#Vicious Blossom
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Omega Radio for July 10, 2021; #272.
Corey Flood: “Honey”
Slow Pulp: “Idaho”
Mia Joy: “See Us”
Kindling: “Can’t Hardly Wait”
DIIV: “Blankenship”
Grave Flowers Bongo Band: “Smile”
Gaadge: “Holy Formers”
Lazy Legs: “Wax”
Living Hour: “Miss Emerald Green”
Long Beard: “Snow Globe”
Mint Field: “Delicadeza”
Net: “Running Red”
Beach House: “Last Ride”
Cigarettes After Sex: “Sweet”
Cremation Lily: “Lovers Against The Rocks”
Milly: “Star Thistle Blossom”
Nine Zillion: “Over Again”
White Flowers: “Daylight”
BDRMM: “A Reason To Celebrate”
Only Sibling: “And I Hate It”
Vicious Blossom: “Slowdown”
Citrus Clouds: “In A Daydream”
Bleary Eyed: “*Bonus Track”
Pardoner: “Donna Said”
Smile Machine: “Shit Apple”
Water Buildings: “A Brief, Mid-Day Death”
Winter: ”Here I Am Existing”
Laveda: “CNS”
Bonus Omega; shoegaze, alternative, dreampop.
#omega#music#playlists#mixtapes#shoegaze#jangle#dreampop#alternative#Slow Pulp#DIIV#Mint Field#Beach House#Cigarettes After Sex#Cremation Lily#Milly#BDRMM#Vicious Blossom#Winter#Laveda
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vicious blossom opium
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heehee my second piece for @livingwithsinzine !! For the vicious outfits collab!! ;D pov he's your manager and abt to kick ur ahh for being late
#vicious toc#tales of#tales of crestoria#birb art#cherry blossoms#tales of series#digital art#digital illustration#living with sin zine
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I finished the blossom show and I am still waiting for my man huai'en to win one (1) fight
#meet you at the blossom ramblings#meet you at the blossom spoilers#does this count as a spoiler? prob not but whatever#anyway love that he is introduced as this vicious strong killer and then proceeds to lose all his fights#let my man win one
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Man i miss 2012 now
Oh my god. I just realized that Mitt Romney sounds like the English voice actor for Fuhrer King Bradley from Fullmetal Alchemist.
#dont get me wrong Mitt Romney’s Republicans by snd large had the same platform then as today#but dear lord they are so much more vicious and outright embracing of far right extemism now on top of that#the scarlet rot has spread out from its core blossom and threatens to take the rest of us with it
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𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒈𝒆
⤷ Credits: Pinterest
Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 2.7k | Proof read : NO | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN
Summary: After a tough battle, you tend to your husband's wounds in a bathhouse, which leads to more.
Warnings: SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, a gladiator battle is described
A/n: this man in white did things to me but this man in red...UUIUBBYUDGYUTTSVHBBGFRDERFGHNJMKGF
Swords clashed, each metallic strike reverberating through the arena like the tolling of a death knell. You held your breath, chest tight with a mixture of fear and anticipation, every fiber of your being fixated on the brutal dance unfolding before you. Marcus, your husband, moved with the precision and grace of a predator, his muscles rippling under the unforgiving sun. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, and you could see the intense focus in his eyes, a gaze that seemed to pierce through the very soul of his opponent.
The gladiator facing him was a hulking brute, a mountain of a man with a scarred visage that spoke of countless battles and victories. His movements were powerful, each swing of his massive sword meant to crush and maim. But Marcus was quicker, darting in and out like a shadow, his blade a blur of deadly efficiency. You could see the frustration growing on the gladiator’s face as his strikes met only empty air or the unforgiving steel of Marcus’s sword.
Every clash sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself gripping the edge of your seat, knuckles white with tension. The crowd around you roared, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, but their voices were distant echoes compared to the pounding of your heart. Marcus was holding his own, but the fight was far from over, and the outcome was anything but certain.
A sudden lunge from the gladiator brought the tip of his sword perilously close to Marcus’s chest. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your lips, but Marcus twisted at the last moment, the blade grazing his side instead of piercing his heart. A thin line of blood blossomed on his skin, a vivid contrast against the tan. The sight of it filled you with a surge of fear and anger, a primal urge to leap into the fray and shield him from harm.
But you were powerless, confined to the stands, a mere spectator to the deadly contest. All you could do was watch, your heart aching with every cut and bruise that marred Marcus’s flesh. He fought on, undeterred by the minor wounds, his resolve as unyielding as the steel in his hand. The gladiator, sensing weakness, pressed his advantage, his strikes growing more frantic and desperate.
Marcus parried a vicious overhead swing, the force of the blow reverberating up his arm. He sidestepped, his movements fluid and controlled, and countered with a swift slash across the gladiator’s arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the brute let out a bellow of pain, staggering back. The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, the tension in the air almost palpable.
Your eyes never left Marcus, every detail of the battle etched into your memory. You saw the sweat dripping from his brow, the determined set of his jaw, the slight tremor in his hand as he gripped his sword tighter. Despite the danger, there was a certain beauty in his movements, a deadly elegance that took your breath away.
The fight reached its climax in a blur of motion. Marcus feinted to the left, drawing the gladiator’s attention, then pivoted and delivered a powerful upward thrust. His sword pierced the gladiator’s chest, driving deep into flesh and bone. The brute’s eyes widened in shock, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as he crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Marcus stood over his fallen opponent, chest heaving, blood and sweat mingling on his skin. The crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, the sound washing over you like a wave. Relief flooded your body, your legs feeling weak as the tension finally broke. Marcus had won, with only minor cuts and bruises to show for it.
He turned towards you, his eyes finding yours in the throng of spectators. There was a faint smile on his lips, a silent reassurance that he was okay. Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of joy and relief, and you found yourself smiling back, a bond of unspoken understanding passing between you.
From the dais, the Emperors Geta and Caracalla watched with keen interest. Geta, his eyes gleaming with approval, leaned towards his brother. "A fierce husband indeed," he remarked, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "Such skill and bravery are rare. He has proven his worth today."
Caracalla nodded, his gaze fixed on Marcus. "Strength tempered with wisdom. He fights not just with his body, but with his mind. A formidable warrior."
You smiled at their comments, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment. But your attention was already shifting, drawn inexorably to the entrance of the arena where Marcus was now standing. He was clutching his side, his face pale and contorted with pain. The sight sent a jolt of fear through your heart, and all thoughts of the emperors' praise vanished.
Without hesitation, you made your way down from the stands, pushing through the throng of spectators. Your only concern was reaching Marcus, your mind a whirlwind of worry and determination. As you neared him, you could see the blood seeping through his fingers, the wound on his side more serious than it had first appeared.
"Marcus!" you called out, your voice trembling with a mix of panic and urgency. He looked up at you, his eyes softening despite the pain etched on his face. You reached his side, gently taking his arm to support him.
"We need to get you cleaned up," you said, your voice firm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Come on, let's get to the baths."
With your help, Marcus managed to walk, though his steps were unsteady. The journey to the baths felt like an eternity, every moment filled with silent prayers that his injuries were not as severe as they seemed. The noise of the arena faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of water cascading into the stone basins of the bathhouse.
Once inside, you guided Marcus to a bench, your hands shaking as you began to remove his armor. Each piece fell away with a metallic clang, exposing the blood and sweat-soaked tunic beneath. The sight of the wound, a deep gash along his side, made your stomach churn, but you forced yourself to remain composed.
"Sit still," you instructed, your voice gentle yet commanding.
Marcus winced but managed a weary smile. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said, his voice strained but attempting to be reassuring. "Just a cut. It'll heal."
You shot him a stern look, not fooled by his bravado. "You need to let me clean and bandage it properly. No arguments."
He sighed, nodding slightly. "Alright, alright. But I promise, it's not a big deal."
You retrieved a basin of warm water and a cloth, kneeling beside him. The water steamed in the cool air of the bathhouse, the scent of the herbs you had added calming your frayed nerves. You began to clean the wound, your touch as gentle as possible.
Marcus hissed in pain, his muscles tensing under your hands. "I've had worse, you know," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Remember that time with the boar?"
You couldn't help but smile at the memory, despite the current circumstances. "Yes, and I remember you saying the same thing then too. 'Just a scratch,' you called it, when it nearly took your leg off."
"Well, this time I mean it," he replied, though his attempt at humor was undermined by another wince of pain.
You shook your head, focused on your task. The wound was deep, but thankfully it had missed any vital organs. As you worked, you noticed the fabric of his tunic was too blood-soaked to use as a bandage. You looked down at your own dress, the hem already stained from kneeling on the wet floor.
Without hesitation, you tore a strip from your dress, the sound of ripping fabric startling Marcus. He looked down, his eyes widening in concern. "You didn't have to do that."
"I'll sew it back later," you said dismissively. "Right now, you need this more than I do."
He watched you as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his torso, securing it tightly to staunch the bleeding. Your fingers worked quickly and efficiently, but you could feel his gaze on you, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft. "For everything."
You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Just promise me you'll be more careful next time," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
"I promise," Marcus replied, his eyes closing as he leaned back against the bench, exhaustion overtaking him.
You finished bandaging his wound, then dipped the cloth back into the warm water to wipe away the remaining blood and sweat. As you worked, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in, the fear and relief mixing into a potent cocktail of emotions.
Gently, you started cleaning Marcus's upper body, your hands moving over the hard planes of his chest and shoulders. His muscles were defined, a testament to the countless hours he had spent training and fighting. Each scar you encountered told a story, a silent testament to the battles he had survived. Your fingers traced the ridges and valleys of his skin, lingering on the old wounds that had healed over time.
Marcus watched you, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You always take such good care of me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection.
"It's because I love you," you replied softly, continuing to wash away the grime of the arena. "I can't stand seeing you hurt."
As you moved the cloth across his chest, you couldn't help but marvel at his strength and resilience. Despite the wounds and the exhaustion, he was still the man you had fallen in love with, still the warrior who had captured your heart.
Your eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The world outside the bathhouse ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this intimate space. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, and you felt a warmth spread through your body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
Without breaking eye contact, Marcus reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you closer. "Come here," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.
You hesitated for a moment, the propriety of the situation briefly crossing your mind. But the longing in his eyes and the way he looked at you erased any doubts. You allowed him to guide you onto his lap, your body pressed against his as his arms encircled your waist.
Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, and you melted into his embrace, your hands resting on his shoulders. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate, as if he was trying to convey all the emotions he couldn't put into words.
Just as you were about to lose yourself completely in the moment, a roar of people from the arena outside broke through the haze. You pulled back, breathless and flushed. "We could get caught," you whispered, your voice tinged with both excitement and caution.
Marcus smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "They're more focused on the battle," he said, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "No one's paying attention to us."
His words made sense, but the risk still lingered in your mind. Yet the way he looked at you, the way he held you, made it hard to resist. You leaned in again, your lips finding his in another searing kiss. This time, you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment, the world outside fading into oblivion.
Marcus's hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and steady despite everything he had been through. The warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on your body—it was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and love that left you breathless.
"Marcus," you murmured against his lips, your voice a mixture of longing and need.
He responded by pulling you even closer, his hands sliding down to your hips. "I need you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Now."
The urgency in his words mirrored your own feelings, and you surrendered to the moment, your worries about being caught dissipating in the heat of your desire. You kissed him again, pouring all your love and passion into that single, searing touch.
Just as the kiss reached its peak, another roar from the arena reminded you of the world outside. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. "We really should be careful," you said, trying to catch your breath.
Marcus nodded, his eyes still filled with that burning intensity. "I know," he said, his voice softening. "But I couldn't help it. I needed to feel close to you."
You covered his mouth with your hand, silencing him. The action made his semi-hard cock become fully erect beneath you, the sensation unmistakable. "I'll do the work," you said, lifting the fabric of your tunic and grinding into his hardness. "Sit back and relax."
A moan escaped your lips as the friction between your bodies grew, the rough fabric of his tunic adding to the slickness between your thighs. Marcus grabbed your hips with his large, calloused hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he watched you with those big, pleading eyes.
"I love this..." he murmured, taking in the sight of you. "But we don't want to get caught."
You nodded swiftly, your breath hitching with anticipation. Moving his tunic out of the way, you exposed his throbbing cock. You spit into your hand, rubbing it onto his length, mixing your saliva with the precum that was already leaking from his tip. The heat of his flesh under your palm made your pulse quicken.
Straddling him, you guided his cock to your entrance, the stretch making your head fall back as his hips met yours. A deep groan left Marcus's lips, the sound vibrating through you. Wasting no time, you began to rock your hips back and forth, starting at a teasingly slow pace to build up the pleasure for both of you.
Your hand gripped his shoulder for support as you moaned, the other hand bracing on his knee. With the extra stability, you started to bounce on his cock, testing different angles until you found that perfect, spongy spot inside you. Marcus had always been adept at finding it, and now you wasted no time in exploiting it.
Faster and faster you moved, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you becoming almost euphoric. "I'm gonna cum," you panted, your voice trembling with the intensity of your impending orgasm.
Marcus's hips began to thrust up to meet yours, his own climax approaching. "Me too," he groaned, his voice rough with need.
You moved your hand to his other leg, bouncing harder and harder, driven by the twin desires of pleasure and the fear of being caught. As your hips met his with each thrust, the friction and the slickness between your bodies brought you both closer to the edge.
With a final, deep thrust, Marcus's orgasm crashed over him. He growled, pushing his hips as far into you as possible, filling you with his warmth. The sensation sent you spiraling into your own release, your body tensing and then shuddering with the force of your climax.
Marcus pulled you into his arms, his breath still ragged. "We really shouldn't be doing this here," he murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
You stayed like that for a moment, both of you catching your breath, your bodies still intimately connected. Slowly, you lifted yourself off him, feeling the absence of his warmth inside you as you settled beside him.
You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. "Probably not," you agreed. "But it was worth it."
He kissed the top of your head, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "Always worth it," he echoed, the love and desire in his voice making your heart swell.
#marcus acacius#gladiator 2#pedro pascal#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius x y/n#marcus acacius x female reader#smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal characters#ancient rome#gladiator#general acacius#general marcus acacius#general acacius x reader#general acacius x you#general acacius x y/n#female reader#pedrohub#sinfulmindjoyfulthoughts#pedro pascal smut
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men are so quick to blame the gods
ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist
humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.
so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.
nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.
that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.
luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.
you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.
when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.
"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.
a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.
it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.
"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.
a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."
"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."
he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.
as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.
the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.
you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.
"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."
you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.
"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."
"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."
"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."
"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."
your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."
you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.
"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.
"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"
"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."
sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.
over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.
it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.
it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"
your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"
"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."
though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."
"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."
you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."
it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.
he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."
"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"
"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."
you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."
he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.
"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."
his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"
he muses over your question briefly.
"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?
you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."
"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"
you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"
"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."
"oh. well that's, um, good."
he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.
"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.
"stop what?"
"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."
he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."
"see? that's much better."
"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.
you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.
the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.
when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.
"w-what do you want?"
"i seem to recall asking you a question."
you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.
"i'm not crying," you declare.
sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."
you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."
yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.
and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.
"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.
your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."
"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.
"don't flatter yourself."
he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.
he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.
but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."
you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.
"promise?"
for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—
"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."
"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."
"...night, brat."
less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.
though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.
he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.
he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.
at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.
when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.
you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.
"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."
"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"
he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.
you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"
he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."
you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."
he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.
he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."
"but you won't."
he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"
"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."
he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.
"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.
the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.
"i don't know."
"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."
you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.
it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.
he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.
you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.
"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."
just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.
"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"
the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"
#m!writes#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna imagines#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna imagines#ryomen sukuna fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#jjk fluff
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Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie
Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley
Holy moly I love this…
Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3
King!Simon Riley x Reader
Archipelago
CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)
Word Count: 2,623
Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.
Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.
You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.
You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.
“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”
Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.
You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.
You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.
As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.
Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.
You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.
The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.
“Father, what’s wrong?”
“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.
“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”
“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”
“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”
“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.
“No-“
“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”
“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.
“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.
Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.
“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”
“Your Majesty she was res-“
“It is a yes or no question.”
His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.
“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.
The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.
You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.
“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”
You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.
“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.
“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”
You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.
The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.
Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.
The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.
Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.
“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”
“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.
“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”
You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.
“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.
“In front of you?” You scoffed.
“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”
Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.
You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.
His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.
“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.
“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”
Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.
“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”
“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”
A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.
“It’s Simon, Y/N.”
“How do you- “
“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”
The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.
You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.
Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.
“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”
You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.
“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.
“Let me help you.”
Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.
“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.
You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.
“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.
The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.
“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.
“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.
“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.
The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.
He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.
“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”
#evilgwrl#this is kinda eh#but also king!simon… yum#simon riley smut#call of duty x reader#141 x reader#simon riley#ghost#ghost smut#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost smut#simon ghost#simon riley x you#simon riley fluff#king!ghost#king!simon riley
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pranks
carlos sainz x meerkat shapeshifter!reader
w.c.: 1.5k
warnings: a few curse words?
part of my shapeshifting!reader series
summary: a prank kind of backfires on you and carlos
picture credits from pinterest :)
honestly, you thought your favorite mode of transportation must be riding on carlos’ broad shoulders. with such a tall vantage point, you could see farther ahead compared to if you walking on the ground. plus, you wouldn’t be trampled on by over-eager fans, you didn’t have to tire your legs out, and you’d be able to catch a whiff of the familiar smell of carlos’ cologne.
you adjust your grip on carlos’ racing red ferrari kit, digging your paws into the soft material and curling your body around his neck. the paddock in suzuka was real pretty, with cherry blossoms framing the walkway.
carlos continues walking into the paddock, occasionally stopping to sign hats and merch. a few little fans asked to pet you too, and you gladly scurried down carlos’ arm to let them stroke your fur with sticky fingers that kids always seem to have. a child completely covered in george merch even stopped to hand-feed you a piece of fruit.
when he arrives in his motorhome, he gently sets you down on the sofa. he collapses next to you, body sprawled on the couch. “ugh, that was exhausting.” he says exasperatedly. “there is still-” he checks his watch. “two hours until fp3?? i swear to god, my manager must have messed up the schedule.”
he leans back into the couch, and then fishes a peanut out of the pocket of his jeans. your boyfriend always seemed to have a stache of your favorite meerkat-friendly snacks in his pocket. not that you minded- you were always down for a little snack now and then.
he flings the peanut at you, and you manage to avoid the flying nut by a centimeter. you whip your head back at him, glaring at him the most vicious way possible.
his mouth is open, hand still frozen in the throwing position. “omg! i swear to god i did not mean to throw it that hard, mi amor.” he scoops you up and pats your tiny head. reaching into his pocket again, he takes out another peanut and hands it to you gingerly.
you accept the peanut and crack it open, but continue to glare at him. while you munch on the peanut, carlos looks down at you with a glimmer of mischievousness in his big brown eyes. you knew that look- he only did that when he had a particularly funny prank that he wanted to pull (the last time he had that look in his eyes was when he came up with the idea to put 100 miniature rubber snakes around charles’ drivers room).
“i’ve just had the funniest idea,” he exclaims. “since we have so much time on our hands, we should go to mclaren to annoy lando!”
ever since being associated with carlos, you have been dragged into so many of his pranks around the paddock that a glance at your meerkat form has people wondering if carlos was planning another mischievous trick. it was the polar opposite of your normal human form. i mean, who would suspect carlos’ nice reserved girlfriend to also be his havoc-causing meerkat sidekick?
the mclaren employees shoot you both suspicious glances as carlos strolls through the mclaren motorhome. he creeps around corners and listens through every door. you hold on to his team kit with your sharp paws for dear life- you surely would have slid off already if you hadn’t. it’s only when he comes across a sitting area with two familiar figures that he stops.
“you’re not very adventurous with food, are you?” you hear oscar say, holding what seems to be a red-bean mochi in between his fingertips.
“well, i don’t wanna be,” lando shoots back, pushing the japanese snack away from him.
carlos creeps behind lando, and hands you several peanuts that he fished from his pockets. taking advantage of lando and oscar’s bickering, he lets you slide off of his shoulders. you bolt full speed towards lando and start throwing the peanuts at his head while screeching.
he yelps, jumps out of his chair, and scurries behind a nearby table to hide. oscar, spotting your tiny figure compared to lando’s cowering body next to the table, starts cackling.
a full hour hadn’t even passed for carlos to get that look in his eyes again. this time, you were busy piecing together a 2000 piece puzzle of ayrton senna in the mostly empty dining hall when you see him approach you.
“what now,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
a wide grin splits your boyfriend’s face. “let’s go steal charles’ helmet!” he whispers, just in case charles or any of his team members are nearby.
poor charles was almost always on the receiving end of carlos’ pranks (although you did hear about pierre somehow obtaining a snake and sneaking into charles’ room with it). you swear that it is going to backfire one day.
nevertheless, you agree, leaving half of senna’s face and his car’s front wing done on the table.
it was a really quick process, as you shifted, scurried past the mechanics and lifted charles’ signature red helmet off of the counter in one swoop. no one batted an eye as you pushed the helmet out of the garage and into carlos’ arms.
“yess! good job, baby!” he cheers, once the helmet is in his hand. “now where to hide it?”
he looks around, before finally walking into the gap in between the aston martin and ferrari motorhomes. you scurry after him, paws hitting the ground at full speed. at the end is a little secluded space, surrounded on all four sides by walls or other teams’ motorhomes. he snickers, and sets charles’ helmet on the ground. pulling out his phone, he snaps a picture, ready to send to charles as a taunt.
you proceed to turn, brushing strands of meerkat fur off of your flowy shortskirt. “not even a thank you, carlos?” you say, tilting your head. “i risked my life out there stealing his helmet!”
before he can answer, you hear the clonk of a waterbottle dropping near the ferrari motorhome. standing there, mouth open in shock, stands charles leclerc, the owner of the helmet that you stole. “did you just-” he starts.
carlos, realizing your secret might get out through charles, marches through the gap, snatches the familiar white celcius water bottle from the ground, and yanks charles into the secluded space.
you stand very still next to the helmet, not knowing if you wanted to bolt and hide in a hole so you’d never be seen again, or to slap carlos for exposing your secret, to his teammate, no less. you knew that carlos’ tricks would backfire one day.
“mate, please, please, please do not tell anyone about this!” carlos says, clutching charles’ shirt.
once the initial shock has worn off, charles shocked expression turns into a smirk. “of course i’ll tell people about this! you literally stole my helmet and you expect me not to expose you for taking my things? besides, it’s a payback for pranking me so much! i still find those stupid rubber snakes that you hid in my room everywhere. i always have to call my girlfriend to help me get rid of them.”
you step up next to carlos and charles, a confused expression on your face. “wait. so you didn’t see me turn?”
a look of understanding flashes across charles’ face. “ohhh!!” he remarks. “you mean the meerkat thing?”
“yes!” you and carlos both say simultaneously.
“don’t worry, i won’t tell!” charles says, to both of your guy’s relief. “don’t you know, my girlfriend can shift into a hedgehog? no offense, i think that’s way cooler than a meerkat,” he states with a smug smile on his face.
“oi, pendejo!” carlos says, narrowing his eyes. “how dare you say that!”
you laugh, putting an hand on carlos’ shoulder. “it’s okay baby, i’m just glad this didn’t turn out into a bad situation!”
charles shoots you an appreciative grin, knowing you saved him from potential physical altercation with carlos. it quickly dissipates, however, when he sees his helmet behind your legs.
“right, back to the helmet, how dare you steal it! fred would’ve killed me if i showed up to fp3 without it!”
understanding the power charles has now knowing your secret, carlos apologizes. “we are sorry, charles. i promise i won’t ever steal any of your things again!”
charles continues to stand there, waiting for him to continue.
“-and i won’t play any more pranks on you, i swear!” he says quickly.
charles nods once, satisfied with carlos’ promise.
from side facing the motorhomes, fernando sticks his head into the gap separating the two teams. spotting you three standing there, he jokes, “you guys having a party in there, or what?”
t-minus 20 minutes until fp3, charles sets his water bottle on the counter and pulls on his balaclava. across the motorhome, carlos is doing this same. when charles finishes adjusting the material over his head and nose, he suddenly sees a flash of fur on the counter. it’s you, bolting away like your life is on the line with his water bottle in hand.
“CARLOS!” you hear him shout.
from your hiding spot in one of the engineer’s headphone cubbies, you see carlos scramble over to charles.
“what? is everything alright?” carlos says, concerned.
“your girlfriend just stole my waterbottle!” he whispers heatedly, pointing at you sitting innocently in the cubby like everything was normal, except for the fact that a white racing waterbottle, complete with a long straw and a “charles leclerc” sticker is sitting next to you. carlos laughs, “i mean- i did only promise that i won’t steal anything or pull any pranks on you; i didn't promise my girlfriend wouldn't!”
taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary @mbappebby @rakshatos @heartsforleclerc @papaya-twinks @madkohi
#f1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 rpf fic#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 imagine#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x female reader#cs55 x reader#cs55 x you#cs55 x y/n#📝
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Traitors War: 1
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader
An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by oneshots)
Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.
This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.
The council chamber of the Night Court is darker than ever, steeped in an oppressive silence that suffocates as you step forward. Shadows cling to the polished floors, stretching toward you like silent accusers, and the bitter taste of magic hangs thick in the air. You can feel the weight of the room bearing down, its chilling atmosphere a testament to the wrath that awaits you.
In the centre of it all, Rhysand sits with an eerie stillness, his face a mask of lethal beauty. But beneath his façade, fury radiates from him in waves, setting his violet eyes alight with a malice that chills you to the bone. Flanking him are Cassian and Azriel, as immovable and unreadable as statues carved from stone. Their stony expressions give nothing away, but the hardened edge in their postures speaks volumes.
“Do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” Rhysand’s voice is low, each syllable sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence with a vicious precision. The scorn woven into his tone sends a shiver down your spine. He does not wait for you to answer. “Of course you don’t. Because if you did, I doubt even you would be foolish enough to stand here, expecting leniency.”
His words strike deep, leaving a sting that blossoms into shame. You try to meet his gaze, but his expression is unyielding, his eyes alight with something dark and unrecognizable. You search for any hint of understanding, any sliver of the Rhysand you’ve known—but he has vanished, leaving behind this cold, merciless figure in his place.
“It was my job,” you manage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat, each syllable heavy with the weight of your conviction. “I believed it was right.”
“Right?” he sneers, a contemptuous laugh escaping his lips, empty of humour. “You believed?” His voice drips with sarcasm, each word twisted and spat out like venom. “How very noble of you, to decide what’s right for me, for this court, for everyone.”
The force of his fury presses against you like a physical weight, but you force yourself to stand your ground, your hands clenched at your sides. Yet, the truth looms over you—a crushing reminder of the choice you made, the loyalty you gambled away.
His gaze narrows, and his tone drops to a cruel, mocking whisper. “Did you think yourself so wise, so indispensable, that I would forgive such treachery? That I would welcome you back with open arms after you conspired with him? With Eris?”
The hatred in his eyes is a dagger, and you feel it twist with every venomous word he hurls at you. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, and you want to shrink away, but there is nowhere to hide from the cold, unyielding judgment that fills the room.
“How dare you,” he hisses, his voice like thunder, reverberating through the chamber. “How dare you undermine me, betray me—after everything I’ve given you? I gave you power, status, trust. And this is how you repay me?”
The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating, and you feel the sharp sting of his betrayal as deeply as he does. Words die on your tongue, and you’re left with nothing but silence—a silence he seizes upon, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.
“Look at you,” he sneers, his eyes raking over you with disgust. “The so-called assassin of the Night Court, reduced to this—a traitor, a coward. Did you ever think your lies would not come to light?”
He rises from his seat with deliberate slowness, his every movement a display of dominance and scorn. Cassian and Azriel remain impassive, but you sense their quiet fury, the simmering anger held back by sheer force of will.
Rhysand takes a step forward, and the air between you crackles with magic, raw and potent. The bonds that have marked you as his, that have stained your skin with his trust, begin to burn. You feel them unravel, one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers, leaving behind a searing emptiness.
“Your place here is gone,” he says, his voice a venomous whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing—a stain on this Court, a shame I will gladly erase.”
You force yourself to meet his gaze, your throat thick with the urge to plead, to defend yourself. But you know it would be pointless. He has condemned you already, cast you aside with a cruelty that leaves you hollow.
“Leave,” he orders, his voice cold and final. “And let it be known that from this moment forward, you are banished from the Night Court. Should you ever set foot here again, it will be as my enemy.”
The finality of his words sinks in, and for a moment, the room spins around you. You look at Azriel and Cassian, but their faces remain stony, offering no solace, no reprieve.
With a last, pained glance, you turn and walk away, the silence behind you as heavy as the bonds that now lie shattered at your feet.
-
The bench beneath you is rough, weathered by time and use, but it’s familiar—a place of respite amid the chaos that has engulfed the Autumn Court. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood on your lips. You tilt your head up slightly, trying to steady your breathing, wincing as a fresh wave of pain pulses from the bruises littering your body.
Eris kneels in front of you, his auburn hair glowing like embers in the dim light. His expression is carefully composed, but his gaze flickers with a rare softness, tinged with something unreadable as he delicately presses a damp cloth to your split lip. His fingers are steady, skilled, and his touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a contrast to the ruthless, calculating male the world knows him to be.
“I told you to stay out of the skirmish,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes as he dabs away the dried blood. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but edged with frustration. “But you never listen, do you?”
You manage a weak smile, though it sends a fresh jolt of pain through your lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” The words are light, but the weight of the past, the years since you’d last shared such closeness, presses heavily between you.
He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself with a rigid precision, as though he’s one wrong move from unravelling. “I don’t need another ghost on my conscience,” he mutters, pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary, and you hiss, but his eyes are still fixed on his work. “Especially not yours.”
Your heart twists at his words, at the flicker of vulnerability he’s revealing, rare and raw. “Eris…if I wanted to stay safe and quiet, I wouldn’t have come here.” Your voice is soft, and his hand pauses for a moment as he absorbs your words, the truth in them, the history that binds you to his fight.
He finally looks up, his amber eyes intense, studying you with a scrutiny that feels as if he’s searching for something lost. “And yet,” he says slowly, his tone cold but his gaze warm, “you are still here, fighting alongside me. After everything.”
You meet his gaze, the memories flooding back—the years in the shadows, the loyalty you once swore to Rhysand that had ended with such bitter finality. And yet, in this moment, here with Eris, there is an understanding, an alliance you’d never expected to find.
“Beron has to be stopped,” you say quietly, a hardness slipping into your voice. “We both know it. We've known it for two hundred years. The things he’s done… he doesn’t deserve the power he holds over these lands. He has to fall.”
Eris’s expression darkens, and his hand, still cradling your chin, trembles slightly. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with something darker, more personal. “But it’s not that simple. Killing him means more than just power shifting—it’s risking everything, for everyone. It means blood on my hands, blood I can’t wash away.”
You reach up, your fingers brushing his, grounding him. “You’ve done this much already, led so many to stand against him. I’ve seen the way the court follows you, Eris. They believe in you.” You pause, searching his eyes. “And so do I.”
A shadow passes over his face, softening the harsh lines of his expression. “Why, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe in me?” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it, but the question lingers in the air, laden with years of unspoken words.
You hold his gaze, your voice firm, unwavering. “Because you chose to be better than him, better than I ever thought a man like you would. You chose a path that no one else would. And no matter what, that choice will always matter to me.”
He swallows, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his face, and he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Then maybe I am a fool, too, for keeping you here—for wanting you to be by my side when it’s all over.”
You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the pain. “You’re no fool, Eris. We’re both haunted by our choices, our pasts. But right now, we have a chance to make something right.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. “And I think it’s worth it, even if it costs us everything, well.... I personally don't have anything to lose.”
For a moment, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes as though savouring the fleeting solace. Then he straightens, his face hardening once more, but there’s a spark in his eyes now, a fierceness that rekindles the fire within him.
Eris’s fingers slip under your arm, steady and firm as he lifts you off the bench. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, but he merely quirks an eyebrow, as if amused by your surprise. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, the rough pads of his fingers brushing your bruised skin, grounding you in the moment as he releases you. Then, with a silent understanding, the two of you begin to walk.
The camp sprawls before you, tents set up in rough but orderly rows, each one a mark of defiance against Beron’s reign. Soldiers mill around, sharpening blades, tending to wounds, and whispering quiet plans and reassurances. Fires crackle, sending up thin curls of smoke into the crisp air, their warmth a stark contrast to the heavy chill that hangs over the camp.
Eris keeps a brisk pace beside you, his gaze intense, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. There’s a palpable energy about him, something sharp and restless, as if he’s a blade just waiting to be unleashed. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as he passes, but there’s a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope, of trust in him that you’ve seldom seen in this court. Despite the darkness, they believe in him. Just as you do.
As you walk, a figure comes jogging toward you, his familiar auburn hair catching the light of the dying sun. Lucien’s face is flushed from exertion, but there’s a victorious gleam in his russet eye as he slows to a stop before you and Eris.
“We’ve taken down another one of Beron’s forces,” Lucien announces, his voice edged with satisfaction. He places his hands on his knees, breathing heavily but grinning. “One of his inner forces. His numbers are dwindling, and his support… well, it’s hanging on by threads now.”
Eris’s lips curl into a slow, calculating smile, his gaze sharpening as Lucien’s words sink in. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone a dark satisfaction laced with bitter triumph. “That’s one less hand Beron has to wield against us.”
Lucien’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes softening as he takes in your injuries. “You look worse for wear,” he remarks, though there’s a flicker of concern beneath his teasing tone. “You should be resting.”
You give him a small, tired smile, shrugging slightly. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, could I?”
Eris’s fingers brush your arm, guiding you forward with an unspoken insistence. “Rest will come after Beron is gone,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. He looks to Lucien, his expression hardening. “With this win, we’ll need to reinforce the eastern front. Beron may be desperate, but that will only make him more dangerous.”
Lucien nods, his face growing serious. “The soldiers are preparing as we speak. Morale is high—they know Beron is losing ground.” His gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction sparking in his eye. “And they know they’re not just fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for you, Eris.”
Eris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, his mask slipping just enough for you to see the weight he carries. But then he straightens, his shoulders squaring with renewed resolve. “Then let’s give them a reason to keep believing,” he says, his voice steely and resolute.
Eris’s hand brushes against yours as he guides you away from Lucien, slipping through the bustling camp. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as you pass, but you can feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and curiosity that ripple in your wake. They’ve heard of you, the once-assassin of the Night Court who has returned to fight beside Eris. You can practically feel the stories they must tell—legends whispered in the dark, half-believed tales of your skill, your ruthlessness.
Eris leads you to a tent set slightly apart from the others, tucked away from the main cluster. He steps inside first, holding the tent flap open for you. As you enter, the scent of leather and steel greets you, sharp and familiar. Your old assassin’s gear is laid out on a small table in the centre, the black leather as supple and deadly as you remember. Knives and throwing blades glint in the firelight, each one meticulously sharpened, waiting for your touch.
You move to the table, fingers brushing over the leather armour, the silent weapons that were once an extension of yourself. You slip out of your travel-worn clothes, letting them fall to the ground. Piece by piece, you put on the gear, feeling the familiar weight settle over you like a second skin. The leather is snug, perfectly fitted to your body, and you secure the buckles and straps with practiced precision, feeling the transformation as the assassin within you stirs, roused after all these years.
Eris watches in silence, his gaze unwavering, intense. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of worry that he tries to mask but cannot entirely hide. You reach for the knives, fastening them to your belt, slipping blades into hidden sheaths along your thighs and forearms, every movement precise, deliberate.
Finally, you turn to him, adjusting the last strap on your wrist. He takes a step closer, his hand hovering just near your arm, as if he wants to touch you, to steady you, but holds back. His face is a study of quiet turmoil, the calm, composed mask he wears slipping ever so slightly.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, almost pleading. “Sending you, alone, to Beron’s camp… It’s dangerous. Even for you.”
You meet his gaze, holding it with a steady conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “This is what I’m meant for, Eris. I know how to do this.” Your voice is calm, controlled, yet there’s a fire in your eyes, a certainty that hardens your resolve.
He looks down, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he battles with something unspoken. “You’re to burn the camp,” he murmurs, his tone almost bitter, as if the thought of sending you into that inferno cuts him deeply. “To wipe out anyone who stands in your way. You… shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
You lift your chin, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “If we’re going to end this war, Beron’s camp needs to fall. And I am the best suited to do this. I’ve done things like this before.”
Eris’s hand finally finds yours, his fingers entwining with yours, strong and steady. “Those days are behind you. You’re… more than just an assassin now. More than just a weapon.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words louder would make them real, and in that moment, you see the worry, the raw, aching fear he’s been hiding.
You squeeze his hand, grounding him, your voice a gentle reassurance. “And I’m still a fighter. I’m still someone who knows how to end a battle.” You step back, straightening, every inch the assassin who once served the Night Court. “You’re leading your forces, Eris. Let me do what I do best.”
He hesitates, his eyes darkening as his thumb grazes your knuckles, the touch tender, lingering. “If anything happens to you…”
“Nothing will,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
Eris swallows, his gaze never leaving yours, and you see the war within him—the tension between his duty as a leader and his fear as… something more. Finally, he releases your hand, stepping back, his expression once again composed, though his eyes betray him.
“Take my smoke hounds,” he says, voice hardening with reluctant resolve. “They’ll be at your command, lethal and loyal. If anyone stands in your way…” His mouth tightens, as though the thought of what you’re about to do pains him. “Do what you must.”
You nod, feeling the finality of his words settle over you like a cloak. The smoke hounds are Eris’s most trusted creatures—vicious, swift, creatures of shadow and flame. With them by your side, Beron’s camp will fall, reduced to ash and memory.
As you turn to leave, Eris’s voice stops you, a soft, broken whisper. “Come back to me.”
You glance back, meeting his gaze, a silent promise passing between you.
-
The forest blurs around you, dark and thick with shadows as you sprint through the trees, each stride light and precise. The silence of the woods is broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the soft, nearly soundless patter of twelve pairs of paws moving in sync beside you. Eris’s smokehounds, shadows among shadows, run with you, their sleek bodies rippling with the restrained power of creatures forged from flame and darkness. Their eyes gleam in the dim light, flickers of red and gold mirroring the embers deep within them.
Your breath comes in steady, controlled puffs, each one carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You push your pace, weaving around trees, ducking under branches, letting the familiar rhythm of running take over. The hounds follow you with fierce loyalty, twelve shadowed phantoms keeping stride with ease, their eyes never straying from you. You’ve trained with creatures like them before; they know your signals, can read your smallest gestures. And tonight, they know their purpose as well as you do.
Ahead, you see the cliff edge through the trees, the canyon beyond stretching wide and deep, a gaping chasm that offers the perfect vantage point. Twenty-five minutes until the fire, just as planned. You mentally mark each step of the mission: secure the perimeter, then unleash the hounds. They’ll tear through Beron’s forces with merciless precision, a deadly warning sent by Eris himself.
With a soft hand signal, you urge the hounds to pick up the pace. They respond instantly, surging forward in a silent wave, each one attuned to your every movement. You can feel their excitement, their hunger to fulfill their purpose—a lethal harmony that mirrors your own resolve.
At the cliff’s edge, you pause for just a moment, looking out over the vast expanse of trees, campfires flickering faintly in the distance. Beron’s forces are spread across the valley below, unsuspecting, oblivious to the doom that will descend upon them in a matter of minutes. You breathe in, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, centring yourself.
Then you leap into motion again, running along the edge of the cliff, the hounds fanning out beside you. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but you move with confidence, your steps sure and steady. The hounds move effortlessly, their eyes fixed forward, waiting for your command to unleash them upon the enemy below.
The minutes tick by, and you count each one, your mind focused, calculating. You know that Eris will be watching the clock, timing your return. He’ll know the moment his hounds have done their work, the moment the fires ignite, marking the beginning of the end for Beron’s camp. And he’ll be waiting, trusting that you will return alongside them.
You feel the power thrumming through your veins, the familiar thrill of the mission, the anticipation of the flames that will soon light up the sky. You glance down at the hounds, each one poised and ready, their bodies taut with barely-contained energy. With a small, barely perceptible nod, you give the signal.
You crouch low, hidden among the dense trees at the edge of the camp. The flickering glow of campfires illuminates the chaos below. Beron’s forces move with the sluggish confidence of men who believe themselves safe, unaware of the inferno waiting to consume them. You pull the bow from your back, your fingers steady as you nock an arrow soaked in pitch. With a deep breath, you draw back the string, the familiar weight and tension grounding you.
The torch at your side flickers in the cool night breeze, casting your shadow long against the forest floor. With a deliberate motion, you dip the arrowhead into the flame. Fire bursts to life, licking up the shaft, bright and hungry. The light reflects off the sharp edges of your assassin’s gear, and for a moment, you’re bathed in a fiery glow.
You take aim at the largest tent—the command centre, judging by its size and central position. The arrow flies, cutting through the air in a deadly arc, embedding itself into the canvas. Flame spreads instantly, roaring to life as the tent is consumed. You don’t wait to watch it burn. Another arrow is already in your hand, aflame and ready. This time, you aim for the storage tent where supplies are stacked high. It ignites with a burst of heat, the fire leaping from one crate to the next.
One more arrow—this time toward the soldiers’ quarters. The shot is perfect. The flames catch, and panic spreads like wildfire. Shouts rise as soldiers scramble to put out the blaze, but it’s too late. Smoke curls upward, dark and thick, a signal of chaos rising to the stars.
You sling your bow across your back and run, feet pounding the forest floor as you follow the path you memorized earlier. Your mind maps out every turn, every slope: the sharp left at the leaning oak, the shallow stream you leap across without hesitation, the narrow ridge that runs parallel to the cliffside. Your breath comes in short bursts, your heart hammering in your chest, but your focus remains razor-sharp.
Then you hear it—shouts behind you. The sound cuts through the night like a blade, and when you glance back, you see them: Beron’s soldiers, torches in hand, spreading through the trees like a swarm. One of them spots you, his shout echoing across the forest, and suddenly the hunt is on.
You push harder, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the weight of your gear slows you. The thick leather straps dig into your shoulders, the metal clasps clinking faintly with every stride. It feels like a leaden anchor dragging you down.
With a frustrated growl, you strip the bow from your back, tossing it aside into the underbrush. Next, you unbuckle the heavier pieces of your armour mid-stride, letting them fall as you run. The bracers follow, the daggers strapped to your thighs discarded one by one. You leave a trail of discarded weaponry in your wake, the promise of lighter steps driving you forward.
But the soldiers are everywhere. Torches light up the forest in jagged lines, cutting off your escape routes. Their shouts grow louder, closer, and the realization hits you: they’re herding you, pushing you toward the cliff. Panic sparks in your chest, but you keep moving, feet skimming over rocks and roots, muscles burning with the effort.
The cliff looms ahead, the forest giving way to open sky and the deafening roar of the river far below. The soldiers close in, their shouts a cacophony that drowns out your pounding heartbeat. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. You sprint toward the edge, the ground disappearing beneath your feet as you leap.
For a moment, there’s only silence. The world drops away, the wind rushing past you in a deafening roar. Your stomach lurches as you fall, the vast canyon walls blurring on either side. Below, the river churns violently, a silver ribbon that grows larger with every passing second.
You hit the water hard, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The freezing cold engulfs you, dragging you down, the current tugging at your limbs with relentless force. You fight to the surface, gasping for air, the icy water shocking your system into focus.
The river carries you away, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You let it take you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, knowing that survival is your only thought now. Above the churning waters, the smoke from Beron’s camp rises into the night, the promise of fire and destruction marking the beginning of the end.
A/N: this series was supposed to be posted in February but as you can see part one is out now but it will be a while till part 2!
#acotar fanfiction#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x you#eris x y/n#eris x reader#eris vanserra x reader#eris vanserra x you#eris vanserra fanfic#eris vanserra x y/n#eris vanserra acotar#eris vanserra fic#eris imagine#eris fanfic#eris vandaddy
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Oh How the Turn Tables
“Whumpee,” Whumper said with a breath. The rain made Whumpee’s dark strands of hair stick to his forehead, even under his hoodie. Whumper straightened. “What are you doing here?”
Whumpee tilted his head to the side, his eyes dead as a slow smirk spread across his pale face. “You not gonna invite me in, Whumper? Not even for old time’s sake?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Whumper growled under his breath, stepping out of the house and half closing the door behind him. “This is crossing a line.”
Whumpee’s smirk melted into a false sympathy. “Aww, is this crossing the line for you Whumper? Really? Am I invading your privacy? Your little bubble of safety.”
“Our relationship is a working one, Whumpee.” Whumper snapped. “This is my personal life.”
“I know,” Whumpee said with a grin. “I’ve been watching the house for days. Your girls look just darling, and your boy, he’s got real potential as a soccer player.”
The information chilled Whumper to the core. He had never experienced this side of Whumpee before, the threatening side. The weapon side. Whumpee was always pathetic when Whumper interacted with him, or pleading.
“These are my family,” Whumper whispered.
“Oh I know. It just so happened that your work life,” Whumpee said, stepping up and forcing Whumper back a step. “Intruded on my personal life too, Whumper. Let’s just call this payback, hmm?”
Whumper swallowed hard when he felt the tip of a knife in his stomach, just above his hip. “Let’s meet the family, hmm? See what kind of kids the monster of my every waking moment is rearing.”
“Whumpee, please—”
Whumpee blinked. He paused. He stepped back. “Oh,” he said and Whumper stilled. Hope blossomed in his chest.
“Please don’t do this.” Whumper said.
“Huh. You’re right,” Whumpee said. Whumper fought the sigh of relief that wanted to escape his lips. It meant Whumpee was still human, that he could still be reasoned with. All that positive hope melted away when Whumpee’s expression darkened into one of vicious glee. “Saying please really doesn’t do anything to save you. I see it now, Whumper.”
Whumper shook his head as Whumpee pushed him back in the open door of his house, the knife pressed into his gut. “Let’s see what else you’ll prove yourself right on.”
*~*~*~*~*
A.N.
Today is a black day, and I’m really sorry to any of my American readers/moots, I’m just really sorry and I hope you do something nice for yourselves today — just keep moving forward, that’s the biggest rebellion you can do in the face of the oncoming storm— just keep moving forward.
#whump writing#whump drabble#whump#whump prompts#whumpblr#whump scenario#whumpee turned whumper#whumper turned whumpee#whump prompt#oh how the turn tables#my writing#badass whumpee#scary whumpee#scared whumper#threatening whumpee
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Markings/Biting
Includes; Dazai, Chūya, Atsushi, Ranpo Kunikida, Fyodor, Nikolai
Not requested !
Tags; NSFW/SMUT. Fem!reader. Biting, teasing, rough & soft sex, degradation, minor mentions of blood
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DAZAI, who has no qualms with showing you off; it provides a wonderful opportunity to tease you about being marked. Any patch of exposed skin will be littered with bites with a cocky grin on his face. He places them in your inner thighs, slowly drawing closer to your leaking cunt and biting harshly at your clit as he mumbles cruel things. He's an awful tease, however, getting riled up by your whines when he grazes your bare collarbone with his teeth. He coos softly at you, false sympathy falling from his mouth as tears start to prick the corners of your eyes. He promises he'll leave 'one more', but he can't stop himself. And can you really blame him? Not when your thighs are clumping around his narrow waist coupled with the filthy sounds with each precise thrust of his hips. It just fuels his desire to mark you up and claim you as his one and only ♡
Trails lovebites over your body in the heat of the moment. CHŪYA doesn't even realize he's nibbling at your chest or shoulders until you pitifully cry out, body trembling under his feverish touches-rather he is too absorbed in the way your cunt sucks him in with each movement. His hand was sure to leave some marks as well, gripping your hips tightly as you hugged his cock perfectly. His mind succumbs to your sounds, teeth continuing to leave petal blossoms, evidence of your lewd actions. He can be horribly possessive and loves to show you off as his pretty lover. What's a better way than to mark you all up in pretty reds and purples? Can't help but bite into the juncture of your neck when you tightly clench around him, spurring him to his climax. Sometimes, he forgets his own strength, leaving vicious red bites on your neck, just to have his gloved fingers run over the spots with delicate care afterward.
ATSUSHI doesn't mean to bite down and leave as many as bruises as he did - during the aftercare, he apologizes profusely for the marks he left on your neck and inner thighs. He couldn't help himself, not when you spread your legs terribly wide for him, exposing your dripping core to his greedy eyes. His hot breath prickles your flesh as his lips sheepishly roam that area. And with your mewls combined with his special ability, it was as though an animalistc urge took over him, sinking his teeth in your soft skin to mark. Likes to mark you on the wrist as well, rubbing his thumb over the petal blossoms whilst the other runs over your clit. Your pitulful whines act as encouragement for him to continue suckling the skin, he only stops when tears start to stain your cheeks but even then he leaves just a couple more. He becomes a stuttering mess the following morning when he awakes to see you in his arms, those bite still present on your form, shoots arousal straight to his pants.
RANPO is very precise in the way he marks you up. He leaves you squriming and weakly pawing at him as his teeth are unforgiving on your soft skin. As he rocks into you, his words dripping in mirth, his teeth are making work at forming a dozen lovebites at your skin. He leaves marks in places in which grant him the excuse of giving you a piece of his clothing. Seeing you in his clothes is not only quite adorable but knowing you're littered in filthy bites underneath done by his truly, well, it shoots a spike of arousal through his spine. Even better when you dress all pretty for him, clothes hugging your form as those blemishes peek over your stockings, exposed collar and other accessories. It couples well with your fucked out expression, salivia dripping down your chin from his doing. Ranpo likes to travel his fingers through the brusies, noting the way you flinch at his touch but how you also thighs rub together in anticipation. He'll gladly add onto the collection <33
He kisses you in areas he knows you can easily cover up. KUNIKIDA is very strict by his ideals and believes that the intimacy that resides between the two of you is something that will remain between the two of you. If he wished to show you off, a quick hand on your hip was enough to give off the message. He leaves markings on your chest while he hands fundle with your mounds. You gasp as you feel his teeth start to suckle and tug rather roughly on the skin. He pulls back after each bite, intrigued by how it blossoms into a pretty mark on your soft skin. His hands are rubbing shapes on your hips, his cock nestled deeply within just grazing your sweet spot all the while he adds to the forming collection. A couple bites to your shoulder blades as well, succumbing to the pleasure as he reaches his climax. During the aftercare, he fingers would subconsciously trace the markings as his words release genuine praise to how pretty you look both disheveled and marked for his eyes alone to see.
FYODOR is shamless and merciless in covering you in bites. As much as he loves you and finds you to be the most precious thing to him- well, he deprives some form amusement and pleasure from seeing you sob as he harshly bites down on your nape and shoulders. It's not hard enough to break skin, but the blaring bruise it leaves is just addicting. Sometimes you hardly notice he's leaving those marks, not when the feeling of his cock dragging along your abused walls became the only coherent thought. He litters blemishes in areas in which he knows that despite how much you attempt to cover it, it will be visible to his eyes at a certain angle. And well, Fyodor isn't opposed to marking you up before you're meeting with your friends or colleagues; he's cooing at you softly as you scramble to cover it up - your reaction, making it worth the tease. When he sees those markings start to fade, he'll gladly renew them for you as he fucks all you night long again and again and again.
Well- NIKOLAI- is Nikolai... he name alone is a warning. He covers you in vicious red marks in the most oddest of places that leave you gasping in surprise. He's probably the type to leave a hickey on your cheek just so everyone knows who makes you cry out in the middle of the night. And your chastising remarks(as much as you can anyway as you babble his name repeatedly) fall of deaf ears his lips roam your bare body. He bites hard - perhaps even drawing blood. He relishes the way you clamp around his dick whenever he breaks skin, your choked sobs echoing off the walls. Though he runs his tongue over the bruise, providing some relief from the ache as you shudder and squrim. Your thighs will be littered with marking by the time he's finished, purple blemishes from his sharp caines and crescent moons from his greedy hands. His eyes admire the marks that cover your body, and he gently pinches the blemishes with gloved fingers, soaking in your reactions. May even try to make you cum by just biting you, leaving pretty markings all over your body not one corner left untouched.
#dazai smut#chuuya smut#ranpo smut#nikolai smut#fyodor smut#kunikida smut#atsushi smut#bsd smut#bsd x reader#dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#ranpo x reader#nikolai x reader#fyodor x reader#kunikida x reader#atsushi x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs smut
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Hello, I just found your blog and I saw that you didn't have anything written yet, could you write a Yandere Alucard x reader?, where Alucard knows that his love is not like a normal one, but he still wants to love and care for the reader in his own way? I don't know if you could understand me, English is not my language.
.。*♡ A/N: English isn't my first language either, darling, but don't worry. You're pretty good and I can understand you just fine! Normally when the requester doesn't specify what format they want, I write headcanons. But for this one I went with a drabble, hope you like it! 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜
.。*♡ Warnings: yandere content, non consensual cuddling, implied kidnapping.
Alucard is not one for meaningless sentimentality, if he ever was when he was still human. He doesn't know, can't remember anything before turning into the monster he is today, shrouded by shadows and blood, by vicious bloodlust and thrill of the chase. One thing he remembers though it's love.
Ephemeral, fragile love that humans spend almost all their lives trying to get. Eternal, unconditional love that can swept anyone from their own feet. He's not going to admit it but love was something unknown to him.
Alucard has watched love blossom and change through the ages. Even if he can't remember now, he probably was loved by his parents, his mother probably engulfed him in her arms to protect him from harm, to make him feel safe and loved. Even now he watched and listened and observed love in its pure form, soft and happy, and all around him. He knows enough to know that his love it's tainted and impure just like him. It's all consuming, it's cruel, but he is a cruel monster ready to take and never be satisfied.
He can torn vampires to bits, can disconnect heads from their bodies and bathe in the blood of each of his enemies. Battles against ghouls became orchestrated displays of his commitment, each confrontation a macabre testament of his devotion to you. If only you could see it like this but you were always wary around him, scowling uncomfortably at his bloodied state and dismissing his gifts. Though he suppose eyes and bones don't make good gifts.
His slender fingers continue to tap rhythmically on the arm of the chair. The sound echoing loudly though the palpable silence that plagued your room. You are such a fragile little human, he could crush you so easily beneath his fingers. Could strangle and hear your whimpers and groans, could see the life leave your eyes just like he's seen it in so many other people. But he choose not to.
Instead, he should bring you a heart or a brain. Maybe even the entire corpse. Would that scare you too much though? He doesn't think so.
You're entertaining to watch and you make him feel things he thought he would never feel. For now, he's happy with this, he's happy watching you snuggling against your pillows, wrapped in the soft covers that hid you from the world.
Alucard's red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could send shivers down your spine if you were awake. His love for you was unlike anything mortal — a dark and possessive force that lingered between obsession and protection. You, a mere human, were unaware of the affection that he had for you. Not for long though.
Deciding not to deny himself any further, Alucard moved. Without making a sound he plopped himself into your bed and pulled you into his arms, where you belong. He doesn't care if you wake up, far from this judging by the sly little smile that grows on his lips. Your head found its place in his chest, your warm breath almost tickling his neck.
He doesn't sleep. He doesn't need it but for a moment he closes his eyes. The blood pulsating on your veins being like a lullaby to him.
He always watched you from the shadows, his crimson gaze a constant companion, but his patience it's at its limit. You either doesn't notice his love for you or you are ignoring it, but he had enough of watching from afar and playing around, he gave you a choice. It was unspoken but you still had a chance for you to come forward and reciprocate his feelings before he take things on his own hands.
His love is not good for you, he know. And he knows he's going to ruin you but he doesn't care. What's matter it's that he has you, like a bunny snared in his trap and soon you be forever bound by his side. Not even his master could help you.
#yandere hellsing ultimate#yandere hellsing#yandere alucard#yandere alucard x reader#alucard x reader#hellsing alucard x reader#hellsing ultimate#hellsing alucard#tw yandere#lorkai drabble
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You're thirsty and Morax is dense.
★彡suggestive, dumdum Morax (he doesn’t understand human nuances yet), bit of unneeded comfort
When your beloved Lord Morax approaches you after a day-long outing, you grin to yourself and lean against a pillar. Tonight you crave your newlywed husband.
"Ah, my lord," you sigh, jutting your chest out as dramatically (and as sexily) as possible. "Have you come to indulge in me?"
You bite your lip in delight when you hear your beloved Morax chuckle, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Why, yes I have, my darling." He takes your hand and kisses it ever so tenderly it makes you want to melt right there.
But you're not done yet - you close your eyes and bemoan, "Oh my, in the middle of war?"
See, you're expecting him to say, "Of course, my love. My desires wait for nothing - and I could use a moment of respite in you," and then he'd sweep you away to his private chambers and make the most of the night.
Which is why your eyes snap open in shock when you hear him instead say, "Ah, you're right. My desires can wait, can they not?" He lets go of you, his expression hardening like stone. "There is yet much to be done this moon cycle. Once the dust settles, we shall enjoy ourselves thoroughly, hm?"
Uttering this, and planting a firm kiss on your forehead, Morax turns and leaves, leaving you standing there sputtering.
----
You two convene for dinner together later in the evening, and you smile to yourself, cheeks heating up as you get ready to seduce him. "All this food is lovely, but I was wondering if you were craving something even better..."
Raising a brow, Morax sets down his chalice of wine. "Oh? And what does my beloved propose?"
Fidgeting in your seat, you let out a coy, "How about having me?"
But instead of sweeping aside the empty dishes and spreading you out on the table for dessert, your husband only tilts his head in concern. "My love, I know you have had your qualms about marrying the Prime of Adepti, but I assure you I do not consume human flesh."
You shrivel up like a prune as he pets you, lamenting that you'd even entertain such a frightening thought, reassuring you that he would never harm you like that.
----
A more direct approach is in order - but surely you can still be poetic in your methods, no? You're now sprawled in the bed you share with Morax, wearing your best night-garments.
Your god finally arrives, smiling as he sees you lounging comfortably in bed. When he joins you there, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and purrs softly, enjoying your warmth. You run your hand through his silky hair.
You let him stay like this for a bit before you speak. "After countless vicious battles for dominion, perhaps you and I could engage in a battle more...passionate."
"Darling!" His head snaps up to look at you worriedly, horns nearly poking you in the eye. "What makes you think I would ever fight you?"
You blink. "Er...no, I meant that-"
Morax cups your face tenderly. "There shall never come a time where the two of us are on opposing sides. Wherever you go, I follow. Never shall an arrow of mine fly in your direction."
"No no, listen, I-"
He's having none of it - he pulls your head onto his lap and strokes softly. "My wedding vows included my oath to protect you. I intend to keep that oath, darling, so please, perish the thought of a battle between us."
"Actually I meant that-"
Morax shakes his head, eyes lowered in sorrow. "I hope this thought of yours has only just blossomed, and had not taken root fourteen moons ago on our first night together when you witnessed a portion of my divine strength-"
"Okay fine! My apologies! It was just a silly notion! How about you just make love to me?!" "Oh, of course. If only you had asked sooner."
#sini writes#zhongli#genshin impact#zhongli x reader#genshin#genshin x reader#zhongli x you#drabble#rex lapis#morax#suggestive
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The Djinn’s Reward (Submission!)
Nightwing had seen a lot of weird things in her career as a supervigilante - aliens, monsters, mad scientists - but at the end of the day, she was a human being and she specialized in stopping human crimes. When the communicator on her wrist pinged a silent alarm at the Gotham Institute of Antiquities, Nightwing leapt into action expecting art thieves.
The break-in hadn’t been subtle. Sneaking in through the broken skylight, Nightwing found the Middle Eastern gallery being prowled by the villainous Baron Geld and his dimwitted minions. The gold-obsessed gangster normally targeted jewelry stores and auction houses, but Nightwing didn’t question what he would want here before ambushing Geld’s muscle. She effortlessly sapped one from behind with an escrima stick, then delivered a kick to the gut and a smack to the skull on the second. The last one got to raise his fist and take two steps forward before Nightwing effortlessly deflected his arm with one escrima stick and drove the but of her other between the thug’s eyes. That left Nightwing facing down Baron Geld himself - a unimpressive dandy dressed like the bad guy from an old Robin Hood movie. He grinned with an annoying amount of confidence, regardless.
“Ah, Nightwing, Bludhaven’s own lady of the night, you’ve grace we humble men with your presence.”
The boyish superheroine spun her escrima sticks, cocked her hips, and smirked at the costumed criminal. “Humble is one way to put it, Geld. You didn’t even bring enough men to make it a challenge.”
“Yes, good help can be so hard to find,” Baron Geld held up a simple glass bottle, taken from the museum display. With a flourish, he pulled out a stopper. “But I think I found a new henchman I can depend on!”
There was a bang and then a cloud of thick white smoke. Nightwing reached for her gas mask, when the smoke impossibly reversed course and seemingly congealed in the center of the room. Dixie stared in shock as the smoke resolved into a figure of a gigantic man.
“Ha ha ha, I’m finally free!” The djinn bellowed with joy. He grinned at Baron Geld. “As I swore centuries ago, I would shower the man who freed me with all the riches of the world. Gold, jewels, a harem of beauties… All of it will be yours, sir!”
“A harem? Great, a harem! Then her!” Baron Geld pointed at Nightwing with a smile of vicious triumph. “Make her my first harem girl!”
Dixie’s eyes went wide. She didn’t know what to do about a magical genie, but she wasn’t going down without a fight! Nightwing clenched her sticks and charged at Baron Geld, determined to grab the bottle. But the djinn snapped her fingers and Dixie fell flat on her face as her combat boots dissolved, along with her uniform and her weapons and her mask. Instead, Dixie now wore a golden belly dancers outfit.
“Are you sure you want her, sir?” The djinn laughed down at Dixie. “She’s a fine specimen of a warrior, but for a concubine-?”
“If you can make improvements, I wouldn’t complain.”
“Wait-” Dixie tried to beg, but the djinn clapped his hands twice and Dixie’s body convulsed with vulgar heat. She starred in helpless confusion as her muscle melted away to give her a slender physique, while her breasts swelled into round globes. Dixie bit her plumping lips as her hair inched down her neck and back. It felt amazing. It felt like an orgasmic full-body massage as a tan spread over her and make-up blossomed on her face.
“Mmmmm, what have you done to me?” Dixie moaned sensually. She didn’t sound like herself. She didn’t fell like herself. It was like struggling to stay awake, stronger than any drug Dixie had experienced.
“Shall she have a new name, sir?”
“Hmmm… Aurora.” Geld licked his lips and stared into her eyes. A chill passed up Dixie’s spine, barely noticeable under the sexual heat. “The first of Baron Geld’s new treasures.”
“Very good, sir.” The djinn clapped his hands again. “Rise, Aurora, and serve your master.”
Dixie blinked and Aurora opened her eyes, feeling her self-righteousness and fear fall away. Hunger and pride took their place. She was Aurora, who lived to please her master, the Baron Geld, as one of his golden treasures.
(Thank you @parasex-jamboree for the very hot submission!)
#submission#breast expansion#bimbo lips#villain kink#reality change#Personality Change#identity death
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Hey you :D
Here’s a request just to add your huge list for after vacation muahaha 💖
How do you think a slow, bickering romance with Astarion (kinda like Howl and Sophie) would go down.
Hey darling ❤️ You might’ve forgotten about this ask but I have not! I'm combining this with another one asking about where Astarion rejected Tav at first but then slowly fell for them.
Also haven't done one of this headcanon posts for a whole haven't we? Here we go:
Headcanons about Astarion slowly but surely falling in love with you (and how he pursues you)
Oh, it's all just a game for him, isn't it? At least at first. But this silly little jester didn't realise he was playing himself.
He might have rejected you at first (because he's a prick who has looked at the sun a little too long, let's be honest) but he quickly realises he can't take his mind off of you
You keep stirring the vampire's undead little heart and it scares him at first - and of course you had given up on it after that first hurtful rejection
But his crimson eyes start to never stray far from you, no matter if in battle or at camp: he can't tear his gaze from you - gods dammit, you're lovely!
It's in the way you always put others first, always have a kind word to spare, always a warm smile. How you laugh and how brave you are, how you bite your lip when you're lost deep in thought.
Quite frankly: a stake to his heart couldn't have been more effective.
But he realises another thing: he wants to be real with you, he wants to fall slowly with you - not a vicious thunderstorm but a soft, warm summer rain
And so Astarion begins to yearn in silence as you too can't keep your thoughts from turning around him often
It's painfully obvious to everyone around you how much the two of you are in love with each other; so much so that bets are being made in camp if you're gonna make it before you all reach the Gate
You notice that Astarion keeps sneaking around you like an adoring cat would: always a playful quip on the tip of his sharp tongue that you never take serious because... this Astarion we're talking about. "Oh my heart, aren't you even more blinding than the sun today" "Look who's blessing us with their grace and insight." "A copper for the thoughts in your pretty little head, darling."
Astarion doesn't know how to live the teasing out of his tone, maybe out of fear you might actually start taking him seriously; but if you would peel back the generous layer of faked sarcasm you'd find he's actually being serious
This man is downright smitten by you and you don't realise it as he achingly yearns for you - so much the others can barely take it
Sometimes you find little gifts on your pillow when you wake up: a sweet treat, snuck away from the others, a single blossom, a mysterious line of poetry - you are at a loss at where this comes from or if someone is playing with you
Meanwhile Astarion swallows his pride to regularly go to Wyll and ask his advice who... does help him but not without a haughty grin whenever he sees the lovesick vampire stroll over in his seemingly hopeless endeavour
Meanwhile you keep doing your utmost best to be at Astarion's side because you truly only want to help him and be happy and safe
Again: have mercy with the poor tortured soul, sometimes Astarion almost feels like he could combust on the spot if you give him one of your adorable lopsided smiles
When Moonrise and unpleasant people happen something in Astarion breaks, it all bursts out of him at once, overpowering even his terrible fear of rejection
The hug and tender first kiss you share that night tears both if your walls down.
You have not defeated the big bad enemy but something in your heart lightens knowing you have someone who will travel the road to whatever end with you
From there on out the two of you become even more unbearable in your pining for each other - meanwhile not trivial amounts of gold are passed between the other companions with quite some grumbling - but be assured: all of your friends are rooting for the two of you.
There we go, I love idiots in love with each other, hope you enjoyed!
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#bg3 spoilers#fanfiction#astarion x tav#bg3#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate#astarion x you#poro headcanons#bg3 companions#astarion x reader
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