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thegnomelord · 2 months

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Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

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blippymilk · 4 months

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Brozone (+ Poppy & Viva) x Touch Starved Fem! Reader

Ok the request is that the reader is a touch starved, easily flustered, insecure yet passionate female. Her hair can change based on how she’s feeling. She likes to rant and info dump a lot. She likes drawing herself and her loved ones, and gives small gifts as a form of affection or to make them feel better. There will be a friend and s/o version.

(I’m also really sorry if this is not to the liking of the request, I kind of struggled while making this 😭)

John Dory:

Friend:

- As your friend he’s a little concerned for you

- Like he knows your fine but sometime he worries 😭

- But nothing JD can’t handle

- Genuinely enjoys your little gifts but he never makes it obvious at first

“Hey JD look I made you a little gift.” :)

“Oh that’s sweet. Can you put it on my desk? I’ll look at it later.”

- One day him and his brothers were rough housing around while you Poppy, and Viva stood by cheering them on. Bruce gets a little too rough with him and knocks something out of his jacket, it was your gift

- This man stops everything

- Like everything

- Like everyone’s frozen in place no matter what stance they’re in

- And picks it up and places it gently back in the pockets inside his jacket then lectures the boys about how he could’ve gotten his belongings crushed 😭

S/O:

- Still worries about you even after being together

- Sometimes the way your emotions change with your hair startles him

- And that’s mostly because your emotions can change rapidly

- But he also finds it really funny

- So prepare for his scare attacks

- Your hair gets so spiky, and you get so mad

“Oh come on I was only playing around babe. Tell you what, I’ll find a better way to mess with your hair.”

- And he did, which was by flustering you with comments that boost your confidence

- Your face turns red and your hair poofs up then falls around your head

- You’re always muttering a lot just like Viva and Poppy and JD finds it hilarious that him, Branch, and Clay are in the same boat (not saying Clay and Viva are not dating jus to clarify 😭)

Floyd:

Friend:

- Loves having a friend that’s the complete opposite of him

- He’ll listen to you rant all day

- With feedback on every question and statement

- Also finds your hair amusing but won’t abuse it’s power on purpose like John 😭

- Shocked by your passion to draw

“Is that me and you?”

“You know it.”

“I love it.” 🥹

S/O:

- Absolutely head over heels for you

- Still would be into listening to you rant but he’s helping you calm down a bit more

- Now your drawings had a more romantic reference behind them and he loved them even more

- No matter where he goes he always has one of your pictures on him

- He carries it around and values it like cash

- And absolutely none of his (little) brothers are getting their hands on it (yes he’s aware that they’re all adults now)

Spruce Bruce

Friend:

- He’s an expert on hair so he’s not too shocked or anything

- I mean look at that fluff on his head

- Seeing as Bruce could handle so many kids in the movie I believe he could deal with a ranting partner just fine

- He knows how to avoid frustration with you

S/O:

- Finds everything you do cute (c’mon it’s Bruce)

- He loves your arts & crafts

- Probably more than you

- Just like John he likes to you see you flustered with that big frizz on your head

- Your hair is constantly poofy because this man never stopsssss

“Hey (____) did it hurt when you fell?”

“Huh?”

“When you fell. From heaven?”

“Bruce you’re litteraly gonna kill me and my hair…”

- Definitely helps you get the knots out afterward 😭

Clay:

Friends:

- He hangs around Viva so the rambling is nothing new to him

- Always tries to hide you from Viva because he knows you two would be a unstoppable force ( plus poppyyyyy?!?)

- Hates when you feel insecure in any kind of way possible

- So just like you leave him little sketches, he leaves little notes of affirmations for you to read

- And makes you read them

- Outloud

“I am so pretty, beautiful, smart, talente- Clay do I have to keep-”

“Keep going.”

“Ok but-”

- Extremely intense eye contact

sighhhhhhhh “I am talented, I am kind, I am loyal…”

S/O:

- One of the most respectful boyfriends in the world

- Eventually gives in and let’s you and Viva mingle (possibly a bad descion!!??)

- Astonished by what your hair is capable of (can’t show his excitement tho cause he’s not a fun boy anymore right?)

- He is a words of affection (and physical touch sjejkemsjks) kinda guy so as your boyfriend he’s all you could ask for

- So now your attached to this man like glue and it’s kind of his fault

- Has to pry you off sometime but he will never stop loving you the same

“I love youuuuuu.”

“I love youuuuuu too.”

Branch:

Friend:

- Just like Clay he’s friends with Poppy so he’s used to the talking behavior (no Boppy in thissss 😔)

- You guys didn’t exactly hit it off at first either

- You met him during his “no color” era so that makes most of the sense

- ntgl when he first finds out about your hair he’s thrown off

- And the other trolls had so much fun with it that he considered you a distraction from the bergens soooo he wasn’t too fond of you

- And it takes a while but eventually you both become inseparable

“You hated me for no reason, and now I’m your favorite.”

“Yeah yeah.”

S/O:

- He’s growing as in character development

- So now instead of getting upset he uses your hair to read you

- He never really knows when he’s doing anything right or wrong as far as the relationship so he depends on your hair to know which path to take

- Your info dumping soothes him, wether he likes it or not

- He plays it off subtly but he knows how to fluster you and he takes pride in that (*AHEM* SINGING)

Poppy:

Friend:

- Doesn’t even realize that you’re rambling cause she’s doing it too

- You both are a special duo that at one point drove Branch up a tree (no pun intended)

- As much as the trolls like you, they don’t realize how actually dangerous you two could be together 😭

- And you can imagine the fear on Branch’s face when he finds out Viva and Poppy are sisters

S/O:

- Everyone knows Poppy is a scrapbooking master so when she begins to receive little arts and crafts from you she’s in love

- Like she’s bouncing off the wall excited

- Literally (it’s Poppy)

- She’s superrr touchy-feely so your living your best life

- Your hair is so fun and amusing to her

- Like JD she might try to scare you a couple times to see your hair spike up for fun but cuddles you after

“I’m sorry sweetieeee you know I can’t help it. Your hair is just so fun!”

“Poppyyyy you say that everytimeeee!”

Viva:

Friends:

- Basically Poppy’s doppelgänger so what can you expect?!

- Always rambling but somehow always manages to do it more than you

- She might just be you plus Poppy times five

- Clay tried to help you hide your hair for the sake of you and Viva

- Unfortunately she popped up out of nowhere startling you both and causing your hair to go erratic

“So so sorry guys I didn’t mean to…OMG YOUR HAIR!”

S/O:

- Everything you could ask for from a girlfriend

- Like she literally could not have given you anymore

- She loves your art works

- She loves to hear you talk and join in with you

- She loves the touchy-feely type

- She literally can’t find a single flaw in you whatsoever

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bellaveux · 1 year

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more fuckgirl!wanda x reader , can we have wanda show her protective dom side

OFF LIMITS | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: wanda hates the way everyone is ogling at you, and makes sure to remind everyone that you are, very much, off limits.

content warnings: minors dni please. college au!, fuckgirl!sorority president!wanda, dom!wanda, jealousy, possessiveness, bottom!reader, smut! – mirror sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, fingering, marking/hickeys

word count: 3.28k

note. writing feels kinda all over the place am sorry,, i went both protective and possessive (they sometimes confuse me while writing loool) but i hope u enjoy it and ty for request!

Wanda was both a woman of contradictions and a force to be reckoned with. On one hand, she was a disciplined and hard-working leader, respected by her peers and admired for her dedication to the sorority. On the other, she was a party animal, a woman who loved nothing more than to let loose, have a good time, and charm women left and right. No doubt was she popular, with everyone from the freshmen to the seniors looking up to her as a role model. Her energy was infectious, and her spirit was unstoppable, as she flitted from one party to another, always with a smile on her face and a drink in her hand.

And her game was undoubtedly unmatched. With the tiniest twinkle in her eye and a sultry smile on her lips, Wanda could make even the most stoic person melt with desire. She was the object of desire for many who crossed her path, making her popularity with everyone on campus legendary, people drawn to her like a magnet. Enjoying the game of love, teasing and tempting those around her, she loved the attention, and always knew how to charm and seduce with ease. Her flirtatious nature was a part of her, an extension of her personality, and it was something that she enjoyed using to her advantage. It was a game that she played with finesse and skill, a dance of words and gestures that left those around her breathless and wanting more.

But while others voluntarily gave her attention, there was only one person she wanted, and that was you.

You and Wanda always had an undeniable attraction towards each other, a magnetic force that seemed to draw you together, no matter how hard you tried to resist. There was a tension between you two, a spark that ignited every time you were in the same room, eyes locking, and bodies leaning in closer. It was as if you shared a secret language, a hidden connection that only you and her could understand, and that seemed to grow stronger with every passing day. And yet, despite your chemistry, you were not together, and it seemed as if you would never be. Much to Wanda’s disappointment, you have always rejected her pursuits and advances. Unlike her, you valued the time you spend with another person, wanting more than to be a fling. You wanted love from someone who adored you, someone who made you feel special, and initially, you didn’t think Wanda could be that person.

Wanda stood at the edge of the crowded sorority party, drink in her hand, eyes fixed on you. The room was alive with music and chatter, but for Wanda, it all faded away into the background as she watched as you entered the room, greeting everyone who came up to you with such gracefulness. Wanda always knew you liked to look good, but God, why did you have to wear something as sexy as that? The black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the skin on your back completely exposed for everyone to see. Wanda was entranced, her heart beating faster as she felt the pull of attraction towards you. She tried to look away, to focus on something else, maybe on the girls who were already talking to her, but no one could compete with you, the woman who had captured her attention completely, dependably each and every time. Wanda couldn't help but admire the way you moved in that dress, with a grace and poise that seemed effortless. And as your eyes met across the crowded room, Wanda felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body just right before you smirked and turned away from her, returning to your friends.

And so, she watched you all night, unable to focus on the rest of the people around her, who wanted her attention. She was too captivated by you, like she was under a spell, and couldn’t do anything else but stare.

Soon, she noticed that she wasn’t the only one who saw you. Of course, she wasn’t. Everywhere you walked, between the sea of people, heads turned and eyes followed, as the other people in the party looked on in awe and admiration. Your beauty was almost surreal, a dream-like quality that made you seem like you were from another world entirely. You, like her, were popular in the way that everyone on campus wanted to be with, but no one could quite capture. And Wanda wanted to have the honor.

She watched as all sorts of people came up to you, asking to dance, for your number, and introducing themselves like they even had a chance. As the seconds passed, Wanda’s jealousy grew. You would throw that pretty smile of yours their way as you politely rejected them. Some of them would even become quite touchy with you, and Wanda hated being the one to watch on the sidelines. She wanted everyone to back off, tell everyone that you were hers, a territory no one shall trespass.

And when you allowed a bubbly freshman, dressed in an all black suit, named Kate, to stay a little longer than Wanda would’ve liked, touching you softly down your back as you spoke and drank from the cup she had gotten you, Wanda decided to take action.

“Don’t touch her,” Wanda said firmly as she stood closely behind you, watching the younger woman immediately pull her hand back off of you.

“Wanda,” you warned, glancing up at her, cautiously eyeing her with your sly eyes for her next move.

Kate watched the interaction carefully, seemingly finding it hard to butt in under the sudden tension that Wanda had brought along with her, “S-Sorry… Hi, I’m Kate.”

Wanda said nothing, and instead, she threw a tiny, bitter smile at her before turning back to you, her hand slowly creeping up your waist. You did little to stop her touch, and if anything, you found yourself leaning closer. It never surprised you how good Wanda was at being territorial and overprotective she was when it came to you, and under your facade, you found it attractive.

“Do you think I could steal you away for just a second?” Wanda whispered into your ear, but loud enough for Kate to catch.

You put your cup down against the counter of the bar and smiled artfully, shaking your head at her, “Uh, actually, Kate and I were having a conversation here, so I really don’t think you can.”

Wanda hummed in annoyance, taking a moment to glare at you as you turned back to the other woman. She felt a pang of jealousy in her chest, watching you and this Kate interact as if she wasn’t even there, and she wanted nothing more than to drag you away from her and all the lingering eyes that were currently still on you. At this point, her blood boiled at every little thing everyone did around you.

“Kate,” Wanda tried again, more firmly this time, as if steam was coming from her ears, face almost red with anger. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, no— of course,” she laughed awkwardly, backing up as slowly as if she had just angered a lion.

And so, Kate left, much to Wanda’s satisfaction, but it did much to fuel your irritation towards Wanda’s actions. And right when she left, another person came up, as if they were in line to talk to you, but instead, Wanda shot them a deathly glare, and they immediately backed off.

You sighed and turned towards the counter, rubbing your temples without even looking at her, “What is wrong with you?”

“I just did you a favor,” Wanda scoffed and folded her arms as you moved away from her. “She wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you, (y/n).”

“Why is sex the only thing on your mind, Wanda? I was just talking to her. Like a normal person,” you tell her, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, come on, you and I both know what she was doing,” she said. “She was all over you.”

She couldn't help but feel possessive over you, and the thought of anyone else touching you or even flirting with you was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

And finally, you turned to her and smirked, your chin in the palm of your hands as you looked up at her through your eyelashes, “Mm, and why is that so important to you?”

“You know why.”

You, in fact, did know why. After all the times Wanda has chased after you, trying desperately to get you to accept her advances, you never did, not wanting to be a part of her seemingly long list of women that she played with. No, initially, you decided you’d do the playing, teasing her without any further intentions afterwards, and it only made her want you more. But at this point, you longed for Wanda’s touch, despite how infuriating she can be at times. The undeniable attraction you had towards each other tied you together, and Wanda only wanted you all to herself.

You shook your head once more and stepped forward, bringing your hand up to flatten out her collar neatly, “It’s kinda cute when you’re jealous.”

Wanda said nothing to deny that and instead, she clenched her jaw while savoring your touch, feeling the tips of your fingers graze her neck softly.

She stood close, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to keep her cool. But you were teasing her with the way you stepped forward, looking up at her with those pretty eyes in a way that made Wanda's frustration grow with each passing moment. It was maddening, the way you played with her, toying with her emotions. Wanda felt a surge of anger rising within her, a fire that threatened to consume her if she didn't do something about it. She tried to maintain her composure, to keep a cool head, but it was no use. Everything you did and said was like a knife, cutting deep into Wanda's heart and making her ache with desire.

Ultimately, unable to take it any longer, she grabbed your wrist and dragged away from the bar, away from every single person who eyed you, through the crowd and into the hallways where she pulled you into one of the many bathrooms in the whole building.

Wanda wrapped her arms around your waist, her front pressed up against your back, holding you close with her lips barely grazing the skin of your neck and her hands running down the sides of your dress. This damn dress. The way it clung to the curves of your body, the fabric draped in such a way that showcased your back, revealing just enough to keep her wanting more. The sight of your bare skin was tantalizing, and Wanda felt a flutter in her chest as she pressed up against you.

“I don’t like the way they keep staring at you,” Wanda confessed as you watched her slowly pepper soft kisses down your neck to your shoulder through the reflection of the mirror.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, reveling in the softness of her lips against your skin, “What are you going to do about it?”

And you felt it — a smirk against your shoulder, making you realize what you had suddenly gotten yourself into. Wanda squeezed your hips with her hands, proudly looking at you through the mirror as if she were savoring the moment she now had you all to herself, in her arms, in her hands.

“I’m gonna remind them that you’re off limits.”

Surprisingly, Wanda was being so gentle, kissing and sucking at your skin softly, marking you, littering plenty of hickeys down your neck and shoulder, and you watched her do it in the mirror. You watched when one of her hands would travel up from your waist to wrap her palm around the swell of your breasts, fondling them eagerly, making you hum a moan in satisfaction. Her other hand found its way down to your thighs, moving slowly under your dress. You couldn’t help but watch again, the sight in the mirror almost making your knees give out, as Wanda moved the hand that was on your breast down to the hem of your dress, bunching up the fabric to pull it up your thighs.

Her fingers finally traced the hem of your panties as she watched your face carefully in the reflection. You looked so pretty like this, practically melting in her arms, lips parted with your eyes closed, as she played with you. After a second of admiring the way you looked, Wanda brought a hand up to grab your jaw, turning your head towards her, before leaning into you for a sloppy kiss, opening your mouth as she pressed a finger to your clothed clit. You moaned into her mouth, giving her perfect chance to slide her tongue into yours, immediately falling in love with the way you tasted. Oh, Wanda just couldn’t wait to have her way with you.

“You’re so wet for me already,” she whispered in your ear, fingers still playing over your clothed sex. “I’ve barely touched you yet.”

“Wanda,” you breathed, eyes closed as you laid your head back against her shoulder.

“No, baby, open your eyes,” she smiled into your cheek as you followed her instructions. “I want you to watch when I fuck you.”

You didn’t know how your knees didn’t just give out the moment she said those words. Not wanting to disappoint, you made sure to keep your eyes open as best you could, watching how her hands moved underneath the fabric of your dress. When you finally feel her fingers slipping into your panties, Wanda moans against your shoulder, her eyes rolling back as she feels the wetness of your pussy. You were practically dripping.

Without wasting another second, Wanda pushed two fingers into you with ease. You moaned softly, immediately clenching around her as she curled her fingers into you, pressing against the sweet spot in your pussy, which she seemed to have no trouble finding.

“You can do better than that, baby,” Wanda whispered, fingers suddenly pumping in and out of you at a brutal pace. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Mmh–W-Wanda,” you moaned out, holding on to her wrist as she fingered you. “Oh, fuck!”

Her second hand was brought into play shortly after, using it to rub your clit roughly, making you jolt against her, legs shaking, and your slick slowly traveling down your thighs. The sight of you writhing against her in the reflection was almost too hot for you to look at, always turning your head away, only for Wanda to grab your jaw and turn you back to face the mirror. You were tight around her fingers, and Wanda couldn’t help but groan at the fact, staring at you through the mirror as you came undone on her fingers.

You shook erratically as you came, unable to think about anything else but the orgasm she had just given you. That was until you felt her pushing in a third finger into your leaking hole without any warning. You tried to push against her, to ask her to give you a second, but something about the way her eyes looked in the mirror as she stared at you gave you a feeling that she would just keep doing whatever she pleased.

So, you let her, no matter how sensitive you were.

“That’s it, baby,” she groaned. “Being such a good girl for me.”

“Please, please—“ you whined, not sure if you were begging for more or begging her to stop.

The stretch of her three fingers was enough to make you chant her name like a prayer as she fucked you through your first orgasm. She was knuckles deep into your squelching pussy, curling them in a rhythmic pattern against your sweet spot, and it made you wonder how you were still standing. Her fingers piston in and out of you, bringing you to the edge for the second time tonight, making your bones feel like jelly. And finally, you arch your back against her, coming right on her fingers once again, screaming her name out without a care in the world, knowing everyone outside the door must’ve heard you.

But Wanda kept going. She continued to finger you, lost in thought after watching you come twice in the mirror, your cunt gushing so loudly, it’s embarrassing.

“Look how pretty you are, (y/n),” she cooed, using her other hand to grope your tits.

“I- I can’t, Wanda, p-please—“ you whined, gripping onto her tightly, unable to watch yourself through the mirror anymore. “T-Too much, please!”

“But you're so pretty when you beg. Why wouldn't I just keep going and going and... going?”

And so, she does. She fucks you until you can barely stand anymore, when your knees buckle, and she has to hold you up with one arm around your waist and even then, she still keeps going, and you’re sobbing at the overstimulation. You almost nearly fall and curl in on yourself, but Wanda made sure to keep you steady, bringing you to the edge another time, and another… and another.

By the end of it, you laid back against her, holding you up completely as your legs have given out. Your eyes were heavy, threatening to close as Wanda soothed out your dress with one hand, kissing you softly down your neck again, this time over the prettiest purple bruises that littered all over your skin. Her lips were warm, soft, and settling as she kissed you. She took in the sight of you with her eyes locked onto you through the mirror; you had your eyes closed, heavily exhaling, hair ruffled and messy, and yet, you looked like the prettiest mess ever. Her pretty girl.

“You’re so perfect,” Wanda whispered lovingly into your ear, her breath ticking your skin. “I don’t like having to fight for your attention.”

The way she said that last sentence was kind of sad, in the way that it hurt her feelings, and you could only hum in response as you slowly but surely regained your composure, shifting slightly in Wanda’s arms. You always knew Wanda was the jealous type, maybe overly jealous, but you found it endearing how she endlessly chased after you, how she still wanted you after tonight.

“You really don’t even have to, Wanda,” you tell her softly, trying to stand upright, wobbling slightly as you did so, to turn and cup her face with your hands. “You know everything I do is so that you can keep your eyes on me.”

“It works every time.”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to her lips, melting when she smiled into it, “That’s why I do it.”

Wanda took a moment to look at you after you pulled away from her lips. Your lipstick was smudged, spreading slightly down under your bottom lip sexily, making Wanda want nothing more than to kiss you again. And nothing was stopping her, so she did. She was happy, finally being able to have you like she had always wanted and knowing the fact that when you walk out of this bathroom, everyone will see all the marks and bruises Wanda left on you. Because of it, she felt a surge of satisfaction as she pulled you close, determined to show everyone outside just who you belonged to.

That way no one would even dare to try to take her woman again tonight, reminding them that you were hers, and hers alone.

— navigation!

#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel x reader #elizabeth olsen #the scarlet witch #scarlet witch #marvel #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x reader #avengers #avengers x reader

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keisobe · 1 year

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THE HCS OF READER PLAYING WITH NETEYAM AND LO’AK’S HANDS WERE SO CUTE OMG.

perhaps you can do hcs for neteyam and lo’ak where the reader gets slightly jealous bc they’re spending more time with another girl? i wonder how they would react…

tysm!

── ◝✩ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 (𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝟐)

characters. lo’ak sully + neteyam sully

notes. okay so i love angsty jealousy tropes A LOT. especially when the reader is the one jealous so thank you for requesting this anon! i hope i did the sully boys justice ^^ + not completely proofread

neteyam ✩‧₊˚

jealously never usually crosses his mind in all honesty, actually he rarely even feels an ounce of envy himself. he’s confident and values his pride and skill, so there was really nothing to worry about. when neteyam started to date you, his mindset never changed, but when he found out you were the jealous one, he couldn’t help but feel a bit more prideful. neteyam finds your jealousy to be amusing and he feels ensured that he’s protected by you.

from a short distance, you watched neteyam speaking to a girl— noticing how she lightly brushed her hand against his as they observed maps of pandora together. yes, you trusted neteyam completely. one thing that you admired about him was his boundless loyalty he had for the people he love. but there was itch, an irrational itch to just seat in between them and rip the map into useless shreds of paper. your fangs dangerously bit down on your lip, nearly drawing crimson.

without second thought, you abandoned your hiding spot and marched towards the pair. neteyam notices you first, his yellow eyes observing the furrow of your brows and the pout on your lips that he loved so much.

he couldn’t help but grin at your flaming jealousy.

“sorry i have to go,” neteyam looked over to the girl with feigned sympathy, reaching over his hand to feel your soft hands latch onto his slim fingers. you never acknowledged the girl, instead you tugged neteyam from his seat and snatched the maps from her grasp— walking away without looking back.

“you hang out with her too much,” you hissed, trying to decipher one of the intricate maps but all you see was confusing scribbles and tiny written language.

“don’t tell me you’re jealous?” neteyam snickered, raising his eyebrows playfully at you.

“i am,” you admitted with a firm voice, not afraid to express your envy. you handed him the maps that were slightly crinkled after snatching it from the faceless girl— you still had no plans to find out who she was.

neteyam felt a little at ease by your possessiveness.

“then i’ll teach you how to read them,” neteyam smoothed out the creases of the maps. a sigh of relief came out of him when he saw you try to hide a smile.

neteyam will tell you how cute you look when you’re jealous after you calm down.

lo’ak ✩‧₊˚

he was very familiar with the feelings of envy, being brothers with neteyam and all. growing up as an outcast of his people has put him in situations where he felt insecure and mad at the world. but once lo’ak started dating you, he was surprised that you were also the jealous type. in all honesty, he felt reassured that you felt so strongly towards him— it made him fall for you even harder. also, lo’ak feels secretly prideful knowing that he’s yours only.

“breathe in,” lo’ak takes a deep breath. “and breathe out.”

he unleashes a gust of air through his lips, sensing his heartbeat slowing down. tsireya smiled, proud of the progress they were making in their training. you were watching their session intently, the opaque shells that you collected in the depths of the sea were set aside— all covered with jagged lines and stab marks.

these past few days, lo’ak has been training with tsireya, leaving little room for you to be alone with him. the idea of him spending time with another girl left you completely bitter and miserable.

in celebration of his efforts, tsireya embraced him tightly, firmly wrapping her arms around his neck. lo’ak looked unsure what to do, his hands awkwardly hovering over her waist. all you could do is silently drag your knife as you carved the shell— each drag left a sour chime.

his eyes locked with yours, noticing the glint of red in your usual soft eyes. lo’ak gave you a reassuring gaze, whispering something in tsireya’s ear. whatever he said made her jump away in surprise and her silky voice released an endless amount of apologies— prompting her to leave the both of you alone.

the grip on your knife finally loosened, a rush of blood flooding back into your relieved veins. lo’ak walked over to you with a small smile on his blue face— flustered at how pretty you looked with a glare.

“you good?” he tilted his head in curiosity, taking one of the terribly carved shells and tossing them back into the clear ocean.

you feigned a smile, but the dark pools of your eyes made it obvious that you were angry.

“yes, i’m fine.” lo’ak didn’t believe a word, but that only made him adore you even more.

he took your smaller hand into his larger ones, leading the both of you back into the village. for however long it’ll take him, he’ll always say he’s yours.

#✩.*˚ — ina’s works🎂#ੈ♡˳ — (atwow) 📁#* ੈ♡˳ — (neteyam sully) 🎞️#* ੈ♡˳ — (lo’ak sully) 🎞️#lo’ak #lo’ak sully #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak sully x reader #avatar headcanons #— ౨ৎ ࣪ . ⊹ : drabbles

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fraugwinska · 20 days

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Dude, i had an idea out of nowhere, and in my head it's so funny for no reason ☠️☠️ So, you know that theres like, that canon drawing that Alastor made for Angel's birthday?

((https://twitter.com/HazbinHotel/status/1642135435085217793?t=U6Kzncfye-QAjtJYy8R23A&s=19) This one)

So like, imagine that is Alastor's S/o birthday, and he decided to make her a drawing like that ☠️ idk it's weirdly funny in my head

So - a few things need to be said.

1. I know that Alastor canonically likes to doodle, and ever since episode 1 we really know just how awfully funny these doodles are.

2. what I didn't know was what the hell you were talking about, so I looked it up and... my god. The snorts I snaughted, the wheezes I whoze, the cackles I cuckled. He may be a 'gentleman', he may try to behave cordial and appear classy, but Doodle-Artist-Alastor is a fucking menace, no filter and so snappy, holy shit.

3. Now, for my highly professional opinion (*cough cough*) of what would happen if you, Alastor's s/o, would get a picture like this as a birthday gift. In front of everyone.

❤️ You agreed on celebrating your birthday, as redundant as you thought it was, only under the condition that no one would buy you a gift. If they wanted to hand you a present, you wanted it to be a small, handmade thing, valuing their time and thought behind it much more than the actual thing.

❤️ Everyone would hold true to this request, and the gifts you get match the giver perfectly.

❤️ Charlie and Vaggie crafted together, handing you a bejeweled jewelry box covered in glitter glue and snippets of photos they had taken of you and the gang over the time you were guest in the hotel.

❤️ Niffty, being both skilled in sewing and the chaos gremlin she is, presents you with a abysmal looking pile of different, sewn-together fabrics. You turn and twist it in your hands, thanking her without knowing what it is, until you find a golden snap lock hidden in the masses of layers. It's a very inconvenient coin purse.

❤️ Opening Angels gift has everyone holding their breath - preparing for something phallic, kinky or lewd. instead, you squeal as you pack a crochet version of Fat Nuggets, including his stubby little horns. Angels smug expression at the sheer surprise at his very unusual (and unexpected) talent of the gang quickly turns to a sweet smile as you crush him with your hug, telling him how much you love it.

❤️ Husk's gift for you is nothing corporeal. Instead, he announces he'd teach you one of his many magic tricks he often did for your sheer delight at your many evenings at the bar. He blushes a bit when you thank him with a kiss on his cheek.

❤️ Alastor would wait to be the last one to present his gift - it's known the best is always saved for last. He hands you a large envelope. Curiously you open it, careful not to tear it, and pull out a thick sheet of paper

❤️ Five heads hang over your shoulder, five pairs of eyes widen at the sight: The paper is full of scribbled doodles, a crude, macabre looking version of yourself in the middle, around it splatters of what looks like blood, grinning faces, and scribbled words: cutie pie - talks in her sleep - MINE MINE MINE - I love Alastor (in a speech bubble over your head)

❤️ Reactions would be mixed, Charlie would find it weirdly adorable, Niffty would point out anything she likes with bashful giggles, Vaggie would be as disturbed as Husk, while Angel would make fun of it, laughing while mocking the quality of the drawing.

❤️ you however, would be torn between genuine laughter and earnest emotionality you've never received something handmade from Alastor. He'd often shower you in little tokens of care, a bouquet of flowers, a new necklace, a dress or a scarf he's seen at Rosie's. You found it not only endearing, the thought of him, dressed in his pompous attire sitting at his bureau, drawing this made your heart ache with affection.

❤️ Quietly staring at the picture, Alastor would interpret your silence as veiled ridicule, and vanish into shadows, retreating. He had failed, his gift shown to be juvenile and lacking. Sulking, he would avoid you for the rest of the evening, only returning to your shared room when night already fell and everyone was fast asleep

❤️ He would find you in deep slumber, cheeks a bit puffy and shimmering from trails of dried tears. He'd tilt his head in curiosity, wondering what would've possibly made you cry, then he sees it - his painting, clutched in your hands and pressed to your heart.

❤️ He'd hurry to change for the night, scolding himself for drawing hast conclusions - he should know you better. When he gently pulls the paper from you to set it aside, youd awake, reaching out to him, starting to apologize for not giving him an appropriate reaction.

❤️ alastor would shush you, slipping into bed with you, and give you your other, much more intimate present.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #angel dust #charlie morningstar #fraugwinskawrites #fraugwinskasheadcanons #alastor doodles #alastor drawing

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reiden · 2 months

Text

i wanna hold the hand inside you | r.itoshi

You think of Itoshi Rin, your first love, often; the one who never was and the one who got away. Unexpectedly, you find yourself reuniting with the boy you once knew right in front of your apartment.

cw: fem!reader, reader has a habit of skin-picking, soft angst w/ happy ending, suggestive, slight hand obsession?

— ✦

You always feel uglier after you pick at your skin. Which defeats the purpose because you do it to rid yourself of an imperfection you've stumbled upon. And yet, after all is said and done and the skin has grown irritated, all you can think about is how you've only gotten uglier.

You used to pick at your face, scratching at any bumps or texture you spot in the mirror, but you've gotten better about it now. You've stopped doing it on your face altogether. It was one too many people who thought they were close enough with you to inadvertently call you ugly. You're pretty sure the first to do it had been Itoshi Sae, your neighbour two houses down. Back then, when you were only eight, you hadn't cared that he thought your habit was unbecoming. It didn't matter what Sae thought — you had Rin.

One day, you realised you didn't really have Rin either.

Since then, you've moved onto your hands.

Your face is the important part, no one ever really looks at hands. You might think about it if you were to give a handshake, but when you think of that person from memory later that day, you'll think of their face. As long as your face is left alone, it doesn't matter what happens to the skin around your nails.

But you like looking at hands. They reveal so much about someone. Whether or not they clean their nails, if they paint them, if their hands are soft or calloused — all of these things are like clues that fit together to form the bigger picture of their life. Your own hands must give away the parts of you that you would prefer to stay hidden — like the fact that you pick at your skin. Itoshi Rin has beautiful hands. His hands were pretty enough that you were glad he played a sport that relied on his legs and feet instead. You never told him that you thought so; he probably would have called you strange should he have found out.

He never seemed to value you in the same way you valued him.

You pull at your skin again, pushing it down with the edge of your nail just until you feel the sharp sting of it having gone too far. It's boring at your job, nothing much to do or see. You sit on an ergonomic moving chair behind a large wooden desk, adjusting calendars and making appointments. There isn't much mystique to your job, nothing to write home about, but it gets you through life just fine. Glancing over at the time, you decide to click through and answer a few more emails in time for lunch to roll around.

In junior high, you had wanted to be an artist. You joined the art club and begged your family to let you participate in painting and sketching classes. You kept sketchbook after sketchbook filled with doodles and things — mostly of hands. It's been a long running obsession of yours. You used to draw faces but ever since you stopped messing with your face, your drawings of them phased out too.

In senior high, a teacher told you that artists don't make money from drawing hands all day. It irked you enough that you let go of that dream. You wanted to become a nail technician, you decided. The day you changed your dream, you went to tell the only person you considered close enough to tell; you went to tell Rin. It was that day that you had to come to the startling realisation that your best friend didn't seem to consider you much of a friend anymore. You spent all of your lunch break looking for him, only to find him practising at the field behind your school. When you called out to him, he ignored you. He stopped answering your texts too. You discarded the sliver of hope you had kept safe within your chest — the very thing that made you believe you would get Rin back soon. Something had changed in him and you didn't know what because he never told you.

(Because he never seemed to value you in the same way you valued him.)

You found other friends. Rin always seemed to be alone. He pulled out of school for a football program a week later, and you decided to give up on becoming a nail technician.

There's a soft beep that rings out from your phone — just one singular chime at the lowest volume you set on your first day on the job — when it's time for your lunch break. You always take it at the same tonkatsu shop seven minutes away from your place of work.

Today, it takes you ten minutes to get there because the heels you've chosen to wear are new ones; you haven't broken them in yet. You bought them for a date that you never ended up going to. Guilt over standing them up had consumed you but you just couldn't muster up the courage to go. You were all too aware of the fact that some pathetic part of you was still clinging onto a boy you haven't seen for a long time.

You remember the brush of the wind through his fringe, the sharp determined glint in his emerald eyes. You still hold onto the way his name once had a home at the tip of your tongue. Even as the years pass, Itoshi Rin digs his teeth into your skin and remains with you; parasitic and tormenting.

You ease yourself into the table in the corner and make your order, scrolling through your phone while you wait. Your feed is full of recent news, some things you understand and others you're not quite sure you get. Rin is there too, mixed in between all the posts about celebrities and new dramas. You were always bad at watching football. You were bad with most sports, they could never keep your interest for long, but you tried for Rin's sake. When the both of you were younger, you'd sit on the grass at the park and watch Rin run through the drills he'd seen his brother do earlier.

As you stare at the pictures of him standing on the pitch, stadium lights spilling down on him, you can't help but feel proud. Sweat glistens along his hairline, his hair still cut in the same way he used to have it when you knew him. The captain's armband is stretched tight around his bicep as his arm curls to hold up a trophy.

The swell in your chest comes with an ache you've never learned to get rid of. This ache that's ever-present, always there like a guest you can't seem to send home. It had only been a small sting when your friendship with Rin fully fell apart, but it grew tenfold when you realised you were in love with him. You pick at your skin again, the same place from earlier. Pain blooms at your fingertip but you choose to ignore it as you scroll past the pictures; your heart squeezes and shudders against your will, even after all these years.

The day inches past, sweat gathers along the nape of your neck. You leave the building at five precisely, stagger into the subway station at half past five, and sink into a navy blue seat at a quarter to six. The backs of your brand new heels dig into your ankles and you're certain there will be blisters when you yank them off at home.

Even still, your day has been a good one. Despite the fact that your mother had called and urged you to visit home; despite today marking the anniversary you first met Itoshi Rin; despite the way your heart always sinks at the realisation that you still remember the significance of what should be another meaningless day. Despite it all, it had been good and you stare at the passerby walking along the platform, head pressed against the cool window.

(You wonder about Rin once more, like you always do. You wonder if he's walking amongst a crowd this evening, perhaps something fried in his hand, keeping his palm warm. Maybe he's holding a drink instead — lukewarm green tea. In another world, it might have been your hand.)

The train shakes to a start, rocking you from side to side and it becomes impossible to keep yourself awake. You drift off to the memory of a boy you once knew.

You're sure you're bleeding. The skin around your index nail is irritated, throbbing with a dull pain. Similarly, there's a sting — a quick flash of something white hot up your left calf — whenever you take a step. Your blister must have turned into a cut.

Your soles scrape against the road, shoulders loose and hunched forward as you meander your way home. The sun has set, disappearing into the skyline in the distance as the sky grows darker and the wind picks up. Streetlights have flickered to life and you pass by a salon still packed with customers, women resting against soft cushions as they converse. You roll your neck from side to side, attempting to release some of the tension that has gathered along your muscles from staying seated almost all day, fingers loosely wrapped around the straps of your bag.

Eyes trained on the fading white marks beneath your feet, you turn the corner into the alleyway you apartment building sits in. There's a crunch of someone taking a step towards you, and then — the call of your name, familiar, wrapped up in the gravelly tone of a voice too rough to belong to the boy you once knew. But you know it's him, anyway.

"Rin?" you tilt your head to the side, scanning over his features as he stands against the sunlight, soft shadows marking his pale skin. He remains silent, almost stunned as he stands across from you, so you speak again, "It's been a while."

He doesn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a way that suggests one. Rin is wearing a dark windbreaker, hands stuffed into its pockets. There's a loose thread hanging off the cuff around his wrist, a tiny rip of the outer fabric revealing the slight grey beneath. He clears his throat, "Yes, it has been." There's a pause then, neither of you willing to bridge the gap in conversation as the exhaust fans whir quietly.

"How have you been?" Rin asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell him now, flowery and sweet; its lavender, which is what you had remembered him as. In a way, it comforts you — some things will stay the same and stand the test of time, no matter how many years have inched by.

“I’ve been good,” you hum. Truthfully, you haven’t quite been good in a long time. You’ve been alright, you’ve made it from day to day, you pay your bills on time and you see your friends every other weekend; but it’s not good — it's just alright. You don’t think Rin needs to hear that, not after how long it has been since you last heard his voice following after your own.

It's strange to think about how his mother knows your name and your face, knows that you like lemonade with some raspberry in it; how Rin was there to witness the way you got every fading scar on your arms and legs. Standing before him now, you don't even know what his apartment might look like. Your lives, which were once so intricately intertwined, have unravelled and diverged to the point of obscurity.

You've given him the room to say something, continue the conversation or choose to end it, but Rin is quiet as he takes you in. His brows are furrowed, just a shaky line above his dark eyes as watches you fidget and begin to grow uncomfortable under the weight of stare.

This silence is far too heavy of a burden for you to shoulder, so you cut through with a question that seems a bit out of place now. "What are you doing here?"

Your voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was previously in, "I was out on a walk — wandering around, I guess." Rin shuffles even closer and the wind billows, rustling the fabric of his windbreaker. You watch his hair flutter and fall against his forehead.

"I would have thought that you'd be busy all the time, seeing as you're a celebrity now," you say with a soft laugh, twisting the ends of your coat between your fingers while your bag swings gently from side to side in your other hand.

He doesn't seem to like that, gaze sharpening just a bit as his mouth curves into a frown. You chew on your bottom lip, feeling a bottomless pit open up inside of your stomach at the realisation that it's become so much harder to talk to the boy who used to be your best friend. (To talk to the boy who you used to love — who you are willing to love once again.)

It's getting colder as the remaining tendrils of sun slowly disappear, hiding away to make room for the moon to shine. You nod at your apartment, "Would you...like to come inside?" You expect him to say no, after all, the two of you are no longer the people you remember each other to be.

Surprisingly, Rin perks up at your question, firmly nodding once. He follows after you as you walk over to your front door, fishing around the front pocket of your bag for your keys. Rin stands a hair's width away from you, his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck and goosebumps ripple down your arms.

You watch him study your home, scrutinising your choice of decor — the small pictures framed on the walls, magazines and books strewn about — as he takes off his shoes. He seems to be drawn to the picture resting on one of your shelves: it's of you and him, years ago, standing next to each other with smiles full of missing teeth that look more like grimaces. You were hoping he wouldn't notice that one, one of the only pictures you've kept of and from your childhood, but you can't blame him for it either. Had it been you, that picture would have been the first one you noticed too.

"You kept this?" he's nearly whispering as he gently takes the ageing framed photo in his hands.

You rest your bag on the floor, "Yeah. Mom gave it to me right before I moved out." He turns back to look at you and his next words are unspoken, but still so loud.

You hadn't just kept it — you framed it, placed it in your living room for everyone to see. His expression crumbles momentarily, a quiet admission of guilt that settles in the short distance between you. Rin must not have kept much of you with him. He never says it outright, but you know better. Maybe that should leave you feeling bitter but it's somehow exactly what you expected of him.

Has Itoshi Rin changed at all from the last time you saw him? Do you just know him too well?

Dusting off your clothes, you take a deep breath, "It's getting late. Want dinner?"

Rin agrees. Like you were expecting him to.

You've never liked beer.

But you find yourself peering into a glass full of it as Rin settles in across from you. You're still in your work attire, the waistband of your skirt digging into your stomach after your full meal. Rin's left his windbreaker in a crumpled heap of fabric beside his chair, the tip of his finger drawing lines in the condensation forming on his glass. His nails are well-groomed, cut short and clean. They might be better than yours, but that’s because Rin doesn’t pick at his skin like you do. You stare until you think you shouldn’t anymore.

He hasn't gotten up to leave. You haven't kicked him out.

Resting your cheek against your fist, you push yourself forward, closer to him. Your slight movement draws his attention away from the glass, Rin looks up at you as his frown eases up.

"It's strange seeing you," you admit, more open to honesty thanks to your slight state of inebriation. "Strange seeing you after so many years."

"You have that picture," he scoffs, jerking his head in the vague direction of the picture of the two of you as kids.

Scrunching up your nose, you lean back against the chair, "Yeah, but you don't look like that anymore. You're taller and you have too many teeth." You take a sip of your beer, feeling it fizz against your top lip, "And you're probably meaner now."

He startles, looks offended when he throws back whatever's left in his glass. "I'm not mean."

You raise a brow, "You were already pretty mean when you left me." You shock yourself at how easily the words slipped past your lips, how little hesitation there was. How you still sounded so hurt over it all despite having spent years convincing yourself that you didn't miss him. The treacherous muscle beating within your ribcage twists and shakes. It only takes a moment for understanding to soften the glare Rin is giving you. Reaching over, you grab the can of beer to refill his glass, cursing under your breath when you realise it's empty. "I'll get some more — just wait."

You dig around in your refrigerator and you can feel Rin watching. "You're bleeding," he says.

"It's nothing," you wave him off, returning with another cold can.

He shakes his head, "Do you have bandages?"

And so you find yourself with your chest pressed against the cushions of your couch, ankles hanging off the edge. You spare Rin a glance over your shoulder, awkwardness leaving you silent and rigid. He's kneeling beside you, holding two bandages he insisted he get for you from the years old first aid kit stashed away in your medicine cabinet.

"You don't have to do this you know," you mumble, pinching at the inside of your cheek with your teeth. "I could have done it myself."

Rin gently grabs your ankle, his fingers are cold enough to make you jolt. "It's fine," he brushes off your words with nothing more than a grumble. "This could get infected," he adds on as he places the band-aid over the cut.

His hands are on you, fingers wrapped around your ankle almost completely. He skims them over your skin and you suppress a shiver. You think you should tell him that his hands are pretty — that they have always been pretty — but you bite your tongue.

Your cuts don't hurt as much as they had earlier, and the blood surrounding them has dried down. You're sure nothing would have come of it being left uncovered, but Rin seems adamant on doing this simple task for you. You wonder if part of it has anything to do with being labelled as "mean."

He shuffles over to your other ankle, jeans brushing against your rug, as does the same thing. It's been too long since you've been taken care of like this — the feeling has become wholly foreign and you struggle to sit still while Rin smooths out the band-aid over your skin. When he stands up, you twist around and slouch your back against the couch, facing him.

Rin looms over you. He brushes some hair out of his eyes and sits down next to you. "I'm on a break — I'll be around a lot more."

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, "Around to see me?"

And perhaps, you're imagining it, the way he moves closer so that his thigh is pushed up against it. Perhaps, you're imagining how he's leaned into you. Rin's temple makes contact with your shoulder and you exhale.

"Yes," he whispers, looking up at you through his lashes." To see you." You can recognise the guilt swimming in his gaze, leftover from earlier in the evening.

You wish he would just say it — say sorry — but your heart yearns for him regardless of what he's said and what he should have said. It's ridiculous; it was years ago and you should have moved on. (And you know that the only reason it hurt as badly as it did was the fact that you had loved him twice as much when things soured.) You're motivated by the ache you've grown accustomed to when you bring your hand to his hair, digging your fingers in, scratching at his scalp. Much like a cat, Rin goes limp against you and you trace the side of his face with the pad of your thumb.

You try to hide your other hand, feeling somewhat self-conscious about the way you’ve torn it up. Rin reaches for it without a second thought, lacing his fingers together with your own, oblivious to all the rough parts you’ve left behind with your habit.

"What if I don't want to see you?" you question. You don't really mean it — you hope he knows.

You can feel his breath, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he speaks, "I would wait until you said you wanted to."

"Even if that took years?" You pause your movements, hand still in his hair. Rin draws a gasp out from you when he presses a fluttering kiss against your wrist — a nervous kiss, one that tests the waters.

"Even then," he says.

You don't know who leans in first, you want to say it's Rin but you, with your years of yearning, are not to be trusted either. His cold palms cup your face, lips parting against your own, his tongue meeting yours. He kisses you hungrily, eagerly, desperate to make up for years of lost time and memories that were meant to be shared by two but left to be held by just one instead. It almost hurts — when his teeth sink into your lip and you whimper, Rin snaps his eyes open. He licks over where he bit, fingers digging into your cheeks.

You like the feeling of his hands on you. You want them everywhere, you decide. Rin tugs at your collar, unbuttons your shirt quickly, his hands splayed out over your sides and just grazing your bra. It's only then that you pull away, chest heaving as you stare up at him.

"Will you discard me again?" Your voice sounds almost meek in a way; you're afraid of what he might say and of what you might see. Too scared to see him hesitate, too scared to meet his eyes and not see yourself reflected in them.

But Rin's answer is instantaneous. His gaze has darkened some, lust-blown and riddled with the yearning that's been growing in your chest for years. His palm encircles your wrist, the other wraps around your waist chasing purchase. "Never," he says with a kind of conviction that leaves butterflies erupting at your fingertips.

While his hand travels up your back, he kisses you again and this time it feels different. He moves up your wrist, intertwining your fingers once more. You know you have him in all the ways that he has you.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #wr.iting

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thehighladywrites · 6 months

Text

Beneath their smiles

ft. Rhysand

SUMMARY: You find out your friends used you for status, leaving you heartbroken. Rhysand is here for you<3

warnings: swearing, hurt, comfort,fluff, shitty friends, nice revenge.

A/N: Kind of a personal one for me, I used to have shitty friends like this so this was really satisfying to write😋

banners: @cafekitsune

There was nothing in the world that Rhys hated more than seeing you upset.

What could have possibly made his sweet darling this upset? You were sitting in his lap, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. He had one hand supporting your back while the other was drawing soothing circles. You were crying your eyes out, hiccuping, not even managing to talk properly between sobs when he asked what had happened to you.

You sat there for hours, listening to him whisper calming words of love and support. Finally, you looked up to him and the sight broke his heart.

After your crying session, your eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and swollen. Dried tear streaks ran down your face, making you look utterly drained, vulnerable, and sad. His protective instincts upon seeing his mate in such a vulnerable state were going crazy. It made him start making plans to confront whatever or whoever had made his mate cry so much. But Rhysand didn’t push you to speak if you weren’t ready. He knew you’d tell them whenever you were.

You took a steadying breath and spilled everything that had happened before your eyes started to blur again.

"Rhysie, I had the most horrible day ever. My friends completely cut me off for no good reason. They all made secret plans to catch up, and I saw them in front of me, laughing and huddled together. I so so badly wanted to go up to them, but when I got closer, I overheard them say that they weren't going to include me in their plans. They also whispered that I was a burden to you, and that a low-born nobody like me was only useful when getting invited to balls and parties – that our friendship was just a charade for their own amusement. They'd pretended to be my friends, but in reality, I was nothing more than a pawn in their game of social climbing. So, it turns out they were never truly friends; they were just using me for access to the stupid parties they craved. I feel so foolish,Rhys. They always chattered about parties and festivals, but I thought they enjoyed my company. “

He kissed your temple and let you silently cry on his shoulder again. He masked any anger he had, because it wasn’t about his revenge now, it was about comforting you.

“Oh, my sweet darling, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You deserve real friends who appreciate you for who you are, not just for the parties you can provide. You’re such a kind and wonderful person, and this experience with those vermins doesn’t define your worth at all. We’ll get through this together, my love. I promise you’ll find new, genuine friends who will value you for the amazing person you are, and who will see your kind heart and genuine soul. Remember that I’m always here for you, and I love you so much, okay? If you want to, we can banish them.”

You give him a tired smile and let out a sigh of comfort at the feel of love he sends through the bond. He gives you a sweet, loving kiss as he carries you to bed, tucking you to lay with one arm on his chest as you tucked your face in the crook of his neck. He had an arm protectively slung around your waist, keeping you as close as possible.

” Thanks Rhysie, m’so happy to have you forever. I love you s’much. But that’s not necessary, I have something better in mind. “

“ Of course darling, I love you too, can’t wait to hear about this diabolical plan my baby has planned. “

You let out a genuine laugh, and he gives you a last kiss before he pulls you closer. He runs his hands through your hair, as he always does whenever you’re upset, lulling you to a comforting sleep.

- - -

The night was beautiful, millions of starts decorated the dark sky, and the music filled the air. You and Rhysand were hosting an exquisite starfall party in your home. It was a celebration that enhanced the beauty of Velaris. A perfect night for some payback.

As the guests were flown up to The House of Wind, elegant guests in shimmering attire began to mingle with eachother. Among them was all of your friends and family from other courts, like Helion, Kallias and Vivienne, Thesan, Tarquin and so many more joined to celebrate.

Suddenly, at the edge of the entrance, your oblivious friends huddled together ready to dance the night away. Their faces masked with false smiles and ill intentions. They attempted to join the festivities, whispering and snickering, oblivious to the icy glares they received from your inner circle who knew of their betrayal.

However, the sentries, loyal to Rhysand, stood firm. As your friends approached, the guards blocked their path, not allowing them a step further.

"Sorry, but you can't enter," Declan, one of the sentries declared, his voice carrying authority.

Your friends exchanged bewildered glances, their arrogance suddenly shattered by reality. They had always been invites to the High Lords party, what the hell was going on?

"What do you mean?" one of them demanded, her voice tinged with false innocence. "We were invited."

The sentry raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. " We have specific orders to not let you in. In fact if you don’t move, I’ll throw all of you in a holding cell for the night. Move along. ”

Seeing the High Lord's sentinel not wavering their stance, the mean friends grew flustered. They attempted to argue, to demand, to manipulate. But Velaris, under the rule of Rhysand, had no place for those who betrayed and used others for personal gain. Especially not his perfect mate. No, they weren’t ever going to hurt you again.

” I think there has been a mistake. Do you know how we are? We’re friends with the Lady of night, and we’re always invited. So let us speak to Y/N she’ll know who we are. ”

Tired of seeing their pathetic attempts, you drag Rhysand over to them to resolve the situation. But before you can say anything, Rhysand speaks up as he looks at them with disgust and wrath.

"Your actions towards my mate and your Lady are disgraceful. It's clear you've treated her with cruelty and deceit. You've shown a complete lack of respect and compassion. In my city, I value loyalty and kindness, qualities you so clearly lack. Know that I won't tolerate any more harm coming her way, because if any of harrass my mate again, I’ll see to it that it’s the last thing you do.

You’ve been asked to leave once, and you won’t be asked again. This is a night of celebration and unity, not a place for your pathetic attempt at deception. Your presence here is unwelcome, and I will not tolerate any disruption. It’s in your best interest to leave now, before Declan makes good on his word. ”

You look to him with a small smile and say into his mind,

” Thank you honey, I don’t know if I would’ve had the strenght to say all that. I love you so much. ”

” I love you too, but don’t thank me darling, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. ”

Defeated and stunned your now former friends were left with no choice but to retreat, their faces flushed with embarrassment and anger as they slinked away from the entrance, watched by the crowd.

Observing the whole scene you both couldn't help but smile as he tightened his hold on you. He had protected his mate and ensured that the party remained a celebration of true friendships, leaving no room for something other than that.

#rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #acotar

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songsofadelaide · 4 months

Text

Covet

tw/cw: set in 2013, we're in high school, always sleepy female reader, established relationship, fluff, slice of life, mentions of other female students gossiping about reader, making out, dry humping, atsumu going through it, reader trying to prove a point — From where you sat, gently cradled in his arms, you could see why other girls seethed at you in jealousy. His brown eyes drank in your every feature like you were the only thing worth looking at in the world. wc: 2.6k words

Everyone knows that the sleepy second year girl is happily taken by Japan's number one high school setter.

Your relationship goes back a year from now, when you were both first years. Atsumu had found you asleep nearby while he was closing up the gym, book in your hand but your head definitely in dreamland. It wasn't your intention, but you had overslept and woke up at dusk fall, which was way beyond the afternoon time limit you set for yourself.

You walked home together that one time and became fast friends afterwards. He would catch you at the cafeteria and drop a milk box or juice box in your hands from time to time. ("Y'know, to keep you awake, aho," he once told you.) On other days, it was one of Osamu's experimental onigiris. Some days, it would be two or three jelly fruit sticks he obviously nabbed from Suna. His loud laughter whenever he'd tell you a stupid joke would draw everyone's attention to you both until he was unwillingly dragged away by his twin for their next class.

There were rumours spreading around about Atsumu being a heartbreaker, but you thought it was already given seeing as he was popular and had a lot of admirers around him. You never quite understood why he wouldn't date anyone, though. Apart from volleyball and classes, there was nothing else in between for him.

...except there was something. Or someone. Because that's what he'd been telling the girls who confessed to him...

Not that it was any of your business, but if he were seeing someone while also hanging out with you, it would pose a problem because you didn't want any jealous girlfriend on your tail, especially when you just wanted to sleep in peace.

"I think we should stop hanging out with each other too much."

You recalled how red his face went after you told him that while you were on your way home together one time.

"One of the girls from my class said you rejected her because you were already seeing someone. Now I don't wanna be caught up in some vicious love triangle, Miya. You of all people should know that I value my quiet life and I just want to sleep and write in peace—"

"Man, are ya dumb or what?!"

"What?! Why am I suddenly the dumb one here?!"

"Because you are!"

You stared at each other angrily, red-faced and ready to shout again before he finally let out a sigh of defeat.

"Ya really don't get it, do ya?"

"G-Get what?"

When you arrived back home, it was your mother who opened the gate for you, and she was caught entirely by surprise when Atsumu bowed down before her and formally (and nervously) asked if he could start dating you.

(Apparently, your mother and his mother knew each other since they were both part of the same local tea club, so he pretty much had her approval from the get go.)

The fact that you were what was in between his volleyball and classes made you absolutely self-conscious. You had asked him to keep it a secret for the meantime until just recently...

What was supposed to be an unconfirmed rumour finally came to light on your second year, when Atsumu first came to your homeroom to join you for lunch. Seeing him there surprised your classmates, particularly Suna, who jokingly raised the question of dating at his teammate.

"Huh? Yeah, we're dating."

It slipped out of the setter's mouth so smoothly and easily that it completely gave away how long the two of you have been going out.

It was no surprise that some of the girls at school considered you some kind of odd bird when word came out that you were Atsumu's mystery girlfriend. Whispers and murmurs were afloated a lot when the other girls from your class thought you weren't around.

"Maybe he likes prudes?"

"...a sheltered girl from a traditional family..."

"He found her asleep near the gyms. She probably waited for him out there and..."

Locker room talk like this was rampant and it definitely put a dent on your peaceful school life. Yes, somehow every aspect of your relationship with your boyfriend was whispered about, passed around like notes in class. Atsumu was popular in his own right and was often the subject of things you wished you never heard. Things you wished you could shut your ears to.

"Ah, I wish he dated me instead. I'd give him such a good time."

And while you were completely dense to his feelings at first, you knew exactly what the other girls meant when they talked about giving him a good time.

You didn't have the nerves of steel that other girls did when it came to such perverted talk, but you had an iron will to change how such words were being thrown around you so casually. Especially since they were talking about your boyfriend.

Saturdays meant half-day training for the volleyball club and Atsumu found himself invited to your house at the most convenient and curious time. He arrived there still in his club tracksuit, obviously not thinking much about the invitation, but he looked rather unnerved when you opened the gates for him in that airy pale blue sundress with the ribboned straps resting on your shoulders. He followed you in soundlessly as he looked around the compound, looking to greet your family.

"It's unusually quiet here today. Where's your mom and aunts?"

He had taken his seat on the tatami floor of your spacious bedroom, training bag set aside on one corner.

"There's no one else here," you told him, shutting the sliding doors behind you.

"Oh."

You stared at each other for a solid minute, faces slowly turning red at the prospect of finally being able to spend an hour or two completely alone with each other.

"D-Don't stare at me, aho!" You started, cheeks obviously flushed as you stomped towards him.

A chuckle left his lips, a grin finally appearing as he stretched out his hand to reach for you. You gently slid your hand into his and felt yourself be pulled down beside him. Surprisingly, you both let out sighs of relief at the same time, but he could tell that yours was definitely out of defeat.

"Are ya finally gonna tell me what's going on, sweet thing?"

There was no way he could make himself small, even as he sat before you, broad shoulders slightly hunched so he could meet your gaze.

"I'm sure you're aware that you and your brother are pretty popular at school. Everyone was caught by surprise when they found out that we've been dating for quite a while now."

"Yeah, I know that. Are ya hearing any troubling things?"

He reached out to caress your cheek, callused fingers brushing over the warmth of your face. You lowered your eyes, avoiding his gaze as you pursed your lips.

"Sex talk makes you uncomfortable, huh? Especially when it's me they're talking about," he said. "I don't think there's much we can do about that. Ya know how people will still talk about whatever they want."

"I... I don't like hearing how other girls think they can give you a good time. It's annoying," you stated, another sigh of defeat leaving your lips. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't let their words get to me, but it really leaves a bad taste in my mouth whenever I have to play deaf to their words."

"A good... time? Like what? They gonna receive my sets or something?" He said with a laugh as he pulled you into his arms. "Whatever they say won't change the fact that it's you I want."

He couldn't see how your lips curved upward as your cheek collided with his collar. "I love you."

The softness of the way you spoke those words made him tense up for a moment, but he smiled as your eyes met again. "You really put one hell of a love spell on me, ya know."

From where you sat, gently cradled in his arms, you could see why other girls seethed at you in jealousy. His brown eyes drank in your every feature like you were the only thing worth looking at in the world.

"Do you want to, uh, kiss or something?" You asked him, observing the expression on his face. "I mean we've kissed before, but not the, uh..."

"Yeah, I think I get why Samu called this a tasty situation," Atsumu chuckled to himself once again, as he finally came to terms with something. "Sure, sweet thing."

He shifted his sitting position as he gently hoisted you onto his lap while you moved to straddle him, hands on his shoulders.

"Perfect," he stated, the tips of your noses brushing against each other. "All yours."

The boy was smiling as you kissed, obviously delighted with the little sounds you made as your lips moved in sync with his. His hands made their way to your waist and he could feel you trembling.

Ah.

The heat coursing through your body shot up to your head and you hesitantly pulled away from the kiss as you felt callused fingers gently sliding under your skirt, part of which had already pooled around your waist.

"I-Is that your... S-Something's poking my butt."

"Yeah, that's definitely mine," he replied with a lazy grin, holding your gaze. "You don't see anyone else here now, do ya?"

"Right, uh..." You stammered, head too hazy to form a coherent sentence. "Can... Can I move closer? C-Can I move?"

"Stop asking questions, babe, just— Tch."

A low growl through clenched teeth left his mouth as he felt your hands paw at the bulge under his immaculately white track pants, antsy fingers gently shifting the twitching length before sitting down on him, your crotch rubbing against his erection. His fingers sank into your waist as you slowly started rocking your hips against him.

You told yourself that this was the farthest you could go for now, seeing as it took so much courage for you to even start this conversation.

And yet, you couldn't help but applaud yourself for this little achievement, especially after seeing the look of resolve wash away from your boyfriend's face, his expression a mixture of both frustration and pleasure. You coiled your arms around his neck and dove in for an open-mouthed kiss which he met so eagerly.

The afternoon heat and your exchange of heavy breaths made your head go cloudy. Your mind was so fogged that you didn't even realise the soft moans slipping out of your lips and how your hips moved so erratically. Atsumu was staring at your face through half-lidded eyes, a heady, absent-minded smile on his face as he tried to pace his own movement, his fingers digging into your thighs as his own hips instinctively thrust upward.

You felt a warmth pool at the pit of your stomach, the buzzing in your head blocking out everything save for the electrifying pleasure you shared with your boyfriend. Atsumu felt hotter than usual, most probably due to his black training shirt taking in all of his body heat and part of yours as well.

"Ngh... I l-love you so much— ah!"

Your words were drawled out and garbled, but the smile on his face only meant he understood what you said, but he was more focused on the way your body tensed up. You threw your head back as a sharp cry of pleasure escaped your lips, your movements finally slowing to a halt. He rested his forehead on your shoulder and you swore you heard him curse under his breath. You felt his shoulders tense up as well, your fingers gently raking the hair just above his nape to soothe him as his climax concluded as well.

The buzzing in your head was replaced by the sound of your own pulse, the sound of your own blood rushing through your ears making you so self-conscious that you almost pulled away from Atsumu's grip. The same heavy exhales left his mouth as he raised a hand to sweep away the strands of hair that was stuck on your sweat-sheened neck.

"You..." He started. "Look at ya. You're so fucking pretty and those scrubs oughta be jealous."

You cupped his face in both your hands before leaning down to kiss him softly, tears pooling in your eyes as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

"I love you, too," he said, his voice low that it reverberated through your chest. "Only you."

Your aunts found the two of you curled up together comfortably as you dozed off, the sliding doors drawn open to let in the cool afternoon breeze. Your father was oddly suspicious as to why you were wearing a longer dress compared to the flimsier one you had on earlier, but you brushed it off as dressing appropriately for your guest.

Your mother and aunts were laughing and whispering to themselves as they observed the boy placing food over your rice before finally getting some for himself. "My, Atsumu-kun, we're sure she can get her own food, so don't worry and eat up."

"Ah, but I, uh, like doing things for her," he replied with a bashful smile on his face, a hand suddenly on the back of his head. "She does a lot for me, too. I guess I just want to take care of her."

Your father quirked an eyebrow at the younger man's reply, but your mother playfully nudged him. The older women's chattering filled the dining room again, but you paid no mind to their banter. You smiled to yourself as Atsumu stuffed his face with rice and steamed vegetables.

This boy was yours, all right. And you could take care of him way better than anyone else could claim.

Atsumu messaged you when he got home that evening after having dinner with your family, including the part where Osamu teased him for coming home in his spare training shorts.

He was visually surprised when you turned up to school the following Monday wearing the darkest pair of tights underneath your black skirt uniform.

"You probably left welts on her, Tsumu," you heard Osamu tease his twin. "Try not to be so hot-blooded next time."

He wasn't wrong, though.

The girls from your class were surprised when you entered the changing room with them for gym class, even taking the middle locker as you stripped down from your school uniform. You heard the whispers die out as you slid out of the dark tights, revealing fading purple streaks on your thighs and waist which were obviously greedy hand prints left by Atsumu.

"I-It's nice of you to join us today, uh..." one of the girls started, her eyes flitting from the bruises to the calculating look on your face. "You rarely change with us whenever it's time for gym class."

A soft hum left your lips as you pulled up your hair to a ponytail, revealing a single love bite just below your right collarbone. You smiled at them coolly, allowing them to gaze and gape at the little love bruises printed on your body.

"Looks like you had a fun weekend," another girl remarked, the verve in her voice gone as she eyed the red and violet bruise on your chest before finally looking away.

You got into your gym uniform and stretched your arms upward, feeling absolutely accomplished as you made your point without even speaking yet. All eyes were on you again as you spoke rather happily. "Ah, thanks. Atsumu and I had a great time. Anyway, I'm heading out first. Nice to talk to you."

The girls' changing room was oddly quiet whenever you were there afterwards.

Author's Notes: Happy new year, friends and folks! May we all have a prosperous one. During my short break, I decided to read some of my old work and thought of publishing a select few - my favourite ones and some which I thought were pretty bold pieces, this one included. Atsumu is one of my favourite dark horses, one I never thought I'd like so much. This is part of my older HQ series on AO3, Dreams of Fire Trees and Silver Moons. I can still recall how much I enjoyed writing this, though I was a little doubtful about it. I hope enjoyed reading this one just as much. 💛

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#mari's archive 🌴#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu x female reader #high school kids doing high school kid things #making outtt my gosh how very juvenile lol #pls send help lol

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fiapartridge · 2 months

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Can I get Quinn Hughes prompt ⭐️ to the song Grave by Tate McRae?

quinn hughes x reader

summary: you could never be what quinn wanted, so you decided to be nothing at all.

fia’s notes 💌: suuuper angsty but i love this song and i love tate mcrae!! quinn’s an asshole in this tho so.. sorry!

You were tired. You were tired of waiting for Quinn to come back home, hoping that he would be there before you fell asleep. You were tired of arguing and straining your voice only to get distant nods and unfilled promises. You were just tired—of everything. Because as much as you try, and try, and try, you could never make him want you the way you wanted to be wanted.

So you downed shots and wore a skimpy red dress and let your friends drag you halfway across town without a single care in the world. Because if he could do that, then you could too.

Four shots in, your phone buzzed in your purse as you rolled your eyes at the notification. There were 30 texts and 9 missed phone calls from Quinn. You wanted to shout at him and kiss him and walk out of his life all at once. You wanted to tell him that you were done being a second choice; that boyfriends were made to love you and protect you and be there for you, but he wasn’t that in the slightest.

And the one time you decide to choose something for yourself, the one time you decide to go out instead of holing yourself in his apartment, missing another hangout with your friends, or skipping on your sister’s invites to have dinner because you had this hope—this false hope—that he would be there if you just waited, but you were done with waiting. You were done with Quinn Hughes.

Which made you almost want to laugh when you saw him barrelling through the entrance of the bar, fury lacing his veins and an angry expression that made you chuckle to yourself. He was so ridiculous. What right did he have to stomp in here and ruin your night? He has been nothing but a ghost to you these past couple of months, and for the last week, you swallowed your pride and you took it because you were just so tired.

But you were awake now and you weren’t going to make that mistake again.

Quinn’s hand gripped yours, dragging you towards the exit. “I called you all fucking night. I was worried sick about you,” he chided, though his anger faltered for a moment when he realized you weren’t walking with him.

Your feet were planted in place as you ripped your hand away from him. “You were worried sick about me?” you scoffed. He always had this way of talking that made you think he meant it. But you were delusional little you anymore. “Do you know how fucking draining it is to be with you?”

He tongue swiped his bottom lip as he held out his hand for you. “Don’t start this shit here, Y/N. We’re going.”

To Quinn’s surprise, you laughed. You laughed right in his face because— you were always just a thing to him. You held no value other than being someone that’s there for him no matter what he did. You weren't in a relationship, and he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t his love. No, you were something to rely on even when he didn’t deserve it. You were an object that did what it was told.

That was all you ever were to him.

“Admit it, Quinn, you only want me when you know you can’t have me. You didn’t care where I was, or how I was doing, or any of that. Admit it, Quinn!” you argued, shoving him lightly.

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, taking a hold of your wrist as you stepped back, tears lining your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. You’re causing a scene, we’re going home.”

You swung your arms out wide. “No! No, I’m tired of being your little puppet, because it’s the truth isn’t it?” you shook your head, your voice drawing down to a whisper as you slowly walked closer to him. “You are so pathetic, you know that? I waited every single night for you, and you never came. You gave me nothing. And I’ve been trying and trying to figure out what I did wrong, but it wasn’t me, was it, Quinn?”

He didn’t respond, too busy trying to keep his head held high with all of the wandering gazes as you pelted bullet after bullet at him. Quinn, above all, had a reputation to uphold, and this was eating him alive.

You chuckled as you watched him eye the spectators in the bar. Even when you were screaming at him and ripping your lungs out, trying to get every single emotion and every single feeling you’ve been dealing with for the past three months out, he still couldn’t pay attention to you.

“You are the problem, Quinn. In every single aspect of your life, it is you. And I hope I never have to see you again.”

#> fias 600 celly! ★#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks

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chrollohearttags · 11 months

Text

toxic!armin is the type of person that lacks values and a sense of responsibility. To him, he is always skating through life with no plan or pause..letting the chips fall where they may. Meaning, he also has little to no regard for others and their obligations. Something you learned quickly, once you began ‘dating’. Which was translation for him bumming around your house. “Arminnnn..oh my God—fuck.” “Yeah, I know. I know…this dick feels good, doesn’t it?” Nodding your head in response. Because at the moment, he had your leg hiked up on the bathroom counter; positioned in front of the mirror with a hand around your throat because you had just styled your hair as he fucked you from behind. Hitting it from the back, and killing your shit. Which is something you’d normally appreciate, seeing as how sex was all he was good for. But yet again, here he was getting you entangled in his nonsense. You had to be at work in less than thirty minutes and attending an important business meeting to boot. Having just gotten promoted and doing wonderful things. That meant nothing to him though..not when he was lying across the bed, still in his boxers as he aimlessly glared at the TV..watching you get dressed for the day. You couldn’t even make it to your outfit when he spotted that sexy black lace bra and panties and couldn’t resist his urges. Hoping to help you start your day off right by kneeling in front of you, making a trail of kisses down your stomach..not even bothering to take those panties off as he ate you out through the thin material. Nibbling and feasting at your soaked cunt as if he were a man starved. Sucking on that clit and reaching up to grope your breasts through the bra cups. “Baby…shittt! I don’t have time for thisss.” Drawing your moans out in whiny huffs. “You’ll be fine. Just a few more minutes, promise.” Letting those pretty blue eyes glare up at you. Not helping matters any when he started telling you how good you tasted or how much he loved you. Disrespectfully devouring your pussy before spinning you around to post up at the mirror. “I just want you to see how beautiful you look today.” Tugging those underwear to the side as he begged to only stick the tip in. Knowing it was a blatant lie, you went along with it anyway. Bouncing back and forth on his cock, impaled from those rough strokes. Having already made you come once..forming a puddle underneath your unsteady, trembling feet. “I’m gonna be so late messing with you…but you fucking this pussy so good!” Crying out for more as you clawed the marble countertop. Feeling that tip poke at your sensitive core..and just as you felt as if you were reaching yet another climax, Armin beat you to the punch. Releasing a loud cry and his load; housing it inside of your needy cunt. That’s when he’d lean forward and whisper to you..nibbling at your ear.

“Just wanted to send you off with something special, sweetheart. Have a good day at work.”

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screamingcrows · 7 days

Text

Tomorrow - Dottore x reader

Note: Dottore isn't his usual self here, I'm aware. This is meant to be with my so far unknown to everyone OC, but this scenario fits x reader format. Written in Tumblr drafts as I lay in bed. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending Trypanosoma brucei after you.

Tags: comfort?, soft, gn reader, skin to skin contact happens twice that's it, they are not in a romantic relationship (yet), pining

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

You'd never had reason to set foot in The Second's chambers, had never imagine you would either. It made the intimacy of this moment far greater than you cared to process. He was heavy when he leaned against your smaller frame, one arm slung across your shoulders for support.

Both of you remained quiet while Dottore fumbled with his keys, your eyes flickering to his gloved hand. It still trembled. How long had he been awake by now?

It had been at least four days since the door to his laboratory had been open to anyone but his segments. Not even you had been allowed in, a sentiment that made everyone uneasy. And he despised sleeping in there.

It had always infuriated you how he failed to maintain his own body. The act should theoretically hold the same value as any other system maintenance. Theory and practise rarely aligned, a fact you knew by heart.

A gentle nudge against your shoulder set your body in motion, pushing open the door and leading your superior inside.

It had a surprisingly homely feel to it, causing your steps to falter briefly as you looked around. Most of the furniture was fashioned from dark wood, creating an almost intimate feeling. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, an occasional ornament lingering amongst the tomes.

His desk looked well worn, polish having long since matted. A smile tugged at your lips, it resembled him in many ways.

Your musings were cut short when Dottore shifted his weight, pulling away from your body with a slight groan. His hands rubbed at his lower back, a habit you'd observed despite countless claims that nothing somatic was ailing him.

"Don't"

It was a simple command, his voice a little rougher than usual. The fact that he hadn't asked you to leave threw you off.

"Is there anything you need, Doctor?"

Dottore mumbled something under his breath, making you sigh in defeat. Even now, undoubtedly at his weakest point in a long time, there was no real aid for you to provide.

Uncomfortable with merely standing around, you went to draw the curtains, leaving only a tiny crack for natural light to enter. It made the situation worse, heat pooling in your gut at the sheer familiarity of the gesture.

Dottore had sunk to his knees when you turned back around. His face was pressed into the edge of the mattress, the characteristic mask discarded on the ground.

His hair had grown to an unruly length. When had he become this unkempt? Your fingers itched to run through those locks.

"Doctor, if there's nothing I can do, I'll take my leave"

The gloves had been discarded as well. No matter how many times you saw his hands it didn't ease the sting behind your eyes. It looked painful. Burnt skin, thin scars, and crooked fingers all spoke of a past best buried. His back straightened at the sound of your voice.

"Tomorrow. It'll be finished tomorrow"

A cryptic message, but you didn't feel like prodding. Not with how he seemed to dwindle in the darkness. His hands moved to unbutton the blue shirt, letting it unceremoniously fall to the ground.

"Okay?"

Your feet carried you closer against your will. The curiosity he praised you for would forever remain a curse.

His skin looked ashen. A trick of the light no doubt, that much should be logical. It didn't help the unease feeling spreading through you.

"Come by tomorrow. The laboratory. I must show you."

With every word his shoulders slumped further. He was as muscular as you'd expected, perhaps even more so with how little sustenance you saw him consume.

Objectively, he was beautiful. Subjectively, you could hardly process the sight. Outstretched hand already reaching towards him. He tensed when your palm made contact, his skin surprisingly warm.

Scars ran across his shoulders and back, oh how you yearned to map them and hear their stories. His was a life lived.

In a moment of folly, you pressed your lips to his shoulder, feeling it rise with the sharp intake of breath.

"Tomorrow then."

You left his chambers with practised nonchalance, your gait a mirror of The Second's. You could still taste his skin on your lips. Had your faith been intact, you would have prayed tomorrow never came. Tonight would have been enough.

#il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore #zandik #dottore x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact #crow with a pen #x female reader

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artmunstudios · 7 months

Text

Lies of P Character Analysis: P and Carlo

Spoilers for the ending of the game lie ahead under the cut!

I have been seeing a lot of people refer to P as Carlo, specifically in the Rise of P ending, and I think it is very important to think about this fact, because it kind of goes hand in hand with the themes of the game overall. And on top of that, it's important for when making theories too!

P isn’t Carlo—he never was, and won’t ever be no matter what ending you get. Not even the Nameless Puppet is really Carlo. (His corpse maybe which is,,,,, so fucked)

I'm kinda driving this home, because I think it is really important to understand the difference between P and Carlo, because despite Geppetto claiming that P inherited his personality instead of the memories, they clearly are very different people, and that is solely because of their environments.

He’s much more like a reflection of Carlo, if he was raised in a more loving/nurturing environment. P is a Carlo that isn’t solely filled with nothing but spite and anger towards his father that literally abandoned and clearly even resented him. Compare this to the people around P at the home he knew, Hotel Krat.

Sofia— Never once really says a bad word to P. Not even in the bad ending. She is that gentle guide that, despite claiming to have awakened P for selfish reasons, acts entirely selfless and is willing for her freedom to be put on hold to help P in aiding in lessening the damage in Krat. She compliments him, gives encouraging words, and I would even dare to say she teaches P the value of life.

Antonia— Grandma. Of. The Year. Can we please give this classy lady of all sass and glory more than a peaceful death? Like???? I dunno, sneak her a bottle of that good wine, Tipple Lady seemed to really dig it. If she wasn't so sick I am more than certain that she would have been doting on P more than just verbally. I'm talking that kind of grandma, and you know exactly what I mean. This lady would somehow find a way for there to be ingredients for cookies because goddammit, she may be classy but I bet you any money she makes the best goddamn peanut butter cookies and YOU CANNOT TELL ME OTHERWISE. Every time P would come back all dirty, he would get the scolding of a lifetime because how many times does she have to tell him to leave that dirty coat and boots at the entry and let Polendina get them for a wash— And finally, if she were well enough you know damn well P would have been even more classy than he already was with those outfits. She would spend an entire day going through wardrobes and having P try each outfit on to see what looks good, because no grandson of hers is going out in drabs she will not have it— Ahem. Er. ANywayyy...that grandma. she would be that grandma. And still kind of is, she just couldn't do much being so ill. And, kind of on the flipside, I think Antonia in a way taught P the importance of death, and how it can be drawing near, but you can still be full of hope like she was.

Polendina and Pulcinella — These two taught P a very important lesson, and even taught it to him fairly early on! Puppets are not inherently evil; in fact, they can be just as alive as any human. They both love the ones they take care of, and provide that sense of kinship that P really needed. In a way, P is biracial (racial....or...????bispecies???? I????? I don't know what to call it?????) so seeing both sides of each half in him is such a great influence, and helps him realize that he may be different to both, he can belong in both worlds.

Eugenie— Sweetie. Babygirl. Bestie. She was thrown into the position of big sister so fast she didn't even realize it until like. The end of the game, I think. That conversation about her big brother seemed to make her realize that she was a big sister to P in a way, I think. Which is why the realization about her own older sibling made things much harder, I think.

Lorenzini— An eccentric, but genuinely kind hearted man. A human, that despite everything, still treats the puppets as family. Hell, he doesn't even convinced that they are the villains, and he is the one to actually initiate the whole path to when the group discovers that Geppetto is the one behind the frenzy. 1000/10, coolest uncle; he probably will buy P so many ridiculous things the moment things have calmed down in Krat. What's that? Oh, yes you need a place to stay--HAVE A HOUSE. DO YOU WANT THE BLOCK I CAN BUY YOU A BLOCK-- (Pulcinella has to withhold finances because Lorenzini will NOT stop buying P shit, and the poor lad doesn't really have a concept of money so of course he's gonna accept it all and just say yes!) .... (The realization of P not really having a concept of currency suddenly startles me. WHAT IS HE GONNA DO WHEN KRAT IS RESTORED??? POLENDINA WHY DID YOU RESET HE NEEDS FUCKIN HELP— )

Geppetto— Ah. Yes. Rat bastard (derogatory). Deadbeat dad. Control freak. YOU. I will. Give him this, and I do genuinely mean this; despite everything he has done, and how manipulative he is, he, ironically, gave P exactly what he needed from a father in some ways. Specifically, Geppetto always reminded P that he was precious and important to him, and that he genuinely did not like sending him out into dangerous situations. Even though, it was for different reasons, and the majority of us were suspicious from the start, we have to think about it from P's perspective. Think about all the things he said to him, until the end at least. P had legitimately no reason to suspect Geppetto. In many ways, as far as P could tell, he was perfect. Encouraging, gentle, he made sure P was always in tip-top shape, and he told him that he was proud to see him fight the King of Puppets (yes it's fucked up knowing it was Romeo, Carlo's possible only friend, but again, P doesn't know that until the very end). In a way, he taught P his own worth, to the point that he valued his own individuality, and refused to give up his sense of self. And in the very end, I think Geppetto realized that P was not Carlo, but he loved him like a father, despite everything.

Gemini (I FORGOT GEMINI AND HAD TO EDIT TO ADD HIM IN CAST ME INTO THE FUCKIN FIRE I AM A FAKE PINOCCHIO LORE FANATIC) - Gemini, in my opinion, in this iteration is less of a conscious and more of a??? He's kinda like Romeo's replacement, in a way; he's P's best friend. He kinda also teaches P humor as well, which is honestly a take on the talking Cricket that is so unique. He's like that awkward teacher that is young but still a little out of touch with the generation he's teaching that it's like the equivalent of hearing your 30 something professor tell a fucking dad pun. Speaking of teaching, he teaches P a lot! Especially history, and cultural stuff for Krat; and I think that's also really important for development! And it is really sweet how he still, despite Krat being in disarray, tries to kinda give the city that sense of wonder and joy for P that maybe other tourists would have.

Now, contrast that with Carlo's life:

His father drops him off randomly at a place he doesn't know (a fucking orphanage dude, you couldn't even be fucked to ship him to a proper private school at least Geppetto?) at we can assume age 10-12, without even bothering to tell him when or if he would come back, based on that first memory we see. How many more sleeps until daddy comes back? Geppetto couldn't even be bothered to see his graduation, and he claims that he would not care if he just dropped over dead. And, I'm gonna be real, just based on the line delivery, as well as some personal experiences (get into that a little later with some dissection) I fully believe he means it. I'm gonna be real, the people who say stuff like that, specifically older kids edging adulthood, most of the time they really mean that shit. And, to make matters worse, it's not even just Geppetto that brushes him off, even people that you could argue are supposed to be mentor figures, brush him off. But we don't know enough yet about the Stalker Woman, so I won't go too deep into that. Right to his death (which we have to assume was homicide) it seemed like the entire world, but Romeo, rejected him.

In a way, it makes sense that the Nameless Puppet is just a rage-filled, calculating, killing machine when it gets P's heart. It doesn't inherit the personality, just the memories. And that, with the kind of life Carlo lived, makes for a very dangerous being.

Let's also think about what Giangio said, too. He calls P a new kind of human. P doesn't just magically get human guts and whatnot. He's not human, he's a cyborg, I suppose, but even that doesn't seem entirely right. It's just kinda as Giangio calls him; a new kind of human. I guess, if we want to get cheeky, P is a Legion Human. Carlo was human, and that's just how it was. Carlo never comes back, but the memory of him does seem to live on in P. He's like??? He starts off as a reflection, and ends up becoming a legacy to Carlo, in a way.

But there is one huge indicator yet that shows that P and Carlo are separate people.

I'm gonna be honest, and say potentially a bold take, but I genuinely don't think Carlo would have cried if he were there when Geppetto dies, I really don't. Just speaking from personal experience (yet again), I have an absentee parent that, the older I get, I kind of realized was never really in my life. Similar to Geppetto in a way, too, in the concept of wanting more of a concept rather than actually being a parent. So, just speaking from that perspective, if my absentee father who never bothered to get to know me or even cared about who I was as a person died in such a way (lowkey from his own hubris) I can't say it's realistic to think that someone with that kind of relationship would cry for that parent. Feel sad? Absolutely, it's not like you are heartless and just lose all sense of apathy for that person. But it's hard to really mourn for a stranger at worst, and a associate at best.

However, P does cry. More than that, when you see him curl over Geppetto's body in the true end, that right there, is fucking despair. Again, just kind of speaking from experience, your body does some weird shit to cope when you are upset over a death. You kinda revert back to that state of being a kid, wanting to coddle your precious thing because when you were at that age, you believed that things could be fixed with stuff like a hug, or cradling, etc. It's not a conscious thought, but that is part of the reflex. P holds Geppetto, the man that he genuinely sees as his father, close; because it's the only thing he knows what to do in that moment. If we think about Carlo and Geppetto's relationship, can we really see Carlo holding his father close like that?

TLDR: P and Carlo are two entirely different people; and it is almost solely because of the environments they were in.

#artmuns rambling #character analysis #lies of p #lies of p analysis #none of you saw that deleted reblog #nope #i read something wrong in that analysis #but i still liked what i had so I made it its own post #theory time

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icosaur · 1 year

Text

Lascivious aftertaste

Ghost x FemReader one-shot

smut, mentioning of sexual stimulants, unprotected vaginal sex, mutual pinning type of thing, no y/n mentioning

3k words

summary: a cookie with a side of cock🤚

~~~

Even though a tight-lipped lieutenant byname equally as mystique as the person it belonged to - Ghost, didn't do anything in particular to deserve heart eyes, his, camouflaged by constant serious demeanor charisma could be felt through the walls if he wished for it to be so, which was still a rare occurrence. Through the silly jokes, he was carefully letting his guard down from time to time in a circle of proxies, having no fear of showing his real personality sealed up by a series of disturbing events happening throughout his life.

Sometimes, sometimes it was a different person, which never failed to surprise you or other members of the team he was the head of. Exactly the personality that he let slip carefully and little by little in person made you admire him not only as the leader but as the man outside of the workfield as well. There was adoration and something else, something more potent that you tried to put an end to. Still, being unfortunate to do so - you let yourself gingerly stare at him ever so often, imagining some blush-granting scenarios known to you only.

A crush, that's what it was. As simple as that. What wasn't unsophisticated - was the man this crush was directed to. A walking enigma, that's what he was. As time went by, sending you mixed signals wasn't an infrequent incident, but no matter how hard you tried, you failed to perceive their intended meaning. If there even was an intentional value to his actions.

Sly, scrutinized glances thrown your way between-times were confusing enough to be tentative of the hidden messages behind them. Again, what if this was your way of comprehending the situation, and there was nothing besides your delusion? Not to ruin the already stable platonic relationship with your little dreams - the decision to leave it like this was made, despite absolutely hating leaving things incomplete.

"Oh, a cookie!" the delicious-looking confectionery was wrapped in some kind of see-through plastic envelope the size of the product it contained. A repetitive pattern of green and red polka dots decorated the outer side of the wrapping. Small enough dots were revealing the product inside - a round shaped, the size of a palm cookie had frosting on top of it: a Christmas tree. Under the tree was a phrase written in cursive, red letters.

"Happy Christmas ;)" a winking face summarized the innocent design.

Finding a Christmas-themed cookie before Christmas could be a coincidence, but not this time; obviously left there as a little surprise for the first one to find by someone else on the base on the eve of the holiday. Just before your hands took the cookie, inspecting the glazed, shiny drawing, Ghost appeared in the same kitchen on the base. Walking you by with his eyes glued to the back of the figure standing near the table, he spread out the weary body on the sofa.

"What is that?" his gaze inspected your inquired face over the shoulder.

"Gaz probably decided to leave little treats for us again," you returned the glance, "remember last year?"

Last year, for Christmas, your teammate named Gaz receiving the captain's Price approval - hid small gifts all over the base to be found randomly, hoping to uplift the spirit after numerous troublesome tasks.

"Again," out of earshot, a scoff followed the words once Ghost relaxed his body on the same sofa, focusing on some comedy show the TV broadcasted.

"I mean," having a little idea of sharing the cookie with Ghost as a sign of expressing respect, you made your way to the couch slyly, "I like this idea, why not?"

Disregarding the additional text on the backside of the packaging, the cookie was quickly unwrapped and broken in half, distorting the enameled drawing on it. The bigger half served on your palm reached out to the man once your body silhouette appeared next to him sitting with your legs crossed, planting a confused look on his face. After a second of silent negotiations inside his head, his fingers hooked up the edge of the cookie, accepting your offer. Pulling the mask up and leaving it scrunched on his nose, never taking his eyes off you already tasting the treat, the cookie appeared between his lips as he bit off a small chunk of it. Making sure the flavor was to his liking, another bite was taken. Then another and another. Same with you. Simply savoring the pastry in silence for a while, you also enjoyed the company of your L.T.

"Does it taste fine to you?" all of a sudden, a question hovered over you as his eyes, with a hint of concern, inspected the presented by you cookie between his fingers. A second of silence once you swallowed the remains of it and wiped the corners of your mouth to ensure no crumbs were on your lips.

"Yeah, why?" you shook your hands off and jammed them in your armpits, as the last bit was chewed behind your cheek while you watched him hesitate to finish the cookie for a while.

"It's just," his velvety voice slightly hitched as he spoke, "I don't know, a strange aftertaste," Ghost was visibly confused, like he was trying to understand what exactly was off.

Just a bit later, feeling the twirling sensations in your stomach, you agreed to the fact it was weird.

"Maybe it was expired?" the twirling inside got stronger, speeding up both of your breathing simultaneously. Giving you an annoyed look in reply to the fact you fed him an expired cookie, the last part of it stayed untouched in his grasp. Guiltily shrugging, you started to worry; it was your fault you both felt unwell. Ghost sit up straight, clearing his throat with quiet coughing, feeling the temperature in the room arise, wreathing both your bodies to the same extent.

Looking around hectically, not realizing what in the world was happening, you grabbed the crinkled-up plastic wrap left on the coffee table to locate the expiration date with your darting eyes but found a little disclaimer under the compounds of the pastry instead.

"Fuck.." with your hand covering your mouth, you glanced at the man, whose chest was rising up and down, unable to hold the heavy breaths inside. Just now, you noticed the pillow covering his lap. He returned a concerned look, blinking excessively.

"What?" a question was exhaled as his hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"Warning! This aphrodisiac cookie should be only consumed by legal adults. Consume carefully, or not ;)," reading the disclaimer out loud, you just now realized what you two ate. Feeling the embarrassment fill your face with a reddish tint, your head fell low to hide the apparent fluster. The usual solidity of the gallant lieutenant was loosened, as the ardor, ignited by a substance alleged to increase sexual desire was storming inside his warmed-up body, as the realization of you being equally as turned on as he was at the moment seeded it's way into his consciousness.

"How long does it last?" trying to stay calm, his voice adopted some rasp to it after yet another throat-clearing cough. His body tensed up so hard he turned into a living statue.

Noticing his softer-than-usual eyes inspecting you up and down, shifting on the other side of the couch, wiping the sweaty hands on the pants covering your legs, made you even more embarrassed for cluelessly creating a stupid situation like this. Deciding it's better to flee and calm down far away, you turned to face the man. His lips parted, chest still rising up and down visibly.

"I don't know. I guess I'll go," squeezing your thighs together and hoping it stayed unnoticed, you stood up, keeping your eyes down.

"Yeah, me too," Ghost stood up at the same time as if he was waiting for you to proceed with something first. Little did you know, he waited for an affirmative sign from you but received an obvious decline in reply.

Still keeping the pillow at the crotch level, he appeared in front of you, stagnating in the same place. Not realizing he blocked the way for you and trying to hurry out of the forced closeness, he tripped over the coffee table, knocking you down with his weight. The back of yours met the soft surface of the couch with a little yelp escaping your throat at the suddenness. A considerable figure hovered over not to smother you to death. Your breathing now mixed as you watched him with wide eyes, trying to read the emotion and thoughts his gaze was projecting. As soon as your brain registered the fact that he was closer than ever, the stimulated heat between your thighs grew stronger. His explicit erection poking your thigh made matters worse, more intense. The change in his eyes was more visible as they darted between your eyes and lips.

The overwrought filled you both up to the brims, and holding back was an impossible torture neither of you could deal with anymore. Simultaneously leaning in, the distance was closed as your lips connected in a passionate, longed for kiss. Your hands rushed to hold onto his neck as his hands worked their way all over your shaking, excitated body. Merged groans jumbled with intoxicated wet sounds of your mouths connecting and disconnecting filled the vicinity, not caring enough to be caught. As a matter of fact, this just doubled the effect. Groaning heavily, he couldn't get enough of the sweet taste his lips were devouring. Legs, wrapped around his waist, forced your hips to thrust forward to grind against his crotch, what he took as a sign to proceed. Sliding his hands under your shirt, he squeezed your breasts, feeling the erect nipples with his thumbs. Swiftly undoing your pants, he pulled them off erratically; the arousal scent coming from you poisoned his already cloudy consciousness even more. His hands shaky once they touched your hips, grabbing a handful of your skin painfully.

"I can't wait anymore," your hands rushed to undo his belt, not breaking yet another messy kiss, creating strings of saliva between your mouths. Leaving the pants to hang on his thighs, he let his swollen dick out of the fabric entanglement. Standing on his knees, with his head thrown back, you watched him stroke his raging erection several times. As soon as his eyes locked onto you - there was no way back. The ominous gaze of his was projecting devilish hunger. The hunger he could only pacify by jerking off to an image of you in his mind in the shower. The desire was pending up more and more every time, and finally, his filthy dreams came true. Your exposed, needy for him body before his eyes wasn't enough to nourish the heated lust engulfing him entirely. He needed to feel you, to touch you, to kiss you - anything that meant being close, nearer than usual.

Roughly pulling you in by your thighs closer to him, he glanced at you one last time in case you changed your mind. Seeing the lower lip squeezed between your teeth, how your back arched and hips wiggling in agitation, there were no unnecessary doubts - you two wanted each other more than ever.

"Please, Simon, fuck me already," all the emotions and feeling he had suppressed this whole time, scared of being rejected by you, were spilling out of him with inhumane force hearing your begging. Spreading your legs wide open after quite literally ripping off your soaked panties, he positioned himself at your aching hole waiting to be destroyed. You imagined him naked a couple of times before, but his size was much bigger than you expected. Sliding fully into your warm pussy wrapping around him tightly, made him growl against your covered with goosebumps neck. Vibrations left on your skin were doubling this man's effect on you. Like an animal, wild desire took over his blurred mind. Pounding the last bits of sanity out of you, like it was his last day on Earth, the tip of his dick almost reached your cervix, sending shockwaves of satisfaction with each tearing-apart push. Unable to produce any sounds, your mouth fell agape as the frown on your face forced your eyes shut. Shifting on the couch from the force he was shoving himself deeper in your overstimulated body with, you held onto his shoulders tightly, not to slide off the same couch. Thrust after thrust made your head fall back as much as it could, almost hanging off the edge of the sofa. Starving for some sexual closeness, the man was besmeared with lust which was doubled by your equally as starved self. The whimpers and almost inaudible moans were feeding his ego a little too much. Realizing the issue he was causing by thrusting so hard that your head was dangling already, another idea popped up.

Tearing himself away from your neck, he pulled out his moistened with your liquids dick. Watching your confused face as to why he stopped, his hand roughly grabbed you under your thigh to flip your body like it was a feather. Propping you on your knees by your hips, his knee separated your legs again, gifting your throbbing clit some attention in the form of circular motions, with his index and middle finger wet with the fluids dripping down his hand. Pushing your head deeper between the pillows to muffle the moans, he scooted closer, and after he positioned his tip at your entrance, he forced himself inside fully again. Destroying you both from inside with his cock and outside with his fingers, the pleasure was too much to handle adequately. Already overstimulated from that goddamn cookie, the orgasm washed over you with such vigorous intensity it forced the tears to form, wetting your eyes and cheeks quickly as the tears were smudged by the pillows. Feeling and seeing you squirt all kinds of fluids all over him, he went harder, slapping his lower abdomen against your ass with deep thrusts.

"Fucking hell, you are dripping all over me," some of the thrusts were so forceful you had to press your hands to the armrest of the couch to prevent your head from hitting against it. Your legs were giving up at this point, so his huge hands grabbed you by your waist to keep forcing you to fit the entire length of his twitching dick inside, rubbing on your sensitive from friction walls with the girth appurtenant his cock. Due to your body relaxing, his dick accidentally slipped out a couple of times; he grabbed your leg under the thigh and held it securely, leaving it hanging off his forearm, for him to penetrate you again. He watched himself disappear in your worn out at this point pussy, seeing the veins appear around his wet length engorged with streaming bloodflow.

"You're taking me so well, hold on a little bit more," some incoherent babbling, knowing he's close due to you spasming on his cock in addition, his voice stuttered, as well as his hips. Slowing down because the tiresome got ahold of his body already as well, he managed to push a couple more deep thrusts, tearing your sore walls, before he pulled out and released his cum all over your ass with a loud, shameless groan, scarring his throat with the hoarseness. The last bits of fluids flowing out of you dripped down your thighs as your legs finally gave up, and your stomach plopped on the couch underneath. Immediately, you felt some type of fabric wipe the semen off your body. Leaning on your shaky elbows, you managed to turn around and see the now maskless man use his mask to clean the mess up. His hands snaked around your waist, helping you get up to disappear from the kitchen unnoticed; some soft kisses were left on your neck again as his eyes never left your face. Thanks to the night-time, the intercourse stayed a secret for only two of you to know of.

Strolling on wobbly legs from Ghost's room the following early morning, your hearing picked up rustling sounds coming from the kitchen. Your gaze fell upon Soap, looking through the stuff in the kitchen when his attention was brought to you entering the range of vision.

"What you looking for?" the question assisted as the conversation starter, curious about what he was searching for so thoroughly.

"Have you seen a Christmas biscuit anywhere?" he stood straight, forming a round shape with his hands repeating the form of the thing he was looking for, "I forgot it here yesterday and I can't find it now."

Speechless, your eyes widened slowly, blinking as a silent reply. The grip on the cup you were holding, became stronger, as a recollection of the last night bloomed in your memory. Unexpectedly strong effect of the aphrodisiac provided a couple more rough rounds, but in Ghost's room, therefore having no fear of being as loud as your heart desired; and discovering each other's kinks was the highlight of the night.

"No, I haven't. Maybe someone took it," a shrug and poor excuse were all you could give him. Clearly disappointed, he leaned on the table with his other hand on his hip.

"Tsk, I wanted to prank Ghost with it," biting his lower lip in annoyance, he whispered, making sure no one else could hear his failed plan.

"Prank Ghost?" playing along not to give away the actual reason for the sudden disappearance of the cookie, you whispered back curiously.

"Yes, it's an aphrodisiac cookie," he chuckled, "well, I guess whoever ate it had a great time," slapping his thighs with both hands, he shrugged defeatedly and walked out of the kitchen, passing you by. Your eyes followed the man leaving the room, and there you were - flustered and fighting back the smile appearing on your face against your will.

Who would've known - one cookie solved a whole misunderstanding.

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merbear25 · 2 months

Text

Been thinking a lot about Caesar...

Been thinking about how difficult it'd be to set your suspicions aside. Despite his calming and inviting demeanor, his actions deteriorate those around him—decay and peril extending out of his finger tips.

A talented mind being applied to such chaos and suffering: when paired with a wide grin, doubt in his sincerity blanketed over you. Fearing what could happen if you were caught off guard, planning precautions ensued. However, he'd be keeping an eye on you, even when you thought you were alone.

You were refraining from getting too close to him; you'd witnessed too many fall victim to having the life sucked out of them or being overly trusting, leading them to nightmarish experiments. Naivete was acting as an opiate—omitting any sense to resist, making them malleable.

Keeping track of what exactly set him off, you'd jot each one in your notebook. In doing this, you were picking up on certain habits of his, which were ones that might be seen as endearing if it were anyone else: babbling to himself if he made a careless miscalculation, how animated he'd get around certain people, and the way he threw his hair up in a huff while working.

Danger comes in all shapes and sizes, though. Unbeknownst to you, he was just as cautious of you as you were of him. Having his fair share of trust issues, he'd been keeping tabs on you since you waltzed into his life. He kept an eye on everyone, but you and your most recent behavior set off alarms.

Lurking behind each corner, staying just out of sight, so as not draw your attention to him, he observed you. Distrust made his chest heave, while watching you scribble something in your notebook. Forboding casted itself, consuming any ability for reconsideration.

Hissing from what sounded like a busted pipe caused fear to wrap around your heart, making you break out in a cold sweat. Shortly after the first signal of his presence was released, the gas clouds trailed up and over your body and dispersed around you.

Too nervous to turn around to face him, you calmly closed your notebook and waited.

"What have you been up to?"

There was no malice in his words, yet you knew better than to take him at face value. "I was just finishing up the notes from earlier. You know, before I forgot."

Locks of his hair drapped over you as he leaned in. He whispered, "How long did you think you'd be able to hide this from me?"

Attempting to suppress your rising heart rate, you assured him you'd been keeping to your work as normal.

He placed a hand down firmly on the table next to your notebook. Going wide-eyed at his sudden falter in patience, you peared down at what contained all that you'd written down on him.

"In that case, you won't mind if I take a look, will you?" His other hand snaked around from the other side.

When he threw the cover open, you shut your eyes, not being able to bear witnessing death closing in on you. After a few moments passed, you were shaking from anticipation of the punishment he'd surely cast down on you—but nothing was happening. Cautiously, you opened one eye to see which page he'd opened to: those of his personal habits, along with the little hearts doodled next to some of them were glaring back at you.

Not knowing whether you would've preferred to be slain for plotting against him or from your own humiliation, you sat where you were—staring at the pages that'd betrayed you.

Breaking the silence, he let out a chuckle, "Had no idea you were the type to get 'love sick'."

NSFW below the cut!!! fem!reader, teasing, fingering, vaginal penetration

Shell shock still effecting you, you weren't able to muster an excuse.

"Don't worry, dear. Your little secret is safe with me," he laughed a bit harder this time, the irony was too sweet not to torment you with. Calming down from that outburst, he leaned in again and brought his hands nearer to you. "That is, on one condition."

With surprise replacing your fear, you'd unfortunately allowed yourself to fall pray to his trickery just as the others had. "What is it?"

Tilting his head up to ponder, he laid his hands on your shoulders saying, "Hm, I may have a suitable solution." Offering his hand, he lured you in with a simple command, "Follow me."

Finding yourself in his bedroom made you halt in your tracks. "Did we...take a wrong turn?" Denial passed over your lips of what was about to unfold.

"Surely you can't be as naive as the others." Grinning down at you, he ran his hand over your dress, cupping your breast just before you pulled away in disbelief.

"Don't tell me you were scribbling hearts in your journal next to my name as a bluff."

While backing away, you stumbled and tripped onto the floor. Having fallen on your tailbone, you winced from the sudden pain.

Cocking his head at you, he sighed, "You may, however, be more hopeless than the others." In one swoop, he tossed you on the bed. Not having enough time to process what was happening, he took advantage of your vertigo—climbing on top of you, releasing spores of arousal with each shift he made.

Having picked up on your nerves, he started out slowly: rubbing your legs, running his hands up your dress, and circling his thumbs at the top of your pubic bone. He was observing your expressions and body language, all of which were hinting that you were getting rather excited.

Laying down next to you, he had you wrapped in his arms. Opening your legs, he ran his hand over your panties, which were already set to be rung out. Witnessing the affects he had on you, he pressed his hardening member against your leg while twirling his fingers around your clit.

This was proving to be too much for you; you were feeling overwhelmed from the rushes of lust and uncertainty towards him. "I don't know if I can do this," you breathed heavily, trying to avert your eyes, which had already begun to blur from the much awaited release you'd secretly been after.

He nuzzled against the top of your head, caressing your weeping slit. "Your body is calling out for me though. Why should it be denied what it's obviously craving?"

You bit at your bottom lip as you felt him grind up against your thigh again; your chest was falling and rising from the build up which you were hanging on by a thread.

Sensing you were cracking, the drive to push you past your limits took over; he forced your delicates to the side, partcially exposing your needy pussy. Sliding his fingers inbetween your slick lips, he grinned at the sight of you: clinging to the sheets, already thrusting against him; you were still trying to resist, although your will-power was hurridly reaching its breaking point.

Watching you deperately chase after your repressed lust, he ripped the top of your dress down, revealing your breasts. Greedily grabbing and clenching them, care was especially given to your erect nipples. You whimpered as he pinched them, testing how easy it'd be to make you crumble from ecstasy.

Rutting against his stiffened length, your hand latched onto his hip to steady yourself. Paying no mind to how he'd been watching you, you failed to notice his dark fantasies coming forth.

Him abruptly tugging your panties off made you gasp―the material left behind red spots from the sudden force. Your shrieks only added to your delectable vulnerability.

After seeing him chuck them off to the side, you felt his bare cock proding you. Pressing against your thigh, the motions from him preparing himself jolted across your lower half.

He forced your legs further apart; a faint whimper came from him when he realized your lower half had been coated in your disgraceful abandonment of morals.

After taking a minute to admire the view, he promptly thrusted inside you. Knowing it'd cause some pain, the sadist in him still yearned to see you squirm. The initial twinge of discomfort wore off, now just fragments scattered amongst your spasming walls.

You both new you wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. Settling on twirling your pearl against the pad of his finger, he allowed himself the pleasure of watching your breasts chaotically bounce and slap against each other.

Your self-control was failing you: slipping away with each thrust he rammed between your creamy lips. Your breath was shaking as your vision speckled. Feeling you unravel on him unexpectedly forced his own willpower to collapse―joining you in your rapturing frenzy.

As he eased out of you, you let the cum spill out; watching it drip down, you kept the tingles of bliss prickling at the sight of it a secret from him.

You looked over at him to catch a devilish look appear on his face. Forgetting what'd gotten you into this predicament, you casually asked what that look was for.

"Hm? Just thinking about the next secret you'll try to hide from me. You're constantly scribbling in that damn thing, so there should be plenty to blackmail you with."

Your cheeks reddened when thinking back to the incriminating ideas you had. When you shrank away from him, he alluded to his hunches, "This will surely make for a good compromise."

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