#devilish parrot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eclecticmiasma · 6 months

Text

Down Comes the Claw Ch. 1 (Raphael x Reader)

Doomed, detected, and caught.

SFW (For now)

[Warnings: afab reader, noncon/dubcon, mind control-ish elements, incubi, clones, ownership, imprisonment. EVENTUAL: cambion Raphael, degradation, domination, forced voyeurism, orgasm denial/delay, size difference]

Artist credit: @wrroniec on twitter

The Archivist’s curiosity isn’t well hidden underneath his thin veil of distrust. A mortal, alone, simply wandering the halls of one of the Hells’ most powerful Cambions because she wanted to...peruse his private collection of artifacts? Even a troll would smell treachery miles away.

Were it any other being, the Archivist would have had you sent screaming to holding cells until the master of the house could decide what plane of torment to shuttle you to next, but Korilla had been rather forceful in her instructions not to intervene.

“He’s got a plan for this one,” She’d grinned, the gleam in her dark eyes devilish in its own right, “Let her play while she can.”

Your lips are split from worrying them between your teeth. As if the Hells aren’t hot enough, the Archivist’s gaze has you sweating buckets. He alone could rip your throat to shreds with those fangs the minute your presence has been deemed unsavory, you’re sure of it. As a gleaming ruby locket catches your eye, you try to regard it coolly. You are nothing more than a purveyor of incredibly rare goods, and not at all trying to make your way toward the glittering contract sat front and center of Raphael’s trophy room. The phrase is a mantra you desperately wish to believe.

“Worn by Lumi, a cleric beholden to twilight…” Gods, is your voice trembling? You repeat the name again as if you’re trying to search your vast religious knowledge for the origin of this treasure. Not a single snippet of information comes to mind. Internally, you brace for the house itself to eat you alive.

Instead, Korilla barks out for the Archivist’s attention. Something about another contract ready to be sorted. The man regards you with a final furl of his brows before turning his back to you and attending to his duties. Adrenaline floods your veins and your fingers flex with anticipation. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out.

Hope herself appears out of thin air and parrots your thoughts giddly, “Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out!” before nipping out of existence once again.

You don’t give yourself another chance to think. Without a sound, you prowl towards the center of the grand room and beeline straight for the contract. This is why they agreed to send you alone- Karlach, Shadowheart, the others. Years of prowling the streets of Baldur’s Gate made you nearly undetectable when you wanted to be, so much so that you had even startled Astarion for a laugh on long boring treks. Sure, Gale and Lae’zel nearly came to brawl over the decision, but after two days of quarrels the answer was final.

It could only be you.

The contract before you almost hums with power. Anxiety gnaws at your stomach as you check it over thrice for traps. Nothing. It seems wrong, somehow. A piece of parchment that potentially dictates the fate of Faerûn itself guarded by nothing but a few words. Something tells you to leave it and run, perhaps remnants of the Emperor’s hold on your psyche. Images of your companions, the Hammer, Hope’s face quickly override your doubts and you close your eyes, prepared.

“Give me my heart’s desire,” The words fall from your lips with ease, but nagging trepidation constricts around your heart. Without a sound, the glittering sphere surrounding your contract dissolves away. Before the Archivist can sense what has occurred, before you can convince yourself to turn heel and dash away from all of this, you snatch the page and tear it in two.

Everything plunges into silence. The eternal screams of the damned beyond the gilded walls, cries and whimpers and babbling of long-gone debtors, Korilla’s nagging- all of it gone in an instant. The air around you becomes oppressive, constricting, increasing degree by degree. Ashes fall from your fingertips as the shreds of your contract disintegrate. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, get out. You repeat it again and again in your head until your mantra is a scream, but your legs will not move.

“Fools...fools...how hard you have fought,” A familiar baritone echoes out across the empty archive accompanied by slow clapping. It can’t be, you want to shriek. Hope said he was planes away, that you had time.

“Brave, brave, but it's all been...for naught,” You can’t tell from where his voice is coming. It sounds both far and near, across the hall and right in your ears all at once. Even his footsteps, slow and commanding, don’t betray his location.

“True Souls that couldn't be bought,” He’s mocking you now, a gleeful lilt in his otherwise menacing tone. True Souls...the faces of your companions flip through your mind’s eye like pages of a tome. This isn’t how it’s all supposed to end, is it? Your lungs start to burn, unable to expand or contract to the fullest.

“Doomed...” Raphael himself is in the room now, you feel it. As he takes his sweet time sauntering up to you from behind, the magic that holds your limbs in place begins to be revealed. A holding spell, tendrils wrapped around your legs and snaked up your torso through your fingertips. It pulsates with a blinding purple glow. Sweat drips down your temples as the heat of the Hells becomes sweltering, as fear settles in your bones.

“...detected…” Gods, you will. Tyr, Mystra, Shar for Hells’ sake, you pray to every last one. Anything to bid your body run. As the screams of the damned filter back in, growing louder and louder with each step Raphael takes, it becomes devastatingly clear that not a single deity can hear you.

Raphael’s hands land on your shoulders. His fingertips, though gently splayed, might as well be digging into your skin. If you could move an inch, you would have jumped ten feet in the air. Instead you tremble like a rabbit held in the canines of a much larger beast. He leans down and aligns his lips with your ear, breath ghosting across your flesh, “...and caught.” If you could sob you would, but the fear won’t allow it. Instinct of prey that’s well and truly done for. Instead you tense, bracing for the impending pain of retribution.

“So,” the Devil muses, mile wide grin easily detected through the undercurrent of excitement in his tone, “this is the path you have chosen. Anything you and your group of sorry souls could have wanted would have been yours. Your names would have gone down in history as the heroes that saved Faerûn. Yet, you squandered it with a flick of your wrist. What do you have to say for yourself, oh fallen hero?”

Your mouth opens, but not a sound escapes. Nothing that surfaces in your reeling mind feels like it could ever be enough to reverse the tide of ruin you’ve brought upon yourself. Raphael waits patiently as you flounder. Your terror is a wine finer than any bought, and he has all of eternity to savor it.

“Please…” The pitiful, squeaking word escapes your throat more so than it coming out on purpose. Raphael chuckles darkly and moves to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, I do so love to hear you beg, little mouse. However, I think we can both agree that ‘please’ isn’t an answer. Perhaps if I tell you a story, you’ll be more inclined to...talk.”

Raphael pulls away from you and steps lithely to your front. With a snap of his fingers and a puff of flame, he transports the two of you to his dining room. Roaring flames lick the inside of the fireplace before you, silhouetting the Devil as he prepares to speak. The holding spell wraps tighter.

“You see, the Devil is a rather busy man. When I’m not gracing your merry band with my presence, I’m often attending long meetings with prospective clients, or checking up on those that have already promised me their souls. Perhaps I’m even doling out a punishment or two to a cheeky human that thinks it’s found a loophole. It’s all very important work, and requires quite a bit of cunning and concentration.”

The oppressive heat is getting to you. Raphael’s deep voice sounds like it’s ringing in your head, almost akin to the Emperor’s presence. He paces back and forth before you, gesturing his arms in theatrical movements as if performing a monologue. Each word sends your psyche farther into disarray.

“Hero,” Raphael claps loudly, bringing your attention back to him, “Since my tales seem to bore you, I’ll get straight to the point. I had a fairly important event to attend right before your flagrant disregard for our agreement. Now, imagine my surprise when right in the middle of securing a rather rare and valuable contract, I feel a...shudder, wrack my entire body.”

Glowing eyes level with yours as he leans in close. His brows are furrowed now, genuine anger contorting his features, “My skin began to feel hot, clammy. My concentration waned. Before I realized what was happening sheer ecstasy pooled in my abdomen and then-” He’s so close to you that you hear his breath catch, “It became apparent that someone was using my body.”

Your heart drops. It was the only way. The Archivist had given you access to Raphael’s bedroom with a little cunning, and the only thing standing between you and the contract was a rather familiar looking incubus. What harm could there have been in trading your body for the fate of your companions, your home? The incubus had warned you, though, in its own way. If everything it did with your form meant you would feel it on a different plane, it should have been obvious that Raphael’s form would feel it too.

“I...I didn’t-”

“I knew you would betray our agreement,” Raphael spits, lips hovering just in front of your own, “I knew that eventually I would find you hear in my home, remnants of your misdeed in hand. Korilla and I machinated thousands of ways to tear you asunder, to torment you for breaking my one, most cardinal rule,” Raphael catches himself in his rage, and pulls back. He looks to the fire, light reflected in his eyes. Inhale, exhale. When his gaze meets yours again, all remnants of fury are gone.

“I was ready to kill you in an infinite number of ways. But I should have known better. The moment I met you, I knew you were...special. Of course you would throw a wrench in my plans, and do so beautifully. I almost commend you.”

As he smiles, your skin crawls. He moves in circles around you, thinking, plotting. After some time he comes to a stop, once again behind you.

“So, I propose a better solution. I’ve decided that I rather...enjoyed indulging in your body,” You swallow a protest as his chin rests in the crook of your neck, his left hand sliding down the curve of your waist and along the front of your thigh, “Form a new contract. Submit to me, and I won’t touch a hair on your companions’ heads. As much as I would love to take the place of that poor spawn’s master, I can control myself- for you.”

He squeezes your thigh and drags his lips across the straining muscles in your neck. Your sweat slicked skin sticks to his own, and you feel a deep rumble at your back as he revels in the sensation, “For all they know, the contract is still intact. I’ve captured you here,” He kisses your neck and you squirm, fighting back a gasp, “and their only option is to use the hammer,” another kiss, “or you perish.”

“No…I won't...” The answer comes as a piteous whimper. Raphael cackles against your skin, squeezes your body tight to his own, and tuts like he’s caught a naughty child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Wrong answer, little mouse.”

Chapter 2 smut incoming 😘

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

#fics #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #no smut yet #raphael/tav #raphael x reader #raphael/reader #cambion raphael #house of hope #bg3 raphael #bg3 x reader #raphael x you #i don't care what haarlep says this man has had an eternity to learn how to fuck

196 notes · View notes

lazuruspit · 2 years

Text

bump in the night — (m)

+ PAIRING: Ryomen Sukuna x cisfem!Reader

+ SUMMARY: during your trip with friends to a rural mountain pass in japan, you hear something prowling within the woods. it seizes you with fear, leading you to hole up in sukuna’s room for safety. to your benefit—or to your chagrin—sukuna knows just how to placate your worries.

+ GENRES: no curses!au, pwp, hate fucking, smut

+ CONTENT WARNINGS: fingering, oral sex (f receiving), size kink go brrr, unprotected piv sex, marking

+ WORD COUNT: 3k

It’s the crest of midnight when a fist rasps at Sukuna’s door.

It takes a while for him to reorient himself, blinking away the fog of sleep that clouds his eyes. He sits up in bed, watching moonlight slip past the curtains and cast a silvery glow over the bedroom. Sukuna stumbles out of bed—scratching his bare chest, sweatpants hung low on his hips—and swings the door open.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Is the first thing he grunts.

You look up at Sukuna, hoisting your neck. He stares down his nose at you—eyebrows pinched, jaw fixed—hair odd-angled and cheeks puffy, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looks cute.

“Nice to see you too,” you mutter as you shoulder past him.

“Come on in,” Sukuna drawls, voice laced with sarcasm, “make yourself at home.”

You plop yourself down on his bed, kittening into the swirl of cabin sheets. It cools your skin, offsetting the heat of your cheeks that had formed upon seeing Sukuna shirtless. You raise your head again, balancing it between your shoulders, and hitch yourself up onto your elbows, leering at the aforementioned man.

Sukuna loiters at the foot of the bed, arms tightly crossed against his naked and hewed chest. His eyes glint with an irritated lustre, and upon inching your gaze lower, you catch a glimpse of the tail-end of his happy trail, the tawny-coloured scruff disappearing into the band of his grey sweatpants.

“So?” He prompts, regaining your attention, “What’re you doing in my room?”

You brood, bottom lip curling out how the sea curls into the sand, and avert your gaze.

“There’s something in the woods.”

“Something in the woods?” Sukuna parrots, halfway between a chuckle and a scoff, “What? A tiger?”

“I’m serious, you prick,” you snap, pulling your thin sleep shirt tighter around your chest, “I heard it outside my window. The same sound when we were around the bonfire.”

“And what do you expect me to do? Fight it for you?”

“Oh, please,” you mirthlessly laugh, “you think you’re that selfless?”

“I’m letting you stay in my room ‘cause you’re scared of fuckin’ branches snapping,” he bites back, “I think that’s pretty fucking selfless.”

You quickly rise to your feet, standing chest-to-chest with Sukuna. He towers over you, composing your world, and canters his head down, a spark of mischief frosting his eyes.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you sneer, “it’s big enough as it is—your room was just the closest.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Utahime’s room is upstairs,” you say, referring to the second level of the cabin you and your friends had rented for the weekend.

Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, the ghost of an aggravating smirk playing on his lips. He knows you’re trying to be taken seriously—sizing him up despite him being thrice your size—regardless of how big you are. He internally croons at your sharp voice and heaving chest, the challenging gleam to your eyes.

Moonlight seeps through the window, golden and misty as it paints your dewy skin. Sukuna drags his eyes along your sleep shirt, along the soft outline of your breasts, relishing in how it exposes the barest hint of your hardened nipples. They push against the stretch of fabric, poking through the gauzy material.

He chuckles, mouth tilted in a devilish smirk, and leans forward, meeting you eye-level.

“Be honest,” Sukuna says, “is that really why you’re here?”

“Why else would I be?” You seethe, “You think I wanna be around you? Like, voluntarily? Don’t make me laugh, Ryomen.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he continues, unswayed by your words, “and I know you’ve seen how I look at you.”

Sukuna steps forward; you take a quick one backward. He bullies you back until your knees hit the bed and you’re flopping onto the mattress. He sets his hands on either side of you, forcing you on your back, and stares down at you—eyes sharp, depthless, and iridescent with ruby red.

“Don’t know what you’re bullshitting about,” you choke out, hyper-aware of the newfound flutter between your legs.

“No?” He croons, face coloured in faux concern, “everyone’s noticed.”

Sukuna walks his hands down your love handles, revelling in the way you shiver beneath his touch. You kitten into his cupped palms, feeling your panties begin to stick to your dewy cunt.

“Ask me to stop,” he says, and it’s both a taunt and a beseech for your consent.

You respond with a seedy smile, and thankfully, Sukuna takes the bait, moving to sink his hand below the hem of your shorts, cupping your pussy.

He works his fingers over your folds, rubbing you through your panties, coaxing your arousal out and onto his thick fingers.

“Already this wet?”

“Fuck you, Ryomen,” you snap, but it’s clear your words struggle to hold malice. With how you tremble beneath his touch, meagrely humping the heel of his palm.

Sukuna stares down at you—with how intense it is, it feels like he stares into you, bones and flesh and cartilage and all—before breaking out in a puckish grin.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He sets his hands on your hips, digging divots in your flesh, and swiftly flips you onto your stomach. You’re surprised you don’t get hit with a stint of whiplash, and your panties grow damper at the idea of Sukuna manhandling you. He removes your shorts and panties and bites his fingers into the fat of your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands. You wiggle your butt back at him—a forlorn attempt to chase some friction—and arch into his warmth.

You yield to Sukuna’s prying hand, spreading your legs apart, cheeks flaring in embarrassment at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open. With a feather-light touch, Sukuna trails his finger down the slit of your pussy, collecting your arousal, thumbing your clit.

He teases your fluttering hole, sinking a finger into your cunt. And even though it’s just one, Sukuna’s fucking big. The girth has you squirming—quivering around his digit—and before long, he slips in a second finger. He scissors you open, pumping them in and out, middle finger and forefinger coated in an extra layer of slick each time he pulls them out.

“Right there?” Sukuna encourages, fingers deeply seated inside your pussy, thumb circling your clit, “or right here?”

Sukuna sinks his fingers deep, curling them against the velvet of your walls. The pad of his fingers rub against that one bumpy tissue inside of you, the one that has you throwing your head back, moans locked in pleasure. Sukuna feels his cock fatten in his sweatpants as he grins, watching you writhe over the duvet, fingers twisting into the bedsheets, back arching off the mattress.

“Ohh, that’s the spot, isn’t it?” He downright growls. His eyes flit down to your fluttering cunt, and in a shrewd lapse of judgement, Sukuna leans close, wrapping his tongue around your slick and swollen clit.

You throw your head back, unable to choke out a snide reply with the arousal that impairs you. Sukuna feels his pants tighten as he slips his tongue between the fat of your cunt, snagging your clit between his lips. He keeps thrusting his fingers—keeps abusing the spot inside you that has you crying out in pleasure—the twist of his fingers attuned to your most wanton moans, your every twitch, your slightest hiccup.

He releases your clit with a pop, dragging his fingers out of your hole. A whine curls off your tongue at the loss of friction, but Sukuna’s quick to placate you. He walks his lips up your navel and over your sternum, silences you with a kiss, and swallows your moans.

He steals the air from your shallow lungs as he kisses you, weaving his fingers into your hair. He levers your head back, baring your neck, and sinks his teeth into your skin. Sukuna pulls back—just scarcely enough to study the mosaic of hickies painting your chest—and palms himself through his sweatpants.

He shifts to his knees, chin glistening with your slick. He parts his lips and rolls out his tongue—maintaining eye contact—and curls his fingers into the round of his cheek, sucking clean your arousal that coats his fingers. The tent in his pants thickens, and upon flitting your eyes down, you’re able to make out the fat outline of Sukuna’s cock, pushing against the soft gauze of his sweatpants, screaming for an escape.

“Don’t want you to cum yet,” he pants, “wanna make you do it on my cock.”

Sukuna shucks his pants down his thighs and growls as his cock springs free, standing brazenly with a leaking red tip. The head of his dick drools with precum—it squeezes out of the tip and sluices down his shaft, down to his heavy balls that hang between his legs. Sukuna wraps a hand around the base, jerking himself off, eyes glued to the spread of your dewy cunt.

“No boxers?” You try, but your snark falls flat, overridden by intimidation as you gawk at Sukuna’s girth. Your pulse thumps in a rapid succession of beats, blood rushing to your ears in anticipation.

He runs a lazy hand down his length. “Helps me breathe better.”

You scoff and unfurl your legs, shepherding him close with the spread of your pussy. Sukuna takes the bait, inching forward, slotting himself between your legs. He lays his heavy cock atop your folds, gliding between the fat of your cunt, moaning as the tip slides and slips over your clit. His jaw falls open; eyebrows tight; pupils dilated and eclipsed with the craze of lust. His cheeks flush, and his neck turns pink, a patchwork of blotchy red blooming like a labyrinth down his tattooed chest, down to the base of his cock.

You buck your hips to meet him in the middle, fixated on the comely curl of his cock—how it curves into your slick folds, rubbing against your clit. His dick glistens, coated in your wetness, sticky and noisy every time he rolls his hips back.

“You gonna keep teasing me?” You ask.

“Depends,” Sukuna says, “you gonna keep acting like an impatient brat?”

“What can I say,” you mock, lips tilted in a sarcastic smile, hands slipping under your shirt to cup your breasts, “I like keeping you on your toes.”

Sukuna blanks, eyes darkening to a mulberry shade of red as he studies you. You’re about to keep mocking him, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by a tight squeal that gets punched out of you with the strength in which Sukuna folds you in half, hitching your legs onto his shoulders.

He presses the bulbous head of his dick against your hole, and pushes it inside—bullying his cock into you, squeezing it past your tight ring of slippery muscle. He relishes in the way your lips pop open; how your eyebrows pucker in shock; how your mien adopts the look of a predator-turned-prey, bullied into a corner and forced into obedience. Sukuna sinks deeper, completely sheathed within you, and bottoms out.

He rocks his hips—growling in an animalistic bare of teeth as you squeeze him, swathing him in warmth—and leans forward, setting his hands on the mattress, either side of your head. The new angle has your legs hoisting higher; it has your weight shifting to your shoulder blades; it has Sukuna gliding deeper, his cock hitting new depths inside of your warm pussy.

Sukuna, buried to the hilt, grinds his pelvis onto yours, successively rubbing your clit and penetrating you deeply. He heedlessly moans, thumb finding your swollen clit, glorying in the way your tits and tummy bounce with each drag of his hips.

Sukuna expertly fucks you, thrusts slapping a little sharper—a little meaner—against you, the head of his cock brushing against and abusing your cervix.

The headboard bumps against the bedroom wall, carving into the ageing wood. Stuck in the centre of a desolate forest, the only sounds echoing—other than snapping branches, or a cacophony of cicadas—are your mellifluous moans, and the squall of the bedsprings as Sukuna drills you into the mattress.

“Y’feel so fucking amazing,” he downright slurs, walking his fingers over your love handles and up your legs, deadset in committing every inch of your body to his memory, “do you know how many times I’ve fucked my fist to this? Thinking of fucking you?”

Your eyes marginally widen at Sukuna’s blunt words, but screw shut not a moment later—overstimulated as his balls slam against your ass. You choke out a strangled sound. It’s on the threshold between a whimper and a cry.

“Bet you say that to every girl you fuck,” you breathe, eyes rolling to the back of your skull in pleasure.

Sukuna leans in close and sinks his teeth into your neck, sucking love bites onto your flesh, weaving his fingers with yours. His hands are decidedly bigger than yours—something he capitalises off of—by pinning your wrists to the bed, keeping you from squirming too much.

“You’re right,” Sukuna grunts against your ear, “I just don’t always mean it.”

He smiles—drunkenly and lopsided—his casual smirk shattering the otherwise carnal air that swathes him. Your legs flail as he pounds into you, swallowing your moans with wet and messy kisses. Your acrylics dig into his sinewy biceps as you hold him close, running your fingers over his inked and dewy skin.

“M’close,” you mewl, turning your head to the side, baring your collarbones for Sukuna to kiss.

You feel a buildup of asphalt thicken in your navel. Your senses shift into overdrive, and all at once, you’re hyper-aware of every sweating pore on your body. Sukuna runs his tongue over them, fingers cutting tightly into your supple skin.

“Cum all over me,” he gasps, lips pressed against the spot beneath your ear that makes you shiver.

A part of you hates that you cave to Sukuna’s commands so easily. You’re like putty in his hands—trembling beneath the tight grip of his hands as your release soars through you. You let salacious moans tumble from your lips as you gush around Sukuna’s dick, strings of arousal connecting from your inner thighs and to the base of his cock.

“Where do you want me?” He grits his teeth, thrusts gingerly ripening into a sloppy and heedless snap of his hips, “Where d’you want me to cum?”

Sukuna’s words flow in one ear and out the other. You don’t answer, still reorienting from your orgasm as Sukuna uses your pussy to chase his. His muscles stiffen as the apex to his pleasure draws near—jaw set, eyebrows puckered in concentration, beads of sweat sluicing down his temples.

His plump balls tighten, and off the cuff, Sukuna slips out of your cunt and wraps a hand around his slick cock, jerking off until he empties himself all over your pussy. He decorates your folds with his pearlescent cum, grunting as it runs over your slit and down to your ass.

Sukuna bites a hand into your calf and drags you down the bed, redirecting his aim to your tits. He paints your pretty face with his ropes of cum, cock twitching as your tongue unfurls to catch some in your mouth. Sukuna beats his dick until his balls are empty, pulsing with fatigue.

Even upon softening, the tip of his cock pokes your inner thigh. The air conditioner gusts cool air over your pussy, causing you to shiver, canting into Sukuna’s sheeny chest. He—to your surprise—holds you close, heat radiating off him, offsetting the otherwise chilly air that blankets the bedroom.

After lust marinates in the air, Sukuna leans in close, baritone voice caressing the shell of your ear.

“You know tigers aren’t even native to Japan, right?”

You turn, smirking at Sukuna from over your shoulder, once again reaching for his cock.

“I’m well aware of it, Ryomen.”

#sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen smut #ryomen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #mine

2K notes · View notes

ghxstfacesgf · 1 year

Text

anchor: ethan landry x reader

Ethan returns from a ghostface attack to find you waiting for him, the only person who can ease his mind. His anchor.

Warnings: ya know violent ghostface things

Note: I wrote this super fast bc I had this idea and couldn’t get it out of my head. I realized after I wrote it that it’s pretty gender-neutral so enjoy! Let know how you like it! <3

A loud crash echos through the small apartment as a ghostface mask smashes into the dresser. An unlit candle falls, coating the wood floors in shards of glass. Ethan Landry tramples over them— breathing erratic, hands shaking, curly brown locks coated in sweat. The events of the night clouded his memory, an unsuccessful attack on the Carpenter sisters. He tried, he really did try, but to no avail. His father would return to the apartment any minute now. The apartment they had purchased as another hideout, other than the shrine. The boy could practically hear his father now: unfocused, sloppy, weak.

Ethan frustratingly ripped the cloak off his body, chucking it on the ground with a groan. With brown eyes prickling with tears, he collapsed on the bed head in hands. A small, comforting voice called to him from the corner of the room,

“Ethan?”

You. Of course it was you. Your voice laced in empathy and the only voice with the power to instantly calm Ethan Landry. He let out a sigh, not even needing words to communicate to you what he needed. You moved in front of him while he remained seated, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. Those eyes closed in relief and your delicate hands cupped his face. His medicine. His anchor.

You brought him closer to you, head nuzzled into your chest. Ethan melted instantly at your touch as you stroked his hair lightly, his eyes still closed. He had no idea when or how you’d gotten here and, frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were here. You were there to save him from his own devilish thoughts. That’s what you’d always done for Ethan— grounded him. It was you that helped him balance along the line of good vs evil. He was a killer, yes, but he didn’t want to be. At least not when he was around you. Your glossy eyes, your perfectly imperfect smile, all of you made him forget his family’s plan. No— his family’s mission. One that he almost considered aborting at the sight of you. Almost.

“What happened, Eth?” His eyes fluttered open at your question. He didn’t know why, but he felt like dumping all of his trauma onto you. The only person in world he felt like would truly listen to him without judgment.

“I failed. Again, y/n, I failed. And my dad and Quinn will be back here any minute to berate me for it. He will go on and on about Richie. “If Richie was here this”, “if Richie was here that,” it’s exhausting never being good enough,” Ethan rambled, his voice cracking. Tears were begging to be released but he blinked them away. He sighed, bringing a hand to your face to brush away a stray lock of hair.

You smiled down at him understandingly. “But how did you fail?”

He scoffed at your comment, “how did I fail? Y/n, I didn’t kill anyone that’s how I failed! That’s all he cares about!” Ethan’s hands, that were wrapped about your waist, tightened in his annoyance.

“No.” You spoke calmly, pulling back from the boy in front of you.

“What?”

“No.” Ethan’s eyebrows burrowed in confusion as he, too, pulled away. You were starting to sound like a parrot at this point. “Ethan, what happened tonight?”

He blinked at you. Why did you have that look on your face? Why weren’t you scared? He had just admitted to you he was ghostface, you’d even seen the mask once he entered the apartment. Why were you still here?

“I already told you. I didn’t kill anyone. I was supposed to, supposed to attack Sam and Tara.”

You closed the gap between the two of you once again. A smile full of pity played on your pink lips. Ethan felt his heartbeat begin to race again and he wasn’t sure why. He tried to think, but he couldn’t. How did you even get here? How did you even know this apartment existed?

“You didn’t fail, baby,” your hands cupped his face again, though they were colder now. “You did kill someone.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, he could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. His eyes closed, the memories of the night flashing across his mind faster than he could stop them. And boy did he desperately want to stop them.

Sam and Tara’s apartment. Glass breaking. Screaming. Ethan lunged for the sisters, managing to slice Sam’s forearm. She fell to the ground— this was his moment. The moment he would finally make his father proud. The blade raised above the boys head. He brought it down, hard and fast. Although it wasn’t Sam he’d just mutilated. It was you. Those eyes he’d once became entranced in looked up at him one last time. This time filled with hatred and fear. Blood soaked your navy top as he removed the blade from your chest. You’d gotten in the way, how could you be so stupid? The others called your name and Ethan ran. He wanted to stay and help you, he really did. He wanted you to be alright. The sounds of Tara’s screams confirmed his fears.

Ethan’s lips began to form a reply but you’d cut him off, “you didn’t mean to.”

His eyes looked up at you frantic, unable to stop the tears from flowing now. “I don’t understand, you’re here! I can feel you,” the boy pulled your hand from his cheek. Both of his hands cupped yours as he brought it to his lips, kissing your hand softly. “You feel real.”

“You know I’m not, Ethan. You know what you did, you know you didn’t mean to. This isn’t what you want, you’re not a killer.” Your words seemed to pierce him like a blade. Like the blade he’d shoved into your chest just hours ago. He cried now, cried harder than he ever had. At some point his hands released yours and those curly locks fell wet against his forehead.

The door to the apartment swung open harshly. Ethan’s attention was torn away from you. It was Detective Bailey.

“There he is! My boy,” Bailey smiled wildly, arms widened for a hug. “I didn’t think you had it in you, to kill y/n.”

At the sound of your name Ethan’s head turned back to where you were standing. Your figure gone now, only a window overlooking the city replaced it. He felt like he had been the one murdered.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Those words, the only words Ethan had wanted to hear, snapped him away from his sorrow. Eyes glistened up at his father. They embraced.

You had been Ethan’s anchor, the one thing keeping him somewhat sane. But, you were gone now. It had to happen, it did. Ethan knew that now. Without you, he could finally live up to his fathers expectations.

He could become a true psychopath.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #scream 6 imagines #scream imagine #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x you #jack champion x reader

696 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 11 months

Note

For the bangathon…

Can I get 69 with Dieter?

This is such a fun idea! I’m excited!

Kat, of COURSE you can 69 with Dieter! I adore how polite everyone is asking for these drabbles, it makes me feel like a smut barista.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: 69

Word Count: 917

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m and f receiving), titty fucking, rimming, a glimmer of self-conscious combated by a bit of body positivity for both.

Notes: Hi hello this is my least favorite position for reasons and I just want all of the boys to change my mind so here we gooooooo

Dieter’s endearing smile almost makes up for the dread in the pit of your stomach.

“I dunno, I always feel weird on top like that,” you say, hoping he doesn’t regret letting you into his bed. You were normally up for everything (and then some), but this twinges a little insecurity in your chest that you can’t shake.

“Oh,” is all Dieter says, looking up at you from where you’re leaning over him. “That’s okay, I’ll be on top if you like that better.”

Your eyebrows shoot clean off your face (you imagine).

“Oh,” you parrot back, shock slowly receding. Dieter’s smile turns from carefree to incredibly devilish.

“Lay down, baby,” he purrs, slipping his hands along your skin until you’re flat on the bed, dipping in for a sweet kiss that turns filthy. He shuffles to press his mouth down between your breasts, along the line of your stomach and one final slick purse of hips lips on your clit. Your body is humming by then, hands weaving their own sensual path along Dieter’s thighs, the little pooch of stomach that forms when he’s on all fours, and the delicate curve of his lower back.

“Knees up,” he commands, tapping your calves. Your brow furrows but you comply, folding them up to your chest, your bare pussy spread out for him. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he leans over you, planting his hands on either side of your hips with your knees tucked into his armpits. His broad shoulders pin and press you down, heart hammering at this vulnerability. It's new and intoxicating, and when Dieter presses your knees wide and further down to the bed your hips curl onto his waiting tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you rasp, completely at Dieter’s mercy as he licks a slow, snaking stripe from your clit down to your entrance, teasing the tip inside. Pinned as you are you can’t move closer or further away, only taking what Dieter gives you no matter how intense. Your nails dig into the back of his thighs, hips still off to the side.

“That’s it, baby, see how good I can make you feel?” he preens into your cunt, finally lifting his knee to settle over your face. Before he can get another lick in, you lap at the underside of his cock, scratching your nails along the back of his thighs before taking one of his balls into your mouth.

“Oh shit, baby, ohhhhh you’re gonna make me bust on those beautiful tits if you keep doing that,” Dieter moans, confident facade slipping before he messily circles your clit, spit and your arousal dripping down. Angling his cock, you suck him in and urge his hips to shallowly fuck into your waiting mouth, tongue curling while playfully squeezing his cheeks. He begins flicking your clit in time with his thrusts, rocking harder against your cunt so the thick bridge of his nose can tease your folds. You’re both humming and whining at the other’s efforts, Dieter finally pulling away from your hot mouth.

“Can I fuck your tits? Want to cum on them so fucking badly,” he begs, request shredded with desire as he suckles your clit like a promise. Guiding his cock between your breasts, the slick spit lets him slide easily through the plush channel. He practically wails, a debauched wretched noise that makes your cunt throb.

You have Dieter in a mess over you, and you caused it.

The tiny cleft of his butt is right by your face, tensing with his thrusts growing rapidly forceful. He redoubles his effort to rip an orgasm through you, sucking and spitting and lapping anything that makes you moan. He feels close, your own not so far behind, when a wicked thought tickles your brain. You’d never done it before, but looking at his sweet little ass so close to your lips, the pretty pink of his asshole, makes you bold. Leaning up, you swirl the tip of your tongue over his tight hole and press.

Dieter shouts, hips stuttering as he spills suddenly between your tits and over your stomach. His thighs shake, your tongue still pulsing against that fluttering ring of muscle as his breaths slow and fade into weak gasps. Once you’re sure you’ve soothed him through his aftershocks you lean back down, admiring the sheen of your spit and his cum sliding along your belly. You also admire Dieter’s strong thighs around your head, the way his tummy dips, the dimples of flesh around his hips. Maybe you shouldn’t feel so self-conscious on top anymore. There’s a beauty in the vulnerability and trust that this allows.

“Oh baby, you just rocked my fucking world, holy shit,” Dieter gasps, shifting off to flop on his back beside you. You tangle your fingers with his, pulling his palm to kiss.

“That was fun. I’d be up for doing it again,” you say coyly to get the face-cracking smile you covet.

“All right, enough talk, get up here and sit on my face,” he urges, tugging you closer. You wrinkle your nose.

“Let me wipe your cum off first,” you placate, but he’s already pulling you up his body.

“I want it to drip in my mouth while I’m tongue-fucking you to another dimension,” he husks, licking your stomach as if to prove it to you.

“Filthy,” you chide, but you’re already straddling his head and gripping the headboard.

“You love it,” he quips back.

And oh, you do.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fanfiction #prolix fics

189 notes · View notes

devilish-parrot · 26 days

Note

#devilish ask #tally hall #andrew horowitz #i feel so sigma!#devilish parrot

19 notes · View notes

devilishparrot-art · 1 month

Text

tally hall zine!

"WELCOME TO tally hall" by @devilish-parrot, inspired by the marvins lyric booklet

#tally hall #zine #my art #first time making a zine

24 notes · View notes

lady-ashfade · 1 year

Text

Vs Cunk. Pt.2

Nikolai Lantsov vs Cunk!Reader

Wylan van eck vs Cunk!Reader.

Let me make this clear, I find Nikolai so hot. Also wylan is my son, don’t get mad at me because I love him.

I’m going to be honest this wasn’t as funny as the last one, but I still have fun creating it. But please know that this cunk sense of humor. And I toned it down for this.

Part one. Part two.

Warnings: Cunks sense of humor, mention of a spicy magazine, y/n roasting Nikolai, y/n being done with her job.

Y/n signing and taking a seat: Who are you?

Nikolai: Well, that’s a tough question. I’m Nikolai the king’s second son, but now the king, also at times-

Y/n: How can you be your own father?

Nikolai: I’m not- that’s not even possible, the king, my father, has passed and that leaves me since my brother has died.

Y/n shaking her head: Would be cooler if you were- Though that’d mean you porked your own mother… Or could you somehow become your own mother?

Nikolai stunned and has no words and just sits there with his mouth open.

Y/n looks down at cards in her hand: What’s the difference between a pirate and a privateer?

Nikolai: A privateer has a license to carry weapons and attack ships if need be, and more. *he smirks*

Y/n: I thought it was a parrot, or a wooden leg. Do you have one of them?

Nikolai: Can’t say I do.

Y/n hums: Hmm, and pirates in tales are handsome and devilish. *Writes on the paper* you’re not a pirate.

Nikolai offended: A lot of people think my smile is sexy and devilish, and I’m handsome- *He turns his head and poses* See.

Y/n looking at him: So you’re delusional as well? Not someone I’d want to have a license for weapons.

Nikolai: Oh come on!

Y/n puts a finger on her chin and thinks: Maybe you need a parrot.

Nikolai groans: Saints sake.

Wylan sitting still in a seat and messing with his buttons. He turns when someone walks in and takes a seat, he clears his throat and offered a smile.

Y/n looked at him and then titles her head and looks all over his face and doesn’t say anything but a confused expression found itself on her face.

Wylan getting a bit nervous and confused: Um..?

Y/n snapping out of it: You’re like a walking cartoon character- It’s freaky.

Wylan: Cartoon?

Y/n: You know the drawn characters on the screen- That’s right you don’t have that. So, you’re the angry one’s child right?

Kaz: Who? No, I’m Wylan…

Y/n nods: I was told you were a child of the little angry dog’s adopted child. *She hands him a card* Can you read that?

Wyaln looks at it: It’s blank.

Y/n: Is it? Or can you not see the words to read? Maybe you’re blind to ink.

Wylan: No, I just can’t read- I can see ink.

Y/n: My mate Paul couldn’t read until he picked up a playboy magazine, he’d read everyday for years. He’d read it so much the paper worn out they stuck together.

Wylan: Playboy? I’m not sure i follow.

Y/n: I think it was a feminist book, I’m not sure. *Looks down at the cards again* If you could choose to be a giraffe with a short neck, or mute and have mind reading powers but couldn’t tell anyone about it?

Wylan: I think that means the giraffe would die…So mute.

Y/n: I think I’d choose the giraffe so i wouldn’t have to do this anymore.

Wylan raises his eyes brows and shakes his head in disbelief.

#cunk!reader #shadow and bone x reader #wylan van eck #wylan van eck x reader #Nikolai Lantsov x reader #Nikolai Lantsov #six of crows x reader

110 notes · View notes