisper but you almost break at the crack of sadness in his voice.

there is so much space between us. Baby, we're already defeated.

"I don't love you." You say, straightening your shoulders, "I never did."

"That's not true."

"You were just dumb enough to believe it." You know where to hit, his insecurities, it physically pains you to use something he confided in you with against him.

"You're gonna let them win?" He thinks he understands what you're doing this for.

"We're already defeated." You shake your wrist out of his hold.

"Don't, don't leave." He begs, a single tear running down his cheek.

I'm trying to be brave. Stop asking me to stay.

"I can't stay, I have nothing to stay for." He just looks at you with saddened eyes as you open the door and close it behind you.

this is for him, you remind yourself. He doesn't deserve this but he doesn't deserve the life you'd give him.

You might not have a choice, but he does, and you can't let him make the one he would in a heartbeat.

I could do a part 2, do I want to? idk

Also if you're wondering where the next part of Meddle about, it's not doing the whole writing thing on it's own, it's making me write it and I don't want to write it at this moment.

#theodore nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott #harrry potter #slytherin boys #theodore nott smut #Spotify

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gateau-au-earl · 12 days

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kuroshitsuji s4e1/ED thoughts

ok yall now that it has been over 24 hrs and I've seen the ep over three times, I have THOUGHTS. mostly very positive, everything was beautful to look at and the 1:1 comparisons between the manga and the anime made me very happy as a veteran kuro fan that had to live through the mess of s1 and s2 plots (even tho they might have a sentimental place in my heart just because of nostalgia).

but i wanted to come on here and yap about the ending theme and how it encapsulates sebastian and ciel's complicated and very interesting relationship. idk abt yall but im a big fan of the op and ed this season!

first things first just to get this outta the way, I dont interpret them as a ship so please dont come in here with that interpretation 👁️ I'm serious .

that being said -

the ending theme is beautiful in both its animation and what it says about the butler and earl's relationship. I'm just gonna get the gushing outta the way first but it was aesthetically GORGEOUS in its animation. the way ciel fell so gracefully and the colors with SID's music is cinematic perfection. the change in animation style is very easy on the eyes as well! gg cloverworks animation team!

this has been marinating for a while, but what really gets me is the scene where ciel falls. he is falling into darkness, when it suddenly becomes lighter, with the sun illuminating the clouds. sebastian "saves" him and they fall together across this very pretty backdrop.

the demon might've caught him, but that doesn't prompt him to rescue ciel, to stop him from falling to his death.

sebas instead gently takes ciel's hand to guide him there. he gives ciel a false sense of security, of trust, catching the boy when he's at his darkest place, but instead of saving him, he drags him to down to his hell. he is deceiving ciel with a beautiful view and promises in their contract that will ultimately hurt ciel. its cruel and will only lead to pain for our earl.

sebas is a demon (obviously) who is leading ciel to his doom, but the path they take is twisted and tragic but strangely beautiful like the gorgeous sky in the ED.

ciel enjoys the power and omnipotence he has with sebastian, knowing full well the demon is leading him to his demise. he knows that this relationship will end him being sebastian's dinner. ciel knows he can't trust sebas, but does anyways because sebas is the only person who can't hurt him until he inevitably does.

the fall might result in an ugly death, but the view is pretty nice on the way down. the beautiful sky colored with deception, manipulation and misplaced trust.

yeah, sebastian will end up hurting ciel the most at the end, but the boy doesn't care at the moment. sebas is the only ""person"" who knows him with all the ugliness of his past, yet still protects him, serves him, and doesn't treat him like a helpless creature. so ciel is forced to place trust in a fundamentally untrustworthy creature knowing he is inches away from the demons bared fangs.

sebastian helps him survive his living hell now and get what he needs to get done, so he doesn't care what happens after. his descent to darkness becomes much more beautiful as a result.

shippers may have one interpretation (which I'm NOT a fan of...), but this is how I see it, and I think it makes this ending all the more impactful and tragic. but here I am, and I'm enthralled by the beauty and can't look away.

anyways, thanks for reading my brain dump, and looking forward to ep 2 folks!!! hope yall liked my micro analysis/semi organized gushing, and r enjoying this kuro renaissance as much as I am! here's a professor michaelis for reading this far

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji analysis #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #black butler #shoukuzai sid #professor michaelis #kuroshitsuji public school arc #kuro spoilers #kuroshitsuji s4 #kuroshitsuji ED #do not tag as ship :/#not ship #my two cents do with it what u will #gateau au earl #long post

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fandomstickyy · 9 months

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Watching A Movie With A Rape Scene

Angst/COMFORT

18++ MDNI

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CW: mentions of rape, NOTHING GRAPHIC, comfort from these menzes

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Au: I'm a bit of a film nerd so I'm always looking for indie/low budget bangers and a few movies I've seen have straight up r#pe scenes! Idk why I terrorize myself. Thought of these scenarios to ease the pain 💀. ANYWAY this post is probably super random but I've seen a lot of wild fics on here so whatever it's not too bad.

It's all fluff!! <3. Take care of yourselves !! Don't read if you're not up for it

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Deku

° wants to turn the movie off completely

°is super mad if the scene feels unnecessary to the plot. Really sensitive ab it. Even if it makes sense for the plot he's still mad.

°Rethinks his opinion on the entire movie

° if you don't wanna watch it anymore then he is zooming around to get snacks and put on something cute and/or comforting.

°"you want an extra blanket? We have chocolate you want chocolate??"

°"izuku please sit down, I'm okay."

°very touchy the rest of the night. Almost as if physically apolozing for you having to see that 🥺. Touches are light and needy

Bakugo

° he's REALLY uncomfortable

° I mean it goes to say they all are BUT he seems like the guy to freeze up at first

° mind RACING

°body stiff

° 0-100 instant stress. Just thinking "UGH WTF! I didn't know this shit was in the movie when I picked it out! I hope she knows i didnt know" "👀 damn do I turn it off!? Would that be weird ??" "Is she uncomfortable-"

°he'll blurt smth out about the @ssaulter being a piece of shit or smth.

°he pays a lot of attention to how your reacting to his statement. Wants to make it clear that he would NEVER think that's okay. He can be rough around the edges even sharp at times but he would never cross that boundary w you or anyone else nor does he think that's okay (goes w all of them but I feel bakugo knows he's a little more aggressive than the rest I can see him being a little insecure that anyone would possibly THINK he would sympathies with or do smth so shameful and cruel)

° if he sees you're really affected by the scene, he will pull up every reason that the movie is "actually trash" and that the filmmakers are "demented"

° would turn it off if you're really not feeling the movie anymore

Kirishima

°similar to bakugo there's an instant panic. It's that tense in their muscles, that shift in their eyes to you, to the tv, to you, to the wall.

°there's more hesitation with kirishima because he wants to protect you but doesn't want to treat you like your some kid that can't protect themself

°back and forth, back and forth, back-

°"He- hey baby I don't think your eyes need to see that, right??" Reaching to fast-forward with an awkward laugh which makes you laugh hard

°why this man can't stop stutterin ????

°you adore the way he's so caring about it but the act was just too wholesome not to laugh

°"What?? C-comeon I don't want you to see that. .. it's not beautiful.. and you should only witness things that are beautiful .." (BRUH PLEASE-)

°holds you tight the rest of the movie

°giving small kisses on your head, arms, shoulder

° when the movie is over, just wants to hold you close for a moment in silence

° maybe asks if if you're okay after seeing that even though he fastforwarded through

Denki

°instant reaction

°covers your eyes !!

° "LALALA!! how was your day baby??"

° closes his eyes too!

° he might as well just fast forward or smth, but he kinda just dived over to you before thinking ab it <3.

°yall 100% get caught up in the conversation, hands over your eyes and everything. Maybe he brings up a funny moment when yall were hanging w friends recently or the way the bathroom door looks like it has a face and he's judgey and his name is Willfred the III

°laugh until you snort when yall realize the r#pe scene is over and has BEEN over

°bored w the movie anyway and change it to Shrek

#mha #bnha #bnha denki #denki x reader #denki kaminari #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #mha kirishima #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #mha deku #deku

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petrichorium · 1 year

Text

Quid Pro Quo

in which you attempt to seduce il dottore in the desperate hope that he will save your life, and come to realize it’s not entirely faked

dottore x fem!reader

word count: 7.2k reader: afab, leaning fem (no pronouns, neutral names, feminine clothing, pussy/cunt/clit/breast used) tags: EXPLICIT CONTENT, blood, violence/chopping off a hand (not toward the reader), possessiveness/jealousy, manhandling from both parties, corruption vibes, biting, idk what to tell u man it’s dottore, established relationship but also they’re getting together, chronically/terminally ill reader (kept vague; dottore is treating it), reader is called “pet” and dottore is called “my lord” but it’s not a kink thing they’re just emotionally constipated, heavy petting, fingering, edging, pls don’t be fooled genuinely the smut is so vanilla compared to the rest of these tags KDNFKENF, implied oral (reader receiving) at the end but it’s fade-to-black

“my lord, this is absurd. have i not been dutiful? have i strayed?”

“very different things from devotion and affection, i’m afraid.”

who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? to demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“well?” his voice is merciless. it has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“i—” the words catch in your throat. you choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “pity. i thought you less delicate than this.”

“you’re being cruel,” you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“i’m a cruel man.”

“not to me!” this time it’s a wail. your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“don’t pout. don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. when he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “damn it all, what you do to me…”

you might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

When you’d first approached Dottore with a proposal, you never anticipated he’d accept it.

You’d been desperate, alone and moraless, shackled with an illness only curable to those more fortunate than you. You weren’t fool enough, not even back then, to think he’d accept out of pity, or even something as human as lust for you. Even now you don’t quite understand why he’d agreed.

But by some miracle he did, and now you stand here months after you’d thought you would die, bundled up in a heavy wool coat lined with plush fur, dragged out to the main palace just to be ordered to sit and wait until his convening with a number of other Harbingers has ended.

You have no right to complain. Being paraded around like a glass doll—or rather hoarded like a priceless jewel, never left in the company of others long enough to consider abandoning your promise—is the price you pay for who you’ve thrown your lot in with. And you can breathe freely without coughing. You can move without growing weary, you can stand without pain. These are the true luxuries Dottore has given you. You’ll wait for him, even if you grow bored in the meanwhile.

Two guards stand watch over you. For a time they were regular, familiar faces who shadowed you whenever you went anywhere beyond Dottore’s wing in the palace. Then you made the mistake of calling one by name in front of him, and now they change every few days.

“Boys,” you call out to them, louder than you mean in the silent, cavernous hall. “Would you come with me to take a walk? Just in the arboretum, nowhere far.”

They exchange a brief look, certainly debating the chances of trouble from such a proposal, before seemingly coming to an agreement and nodding in unison.

You stand, eager for a change in scenery. What happens next, however, you couldn’t anticipate.

A guard’s hand finds your shoulder. As soon as it touches you realize your mistake; you’d started down the wrong way, headed deeper into the underbelly of the palace rather than towards the grand conservatory in the center. If you had more time you’d turn on heel and apologize sheepishly, and he’d remove his touch, and all would be well.

But a second is all it takes. His fingers brush the thick wool covering you and a moment later you feel a whistling blade followed by the horrifying sound of flesh being severed in a single brutal strike.

You scream, lurching back—the severed hand is still on your shoulder, limp, and the horror of that doesn’t sink in until your sudden movement makes it slide off and fall to the floor with a sickening thud.

Before you can get far, though, an arm slings itself around your waist and drags you back in an ironclad grip. Your shoulder slams into the wall first, and then your back, so sudden and forceful that it knocks the wind out of you.

Dottore has you pinned against the back of a recessed niche. You’re tucked away like this, hidden to all eyes except his, which you’re certain take in your disheveled form greedily though you can’t see beneath the mask to confirm—and your gaze stubbornly remains pinned over his shoulder either way. Your chest heaves, still catching your breath, but the heavy beating of your heart is hardly from terror anymore.

His fingers find your jaw. They’re big as they splay across your cheek, grasping firm to tilt your head upward and force you to look at him. That gloved hand is covered in blood, hot and slick; you can feel it smeared over your face and neck.

“My lord—“

He’s kissing you before you can finish the word, teeth clacking against yours, licking in past your lips before you can close them. On instinct you bite down, but despite the taste of copper flooding your tongue he doesn’t pull back—in fact, he presses in closer, groaning into your mouth.

“My lord,” you try again, voice muffled entirely, “you’re out sooner than anticipated.”

He kisses you harder, drawing an embarrassing noise from your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up, but you attempt to speak more anyway.

“What is this? You—“

The sound he lets out is feral, growling; it stops you in your tracks, throws every word out of your head. But it’s too late. He pulls back fully to look at you, unreadable even to your discerning eyes.

“I return to find you attempting to leave,” he says, low and dangerous. “And another man’s hand upon you.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “If anything he was stopping me. I only wanted to visit the arboretum, my lord—“

“The arboretum is the opposite way.”

“Yes, which would be why my guard was directing me the proper way. And you cut off his hand for it!”

Too impassioned. Your mistake. Dottore shoves you against the wall again and you wince, eyes slamming shut. This time he goes for your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the taut surface as you angle your head to give him ample room. Soon enough they turn even more heated, nibbling at you with those sharp teeth and sucking harshly at the dip of your jaw.

You melt against him, weak-kneed and floating. His lips leave your skin momentarily. He’s still close enough for his breath to puff against your neck with each pant, but he hovers, waiting until you’ve opened your eyes and let your half-lidded gaze meet his own to lean in again and sink his teeth into your shoulder.

The noise you let out is obscene. You have no control over it; it’s wrenched from your lips instantly, something like a yelp that trails off into a breathy moan. All things considered he hasn’t bitten you too deeply—you’ve certainly received worse by his own hands—but he breaks skin with those teeth, and when he releases you the sting is only slightly soothed by his tongue lathing over the mark.

“Lord Second!”

He pulls away from you with a snarl. You’re left panting, legs shaking, relying on his hold to keep you up as you close your eyes and let your head fall back to rest against the wall. It’s Pulcinella who has played savior long enough for you to catch your breath; you can hear his chiding, the annoyance in his tone, the sternness as he demands Dottore let your unfortunate guard leave to get his wound tended to.

“I’m hardly stopping him,” Dottore says dismissively. His hand comes up to your face. You aren’t anticipating it, jolting and opening your eyes when the leather of his glove makes contact. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your cheeks and pursing your lips. “No need for you to get involved, rooster.”

You can see how he intends to return where he left off before he leans back in. His grip is so secure you couldn’t turn your head to escape his kiss even if you attempted it, but you know better than to try.

“Wait!” you gasp out against his lips. “Not—ah, in front of—“

“Oh, now you’re feeling demure. Didn’t care about your guards, did you?” His hand slides down to wrap around your throat—not quite choking, but undeniably present. At the same time he bites down hard on your lower lip. “A decision for you, then. Would you like me to stop, or to dismiss the boy?”

“Dismiss him,” you say without hesitation, not entirely altruistically. Dottore is always put in a far better mood if you allow him to do as he pleases with you.

“Listen to your companion, Dottore,” pipes up Pulcinella from the other side of the hall. “Pierro would be displeased by this scene.”

“Lucky, then, that he hasn’t stumbled upon it.” Again, Dottore turns away from you to face Pulcinella. Again, you take the moment to catch your breath. “Why are you here?”

“I was sent to fetch you. Lord First would like a word privately.”

Another snarl. This time, however, he seems to understand he has no choice. When he returns his attention to you it’s clear that he intends to pull away entirely.

Beneath that damned mask, his eyes aren’t visible. Still, his grin is sharp enough that you can imagine the wild look they likely hold, the one that never fails to send a thrill through you. The blood on your skin has dried somewhat to become tacky. He leans in once more, licks a long stripe up the column of your neck, lips coming away covered in scarlet. Something settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Go clean up, pet,” Dottore says, low enough that it’s meant for only you to hear. “I can’t stand the stench of another’s blood on you.”

Frowning, you pry yourself from his hold as much as he’ll let you, unfulfilled though you think you ought to be grateful that he’s willing to let you compose yourself. You huff. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Somehow, that grin sharpens. He reaches out with a hand again, fleeting—gentle, even—as he crooks his finger beneath your chin to lift it slightly. “As you wish.”

And with that he pulls away. The hand on your back nudges you over towards your remaining guard and then Dottore is gone, with a final keep your hands off growled at the poor man (who assuredly does not need the warning, not with his partner’s blood still staining the floor beneath his feet) before he stalks off to follow Pulcinella deeper into the palace.

Hours later, after a long bath and attendants having dressed you in clean clothing, Dottore summons you to his lab.

Though it’s located in a separate building, it takes you mere minutes to arrive; you know the path by heart, and while there will always be assigned guards and the occasional assistant lurking, few fatui agents linger longer than necessary in the halls belonging to the second harbinger. Such dallying always increases the risk of being purloined for use as a test subject in some fatal experiment or another.

You’ve been told that when you’re not around the place is crawling with segments, too. You know of their existence, of course—have even seen a few from a distance—but Dottore has long refused to let you near any of them.

His lab always runs on the colder side, even for a Snezhnayan facility. If you regularly wore clothing in it you suppose it might be more bearable, but he rarely summons you for reasons which allow you to keep anything on.

You think longingly back to your chambers, made cozy and warm with the help of your personal effects and a number of mechanical heaters in varying levels of prototype courtesy of your eccentric lover. He can be considerate, you’ve learned, when he truly wants to—though he would never willingly admit it. In the case of providing you warmth he maintains it’s merely because he can’t stand your shivering when in bed with you.

You’ve refrained from pointing out that you never shiver when he is there to keep you warm.

Dottore’s office door is open, and you know you can enter without announcement, but you choose to linger in the doorway and reach out to rap knuckles against it twice.

You can see him sitting at his desk across the room. Despite how you’re the only one who would approach him now, he wears his mask, gloves still on, dutifully paying sole attention to his work—or rather seemingly, because he shifts as you enter, and you feel his eyes on your back when you turn to close and lock the door behind you.

The shoes you wear are soft slippers, flat upon the ground. You almost regret not wearing anything with a solid heel; perhaps if your approach came announced by the loud clacking of metal upon marble he wouldn’t ignore you so. Either way, you note how his arm shifts as you elegantly step past his chair, clearly itching to reach out and hold you.

You settle yourself upon his desk, legs crossed demurely, the chiffon fabric of the nightdress you’d been tugged into pooling prettily around your thighs and draping over the edge.

His eyes might be concealed but you can tell by the angle of his head that he’s staring. You’re glad for it—the little show you put on, leaning back to emphasize your chest and angling to draw attention to your legs, should not go unseen. You sigh dramatically, reaching up to pull the dressing gown from your shoulders and let it fall to your waist, and that’s what ends it.

He huffs (you might be so bold as to call it fondly exasperated) and turns back to his work without a word.

Perched on his desk like this, you can easily lean forward and reach out to lay hands on the mask he wears over his eyes. He stiffens, head snapping up, one hand catching your wrist in a harsh grip just shy of aching.

“Did you lock the door?” he hisses, all too used to your insistence of not fucking a masked man to even ask what you’re doing.

You roll your eyes and stubbornly continue on your mission. “Yes, my lord. When have I ever left it unlocked?”

Nobody but his fellow harbingers would dare to interrupt one of his appointments with you, and a locked door has never kept the likes of them out, but you’re not entirely keen on the idea of being interrupted either, so you dutifully turn the bolt every time.

“I seem to recall my last assistant.”

“That woman had a key and far too much nerve for her own good.” It’s true—you had locked the door that night, though you’d also goaded her privately beforehand just to see the look on her face when Dottore gave her no mercy like every other person unfortunate enough to have walked in on you nude.

Dottore’s eyes glint as you remove the mask fully, his mouth tugging into a pleased little smile. “Jealousy becomes you, pet.”

Your scowl does nothing to deter him. As penance you set the mask down on the far side of you. If he wants it back, he’ll have to lean over you to reach—even with his absurdly long wingspan—and almost certainly end up with his face in your lap.

A very bold part of you hopes he does.

For now, though, your annoyance is unquenched. So you tilt your head, letting his eyes fall to the slope of your shoulder, and speak. “If you called me here for anything, tell me or I’ll simply leave.”

He dips his head as if focusing on the papers before him. “And if I merely wanted you to pose on my desk like a pretty little ornament while I work?”

“You think I’m pretty?” you tease without missing a beat. “Truly?”

He doesn’t deign that with an answer, though he allows himself one more lingering scan of your form before turning back to his work.

When he does, you shift and recross your legs. It’s pointed, timed for the moment his eyes flit over to you; an uncross and a shift to the other leg on top, fast and smooth but with enough time to give him a good look of what’s between your thighs.

Or rather what isn’t, because you’d refused the undergarments your attendants had tried to throw on you. The movement bares your cunt to him in its entirety; you see his eyes hone in on it, his mouth slacken, the reaction involuntary and borderline feral in the fleeting seconds before your legs close again.

And then you watch him frown, as if witnessing his very thought process dawn upon his face—the realization that you’d made the trip without anything beneath your nightdress has him irritated.

“Presumptuous thing you are,” he growls. “What if I’d called you here for treatment?”

“You said we’d finish that talk.”

“This,” he gestures at the entirety of you, and you snicker in return, “does not suggest talking.”

“I didn’t choose what my attendants dressed me in.”

It’d been laid out for you when you’d come out of the bath; all gossamer layers and intricate lace, low in the front and short at the bottom and held together by only a satin ribbon. You’re inclined to think Pantalone is the true culprit. Dottore likes such things on you, though he insists he holds no preference, and therefore one of the tried and true ways the shrewd man has come to flatter your capricious lover is to throw luxuries at you—lavish jewels and thick furs and long billowing dressing gowns—and instruct for you to be dressed up in them like some spoiled, pampered lapdog before you next visit the lab.

You can’t say you mind. The dress you wear now is the kind of soft only an exorbitant amount of mora can buy, perfectly tailored and clinging to every curve that should most be flattered. Calling it a nightdress, while you’ve been doing so, likely does it more credit than deserved. The intent is assuredly not for sleeping. With the matching dressing robe it proves modest enough, though not as you wear it now; pulled low and teasing over your arms, the tie fallen loose to give no coverage.

“Your attendants send you off like a lamb to slaughter.”

You shrug. “A willing one.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, then, willing as you are to enter this wolves’ den. You were particularly appalled by my actions this morning—the longer I’ve had to ruminate, the less remorseful I’ve become. He ought to have known better than to lay hands on you. Unless, of course, you encouraged it.”

“Oh, please.” Now you roll your eyes openly, toss your head with the motion just to emphasize it. “My lord, I don’t even know the boy’s name. I simply believe removing his hand was a punishment unfit for the crime.”

“And yet you kissed me. You threw yourself at me, really, despite all those tepid protests. Would you have let me fuck you there, I wonder? In front of your guards, knowing that I would never let them live after?”

Your cheeks heat at the accusation. “No, I—”

“Is this not what you wanted? My infatuation? Don’t tell me you’re second guessing now that you know exactly what it entails—it’s too late. The thought of another man touching you…” he trails off, but you hardly need him to finish. You’re well aware of just what he’s thinking. “Why do you think I never allow my segments to come near you?”

Your brow furrows. “They are younger than you, of course. I assumed their volatility posed too great a risk.”

Dottore scoffs, low and dismissive. “Hardly. The true reason is that the resources required to remake them are so great.”

It takes you a moment to understand the meaning, but when you do it has your mouth parting. Should a segment interact with you, he’s so certain he’d kill it that he’d determined it simpler to keep the two parties separate. A shiver runs down your spine—to your chagrin, you doubt it’s horror.

“Your segments are yourself, my lord,” you attempt again. “They are bolder than most agents, and guaranteed to be attracted to me as you are. You cannot hold the guards you assigned to the same scrutiny. The boy was merely leading me away.”

“What of my poor assistant, then, hm? What is the difference between the boy and the girl? I should passively allow every warm body to touch you and cannot even have a lab assistant? She was a quick one—certainly not at the caliber of my segments but decent enough in their absence.”

“You regret disposing of her, then?”

“No need to sound so bitter, pet. I have no regrets. Your company is far more preferred, and…” Dottore trails off, letting out a low chuckle, voice a purr laced with meaning not well hidden, “I hardly need to tell you that you paid me back thoroughly for whatever loss I might have incurred that night. But my point remains—the boy easily replaced, the girl less so. What difference do you see?”

“That the boy would not have dared compete with you, even if he’d found me alluring,” you hiss. “The girl had intentions that insulted me.”

“Intentions?”

“With you, which you knew, so I should hardly need to say it. I almost pity the poor thing—you intended all along to kill her, you simply decided to have fun with it along the way.”

“Only when I realized just how much I enjoy your jealousy. Truly, I ought to bring another in. Any agent hungry enough for the position would naturally desire an even higher one at my side…”

You frown and, in a motion so fast you can’t really think it through, reach out to hook your finger into the ring of that harness and yank him upward.

The noise he lets out is something between a hiss and a groan, rich and growling and heated. No shock is clear on his face; rather, he stares up at you with a grin that exposes sharp teeth, teeth which part to let a pink tongue run along his lower lip.

When you speak it’s steely. “Few people in this world would find you standable, my lord. I must be touched in the mind to feel for you as I do.”

“Oh?” You’ve stumbled into some kind of trap, you realize by the tone of his voice. “Tell me, then, what do you feel for me?”

“What?”

“Be candid, now.” His grin only grows wider. “Don’t hold anything back. Admit that you’ve come to love me.”

You recoil, yanking your hand away as though you’ve been burned. He falls forward rather than back, arms against his thighs, laughing harshly while you shuffle further away.

“What?” you say again, poisonous in tone. “Where did you—who said anything about love?”

“Is that not what you were implying?” His words are smug, incapable of being swayed. Still, you have no choice but to try.

“No.” You’re stern, leaving no room for question.

“No? You refuse to admit it? Perhaps we ought to revisit our arrangement, then—“

“No!” He raises an eyebrow at the outburst, but you’re far too panicked to be ashamed. “My lord, this is absurd. Have I not been dutiful? Have I strayed?”

“Very different things from devotion and affection, I’m afraid.”

Who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? To demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“Well?” His voice is merciless. It has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“I—” The words catch in your throat. You choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. Frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

Dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “Pity. I thought you less delicate than this.”

“You’re being cruel,” you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“I’m a cruel man.”

“Not to me!” This time it’s a wail. Your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“Don’t pout. Don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. When he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “Damn it all, what you do to me…”

You might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. Tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

Perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

“You lie to yourself more than you lie to me—convincing yourself you find me disgusting, telling yourself your interest is faked. But you and I both know you enjoyed that incident this morning just as you enjoyed what I did to that girl. You enjoy me. You want me, so cease this foolishness and let me have you.”

“You have me,” you say automatically, and the scoff he responds with makes you recoil. It’s snarling, animalistic, accompanied by him lunging up from his chair to corner you in the curve of his desk.

“I don’t mean this scheme.” Dottore looms over you, arms on either side of your body. The hard wood of the desktop digs into your ass as you lean back precariously. “I don’t mean your little stratagem, which I only entertained out of amusement—”

“Yes, of course,” you snap in return, suddenly enraged as the shock wears off and you lunge forward, forcing him to reel back, “this shrewd scheme of mine, desperately selling my life to you lest it be snuffed out, which you only agreed to because you found the concept fascinating. Except now you say it isn’t enough to own my body, you are owed my heart, too—and I must serve it to you on a gilded platter because you are too cowardly to give me yours first.”

“I have no heart to give, stupid thing. This is for your benefit.” Still, you see his jaw tense. He returns to his chair, and the movement is heavy; he sinks back as if in a trance.

No heart, he claims, as if he is still satisfied with the arrangement. No, he can hardly hide such things from you. He has become too fond and now burns with the need for you to tell him you feel the same—you know this, know it like you know his touch against your skin and his body easing into your bed next to you during the night.

But you also know how volatile he is, both at his core and, more precisely, when discussing this very topic. This is not something you can push too far; unfortunate for the both of you, then, that you are just as stubborn, especially in the face of inequity.

It isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to bare yourself if he’s unwilling to do the same.

Crossing your arms, more for self comfort than any determination on your end, you slide yourself down from the desk and make to leave. You doubt he’ll let you, but you’ve made up your mind to try—and sure enough he sits forward, ready to move.

“Come here,” Dottore demands, and tenses when you shake your head and take a bold step away. “You’re not leaving, pet, we haven’t finished this.”

“I have no interest in discussing anything with you if you’re going to be so callously selfish.” It’s a futile attempt, you know, but you try to dart off anyway, leaving your dressing robe behind to flutter down and settle on the floor. He lunges over and catches you immediately.

You struggle against him, really just to make him work for it now, and he meets the challenge in kind, lifting you easily and dragging you back to his chair despite your squirming and incessant protests. Soon enough he has you sideways on his lap, a heavy arm around your waist to deter any further attempt at escape.

“Are you going to stay put?”

You cross your arms again and stubbornly turn your head away. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

Instead of speaking, he lets his hand find your neck, scruffing you like a troublesome kitten and forcing you to face him with a thumb and forefinger on either side of your jaw. For a moment he scans your face. Whatever he sees there excites him somehow; his free hand tightens against the dip of your waist, groping at you, trailing down over your hip to the curve of your thigh and squeezing there, too, as he draws your legs even closer.

Initially, when he leans in, you think he’ll go for your neck. Instead he captures your lips in a surprisingly subdued kiss—closed-mouthed, slow, lingering. Something you might call sweet if it came from anyone else. He doesn’t part much when he pulls away; he stays close, foreheads nearly touching.

“If threats won’t work,” he says, lips brushing against yours with every word, “then I’ll simply try a new tactic.”

When he kisses you again it’s what you’re used to from him, all heavy and hot, his tongue delving into your mouth eagerly. You feel the need to gasp for air within seconds, but he never gives you enough, and always leaves your head spinning.

You wish you could hold out and let him work himself up trying to get you to respond. But it’s as if your very bones cry out for him now, as if your blood sings for his attention. You return the kiss in kind despite the lack of air, coaxed into it without him even trying, only spurred on by each sharp-toothed nip to your lips and suck to your tongue. Soon enough, however, your lungs begin to burn, and you tear away from him to pant desperately, lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath.

Never deterred, his tongue darts out to lick up your chin—you’d been drooling, you realize, and your nose wrinkles at the thought that he apparently hadn’t had his fill of your spit even with a kiss like that. Then he nips at your cheek, hard enough to make you jolt in his lap, which in turn causes that hand on your legs to press you down against him, though none of those things give him pause as he kisses down the line of your jaw.

His hand tilts your head back now, or perhaps it falls on its own, baring your neck. Your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches as his teeth graze your pulse point, the barest hint of pressure, followed by an open-mouthed kiss, both of which are accompanied by his other hand dragging you closer against him.

Dottore’s gloved fingers are deft (when are they not, you ponder fleetingly) as they slide up your thigh to dip beneath the ridden-up hem of your dress. His thumb finds its mark first—he dips it between your folds, trailing up through the wetness there to slick it before brushing higher against your clit. Already that has your breath hitching, the sensation of his leather gloves against you there always odd; when he presses more firmly, in quick little circles, you gasp and squirm in his hold, your hand instinctively flying to clutch at the wrist that disappears under your skirt.

“My lord—”

He turns his thumb just the right way to have you keening, bucking up against him and turning your head into his arm. His hand has moved from your neck to your back, and he uses it along with a grip around your thigh to pull you up until you’re straddling him entirely. All the while his thumb never stops; the motion has pleasure steadily building in your core, golden-warm and only getting hotter. You can feel how wet you’ve become already.

“We’re still talking, pet.” He might be, but if he thinks you’ll say a word then he’s sorely mistaken. “I’ll draw a confession from you somehow. Perhaps if you phrase it as a demand, you so love to give me orders. What do you want from me?”

That free hand slides further down beneath the nightdress, cupping your ass briefly before sliding higher. It drags the dress with it to reveal the entirety of your legs and presses against the small of your back, urging you to grind harder against his hand, sending white-hot sparks throughout your body.

It’s a slow and steady task, working you up to the edge, but he throws himself into it with vigor. Soon enough you feel yourself coming towards it, climbing up so high you can see the peak, almost inevitable.

“What do you want?” Dottore asks again, and you shake your head in mindless refusal. His thumb dips down to slick itself again, sending a shiver through you as the pad presses just barely into your pussy and brushes over your folds on its way back up to your clit.

You nearly lose control over your voice when it returns with a vengeance, hard and fast, just on the good side of painful. He knows your body acutely well by now; can feel every twitch and writhe, hear every bitten-back moan and breathy whimper, rewarding you for them all until you can feel just how close you are to tumbling off into bliss.

His thumb stills. You whine, struggling against him, determined to get that final bit of stimulation and push yourself over the edge, but the attempt is futile. His hold on you is steadfast; you feel the high fading, desperation seeping in.

“What do you want?”

Not enough for that.

“I want you to make me cum,” you demand petulantly, fingers digging tighter into his arms.

It earns you a disappointed little click of his tongue. You’re forced to sit like this until you’re pulled entirely from that precipice, the sensation bringing tears to your eyes as you bite back a wet sob.

He takes the time to release his grip on your thigh and lift his gloved hand up. The black leather shimmers in the light—you hadn’t realized how wet you were—and he takes his time bringing it up to his face to lick it clean with meticulous fervor.

Then he reaches out, placing the very tip of his thumb against your lip.

“Bite,” he commands, so you do, teeth catching hold of just the folded leather over his skin. He pulls his thumb away, tugging his hand free entirely with the glove left dangling from your mouth.

The glove is removed from your mouth to be replaced with two of his fingers. Even you so rarely get to see his bare hands—you have many more chances than most, to be sure, but it’s always a treat—and you open eagerly to allow them entry, sucking, swirling your tongue around them and grinding down against his lap for stimulation.

Soon enough he’s pulling them out to lower his hand and ease a finger into you. If he’d kept up his rubbing at your clit that would have been enough to bring you over, you think miserably, back arching at the feeling. It fills you up so much better than your own. His thumb returns, warmer and softer and so much more intense without the leather.

Already he’s building you up again, starting off harder than before, prodding at the rim of your cunt with a second finger once you stop clenching so tightly. His other hand moves, reaching up to the thin strap of your top and tugging it over your shoulder. It allows him to free your breast, peaked in the chilly air of the room; still gloved, you squirm when he brushes his thumb against your nipple, then pinches lightly. The mild pain makes you jolt—he takes that moment to lean in and suck it into his mouth, at the same time pulling his finger from your cunt and pushing it back in with the second.

Dottore’s arms don’t hold you anymore, you keep yourself balanced on his lap by clinging to his shoulders. His still-gloved hand slides in to squeeze at your other breast as his teeth graze your nipple and his fingers assault your cunt. It’s all too much, too quickly; you throw your head back and he lets out a muffled groan as the motion presses you further into his mouth.

When you’re openly moaning he can tell you’re nearing the end again. With one final nip at the tender skin of the underside of your breast, he pulls away just enough to speak.

“What do you want?” he tries again, but you can hear it in his voice now—the heady lust, thick on every word. His fingers don’t stop their movement at first, not until he seems to remember what his intentions are, and even then they only slow.

Before he can remove them you reach down to grab his face in both hands and pull him up to kiss you. He returns it with the same vigor you give him; his fingers delve back in, pressing deep and full, thumb coming up to rub at your clit again, and you cum hard.

The wave that washes over you has you moaning into his mouth. His free hand leaves your breast to find your back, big and warm between your shoulders, pulling you even closer as you buck into his still thrusting fingers. Your whole body is buzzing, hot pleasure coursing through you.

You go limp against him when it finally subsides, breaking the kiss, boneless and satiated as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He eases his fingers out of you; you clench involuntarily as they exit, whimpering a little and receiving a soothing rub from just his thumb between your shoulder blades for your troubles.

For a long moment you let him hold you like that. Panting, shaking in the aftershocks, you cling to him and he rearranges your dress for some semblance of modesty, pulling the front back over your breast even as he continues to leave sucking kisses to every available part of your shoulders and collarbone and neck. His hands trail across your body, greedy and groping, less to calm you and more to take full advantage of how limp and pliant you’ve become.

And perhaps it’s because of that, or perhaps being satisfied has put you in a more agreeable mood, or perhaps you simply want to reward him for being so weak to you (because, certainly, all those many months ago when you’d first come to him cold and desperate, he wouldn’t have been so lenient), but you give in.

“I want you to court me,” you say, muffled against his shoulder. The moment the words pass your lips you feel him relax beneath you, tension fading from his shoulders. Dottore says nothing, however, and so you continue. “I want to be your lover in actuality, rather than because of an arrangement. I want you to give me treatment because you care for me—I want you to fuck me because you care for me, not because I owe you a willing cunt.”

“I care for nothing, you simple creature.” Still, he shifts beneath you, and for the first time tonight you feel him hardening against your thigh, brought on not by you cumming on his lap but by your confession. “Tenderness is beneath me.”

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you tell him smugly, just to be a brat. “You gave in just now because you do not care for me at all. In fact, this entire conversation was initiated by you because you were completely satisfied by our arrangement, and it didn’t make you seethe every time you thought about my affections being faked to avail myself of your—”

He interrupts you by sinking his teeth into your neck, just a few centimeters above the scabbed-over bite he’d given you earlier, and you break off with a wrecked moan as you fall limp against him. You claw at the back of his neck in retaliation; a poor attempt, as it only seems to rile him further. He laps at your weeping wound for a moment before fixing his mouth to your pulsepoint and setting about leaving another kind of mark.

When he finally pulls away you can feel the low throb of blood blooming beneath your skin, his heavy gaze burning against you as he stares. For a beat he’s silent, and then he’s leaning in to lick at your neck more, hot tongue running over every blemish—you’re quite certain more of your skin there is stained than not, angry black and blue and purple beneath the surface. The wide, low neck of the dress gives him ample access.

“I will allow it,” he finally mutters, muffled with his mouth well occupied.

“Hm?”

“I will court you,” he clarifies, low and annoyed at having to say it. “Though make no mistake, it is entirely for your benefit.”

“Of course. You have no desire whatsoever for courting.”

“Careful, pet.” He shifts you now, positioning you more comfortably on his lap. “If my hearing were worse, I might think you were asking me to throw you out and let you return to your quarters alone for attendants to dote on you rather than me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You expect him to return to his work with you dozing away on his lap—it would hardly be the first time—and wiggle, shifting against him to rest your head against his chest. Eyes fluttering shut, you settle for the many hours to come.

And then you’re jolted back into the world of the waking when he stands, taking you with him.

Yelping, you scrabble for purchase, grabbing at his shoulders as they shake with mean snickers, but he doesn’t go far. A moment later your back is hitting his desk and he’s sweeping his piles of papers aside to lay you out on the solid wooden surface.

For half a moment, Dottore stares. Those eyes drink in the sight of you—chest heaving as you catch your breath after the scare he’d given you, pretty nightdress pooling at the top of your thighs, which are still trembling from the shattering release he’d drawn from you earlier.

“Epsilon is overseeing the transfer of your belongings to my chambers,” he tells you clinically. “You’ll live there from now on.”

“Oh,” you say, all breathy, sounding more than a little brainless even to your own ears; your mind is admittedly still a haze of endorphins and, stupidly, the giddy high from your newfound status. His hand is soaked with your cum, slick as he grips your jaw and turns your head toward him to look at you as you struggle to keep your heavy lids from closing.

“I don’t imagine they’ll be done for quite some time. In the interim…”

He lets go of your face to bring his hands to the hem of your nightdress and shove it up over your stomach, nipping just beneath your navel as he kneels down.

And then his tongue is sliding through your folds, big and hot, and he’s latching lips to your clit in a sucking kiss that has you gasping and your back arching and your hand flying to grab at his hair. When he pulls away the look on his face is smug; his hands pry your thighs from around his head and pin them to his desk with a strength you’ve never hoped to fight back.

“Perhaps I can draw out a true confession if I bring you to completion a few more times.”

With that Dottore buries his face back into your cunt, and you let your head fall back with a soft thud against his desk.

#dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #mine.🌧#fic.🌧 quid pro quo #biting.cw #blood.cw #edging.cw #manhandling.cw #jealousy.cw #fingering.cw #the only head that matters

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bookworm-center · 10 months

Note

Hey! Idk if you’re still accepting requests for one shots but here it goes

Y/N was one of the crows for some time now and to everyone she always seemed happy or unfazed by the bad things.

She usually goes to the roof right in front of Kaz’s door and just sings her heart out and this time she sang her own song (The pretender by Lewis Capaldi) what she didn’t know was Kaz was listening from his desk

And maybe some fluff after she sees him? Idk

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Fake A Smile

In which one of the Crows is not as happy and carefree as she seems.

Author's Note: Oh I am so down to do this! I am still accepting requests, I just might be a little slower than I was before. I did kinda change your request, I hope it still works. I made the lyric lines smaller since I put a lot of them. Yeah, it's sorta long cause I got carried away... So sorry this took forever!

I will be your shoulder to cry on

I will make you laugh if you need

I will play the part if you say so

Yeah, I'll be anybody but me

There's a smile plastered on Y/n's face. It's so obviously fake to anyone really paying attention, but no one notices. Not the pigeons, going about their day, not the Dregs, scamming those poor pigeons, not even the Crows, her closest friends. Kaz Brekker doesn't even notice, despite taking pride in his attention to detail. She laughs along to Jesper's jokes, however bad they are, lends a shoulder to those in pain. She plays the role of a happy, carefree Crow so perfectly that even her friends don't see through her act.

To tell you the truth, I'm a mess, I'm a fool

You don't know that

And you never will

In my mind, it's instilled not to show that

It's funny that Y/n can be so happy and kind in Ketterdam, the home of the cruel. It's funny that inside she's crumbling apart and can't risk anyone knowing. Ketterdam has engraved its cruelty into her mind, and she refused to let anyone see. Brokenness in the Barrel means weakness and Y/n wouldn't allow herself to be seen as weak.

I spend almost all of my time

Feeling like I'm falling even further behind

And I know I'm so good at seeming

Like I'm not on the edge of a knife

I'm the pretender, what can I tell ya?

Designed to deceive

So tell me who you want me to be

Thoughts circle around Y/n's head as she climbs up to the roof of the Slat. She's not Inej-sneaky, though it doesn't really matter since she's not the Wraith for a reason. Y/n's a Crow, no doubt about that, but she wasn't skilled like them. She wasn't a Grisha, wasn't a sharpshooter, wasn't druskelle. She wasn't the Wraith, wasn't a demo expert and definitely wasn't Dirtyhands. She was just... Y/n L/n. She was the ordinary in a group of extraordinary, the touch of reality to their magical fantasy.

I can wear a million faces

'Cause I don't like the one underneath

Always found it easy to fake it

Yeah, I'll be anybody but me

It takes her a little while but Y/n finally reaches the roof, and then and only then does she tear away her facade. Tears stream down her cheeks, her sobs coming loud and unbidden and all she can do is sit there and cry. Then, once the tears aren't so bad anymore, she starts singing. The words she sings are shaky and her voice cracks between every few words, but right now it doesn't matter because right now she doesn't have to be perfect. Right now, she just needs to get her emotions out in the form of the song that's been cultivating in her mind for that last few months.

To tell you the truth, I'm the fraud in the room

And I know that

But you never will

In my mind, it's instilled not to show that

Kaz hears something from the roof. As per usual, it's Y/n singing. Kaz redirects his attention back to his work but then notices the difference in Y/n's voice. It's not the usual cheery song or Kerch working tune or even an old Ravkan song Nina had taught her. This song is filled with so much heartfelt emotion and sadness and pain that Kaz can't help but listen closer. After all, he may be the Bastard of the Barrel, but he's just a man, just a human whose heart aches for the person he loves.

I spend almost all of my time

Feeling like I'm falling even further behind

And I know I'm so good at seeming

Like I'm not on the edge of a knife

I feel like everything I do is a lie

And all the words just further pull the wool over eyes

I know I'm no good at being who I am away from the light

I'm the pretender, what can I tell ya?

Designed to deceive

So tell me who you want me to be

The door to the roof slams open. Y/n quickly cuts herself off, brushes away her tears and stands. She can already tell who it is by the rap of their cane but she needs a couple of seconds to collect herself. Kaz stops beside her, looking out at the horizon rather than at her.

"Kaz! Wasn't expecting to see you here!" Y/n turns her head away, just to make sure Kaz can't see any lingering tears. "Is there a new job you need me for?" The question hangs in the air. Kaz doesn't answer, doesn't even look her way. "Kaz?"

"That song. It's a new one isn't it?" He noticed her singing. It wasn't like she'd been singing quietly, but she hadn't thought he would notice. A new one? He must have been listening every time she'd come up here and she didn't even know. Maybe he had been paying closer attention than she gave him credit for... "Y/n. What's going on?"

It takes everything Kaz has for him to even ask the question and this time Y/n is the one who doesn't answer. How can she, when this is Kaz Brekker she's talking to? Kaz Brekker, the heartless Bastard of the Barrel, the infamous Dirtyhands? He wouldn't understand.

"Y/n. Answer me."

"Why?" Y/n can't help her outburst. She's been bottling this up for far too long. "Why does it matter?"

Kaz may be good with negotiations, but he's terrible at anything emotional. "I protect my investments."

Y/n scoffs. It's so unlike the Y/n Kaz is used to, but he honestly doesn't care because at least now she isn't hiding behind a mask. "Is that all I am to you? An investment?" She almost starts to walk off when Kaz's cane blocks her path.

"You're an investment." Before Y/n can interrupt in a fit of fury, he continues talking. "To the stock market, an investment is more valuable than a treasure. To the stock market, an investment is something that keeps rising in value. To the stock market, an investment is something that means the world to them. Without an investment, the stock market would crash and burn." With every word Kaz says, every word that is practically a confession of love from his mouth, Y/n steps closer until she's in front of him.

She doesn't move too close, she knows that he isn't good with touch, but she's close enough that she can see the little golden flecks in his coffee brown eyes, close enough that she can see his lips curl into a just-barely smile. "I get the feeling we aren't talking about the actual stock market." Y/n whispers.

"No. We aren't." And to both of them, that's as close of a confession as they are going to get.

And no, this doesn't heal the hurt in either of their hearts, it doesn't make Jordie any less dead or Ketterdam any kinder, but at least now they have a little place of safety. At least now they have a place where they don't have to pretend, where they don't have to fake strength or fake a smile.

#grishaverse #bookworm center #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #i tried my best #i got kind of carried away lol #this song hits hard #hope you like <3 #six of crows #my writing #im actually really proud of this #its probably my favorite grishaverse oneshot ive written so far

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kit-williams · 22 days

Note

I don't know what's scarier: yandere Konrad, yandere Angron or yandere Abaddon?

So I don't know why I got the most terrifying ask.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: All of them are horrifying in their own ways.

With Konrad he is going to love you and love to torment you. He's going to keep you so safe but also you'll be in the most danger of your life. You'll be forced to rely on him... forced to just accept what he will do to you. What he wants from you in return? Well depends on how he got his obsession over you and if he's going to force you to figure it out or tell you what he wants from you. But I see it as someone being genuinely nice to him/just being genuine is what fixates him onto them... because no one is going to be nice in a universe this cruel.

Angron is kinda hard to yandere because he's in pain all the time and mad as hell. But my brain decided "but what if demon prince angron" idk is he still in pain? This is a question I don't know... but either way you might soothe his brain for a moment. But another reason why it's hard to yandere angron is because he was a slave and he had his freedom ripped away from him that I see it hard for him to do that to someone else? Its why my brain would suggest Demon Prince Angron because I can't see him doing that. But lets work with porno logic and say sure he would do that. He's a dog that bites down and refuses to let go.

Abaddon... my man has daddy issues/superiority issues and you better believe that he will make sure you know that he is the best you've ever had. He's probably not on the same level as a primarch with terror but you're going to survive sex with him easier at least? Thing is you could literally be anyone but I think its scarier if you're a nobody and suddenly you have his attention... he uses things and then discards them once their use is up... so that makes you have to wonder... what's your use? And how long are you going to be the focus of his fancy?

#warhammer 40k #reply #answer #yandere space marines #yandere primarchs

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ticktickels · 1 month

Text

TOBY HEADCANNONS!!

I had these laying around somewhere and borrowed some hc from others from all over the place..

Tw: sh

Toby is FTM (he/him)

It's all about personality to Toby, considering he hasn't interacted with people before into the sender mansion.

When you mess with his hands, it clams him.

Toby has gloves to cover up his scars to cover up his hands

Toby carries a notebook occasionally to write down things that he might forget and how to approach each person he has talked too.

Toby can’t remember a single thing about his life prior to becoming a proxy. Despite this he still has PTSD from all the bad shit that happened to him. Stuff like the smell of alcohol and being inside of a car freak him out a bit but he has no idea why.

Clockwork and Toby use to be a thing. He rather not talk about it, it's a sensitive topic..

Toby rather enjoys other proxies company, unless they are have relations with someone he doesn't like or is uncomfortable with.

He doesn’t stutter as much as he used to when he was younger. He only really stutters when he’s stressed out or nervous.

This guy is a total pyromaniac and loves setting off fires for the fun of it. It reminds him of when he killed his dad. Even though he can’t remember his dad he has subconscious memories of something good (I.e. his dad dying) happening before a fire.

He’s not this uwu nice guy sweetheart everyone else makes him out to be. If anything, he’s kind of a dick... making cruel & sarcastic remarks at the expense of others, especially Masky. He is a pretty nice guy to his friends though.

Gash in his cheek, ever since he got it he has to tilt his head slightly whenever he eats to make sure the food/water doesn’t leak out.

When loving someone, he'll show them that by spending extra time around them watching movies, pleasuring them, stealing them things he'd think they'd like on missions and blowing off his other choices.

Because he is unable to feel pain, he likes to inflict pain onto others just to see how they'll writhe and scream when he twists their arm out of place or hacks through the muscle fibers in their calves with his sharpened hatchet.

Slender will let small yet painful slip through as a psychological punishment because he cannot feel physical pain.

He has self-harm scars from trying to feel something

He's allergic to cashews (idk I was bored)

Toby likes to work alone, despite working frequently with others.

He's sooo moody. You would think someone killed his sister.

Toby was once apart of the top 3.. because of some complications (may or may not be delt with the mysterious clockwork situation)

Toby's taste buds are fucked.

He likes to play videogames particularly online competitive games *cough* fortnite *cough*

Toby loves anything lemon flavored, because it's really strong enough to let him taste without being disgusted by it.

Toby is afraid of the dark (trauma related but doesn't remember).

Toby basically refuses to take medication if his life depended on it.

Toby developed a vocal tic of whistling, much to Tim's surprise when he taught him how.

#slenderverse #ticci toby #ticciwork #ticcijack #creepypasta #slenderman #the operator #hoody #tim wright #brian thomas

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