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aluciahaz · 1 month

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may i just say that your character writing is AMAZING! i honestly don’t check up on your blog a lot but when i do i’m left SHAKING because your shit is soooo hot.

Anyways i humbly come requesting mommy kink with vox because you know i’m all about that. he’s so desperate for validation and scared of rejection i feel like he’d be weeping at a domme mommy type reader. Anyways, do what you want with this!

once again i love your work! sincerely, bimbo <3

oh my god it's one of my favorite writers on tumblr🦅 thank you so much for the compliment it means a lot 😭 also i loved writing this ive desperately needed more vox asks! hope you enjoy! (kinda went ham on metaphors 💀 mb)

greed never stops

—vox x f!reader

—includes: overstim, tons of crying, begging, light bondage

vox was a walking, living(?) juxtaposition.

he’ll go barking orders to his subordinates, control most situations with smooth, quick thinking, and command his business with an iron fist.

but with you, the other side of his screen is on full display. his vulnerable, attention-desperate, failure-fearful self. you’ve seen it enough times to notice how it seeps into his daily life. how his control is really just a mechanism to take hold of his vulnerability, hiding it behind a mess of steel wires to make anyone who would try and reach it get tangled in its grasp.

but the moments he lets you untangle his facade, allowing you to see his true self, he feels free. even if most of the time it was during more intimate moments in the night. it was where he could truly indulge in his unfamiliar desires, crying and begging for the validation he was always seeking.

and you were the one he needed it from.

your praise was one of the highest in the hierarchy of compliments, making him feel like he was burning up, frying his brain in a way that made him feel like he’s short-circuited, but the feeling of fuzziness was intoxicating. he could never give up the taste of your compliments.

“come on, aren’t you a good boy? you can hold out for a little longer.”

those words were like rich liquor, and vox was an eager drinker. it swirled his thoughts into a never-ending spiral, and he could only cry in response as you touched his face with a gentleness that rivals an angel’s.

“b-but, mommy—!” he sobs as your fingers drive into him for what seems the thousandth time, his voice module starting to struggle as he tries to speak.

“oh?” you raise your eyebrow, feigning shock before narrowing your eyes, pressing him further down the sheets in disdain. is he still being ungrateful?

“but what, huh? don’t tell me you need more already! you’re such a greedy fucking slut,” you spit out, watching his eyes shoot open from the whiplash of your cruel words. “maybe i should stop—,”

“NO! nono, please! no! i’m sorry—!” he keens as your fingers slowly start to slip out of him, the sound so indecent it makes him shiver.

he pushes his hips up into your hand, trying to follow them only for your other hand to shove his hips back down on the sheets, your fingers twisting nearly all the way out before ramming back in, curling in wickedly that seems to shut him up briefly as he catches a breath that ran away.

vox weeps, unable to do anything else as his claws rip into the mattress, his legs shake and tremble as though they weren’t practically crushing you before. he seems so fragile at this moment, yet you knew he could take much more.

he just didn’t deserve it.

he whines and screams at your touch, tears starting to fall down his pretty little face as the small amount of dignity he had seems to get lost, overrun by your torturous fingers and unyielding pleasure that shoots through his body like a current.

“mommy—ha—please jus—zz—t fuck me, oh, god!” his head drops back down onto the pillows as your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, making his back arch as he sobs out noncoherent pleads. it’s beautifully pathetic.

his legs, weak and feeble, were strewn across the bed with previous markings trailing up his inner thigh, his neck even more decorated with a necklace of red, the glimmer of sweat that covers his whole body making those bites shine similar to crude rubies.

his hands, now tied with his own wires behind the bed (he charges there before he goes to sleep) were sullied with crimson from the tightness of the metal around his wrist, but not as bright crimson as his eyes, which flashed with bright red hearts intermittently. it was always a pleasant surprise, and a sign that he fucking loved this. no matter how much he complained at the start, his eyes spoke the truth.

which is why now, as you replace your fingers with his favorite strap, you know he’s absolutely overjoyed as those beating hearts seem to overtake his pupils once more, pulsating with a hypnotizing spiral.

“finally—! oh—zzz—FUCK!” his last word is practically inaudible with the airiness in his voice, his tone starting to distort, yet, your pace was slow. shallow, even. tears of frustration started to form at the ends of his eyes, his whines more pitiful as he tries to fuck himself back on your strap, only to be stopped by your sturdy grip on his hips.

“what do you say, vox?“ you asked, irritation slipping into your voice. how could he still be so ungrateful? but, he catches on fast, looking up at you with round, glossy eyes.

“thank you! thank—thank you, mommy!” he stumbles out before you switch up your pace instantly, brutally ramming into him just how he likes it. it makes him unable to fathom he could have been known to be anything but yours, surrendering his well-built persona to you. all of it, for your praise.

“such a good boy.”

those words were priceless, but he always ends up trying to buy them with obedience. and even though he’s successfully checked out with such praise, they still have the same effect on him every time.

he shudders and wails with ruined pitch, his screen flickering in and out of error messages and his lovely expression as he gets his reward. there was just something so satisfying about earning your praise.

sure, he can buy pretty much anything, and yes, he can get people to kneel at his feet, but he can’t cry without shame, or indulge in his true desires of being completely wrecked with soft words and fast hips with anyone. no, it could only be you. and even if he practically has everything under his hands, he will always be greedy for your affection, begging, screaming for a chance to have it set his whole body ablaze with its foreign warm feeling.

it makes him lost. no matter how much intelligence vox has, he always finds himself unable to search his way out of the feeling of pure lust overtaking his senses when you fuck him with abandon, his need to keep face seemingly never being there in the first place as tears make him short-circuit, and pleads for you to never stop. he doesn’t want to leave this labyrinth of carnality. he wants to stay lost in it forever.

it’s why even after he cums with a high-pitch sob so loud you thought his volume module broke, he kept weeping incoherently as the lights flicker in the room, his legs practically numb. and finally, he looks up at you, sniffling and choking on his words he’ll pretend to regret the next morning.

“m-more. please, mommy—! AH!” his whole body jolts as you heed his wishes, leaving him to fall back into the pleasure that he craves. he babbles on and on with thank yous and nonsensical sentences, the night seeming to become never-ending even with daybreak inching closer and closer.

vox is unable to speak at the end, and god does everything fucking hurt. his arms ache and his legs are definitely going to be an issue when he has to walk. there are marks all over his skin that will never see the light of day, yet be around for plenty of nights.

but you both know he’ll come back for more. his greed is an unquenchable thirst, and your praise is the only fountain that seems to satiate it, even if only for a little while.

(i totally didnt forget to tag)

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @mvskedxrtist @drlucichen @luciferspetduck

#hazbin hotel #dom reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel dom reader #sub hazbin hotel #bottom vox #sub vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox

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yoyokalicent · 3 months

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BRO WRITE FELIX CRYING BECAUSE HES NEVER BEEN LOVED SO MUCH AND READER COMFORTING HIM

it would so happen after a night at the pub. he's a few drinks deep and looking into your glittery eyes that a few vodka sodas had softened. thinking about how you'd look with a pretty diamond on your left hand and a kid on your hip.

but you're so young, a year younger than him, but still he can't help but think about the way you love him.

thinking about the way his mother absolutely adores the ground you walk on, not just sending gifts for him anymore, but sending you the finest of what she finds. the way venetia talks with you on the daily as if you'd known her your whole life.

thinking about the way no matter how far you and your friends skip away from the pub, you'll always wait for him to catch up so you can throw yourself onto him for the duration of the walk.

he stops thinking about you when you stop to grab at your feet, a signal the night of dancing and standing before him had taken it's toll. and like the nights before he gives you a nod, "go ahead, love."

you hop onto his back with your hands circling around his neck, moving to give him a kiss on the cheek, "love you more than anyone, lex."

the words tinge at his skin, going straight to his head as your lips leave his ear so your head can rest on his shoulder. not thinking anything of his silence.

once you reach his dorm he sets you down with a groan so he can fumble with his keys to get the door open.

after about ten minutes your makeup is messily taken off, clothes strewn everywhere, you're sat up in felix's bed waiting for him.

when you see him, you see him.

his eyes are wet and he's looking at you, no shirt, just his boxers and the socks you gave him after he kept stealing yours.

"what's wrong, baby?" you ask, opening his covers to make room for him.

he sits down and you put the covers on for him, shielding him from the cold, he only weeps more, "i love you."

"oh," you rub your hands over his warm shoulders, "i love you too fi, so much."

"i've never felt this way about someone, you mean the world. i wanna marry you." you can't help but giggle at him, the slurring of words and the way his nose digs into your collarbone.

"we'll have a big wedding it'll have-"

"huge."

"we'll have a huge wedding, invite everyone." you say, hugging him tighter, loving him a little more.

"you'll be the prettiest bride, prettiest mum." his eyes are fluttering, opening and closing slowly as he watches you, "can't wait to put a baby in you."

"can't wait either lex." you respond, allowing him to bathe in all of his dreams that you now share with him.

"gotta sleep first." he mumbles laying his head back onto the pillow, keeping your arms around his waist.

"sweet dreams felix, love you."

"g'night."

#NEED HIM SOOO BAD #felix catton x reader #saltburn #jacob elordi

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myslvtwritings · 9 months

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HIII COULD YOU DO THE UPPER MOONS WITH A CRYBABY READER? (A thought of mine,of them taking care of me while I sit and cry and babble in there arms about something small 😖😖😖)

Aww, i love this idea! yes i’ll definitely do it!

➤ Uppermoon’s reaction to their S/O being a crybaby

➤ headcanons

Uppermoons x crybaby!GN!reader

including: Muzan, kokushibo, Douma, Akaza and the Hantengu clones (Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu & Urogi)

warnings: smaller reader, mentions of murder, semi-nsfw?

Muzan Kibutsuji

• We all know how he is.

• Being the demon king, he isn’t the very best at comfort. I think we’re all aware of that.

• Isn’t fazed by your crying. i mean, it isn’t anything new to him. He murders and eats people on a daily basis so crying isn’t something that’s unusual for him to witness..

• However, it’s YOU crying.

• You crying makes Muzan feel… not good.

• He can’t really explain it.

• All he knows is that he strongly dislikes seeing/hearing you cry.

• At first he scolded you for showing such emotions. But then he only realized he made you cry more afterwards.

• Muzan feels horrible. But you’ll never hear that coming from him.

• The two of you are the complete opposite.

• He only got angry at you for crying at first because you were crying over something so stupid and second of all he didn’t want to admit he didn’t like seeing you cry and has no idea how to comfort you properly.

• He doesn’t want to come off as weak.

• Eventually, he’ll own up, apologize for his behavior. After all, he didn’t really mean it. (Believe it or not)

• Muzan isn’t just so great with emotions and he isn’t used to have such an emotional S/O.

• Will stroke your hair as you lay your head in his lap.

• He’ll listen to you vent about whatever upset you. Even if it’s stupid in his eyes.

• “You weep over such silly things, my dear.”

• Muzan will hush and wipe your tears. Thats all you’ll get.

• Now if SOMEONE upset you, they’ll be dead immediately. No questions asked.

• Muzan doesn’t care if you don’t want it. He’ll do it anyway or just lie and say he won’t do it. Which he will

• Doesn’t give a shit who it is either. Even if it’s a family member he’ll destroy them.

• Because how dare they make his beloved S/O cry?

• He’ll literally torture whoever made you this upset. So that’s another way of him showing his love for you. Even if it’s in a horrific way.

• Then he’ll proceed to tell you about how he killed the person who made you sad. 😟 (Doesn’t leave out any details)

• Goes into a state of severe confusion as you cry more. He expects you to treat him like a superior being and says you should be thankful he decided to lend you his presence and time in the first place..

Kokushibo

• Like Muzan, he isn’t an expert when it comes to comforting someone.

• He’s used to being solitary so this is all new for him! Please understand.

• But unlike Muzan, Kokushibo won’t be annoyed by your crying.

• Kokushibo has cried himself before so why should he judge you? (Even though he’s only cried like.. once)

• All though Koku has cried before. It was awhile ago and he barely remembers it. However, he isn’t a crybaby.

• He’s honestly surprised by how much you cry.

• Never has encountered a human who cries as much as you do.

• It comes to a point where sometimes he feels helpless.

• Kokushibo isn’t very vocal. So expect him to be more on the physical side when it comes to comfort.

• Words of affirmation isn’t his strong suit either.

• Becomes immensely confused when you cry more whenever he hugs you. (You cry more when people comfort you)

• Like huh?? Why did you start to cry more?? Should he stop??

• Kokushibo will just pick you up bridal style and set you down on a futon. He’ll cuddle you for awhile until you fall asleep in his arms.

• Isn’t the type to give you advice nor is he responsive but he’ll definitely listen to you.

• Just holds you against his chest as you sob into his embrace.

• Will brutally murder anyone who upset you. He isn’t going to let that shit slide.

• If you beg him not to he’ll be hesitant. He wants to kill them for you but at the same time he doesn’t want to make you further upset if he does carry out the murder.

• Let’s all be blunt, in the end, he won’t listen to you. He won’t let anyone get away with hurting his S/O.

• Kokushibo will know this’ll upset you more but he does it anyway. He doesn’t want anyone messing with you.

Douma

• Oh great heavens..

• Out of all the uppermoons he’s definitely the most touchy/affectionate/comforting. (somewhat)

• Knows how to comfort others. (But it’s not genuine)

• With you it’s entirely different though!

• Butttt he’s still the type to tease his S/O. His toxic trait is that this sadistic basted finds great pleasure in seeing you cry.

• The way you’ll cling yourself to HIM, in need of HIS attention and comfort, desiring HIM and no one else:

• Douma FEEDSSS off that shit.

• Gets off by how vulnerable you get. (New turn on)

• Another thing is that he won’t severely pity you when you cry. After all, he’s not the best when it comes to emotion.

• Also not the type to be fazed by your crying state. i mean, he deals with his followers crying to him ALL the time about their stupid problems.

• Does not give a fuck about them.

• He is USED to not giving a fuck. That’s why he’s surprised he cares whenever you’re crying. Even if it’s over something so minor.

• Douma cares but doesn’t understand fully, yk?

• You need to be patent with him. After all, emotion is new for him. (He only experiences it around you)

anyway..

• Babies you whenever you cry.

• “Oh, my, my! What’s wrong, my sweet lotus?”

• As soon as he sees your tear-stained face he’ll just snatch you up without even asking and pull you onto his huge lap.

• Adores how adorable you look on his lap! You’re so tiny in his arms like this!!

• Let’s you babble about whatever upset you.

• Honestly, he ain’t even listening, he’s just admiring how vulnerable you look right now.

• He’ll just pepper your face in kisses and wipe your tears away.

• Cups your face and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Douma reminds you that everything will be okay and that you’re safe with him.

• Sometimes he licks your tears.

• Teases you relentlessly if you cry over something stupid.

• Will instantly kill anyone who made you upset.

• Douma usually eats people when they’re this upset so they no longer have to bare the pain but he doesn’t want to eat you. Surprisingly.

• Confused by his own feelings.

• There was a time where you were upset and Douma straight up asked you if you want to be eaten by him.

• Yeah, bros a menace.

Akaza

• This man is SOOO sweet about it.

• The first time you cried in front of him he flipped out😭

• Like huh?? what’s wrong?? are you okay??

• On the inside he’s panicking.

• Is surprised by how vulnerable you can get whenever you’re a mess like this.

• If you’re human, low-key enjoys the power imbalance.

• Though, Akaza absolutely despises witnessing you cry.

• Never makes fun of you. Even if you’re crying over something that others view as stupid. He won’t ever pass judgment towards you or even tease you.

• Akaza will 100% listen to you vent about whatever upset you.

• Oh? what’s that? SOMEONE upset you?

• Yeah, he is coming after them. even if it’s a woman.

• Doesn’t care.

• No one hurts his S/O.

• Akaza wants to protect you. Out of every uppermoon he is the most overprotective.

• Is almost TOO protective.

• You were growing relatively concerned for how overprotective he was. You mostly just didn’t want him to get hurt.

• “I have to ensure you’re safe at all times.”

• Kinda scary at times.

• He wants you out of harms way at all costs.

• Isn’t used to physical touch but whenever you’re sad he’ll definitely give you lots of cuddles.

• Will let you babble on and on.

• Isn’t the best advice giver but he’ll help you in his own way.

• Demons aren’t used to comforting others after all so he needs to ease up to it.

• Proceeds to ask you what he can do to make you feel better!

• You cry frequently and it honestly concerns him.

• Once you finally tell him you’re just sensitive and that you cry over things easily he’ll understand.

• Lays down with you and holds you firmly against his chest as you cry your little heart out.

• Forehead kisses too.

• Akaza is a gentleman! Would so cook your favorite meals whenever you’re having a bad day.

• He isn’t toxic in any way. Just his only red flag is probably being too overprotective? (If you could even call that a red flag)

Sekido

• Let’s be completely honest.

• Sekido is going to be aggravated over the fact you’re a crybaby.

• He’ll be passive aggressive towards you.

• Not because he hates you, or because he’s mad at you. This is all just a cover up because he legitimately has no clue how to help you or comfort you.

• He’s very uneducated and inexperienced when it comes to this kind of situation.

• Sekido just grows more angered with myself that he doesn’t know how to help you. Instead of communicating with you about it he just takes his frustrations out on you.

• This makes you even more upset and only turns you into a bigger of a crybaby.

• Sekido secretly feels horrible.

• Eventually he mans up and apologizes stubbornly. Admits that he’s not used to comforting others and isn’t a fan of crying.

• Of course you forgive him because you know how he is. You know that he didn’t mean it.

• Sekido is not exactly uncomfortable around those who are sensitive. I mean, he deals with Aizetsu so he’s used to it.

• Sekido isn’t just used to comforting others.

• In fact, he’s HORRIBLE at it.

• The best you’ll get is cuddles (if you’re lucky)

• Then again, he ain’t used to this 😔😔

• Fortunately for you, Sekido will do his best to try and appear less intimidating around you.

• Lowers the volume of his booming voice for you and attempts to act more soothing around your presence.

• See? he does care. Just is not ideal at showing it.

• Like the other demons if anyone made you cry Sekido will definitely take care of them for you!

Karaku

• THIS MAN ADORES YOU! (in a peculiar way..)

• The second he sees you a crying mess he’s scooping you up into his arms and cradling you.

• He’ll lay down with you and allow you to lay your head on his chest as you cry.

• Karaku will understand if you’re upset over something that actually makes sense but if it’s something tiny he’s like; ???

• Teases you about it:(

• Similar to Douma, he gets off by how you rely on him when you’re an emotional wreck.

• Sometimes Karaku will purposely make you cry because he’s lowkey a sadist.

• Karaku has that little secret smirk on his face whenever you start babbling about whatever it is upset you.

• Just shushes you as your babbling continues.

• First, he will comfort you before gladly executing the asshole who hurt your fragile little heart.

• “Awhh! It’s okay darlin’ you don’t have to worry about them anymore!!”

• Once he debated on whether or not he should tell you that he kills whoever upset you.

• Unlike the other uppermoons for some reason he doesn’t tell you that he killed the person who made you cry.

• Karaku doesn’t say anything in hidden fear that he’ll scare you more or make you cry again.

• Don’t get me wrong, loves comforting you, loves how you need him, but he also hates seeing you cry.

• Always wants you to feel satisfied and happy!

• Karaku will do ANYTHING in his power to get your tears to stop.

• Offers you sex to help you feel better 💀 (bros a hypersexual)

• However, if he’s having a bad day then he might not be the best at comfort. But if he’s not having a bad or unusual day then he dedicates all his time to you and you alone!

Aizetsu

• Aizetsu understands you more than anyone else.

• He also has the strong tendency to be a crybaby himself.

• At first, Aizetsu will he too shy to comfort you.

• This is is mostly because he is afraid he might do something wrong.

• But eventually he gets over it.

• Aizetsu feels bad for you and would hate to leave you alone.

• He does what you do to comfort him whenever he’s upset.

• Like you, small things will trigger his emotions.

• So he relates to you in a way.

• Aizetsu adores you and loves you so much!

• Will give you all the attention and comfort you need.

• Aizetsu will even ditch missions just to take care of you. He’d hate to leave you alone.

• You’re always there for him whenever he’s feeling down so of course he’s going to do the same for you!

• He desperately wants to hurt whoever made you cry

• Unlike the others, Aizetsu will listen to you and not murder who hurt you if you protest against it. He respects you and doesn’t want you to feel even more hurt.

• Y’all are both big crybabies together.

• Crying sessions? yes. 100%.

• Aizetsu will hold you and play with your hair while whispering sweet nothings into your ear to soothe your nerves.

• Literally on the verge of tears whenever he sees you cry:(

• He isn’t a big fan of seeing you upset so he’ll do anything to make his precious S/O smile!

• “You don’t know how much your smile means to me..”

Urogi

• HATES seeing you cry.

• Becomes veryyyy overprotective.

• But not to worry! He will never judge you.

• Might tease you a TINY bit though.

• Okay, i’m bluffing, he’ll tease you A LOT. not as much as Douma and Karaku though.

• Urogi will only really tease you when you’re crying over something small.

• Knows when something is up or when you’re holding back tears. It’s pretty damn obvious no there’s no need to lie to him.

• As i said before, Urogi won’t ever judge you!

• The moment you begin to break down you’re scooped up into his arms

• “Hey, hey, hey! what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

• Will pressure you into telling him what’s wrong.

• Isn’t too thrilled when he realizes how downright negative you are.

• Probably forces you to smile, he’ll gently use his talons to force your lips into a smiling while chuckling at you. (Tries not to accidentally cut you in the process)

• Gives you reassurance that he’s here for you and there is no need to feel upset!!

• Is more than happy to kill the unworthy bastard who made you dry.

• I feel like Urogi would just take you flying somewhere to get some fresh hair. That’ll help, right?!

• The type to wrap his wings around you. His wings are quite big so he loves seeing how tiny you look in them.

• Tickle fights? yes! definitely! Wants to see a real smile so this menace will begin ticking you out of no where until you’re a giggling mess.

• Urogi is the talkative type so he will keep talking to you in hopes that’ll calm you down/distract you at least.

That’s about all! I apologize if some of them are shorter than the others. Thank you for sending in this request! i’m working on more at the moment so my apologies if it takes me awhile to post.

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squishycheekanon · 2 months

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I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no.

————————————————————————

Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

200 notes · View notes

milknhonies · 3 months

Text

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: After your wedding night, you find Sherlock to be most unusual and confronting in nature.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Insults, Rough sex gone too far, internal bleeding, Menstration/Period, Arguing, Typical Victorian Era Sexism,

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: Hi all!! Here's the next chapter, sorry no smut but lots of tension. Love you all and appreciate those most that have been showing their support through comments or Reblogs or both ★

Inspiring Song: "Caprice N° 24" by Paganini

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:49pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock, as he paced his own bedroom was frustrated...and furious to say the least...he touched the cut on his bottom lip and hissed.

He was not equipped for this arrangement. He was unprepared for the handling of a wife. He was not aware he would be so much for his new bride to take...no whore in Mayfair Row demonstrated such complaints...however he reminded himself they were experienced women...you were a new lamb.

He hit the side of his bed, hearing your crying through the walls. Guilt became his executioner.

You were so frigid, he just didn’t expect you to struggle so viciously. You were unexpectedly a savage bitch!

He decided to take a deep breath. The deed was done.

He palmed his soft red cock and wrinkles his nose at the blood. There was so much...his throat clenched, mayhaps he was too rough...normally blood excited him...normally tears and sobbing made his member thick and hard...

He eyed the trunk chest at the foot of his bed...you could not survive his flavours. There was no possibility...He was a wicked handler and he knew you couldn’t ever meet that side of him...

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:55pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221A Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

The Housekeeper slapped her novel shut. She heard the many thumps and shouts, and now she could hear the horrid sobbing coming up from the floor above...your bedroom.

She sighed...it wasn’t the first time she had heard such things from the apartment 221B. There was single difference...you were his wife...not some perfumed pretender with a pimp expecting a percentage of commission.

Mrs Hudson felt for you. She didn’t leave her apartment until she heard the stomping of Sherlock’s heavy feet going down the stairs.

Her eyes widened, surely he wouldn’t leave you when you were in such a state?

Mrs Hudson was an old woman, she knew it was expected she would ignore it and carry on with her daily activities, Mrs Hudson though knew many married women who had died from that lack of acknowledgement in a violent husband.

She stuck her head out her door and saw him making his way to the front door of the building.

“What have you done?” she scolded him as his hand clenched hard on the door handle.

His face was red. The elder gasped at the line of red rolling down his chin from a cut on his lip...His teeth were pink and set in a vile snarl.

“Nothing that concerns you Mrs Hudson, return back into your hole!” he hissed back as he left with another door slam.

Mrs Hudson tutted greatly and ignored his words all together.

She gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs to Apartment B. She slid the key into the hole and entered the premises speedily.

She heard your weeping in your room and followed to the closed bedroom door.

She wrapped her knuckle on the wood three times, “My dear,” she called, “It’s Mrs Hudson, may I enter?”

When you sobbed harder incoherently, she took it as a sign she should enter. In truth you didn’t know or have enough time to process what she had asked.

The elderly woman pushed the wood open and gasped in horror at what she saw...a naked girl...your bottom half and blankets drenched in crimson red. Your skin was covered in the stench of sweat.

She covered her mouth and tutted, “oh you poor, poor deary.”

You sobbed harder at feeling her cold hands touch your hot shoulder.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

2:12pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You hissed and sulked softly as your body sunk deeper in the warm bath water.

Your housekeeper had so kindly spent an hour filling the tub up with hot steamy water. During that time you cried and faded into light sleep before coming back to life with the painful memory of what your holy beloved had done to you

The elderly woman would come back every so often to check the packing of linen rags between your legs. For a honest moment she was afraid you might die. She called for the doctor...one she could trust...Doctor John Watson.

After the bleeding had lessened, she encouraged you to drink a cup of water and come out for the room to enjoy the afternoon bathwater...

You hadn’t said a word to Mrs Hudson this entire time. Too ashamed and shocked to form a word.

You couldn’t even form a ‘Thankyou Mrs Hudson.’ Only quiet tears would melt down your cheek.

The hot waves helped your muscles relax and sooth the anxiety under your skin.

Your head flopped on the lip of the bathtub.

With fluttering eyes... exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in the bath tub listening to the crackling of the wood and flames of the fireplace.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:30pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

A hot hand touched your face and you gasped at the dramatic change in temperature. You were sitting in a freeze tub of water....it had gone cold hours ago...

Your eyes opened and focused on the deep smooth voice of a man. Not just any man however.

“Mrs Holmes...” he purred softly, “The bath is cold, it would be in best interest if you redress.”

Your body was incredibly weak and chilly while also impossibly hot. You were a slight dizzy and confused. Your lips parted and closed again repeatedly like a fish.

When his face met his voice and his nose and eyes came into true focus, you shivered and leant back and flinched away from his touch.

Your husband released a lengthy sigh and rolled his eyes, “Very well,” he murmured before forcing both his arms into the icy bath water and hooked them beneath your back and legs.

As he lifted you out, your stomach dropped and you squeaked, feeling that gravitational pull to which you might fall. Instinctively your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. You clung to him savagely digging your nails into his coat.

You felt him walk, your wet body trailing and dripping all over the carpet.

He journeyed back to your bedroom.

As the cold air hit your skin you started to tremble and felt him lay you down on your mattress.

Your mind was a mess.

Another person was in the room you noticed in the corner of your eye. You cowered in your nude state and whimpered. You felt delirious and confused.

You blinked up at the other stranger. Another man.

You didn’t know if he was real at first until his burning hands pulled from his black gloves and gently touched your knees.

“Sherlock, she’s sick.”

“Yes, how eloquently obvious Watson, check her,” you heard your husband hiss.

You tried to move away, roll and crawl but you were flipped once more onto your back, your legs weakly spread.

You groaned and your eyes fluttered. You needed to vomit.

You felt a body climb onto the bed with you. Sherlock. His thumb dabbed and rubbed across your wrinkled forehead, he hushed you softly like you were some weeping babe or startled horse.

You felt the doctors hand touch your intimates and you panicked, your breath hitched and you moaned a soft, “N-no.” You tried pulling your thighs together but Sherlock reached down and spread your knees forcefully.

You didn’t understand what he was doing and the worst thoughts washed over you, was Sherlock sharing you with another man like a sick villain?

You wept tiredly.

A cold hard contraption pierced the hole of your body. A shudder ripped out of you as you felt your vaginal walls expand.

“Minor tearing...what caused the amount of blood is your wife starting her menses.”

Sherlock sighed, “Thank god, I thought I almost killed her.” The metal object pulled out from between your thighs.

The room was lit by candles and kerosene lamps. And so in the low light, Sherlock’s face was softened. The shadows kissed his cheeks and lips.

“Bed rest and warm towels, give her a few days to rest, heal. Usually women finish their blood within a week.”

The doctor pulled away and you heard the snapping of a bag lock. You managed to catch a medical case in his hands in your blurry line of sight.

The doctor fled to your door, before he left, his hand clenched the handle and he turned lightly. He hissed at the detective.

“Be gentle next time you participate in these activities Sherlock,” John snapped, “She is your bloody wife, not your whore.”

Your husband, ever so gently pressed his hot lips to your forehead. You had not predicted such soft kindness after his mistreatment earlier today. He hummed. He held and pissed your back up, he forced you to bend you knees and slipped your naked body beneath the coverings. Your wet body soaked the sheets, your cheek dug into the soft pillows.

“My dear Watson,” you heard him snicker, “I am nothing more than a mere gentleman.” You heard the doctor scoff and shut the door behind him.

Warm hands squeezed your shoulders and rubbed your jawline.

Peaking up at Sherlock, he wore an unreadable expression...he did not appear happy nor angry, rather he appeared tired. Bags beneath his eyes could tell you that much. His bottom lip was slightly swollen, a little red line cut through it, you softly huffed, it was where you’d bitten him hours ago to get him off you.

You couldn’t believe you were back in the same bed he had hurt you in. It made you feel cold and a desire to be distant again...but the warmth of his hand and the blankets had a power over you.

Your chest was sore and a light cough climbed out of your throat.

He did not speak and for that you were grateful. It would’ve been a near impossibility to continue a conversation with him with the state of your being.

The nauseas sickness sweeping of your belly subsided. All you wanted to feel was the warm covers, the goose feather pillows and his warm hand, softly patting your head...it took you back to a happier time...a time where your father and you shared a bed and he held you until you fell asleep...some days it felt like a dream...

You didn’t want to admit it but you dearly missed those times. Sherlock smoked the same tobacco, the scent soaked in his vest. It brought you the tiniest comfort...

You yawned and lazily blinked up at him.

“Try and get some rest wife...should you need anything, knock on my door.”

And with that he climbed off the mattress. Your body flipping lightly as it sprung up. Your nose sniffled softly.

Your heart deflated, ah there it was again. The coldness, the disdain, the reminder...he didn’t want to marry you.

After his foul entrance earlier, you wondered if such a feeling was unanimous at this point.

You shut your eyes and moaned. You tried to roll onto your side...you hissed lightly at the sore stabbing of your pelvis and the stinging stretch inside of you.

As sleep carried you out of reality, Sherlock made his slow departure, quietly sliding his way to your bedroom door.

He looked over the room and shook his head slowly...this once was his friends chambers, and before that a space where he kept his fun tools and artefacts.

Now he had a sick woman in the bed, his wife whom he hadn’t meant to brutalise earlier.

You were finally snoring when he managed to find the courage to leave the room, put out the living room fireplace and finally return to his bed.

As he removed his own clothing, he stared at the wall that separated your rooms. He wondered how badly your sickness might continue and if it was permitted to leave you alone while you bleed so profusely.

He thought about how these few weeks were in fact meant to be a honeymoon, how he had most furiously refused the ship tickets to France where his brother Mycroft insisted you both go for your romance to blossom.

Sherlock had very little intention to be a romantic for a woman he didn’t desire.

He tore off his shirt and rolled his eyes at the memories that transpired over the last two weeks.

You were nothing but a baby carriage to Mycroft, the future mother to the future Holmes son. So of course Sherlock could not understand his brothers incessant pandering to be a match maker of lovers.

The detective was no small minded idiot either...he knew plenty about you just from today...he knew about you before meeting you... He knew exactly why this marriage occurred on your end.

A bastard daughter of sir Y/L/N, son of the Lord and Lady Y/L/N. This was merely a way to keep your social hierarchy to a suitable and respectable level.

He had heard and read the scandalous rumours.

You were half the soft rose and half a weed in regards to your breeding...which meant you were a weed in the end, an illegitimate, unrecognised bastard.

He sat on his bed and untied his shoes.

Sherlock was not one to participate and discriminate the classes. Many a time it was speculated by John that Sherlock might’ve been a socialist.

The detective might’ve not cared for your breeding, but he didn’t appreciate being used as a climbing ladder of society which he didn’t receive well either way.

He was using you so that Mycroft didn’t cut him off financially, you were using Sherlock so that the people of culture no longer shunned and ignored your existence.

Mycroft was a down right fool if he believed such a union could ever bring together a matrimony of love. So Sherlock accepted it quickly...this would be what it was...a contract...you now needed to complete you aide of the bargain.

You needed to let Sherlock impregnate you...

With your stunt in rebellious adversity, you acknowledged his size and struggled to accommodate him, ergo your fear, pain and bite.

Sherlock huffed, he would need to wait another seven days before he could perform his husbandry duties upon you and press his seed within.

He laid back into his covers still staring at the wall...

He bit his lip. Oh if only he could punish you for such misdirected behaviours...he wondered how willing you really were and what lengths you were prepared to take to remain his Mrs Holmes so that the meek people of the middle and upper class might continue their false smiles your way.

A wicked smirk spread along his lips...

Perhaps a innocent bride was a perfect ingredient for his most filthy pleasurable plans...

Mycroft never stated how quickly it was expected of you to conceive and carry...he just said

“Soon.” And “Before he met the grave.”

He rolled onto his side and imagined you there with him in his bed. He imagined how your body curled up into such a small figure.

He envisioned the likeness of your tear stained face and an exhausted smile...

For now he would let you rest.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

7:00am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

The sound of a loud violin cord strong woke you up from your hours of needed sleep. You groaned as your head began to ache....

You drowsily tossed your head to the direction of your door way...your eyes narrowed. Someone was playing a violin very loudly just outside your bedroom.

You sniffled unladylike as your runny nose clogged your breath. You lifted your hands to cover your ears. Onto shaking legs you pulled out of your bed and used the canopy wood to steady yourself. You walked slowly to the wardrobe and plucked out a nightgown.

You hobbled to your bedroom door and as you opened the wooden barrier, the buzz of Paganini hit your ears. You wrinkled your nose as you watched your husband play the instrument, leaning over a table covered in papers, maps, receipts and a plate of toast.

As he saw you, his eyes widened slightly...you were not dressed appropriately for the hour of the morning. At any moment he might’ve had a client come inside if it were not for his honeymoon.

“Good morning, Mrs Holmes,” said Sherlock as he placed his instrument down on the table.

You sternly eyed him. Your hands trembled lightly. His face. His handsome evil features upset you. He offered a soft smile and kind eyes. You didn’t dare fall for his trickery. From the moment you had met him he had provided a twisted exchange of false care that twisted quickly to brutal cruelty.

You decided, you did not like your husband and it was not something you would hide from him.

“My grandmother insists that is the devil’s music,” You proclaimed, “It is most wretched to hear of a morning.”

He sucked in a deep breath of air and grounded, “I do not entertain superstitious conversation,

Paganini was gifted and because of this, other composers jealously invented rumours of a pact with Satan to dissuade the public from ever enjoying the expanses of musical differences.”

You glared at him. Of course he would say something so infuriating and liberal in the works. His tone tilted on belittlement and you felt there was absolutely no standing that could allow him to talk to you like this especially after yesterday’s events.

You lightly snorted, “As it may be so, I still urge the request you refrain from playing it so early and while in my presence. It woke me up most fiercely.”

In truth it isn’t what woke you up…You could still feel him there. The memory of his violent embrace haunted the muscles of your lower half. He was like a ghost remaining between your thighs. It made you feel ill to think about.

He looked down. A deep frown on his face. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. He pushed the plate with toast closer to you, “Mrs Hudson bid you a fair morning wife, you should be up earlier from now on to receive her.”

You looked to the softly ticking clock on the fireplace mantel and blinked, “Indeed, I shall need to apologise to her,” demurely you conceded, “I usually rise by six in the morning.”

“You are ill,” Sherlock said now holding the plate out to you for your weak hands to take, “I insist you sit and eat and return back to bed for further rest.”

You wanted to raise your voice at him. You wanted to scream and yell that you were not I’ll but rather hurt and in suffering after his careless mistreatment.

You couldn’t figure out if his gentleness last night was really a delusional dream. This world around you felt like some vicious game.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You wanted to be a spitfire and tell him he needed to apologise for hurting you yesterday before you take anything from him...yet as your insides tightened at the smell of the warm butter soaking the hot cooked bread, you obeyed his demand.

You glided over to him and lightly pushed some of the papers on the table around. Sitting at the end, Sherlock mirrored your seating and went about picking up a newspaper.

On the front was a illustration of Lord Thaddeus Pennicott, a baron who from the title of the paper had gone missing.

You looked back to your breakfast and pondered on your husband’s work. How the articles written by John Watson had designed Sherlock to be a saviour to the public with a intelligence that might put most scholars to shame. The Sherlock you had come to meet was nothing like the gazette’s description, rather he was rude, ill tempered and coarse in handling any woman.

You chewed the soft delicious toast and swallowed gradually.

It was difficult to accept but not hard to see, you had married a brute.

You glanced at Sherlock again. His face was hidden behind the paper, his thick long fingers cradled and framed the edges of the news securely as he flicked through the gossips.

You nervously fidgeted in your seat as you ate breakfast. You did not see any tea and assumed you slept through any Mrs Hudson might’ve deliver.

It was so unusual waking up in a foreign home, having to accept this would be your place of residence for as long as your husband desired to live here.

You noted the oddities of your surroundings...objects you didn’t much think of as you moved in yesterday. There was a underwater helmet, a skeleton of some type of odd mammal, and even a telescope sitting on top of a piano.

You read over some of the framed newspaper headlines which were the retellings of your husband’s crime and mystery stories.

The will to speak to him again with level head and calm tones was as hard as walking through mud up to your ankles. You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t ignore him nor refuse to speak to him for your entire marriage.

You licked your bottom lip and coughed into a napkin. Looking back to Sherlock’s newspaper you nodded and called across the table, “Are you helping with the Pennicott case, Mr Holmes?”

He flattened the paper on the table and stared at you as if you’d said something obvious.

“Of course not. Clearly he’s a man who ran out from his wife. It happens more often than you think,” he cleared his throat and picked up his cup to his lips, speaking into the cup “Perhaps you should sit pretty rather than voice your false interests in my work which you have no business in.”

You didn’t like the tone he used on you. Condescending. Icy. You wouldn’t allow it to continue. You remembered your grandfather telling you to put your foot down as a new wife or else you would be unattended to. It’s not that you desired the attending after yesterday, but you wouldn’t accept rudeness.

“Sherlock,” you hummed and crossed your arms over your lap as you tongued the inside of your cheek trying to not scream at him, “I am your wife,” you said it sternly, “Not a child, when I inquire on the better part of your interest, do not speak down to me like a dog.”

You jerked your chin dignified, holding your ground despite almost dropping the last crust of your breakfast.

He pursed his lips with narrowed eyes and thought before spoke. It was a chilling moment before announced, “You are my wife, that is true...and so I shall speak to you however you tempt me to, and this very morning you’ve put me in a disagreeable mood.”

Disagreeable mood?! You refrained from rolling your eyes at him.

You sat back and sighed, abandoning the last and tiny piece of bread. He was so foul to think of himself so justified. You expressed a disinterest to his music tastes and that indicated his deflating concern for you.

Not once had he asked in your wellbeing. Perhaps he was clouded with shame? ‘he should be shameful, he hurt an innocent woman.’

“Perhaps, you should practice on controlling and restraining your moods then Sherlock,” you griped, “I do not much care for your habitable outbursts.”

For the first time you caught his face expressing a new design...shock, flabbergasted. His face grew a small hue of pink.

You smirked a little at the small victory.

His chewed his bottom lip, “My habitable outbursts?” he pried, offence costing his words.

You swallowed and nodded curtly you leant back in your chair, “Now here at breakfast, the church flee yesterday, and the marriage bed rage also yesterday.”

An indignant chuckled crawled from his throat.

“You bit me like a wild cat,” he voiced rightfully, pointing hard at the small wound still in his mouth. The redden skin was a symbol of your defiance and escape. Instead of being embarrassed, you surged with pride that you punished him in such a manner.

You quipped back quickly, “and you stabbed me like an merciless villain.”

“A villain, you say?” his brows now raised and his eyes widened.

“Quite,” You glanced down at the plate and muttered, There’s no other term for what you did to me.”

Rape was not in the current vocab for this situation you believed. You were married and he was taking what was rightfully his as husband, he could have been gentler however. Your grandmother never shared that it could be so agonising, surely your grandfather had never inflicted such abuse into her?

Your husband slowly rose from the table and leant across it. You flinched and squeezed your eyes as you feared his sharp hand. Sherlock Holmes had every strength to hurt his weak wife, so why did you feel so mouthy in the sense of easily provoking him to rage or even potential violence?

The handsome detective with hot pale hands ran his knuckle down your cold cheek...it was wet. A tear had escaped. Dear god...you were trembling and clenching your skirts beneath the table.

“I can think of a plethora of words for what I did to you,” Sherlock muttered, he pulled his hand away and scoffed, “I did not think Mycroft to saddle me with such a stupid bride.”

A fresh flow of hot tears flooded your eyes.

A growl of outrage accidentally climbed from your chest, it came out like a needy whine, “I beg your pardon?”

“Granted my dear Mrs Holmes,” he smirked and clapped his hands gesturing to the room you left, “Now off to bed with you, I see your withering state worsen by the moment. Doctor Watson informed me you needed rest during your delicate...situation. Perhaps it has brought you to these hysterical theatrics.”

A light gasp of horror and a written expression of disgust painted your face, “I shall not, nay! I shall sit an disembowel your words,” you sniffled and tried not to fall into a pathetic sob, “D-did you just call me stupid?!”

As his smile widened and you angrily threw the last piece of bread at him, hitting his chest.

“You sir,” your bottom lip wobbled “Are out of place and feverishly I have discovered your lack of empathy most stunning, that or rather the amount of your selfish conceived motion that I am a docile woman who will put up with your conceited arrogance!!”

How dare he hurt you as terribly as he did in humiliation and physical behind that he should also find it acceptable to brandish you with further insults of your intelligence.

Before he could sit back down, you slapped your hands on the table, the china tinkled as you pushed yourself up to your feet. You hissed at him as you wobbled around the wooden furniture, “You may be London’s finest Detective, but I am your wife.”

You mapped your finger harshly into his chest and snarled with great venom dripping from your tongue, “By the lord of heaven, if I had only known the telling’s of our futures, I would announce full heartedly that you Sherlock Holmes would be the very last man I would prevail to marry.”

The room fell silent. His cold eyes burned I to your gullet. He licked his teeth, left slightly speechless and unsure if he should entertain the argument any longer than necessary.

Your belly felt tight. The toast was not sitting well. You were anxiously awaiting his roar, his bite or his strike. Your chest rose and fell with every desperate breath you took as to not fall into a heap of wailing. Breathe through the pain and the fear.

He stared at your lips and fluttered his eyes, shaking his head at you.

“...Good morning Mrs Holmes,” he bid gruffly and bowed his head before leaving the table to head over to the coat rack.

“And where is it you run off to this time?” You raised your voice shakily and waved your hands as if to conjure the words of his locations destination, “The same place you fled to yesterday and yesterday evening? To hide in a bottle?”

Mr Holmes snapped his head back at you, his eyes scowered your poorly glad form beneath the dressing gown. It took everything in him not to fuck your miserable mouth off.

“No...” he swallowed harshly, “I seek the companionship of bearable company.”

Your chest tightened and the whimper left, that could’ve been anyone or no one with how mysterious your husband had proven to be.

You rubbed your hot forehead and grunted softly to remind him, “It is our honeymoon.”

During the week of a honeymoon it was deemed improper to seek or receive guests and the company of any other than your married partner.

Sherlock leant forward, right down to your cheek, his lips scarcely touching the skin of your love and jaw as he whispered hauntingly, “And your honey is blood. I shall not interrupt your peaceful rest....” he kissed your face gently, and said at a room tempt tone, “Good morning Mrs Holmes.”

Argument over it would seem.

He picked up a walking cane and a hat, leaving the flat to yourself.

You sighed frustratedly and stomped a foot like a feral child. You wouldn’t put up with this, for this is not what was promised by the outline of marriage by every book, paper and word of mouth. You crossed your arms and sniffled. You wiped your eyes again.

Sherlock made you feel more like a child than a wife with how he used his words and the looks he threw at you. It was unfair and cruel.

You were a very smart young lady and practiced the skills of refine ladyship over the years of your teenage hood. You were a paragon of brilliance and etiquette...only for some lout you called a husband to drive you to irritation so unbearable that you felt it necessary to toss your breakfast scraps at him.

You ground your teeth and returned to your rooms to pick out a modest covering wrap over the dressing gown you already wore. It would be most annoying to have to strip your body everytime you vomited or perhaps didn’t reach the bed pan in time.

You shuddered and went about washing your face and fiddling with your hair...

As you stared at your washed out features, you heard your landlady arrive...

You thought about your wifely duties beyond the bedroom. With Sherlock going off to god knows where, you were totally left to your own devices and for the very first time in years, you had freedom to decide your days habits.

You thought half heartedly about calling upon Sherlock’s brother or the Doctor Watson to grant a visit and answer some questions beginning to form in your head.

‘Why is Sherlock so different in person compared to the papers?’

‘What displeases Sherlock into his outbursts and what pleases him to calm those said outbursts to dust?’

You tried to wonder on your marriage contract. You were not entirely privy to it even though you felt you had every right. It was a deal conspired by Mycroft and your grandfather after all. You wondered if Sherlock even caught a glimpse of it.

Why did Sherlock even agree to marry you if it was only to lead to his foul manners and hands to you?

Tapped your lips and shook your head.

What does every contracted marriage consist of? Land? Babes? Livestock? Wealth? Status?

You looked around your room and out the open door to the sitting room.

Sherlock did not strike you as someone in need of money...and yet...many of these items, surely were not affordable on a wavering wage as his alone? His family wealth most likely was directed towards Mycroft as the eldest.

And then you recalled your darling sister in law, her shrieking at the wedding, the words echoed back like a tunnel, ‘I can help pay off your debts when I marry’ she had said.

So it was money...debts...and enough to cause strains that would force him to accept your hand in marriage. You tried not dwelling on being reminded how undesirable you were as a bastard woman. This newly accepted information could be used to your advantage.

A fabulous idea occurred to you. An idea that would prove to Sherlock that you were in fact not a stupid imbecile.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

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bunnystalker · 4 months

Text

father's friend (18+)

you are just what he doesn't need.

cw; afab reader, reader in a skirt, dad's friend wesker, major age gap (14-17 years), fingering, degradation, implied multiple orgasms, reader is a little naive and wesker eats that up, predatory almost???, inappropriate use of mirrors, daddy kink if you squint (get a microscope)

terms of endearment; dear (reader receives)

a/n; i don't know how this became what it did bc this was supposed to be fluff. if you'd like the fluff version, i'm more than happy to provide that, just let me know!

when albert wesker pictured his life, he saw greatness. he'd dreamt of sanitizing the world with uroboros, his pet project of years would finally come to fruition. the world would be the perfect place, full of the superior and cleansed of the lesser. his dreams realized.

what he didn't anticipate, however, was you.

you, who came into his life when he was 38 years old, fresh off the high of the mansion incident. mostly human, partially not. he'd changed his clothes- only black attire from that point forward- and kept a low profile because he should be dead, but he's not. with no body to find, they gave up on the search only months later. he'd slid under the radar with a new identity and relocated across the country to some small town on the east coast.

at the time, you were in your early twenties. maybe 24, 21 at the youngest. you were youthful and so sweet, painfully naive and lacking experience of life's true cruelties. without scars that held stories to be told, or nightmares that took hold of you in the night.

unmarked. untainted. flawless. you.

and you hadn't meant to draw his attention. you, the child of his best friend. oh, you were tempting. how whenever he was over, you'd greet him with a little "hi mr. wesker" despite him telling you over and over to call him albert.

he hung around your father because he was an operative of umbrella as well, and albert needed connections. you were quick to teach about certain things, your doe eyes drawn to him whenever he merely breathed. like you were waiting for something.

naturally, you'd maintained a healthy distance for a long time. the routine you two had whenever he'd stop by- almost daily- the greeting, the glances, the lingering, subtle touches on each other's arms, shoulders, backs, wherever you had access to that wouldn't draw immediate attention.

your father never noticed. not as he fell asleep on the couch one night. not when albert ensured the roofie he'd given your father had settled, then snuck up into your room after.

not now, as he has you on his lap, your legs spread wide, your skirt lifted up so he can rub your clit. he forces you to watch in the mirror, your back pressed against his chest, as he pushes your panties aside and sinks two long fingers inside of you. forces you to watch, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep your head still.

"you're a whore," he murmurs in your ear, "such a filthy fucking whore. you think you can tease me and get away with it, hm?"

"n-no, i'm sorry." you whimper, his fingers curling inside your weeping entrance. you're making a mess of yourself and his hand.

"mm, i don't think you are, dear. you're so wet, i bet you've been thinking about this for a while now, right? imagining daddy's friend splitting you open, ruining your perfect cunt." you should be embarrassed that he's got you down to a science, but his words make you squeeze around his fingers. you nod, much to his satisfaction, and he chuckles quietly. it reverberates in his chest and you relish the way it feels, wondering if you'll ever get to be more than just his secret.

"you're never going to get this from anyone else, you know that, don't you? nobody else will ever make you feel the way i feel." you're dumb from just his fingers, but you can't help that they're just what you wanted. the pads of his index and middle finger brush the spongy spot on your walls, making you cry out and writhe in his arms. your thighs try to squeeze shut but he lets go of your face to force them back open.

"t-too much-"

"shut up and take it. this is what you wanted, so why the hell are you complaining you ungrateful brat?" he hisses, focusing on that spot. with the way the heel of his hand is palming your clit, his fingers buried so deep inside you, you're cumming within moments. you're loud even if you don't mean to be, especially as he continues finger-fucking you after your orgasm.

"please- no more, i-i can't-" you whine, trying your hardest to move away from him, but he's got you tight in his grasp.

"you can, and you will. you don't have a choice. you'll cum as much as i want you to." he kisses your temple, the first sign of mercy he's shown you all night, and then slips a third finger in. you're weak to him, the same way he's weak to you.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker i love youuuu #albert wesker smut #albert wesker fanfic #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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jenosbliss · 4 months

Note

hii there!! can i req different tropes with the dreamies please?

🩶⌇ nct dream ! as different love tropes

pairing. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. fluff, crack | wc. 1.5k | warnings. none

a/n. happy new year guys!! went a little personal on Jaemin's one, also if you want a bigger fic for any of the members with these tropes pls let me know 💖

MARK. childhood friends to lovers

Mark was the constant in your life just as you were in his. He was the one to pull you in when you experienced your first heartbreak or needed a shoulder to weep on, to rely on, to seek warmth and comfort in. He was the one to cheer you on for exams, to celebrate your achievements and your first relationship. He had been there all along. Hence, when he unexpectedly blurted out, "Do you think we would make a good couple?" while snuggling inside the cover with you one quiet night. You weren't too shocked by it because, in all honesty, you both knew—hell, everyone knew—that you loved one another more than simply as friends. In fact, your friends called you both ‘goners.’ “Is this your subtle way of asking me out?” he giggled trying to hide his oh not so obvious blush. “I mean like you know what I mean c’mon dude… will you be my girlfriend?” "Have I ever said no to you?" you drew nearer to him beneath the cover. “Sure.”

RENJUN. secret admirer

It started recently when small notes began to appear inside your locker and on your desk. At first you ignored them thinking it was some sort of a sick prank because who in their right mind will secretly admire you? Well, Renjun does, and ever since the day he saw you having your own little concert in the classroom after everyone had left, he has never been as certain about someone as he was about you. At first he left notes on a weekly basis afraid you might not like them but when he saw you smiling and saving all his notes he started leaving a dozen of them on a daily basis. He was going crazy because he had so much he wanted to tell you, but there was not enough room on a piece of paper. However, you were driving yourself crazy trying to identify this admirer of yours. This madness continued for a month until one day Renjun himself stood in front of your locker holding a piece of paper, "Here's your note, love.”

JENO. fake dating

You didn’t consider Jeno a total stranger, you have run into him quite a handful of times in the campus cafe and have your fair share of shy glances, very small talks and fleeting smiles. One day your ex followed you to the cafe, at first, he was begging for forgiveness but soon turned hostile, demanding a reason why you don’t want to be with him. Fearing he might do something bad; your eyes fell upon Jeno who just entered the cafe, a sweet smile playing on his lips when he noticed you. Could you have come up with a better response? Maybe but at that moment you couldn’t think of anything else. You approached him begging “Hi, I’m really sorry to put you in this mess but can you please, please pretend to be my boyfriend? My ex there-” at an instant Jeno stood up, grabbing your hand softly in his “Where is that jerk? Did he hurt you?” And with this incident you both started fake dating which soon turned real without either of you realizing.

HAECHAN. sunshine x grumpy

Everyone around you referred to you and Haechan as the opposite attracts couple, well to be very honest you didn’t consider yourself grumpy or mean, you just didn’t prefer the human race and any interaction with them of course except him. He was the literal definition of sunshine for you, the one who lightened you up, the one with whom you can leave your so-called grumpy side aside and be a little ray of his sunshine. Haechan found you in the darkest phase of your life when everyone you knew or had trusted turned their back on you, leaving you to cry alone in a dark corner. It was then when he pulled you into his embrace, radiating a warmth that felt safe and something like home, he became that last ray of hope and light that brightened you up once again. “How can you be this happy this early in the morning?” you grumbled seeing him dance while cooking in the kitchen. Ignoring your comment, he walked around the counter and extended his hand “Will you dance with me? Please, sunshine please!” rolling your eyes at his silly actions you still took his hand as he pulled you in for a little silly dance.

JAEMIN. first love

Love was a scary word for you, the reason you never experienced it before was because you wanted it to be perfect. You wanted to remember your first love with a smile on your face and not an experience which you would want to forget. You have had crushes and a few situationships and an experience of a boy you thought was definitely the one to not reciprocate your feelings when you confessed to him before. But that was it, after the last incident years ago you gave up on the idea of love, thinking it was for the pinterest girlies, those perfect ones who deserved a perfect love. But the day Jaemin came to you on that bus ride asking if can take the empty seat next to yours, the perception of love you had changed. He became your first and perfect love, he showed you everyone is worthy of love, he accepted all your flaws, he cared for you like no one has ever done –babying you included– he never shied away from confessing his love and gratitude for you, he cherished you with every breath he took. You could cry to him, with him, you could laugh with him until your stomach hurts, you could gossip with him, and you could cherish the quietness with him. He was perfect and he was yours, your first love. “OMG y/n I saw this flower growing out of the sidewalk, it reminded me of you princess.”

CHENLE. academic rivals

Chenle didn’t give a shit about studies or grades, if you ask his parents or friends, they haven’t seen so many ‘A+’ on his tests till now. It’s not like he was poor in his studies, it's just that he didn't have a reason to study. Why study if he could just get a scholarship through basketball? It was useless according to him until he met you in high school, the top student in the class if not the school. Was it love at first sight? Nah it was love at first fight for him when he accidentally hit you with the basketball during gym class and you poured a bottle of water on him as revenge (it was freezing cold that day). After that, the more he tried to approach you the more you avoided him. It was the first time when he wanted something, but he couldn't have it right away, and this ignited a fire in him. So, the only way to reach you now was through academics, and boy, he loved pushing your buttons, so he decided to compete with you… fiercely and that’s how after a few months of this rivalry you found yourself pinned against the bookshelf by him in a corner of the library. “Everything is just a competition for you… isn’t it?” you felt his breath on your face “Isn’t it for you, too?” you spat back, not breaking eye contact. “No, I did this because I am in fucking love with you.”

JISUNG. brother's best friend

You met Jisung when you were five and he was seven, he brought Sungchan back home after he sprained his ankle during the game of soccer. You remember watching him from afar, while he was talking to your mother about Sungchan’s injury when he looked at you and passed a smile. Since then, not a day passes by when you don’t think of him. At seven you had childishly asked him to marry you which he laughed at first but agreed later, promising to do so when you grow older. At fifteen he scared off a boy who kissed you on the cheek in school, saying things like you are too young for dating and you can’t date just any boy. That day, instead of crying that your first relationship ended before it could even start, you were happy, it was the day you started liking Jisung. At seventeen you confessed your feelings to him when he said the words that broke your small, fragile heart in pieces, he said you were like a little sister to him. At twenty-two he saw you going out with a man when he arrived at your apartment to celebrate your birthday. He felt something he shouldn’t have, he felt jealous, a burning rage and it was that moment that he knew he had fallen head over heels for you. “Don’t date him.” you scoffed hearing his authoritative tone. “And who are you to say that? I’m not fifteen anymore. It’s my life I can date whoever I want… you’re not my real brother.” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him “Yes I’m not your brother… so date me instead.”

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