#a strong sweet smell of incense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cursedyuri · 2 days ago

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WILL YOU SHUFFLE ME, SPREAD ME APART?

summary: in the slums of zaun, you’ve carved out a life for yourself which not many would envy. you spend your nights in the arms of strangers, trading coin for hasty touches and labored breaths. and since such a line of work isn’t always enough to keep yourself fed and clothed, you have a second service to offer: fortune telling.

or... two times vi comes knocking, and a third time you let her in.

18+ only! smut below. cw for fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of blood. 7k words.

The heels of your boots click against damp cobblestone, wet thumps echoing through the dingy alleyway leading to Babette’s brothel. It’s a particularly humid night, even despite the chill in the air - the humidity makes it worse, you think. It feels like the cold is seeping into the very marrow of your bones.

You pull your cloth coat tighter over your torso, thankful when you rap on the brothel’s wooden door and are allowed in almost instantly. One step through the threshold, and the biting cold melts like early-spring snow. The air is thick here, too, but warm and smoky. Tobacco stings sweet in your nose, a cocktail of too-strong perfumes mixing with ribbons of incense that linger suspended midair. It’s an intoxicating kind of smell, one that makes weak women and weaker men feel more inclined to spend their hard-earned coin on a night with a stranger.

Part of you is hoping none will choose you tonight. It’s not that you’re opposed to it - gods know you’d be in the wrong line of work if you were. Rather, you’ve got plans to eat the meager dinner you’ve purchased for yourself, sip some red wine, and rifle through your cards for answers about what’s been going on topside lately. You’ve heard murmurs of an attack, rebellion… You’re not exactly sure what to believe, so as you often do, you look to the cards for clarity.

The deck sits idly by a thicket of half-burnt herbs on your desk, stacked precariously where you’d last used them. You shed your coat and hang it on a brass hook by the desk, then slide into the seat in front of it. Still thawing, you sink into the velvet cushion and reach into your knapsack for the paper-wrapped sandwich inside, also procuring an unmarked bottle of wine from beside it. You’re wiping an iron goblet clean with the fabric of your tiered skirt when a familiar voice calls your name from the doorway. It’s one of the other workers here, Nina. She’s been here just about as long as you.

“You might hate me,” she says, a preface that makes your lips turn downward in a frown.

You grunt, uncorking your wine and pouring a hearty serving into your goblet. By the sounds of it, you’ll need the liquid courage. “I just sat down, you know.”

Nina’s delicate brows pull together; maybe she’s feeling apologetic, or maybe she’s just laying it on thick so you’ll take a job before you’ve even had dinner.

“I thought so, but… I think you’ll like her, peach.” She pauses for a beat. “And if you take her, I may have some chocolate I’d consider parting with.”

“Bribery,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips as you roll your eyes at Nina’s offer. “But fine. Send her in.”

“Will do, peach,” Nina practically squeals, disappearing from your doorway just as quickly as she’d come.

Cursing under your breath, you take a swig of wine and turn to the tarnished mirror behind your desk, examining yourself. By some stroke of luck, you’d had the sense to put on a layer of makeup before you’d gone out earlier. Blemishes are covered, your eyes are rimmed with kohl, and a smear of rouge emphasizes the pouty shape of your lips. That’s all you ever need, paired with the eye-catching swell of your breasts against the low-cut linen of your blouse. This will be easy enough.

You’ve drained half the wine in your cup by the time your client knocks at the open door. You turn your head to greet her and, before you can get a word out, the door slams closed with a heavy thud. At first, you gawk at the client because of her notable entrance - but then, you gawk because Nina was right. You like her.

This girl looks like the undercity chewed her up, spit her out, then chewed her up again. She’s all sharp edges and leather and lipstick, black makeup smeared from her eyes to her cheeks. Her hair’s black, too, though you can see patches of red exposed from an uneven dye job and a few heavy-handed washes. She’s certainly achieved the menacing look she’s sought out, and though it’s a mighty contrast to her pale complexion and piercing blue eyes, it somehow works for her - she’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t mind getting dirty for.

“Good evening,” you say, because it’s all you can seem to think of to break the silence. “Would you like a drink?”

The client surveys you up and down with those icy blue eyes, working her jaw. She nods. “What do you have?”

“Wine, whiskey, gin,” you tell her, gesturing to the makeshift bar cart beside a loveseat at the entrance of your suite. Different colored liquors fill antique, mismatched bottles at different levels. The client glances over at them, steps up to the cart and surveys that, too. Then she turns to you, gestures to your goblet.

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

You nod. “Wine it is, then. Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.”

She obliges, lowering herself onto the plum fabric of the loveseat. Her legs are spread just so - enough to make it obvious that this woman is used to taking up space, and unafraid of what that kind of confidence might imply. Your eyes linger on her parted knees, but not long enough to get caught. After you fill up a goblet for her and refill your own, you glide across the room to hand her the drink. She accepts it with a nod of thanks, her fingertips brushing against yours in the process. You take a seat beside her.

“What’s your name?” You regard her behind fluttering lashes, sipping from your freshly filled goblet. The wine is sweet on your tongue, bitter around the edges. You can already feel it loosening your muscles, relaxing your inhibitions. Piquing your curiosity, even.

The client takes a swig from her own drink and says, “Vi.”

Vi. Her name is tattooed on her cheekbone, you muse, gaze sweeping over her face once again. There’s a silver hoop pierced through her nose, a scar etched into her upper lip. A healing bruise on her left jaw catches your eye, blooming faint shades of purple, yellow, and green. You’re afflicted with an urge to reach out and touch it - to touch her. But when she catches your gaze with those steely eyes of hers, you’re frozen. Like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, your cheeks flush hot. Vi seems amused by your appraisal, cracks a smile that looks somehow natural on her war-torn face.

She cuts through the tension like a spearhead, one hand reaching forward to readjust the sleeve of your blouse, which had fallen down your shoulder. Her fingertips are cold and calloused, but the touch fills you with uncharacteristic warmth. “What’s your name?”

You tell her and she repeats it, that sultry voice curling around every syllable of your name as if she were tasting it.

However intoxicating Vi’s voice might be, it dawns on you again what she’s doing here. She’d paid for your time, paid to sip your wine and touch you with those split-knuckled hands of hers. You have the sense to wonder why - a woman like Vi should have no trouble warming her bed for free, yet here she is.

“Well, Vi,” you say, pausing briefly for another sip of wine, “how do you want me?”

If your straightforwardness bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She brushes dark locks of her out of her eye-line, seemingly considering your answer. Then: “I heard you tell fortunes.”

You quirk a brow at her. “I—yes. Is that what you want?”

Something flashes in her eyes. “Among other things.”

“It’s extra for that,” you clarify. “The fortune-telling, I mean.”

“I have enough.”

And that settles it. You uncross your legs, stand up and move to retrieve your deck of cards from the desk. There’s a table in front of the loveseat where Vi still sits, and that’s where you lay out an ornate silk cloth to spread the cards upon. You gather the thicket of herbs from your desk, too, along with a match. Vi watches you set fire to the sprigs, a stream of smoke billowing upwards and filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent.

“What questions do you have?” You ask, settling down upon a floor pillow on the opposite side of the table from Vi. After you set down your goblet of wine, you pick up the deck and begin to shuffle; the fluttering sounds of cards fills the silence before Vi can answer.

“Do I need to ask questions?”

“No, I guess not,” you respond, shoulders shrugging. “I can just see what the cards say about you.”

Vi nods her assent, tossing her head back to finish what’s left of her wine. One by one, cards fly out from the deck as you shuffle, some upright, some inverted. When you’ve circulated through the deck once or twice with no other cards presenting themselves, you stop.

“Five of cups,” you read aloud. The card’s illustration depicts a figure in a black cloak, turned away, three emptied cups at her feet. Behind her are two upright cups, unnoticed. “Loss. Mourning.”

Vi inhales sharply through her nose, and when you look up at her, she’s white-knuckled with her hand around the stem of her now-empty goblet. You lift your brows in a wordless question - should you continue?

She nods.

“Something didn’t work out as you’d planned it, and you’re too stubborn to let go. Instead, you lament the loss and let it hold you hostage.”

There’s a sound like Vi humming, a quiet acknowledgement of your words as you move to the next card.

“Four of wands, reversed - this tells me you’ve been separated from loved ones. This is what didn’t work out as planned, maybe?”

When you look at Vi this time, she’s leaning forward in her seat, forearms braced against her strong thighs.

“Maybe,” she echoes. “What else is there?”

You show her the next card, another inverted one. The illustration depicts a man in ornate clothing, a flower plucked between his fingers as he prances confidently towards the edge of a cliff. “The fool, reversed.”

“That’s me?” Vi asks. “The fool?”

“Hm, not always. But with the other cards… You are the fool, Vi, I’m sorry to say it.” You hope she catches the tinge of playfulness in your tone, serious as the reading feels. Heavy as the tension feels.

“Well,” she starts, “the cards don’t lie, I guess.”

You hum in agreement. “The fool, reversed this way, tells me that you’re reckless. Lacking caution, you’ve opened yourself up to betrayal.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Vi laughs without humor, tries to drink the last crimson drops of the wine in her goblet. “Can I get some more?”

You move to get up and fetch her the bottle, but she waves a hand to dismiss you. She’s up and across the room in a flash, refilling her cup and taking a swig before she’s even made it back to the loveseat.

“But…” You hold up her final card - judgement. The art depicts an angel blaring into a trumpet from the heavens, the humans below rejoicing. Her eyes assessing the card, Vi looks to you for an explanation.

“Judgement tells us that renewal and transformation is possible,” you finish

“Renewal, transformation... Right. What’s the catch?”

Smart woman, you think. There’s always a catch.

“You have to be willing to let go of what’s held you stagnant. Accept what’s behind you and focus on what’s ahead, because wallowing in misfortune does you no good.”

That seems to resonate, because Vi’s expression turns shadowy, thoughtful. She drinks again, her lips nearly purple from the wine. You take a moment to drink from your own cup, ready to ask Vi if she wants you to undress yourself, or if she’s the kind of client who wants to do it for you.

Instead, you’re stunned into silence when she polishes off her drink, slams the cup down onto the table, and stands. Her jaw is locked again, tense.

“Vi?” Your brows lift in question.

“Thank you,” she says. She moves towards the door, then stops when she seems to remember something. One bandaged hand digs into her jacket pocket, emerging with a handful of coin. She places it on the nearest surface, a small table with a lamp glowing atop it, and only glances back towards you before she vanishes out the door.

There’s a draft in the room, suddenly. You curl into bed, pull the covers over your goosebump-afflicted skin, and think.

The days following Vi’s visit dawn bleak and cold as ever. Nina asks about your client the following morning, and you let her bask in the satisfaction that you had liked her, but you politely break the news that she’d been nothing particularly special - a white lie to keep the questions at bay. You’re not one to run your mouth; besides, rumors spread through Babette’s brothel like wildfire.

Some of the latest rumors? There’s a man with magical abilities lurking in the shadows of Zaun, with a touch that heals the sick. There’s a blue-haired revolutionary forming a significant following in the undercity, those of whom claim she’ll free them from Piltover’s brutality. You’re not sure what to believe, but there must be some truth to the rumors, because your cards sense something afoot: the tower, ten of swords, ace of cups.

Still, business continues as usual. Degenerates and saints alike seek your company, and you need the money to survive, so your bed is always warm.

Because you’ve had dozens of clients over the years who visit and never return, you don’t expect to see Vi again. Still, your mind keeps returning to her - you wonder why she’d stormed out so suddenly, why she’d paid you for sex without laying a finger on you. The curiosity lingers in the back of your mind, but you counter it with reality: she’d probably chickened out. Heard something too striking in her reading and couldn’t follow through, but decided to pay for your time anyway. At most, it was a kind gesture.

So why can’t you stop thinking about her?

Weeks pass, and your routine continues. Tonight’s another late night, and you’re relaxing after several clients in a row. You’d bathed in water treated with salts and oils, the scents still clinging to your skin as you rub salve into your aching muscles. The last few clients had been rough - twisting your limbs, working you into positions that tested your flexibility and endurance as they used their tongues, fingers, and other appendages to chase their pleasure through your body. None of them had made you come, though, so in the momentary solitude of the bath, you’d slipped your hand between your legs until your release pulsated through your tired frame. Now, you’re feeling pleasantly warm and at ease, perfumed and ready if there may be a late-night visitor. You’d be grateful for the extra money, if you’re being honest.

When there’s a steady knock at the door, you saunter over to answer it in nothing but your lingerie, lacy black and surprisingly comfortable. Who knows? They might pay extra for such ease of access - and a nice presentation.

The flirty smile on your lips disappears when you realize who’s on the other side of the door.

“Gods—Vi?” You try not to express your shock, schooling your features to the best of your ability. Vi, however, turns a pretty shade of pink when she takes in the sight of you: tits pushed together and decorated in delicate lace, the soft hair over your sex barely obscured with thin fabric. Your thighs are plush and glowy with moisture, hips hugged beautifully by the high-waisted panties that match your elaborate bra.

Vi’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I’m… Sorry to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting,” you assure her, opening the door all the way to allow her entry. You try to ignore the way her gaze first moves to the empty bed, something like relief washing over her features before she turns back to you. The door shuts with a soft click.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I thought you were a client.”

After wrapping yourself in the first robe you find by your bedside, you move to the bar cart to pour Vi a drink. She scoffs, an almost-laugh that’s low and soft. “Well, I am a client.”

As the wine sloshes into her goblet, you fix her with an admonishing look. “A client looking for sex, Vi.”

That shuts her up. Her cheeks are still pink, you notice, as you take in her appearance: most of the dye has faded out of her hair, leaving it a patchy canvas of black, maroon, and fuschia. She’s still sporting a cut and a bruise here and there, but more wounds are covered with bandages than last time. Notably, she’s not drenched in black paint, though there is a ring of liner around her eyes.

“Thanks,” Vi says when you hand her a cup of wine. She shoots back a mouthful and moves to the loveseat, lowering herself into the same spot as last time.

“So?” You arch a brow at her. “Here for another reading, I take it?”

She nods. “Yeah, sweetheart. If that’s okay.”

“I thought I scared you away last time,” you reply with a smirk. There’s a hint of truth to the statement, though, teasing as you might be - you hadn’t expected to see her back so soon, if at all.

“Oh, you did,” she admits. “But things have changed, and now… I’m curious what you have to say. I could use some advice.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Just as it was last time, Vi’s attention is honed in on you. You shuffle the cards with expert precision, and she watches the way your hands dance over the deck, fingers grazing the careful illustrations of each card with easy familiarity. This time, five cards leap from the deck: seven of cups, the chariot, eight of wands, four of wands, eight of pentacles. It’s a story unfolding beneath your fingertips, all the more interesting when you think back to Vi’s last reading.

“You’ve made progress,” you tell her. “But the hard work isn’t over. You’re prone to wishful thinking, which is a good thing, sometimes, because your determination is a powerful force.”

Glancing up at Vi, you offer her an encouraging smile. “When you fight, I get the sense that you almost always win.”

Vi snorts, wiping a burgundy smear of wine from her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s what the cards say?”

“Not exactly, but, well… I’ve gathered some things for myself.” You hold up the chariot card. “This one tells me you need an ironclad will to move forward. One I don’t doubt you have.”

Is it just your imagination, or does Vi turn pink again?

“And these,” you say, holding up the two cards from the wand suit, “show me fire. Creation, destruction, volatility. You’re dealing with something that can be useful or detrimental, depending on how you proceed.”

Vi’s eyes are alight, not unlike the fire you’ve just discussed. What you wouldn’t give to know how her life aligns with these cards - what fire is she playing with? What challenges is she facing?

“And the last one?” Vi’s voice cuts through your internal musings as she gestures to the final card on the table. You pick it up and show it to her - the eight of pentacles, depicting a man hard at work, hammer in hand.

“It’s very much in line with the others,” you explain. “Diligence, focus, hard work.”

She hums, nodding. “Got it. So, any chance there's a card that’ll tell me what I should do?”

Her tone drips with sarcasm, but you can tell there’s a glimmer of sincerity in the question - and in those pale blue eyes, swirling with emotion.

You press your lips into a firm line, setting the eight of pentacles card down. “I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, Vi,” you say honestly. “But that’s not how the cards work.”

“Yeah,” Vi responds, voice bitter around the edges; somber. “I figured as much. Thank you, uh, for the reading.”

In the silence that follows, you imagine a braver version of yourself: one that isn’t too hesitant to ask questions. One that would feel comfortable offering a listening ear to this riot of a woman, whose scars and bruises tell you just as much as the cards you’ve splayed out for her. You wonder where she goes after she leaves here, if that home holds a family, friends, a lover. But all you can do is wonder. You don’t go sniffing for information - like the brothel dweller you are, information finds you. And if it doesn’t, perhaps it’s better to wonder.

Vi rises from the loveseat, readjusting one of the tattered blankets strewn across its surface. She finishes the remainder of her wine and, gently, sets it on the table.

She says, “I’ve gotta go.”

Her hand dips into her jacket pocket and emerges with far too much coin, which she sets out on the table for you.

“That’s too much,” you counter with a furrowed brow. “We didn’t—you only had your cards read.”

You reach forward to collect the extra cash, ready to push it back into Vi’s palm, but she backs away with her hands in her pockets.

“Nah, sweetheart,” she replies, ambling towards the door and prying it open. “Keep the change.”

The next time you see Vi, her knuckles are bleeding.

It’s been weeks, maybe even months, and you’re surprised to find her at your door again, much less in her current state: battered and bruised, her knuckles raw and red. Her shoulders sag, that proud, confident air about her entirely deflated. She’s a shell of the woman you’d first met months ago; all that brazen confidence she’d once had has burnt down to dying embers.

When she looks at you, her eyes are forlorn, watery. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Vi…” You open the door further, ushering her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back.

Inside, you pour her a drink - water, this time - and instruct her to lie down on the bed, draping a thin blanket over her frame.

“You’re hurt,” you say pointedly, gesturing to her bleeding knuckles. “Can I help?”

Vi’s expression doesn’t change; her eyes are distant, her skin so pale it’s almost grey. But she nods her assent, so you get to work - you swipe a wet cloth over her knuckles to clear away the blood, then cautiously apply a salve to her wounds. Through it all, Vi hardly even winces, a fact that doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even now, with her brazen confidence stripped away to the bone, she’s tougher than most. It’s an attribute that runs through her to the core.

“Don’t you want to ask what happened?” Vi asks, suddenly. Her voice is raw, and to avoid looking her in the eye, you focus on wrapping her knuckles with layers of soft gauze. “Wanna know how I fucked up this time?”

You frown. “I’m not one to pry.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before Vi speaks again. “That’s what’s different about you,” she says. “Everyone else just… Wants something from me.”

Brows knitting together, you fix Vi with a look that you hope reads less as pitying and more as understanding. You’re certainly familiar with catering to other’s desires over your own; it’s been this way for longer than you can remember.

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely. Finished dressing her wounds, you let go of her hands, still kneeling at the side of the bed. You stand up with the intention of refilling Vi’s water, but as you reach for the cup, she catches your wrist in one bandaged hand.

“All those times I saw you,” she starts, “when I had you read my cards… You never asked about my life.”

You nod, wrist burning from her touch.

“Why? You never wondered?”

“It’s not my job to wonder.” You swallow. “Just to give people what they want.”

Vi’s gaze is intense, holding you in a trance. You’re frozen there, standing at the side of the bed, entirely in her grasp. “But do you ever get what you want?”

Do you?

You’d been working for Babette for years, longer than most - and before that, even as a child, you’d always understood that bending to the will of others is the easiest way to move through life. You can slip through the cracks that way, get enough coin or food or clothing to live another day. You wanted that, you suppose. To live.

But you’re not sure that’s what Vi’s talking about.

“I have enough,” you say. “There’s not much I want.”

Vi nods. “But there’s something.”

You smooth your free hand over hers, and she lets go of your wrist. “I’ll get you some water.”

As you refill her cup, you feel her eyes on you, and your mind races. Why does she care about what you want? You’re a stranger to her, a fortune teller living on scraps in an undercity brothel. First, she’d paid you for sex she’d never had, and now she’s in your bed, asking you questions you barely had the wherewithal to ask yourself. Gods, this woman is something else. You wish you could read her mind - crack open that beautiful skull of hers, sift through her thoughts, learn what had led her to you not once, not twice, but three times. You wish you could know everything about her, read her like your favorite book with its pages dog-eared, its cover well-worn.

Maybe that’s what you want, after all.

Returning to the bedside, you hand Vi her cup and stand by as she takes a long drink, then sets it on the nightstand. Her hair has grown a few inches since the first time you’d met her, you muse, and you like it this way - long locks of pink-crimson fall in jagged layers just past her shoulders, her bangs framing her face nicely. You wonder what it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through that hair, to brush it free of knots, to hold the back of her head in your palm.

“It’s late,” Vi says, interrupting your train of thought. “I should go - you should get some rest.”

She peels back the blanket you’d settled over her, sitting up. You hesitate, then reach forward to touch her forearm. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up,” Vi says, “or… Keep away any business.”

Something in your chest tightens. “You won’t.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I want you to stay,” you interrupt. “You need rest, too.”

Vi’s mouth hangs open for a moment, stormy blue eyes assessing you. Then, she settles back into bed, pulling the blanket up over her chest again. There’s a long pause, only the muffled sounds of laughter and salacious moans from other rooms filling the silence. You’re debating setting yourself up on the loveseat when Vi murmurs a quiet hey to capture your attention, then pats the space beside her in bed.

There are candles still burning on desks and tables and dressers throughout the room, lamps shining in shades of yellow and orange. You’ll lie down for only a moment, you tell yourself, long enough for Vi to doze off. Then you’d turn off the lights, blow out the candles, maybe sneak off to find a client looking for a fortune teller. You sense that Vi needs someone beside her for now, though, so you climb into bed, wrapping your frame in a velvety purple blanket.

Once you’ve settled in next to her, Vi turns on her side to face you. Her lips, rosebud pink, are chapped, and you watch her moisten them with a swipe of her tongue.

“Thank you,” she says, voice hushed. “For letting me stay here.”

I didn’t know where else to go.

You turn over to face her, too, the corners of your lips pulling upwards. “Of course. I’m glad you’re okay, Vi.”

There’s a softness in Vi’s expression, now - one that you hadn’t seen before. The tough facade has melted away, as has the hurt, the pain. All that’s left is her rounded, wide eyes, her relaxed jaw, the curve of her lips. You catch yourself staring too long, and when you look up again, Vi’s already watching you.

She raises a bandaged hand to your face, where it hovers an inch away. Her expression asks for permission, and when you lean into her touch, Vi’s hand cups your cheek with a gentleness you’d never think her capable of. Not with those scars, not with the cuts and bruises that have become a permanent fixture on her skin. Her thumb skates over your cheekbone, and the touch feels electric.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

Your breath hitches; you hope she doesn’t notice.

“I’m sure you hear that a lot,” Vi adds. And it’s true, you do.

You hesitate. Then: “Not from anyone who matters.”

Vi smiles - it’s a soft kind of smile, one that you wish you could take a photo of, frame it and hang it on the wall to return to when you need a reminder of the warmth in this moment. Her hand leaves your cheek and travels down to your arm, then finding your hand beneath the blankets. Your eyes feel heavy, suddenly - so must hers, because she doesn’t speak again. You fall asleep next to her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, her hand warm and heavy in yours.

When you wake up again, the room is a dark, inky blue.

You sit upright, back straight, memories of the night before slowly filtering into your mind. Half-expecting an empty space where Vi had once been, you glance to the side, finding her sleeping figure curled under the blankets. Chest tightening, you look down at her in the black dark, eyes straining.

Her eyes open, lashes fluttering, and you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” she murmurs back to you. One of her arms snakes around your waist, encouraging you to lie back, and you oblige. You’re closer than you were when you fell asleep, Vi’s steady breaths tickling at your shoulder.

You’re suddenly very aware of her skin on yours; your shirt has ridden up your stomach in your sleep, and Vi’s arm, wrapped around you, burns against you. Your stomach is warm with something delicious, something dangerous.

It doesn’t help when Vi pulls you closer, palm opening against the flesh of your hip. You’re frozen for a moment, wondering if she’s still sleeping, somehow.

“Vi?”

“Hm?” You feel her draw back, as if waiting for you to turn over, so you do. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you peer up at her.

“I think I know what I want.”

Vi’s quiet, her gaze steady on you. You’re about to take it back, whisper never mind and turn to sleep again, when she brings her hand back up to your cheek, cupping it in her hand the same way she had the night before.

“Tell me,” she whispers in the dark.

“I…” You hesitate. “I want you to touch me.”

There’s a long pause, Vi’s eyes flickering over your face, analyzing your expression. Your body is tense with anticipation, and when she finally, finally leans in to press her lips to yours, the tension seeps out of every muscle.

Like everything about her, Vi’s kiss is different - her touch is different. She holds your face as her lips move against yours, soft and wet and sweet, thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as her tongue traces the part of your lips. You open your mouth for her, let her lick into you to deepen the kiss.

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been kissed like this. You’ve grown accustomed to hasty, messy kisses, foul breath and rough touches, far too many clients eager to skip past the kissing and get to the fucking. But Vi tastes like heaven as she takes her time with you, tongue soft as it pushes against yours. Every kiss leaves you aching for more, the warmth in your lower belly growing hotter with each smack of your lips against Vi’s. You pull back, catching your breath, and Vi peers at you with bleary eyes.

“You okay?” She asks, thumb still stroking at your cheek. You nod and pull her in for another kiss, drawing a soft moan from the bottom of her throat - one that goes straight to your cunt.

You’re not sure how long you continue like that, trapped in a heated kiss, bodies moving closer with every languid sigh and pleading moan. But eventually, the layers of clothing between you is a burden you can no longer bear. You pull back to work your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor before Vi tugs you close for another searing kiss. Your hands slip beneath the thin fabric of her tank, and she shivers, a full-body chill that makes you flush impossibly hotter. Once her shirt is discarded, too, Vi gently pushes you to lie flat on your back, climbing over you in nothing but a thin pair of shorts. You realize through the haze of lust clouding your mind that she must’ve woken up before you - she’d turned the lights off, taken off the stiff pair of pants she’d arrived in the night before.

Hovering over you in the dark, Vi’s an absolute dream. Tattoos decorate her pale complexion, inked into her arms, her shoulders, her neck - you’d already noticed that she’s heavily inked, but it’s more striking when she’s half-naked like this. You don’t have much time to look, though, because Vi leans over to tuck her face into your neck, warm lips latching to the sensitive skin and littering kisses in an imprecise path. You keen high in your throat, leaning the opposite way to grant her more access, your hands finding purchase on her narrow hips. When you dig your nails into her skin, hissing as she parts her lips over your neck and sucks, her hips buck forward, grinding her thinly-clothed heat over your pelvis. You nearly see stars.

There’s always been a cold draft in your room, in the brothel, and in Zaun as a whole. But here, now, you’re on fire. You lift your hips and push Vi down against your pelvis again, encouraging her to find that friction again, and she emits a muffled moan against your neck when she does. It’s heavenly, that sound - you want to hear it again and again and again, until it’s forever etched into your memory.

“Gods, Vi,” you gasp, her teeth scraping against your neck. She works her way further south, leaving kisses and bites in her wake, until she reaches the peaks of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty, fuck,” she murmurs, dazed. Both hands cup your tits and squeeze, her thumbs playing with the buds of your nipples until they’ve hardened from her touch. She then leans over to take one nipple into her mouth, moaning around the flesh as if she’d been dying for this. Her tongue draws wet circles over the sensitive bud, her cheeks hollowing out when she sucks at it until you’re gasping and writhing. You need her further down, where your cunt throbs and gushes in anticipation, but she takes her time with your other tit before she even considers undressing you further.

Still straddling your waist, Vi sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She flashes you a wicked smile, eyes twinkling, and lifts her hips to reach for the waistband of your shorts.

“This okay, pretty girl?”

You nod, biting your lip. Pretty girl.

Vi rolls your shorts down your thighs, pulls them off with ease and sets them to the side. Your panties are next - a simple, cotton pair that wasn’t anything flashy - and she tosses those to the edge of the bed, too distracted by the sight of your naked body to care much about where they landed.

Typically, you weren’t shy about your body. In your line of work, you couldn’t be shy - you had to know your features and work them to your benefit. But with Vi eyeing you like you’re a meal and she’s a woman starved, your stomach flutters with excitement and, somewhere, a glimmer of insecurity. The need to impress her.

And gods, does she seem impressed. She curses under her breath, her rough hands smoothing over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips and your thighs and your ass, licking her lips like she’s parched. You realize, as she settles her hands on your knees and works them apart for you, that she’d taken off her bandages, too. The thought evaporates as quickly as it had come, though, because now Vi’s settling between your spread legs, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she tells you between kisses. “You gonna let me eat you out, sweetheart?”

The question sends another cascade of butterflies through your stomach. You take in a deep breath, enjoying the sight of Vi between your legs, looking up at you with pleading eyes. You might die if she doesn’t make you come soon.

A whispered “please” from your lips is all Vi needs - her mouth is on you in a moment, tongue splitting through your folds, warm and firm and wet. She licks at you languidly, takes her time spreading your arousal from your hole up to your clit. You’re drenched, you just know it, and Vi moans as if to confirm your suspicions, lapping up your wetness with every flick of her tongue. Just like she’d taken her time with her mouth on your tits, she takes her time with your cunt, sucking on the swollen bead of your clit until you’re whining her name between sharp breaths. It’s all you can manage to say, your hand tangled in her scarlet locks of hair, tugging at her scalp each time she circles your clit with her tongue. After she’s worked you up enough, you’re suddenly so empty - you need more, and you tell her as much, chest heaving.

“Vi, I need—fuck, I need your fingers,” you cry out.

She answers with a gratified hum, and the vibrations have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Just as you’d asked, though, Vi swipes a finger through your wetness; there’s hardly any resistance when she sinks the digit into your entrance, groaning again at the feeling of your walls around her.

“So wet for me,” she comments, grinning. “This what you needed?”

You nod, face twisting with pleasure. Vi just chuckles under her breath, working her fingers up to a steady pace. Once she has you moaning again, all high-pitched and needy, she latches her mouth back onto your clit, and you’re gone. You come hard, clamping down on Vi’s fingers and tossing your head back, eyes squeezed shut through every wave of pleasure - it’s only once you’ve come to that you finally open your eyes again, gazing down at Vi starry-eyed.

“Can I be honest, sweetheart?” She sits up on her heels, licking her lips. “That was hot.”

“You think so?” You ask, reaching out for her. She moves closer and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on her lips.

You pull back only to murmur, under your breath, “I’m not done with you, Vi.”

You’ve had sex with plenty of women in your lifetime, but few have made a real effort to make you come - and none have done it so fast. You’re determined to return the favor. So, with a pointed glance, you instruct Vi to lie back on the pillows, plucking one from behind her to set under her hips.

Vi had called you beautiful, but she’s utterly divine. All sharp edges and lean muscle, she’s a vision, and you’re almost convinced you’re dreaming as your hands smooth over the tattoos inked into her arms. You imagine yourself tracing each of those tattoos with your mouth, sucking bruises into the dark ink - but you’d do that later. Right now, all you want is to bury your face in the patch of red hair between her legs, lose yourself in the taste of her arousal.

Vi’s vocal, you conclude, because as you prod your tongue inside of her, nose bumping against her clit, she won’t shut up.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so good,” Vi moans, sitting up enough to allow her to watch as you lap at her pink cunt. An endless chorus of praises and curses leave her lips, punctuated with wanton moans. She’s needy, too - before long, she’s gripping a fistful of your hair and directing you with it, tugging you closer, to the side, to the other side, as she grinds her cunt down against your mouth. You revel in the way she’s using you, pleased when her stomach tenses and your name spills from her lips, warning you of her impending orgasm. She rides it out on your face, and when you finally pull back, you’re wet with her from nose to chin.

“You’re way too good at that,” Vi tells you when you crawl up beside her, rubbing the wetness off your nose.

“You’re just as good,” you respond. You move to lie down beside Vi, but when you see her frown, you arch a brow at her.

“Hm?”

“Sweetheart,” she coos, “I’m not done with you.”

She pulls you into her lap, lets you straddle the toned muscle of her pelvis. And after you’ve ground your pussy against her until you’re shaking with another release, she’s still not done.

It’s a long night. At the table in the corner of your bedroom, your deck of tarot cards lies spread face-down. There’s one card upright, though: two of cups.

#vi x reader #vi x reader fic #vi x reader smut #vi x you #vi x y/n #vi fic #vi arcane #vi arcane fic #vi arcane fanfic #vi arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #my writing

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

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100 Words for Worldbuilding

Some sensory words that can enhance your story/poem.

A-E

Acid - sour, burnt; vinegary

Acrid - strong, biting (e.g., something on fire)

Airy - natural smelling, (e.g., clean, fresh air)

Ambrosial - fragrant; having a pleasant smell

Aroma - strong, yet pleasant scent

Aura - smell surrounding something

Balm - soothing scent

Billowy - scent that surges and wanes

Biting - pungent, sharp or harsh

Bouquet - blend of floral scents

Briny - salty

Buttery - smooth; rich; greasy

Citrusy - crisp notes of any citrus fruit

Clean - very light scent, clean and natural

Cottony - soft; smooth or delicate

Creaky - squeaky; showing signs of deterioration

Crisp - fresh and natural

Crystalline - strikingly clear or sparkling

Dirty - nasty, unpleasant odor

Doggy - odor like an unbathed or wet canine

Downy - soft, soothing; silky; delicate

Earthy - recently dug or tilled soil

Essence - basic, natural scent

F-M

Faint - very light or mild; can barely be detected

Feminine - floral fragrances

Fetid - decaying or rotting smell

Fishy - smelling of fish; pungent, strong, unpleasant

Fleecy - shaggy; woolly

Floral - scents associated with flowers

Flowery - fragrance similar to flowers

Foamy - frothy; bubbly

Fragrance - pleasant smell

Fresh - natural smelling, rather than artificial

Fruity - having the flavor or aroma of ripe fruit; sweet

Gaudy - excessively showy

Gingery - pungent; sharp, robust taste or aroma

Globular - spherical

Gossamer - light, delicate, or insubstantial

Grainy - coarse; sandy; unrefined

Heady - very strong aroma

Incense - strong scent

Lemony - tart, piquant citrus notes

Lilac - rich floral scent combining rose with vanilla

Lime - refreshing and zesty citrus smell

Loamy - fragrance with an earthy note

Masculine - earthy fragrances

Medicinal - earthy; often unpleasant

Mildewed - soaked in wetness that has gone stale

Minty - menthol-like smell (e.g., mint tea or peppermint candy)

Misty - mild fragrance, not overpowering

Moist - smell of dew or rainfall

Moldy - damp, fungus-like odor

Musty - old smell; stale and probably moldy

N-R

Nauseating - odor that makes one sick to the stomach

Odorize - changing the scent

Overpowering - too strong of a smell

Peppery - hot, pungent, fiery; stinging

Perfumed - artificial fragrance, not natural-smelling

Pheromone - natural scents

Piercing - loud, shrill; biting

Pine - crisp, refreshing evergreen smell

Piquant - pleasantly pungent, sharp, or spicy taste

Plastic - artificial chemical polymer odor

Poignant - pungently pervasive; piercing

Prickly - stinging; irritating; itchy

Pristine - fresh and clean as or as if new

Pungent - strong fragrance

Putrid - stench of decay

Rancid - spoiled; food that has gone bad

Rank - offensive in odor or flavor

Redolent - having a strong, permeating odor

Repulsive - off-putting odor

Rich - strong, resounding smell that is appealing to the senses

Ripe - brought by aging to full flavor or the best state

Rose - spicy yet sweet fragrance

Rotten - spoiled, rancid, unpalatable

S-Z

Savory - spicy, salty scent that has no elements of sweetness

Sharp - pungent fragrance that permeates the air

Skunky - noxious smell that lingers; sulfuric (like rotten eggs) odor

Smoky - scent of burning wood

Soapy - smooth and slippery

Sour - rancid, sickly sweet smell

Spicy - sharp, heady, can sting or tickle the nose

Spoiled - rotten; something that has “gone bad”

Stale - old, dusty, stagnant odor

Stinking - unpleasant, foul smell

Sweaty - perspiration odor

Sweet - sugary smell

Tangy - having a powerfully stimulating odor or flavor; acidic

Tantalizing - arouses or stimulates desire or interest

Tart - sharp fragrance or taste

Tasteless - arousing no interest; dull

Tempting - having an appeal; enticing

Trace - a tiny amount of fragrance

Velvety - soft, smooth, thick, or richly hued

Vinegary - sour; disagreeable, bitter, or irascible

Whiff - a fleeting scent

Wispy - hint of fragrance in the air

Woodsy - forest-like smell

Zesty - sharp and pleasantly stimulating

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Worldbuilding ⚜ Word Lists ⚜ Writing References

#worldbuilding #word list #writeblr #dark academia #spilled ink #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #writing prompt #poets on tumblr #poetry #writing inspiration #writing ideas #descriptors #creative writing #fiction #writing resources

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laligraves · 7 months ago

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say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk.

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.”

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue.

“Here, take a bite,” he offers.

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow.

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.”

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock.

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair.

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.”

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness.

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs.

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Ye–yes–”

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts.

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out.

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat.

“Good girl.”

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear.

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down.

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around.

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.”

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation.

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention.

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation.

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?”

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?”

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup.

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers.

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again.

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?”

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.”

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still.

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?”

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.”

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other.

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number.

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close.

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.”

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.”

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height.

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.”

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair.

“C’mere,” he growls.

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock.

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you.

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.”

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter.

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey.

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts.

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need.

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin.

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.”

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you.

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him.

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you.

“Ne–need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk.

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground.

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands.

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you.

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold.

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby.

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first.

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep.

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body.

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you.

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.”

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy.

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height.

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.”

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #hbo joel miller x reader #dark joel miller #dark fic

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lunnybunny12 · 7 months ago

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Stolas x wife reader (happy families)

(part 1)

Masterlist

Requests open

A Goetia party was always a talking point in hell. And for good reason. From kings to lowborns, everyone and anyone from the Goitias were invited.

The hall was practically dripping with wealth. Ladies draped with the finest silks and velvets, in floor-length gowns and sprinkled with jewels and gems. The gentlemen, groomed to perfection, wore luxurious suits with matching: shirts, hats, tailcoats and cloaks. The smell of the fine food, collected from all across the seven rings drifted through the air along with a strong smell of absynthe and incense.

It was a classy affair, at least you would've thought so if you weren't 5 years old. In your little bird brain, you hated these parties. Granted this was your first one but you couldn't imagine anything more boring. So far you have been: stepped on, pushed and pulled in all directions, danced and if you smiled any more your lips would fall apart.

Your mother, on the other hand, lived for them. When you were small your mother would always pawn you off to a babysitter so she could be at a party. Every year she would work for at least a month to prepare for the occasion.

Not a single feather was out of place that night. Her talons and beak were buffed and polished and there wasn't a spec of anything but elegance ( and annoyance) on her.

"(Y/N)! stop fidgeting you'll ruin my dress" she crowed, dragging you behind her.

"But Mama I-"

Your mother sent you a look that choked the words in your throat and bent down to dust off your dress.

"No buts. you be on your best behaviour. I won't have you embarrass me in front of a king"

Faster than you could comprehend, your mother composed herself and shoved you in front of her.

You slammed face-first into something. Tears were pooling at the corners of your eyes when a sweet voice said "Oh goodness, I'm sorry are you alright?

The boy in front of you was around your age maybe a year older. He was an inch or two taller than you and had 2 large, kind, red eyes that met yours.

"This is my daughter (Y/N). Isn't she just... Precious" your mother said pulling her face into the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

Your eyes travelled up to who she was talking to. The man toward over you and your mother. His blood-red eyes stared down at you like he was staring into your soul.

The owl grumbled to himself before planting a fake smile on his face.

"Isn't she darling? Allow me to introduce my son... uh. Fuck, what's your name?"

"Stolas, father."

"STOLAS! of course. My son, Prince Stolas."

The young owl lowered his head earning a slap.

"Don't bow to THAT one. They bow to us." The man hissed.

Your mother grabbed the back of your neck and forced you into a bow, making you slip and fall into Stolas, who caught you.

"(Y/N)!" your mother whispered sharply, tearing you away from Stolas and dragging you behind her.

The whole time you felt your mother's claws dig into your skin making you wince in pain.

Eventually, when your mother let you go you managed to sneak away and scurried to the first place you could find, under a table.

It wasn't the worst place to hide, the tablecloth draped down to the floor on all sides so you couldn't be seen. Through your misty eyes, you'd see shadows pass by. If you weren't so upset you'd actually enjoy your little nook.

"Hello?" someone hooted to you.

You immediately dried your face and tried to stand, hitting your head on the underside of the table.

You locked eyes with the young prince, who by this point was fully under the table with you, and fell face-first to the ground in embarrassment.

Stolas crawled to you with a slight giggle in his voice. "Are you ok?"

"Yes Your Highness I'm fine. My head hurts that's all." You mumbled into the carpet.

"Here let's get you to sit up. I can't really hear you."

Stolas could see that you were upset, your eyes were still puffy and your face was wet.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

You sniffled and fake smiled "Im alright Your Highness"

"Please call me Stolas" he lowered his head to a bow

#helluva boss x reader #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss #stolas #stolas goetia #stolas x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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metranart · 4 months ago

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“I can still smell her on you, you jerk.” Dabi snickered, caressing the skin of Hawk's collarbone with his scarred palm. There was an impregnate smell there... something sweet, like lingering flowers— Fairly quickly, he realized that the smell was originally and undoubtedly, YOURS.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Dabi x Hawks, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader (in future chaps)

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 13)

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

Keigo didn't protest, didn’t even let a sound leave his throat despite the pain his body was in. He just allowed the villain to explore his mouth, his pierced tongue felt amazingly good as it danced fiercely against his bare tongue.

Dabi’s hands went down to grip his lower back and brought their bodies closer together. Keigo braced himself against his chest, babbling when the fire-user wasted no time and pressed his face into his jaw, licking, kissing, teasing him with teeth.

“What nonsense are you babbling, pigeon?” Dabi’s breathing was so raggedly it pained his own lungs. Hawks mumbled again.

“Louder-” the Todoroki commanded against the shell of his ear, almost like a whisper: an angry, desperate, hissing whisper. “—What’s that?”

“(Y/N).” The Hero was calling for you to Dabi’s amazement, it sounded so desperate and needy. “Baby bird, I want-I want my sweet girl-…. please~”

“You are sicker than I remembered,” Dabi sneered between kisses. "Or you already forgot, birdbrains?”

Keigo shifted under him. “Forget what?”

As he moved back to his neck, Dabi snickered gluing his face against the skin of Keigo’s neck to inhale sharply through his nose, and the remaining of your sweet scent stirred a diabolic frenzy in his gut.

“You assaulted this girl-....” he reminded him, “now calling her yours doesn't make it true—”

“I—" Keigo choked on his next words, and soon felt Dabi’s hands fumbling with his belt, nimbly undoing it to then zip down his pants.

“When you spread her thighs apart for you, well-” his large hand reached into his trousers pulling out his erect cock to caress it between his fingers, fascinated with the way the Blond's cheeks bloomed with heat. “-I really doubt she appreciated it as much as you did.”

“She understood! she did—… I couldn't control myself-... my rut response, she turned it on-… and” Hawks was growing anxious, and that send an energetic heat up Dabi’s spine. It was too easy to play with Keigo’s hormonal mind, especially when he was rutting so bad to have you, back. Doubt crawled over his skin.

“I can still smell her on you, you jerk.” Dabi said, caressing the skin of his collarbone with his scarred hand.

There was an impregnate smell when he took shallow breaths into his skin... something sweet, like lingering flowers, or fragrant incense— Fairly quickly, he realized that the smell was originally and undoubtedly, yours.

Dabi glared at him in puzzled amusement, as if the fact that your scent was so strong, and he could still smell it now, was outrageous. “—Did you even had the courtesy to pull out before cumming?”

“Shut up,” Hawks seethed quietly, teeth baring. “You are the least likely to ask that.” He sounded somehow offended by the mere question.

Worst of all, Dabi smirked, a wicked twist on his lips as he took another whiff of your lingering scent. You smelled damn good. Did this smell characterize you? He licked his lips thinking about how much it would intensify being face to face, Keigo didn’t like it one bit.

He recognized the wild look of violence on his face, and the lust shinning in his hazy eyes was anticipated. Nevertheless, the fat erection he felt pressing against his leg, wasn’t. Hawks stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over him.

“.... If you come a fucking inch close to her, I’m going to—”

The air was knocked out of his lungs, and with it, a nasty warning which Dabi shoved back into his lips with a toothy kiss.

“I don’t want you—” Hawks hissed between muffled smooches and Dabi clamped a too-warm hand over his mouth and pressed hard. Hawks stood still at the blazing heat and soon Dabi’s forehead pressed on his, feverish and sweaty.

“You don’t want me, huh?” His eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into his golden pools of honey. Keigo could already smell the heat smoldering off of him. “You want her, don' cha?

The flame-bender lost an unhinged, shaky breath. “Here she is, birdy.”

Dabi flipped him around violently and smashed his face into the dirty ground, his naked chest pressed to the hero's clothed back, hips drawn together, just the fabric of their trousers unplugging them apart. Dabi had twisted Keigo into a submissive stance where he was in control.

“Look at her!” One of his hands wrapped around Keigo’s jaw while the other snaked around his long, hard cock. “Look at her pretty face twisted by a grimace of pain-" Dabi forced him to look at the photos scattered on the ground.

"No pain,” Hawk’s hand tugged at the one on his jaw, inadvertently digging into his staples. “That’s pure and raw pleasure....” Dabi was so turned on, he was dangerously insensitive to the hurt that bloomed on the back of his palm, “—my baby bird came so many times on my cock, I lost count.”

Unthinking, Dabi squeezed at his engorged cock, wrenching himself impossibly closer against him.

“It's the lies we tell ourselves what make us villains.”

The raven-haired mouthed against his ear, slowly starting to jack the Hero off, and Keigo mewled, deep and husky, only serving to inflame his arousal. The winged hero didn’t even know why his body started reacting the way it was, when he was noticeable enraged with the Todoroki. Even so, his whole frame rutted against his, seeking to bring friction for his aching cock.

“(Y/N)~”

The blond called for you again, imagining that it was your hand hugging his swollen cock, your small and fragile hand increasing the speed on his thrusts, your tender palm synchronizing with the abrupt movement of his hips as he searched for his release. It was YOU jerking him off, willingly. YOU wanting to see him in pleasurable trance, raptured in thrill and joy. YOU, wanting him to spill himself all over your fingers.

“Yes, baby bird! Fuck—”

Dabi’s mouth went to his neck, but applied nor kisses nor bites. He just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants as he let himself be jack off by the euphoric rubbing of Hawk’s ass against his clothed erection.

“Fuck,” the villain sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and his fingers warmed into his skin. Hawks moaned against his palm, both in pain and unbidden pleasure. “Does-Does it feels nice, birdbrains?” The Todoroki stuttered against his ear as his warm palm kept a calculated pumping motion over his shaft.

“It-It feels...-feels fu-.... fucking amazing, baby—MY baby bird.” The stuttering laughter on Touya’s chest was palpable against his back.

“You, awfully amusing—delusional narcissist” Dabi chuckled out a sharp moan, and tilted Hawks’s chin up crashing his lips against his in a bruising tangle of saliva, solid tongue against solid tongue in an impish ballet of wills.

Dabi was doing things with his mouth that shouldn’t have been possible. It should have been illegal, no wonder why he was one of the most feared villains. The sensations, the velvety, experienced tongue, the piercings decorating it. All so functional and alive against his own mouth.

Dabi Todoroki felt like you. Less tender and more abrasive, nevertheless, you were similar...both passionate creatures he ought to bow to. If he put you together in the same bed with him, it would undoubtedly be a night to remember and hold on to for the rest of his orchestrated existence.

“(Y/N), suck my tongue~” he begged, and the villain conceded all too happy.

The lewd sound of his stapled fist pumping the Hero’s heated piece of meat made him hiss a low and dangerous curse against his lips.

For some reason this intimate act of angry lust infused in allorgasmia tints was more fulfilling than when they'd fucked by nature's mere design. Hawks used to arrive urged and salivating, begging to be attended to during his rut, and Dabi just wanted a hot and ready hole to deposit his vast and excessive, load. It was a good deal. It never involved feelings or anything as fool as that. Just instinct, raw and frenetic.

Dabi wanted more of that, he wanted Takami Keigo on the brink of insanity, unfortunately for the blond, the flaming villain knew by heart how to reach his perverse goal.

“—Wouldn't you rather, your baby bird,” Touya Todoroki started, he also knew how to tweet pretty as the birds did, he could play the right notes to disarray his victim’s feathers, “—to surrender her body for your use rather than taking initiative yourself, blondie?”

“Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes! I want that... -so, SO bad!” Dabi laughed throatily at Keigo’s reaction.

“You could be squeezing that perfect pair of tits together and sliding this fat, veiny cock between them,” his fist caressed the Blond's erection insistently, from head to base and back to head again, letting the pad of his thumb massage the mushroom tip in lazy, continuous motions until he felt the shivers quaking his whole frame, “rutting into her until you came inside her fertile womb, her gummy walls milking ‘till the last ounce of cum from your heavy and full, balls.” Dabi chuckled coarsely, “she, resigned to lie there and let you.”

“FUCK, YES!” Takami Keigo blasted, his forehead glued to the photos on the floor, his only tie to you, his only source of comfort was you and only you. Those photos would help him get through the entire month.

Dabi utterly ignored his laughable clinginess. It had nothing to do with him, and instead, pushed for his own entertainment.

The fire-bender was only concerned with the heat. All that bristled his scarred skin was the butterfly-fluttering feeling of that blessed heat, that came from raw domination. All he could think of now was you, not even Keigo anymore.... YOU –the picture of Keigo's baby bird’s being fucked against a trash can would have to suffice this time.

Your lips parted in thunderstruck dazzlement, dry, and begging to be wetted by his pierced tongue–

Yes! You ought to be touched appropriately, by a meaningful man, not a double agent-spy who didn't even know how to please you, properly.

There was a shaky commotion as Hawks came hard and plenty all over his stapled fingers, and then a needy curse that Dabi distantly recognized as Keigo's after-coital pleadings.

“Don’t let go—hold my cock inside your warm palm…” requested in lost fervor a flippant, Keigo.

“As pathetically needy as ever—but I’ll buy…. Why?” Dabi mused, condescension taking an amusing upgrade in his voice. His quirk-induced palm, still holding him tight.

“Because-Because I want to pretend that I am inside her-…” he declared without a trace of shame or embarrassment, “deep inside MY sweet and beautiful, baby bird. She´s so warm and perfect~”

Hawks sounded delirious, no doubt still lost in the mist of orgasm, and that obvious vulnerability deflated Dabi's need to come, and inflated his need to seize the moment.

“So, she wasn´t just a spurt of the moment—” Keigo denied his head hard, almost offended by the insinuation. “She’s way too precious to me.”

“Must be some rut thing of you, birdbrains” he conceded, slowly but concealingly milking the last drops out of Keigo’s now-flaccid cock, “you’re the only person I know who builds nests and woos his mate so devotedly—…in other words, the girl’s not special…more like just a whim of your beating and blinding, instinct, so to speak.” Dabi stated, matter-of-factly at the panting figure under his solid frame.

“She’s SPECIAL—specially created for me…” Keigo declared, his heaving lips pouting a little. Dabi chuckled, finally untangling his palm off his dormant cock.

“You’re going to kill her with that monstrous cock you carry between your legs,” he smeared some ropey lines of cum between his forefinger and his thumb before continuing, “Your Hero name should be: Vlad, the Impaler—”

Keigo huffed, unamused.

“She’s built to take me in with no problem, I filled her so well last time… you could even see the shape of my cock inside her tummy, regardless, she was whole, just like that…” the blond sounded amazed, and Dabi thought to himself: sure, I saw it-...it’s printed on paper. Nevertheless, he kept those thoughts to himself. “—I’ve never been able to bottom down on someone like I did with her…”

Instantly and almost fiercely, Hawks shrugged away from Dabi’s dominant touch, and the villain allowed it, playing perfectly the part of the understanding lover and the ‘good’ friend.

“…I still don’t understand how you didn’t send her to the hospital—” and there was when Keigo made the worst mistake of his entire life.

“Her quirk.” He shared, flatly, slowly fixing his pants on his hips, buckling his leather belt as if he weren't revealing your biggest weapon. “She has the ability to cure anything, my baby bird has a very special quirk—similar to that of recovery girl.” The blond boasted very proudly, too distracted by the villain’s pampering attitude and his own endorphin-flooded brain to realize that he had doomed you.

Dabi didn’t reply, and he merely grinned. One of those dangerous grins that characterized him. All tooth and sinfully, corrupt.

Dabi’s turquoise eyes gleamed with something akin thrill, beloved malice, the Hero just spatted what he inched to know… Just what he suspected.

You were the key to his revenge. You would help him kill his father and end his filthy lineage. You would cure his body from the fire that afflicted him. You would allow him to become more powerful than anyone. You would be HIS…

COMING SOON PART 14....

➡️ NSFW Artwork of this story 🥵

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87 @geniejunn @justanerd1 @bakugosgirl01 @toxicxmindsposts

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denpa-dere · 1 year ago

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house arrest 1

afab!mc x mammon

description: NSFW, very fluffy, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? For Mammon, less than 24 hours.

warnings: Capital B breeding kink with talks of impregnation, afab reader with she/her pronouns, face sitting, dub con if you squint due to a misunderstanding. Mammon is a love sick fool for you.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) ||

If there was anyone you could count on, it was Mammon.

Mammon, who was your first man.

Mammon, who was your partner in crime.

Mammon, who was practically crawling up the wall with need to be with you right now.

He pressed a pillow over his face and groaned into it. This was stupid. He felt stupid. You made him feel stupid. This morning, chaos swept through their home as soon as you rounded the corner. At first, you hadn’t noticed heads snapping one-by-one in your direction as you made your way to your usual spot at the table, serving yourself coffee whilst a dawning realization crept in amongst himself and his brothers.

When the atmosphere felt sufficiently suffocating, you looked up to find seven pairs of eyes boring holes into your skull. Mammon had wanted to scoop you up then and there, to hide you away in the safety of his room where you both could be alone he alone could protect you.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. His knuckles ached from the hole he had punched through the dining room wall in the ensuing scuffle. He didn't want to think about it. Lucifer had already let everyone off easy, seemingly too concerned with how to tactfully explain your absence to Lord Diavolo to string anyone up for fighting. Besides, it's not like Mammon was actually angry with anyone. Things just got out of hand.

He just didn't like how they were looking at you. That's all.

Only he was allowed to look at you like that.

Mammon chucked his pillow at the floor, but it didn't satisfy the irritation welling up in his gut. Every nerve in his body felt like it was screaming to be closer to you. He wondered if you could feel it, too. Surely, your bond with The Great Mammon was strong enough that you could sense his distress, right? You wanted him too, right? That's why you let this happen?

It's not like there'd be any harm in checking on you. You were his responsibility, after all. You were his human! He'd be quick about it, he reasoned. One quick trip to make sure no one was bothering you and he'd be back before Lucifer even noticed he was missing.

By the time he finished that thought, Mammon was already half way down the hall.

___

You jumped when you heard rapping at your door. It wasn't like anyone in this house to knock.

"Human, it's me," Mammon hissed.

You cracked your bedroom door, poking your head out to briefly scan the hallway for interlopers.

"Mamms, what are you doing here?" You asked in a harsh whisper and yanked him by the hand into your room, "Hurry before someone sees you!"

Mammon stumbled. Normally, he might have snapped at you for acting like you could push him around, but it was difficult to form words when he felt like he had been plunged headfirst into a pool of your scent. He had secretly always liked your smell, soft and sweet and indescribably you. It had taken on a headier shade, one that sank into his brain like an incense. There was something else, too. His stomach churned- Lucifer had been here, recently.

Of course he had. So, why did that piss him off?

"Mammon, you alright?" You called to him, louder this time. You looked so fragile, he thought, arms wrapped around yourself protectively. Surrounded by demons itching to take you apart piece by piece, right down to your pretty little soul, and you were asking if he was okay?

No, he wasn't okay. He waved you off dismissively, anyway. Mammon stalked off over to your bed to create some distance. He took a seat at the edge and began to pick at a loose thread on your comforter.

"I should be asking you that," He mumbled, face heating up. You began to close the gap between you two, arms still folded over your chest. The closer you stood, the quicker his resolve for an altruistic alibi crumbled, until you were right in front of him, cupping his face in your hands in that way that shot electric currents down his spine and out through his toes. The same way you did back when you kissed him for the first time, setting him on this confusing track in the first place.

"It's just me, Mamms," You soothed, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the swell of your stomach. The second-born grumbled something unintelligible and hoped you understood anyway.

A part of him foolishly hoped that visiting you would be enough to quell the terrible magnetic pull you had on him. Now, face pressed into the warm softness of your body, Mammon could admit he'd maybe let his greed lead him astray, again.

His head felt cloudy. He nuzzled into your belly, nose pushing up the bottom of your shirt, and stared up at you with honey-blue eyes. You were so pretty, he thought, his pretty little human who waited so patiently for her man to come find her in her time of need.

He wasn't thinking straight, letting his hands drift up and down your sides. It felt natural to hold you like this, to leave trails of goosebumps along your skin. A sensitive spot under your ribs drew a small whine from your throat and Mammon exhaled sharply. Don’t you know what noises like that do to him?

He tugged and you fell into his lap with a yelp. He was on you in an instant, nipping along your neck, hands up your shirt, nails scratching lightly down your back. Mammon rocked his hips against you, wanting you to feel just how hard you made him.

You sighed his name at the friction. The Avatar of Greed deigned not to answer, choosing to recline back against the headboard with you on top of him.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea-” You weren’t given a chance to finish your concern.

He pulled at your shirt roughly, taking your bra off with it. He hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts and pulled them halfway down your thighs, pausing briefly to admire the wet patch spreading on your panties. Were you already so worked up for him?

Mammon grabbed your hand, guiding it to the erection tenting in his pants. He moaned sweetly for you when your fingers grazed him. Please don’t stop now. You mercifully did not stop, instead deftly working to undo his fly and maneuver his bottoms off his hips. His heavy cock fell against his stomach, twitching and aching for attention.

"C'mere, c'mere," He ushered you forward, gently guiding you, adjusting until you hovered over his face. He felt like he was losing his mind having you so close and couldn't resist placing a kiss on your pussy over your panties, groaning into the damp fabric.

You gasped, reaching for the headboard to steady yourself. Mammon crooked a finger into your underwear, pulling them to the side for better access. When you felt his hot breath ghost over your skin, you were already dripping. When he brought his lips to yours, you could have cried. He eased your weight onto him, drunk on your taste.

"F-fuck, Mammon," You mewled. The hold he had on you rendered you powerless to do much more than roll your hips against his mouth. Each pass of his tongue through your folds teased something animalistic in him that at the best of times he'd be hopeless to describe. But he knew he needed you, and even this was beginning to not feel like enough. Determined to send you over the edge, the demon sucked on your clit and savored how you cried for him.

That animalistic something in Mammon snapped like a rubberband. He couldn't wait anymore. Your body was begging to be bred and he was going to be the one to take care of you. You were putty in his hands when he moved to lay your back flat against the mattress. Wanting nothing between you, he quickly shrugged off his shirt, then fell forward to meet you in a needy kiss.

A brief moment of lucidity flickered behind Mammon's eyes when you parted. Fuck, he loved you. He couldn't always say it, but he wanted everyone to know it.

So, what could be more undeniable, he wondered, rubbing his cock against you, gathering the slick of your cunt, than making you swell with his child? A low growl rumbled in his chest when he pushed into you. You clung to him and he felt his heart burst.

" 'll fuck you as many times as it takes," He slurred in your ear, "Fill you up again and again until…" Each word of his muddled thoughts was emphasized by a sharp snap of his hips against yours. He didn't understand why you had opted to choose him as your mate now, like this, but he was deliriously happy to give you what you wanted. As long as you kept looking at him like this, holding him like this, loving him like this, he'd give you anything.

You writhed beneath him, one hand buried in his snowy hair, the other stroking his back, toying with his wings that fluttered with a mind of their own. This was the first time you had gone this far with him, but you could tell by how he pulsed and throbbed inside of you that he wasn't going to last.

"So good for me, treasure, you feel so good," Once he started babbling, Mammon found that he couldn't stop. His voice was low and intense in your ear, "Gonna' cum- feel so fucking good. Fuck, baby, please, I'm gonna cum, please, please-"

Your velvety walls fluttered around him, causing his breath to hitch. He kissed you again urgently, tongue sliding against yours as he painted your insides white. He ground his hips against you, pushing his seed in deeper in the hopes it would stick. Mammon slowed, then parted from your kiss, a lewd string of saliva connecting you.

The door clicked open.

___

"Your shibari needs work."

Lucifer refused to look at you, tying off the ropes binding Mammon to the ceiling.

"If you touch these ropes, you'll be who I practice on next," The first-born seethed.

"Look on the bright side," You shrugged, "Only 5 more days to go."

"LEAVE."

#obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #mammon x reader #x reader

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months ago

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Hi yes hello help me I have a new fic idea for this picture

And it's giving me brainrot because I have too many wips and yet... I must write this ficlet. It's very soft. Friends to lovers.

Lexa owns a little holistic shop that always smells like incense and fresh herby plants. Fresh sprigs of flowers and dangley charms everywhere. Not quite "nature child/granola sister" vibes because it has too many sleek and modern details to it, but still very earthy and calming. Clean and fresh. It's tucked away in a sleepy little town along the coast that's just a short walk to a pier, so the fresh scent of the ocean's spray always mingles with all the perfumes of her shop.

Clarke moves there following the death of her father. Not running from anything, but more just trying to find herself in her new found peace. She's faced her own mortality and come out the other end understanding who she wants to be vs who she thought she should be. Exchanging her med school white coat for cable knit sweaters. Sneakers for deck shoes. Reading glasses for wayfarers.

Chaos for calm.

Which of course leads her right into Lexa's shop a few weeks into getting settled, deciding a new skin routine may be in order as well. Maybe a new lotion and a few handdipped candles to line her fancy new bath tub too, if the hand painted sign outside the shop is to be trusted.

Of course all chances at being the chill, solitary new girl in town who lives quietly and keeps to herself kind of fly right out the window when she hears the little ding of the bell overhead and looks up to see brilliant, soft green eyes already crinkled at the edges in a welcoming smile. Seeing all that sun kissed brown hair pulled back in a delicate crown of braids, the waterfall length of untamed curls falling over strong but slender shouders. Hearing that lyrical voice that's not at all chipper like she'd expect from someone peddling holistic wares. Instead it's soft and vibrant, more like too-warm honey that's been left out in the afternoon sun. Feminine but sure of itself as she merely bids a simple, "Hello, can I help you find anything in particular?"

All that chill is also nowhere to be seen when this freaking angel made of droplets of sunshine and chamomile takes it upon herself to squeeze a dollop of the lotion she'd been eyeing into Clarke's palm and start massaging it in with hands that are so fucking soft Clarke forgets how to breathe. Her intense eye contact as she gently explains the ingredients and why they're so good doesn't help either. Not that Clarke could be PAID to recite any of it, not having taken in a single damn syllable.

She could easily tell you the exact slope of the woman's eyelashes though. Could probably draw the freckle on her upper lip from memory too.

Of course Clarke would leave 2 bags and the shopowner's business card heavier, $70 lighter, and with absolutely no qualms about trading in at least part of her medical knowledge for giving this holistic stuff a try.

And that's it! That's all! Just a pretty girl who is maybe slightly nuts but beautiful and sweet who runs a little holistic beauty shop.

Nothing life altering or anything for Clarke, obviously.

Clarke being new and so in her head about everything and all the changes? It's just A Lot already on her plate. She doesn't have the space for anything else.

But... then there's just Lexa. So unassuming and mild and calming in her presence. Undemanding of Clarke's attention despite always seeming to have it. That slow fall into each other over too prolonged eye contact and friendly waves as Lexa glances at her through the arching windows of her shop, Clarke seeing those plump lips tug up into a grin that mouths an amused but unheard "Hi" as Clarke walks past for the third time that day.

Total coincidence.

But the friendship blooms just like the little plants and sprigs around Lexa's shop. Taking shape and growing as the season changes.

Passing glances and friendly waves turning to chance meetings and slipping away to sit on the bench at the end of the pier, splitting batches of seasoned fries and garlic aioli that Clarke has no idea where Lexa manages to put considering all her halter tops and sundresses that, whew, just leave not much to the imagination.

Walking through a local garden/woodsy path and talking aimlessly for hours as she watches Lexa collect little wildflowers and clovers along the way, stowing them in a satchel she keeps in her long flowy pants, only to drop by the shop the next afternoon and find that the tiny wood nymph-turned shopkeeper has braided her treasures from their outing into her hair that day.

Walks along the rocky beachside and lunches sat huddled together in the park. Lexa sharing how she got into her business and Clarke relaying her past in the medical world just to falter, only to breathe a sigh of relief at Lexa's lazy grin, "Don't worry, Dr. Griffin. I still believe in the power of penicillin."

Lexa showing Clarke where she makes her wares while standing far too close than what's necessary as she lets Clarke peruse everything. Always catching Clarke's gaze in her excitement at Lexa's creations, holding them with that soul-quieting smile of hers.

Clarke noticing how Lexa's scent changes slightly with the seasons because of course Lexa only works with fresh product. Noting how as the months get colder, she goes from airy, delicate lilac scents to heavier sage and sandlewood notes. Fresh pine, peppermint, and holly. Noticing how cute little painted toes trade in their freer sandles for more sensible uggs and the occasional snow boot, seeing how dresses and spaghetti straps get exchanged for cardigans and knitted sweaters big enough to juuust effortlessly slip off her shoulder...

(Still no bra)

(Not that she's... keeping track...)

Lexa is just so unexpected and so... not at all anything Clarke would've ever thought she'd be attracted to. Beyond just her stunning face that is, obviously. It's her personality. She's not someone Clarke can easily "put in a box". She's not quite a hippie, she's not exactly new agey, she's certainly not weak, but she's not overbearing. She's maybe a liiiittle bit nuts, but also so fuckin smart and not cocky about it at all. But absolutely is cocky about the silliest things, like being good at Scrabble and knowing how to fold a fitted sheet. (Again, liiiittle bit nuts.) She's kind, but not a pushover. Soft in ways Clarke can't even begin to fathom or calm her heart over, but so deceptively strong, both in body and spirit.

And she's quiet. Quiet and reserved in her perfectly Lexa way. Yet, when she does open up, there's so much there. So many layers to her, and every time Clarke thinks she's gotten to the bottom of the question mark that is "Lexa", there's a whole new labyrinth to uncover.

The connection between them expands and blooms and becomes something entirely its own. And it kind of just gradually dawns on her that Clarke has somehow managed to find her best friend in the entire world... and has promptly fallen in love with her.

Now.

If I wrote this obviously very short ficlet (😤), would anyone read it?

#clexa #clexa fanfic #flower child au

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silvergyus · 2 months ago

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bitten- h.kk

pairing: mortal!hueningkai x vampire!reader

summary: a century-old vampire hunts for her latest victim, a mortal boy she may want to keep around forever

warnings: typical vampire content including killing victims (kai is referred to as your victim/prey multiple times), blood consumption (reader bites kai and drinks his blood). this fic is dark! please do not read if you are not comfortable with these descriptions!

smut warnings: handjob (kai receiving), blowjob (kai receiving), scratching (kai receiving), dubcon (reader uses vampire persuasion on him multiple times), cum eating

word count: 1,600+

song recs: death- white lies & vampires- l.i.f.t

Decades had a tendency to bleed into one another. Styles changed, slang evolved, but at their core, humans remained the same.

You stalked through the dark, crisp autumn night. Dim street lights illuminated your strides in a hazy, golden glow. You were on the hunt tonight, hunger pangs twisting your stomach, propelling you forward. An onslaught of scents flooded your heightened senses, causing you to stumble and turn towards the heady mix of prey.

After asking a drunk girl with shiny red cheeks to invite you in, you crossed the threshold of the worn-down house and into the party. The air hung heavy with a nicotine haze as you made your way through the packed bodies lounging in the narrow hall. The smell of hormonal bodies drenched in alcohol filled your head, but you wouldn’t feed on just any poor drunkard, no, you wanted to find someone worth feeding on.

You settled into an antique rocking chair, an heirloom that stood out against the cheap particle board furniture that surrounded it. From your perch you took in the bodies in the room, observing everyone in the space, taking in the sights, sounds and scents of your next potential victim. Your eyes found their way to a boy tucked into the corner, laughing awkwardly at the conversations around him.

The boy held your full attention. He was beautiful. Tall, with a broad chest and shoulders half-hidden in his oversized sweater. His black hair hung into his eyes, a shield from the prying eyes of others, but not from you. No, you were especially good at finding those perfect boys, these perfect victims.

Draining the life- or at least most of it- from a victim was always erotic. It couldn't be helped. Their body writhing under your touch, your bite, the way they always resisted at first, until your venom lulled them into a pliant state. It was always messy, no matter how delicate you were. Hot blood rushing down their exposed throats, pulsing sweetly into your mouth. Their loud groans and quiet whimpers as you fed from them.

And if every feed was going to be like this, why shouldn't you pick the prettiest meals? Pretty humans with pretty throats, pretty flesh to trace your fangs along, pretty voices to whimper at your touch. Why shouldn’t you hunt for the best? You had forever to find it after all.

And when you had the best, you liked to hold onto it. No, you didn’t always kill your victims. Sometimes you kept them around, little pets for you to revive and feed from again and again, until you got bored or over-eager. Accidents happen. You hated wasting a pretty body, but sometimes, the darkness within you was too strong to ignore, animalistic instincts taking over, draining all the life from the victim at your feet.

This boy though, he was pretty, pretty enough to be held onto. Too pretty of a face to be discarded after one round.

The air was thick with smoke and incense as you made your way over to your prey. His eyes, though obscured by his messy locks, widened at your sudden presence beside him.

A century of life has taught you charm. You postured yourself to appeal to this boy as you took him in at close range. You could smell the cologne he wore, sweet and bright against his skin. Below that, the coppery scent of his blood was intoxicating. You could hear his heart beat faster as you spoke to him, hear it rush towards his blushing cheeks. Oh, how he flustered at your presence. He’s cute, this boy. You could wait no longer to taste him.

The night stretched on as you conversed with the boy, Kai, he divulged. His mannerisms charmed you in kind, a sense of innocence that you longed to corrupt. The hunger that turned in you drew you closer to him, to his throat, the intoxicating scent making your head spin with want.

“Kai, my dear, would you like to come home with me?” Your eyes flashed black as you spoke, supernatural abilities turning your words sweeter than honey, impossible to resist. He nodded, eyes glassy as he was persuaded into action.

The moments between then and now passed in a flash. The journey back to your lair one filled with touches and kisses. Pleasantries were entertained, but the hunger in you couldn’t be silenced, not when this beautiful boy was settling onto your settee, relaxing in your space. Your eyes flash again, persuading him out of his clothes and onto your bed.

----

Kai is laid back against you, bare skin soft against yours. He is pale, his soft flesh dotted with sweet marks and freckles, a pink flush coloring his face and chest.

Your hand snakes up from his waist, a soft caress exploring the broad expanse of his chest, trailing up his throat before grasping his angular chin. You point his face away from yours, towards the silver mirror positioned across from the foot of the bed. In its surface you can see Kai’s brows furrow as he tries to make sense of the scene presented to him. Only his naked form appears reflected back, yours nowhere to be found.

"Look how beautiful you are," you whisper, taking in his appearance in the glass. His eyes widen with horror as he realizes that even as you talk, even as you move, there remains only one reflection in the mirror. He can feel you of course, your breasts pressed into his back, your breath fanning over his ear as you hold him. Your fingertips ghost over his nipples, scratching them slightly to see how he arches into your touch. You nuzzle his throat, smelling his fear and the sweetness of his blood pumping beneath the skin. His veins, so blue, stand to attention as his adrenaline rushes. It takes everything not to sink your teeth into him right now.

"Do you want to be like me, Kai? Would you like to feel like this forever?"

He swallows, still mesmerized by the scene in the reflection. Your hands continue to explore his chest, caressing his unmarked skin as they dip down to let your nails graze his hip bone. You tease him, fingertips ghosting over his thighs, dipping into the soft curls that rest almost, but not quite where he wants your touch the most.

"Maybe not yet. Going to let you decide that in time." His hand reaches back for you, searching for something to ground himself, to prove you're real, to deny the image in the mirror.

"I'm real, Kai. You haven't imagined me."

He turns in your arms, facing you. His cheeks are flushed with adrenaline and arousal, ears stained red from bloodrush. His leaking cock is the same bright hue.

"I'll make you feel good now, hmm?" You catch the whine from the back of his throat. He nods, cautiously. "You'll make me feel good too?" He nods again, slowly, unsure of what he's agreeing to.

"Good," you caress his face, gently pushing his hair from his eyes, "because I like to bite."

With superhuman speed your hand grabs his hard cock, jerking him so suddenly he thrusts up into your touch, body reacting involuntarily. The second that you've settled him back into place, your teeth find his throat, sinking deep into his vein. The hot blood rushes over your tongue and teeth, filling your mouth with the coppery sweetness you need to survive eternity.

He whines, a high note that falls as his hips stutter into your touch. The portrait before him is one of debauchery: blood weeping from his throat as his blushing cock weeps silvery precum and his hips buck into nothing. Scratch marks bloom across his chest where your nails rake over his sensitive nipples, but he cannot see your hand. The sight is dizzying. He feels faint.

You notice his color start to pale and force yourself to pull off from his throat, though it is a challenge to. The breathy sighs he makes, the feeling of his skin against yours, the rush of blood all taking over your senses, driving you towards giving into animalistic hedonism. You pull off his throat and lick broad stripes over the puncture wounds, venom telling the veins to close, the skin to heal. He will have two faint marks and a dark bruise in the morning.

He groans when you pull away, the venom fiery and soothing all at once. You stop your movements on his cock and he whines again, desperate for release.

“Shhh,” you soothe him, still trying to orient yourself after the rush of feeding, “that’s a good boy.” You settle him onto the pillows and maneuver yourself so you are settled between his thighs. “Did so well for me. Now let me make you feel good.”

Your mouth finds him again, this time lips and tongue, not teeth. You kiss the angry tip of his cock before licking a flat stroke against the head. Your lips are stained with his crimson blood, a beautiful compliment to his flushed and needy skin. He groans and bucks into your touch.

You take him into your mouth, sucking him earnestly as your hand strokes the base you don't fit in. He is close from your previous attention and it takes almost no time for him to groan loudly as he releases into your mouth. Salt floods your tongue, a welcome chaser for the copper meal. You've fed from him twice tonight and he is hazy and weak in your bed, the picture of human fragility as his chest heaves against your sheets.

You crawl up the length of his body to kiss his full lips, stroking his face as you do.

"Thank you Kai, you did so well."

"If I become like you," he asks, voice quiet, "will every night be like this?"

You can't help the smile that blooms across your face. An eternity with this beautiful boy? It wouldn't be the worst way to spend forever.

author’s note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

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#txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #hueningkai smut #hueningkai hard hours #hueningkai hard thoughts #ari writes

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dreamerdeity · 3 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄 ('𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄)

*ೃ𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Il Dottore x Fem. Reader

*ೃ𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k

*ೃ𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sleep deprived, overworked, a report requested by your Lord Harbinger. Just place it on his desk and leave–or take a nap on his luxurious leather couch before you do. What could go wrong? Well, a lot, apparently.

*ೃ𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT!!! Dead dove: do not eat. Somnophilia, non-con like straight up r*pe, subordinate x superior, scary delusional rationalizer-dottore, p in v, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, dottore thinks he's actually a nice guy, dottore is in fact just a creepy guy, dottore acts like a silly (like a psychopath), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! others, please proceed at your own risk!

*ೃ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Hi lovelies! I meant to post this yesterday but had some things to take care of so didn't get around to it. This is a request part of @ficsforgaza 's kinktober event. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE WARNINGS!! If my shit gets flagged one more time I'm going to kms. anyway, I hope you all enjoy dottore being a literal psychopath. byee :3

KEIRA'S FUNDRAISING EVENT 🍉

You walk through the east wing of the Sumeruan Fatui Research Facility, your eyes heavy and your senses numb from lack of sleep. The only sound that rings through your ears is the faint clicking of your shoes against the rubber flooring.

The strong scent of antiseptic has always fared excellently in keeping you awake, and you thank the archons for its potent presence in this sterilized hallway as your eyes scan over the various signs plastered on the walls. Il Dottore, Il Dottore, Il Dottore. What turn should you take? What sign bears the arrow to his private laboratory? Frankly, if it were up to you, you would've shoved the responsibility of delivering this report to Lord Dottore onto Mikhael, but he feared the harbinger even more than you did, so here you were, left to take one for the team while sleep deprived, cranky, nervous, and somewhat afraid all at once.

It was a bit of a long walk–marked by frustrated sighs and irritated mutters of disapproval at your own dull sense of direction–to Dottore's personal lab, and you weren't even sure he would be there. He's always been the most eccentric of the harbingers, which is then, relatively, extremely eccentric, and his work hours never conformed to normal people's. You round a corner and turn one last left, before a large fortified iron door faces you ever so imposingly, a towering frame that stands a solid ten feet above you, and you sigh in relief. "Il Dottore" painted in bright white slashes across the door, and you hesitantly stretch your hand out–to knock... or maybe to open the imposing slab of metal. A second passes, and as it turns out, you don't have to choose, because the door slides open automatically, a faint mechanical whirr resounding throughout the premises.

You stride in quickly. A sickeningly sweet scent permeates the air around you, the fragrance wafting off the incense sticks burning at the harbinger's desk. You fleetingly wonder how on earth he could stand the oppressively strong smell, but that doesn't matter right now. Dottore isn't here, you have the report in your hand, tucked neatly into a blue folder (Dottore insisted all papers delivered to him must be so in blue folders only. Not green, not yellow. Blue). All you had to do was set it on your Lord Harbinger's desk and get the hell out of here before he returned. Otherwise, you'll be stuck with intense heart palpitations as he questions you about one thing or the other, or goes on a philosophical rant that you didn't ask to hear while laughing manically as his terrifyingly sharp fangs glint under the white light. Yup, no way. So, you set the folder onto the pristine oak desk, eyes still heavy and head pounding from your lack of sleep.

A soft breath of relief furls past your lips as soon as the folder hits the desk, and then, you try to turn on your heel and get out of here. Keyword: try, because just as you resign yourself to leaving, your gaze strays to the long, plush, brown leather sofa seated at the corner of the office-meets-laboratory. Fuck, that looks comfortable–no, what in the world were you thinking?! Get out, you mentally scream at yourself.

Yet, the more logical part of your brain has shut down, and a tired sigh leaves you as you stumble over to the couch. Just a second. You're so, so sleepy. Just a second and then you'll leave, you think, and plop onto the cushions. Your mind is blank, and your limbs feel like they're weighed down by lead. You blink slowly, your body sinks into the soft leather. This sofa must have cost your entire annual salary, what with how comfortable it is. A faint moan bubbles up your throat at the feeling of being engulfed in softness like this, and your eyelids droop. Before you can register, you're slipping away, into the inescapable depths of sleep.

Out like a light.

It could've been 10 minutes, it could've been an hour, or it could've been all day, but at some point, your name is called, and you're too deep into the recesses of unconsciousness to process it as a word. All it manifests as is a distant voice spinning around your head.

Dottore had trudged into his lab after a rather exhausting day of fieldwork, of examining poisonous flower samples on the outskirts of Avidya Forest with the diligence of the... scientist he was. The deep velvet of his voice uttered your name, and when he received no response, he hummed to himself. He continues to stand over you now, gazing down with the eyes of a predator and the smile of a fox

"Didn't see you there," he mutters to himself more than anything, because, from the looks of it, you're in slumber. His eyes observe the scene before him. The way your chest rises and falls rhythmically, the way your rosy lips are parted just a bit, and the way the moonlight filtering in through the windows catches on the curve of your cheekbones. The inviting sight before him has him licking his lips and adjusting the collar of his coat.

"How lovely..."

The inviting sight, because yes, that's what it was, you were inviting him to indulge, weren't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, asleep on his couch, in his space, blouse unbuttoned once or twice at the top. You know what you're doing, aren't you? He's not the bad guy for just... taking the hint, if you will. His hands twitch at his sides, and his smile widens. You're sleeping, and if you saw the terrifyingly sinister grin on his face right now, you would've thanked the archons for sparing you its sight by letting it stretch upon his lips now that you are asleep, unable to see it.

As though he were debating whether to go about whatever evil he was about to, he crosses his arms over his chest, gaze locked on your form and brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't thinking about the depravity of his potential actions and the psychological harm they may cause you later on. No, no. He didn't have a conscience loud enough for that kind of thought to grace his mind. He was simply thinking about the logical implications. It was... unprofessional–to say the least–to grope your subordinates in their sleep, and should word get out about it, the Second Harbinger will never hear the end of it–especially not from Pantalone. It could jeopardize his relationship with all the investors who fund his research. It could also get him in a pickle with Arlecchino, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that crazy woman for at least the next century.

But it was dark outside. You were asleep, and he had the whole night to himself. It wasn't his fault, and if you were to awaken, well, it's not like you were going to tell. Oh, he'll make sure of that.

His decision is made, and without a single thread of doubt left in his mind, he crouches by your side, eyes locked on your slumbering face. The smile that stretches along his lips is one reserved for moments like these, for moments when he silently observes the unconscious features of those that fall into his predacious hands. There was always something about unconsciousness that stirred something in him. He was fascinated by the human brain, but he was also fascinated by the unadulterated powerlessness of an unconscious human. It gave him a power trip of sorts, knowing he was the lion and the slumbering were the deer. He chuckles to himself as his eyes fall upon the trail of drool at the corner of your lips, a sound so quiet and smooth that it could have melted butter.

"Don't worry, agent. I'll be... gentle," his words are spoken softly, yet they hold the same venom that his actions always do. They're meant for the both of you. "I won't hurt you."

He won't, will he?

Well, that was for him to know and for you to find out–should you awaken. His gloved hand, gentle but firm, snakes under your head and props it up, and his other hand is busy pushing the buttons of your blouse apart, one by one, until your raven-black bra meets his gaze. He breathes out in a soft exhale, a sound too tranquil for a man of his reputation, and his hand gently tips your face toward him. He meets your face halfway, scanning his sharp eyes over your sleeping features for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, though you can't feel it in your drowse. Slowly, almost like he was deliberately holding himself off, he lets his lips brush against yours, and then he tests the waters some more, giving them a light kiss. You subconsciously shift at the contact, but you're still asleep, and that's enough reassurance for him to go further, letting his teeth graze your lower lip.

You taste like candy; sweet, soft, and addicting. You're an aphrodisiac, aren't you? He wonders, and his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, begging entrance, but it doesn't take. A soft, almost inaudible growl emanates from him, and the distant feel of his tongue has your breathing stuttering, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, but you don't wake, and that has his pants feeling a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago.

"tsk," he grumbles against your lips. He's not sure if he wanted you asleep or awake right now. There was a thrill he felt in his veins when he teetered on the edge of danger like this, but there also seemed to be a thrill at the thought of having you awake for this, eyes wide in fear and lust all at once, soft implorations of "please let me go, Lord Dottore" falling from your lips like a mantra.

In the end, though, he'll have his way, and it doesn't matter what your state is. His tongue slips past your parted lips and invades the heat of your mouth, his sharpened canines grazing your tongue. His saliva, mixed with the residue of alcohol he had before heading back, drips down your chin and stains your blouse. If you were awake, you would've found the whole ordeal sloppy and wet, but since you weren't, all it felt like was warmth, and a foreign feeling, as his tongue prodded and probed your mouth. Your brows knit together, and a soft, unconscious moan escapes your lips, one that he greedily swallows. You're not so sure what's going on, still in a drowse that makes you think you're having some sort of insanely realistic wet dream. You hadn't slept in almost two days after all. Archons knew you weren't about to let anything wake you from your much-needed rest.

Dottore retreats from your lips and pauses for a moment, eyes raking over your form as though his mind was scanning over all the choices of what to do to you next.

"Ah," he says, like he was hit with a revolutionary idea. It wasn't so revolutionary, because the next thing that happens is the harbinger's hands finding their way to your chest, the cool leather of his gloves brushing against the bare patch of skin he revealed to himself when unbuttoning your blouse down three or four buttons. You shift again, and the movement has his fingers accidentally grazing over your bra-clad nipples. The sudden touch causes your body to arch and a low groan to rumble in the back of your throat. You were sensitive, he notes, and a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

But you see, Dottore was getting bored of his self-inflicted abstinence. He did tell himself he had all night earlier, but come to think of it, he actually doesn't. He wants it fast and rough, and he wants it now. So, he lets his hand trail down for a moment, shamelessly shoving it into your pants and letting his fingers play with your pussy over your panties.

"H-hnngh!" You gasp in your sleep, and if you were awake, you'd be able to almost feel the smirk he wears as he continues, a finger pressing insistently at your clit, even if the fabric of your underwear is in the way.

"Oh? Do you like this then, agent?" he asks, and the words are an almost inaudible whisper. The question is rhetorical, after all. He doesn't give a flying fuck if you do like it, and he was talking himself through it more than he was you.

Your head lolls to the side and a shaky breath leaves you. Your panties are subconsciously growing wet, an automatic bodily reaction to being touched here, and his finger doesn't relent. It's a good thing, however, that the friction of the thin fabric has you writhing, and the stimulation has him impatient, his fingers hastily moving to roughly pull your pants down, then to grip the fabric of your blouse, ripping it apart, buttons popping off the garment and onto the ground with soft clicks. The supple flesh of your torso is now exposed and open, and so are your eyes. It takes you a second to register what's going on.

You're... lying on the sofa.

What time was it?

What are you doing here, exactly?

"W-what..." the words barely leave you, and suddenly, sleep has left you completely, the feeling of a heavy weight against your body taking its place, and the realization that a man is on top of you.

Your eyes snap open wider, and the first thing you see is Dottore's grinning, almost psychotic-looking eyes boring through you.

"My Lord?!" you cry, and everything comes rushing back. You went to drop a report to the Lord Harbinger. You fell asleep on the couch in his laboratory.

"What are you doing?!" you demand as assertively as you can in a situation like this, but your voice shakes in fear despite your efforts.

"I could ask you the same question, agent," he hums, and his gloved fingers move to trail over the expanse of your breasts, fondling and groping with not a sliver of shame. "You were asleep when I came in, and so, I assumed, naturally, that you wanted me to do this. Why else would you have been so conveniently sprawled out on my couch, in the privacy of my lab, half-naked and vulnerable?"

"I-I didn't–I wasn't half naked," you try to defend yourself–with such a witless refutation too–but how could you possibly defend yourself? The harbinger was right. You were asleep on the couch in his private lab. Utterly disrespectful. And he caught you. Maybe this was karma–or just your luck.

"Hush, now," he purrs, and his fingers slither behind your back to the band of your bra. You don't have time to react as the garment is pulled off you in one swift motion, tossed away and onto the floor, and then his hands are back on your tits, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your hardened nipples.

"My Lord–stop it, please," you plead, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you, the action shooting straight between your thighs, which clamp together as best as they can with Dottore straddling your waist with all his weight.

He was a scary man, Il Dottore, and even if he wasn't physically hurting you–for now–the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to scare the shit out of you. You were utterly, hopelessly, and vulnerably at his mercy, and the worst part is, you have a feeling that not a single person in this whole 8-story facility would stand up for you. Not a single Fatui subordinate would dare.

"Stop? Oh, darling! But we haven't even started," he laughs, like what you just suggested was utterly ridiculous, and a shudder runs down your body.

"You know," he hums, leaning closer and lowering his head to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. "You can scream–if you'd like. No one would hear."

You have no time to retort, because Dottore's head dips to the valley of your breasts immediately, then his lips ghost over one of your nipples, swiftly taking the nub in his mouth. A sharp inhale rushes into your lungs, and a whimper threatens to spill from your throat. You're not quite sure if the feeling coursing through you is fear or lust or both, because it makes your stomach churn how good this actually feels. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and Dottore’s teeth graze the sensitive skin around your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity between your legs, then his tongue flicks over the hardening peak.

"Mmh," the moan bubbles up from the very back of your throat.

"Oh? So... still want me to stop now, agent?" he muses, mockingly, and his free hand is back at your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the soaked fabric. Your hips buck up, so he takes that as a sign to push the garment aside, a finger sliding between your wet lips.

"No, my Lord," you gasp, and you can't believe the words that come out of your own mouth. Dottore's hand doesn't stop, and his thumb presses down on your clit, and a breathy, whiny moan escapes you.

"See? This isn't so bad, now, is it?" he doesn't give you any warning before his fingers dip into your wet pussy, the intrusion causing you to jerk. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers. His sharp canines dig into his lower lip.

"Aren't you a good little whore. So pretty and obedient for your Lord Harbinger," Dottore purrs, and his thumb begins to move against your clit, while his fingers curl and press insistently at your walls. Your legs tremble, a string of moans falls from your lips, and if anyone told you just an hour ago that the Second Lord Harbinger Il Dottore was going to finger you in his lab, you would've laughed and asked who the fuck would say something like that.

Alas, Dottore wasn't a patient man, so it's no surprise that he doesn't finger you long enough before his hands pull away from you entirely, and he "tsks" impatiently to himself. He has to have you now. He's been so, so nice. Hasn't he? Kind enough to prep you for him instead of plunging himself into you from the get-go. If anything, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back for his thoughtfulness.

Swiftly, his hands reach under your thighs, and with an alarming amount of ease, he yanks you down and away from the cushion that sprawled beneath your head. Then, he's settling between your legs. A soft whimper is torn from your throat when the cold, metal buckle of his belt grazes the inside of your thigh. You watch, helpless, as his hands make quick work of his pants, unzipping the black uniform, and pushing them down just far enough to pull his cock out. You can't help but gulp at the sight, and the wideness of your eyes makes Dottore laugh out an almost sadistic-sounding string of giggles.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he hums, the term of endearment spoken so condescendingly. "You'll take it well. Won't you?"

His words aren't a question. They're a statement. An absolute, undeniable fact. An order. You'll take it well, whether you want to or not, and the knowledge has you almost making a run for the door, but the thought leaves you as fast as it came.

Dottore doesn't wait for a response that won’t come, or a plea for him not to do this, not to force his cock into your tight heat, and you're not quite sure why, but you don't find yourself objecting, or trying to kick him away. Maybe you were curious. Maybe this was a materialization of one of your own depraved fantasies. Or maybe you were just scared he'd kill you if you resisted.if you made a run for the door like you fleetingly thought just now.

His fingers curl around the base of his thick cock, fist then sliding up and down in a few experimental pumps. The tip presses at your entrance almost desperately, and he's pushing the head into your tightness before you can process. He's a big man. The stretch burns. It has a hiss tearing from the back of your throat, and a pained grimace twisting your features.

"Shh," Dottore murmurs, his other hand reaching up to caress the side of your face almost soothingly, the action a stark contrast to the harshness of his current actions.

"Good, good," he whispers, his voice is sickeningly smooth, as though he were genuinely consoling you.

Then, just like that, his hips snap forward, not giving you time to adjust as the entirety of his cock is engulfed in the warmth of your pussy. You're clamping down around him, and it has him groaning lowly in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut, the grip of his hands that are now on your hips tightening.

"Agent," he sighs, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your sides. It'll leave a mark there. A reminder.

You're not quite sure where the burning pain had gone. All that remains is an aching desire, a desperate need, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Your hands move, without a conscious command from your brain, and they rest on Dottore's shoulders, holding on tightly. The harbinger smiles down at you with sickening sweetness, no, not sweetness, mockery. Or maybe sweetness. God, you were a mess. Your mind was nothing but a blob of mush at this moment, and Dottore's hands shift to the underside of your knees, pushing your legs up and thrusting his cock even deeper at this new, utterly indecent angle.

"My Lord!" the moan is punched out of you. His lips meet yours again, his sharp canines scraping over the sensitive flesh. Your hands slide to tangle into his hair, pulling and tugging at the soft blue strands. An almost whiny groan escapes the harbinger's throat at the action. His movements become more desperate. Fast and rough. So fast and rough you're scared you'll be split in two. The plush sofa under the two of you shakes and creaks.

"So, so good," he whines, face contorted in pleasure, but as though he caught himself in his haze before it spiraled, his lips pull back into a domineering sneer. "Take it," he demands, and the words, combined with the obscene feeling of being filled to the brim, are enough to have your vision going white. You claw at Dottore's shoulders with desperate fervor.

"L-Lord Harbinger. I think I'm going to–"

"Do it," he commands with the struggle of a man on the brink of ecstasy, and he folds you even more. If you weren't agile–thanks to your agent training–you're sure you would've actually split into two by now. Back arching off the sofa, a string of incoherent, unintelligible moans escapes your throat. Your pussy clamps down around the thick cock stretching it, and a wave of pleasure courses through you, rendering your muscles numb.

The sight and feeling of you unraveling have Dottore following closely after, his movements becoming erratic and uncoordinated. It's a sight like never seen before; the normally ever so composed man crumbling like this, and then, he's spilling his hot cum into you, a guttural groan reverberating throughout his chest. He fills you to the brim until the warm white liquid leaks out of your aching pussy and stains the leather under you.

A second passes, then two, then three, then a few seconds more. Dottore lets the head of his cock press against your insides one last time before pulling out. He sits back on his knees and regards you for a moment with an almost frightening calmness, and you open your mouth to try and say something, because why was he looking at you like you were nothing but the scum of the ground he walks on after literally cumming inside of you as some lover would?

"The couch will need some cleaning. I trust you can get that sorted tomorrow, agent?" He says finally with a cock of his head, voice level and calm as he climbs off of you and stands on his feet, tucking himself back into his pants as he nonchalantly hums a tune to himself, like this was just another day of fucking his subordinates in their sleep. And maybe it was; you didn’t know, but right now, you're still paralyzed in your spot, just staring at him, and so he turns to glance at you. "Get dressed. You're dismissed for today."

You can only gape, speechless, watching as Dottore turns his back to you once more and disappears into the microscopy workroom in his lab, a certain energized spring to his step.

What the fuck just happened?

The workroom's door closes behind him with a soft click, and he smiles to himself.

Ah, the thrill.

Now, it was time to get back to his research.

#fics for gaza #open requests #il dottore #genshin x reader #genshin impact #dottore x reader #dottore #genshin fanfic #dottore x you #dottore smut #genshin impact smut

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a-not-so-clean-blog · 1 year ago

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Nu carnival boys as omegas and how they deal with their heat

Warnings: ABO, suggestive material with Olivine, drug use with Edmond and Rei

Yakumo

He needs a big nest. It's easier to take him back home because he already has an entire room set up for this. His heats are unfortunately long but as long as he has his nest it's okay. You will have to bring him anything he may need when he's in there because no force can get him out. Cuddle with him or not he's okay. He knows you love him because he's surrounded by your scent and those he cares about. He's not clingy or distant, he just wants to get through this without leaving his fluffy little room. He was extremely scared to let you into his nest the first time, but when he did finally let you in you realized that it was already covered with your shirts and jackets. He feels guilty about stealing your scented clothing but he is not giving it back. Not that you mind.

Edmond

The king has been suppling him with suppressors so he can do his job and not have to deal with his heat. Unfortunately being on suppressors for years is not healthy for someone. He was so scared when his suppressors didn't work because his body built a tolerance and he went through a full heat cycle for the first time. He becomes super sensitive during this time so he doesn't want any physical contact. He gets sensory overload easily but sit near him and he'll use you as a grounding force. Just let him touch you at his own pace so he doesn't get overwhelmed. He gets really timid and skittish during his heat, and he hates how it makes him feel. He appreciates how understanding you are during these times, but was scared at first because he didn't know how you would react.

Olivine

It's hard to smell when his heat is coming because he's always covered in incense. However when it hits, it hits hard. He doesn't want to worry anyone so he ignores his heat until he's in so much pain he collapses. Unfortunately there are plenty of people who want to take advantage of him so you need to be the first to find him if he does. He wants to bathe in your scent, so give him your shirt to wear and he's happy. He will ask you to help the church since he can't do his duties like this. Help the church to make him stop worrying but spend time with him too. Once he's in his nest he's not leaving until his cycle finishes. He loves your presence and when he's like this you can convince him to do pretty much anything, he kind of stops thinking. That makes it easy for you to just tell him to relax and let you take care of him.

Quincy

He smells so strong when his heat finally hits, and it smells so good! His scent is very musky and the pine sap undertones is the only hint of sweetness. He smells like an alpha even when he's in heat. His heats are not frequent and they don't last long, only about 2 days every few months. He used to just wander into the woods and come back after a few days preferring to handle it alone, but now that he has you (as the wonderful loving alpha you are) he loves snuggling up with you through his heat. His heat never bothered him much and it was really only his scent that gave him away. He loves having you with him though. He may get a little possessive during this time but he's mostly normal. If he wanted to he could just go about his life as normal, but he'd rather spend the time with you. He doesn't use a nest so you'll just be hanging out in his cabin mostly. He also becomes a little more open to PDA like hand holding.

Kuya

He is slightly more obnoxious than usual right before it starts, wanting to push you away because he hates not feeling in control. When he finally enters his heat he's a big pile of mush. He's also a lot more honest than he'd like. Gifts and other things make him really happy and he'll tell you just how much he loves you pampering him. Just don't bring it up after his heat is over because he'll deny it to the end. He also has no scent, so besides the personality shift you can't tell when he's in or out of his cycle. Technically he does have a floral scent, but it's so faint that unless you are right on top of him you can't even tell it's there. Sometimes when he's not in his heat he'll be a little mean in hopes that you'll bring him a present.

Blade

He recognizes the warning signs really early on and gets actually pretty excited about it. He loves curling up in the nest that you lovingly filled with soft and cute things for him. Somehow he became more cuddly than normal. His heat isn't that bad, it's just uncomfortable for him if you're not around. His scent turns super sweet like candy and is really strong. He doesn't really need the nest because his heat doesn't cause him too much discomfort, but there's no way he's missing out on an opportunity to be surrounded by you and other cute things.

Garu

He wants to be on top of you the entire time he's in heat, and I mean the entire time. You aren't allowed to even move without him whimpering like he's in pain. Not that you were going to leave but sometimes you just need to adjust. The easiest way to leave the nest (if you absolutely have to) is to pick him up and carry him with you. He'll have his face buried in your neck or chest the whole time. He isn't actually in any pain physically, but he gets extremely distressed if he can't feel you with him.

Karu

Anger. He tries to fight his heat and it just hurts him more. You are going to have to fight to get him into a nest, but once you do he is not leaving and neither are you. He's a strong independent boy that doesn't need an alpha! …But as long as you're here he might as well scent you. He wants to provide for you so if you smell his heat coming early you should encourage him to go hunting that way you won't have to, and he can feel like he is still taking care of you during his heat.

Dante

Stubborn idiot pushes through the pain of his heat. He doesn't have a very strong heat scent but that's because he wears a rare incense to mask it. He will go about his day as normal, fighting, training, being a good ruler, but he collapses into his nest the moment the sun sets. He doesn't like a big nest but he does want you by his side. Your scent helps relieve some of the pain that's built up during the day. If you try to pamper him with gifts he will probably get mad. He doesn't like being spoiled when he's in heat, but after he'll be fine with it. He can be nippy during this time but if he gets really aggressive he will apologize afterwards. You need to keep an eye on him during the day when he leaves to do his duties. There is no convincing him to stay inside during this time but you do your best to take care of him without interfering.

Rei

Oh he despises his heat. He is almost always sick when his heat hits, and it's entirely his own fault. He hates his heat cycle so much that he makes different drugs or blockers or suppressors to try and stop it. For someone who doesn't show much emotion normally he gets incredibly fired up around his heat. He does not want anybody anywhere near him during this time, despite needing the help. He hates that physical contact makes him feel good and that he finds your scent relaxing. He tries so hard to push you away but sometimes you just need to force him into a blanket so he doesn't make himself sicker. He is also going to be mad at you for a few days because it worked.

Eiden

It would be so cruel if he never experienced a heat cycle until he came to this world. Unfortunately for him that's what I'm going with. You smelled his heat coming only hours before it hit him. No one realized he was going to be an omega so no one had a nest prepared for him. If he's joined up with the clan members one of them could lend their nest. If not he spends the entire time acting as a weighted blanket, laying directly on top of you to take in your scent and warmth. This is the first time his head has felt fuzzy like this and it does scare him at first, but you're so patient and caring as you help him through his heat. You make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Aster

I know it's hard but please keep yourself covered when he's in heat. He gets more cuddly and it's adorable, but he also gets a lot more bitey. The first time you were with him during a heat he almost drank you dry. He thinks your scent is calming and delicious. Give him lots of scented shirts and you'll be okay. He does like cuddling with you but you just have to be mindful of how close you are to his mouth. You have to be careful when you're getting in or out of his nest because all the fabrics that fill it are incredibly expensive, and if you tear a single piece he is going to make you pay.

Morvay

Honestly he's so clingy and needy in general that it's hard to tell when he's actually in heat, or faking for attention because he knows you'll spoil him. Not that you don't spoil him anyway but he absolutely loves when all of your attention is on him during his heat. He becomes a little more greedy during his heat. His scent doesn't become stronger but it does become thicker. Like his scent lingers more and it feels like it sticks to you. You don't mind wearing his scent, and he loves when you smell like him and when he smells like you.

#ABO #omegaverse #alpha reader #Nu carnival Yakumo #nu carnival Edmond #nu carnival olivine #nu carnival Quincy #nu carnival Kuya #nu carnival Garu #nu carnival Dante #nu carnival Rei #nu carnival Aster #nu carnival Morvay #nu carnival Eiden #nu carnival x reader #nu carnival #a degenerate writes #♦️

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ioniansunsets · 1 year ago

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HOW DOES HEARTSTEEL SMELL LIKE

Kayn smells like Cigarette smoke and Sauvage Dior whatever popular cologne he can find. But his hair always smells like really sweet shampoo that somehow leaks into that horrendous mix of smoke and way too strong cologne. As you lean in close for a kiss, you can almost taste the smoke. Did he even smoke? Or was it that he loves talking to the other punk rockers that chill around after Pentakill's concert. You're not sure, you'll ask him after his lips leave yours.

Sett smells like the tm Ocean Spray, Ice Cool etc deodorant. Stereotypical man smell. He knows he sweats easily and does his best to keep any odor away! You've seen how he carries extra tees around, and even seen the wipes he keeps in his bag. But, if you hold him tight, you can still smell the soft downy scent of a simple softener wafting off his clothes. Trust him to try to smell clean and manly for you.

Yone smells like coffee mixed in with a green tea softener from his clothes and the very clear scent of cypress? Where did that come from? As you press your face into neck and his hair falls past your face as he leans down, you realize its incense from his room that settled in his hair. You nod, now understanding why sometimes he smells different, depends on what incense he burns while he meditates every morning then.

K'sante smells heavenly, a warm sage kind of scent mixed in with sandalwood. He always smells good, it eludes you how he can work out with Sett and still come out smelling so tasty. Only when you reach up to hold him close can you sniff out a fresh citrus off his skincare routine. When you ask he just shrugs, telling you he just uses good soaps and wipes.

Ezreal smells weird, but not in a bad way! It just always changes, he doesn't have one true smell to himself. Somedays he smells like flowers, somedays he smells like rain. Today, as he bounds up to hug you, giving you a kiss on your cheek, you smell a fancy vanilla wafting up. You think back to how you've never seen cologne in his room but instead rows of small tester perfumes that companies gifted him to review. Must be nice being an influencer.

Aphelios doesn't have a smell. You can smell the small hints of lavender softener Alune uses on his clothes, you can smell the plasticky scent of a new mask fresh out of its packaging, you can smell some hint of fruity hairdye off his hair but nothing that really screams Aphelios. Even when you lean in to kiss him, all you really smell and taste are the very soft hints of whatever scent his lipbalm has.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Some Perfumery Vocabulary

Absolute - An extraction from a concrete using alcohol. The essential oil of scented flowers and other aromatic plant parts in its purest and most concentrated form. It is extremely expensive. A few important oils used in an absolute form are: geranium, lavender, lily, and rose.

Accord - A combination of a number of different scents which blend together to produce a new fragrance.

Agrestic - "Of the countryside"; odours of heather, forest depths, and the meadow.

Aldehydes - Aromatic chemicals isolated for the first time in the 19th century, but that also occur naturally. Certain aldehydes provide an increased diffusiveness, sparkle, and lift to perfumes, most famously in Chanel No. 5.

Almondy - Bittersweet, soft, and nutty scent.

Amber - An accord in perfumery that is supposed to recall the qualities of ambergris. It is often constructed with labdanum, Tolu balsam, or Peru balsam. Often an accord in Oriental perfumes.

Ambergris - A highly prized perfume ingredient consisting of the oxidized excretion from a sperm whale. It is rarely used in its natural form in perfumery because of its rarity, exorbitant cost, and concerns about sourcing ambergris from live whales rather than from shore-found ambergris. It’s said to have an earthy, sweet, tobacco, and pleasantly animalic scent. It primarily works to bring out other notes in perfumery rather than to impart a particular scent on its own.

Ambrein - The primary scented molecule in ambergris, isolated and used in perfumery. It’s warm, sweet, vanillic, and ambery, with facets of spice and tobacco.

Animalic - Describes fragrances with animal ingredients in natural or synthetic form, including civet, castoreum, musk, or ambergris. The voluptuous, erotic, and sometimes disturbing quality of animalic perfumes can register in an olfactory way, as something “dirty” or animal-smelling, or as a feeling, a mood, or a quality. Sometimes, it can be both.

Aromatic - Having a strong or distinctive smell.

B—E

Balance - A combination of different fragrance notes so adjusted in proportion to one another that none of the individual notes is more prominent than any of the others.

Balsamic - The resin from the bark of trees and shrubs (Peru, Tolu, styrax) that have a rich vanilla scent. Balsamic is a term used to describe perfumes with the soft, ambery aspects these resins impart.

Benzoin - A sweet, balsamic resin used in incense and as a base note in perfume for its vanillic scent and fixative properties. Also known as styrax because it comes from the bark of the styrax tree.

Bergamot - The essential oil from the peel of the nonedible Citrus aurantium fruit that looks like a small orange. Its sweetish, mellow lemony scent is a crucial top note in perfumery.

Calone - A synthetic “marine” note that is supposed to evoke the freshness of the ocean. It has a slight watermelon facet.

Camphoraceous - Describes a fresh, clean, medical fragrance.

Caramel - Sweet, rich, creamy, buttery scent.

Cardamom - An intensely aromatic, sweet spice from the ginger family, in the form of a pod filled with seeds.

Carnation - A smoky, sweet, and clove-like scent, the latter facet due to Eugenol, the primary component of clove.

Cassis - (or black currant bud) A sharp, fruity, almost cat-urine-like scented perfume note.

Cistus - (or Labdanum) A resin from the rockrose bush, traditionally gathered from goats’ beards as they fed on the plant. Labdanum is said to be the note closest to the scent of ambergris. Creamy, soft, vanillic.

Citrus - Fresh, light fragrance characteristic of citrus fruits, but also imitated synthetically.

Civet - In classical perfumery, the cream harvested from the anal gland of the mongoose-like civet animal, often described as cat like. Fecal-smelling when undiluted, civet “rounds” out other notes when used judiciously. Famous as an overdosed note in Guerlain’s Jicky (1889), it is considered one of the first abstract modern scents. Civet is primarily in synthetic form now.

Clove - An aromatic spice similar to cinnamon, but less sweet. Its primary component is Eugenol.

Coniferous - The fragrance note of pine, spruce, juniper and similar such trees, often used in men's fragrances.

Diffusive - A perfume whose fragrance quickly becomes apparent in the air surrounding the wearer.

Dry - The aromatic effect of perfume ingredients such as woods and mosses in contrast to sweet and warm fragrances.

Earthy - The subtle fragrance impression of earth or earth-mould which is found in certain essential oils such as vetiver and patchouli.

Equine - Notes of hay and leather.

F—M

Floral - The general fragrance of flowers.

Fruity - Citrus, berries, tropical, and other non-citrus fruit scents.

Fungal - Molds, yeast, and mushroom scents.

Green - General fragrance of grasses and green plant parts.

Harmony - A pleasing combination of fragrance notes.

Hayfield notes - Usually based on coumarin, which have an odour of new-mown hay.

Heavy - Denotes a fragrance in which the least volatile ingredients, such as mossy or animalic ones, are dominant, giving a very strong effect. Such fragrances are mostly used in chypre and oriental-type perfumes.

Herbaceous - The characteristic general fragrance of herbs and herbal medicines. Sage, rosemary and lavender are examples.

Honey - Used as an ingredient in early Arab perfumes and appears in later European ones (e.g., Honey Water). In modern perfumery a substance providing the sweet aromatic effect of honey and known as Honey (or Miel) is manufactured synthetically.

Indolic - The disquieting, ripe, animalic, and almost excremental facet of scents.

Leather - A perfume accord and category of perfume constructed from various notes, including birch tar, styrax, castoreum, and a variety of synthetic notes.

Light - Delicate, clean, and fresh-laundry scent.

Marine - Iodized scent.

Mellow - Soothing and calming scent.

Metallic - A fragrance reminiscent of metal, providing a clean, cool effect. Metallic notes are used in perfumes to assist in promoting an effect, not as main fragrances.

Minty - A fragrance reminiscent of mint, e.g., peppermint or spearmint. Such fragances are usually used to provide a special, fresh effect in a top note.

Mossy - The general odour of oils obtained from mosses and lichens.

Musk - Produced by the musk deer and excreted by the male during mating season. Musk deer were killed almost to extinction for their valuable musk glands, which were dried, and whose musk “seeds” were removed and steeped in alcohol to create tinctures for perfume. The scent of real musk is warm, with depth and a dark animalic aroma. Many synthetics now can mimic musk scent, but one of the most superior musk synthetics, nitro-musks, which were in Chanel No. 5 and countless other vintages, has been banned due to toxicity concerns. Musk can also be substituted with plant ingredients including ambrette seed and angelica.

Musty - Damp, earthy, or stale odor.

N—W

Narcotic - Exceptionally strong and heavy fragrances obtained from some flowers (e.g. jasmine and tuberose) and animalic ingredients, which need to be used with careful discretion in a perfume.

Ozonic - A perfume accord that attempts to create the smell of fresh air after a thunderstorm.

Peppery - Odour of pepper.

Powdery - Soft and clean scent.

Rich - Fragrances that have numerous layers, notes, and accords in all stages (top, mid, base), creating a multifaceted feel.

Rounded - The overall smoothness and fullness of a fragrance.

Sharp - A strong scent.

Smoky - The slight smell of smoke created in a perfume by certain oils such as Birch Tar Oil. It is used in men's fragrances to provide a leathery effect.

Spicy - Describes in general the distinctive fragrance of essential oils which have been obtained from spices.

Sweet - A sweet and rather sugar-like fragrance such as vanilla.

Tobacco - Fragrances resembling cured tobaccos, which are particularly popular in masculine toiletries.

Wintergreen - Has a very powerful and fresh, medicinal odour.

Woody - Fragrances reminiscent of wood. These fragrances are provided by wood oils, such as cedar, by essential oils from other plants having a wood-like aroma, such as patchouli, and by synthetics.

Sources: Perfume: The Art and Craft of Fragrance by Karen Gilbert ⚜ The Perfume Handbook by Nigel Groom ⚜ Scent & Subversion by Barbara Herman ⚜ Scent: A Natural History of Fragrance by Elise Vernon Pearlstine ⚜ Introduction to Perfumery by Tony Curtis & David G. Williams ⚜ The Big Book of Perfume

More: Word Lists ⚜ References ⚜ Describing Scent ⚜ Fragrance Notes & Levels

#perfume #writing reference #writeblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #poets on tumblr #literature #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #fragrance #nature #writing resources

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filthgarbage86 · 2 years ago

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@xtravrgnoliveoil "I BEG OF YOU TO WRITE MORE OF EDDIE CALLING READER BUNNY IM BEGGING "

Ask and you shall recieve >:)

Context: Eddie had been trying to figure out which nickname to call you for a while and was trying out different ones. He noticed that some did make you blush a bit but recently at a party, he had called you one nickname that elicited an interesting response from you - bunny.

Here is part two, off of my first part here, you don't need to read the first part to enjoy this part!

CW/TW: Heavy Nickname use (bunny, princess, baby, etc but mostly highlighting bunny), lets be real it's just smutty smut smut, fluff so sweet it'll rot your teeth, very angst and a lil cringe, masturbating and getting caught by Eddie (gasp), both receiving, feminine pronoun use (good girl, pretty, sweet pea, etc.), riding d!ck, just general steam if you will or might.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since that party, you've been on edge.

"“hiya bunny, how’s my sweet baby doing?”

you liked it.

"“Ohhh what’s this, bunny? Do you like being called that?”

you don't know why but you need to hear him say that to you again. you had never felt something so deeply before but you wanted nothing more than just to be a good, playful bunny for him. That name made you feel warm and wanted and needed and you had never felt something more desired. You were luckily already at Eddie's trailor waiting for him to come back from band practice, getting fidgety from anticipation. What could you do? You wanted him to call you that again but you didn't want to be too needy or forward about your wants like that. It's embarrassing... isn't it?

You thought about what he said that night at the party. He mentioned "I’ll treat you like a good little bunny too. All you have to do is look at me in the eye, and say so.” you shivered at the thought, the whisper of the memory creating tingling by your ear and neck. You were already so sensitive. You couldn't wait. You needed something.

You went to his room, put on one of his shirts, and laid in his bed with nothing else on. You just laid there and took in Eddie as much as you could in his absence. His room was messy but it wasn't horrible. He was very him. It smelled like old joints and cigarettes, incense, cologne, and something sweet. It was delicious and it was making you high off of the thought of Eddie. Wanting to be good for Eddie. Wanting Eddie.

You found yourself just thinking about him so much you started reaching downwards, slowly playing with yourself and soon enough you are a dirty little mess. you are soaking his sheets already, you know it but you can't help it. You keep thinking about him holding you close and whispering more in your ear. You're thinking abut how strong but gentle his grip on you is, how he can be so kind and firm at once. You were whimpering, moaning, begging for eddie. eddie.

Eddie had walked in about 5 minutes ago and heard some noise coming from his room. He had put down all his stuff and was determined to be as quiet as possible, hoping to god you didn't hear him. He's watching you struggling to get to that one spot deep inside of you, a spot only he could get to. You were near tears and begging under your breathe. "please eddie please please please... wanna be a good bunny. wanna be good. please. please. please."

Eddie growled. Oh my gods, you wanted him to find you like this. This wasn't just accidental, no. you were hoping that he would walk in on you and that he would find you looking like a the dirty, filthy, little bunny you are for him. And there was no way he was going to disappoint you.

"Yes princess, yes baby what is it, what do you need?"

He is on his knees beside the bed, swiveling your body around to the edge so that he was face to face with your cunt. He's pressing sweet, generous kisses into your legs, your knees, your thighs, his grip unrelenting. You're looking at him through hooded lids, your pupils engulfing your eyes, you were completely taken over by lust. You were in another headspace entirely. Normally, you'd be so embarrassed that Eddie found you like this but right now, you just needed him desperately.

"I want you Eddie, I want you so so so badly. Please please please" He places a sweet kiss on your clit before sucking so intently that it ignites you immediately. You're grabbing for his head and grasping handfuls of his hair and he moans into your cunt at the sensation. "Good bunny gooooood girl you're so so good for me holy shit" you moan, obscenely. There was that name again. You needed to hear it again. "wanna be good, wanna be a good... good.. good"

Eddie was sucking and licking like you were ice cream on a hot summer day, acting like you were the most delicious treat and added a finger and was slowly just pumping into you with ease. "You're being so good baby-"

You whine. Nonono, you were not baby. You felt like you were going to cry. Eddie stops. "What is it princess, what's wrong?" you start whining and squirming more. Eddie presses down onto your hips and stills you with one hand and caresses your head with the other. "Speak to me, y/n, what's wrong?" you're blushing and crying and oh you were being such a mess.

"I'm don't want to be baby. I want to be... to be.." "You're safe princess, talk to me. You want to be..."

You sit up on your elbows, look at him for a moment and take a deep breathe. This is Eddie after all, this is the man that is so sweet to you all the time and has never, ever made you feel less than or weird or unaccepted. You knew that you were safe to be this way with him. You take one more breathe before closing your eyes, moving up from the bed, getting on your knees, and placing your hands on his thighs. His breath hitches, then you open your eyes, big, wide, and blown.

"I want to be your good little bunny"

Oh. It's all over. Something inside of Eddie switches immediately. Holy shit, how could he not when you're looking at him like that? So eager to please. So ready to be good for him, filthy for him. He's about to ruin you. He stares back down at you and gives you a wide, toothy grin and lights up with a smirk in his eye again. He's gripping onto your chin and jaw, causing your mouth to gap a little. "Oh bunny, is that what you want? Is that why I found you here? Were you preparing yourself for me to come home and ruin you? You want me to use you? Want me to fuck you like the good little fuck bunny you are? You are so fucking pretty and sexy, holy shit-"

You're stargazed by this, nodding quickly at all his words, already feeling dumbed out a bit. You stick out your tongue just a little bit, trying to lick his sadly still clothed crotch, trying to entice him before he's hissing and forcing you to look up again. "Patience bunny, you still haven't told me what you want to do. How should I ruin you first?"

"Please can I suck your cock? Please, I promise I'll make you feel so good" Good god what did he do to deserve you? "You can suck me bunny, go ahead. Suck me really good and maybe I'll give you a reward"

You are rushing to get his belt unbuckled, zipper down, and you pull down his pants and boxers to reveal him and oh my gods you really were just so needy right now. It was hard and long and pink and just so pretty. Already slightly wet from precum from eating you out and all the dirty talk and you didn't want to make him wait any longer.

You take his length in one of your hands and start giving open mouth kissing and licking circles over his slit. He is hissing and bucking already, so sensitive. You were both a mess for each other. You take him inch by inch, covering him with saliva to the point where you're drooling. You're sucking him lazily and also with intention, making sure to visit his balls every now and then, sucking, licking, kissing every inch until he can't take it anymore. "Bunny I'm not going to last long if you keep doing this." "Please cum, oh my gods, please please please eddie I really want you to cum for me" "Oh my fuckin god you're so so so good to me, where do you want it" "In my mouth, in my-" He's groaning and shoving his dick back into you and you just brace yourself on his thighs. He isn't holding back anymore, abusing your mouth over and over and over until finally he's cumming hard and warm slick is running down your throat. He pulls out and opens your mouth to see his seed still all over your tongue. He leans in and kisses you intensely, tasting himself on your tongue. "Swallow bunny. Be a good bunny and swallow." You do. You look at him dazed until you're looking below you at the literal puddle you have below you.

"Oh my gods princess, look at you. You're soaked, what's got you so riled up? You just so desperate for me and my cock? You just want to be fucked so good? It's your turn bunny. On the bed. Now."

You stand up immediately and you want to be good, you really do, but you need him right now. You stand up and you push him back onto the bed and have him in a sat position upright. You swing your leg to where you're straddling him and you're hovering over his dick. You both take a moment to quietly moan at the contact, you know you just had him in your mouth but to be sitting on him had you remembering what you came here for. "I'm so sorry but I need you Eddie, I really really really need you. I want to be good but please, I'm going to go nuts if you don't fuck me right now" You're grabbing his half-hard cock and slowly just sitting and taking him in. Inch by inch, you drop further and further down and you're groaning on the way down, you're so full. He's so big that he fills you up just right with the perfect amount of light stretch. Normally it's a big uncomfortable but because you're so wet, you are immediately moving and rocking down into him.

"Holy Shit bunny, you're so fucking filthy and so greedy, you're so cock hungry you just take my cock because you know you're mine and my cock is yours. Take it bunny, take my cock. It's all yours."

You are bouncing and rocking and clinging onto him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and your whimpering and moaning, begging "yes yes yes please please please so good so fucking good oh my god please thank you" into his shoulder while he continues to give praise after praise. He's holding onto you around your waist, hugging you tight into him and giving you kisses on your shoulders, neck, and whispering to you. "Come on princess, I know you can do it, I know you can cum for me. Take me cock and give me your cum, do it. Cum all over me and be a good little bunny. My good filthy, desperate fuck bunny. Come on, bunny"

You are silently screaming, seizing even a bit from the white heated wave that washed over you. He is thrusting into you, holding onto you and talking you through your orgasm, until finally you go limp. He continues to hug you, securing you safely in his arms has he strokes your back lightly until you're back with him. "Hi sweetheart, welcome back to earth. are you okay?" "mmmhmm" you just keep your eyes closed and lean into him fully. You're exhausted, and you cannot believe you just did all of that. "Well you definitely earned your name. Holy shit, baby, you really do fuck like a bunny." You're blushing immediately and trying to hide in his chest. "nonono i didn't mean that in a bad way, princess. I think it's so hot and so so so sexy, you have no idea"

"You don't think it's weird?" "GOD no, holy shit, are you kidding me? I've never seen something more close to heaven than what you just showed me. I love calling you things that make you feel excited like that. You were so good for me, bunny"

You're blushing, you are fully pink and you just smile at him with a hum. You were good. You were his good bunny. And you were hoping to continue that in other ways too.

"What about you?" "Hmm?" "What do you want me to call you?" You barely notice it by the time you look up, but if you weren't mistaken, it was his turn to blush a little bit. "Well sweetheart, you're gonna have to figure that out yourself, just like I had to" Oh, this was going to be fun.

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Oh my gods that was so much longer than I thought that was going to be but it was worth it because it was SO much fun to write and it definitely got me feeling stuff too. Thank you so much for asking for more and my inbox/ask box is open now! If there are any other requests or ideas, please send them my way! I'm hoping to write a bit more if I can! I hope you enjoyed!

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #softdom!eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n smut #eddie munson angst #submissive!reader #bunny!reader

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