#and those wounds keep getting ripped open again

[twicetolivetwicetodie]

"I took my time in the shower. I needed a good scrubbing, yes. But mostly I needed to stand with my forehead against the tiles, shaking and weeping until I felt like I could face other people again.

What was it about kindness? In my time as Lester Papadopoulos, I had learned to stand up under horrendous verbal abuse and constant life- threatening violence, but the smallest act of generosity could ninja-kick me right in the heart and break me into a blubbering mess of emotions."

Oh I guarantee it's more than just recent trauma that is causing you to have this reaction, Apollo.

Paul is genuinely kind to Apollo and is showing a fatherly concern for him and Apollo has an emotional breakdown cause of it. What the fuck did Zeus do to him?

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

[reareaotaku]

I Can't Lose You

Summary: After almost losing you, Five goes through extreme measures to make sure you're safe Pairings: Yandere! Five Hargreeves x Reader Tw/Cw: Protective Five, Open-ending

It all happened so fast, even for Five. If he had seen it coming, he would have gotten you out of there, but he wasn't expecting those stupid white-haired brothers to show up. When you had been shot, thankfully nowhere vital, he nearly lost it. Past Five would have killed them, but you were his priority, so he made sure to get you out of there.

"Oh, god- Fuck, are you okay?" It's not a real question, just something to bring Five some sort of comfort. He rips off sleeves, before pushing the fabric on your wound, hoping to control the blood, instead of having his hands get bloody trying.

"Five," You grab his bicep, causing him to look up at you. "I'm fine."

He frowns, letting go of the make-shift sleeve bandage he had made. He lifts up his blood-covered hands, "Fine? You're bleeding out because you were shot. What the fuck were you thinking?" He's angry and he knows he shouldn't direct it at you, but he hates the feeling of worry, guilt, and fear you made him feel.

"What was *I* thinking? What do you mean WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I didn't shoot MYSELF!"

He groans, putting his hands back on the wound. He doesn't respond to your words, frustrating you.

"Well?"

He looks up at you, his eyes down casted and a frown overtaking his face. He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair, "I was just..." He pulls his hands down his face, "Forget it- It's nothing. Don't worry about what I said."

You were a little taken aback, because if there's one thing about Five, it's that he stuck by what he said.

---

You awoke in a bed, looking around the strange room. You were alone and your wound was patched up. You click your tongue, before sitting up and yawning while rubbing the side of your face. You move to the side of the bed, finally standing off, before holding the side of your stomach when a sharp pain shoots through you.

You hear the click of the door and quickly look towards it. It was Five and he had a muffin- or at least what looked like a muffin.

He looks up at you, before quickly coming over to you and making you sit back down, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Your brows scrunch as you shrug, "I was just going to walk and move a little-"

"No, just stay here. You're safe here."

You roll your eyes, before crossing your arms. Why was he being like this? He was acting like you were a porcelain doll that would break if grabbed to hard.

He ignores your pouting before handing you the muffin. "Here, I got you something to eat. And drink the water," He gestures to a water bottle that was on the nightstand, "You lost a lot of blood. You're going to have to be more careful, because I don't want to bandage you up again." He looks up at you before an annoyed look overtakes his face, "Do you know how embarrassing and hard it was to explain when they asked why you didn't have a shirt on and my hands all over you while you were unconscious?"

"What happened to them?"

"Who- The Swedes?" He tilts his head, before looking at your covered wound, "They left after you were shot. I think they think you're dead."

"Why?"

"Because they're idiots," He shakes his head like it was the most obvious answer. "Though, that's good for us. If they think you're dead, they won't come after you and you'll be safe."

"Sounds like you're telling me to stay inside to be 'safe'." You joke but by the way Five looked back up at you it wasn't a joke. You quickly stand up, "You're kidding- I'm not staying here-"

He stands up, pushing you back down on the bed, "Yes you are. You're safe here- This is were you're staying and I don't care if that upsets you."

"You can't control me!" You yell at him, which causes his face to scrunch up.

"So, you think. You're not leaving my sight or out of where I know you are."

"So you think locking me up will keep me safe?"

"Yes!"

"Why! It was one time!"

He turns away from you, holding his face in his hands. He couldn't talk to you. Not now. He was to caught up and he'd say something he'd regret.

"What are you so afraid of?"

He finally breaks and turns towards you, "Because I can't lose you! You almost died! Okay, are you happy?! Fuck," His nails dig into his scalp and he looks away from you. He rubs his temple before sighing, "I don't... know what I'd if I lost you and.... Well, for the first time in my life, I was scared."

You're surprised by his confession, especially since he never told you his feelings before.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?" He looks back at you surprised.

You shake your head, "I'm just surprised."

"Yeah," He sits on the edge of the bed, before fiddling with your hand, "You know, when you were bleeding out it was awful." You looked at your hands that were now intertwined, "I know I don't say it, but I do care about you and I just want you to be safe."

"Yeah, I know, but I can defend myself. There's nothing for you to be worried about."

"Yeah, I know... But I can't help it."

"Yeah, you do worry a lot, but I promise nothing bad's going to happen."

[larcenywrites]

Headcanons for collaring Logan and calling him "my little animal", please? 😏

I’ll tell you what, that “my little animal” line had me all kinds of fucked up in that theatre 😩 A bit of a preface for the fic 😏 So these are definitely more about what the collar does to him 😏 and I feel like they kinda just turned into sex hcs here and there? Though, I suppose I could supplement with another list of more generalized sex HCs in the future if it’s popular 😘 freaky but tbh the fic is gonna be freakier

Collaring/Sex Headcanons

Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ nsfw | some freaky stuff in here | mentions of hair pulling | obviously calling Logan an animal (affectionately ofc) | collaring | biting (with fangs and tongue!) | growling | heavily implied rough sex/foreplay | no pronouns used for reader | ONE LINE MENTIONS BLOOD BUT WILL BE MARKED WITH A TW AND BOXING

🍺 His go-to collar is definitely something more rugged and simple. Something flexible, something that fits loosely— as you can imagine, he’s not at all a fan of the stiffer and tight-fitting collars :( he’s been collared before, after all, in a not-so-pleasurable way :(

🍺 But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still like for his collar to be pulled on 😏

🍺 But to clarify, this isn’t really any sort of submissive play. Sure, there are subby elements involved, especially at first, but overall, think of this as more like a safe play, or maybe even an exercise.

🍺 Collaring him like an animal means it’s, well, time to be an animal. That it’s okay to be what he is 🤎 He spends a lot of time working to suppress and regulate the rage and urges and instincts, but sometimes doing so frustrates him more :(

🍺 And depending on the situation, he’s probably tried very hard to keep himself in check when he’s with you, more specifically.

🍺 But you love him for who he is! For what he is! So it doesn’t make it any better when he’s frustrated and pent-up for suppressing what he is 😔 and it only gets worse with age.

🍺 So on days like this, when he comes in all tense and moody (believe it or not, there’s a difference between I’m just pissed at Scott and I wanna rip bricks out of this wall with my teeth but that’s not socially acceptable), all it really takes is a downward tug of his hair to get him head down and on his knees 😘

🍺 He wants it too! He knows exactly where this is going! Again, think of it like an exercise. And where, for once, he can feel more safe and comfortable about it in a controlled environment 🥺

🍺 Buckle it around his neck and you won’t need to do much else for a few minutes— just keep a hand around that collar, pet his hair, and just let him growl it out 😮‍💨 eventually, he’ll lean forward and nuzzle against you.

🍺 He’s still being sweet for now, but don’t forget he’s still…

🍺 “There’s my little animal,” you coo now that he’s in the right space, tugging the collar to make him face up at you.

🍺 You don’t know if his mouth is open in a snarl or a moan, but your fingers are too busy tracing over his lips and teeth anyway 😏 And he’s too busy licking at your thumb pressing on the point of his fang and kissing your palm to care either.

🍺 Past this point, your little wild animal can be a little unpredictable!! But hey, doesn’t that just make it more exciting?

🍺 Logan is strong. Strong doesn’t even begin to cover it! He won’t crush you or anything, but as far as he knows, he has permission to be heavy-handed when it comes to gripping onto you! And making sure you can’t run from him 🥴 So don’t act shocked when you have bruises the next day!

________________________________________

🍺 (TW: BLOOD) and don’t act shocked when those fangs and maybe even claws draw a few pinpricks of blood. He’ll be eagerly licking over those wounds 🥴

________________________________________

🍺 He’s definitely bitey too. He gets excited licking your skin, okay?? He just has to nip and nibble and bite before licking over the pressure marks from his fangs 🥴🥴🥴

🍺 Will eventually start biting his way up your body… and licking overly wet stripes up your chest

🍺 With how hard he’s gripping your thighs while doing this, you’ll probably try to hold his hand or caress it… It’ll feel weird af, but you will be able to feel the way his claws excitedly flex beneath his skin. But be careful! They might poke out juuust a little bit 😉🤏

🍺 Will eventually eat you out while kneeling🧎🏻‍♂️and no matter how hard you tug on that collar, even if you’re choking him, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied 😏 definitely growling while doing it… also growling very possessively and biting your inner thigh when you try to pull him away 🥴

🍺 This mf would drag you up the bed by the neck if he could 😩 but he’ll settle for biting your neck and lifting you up to carry you to the top of the bed 😌

🍺 Sometimes he’ll get overstimulated and sink his fangs into the edge of the mattress or a pillow 😳 and you’ll definitely know when he’s about to do it because he’ll pull away and nearly look like he’s snarling in pain 🥵 and sometimes he looks like he’s about to sneeze 🤭

🍺 But at least he didn’t sink his fangs into you, right…? 😳

🍺 Drag him down by the collar for a kiss during sex, and he’ll meet you with fangs and tongue instead 😘

🍺 In fact, just tug the collar down anywhere while he’s fucking you. Your knuckles tense against his neck with your fist around the collar, holding him face down against the sheets… it will only make him rut into you harder with a low growl 😈

🍺 Holding him against your chest works too 😏 gives him something to mouth on 😘

🍺 He’s definitely cumming inside you, sorry 🥰 You are not gonna get this man off you while he’s like this 🫠

🍺 He’s definitely leaving claw holes in the sheets and mattress 😉 probably right next to the last batch…

🍺 Sometimes he does this normally, but with the collar on, he’s definitely running on mindless instinct while rubbing his face all over you 🥺🥰 as if you didn’t already smell like everything from his cologne to his saliva by now 😒

🍺 All you can really do is pet him while he does this 🥰 especially because he’s still inside you and not moving anytime soon!

🍺 Obviously enjoys it, obviously feels a little better, but he’s still not exactly… proud of it? He has a lot of self-hate to work through on a daily basis, so it’s not your fault. He wants to do it! He likes it! He knows that you like it! You still love him for it! But…

🍺 Well, he can’t really worry about that right now when you’re lovingly biting his nose and distracting him with love and affection 😌

[aventurineswife]

I love to think that Aventurine would tie a strand of his hair (i mean its like gold already) around his beloved's ring finger as a silent engagement ring...Literally... Imagine coming to him crying that it ripped and him laughing telling that there are way more from where it came from as he detaches another strand and double ties this time just as a reassuring :') [feel free to use the idea if it inspires you im just so obsessed nowadays]

Ties that Bind Us

Summary: After a delicate strand of Aventurine's hair, which he had tied around your finger as a silent engagement ring, breaks, you approach him feeling emotional.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Light Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, Suggestive(nothing explicit), Intimate Moments, Playful Teasing, Emotional Reassurance, Soft Romantic Gestures, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mild suggestive content, Emotional vulnerability, Brief crying, he calls you “Love” (because you are the love of his life 🫶).

A/N: THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA, INSTEAD OF GETTING AN ARTIFICIAL THING, YOU GIVE YOUR BELOVED SOMETHING GENIUNE AND OF YOUR OWN 😭 BUT MAN HE'S GONNA GO BALD IF HE KEEPS OFFERING HIS HAIR!!

(Keep those requests coming, I love writing about them! Perhaps send something slight spicy(don't ask me for full smut😭) or gorey too if you dare that is ;))

In the dim glow of your shared home, a soft breeze rustled through the open window as you watched Aventurine, or Kakavasha as you privately called him, sit at his desk, deeply engrossed in his work. His sandy golden-blond hair fell in perfect waves, shimmering under the gentle light. You smiled, fondly remembering how, just days ago, he had tied a single strand of that very hair around your ring finger.

A silent promise. A commitment so personal, it felt more intimate than any grand proposal.

But now, that golden thread had snapped, the ends frayed where the delicate piece had worn out over time. You felt a tug at your heart. It wasn’t just a strand of hair, it was the bond you two shared — fragile, tender, and impossibly beautiful.

Approaching him quietly, you stood at his side, fingers fiddling nervously with the broken piece in your hand. “Kakavasha…” you whispered softly, breaking his focus. His magenta and cyan eyes flicked up from his work, softening when he saw you.

“What’s troubling you, love?” His voice was rich with warmth and affection, though laced with his usual playful charm.

You showed him the broken strand, lips quivering slightly as you murmured, “It… it snapped. I’m sorry.” The weight of your emotions caught you off guard, and you blinked back tears, feeling silly for crying over something so small.

But Aventurine’s expression didn’t change. In fact, a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. His signature smile spread across his face as he reached out to cup your cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “Oh, my dear…” he murmured, his tone both amused and deeply affectionate. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Before you could protest, he reached for a new strand of his hair and, without hesitation, gently wound it around your ring finger again, this time doubling the loop to ensure it would hold longer. He kissed your hand once he finished, a light peck full of promise. “See? All fixed. Stronger now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly through your lingering emotions, touched by his gesture and the way he made light of what had seemed like a disaster to you. “Thank you.” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth as you looked into his eyes.

He tilted his head, studying you in that way only he could—reading every nuance of your expression. "Crying over a single strand, hmm?" he teased, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. "It’s like you're trying to tug at my heartstrings."

Your blush deepened as his thumb stroked along your jawline. "What happens when it breaks again?" you asked, though the question came out in a more breathless tone than you’d intended.

Aventurine’s smile widened, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more his personal self, Kakavasha. “I’ll keep tying new ones,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you close. “Over and over again. Until there’s no more hair left to give. And even then…” His lips found your temple. “I’ll find something else to bind us together.”

You shivered, not just from the cool breeze that swept through the room but from the way his words wrapped around your heart, anchoring you to him in a way that felt unbreakable.

As you rested your head against his chest, your heart pounded in sync with his, your body relaxing into his embrace. The warmth between you grew, soft and inviting. His fingers played with your hair now, lazily twirling a few strands, but there was something unspoken in the air.

"Kakavasha…" you whispered, your voice trembling with something more than just gratitude.

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through your body. "Cracking already, are we?" His fingers slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes shimmered with mischief, but there was something deeper—something more vulnerable, peeking through the cracks of his usual playful facade.

Aventurine cracked, and Kakavasha peeked out.

The depth in his gaze was unmistakable now, and your breath caught in your throat. You could feel the shift between you two—the teasing banter giving way to something far more intimate. His lips hovered near yours, barely a whisper away, his warm breath mingling with yours.

“And if you break again…” His voice was a low, sultry murmur, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. “I’ll be right here, fixing it every time, love.”

His lips brushed yours, gentle at first, as if savoring the moment. But soon, that gentleness gave way to something more passionate, a deeper need igniting between you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer still, until there was no space left between you.

And in that moment, as his kiss deepened, you knew — no matter how many strands might snap, or how many times you might fall apart, Aventurine, Kakavasha, would always be there, ready to tie them back together.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars of Duty 1

Hybrid!Simon x reader - Chapter 2 -

When a new problem hybrid is brought to the rehab center, you're called in from medical leave. Having been through hell he's classed as dangerous but you believe he deserves a chance. Hopefully you both can heal each other without adding to old wounds.

I dedicate this story to @kiwiimochi because they said they'd be interested in a story like this. I hope you enjoy and you're welcome to tell me what you think.

Content: hybrid AU, brief description of wounds, allusions to torture

The call comes through in the middle of the night, ripping you from deep slumber that for once was peaceful.

You wake with a gasp, heart immediately racing to outrun the invisible danger. It takes you a few seconds to blink the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You’re at home, in your bed. There is no danger around, except the phone that rings impatiently in your bedside drawer.

You recognize the ringtone. It’s your work phone, which hasn’t rung in weeks even though you always keep it on and charged. It’s slightly unsettling to hear it ring at such an ungodly hour. It’s freeing too, to realize that your heart slowly calms down and you do not spiral into a panic attack.

Yawning your reach into the drawer and open it, getting the angrily vibrating phone and hold it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“We need you here.”

You’re stunned into silence. Everyone knows you’re on medical leave. They should know better than to call you in randomly during the night. They -

“Like right now.” You recognize Elizabeth’s voice and your heartrate skyrockets again.

“Liz, you know that I’m on leave. You know wh-“

“They want to put him down.” Her voice interrupts you, full of urgency.

That has you sitting bolt upright. Putting down hybrids has been illegal for years now and the center mostly adheres to those laws. Mostly, not always and when they don’t they usually have a damn good reason not to.

Working at a government managed rehabilitation center for hybrids meant that sometimes they put their decisions above the law.

You’re already out the bed and stumbling around the room while trying to get dressed one handed.

“I’m coming. Anything I should know?”

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear so you can use both hands to pull on your pants. The short pause strains your nerves. She wouldn’t have called you if the others could handle whatever was happening.

“Liz?” You prompt her.

“Belgian Malinois hybrid. Military. They found him after he was MIA for moths. Severely malnourished, signs of torture all over him. No idea how they managed to get him into a chopper and bring him here, but he is here.” She rattles down and if you didn’t know her better you’d think that she doesn’t care. But you do know her better. Staying professional helps her not to break down with cases like this.

Hectically you tuck a shirt over your head, gather your things and basically run out the door. When you started working at the center you moved as close as possible to your new workplace and because you were lucky that meant living just down the street.

Running along the sidewalk you urge her on. “What more, Liz. I need everything you can give me.”

The silence speaks volumes. She hesitates, then goes on.

“He attacked and killed one of the soldiers that brought him here. They sedated him but said if no one wants to work with him, they have to put him down. I’ve seen hybrids go animal before but not like this.”

You grit your teeth at that. You hated the term ‘going animal’ even if it was a widely accepted term when working with hybrids. Just because they we’re genetically part animal didn’t mean, that them going berserk was less human that an ordinary person losing it.

And if what she told you was true, he had more than enough reason to lose his marbles.

Before you can ask another question you reach the fence of the rehab compound and to your surprise Liz is there, already opening the door for you so you won’t have to use your access card. You end the call and pocket your phone when you approach her.

“I want to say it’s good to have you back but the circumstances make the whole thing slightly less cheery.” She greets you and then engulfs you in a heartfelt hug.

Damn, you missed her. Liz didn’t work with the hybrids as a handler. She was part of the office team but she was one of your favorite coworkers here. Liz got shit done while taking none and still she was the nicest, sweetest person around.

You nod, returning her hug. Then you breathe deeply, preparing yourself to actually step foot into the facility again. The very reason why you were on medical leave in the first place. It doesn’t feel as bad as you feared but you’re not sure how you will react to the hybrid.

“Where is he? What’s his name?”

Liz sighs deeply. “He’s in the cell. The others refused to work with him when they heard the details from the soldiers. Honestly, I don’t blame them but I thought it was worth calling you.”

You nod grimly and let her lead the way. The facility worked with aggressive hybrids a lot. Problematic cases were nothing new. But one who had murdered mere hours ago was new territory. You’re not sure this is the best decision.

Was this the kind of case you were ready to come back for? After what happened? This had the potential to ruin any progress you had made during your leave.

No. You couldn’t let him be put down just because you were scared. He deserved a chance and if all the others were too worried then you’d give him the chance. Even if it might cost you the stability you’d gained back.

Liz comes to a halt before the cell and turns to you. Her hands clasp onto your shoulders, looking at you through her glasses.

“Thank you for trying.” She hesitates briefly. “Don’t destroy yourself over it though. If he’s lost, he’s lost. You can’t save everyone.”

Her words make your throat tighten and swallowing seems like an impossible feat. You nod, despite the unease bubbling up in you.

He’s a person, you remind yourself. It’s not like you’re meeting a wild animal.

Finally you turn to look through the small window into the cell. The large hybrid nearly steals your breath. He’s still unconscious, lying on the mattress at the far end of the otherwise unfurnished cold cell. The dark pointed ears that peek out of his shaggy hair twitch every now and then.

“His name?” You ask again, your voice a whisper, even though you’re not entirely sure why you feel the need to quiet down.

He is dirty beyond belief; his hair unkempt and you can make out a slight beard on his strong jaw through the bars of his muzzle.  You grind your teeth at the sight of it. Using muzzles of that type on hybrids has also been forbidden and you wonder if they found him like this or put it on him.

The fact that he doesn’t wear a shirt, only ripped and sullied pants, grants you an unobstructed view of his torso. There are various wounds in different phases of healing and his ribs are overly visible beneath his skin.

The twin wounds on his left draw your eyes. They seem almost circular and are located between his ribs. Already crusted over messily they seem to not be the newest ones; still you shudder with how painful they look. Over the ribs that lay between those wounds the skin is blackish blue and bruised.

You decide to not look closely at his other wounds as to not make you feel shakier than you already do. Instead you look at his face again. That too is covered in shallow cuts but those do not make your insides want to turn over.

His hair seems to be a deep, dark brown, matching the ears and you wonder how he’ll look, once he’s clean and not on the brink of starvation. Liz’ voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Simon Riley. Lieutenant.”

You both know rank means almost nothing when it comes to hybrids but you don’t comment on the information. You’re about to ask something else when he starts stirring and you hold your breath. Even though you’re outside you feel the tension rise along with his consciousness from the artificial sleep.

Two figures, that were obstructed from view before because they stood so close to the wall, step forward. Soldiers, you realize and they have their weapons trained on the slowly waking hybrid. On Simon.

As soon as he’s halfway conscious he scrambles to his feet, slightly swaying in his spot. He tries to bring his arms to the front but they seem to be tied behind his back. His tail grows stiff behind him, the ears tilt back and his upper lip curls into a snarl revealing his canines while his eyes fixate on the soldiers.

You can hear his deep resounding growl through the door and everything in you wants to run. This is a military hybrid, all right. Everything about him is big and intimidating, the aggression rolling off of him in waves along with the resounding growl.

Instead of running you set your shoulders and breathe deeply. “Let me inside and get the soldiers out.” You say a lot more confidently than you feel. Evidently their way of handling him is not working.

Liz raises her eyebrows but communicates with the guards inside. Slowly they back towards the door, keeping their guns pointed at the hybrid while Liz unlocks the door. Quicker than you can comprehend you changed positions with one of the guards, the other staying with his gun still pointing at Simon.

“”Out.” You command. You wish your body was as unwavering as your voice but you can feel a subtle shaking start in your legs.

The soldier seems conflicted but Elizabeth keeps the door open and he backs out too. Everyone at the center knows that working with hybrids comes with a lot of risks. If this goes south all you’ll be is a small stack of papers on Liz’ desk, waiting to be signed. And maybe a body to be buried.

You’re alone with him now, the heavy door closing behind you and the hostility rolling off Simon nearly suffocates you. His eyes are now fixed solely on you and he seems to be weighing his options, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to attack you.

You pray that he doesn’t.

You study him for a moment longer and you see the sheen on sweat that appears on his skin. This is not only aggression. He’s scared. Scared of you and somehow the fear being mutual calms you down. This hybrid must have been through hell and now he woke in a strange room after forcefully being sedated. You’d be scared shitless too and growl at people.

“Hello.”

You hold the eye contact and the way his ears perk forward for a second before going back again would be adorable in any other situation. The growl stutters before returning stronger than before. He reacted to being spoken to. Liz’ had exaggerated, maybe they’d misinterpreted him, because this hybrid was not on a murder spree.

Yet he’d killed earlier, you have to remind yourself. Just because you were a softie didn’t mean he’d spare you.

Slowly you raise your hands. “I’m just going to sit down, here. Do you know where you are?”

You can see the confusion on his face at the fact you talk to him and you mentally curse the soldiers that brought him in. Despite his display being more animalistic than human he is still a person before all else. How come they hadn't had the common sense to talk to him?

His keen eyes don’t miss even one of your movements as you settle down and cross your legs.

“You were found just north of the border in Texas.” It’s difficult to keep your voice as soft as possible with the way your throat is so tight. For a second you hate yourself because you’re thankful that he is muzzled and his arms are restrained.

Then you remind yourself that he is not Phillip and despite what Liz told you, you will judge him based on his behavior not on the stories. Like you should have with Phillip.

Something about what you said makes his ears perk up. He’s still careful but the previous stifling aggression is gone. Once again you try to suppress your anger at the soldiers not talking to him. This isn’t nearly as bad as they made it out to be.

“They brought you to a rehabilitation facility for hybrids that work with the authorities or the military. You might have heard of it before. It’s called “Rehybrid” which is a stupid name if you ask me but I wasn’t born when they decided on that so…”

Now he cocks his head at you and you try to keep from smiling. You know you’re rambling but it seems to help so you keep going.

“Not everyone is gifted in name giving.” Without much of a pause and consciously casually you continue on. “Mind if I take the handcuffs off of you?”

That makes him stiffen, reflexively his lip curls up again a small growl starting up. Of course he doesn’t trust you. But you’re also very aware of how unfair it is to have him shackled and muzzled when he feels threatened already.

“I know. I wouldn’t want anyone near me too if I were in your position but I think it would only be fair.” You’re very aware of the fact, that Liz, and the soldiers probably too, are watching through the window, most definitely thinking you’ve lost your mind.

Simon shakes his head and even if it is disappointing it makes you feel incredible that he interacted with what you said. Your chest expands and you suddenly feel like a big boulder lifted off your shoulders. That’s a good start.

“It’s okay, I won’t do it then. Just give me a sign when you’re ready.”

Once again you briefly glance at the state his body is in and you slightly wince. Yeah, maybe you would have to press a little harder.

“Listen. I really want to give you the time and space but I think your wounds and your body are on slightly tighter schedule than I am. I won’t force you but I don’t want you dying on me.”

His eyes widen at that and in that moment you’d pay to know what he’s thinking. It’s interesting to watch him as he seems to mentally take note of his body. He nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Take the cuffs off?”, you ask again just to be sure. Simon nods again.

Keeping it slow and easily predictable you stand up again and raise your hand to the latch in the door, opening it and sticking your hand through it. If Liz and the soldiers listened, they’ll give you the key, hopefully.

For a few agonizingly long heartbeats nothing happens, then a key is dropped into the palm of your hand and you close the latch again.

“I’m going to take a step towards you and then you can come to me. Sound good?”

Simon nods again and you take the step. His body tenses but then he crosses the small space and turns his back to you. His chest is heaving and his back is damp with cold sweat. It’s almost unnerving the way he has his head tilted as far to the side as possible, watching you out of the corner of his wide eye. If you make one wrong move he could still easily put you on the ground.

This close you can smell him and the stench coming off of him almost makes you gag. You try to breathe through your mouth at the smell of something rotten assaulting your nose. There's also the underlying smell of piss and filth along with other scents you can't identify. You concentrate on the task at hand in order not to imagine what might have happened to him.

Trying not to stress him out more, you talk him through the short process of taking off the handcuffs. His fast breathing makes you slightly worried that he’ll hyperventilate.

The moments the cuffs are on the floor he’s on the other side of the room again and his hands are tearing at the muzzle on his head. His fingers are frantic and a nail on his already damaged hands breaks, a little bit of blood welling up.

“Wait, please!” You call out desperately but his movements only grow more hectic. The muzzle he has on is designed so the hybrid is unable to take it off without seriously injuring themselves. His nimble fingers flit all over the piece, grabbing and tugging until he decides to just start pushing it upwards off his face.

Immediately the metal cuts into his cheeks and you know he’ll do it anyway. He doesn’t care about cutting his skin in the process. Panic swells in your chest at the thought of him shredding his face just to be muzzle free.

“Please, Simon, Stop!” You say desperately in a last attempt before he pulls it off his face. Against everything you expected he freezes, eyes going wide.

“Simon, that’s your name, right?”, you question your hands outstretched as if you could keep him from hurting himself further by sheer force of will.

You’re shaking and you know he can see it. Swallowing is almost painful. “Please don’t hurt yourself, I’ll take it off of you but please stop hurting yourself.”

His eyes narrow but this time he hesitates less before nodding and stepping towards you. God he is big. You’re all too aware of how incredibly vulnerable you are right now. He could probably rip you apart with his bare hands if he wanted to.

He’s a fully trained soldier and you… you’re just an ordinary person who helps hybrids to get back on their feet. You specifically chose this line of work because you’re soft and stupidly selfless. Using those traits for work seemed like a good option to turn them into strengths.

Now you’re all too aware of how little your softness would guard you against Simon’s brute strength. Even on the brink of starvation the fact that he’s a weapon remains.

Achingly slow your hands reach up to the muzzle, feeling along it for the mechanism to unlock. His eyes stare into yours and this close you can see that they’re the color of dark honey. Nothing about the expression in them is sweet though and you have to consciously swallow against the lump forming in your throat.

You unlock the mechanism and Simon stays in your personal space for a second longer. You don’t break the eye contact and slowly he moves backwards until there is enough room to breathe between you two again.

He flexes his jaw for a moment to test it and this time you smile. His eyes narrow at that but you don’t let it deter you.

Until now he hasn’t made a move to hurt you and you decide to introduce yourself. When you tell him your name he still doesn’t answer but he’s attentive and you think that maybe it will be fine after all.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 30th

Day 30: Weight Gain // Object Insertion // Sex Pollen

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Post apocalyptic setting, mentions of infection, begging to die, fuck or die, sex pollen, mentions of murder, rough sex, premature ejaculation, unprotected sex

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His hands shake, trembling so hard that he can barely hold onto the door knob. Growling out your name as he tries to twist it and turn it with no luck. His entire body is on fire and the press of his cock against his jeans is so hard he feels like he’s about to burst his zipper. Shouting your name again and then beating on the door desperately. “Open the door!”

Your eyes are wide, rushing to the door to fling it open and he crashes through it. “I- fuck, you have to kill me.” He had only come to tell you goodbye. Promising you that he would never just disappear, even though it was hard to promise with the way the world was. Still, he had wanted to reassure you just once you weren’t going to be left alone again. 

“What?” Your hands tighten on his jacket, holding him steady while he resists the urge to just drag you down to the floor and rip your clothes off. His vision blurs, sweat beading on his forehead despite the fact that it’s cold. His body temperature has skyrocketed in the past two hours since he had been infected. “Joel, what is-” 

“I’m infected.” 

You jerking away from him makes his heart ache. Remembering how he had done the same to Tess so many years ago. Regret pooling in his stomach as he wishes he could change the past. There would be so many things he would have done differently, said to those that mattered. Now nothing matters except protecting you and all of Jackson from himself. “No.” 

Joel nods, “I- I ran into a - a clicker.” Dread settles into your stomach and you flinch when he moves his hand, but he just sinks his fingers into his hair and tugs on it. “I- I need you to do it.” He pants, his eyes pleading and there’s unspoken apologies swimming in their depths. 

“Where?” You demand, shaking your head in denial. Joel frowns and you repeat yourself. “Where?” You want to know where he was bit, if there's a chance you can amputate his limb. If there’s a chance to save him. 

“Seven miles-”

“Where were you bit?” You snap impatiently, swallowing harshly and wanting to pull his clothes off his body and search for the wound yourself. 

“I wasn’t.” His answer makes you freeze, frowning at him. “It- it kissed me.” 

You’ve never heard of a clicker kissing someone. Frowning, you stare into his eyes, searching for the spider webbing of red veins that seems to change the pupils before a person is completely taken over by the cordyceps. “Kissed you?” 

He nods, knowing it sounds insane, but that’s not the point. His cock twitches, leaking into his boxers and he moans softly, closing his eyes and swaying where he stands. “I - you have to do it, baby.” He insists, knowing that providing you closer is the best he can offer you right now. “I- I don’t know what is happening to me.” 

“Strip down.” You tell him, frowning in confusion. He’s not acting like anyone you've ever seen infected. 

“Baby-”

“Strip down.” You order, your tone harder and he stares at you for a minute before he nods. Hands shaking as he peels off his jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt. It might be better this way. Easier for him to take off his clothes than for you to do it after he’s gone. No chance of blood getting on them. They could be boiled and given to someone else. 

He is shaking. You can see it. Joel’s hands haven’t shook in a long time. Not since he’s accepted that Ellie isn’t talking to him. To find peace in what he had done to protect her. You know all about it, having come into his life after the rift had been created and over time, you had become a kind of bridge between the two of them. Ellie would sometimes ask about him, and Joel would give you something to pass to her. Now he can barely unbutton his shirt and you seem him grit his teeth as he hisses out a sound of pure pain. 

Fumbling with his belt and buttons on his jeans when he finally gets his shirt off. Groaning your name, his hand slides down to cup his cock through the material, making your eyes widen in surprise. It’s not like Joel has never touched himself in front of you, but you couldn’t imagine that he’s horny now. 

Except that he is. His cock is hard, springing out of his pants and nearly purple with need. Dribbling precum down the side of his length, and it twitches every few seconds like it is begging for attention. It bounces heavily as Joel kicks off the jeans and he shudders when he sees you staring at his cock. “Fuck baby…..” He groans, hands in fists at his side. “I don’t- I haven’t- I don’t know what the fuck is happening.” 

You don’t know what is going on either, but you don’t think that he’s infected. Not like normal cordyceps. He’s not showing any other signs of the fungus taking over, unless you count the shaking and you don’t think that is what is happening here. 

“Describe it to me.” He whines when you say that. Joel Miller whines. That is a sound you haven’t heard ever, not even when he was impatient to slide inside you. 

“I need-” He pants, eyes slipping closed and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I need-” He swallows. “I need you.” He finally manages. “I need to fuck you. To cum inside you. To fuck you until you can’t walk and my back gives out and then I want you to ride me.” 

You listen to his tone, the desperation, his cock twitching every other word that falls from his lips. Four fat drops of cum have fallen from the weeping tip of his cock and hit the floor while he describes what he needs. 

“Why?” You are getting wet just thinking about it, but you don’t know what the fuck to do. Why is he acting this way? 

“I’m on fire.” He hisses. “Burning from the inside. I feel-” He shudders again. “I feel like I’m about to come unglued. Like my cock is going to explode if I don’t sink into your cunt. Bury myself deep and -” He groans, uncurling his fist and sliding it against his thigh, inching closer to his needy cock. “Fuuuuuuck.” 

His eyes open and they are black with desire. None of the cordyceps yellow in his iris, nothing showing but hunger. Fixed on you and he takes a step towards you, almost ready to break before he holds himself back. “Baby, I need you to do something.” He growls. “I can’t- I don’t know how much longer I can last. Put me out of my fuckin’ misery.” 

You have a decision. Something you have to roll the dice on. Do you fuck him or kill him? You can’t choose wrong and you don’t want to kill him. Even if your mind is revolting and screaming that you are in danger, this is Joel. You know that he would kill for you, but he would never kill you. 

So you strip. His eyes have closed again, panting breaths covering the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and when you step forward to touch him, Joel nearly jumps. Eyes springing open and you can see that he thinks you are about to kill him for a split second before he realizes that you are naked. 

His nostrils flare and before you know it, Joel is spinning you around and pressing you against the kitchen table, his mouth fusing with yours before you can even squeak. 

There’s nothing breathed into you. No fungus crawling out of his mouth, no infection. Just the heavy flick of his tongue against yours while his hands grab your hips and push you up onto the table to spread your thighs and crowd in between them. 

He’s rough, much rougher than he’s ever been with you before but it's the need that is driving him. A desperation to fuck you that has him pressing against you and pushing inside your body before you are ready. 

The pinch of his cock makes you gasp but his own groan overpowers the sound. Absorbing it as he pushes in to the hilt and panting your name into your mouth. Only to immediately start fucking you like he is running a race that has to be finished. 

Joel quickly takes over all of your senses, making you forget everything but the way he is punching deep into your cunt with heavy, hard thrusts. Feeling like he is in your stomach and you hear him whimper in pleasure every time he pushes deep. 

He gets a dozen thrusts in before his hips stutter, a strangled groan coming from the back of his throat and you feel the heat flooding your womb. He’s cum. A lot. You feel it start to drip out of your cunt even as he continues to rock his hips. 

Breathless, he presses closer to you and for a moment you think that he will collapse against you. Only to start to push his hips back again to start moving again. The thrusts are shallow and squelching as he pushes the newly deposited cum out of your pussy. Still achingly hard and ready for round two. 

“Joel-” He’s never gone two rounds. He needs hours before he can even think about getting hard again. One of those complaints of old age that bothers him more than you. But right now he is still desperate to move inside you. To fuck you. 

“I can’t - I need more.” He growls, pressing his lips to yours and wrapping his arms around you to drag you closer to the edge, needing to be deeper inside you. Something happened out there in those woods. Something changed inside of him. There’s this need for you that is burning in his blood and he doesn’t know how long it will take for him to get it out of his system. Or if he can. 

[mxtantrights]

WAIT WAIT WAIT what about Jason being head over heels for the person who runs his favourite food truck… he will take every opportunity to stop by and order rather it be as a civilian or in mask 🤔

A/n: thank you for sending this in. You know what's so funny anon. Jason really wouldn't care about keeping his identity a secret to you. he would try to keep it a secret but if you happened to find out, he wouldn't mind. especially if it meant he could ask you out. so with that in mind... enjoy!! <3333

Jason probably had many bad ideas but this one, this one right here takes the cake for the worst idea he has and ever will have. But he can't really think of anything else. He can't, when he can feel the blood coming out of his wounds and his Hemet on the fritz.

He sees your truck in the distance. He must have cut this way out of habit. This is the usual way of getting to the food truck you own. He knew no one was following him here, and that's the only reason he has this idea.

You'd have napkins. And some cleaning supplies. He could make do with such things. Until he got back home and took care of it himself. Yeah, until then.

He also hadn't seen you in two weeks. Nevermind missing the food, he wanted to see your face again. He was away on a mission in Star City.

Jason hobbles over to the back of your truck. The front is closed up already. You're about to leave. He knocks on the back door and waits for a response.

And respond you do.

You open the door he isn't currently leaning on. When you poke your head out of the door and see him you a do a double take. But you don't gasp. You don't scream. You're not scared.

"You wouldn't happen to be busy right now would ya?" he asks you.

You look around outside. He see's your head go left and then right. Your eyes scanning for something or someone. Then you're helping him inside the truck. You help him from underneath his shoulder.

The door closes behind him as you sit him on the plastic stool. He sits with a grunt. And you can see the blood drips that lead from outside.

"How can I help you? I mean, I don't really have anything but a first aid kit." you answer.

He nods his head, "That'll work for now."

You reach up, right tin front of him, for the shelf above his head. Jason's eyes go wide on the other side of his helmet. He's probably blushing too. But he doesn't say anything.

You bring the kit down and open it up. Bandaids, alcohol pads, An epi-pen, narcan nasal spray, gloves.

"The pads and the bandaids. I'll take those."

You take them out and hand them to him. He takes apart the bandaids first, those are easiest. But he passes the pads back to you. You put the kit down and take the pads. You rip them open.

"How do I, I mean where are you hurt?" you ask.

He juts his chin to the blood seeping into his tactical pants. You lean over and look at the cut. It's not bad or deep. But it's there and bleeding.

You take out the pad, "It's gonna hurt."

"Yeah probably less than how I got it." he replies.

You take a breath and wipe the wound a bit. He winces at the contact. But you power through because he doesn't tell you to stop.

"You know it's probably not what you're expecting, but you're nicer than I thought." he says.

You look up at him, realizing now there's a difference. He took his helmet off. Your'e sitting face to face with Red Hood. Jason. You're favorite costumer Jason.

"Surprised?" he asks, teasingly.

You laugh a little, "You could say that."

[tourturestarradio]

Helloooo!! I hope you’re doing alright :3

‼️‼️‼️SPOILER FOR DEADPOOL 3‼️‼️‼️

Can I request a crack fic? With either male or gender neutral reader, with Logan and Wade, in that car fight scene?

Like, the three of them are in that Honda Odyssey, and when Logan and Wade start fighting, reader just gets so fed up, they’re like: “oh my god can y’all just kiss already? This is painful to watch.” Bc that was me the entire time I was watching that movie😭🙏🏻 You can add anything else you want in there but I would love to see that! I absolutely love how you write so I don’t doubt you could make this just as well as your others!! ☺️💙

𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

"𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Prompt: You're sick of Wade's and Logan's BS and for the first time you lose your temper on them.

Pairing: Deadpool/Wade Willson x G/n reader x Wolverine/Logan Howlet

Warnings: Cursing, Spoilers for Deadpool 3

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

You ducked and dodged under both of the mens attacks they had been fighting each other for the past 30 minutes with no breaks. All because Logan couldn't keep the mouth shut. So now you sat bruises, bullet wounds, and cuts covering your body.

"Guys! G..Guys can we please stop fighting...please?" but they both ignored you again, usually you were the calm one to defuse their arguments and they'd relax, before they were back at it again.

You looked between the two your irritation growing stronger by the second.

"Uh...Wade?" he was stabbing into Logan "one moment cupcake." you dodged a stray knife headed your way "Logan?..." he broke Wades arm "not now."

You were willing to just let them fight it out that was the plan until Wade had redirected Logans blades into your leg.

That was your final straw, "Will you two just fuck already?!" you shouted looking at the two "what the fuck are you-" "Logan shut the hell up!" he closed his mouth Wade laughing at him "ha you're in trouble now-" "Wade so help me God I will shove that stupid kitana so far up your ass you're be tasting metal for a god damned month!"

They both hushed surprised by your outburst, your were usually so calm all the time.

"Every time you both are around each other it's like a enemies to lovers trope just waiting to happen! the sexual tension is palpable between you two!" You pulled Wolverines blades out of your leg "you two just can't go five fucking minutes without wanting to rip each other apart, for fucks sake!" you rolled your eyes "by some grace of God I've made it this far with you two assholes without having a brain aneurysm!"

You pulled a baby knife out of your torso pointing to Wade "I mean I get it you both have your differences, you're doing this because you got a girlfriend that barely loves you. Little to no friends who enjoy being around but you care about them and that's what's important right? Right.so you want to do everything in your will power to make sure those people don't die because without them you have nothing to distract from the impending doom you feel in your gut that you're not good enough. But god forbid you ever feel safe or scared so you cover up all your problems by making half funny jokes and witty comebacks. How's that am I in the right ball park?" You faced Logan as Wade pondered on your words.

He opened his mouth to speak but you hushed him quickly "And you, you try to be all big bad and tough but you're not you're a sad lonely man with no family or friends because in your universe they're dead and there's nothing you can do about it. But because you were left alive you carry the guilt of losing the people you cared for the most everyday wishing you could go back and fix things and make them right, but you can't they're gone for good but instead of making something out of your life and trying to start new you decided to go on a murderous rampage. So now you carry that guilt on top of everything else so you drown yourself in those chemicals in a bottle to forget or ignore your problems instead of growing a pair owning up to your mistakes!"

You got out of the car "so in conclusion you both have your reasons for being here, you want to get back the things you love most, but you two fuck faces are too idiotic to realize how much you have in common so you ignore the good character writing and argue and fight every other scene! I mean come on how much more gay could you two get!" You huffed finally letting that off your chest and turning to walk away "now i'm going to leave for an hour to blow off some steam and you both have two ultimatums you either A : take those sweaty suits off and have the best hate sex of your lives or B: shut the fuck up! Grow some balls! and get it the fuck together!" you stormed away both Logan and Wade too stunned to say anything.

.

.

.

"That was pretty hot, i've never seen them so angry."

Safe to say they made up for now and continued on with the rest of the movie.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

A/n: sorry this was so short!!!!! hope you enjoyed!

[priestessame]

♬ ▶• "I don't care, I'd never fucking eat pussy." ♬ ▶•

♬ ▶• (or so he said) Minors DNI! ♬ ▶•

♬ ▶• "𝔭𝔲𝔰𝔰𝔶 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭, 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢'𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 ⁿʸᵠᵘⁱˡ"

. . . ✰🎸✩ ♥︎ Ryomen Sukuna X Wife? Reader ♥︎

part 1 of the femme fatal playlist

warnings: Fem AFAB reader, mentions of blood and gore, oral receiving, teasing, spanking, public sex? degradation, spanking, squirting, monster-form sukuna (bros got 4 arms).

It was a dewy evening, the early summer bringing in an unwanted wave of humidity. The moths buzzed along the yellow flame of the street lamp and Sukuna crushed one in his hand at once, wiping his palm on his already soiled kimono. The sorcerers were getting too damn proud. He couldn't even relish the killing today, despite how many bugs had turned up. He gripped another one of those buzzing bastards, carefully ripping off its wings as it thrashed desperately in his hands. 

Too dull. He thought.

The one he decided on next was more blue, hued crimson with brown, eye-like designs on its wings. Better, peeling the wings from its fuzzy body before tossing it in the undergrowth. 

The faint smell of anko curled around him the moment he stepped closer to the estate. The air now was tinged with a different kind of warmth. 

His robe was slashed open, and although the wounds had stitched themselves on his walk back, he still felt the strain of the kill. The grimy blood caked his skin, and the fleshy bits clinging to his skin had started to itch. All of it only deepened his frown. 

In the moment his eyes wandered along the familiar landscape, trying to find some unfortunate servant he can rip up. But the figure that waddled out of the shoya residence was yours. 

Your face lit up the moment you saw him, eyes bright, as you ran up to him. 

"My lord!" you chirped out, your tone a stark change to the gloomy environment. 

The prospect wasn't new to him, human offerings both alive and dead were far too common, thrown at his feet to please him, although more out of fear than reverence. So when the village head had begged him to take you, he accepted. He had gotten through most of the previous ones quickly, but you had managed to stay for an annoyingly long time.

Somewhere he needed to be credited for that. The only reason you had managed to live was because Sukuna found himself unable to pin his anger down on you. 

For you, escaping death by his hands had become a past-time and after a while he had eased to your presence, not minding a pretty thing running around about him.  

He sat down near the bamboo water pump as you tugged the reed to keep the water running. He watched you carry the pine-knit basket in your hands like you were waiting for him to be back all bloodied. 

You stripped the torn robe off his shoulders, leaving him in his hakama pants. He looked messy, his pale skin bathed in crimson. The gore was everywhere, lining his sculpted muscles and trailing down his neck, sitting so thick you couldn't see the black markings that lined his torso. 

You hummed behind him as you fetched the water. Sleeves drawn back to reveal your forearms, and poured the water over his bloodied palms, the gore washing down and pooling around his feet. The stale blood was hard to get off. The smell flooded around you two, making him curl his lip, but you just hummed nonchalantly.

"I learned how to make nagamashi today." You said, clearly very proud. "Yuu-ki taught me how to make the small ones that look like flowers-" 

"You were out with that whore again?" He gruntled, holding his hands over the running water. Not that he really cared, but it surprised him that anyone even dared to so much as talk to you whilst knowing who he was.

"She's not a whore," You replied simply, "She's an artist, she tells stories." 

"Of people fucking." 

He had heard of her from Urame. They had found her in a small corner of the dingy market street, surrounded by a small huddle of people waiting to hear some washed-out smutty stories. Why had you suddenly developed an interest in those was beyond him. But every now and then he'd come home to you narrating another one of Yuuki's tales. 

You giggled, "It's just ink on scrolls, they aren't as bad as you think." 

You scrubbed at his palms, fingers gliding over his knuckles and sliding through his fingers. His gaze swept over to your face, reaching to play with strands of your hair that had escaped your bun, tucking the moth wings in it before retracting. His thumb brushed up against the swell of your cheek, leaving a blurry trail of blood water and your face warmed from the touch. 

"She had a new story today." You babbled on, "About a traveller and a merchant's daughter he met.."

Sukuna sighed as he pulled you closer with his lower set of arms, holding you in his lap. As always you looked completely unfazed by the gore, only allowing a faint blush to cover your face before dabbing the cloth in tepid water and scrubbing the blood from his neck. 

Your kimono had bunched around your waist, he let an idle hand run along the plushness of your exposed calves. You felt so mortal against his touch, like if he applied any more pressure you'd break.

I have heard he pleasured her." You trailed off, tapping a finger on his lips, "With his mouth." 

As the shock of your words wore off, his laughter rumbled in his chest. He threw his head back, his shoulders shaking with how loud he laughed, and sound ringing around you.  

"Shame" you replied smoothly. You felt his gaze snap towards you instantly, the laughter coming to a complete stop. You knew he was a proud man. Usually, when that was used against him, he was quick to falter.

He had never seen dominance that was wrapped in sweet words, licorice to taste. 

The whole idea was absurd to him, why the fuck would he ever go down on a woman? But the way you had interjected him pissed him off. A small mortal thing like you, scoffing at him like he didn't know any better. His grip on your waist tightened, 

In his life, the king of curses had only seen devotion. He had only been with men and women that brimmed with obedience. They were never against his words, heads always hung low, and eyes that wandered away from his face. Buried neck-deep in reverence and fear. They sought their pleasure in service to him, letting him use their bodies however he saw fit, and that's how it had always been.  

"What do you mean woman?" 

You blinked at him innocently, "I understand," You started, treating a dragon like its a house lizard on your wall. "Its okay to not know how to." you giggled. 

The shocked silence that followed your words made you wonder if he really would just behead you now. Sukuna's jaw slacked, eyes narrowing at what you had just insinuated. His mouth tugged in a smile of disbelief. 

So arrogant. So fucking arrogant. 

The sky tilted as he pushed you backwards, until you were pressed under him, sprawled on the dew covered grass. Your heart hammered as he pinned you down, "What did you say?" he breathed, challenging you to repeat your words. He only had to use one hand to pin both your wrists over your head. 

You gulped, the warmth that flooded your body made you want to curl your toes. His inhuman form eating yours up entirely. And there he was, right how you wanted him. 

"N-nothing my lord," You played along, "I just-" 

You yelped as his fingers dug through your kimono, ripping the fabric until your breasts spilled out. The bite of the cool air causing your nipples to harden. 

Sukuna has soon realized that taming you was like trying to catch a cloud with his bare hands. All the strength and power he had acquired, simply did not matter. He had never expect the thrill he would find in that, of being so hopelessly wrapped around your finger. It drove him mad. You drove him absolutely mad.

"I have killed others for way less." He stated, dragging his fingers along your torso. You shivered involuntarily under his touch, eyes pulling up to meet his. Your breasts were laced with markings from last night. 

The animalistic need crawled up his throat. He won't admit how much he enjoyed it. How much he loved it, he loved your stupid arrogance, he loved how your unyielding eyes met his so brazenly, and the nimble fingers that touched him shamelessly. His fingers stopped right over your hips before sinking into your thighs. 

Dew seeped into the back of your kimono, your breath bating from the anticipation. 

He pushed them up, pressing them flush against your chest, exposing you to him completely. 

The sight of your pretty cunt sent blood rushing to his core. You presented to him so fucking perfectly, he would be lying if he had never thought of putting his tongue on your folds. feel that velvety heat clamp down his tongue as he prodded it deeper. Fuck him.

The only thing he didn't like was how fucking smug you looked. Enjoying having the king of curses kneel between her legs. 

"Such a fucking mess." he breathed, the strings of slick coating the inside of your thighs. "Just the thought of it has you this riled up?"

His fingers brushed against your folds parting them to slip his thumb in your gushing hole. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, walls squeezing around him immediately. Dragging his knuckles along your slick, and pressing his calloused palm flush against your core.  

The mouth on his palm licked you kittenishly, and you jumped,

Sukuna arched his eyebrow, "Not scared now are we?" he grinned, pushing his weight on you slightly. 

You kicked his chest jokingly, only for him to grab your ankle and yank you towards him. "I'm not letting you wriggled out of this one." he cooed. 

The pads of his fingers found your clit, "you're gonna take what I give you like a good little slut." 

Your arousal stuck to his palm as he teased you, wanting you to grind yourself against his hand. He liked seeing you under him, presenting for him so pretty.

In the moment he knew he was going to ruin you, bury his face in your cunt until you were crying from the overstimulation.

Sukuna dove into it straight away, dragging his rough tongue over your sloppy folds. The scent of your arousal consuming him entirely. He wasn't gentle with it, the sounds came out lewd and sick and your heels dug into his back. You felt him suck you, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit. 

"Fucking gushing like some common whore." He chuckled, spiting on your cunt before lapping it up. His tongue slipped into your entrance, the tip of his nose pressing into your clit. He ate you out like a depraved man, laughing at how wet you were. The sick pleasure of it all was too much for you already. You squirmed from the way he ate you out, his grip only tightening to keep you from moving too much. He used his teeth to pull at your sensitive skin, until your thighs were trembling with the simulation. 

Sukuna was having too much fun with your reactions, you were acting like he was touching your for the first time, a babble of incoherent words falling from your lips. "What?" he drawled, pulling away slightly, "Did I tongue fuck you dumb already?" He jeered, bringing his hand forward to slap your pussy. 

Just the impact pushed you over the edge, drawing your first orgasm easily and you came hard, back arching off the ground. Sukuna chuckled at your reaction, "impatient little cunt" He purred. You buckled as he continued to roll his thumb on your over sensitive clit, the movement deliciously rough. "I didn't say you could cum yet."

You tried to squeezed your thighs "P-please." You managed, 

"Hmm?" He asked, his breath still hot on your folds, "Is the slut begging me for more or begging me to stop?" 

He manhandled you unto all fours, the remaining fabric of your soiled kimono hanging off your waist as your fingers dug into the soft earth, desperate to grab at something. The position was even more embarrassing than before. The cold air hit your folds and you squirmed from the lack of attention. If only Sukuna's could be satiated from looking at you, ass up and face down, practically begging him to have his way with you. Your arousal dripped down between your legs impatiently. 

His hands groped at the swell of of your hip, spreading you apart, eyes pinned on your gushing hole. 

"Tell me what you want me to do." He stated, his voice edged with something you couldn't place. 

The confusion from his sudden change of gait had you spluttering, "I- uh-" His mouth parted over your skin, the kiss uncharacteristically gentle, teeth only tentatively pulling at your tender skin. You could hear the grin in his voice as he growled, "Command me woman."  

The way he said it send a chilling thrill down your spine. You turned your head back, throwing a look of absolute defiance back at him. "Use your fucking tongue to please me." you stated, your voice ringing out with pure desire. It was a command in every sense of the word, beckoning even the kind of curses to kneel. Sukuna groaned in response to your tone, all of it going straight to his cocks. He was hard with just the way you had said it, audacious, like you had a leash around his neck already. 

He hungrily flattening his tongue against you hot cunt, feeling your throb for him desperately against his tongue. 

The only slut he'd ever let command him. 

Your eyes rolled back as he pushed his tongue in deeper, eating you out like a depraved man. Tongue liking up stripes from your entrance to you clit, in strokes where you could feel him spell out his name. It was messy and hot making you want you grind yourself against his face, but the grip on your hips kept you in your place, stopping you from humping his face like some bitch in heat. 

The pleasure continued to build, unlike anything you had felt before. The way your pleasure built in you felt weird this time, a painful pressure like you were about to burst from the inside out. 

"I-i can't-" you moaned in pleasure as he spanked you hard, palm leaving a biting mark on your hip. Your knees buckled from the impact as he brought his palm to collide against your ass again and again. Sending a jolting spark of pleasure down your spine, making you squeeze hard around his tongue. 

"Somethings-" you tried, the orgasm feeling different this time, the knot in your stomach snapped as it rolled into you with an unanticipated waved of pleasure. 

You actually saw stars, juices gushing out uncontrollably as you squirted on his tongue. Sukuna stopped holding you up, and the exhaustion made you collapse on the soft earth. 

Your release had drenched him, the taste still curling in his mouth. Sukuna's eyes pinned on our spent form, your entrance twitched as the slick pooled between your legs. Your pretty clit stull hard as if begging him to fuck you now. 

fucking hell, he grinned, that was fucking hot.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. You're doing that again. The high of the pleasure made the blood roar in your ears, all you wanted to do was bury your face until sleep enveloped you. He chuckled, enjoying how dishevelled you looked in the moment. 

The world tipped off its axis as he threw you over his shoulder. Hell, if he knew you could do that, he would have buried his face in your sweet cunt wayy earlier. 

FULL PLAYLIST HERE

CRYING I FINALLY CAME AROUND TO WRITING THESE SERIES.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Taglist: @elenor222 @yaeshima

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Personal Issue

summary: santi invites you to his hotel room the day after your engagement to talk. he says the unexpected— that he’s in love with you.

prompt: "Why did you never tell me?" "It was a personal issue." "You being in love with me kind of also involves me." - @creativepromptsforwriting

pairing: santi garcia x f!reader

contents: get together fic, best friends to lovers, simp!santi (he’s lowkey a lil pathetic but i love him), angst, mental health issues/thoughts of dying, cheating, kissing

wc: 1,966

an: a teeny tiny something bc i miss santi. thanks to @ivystoryweaver for the beta <3

oscar characters masterlist

"Why did you never tell me?" You demand, unable to keep the horror out of your voice.

Santi ignores the way your tone scrapes at the wound in his heart— the wound that’s always been open because of you. Always fresh, unable to heal because of you. You always seemed to be just out of reach, slipping through his fingers for one reason or another.

"It was a personal issue,” He reasons, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He can hardly look at you. It’s humbling. He’s never had an issue with charming a woman, but you aren’t just any woman. You’re his best friend. There are too many eggs in this basket.

You scoff, crossing your arms against your chest, "You being in love with me kind of also involves me."

“I didn’t— things were different before.”

“Different,” You test the word, not at all buying it. It feels like bullshit. Like a cop-out.

“Yes, different. We were kids, and then I was gone all the time.”

“No, Santi, you can’t do this to me.”

Santi smiles, though there is no humor in it. You’re right— he shouldn’t be doing this. Not today, not any day, but he’s finally reached his limit. It’s now or never.

“I don’t really have a choice, now did I, cariño?”

You glare at him, about ready to rip his head off because that‘s not true. You and Santiago have known each other for most of your lives— and you’ve loved him for at least half that. He could’ve told you days, weeks, months, years ago that he felt the same. But in true Santiago Garcia fashion, thinking only of himself and the consequences that sit right in front of him, he’d told you today.

Today wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t the day after you’d gotten engaged. No, Santi chose the day after you’d finally given yourself to someone else completely, the day after you promised yourself you’d settle and try to stop loving him. What you’ve wanted for years and years on end has finally come and now it feels like some sort of cruel joke.

“That’s one of the most heinous lies you’ve ever told.”

“The Colombian government would disagree.”

“You know what— get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again. I can’t believe that you think you can just waltz right in here and—“

Santi takes two long strides towards you, closing the gap between you so that he can cup your face. “Tell me no. Say it. You have to say it to me.”

“Santiago, please,” You plead softly with him, your eyes round with fear. Your hands reach up to grasp his, making futile attempts to pull them away. “Don’t make me choose.”

Santi leans closer, the tip of his nose ghosting yours. His eyes are darker than usual, burning into you, a little angry— though he has no right to be— and a little desperate. “Why? Why not, hmm? He’s not that important, is he? Because you know you’ll choose me, don’t you?”

“Stop. Stop. Do you know how unfair this is? How fucked up it is for you to tell me this?”

Santi’s grip on your face tightens— it’s not painful but it’s frantic. You can feel the urgency in his fingertips. “Yes. Yes, I know. And I’ve always wanted to be better for you. I want to be a good man, I want to be worthy. Not some fucked up guy who’s better at killing than he is at telling the woman he loves how much she means to him. But, I’m not.”

“You could try.”

“I have. Don’t you get it, baby, I have. Yesterday when I saw those pictures. When I saw this—“ He tangles his fingers with your own, twisting your hand so you have to stare the ring sat on your finger in the face.

It glistens and gleams like it taunting you. It’s exactly what you wanted— the right cut, the right material—sparkling even in the dark. Your stomach churns at the sight of it. You shouldn’t have said yes, that much you know for sure. When you went back to your apartment last night you sat in the shower, your tears disguised under its spray. And when you had emerged, you’d made yourself a promise. To be a good and loyal spouse to the man that had actually chosen you.

“It drove me fucking insane. I lost it because I’m losing you. I had to try. If you say no, I’ll never come back. I’ll take assignment after assignment but if there’s even a small chance, baby, that you could still love me— because I know you did…I know you do.”

“I don’t want you gone forever, Santi. I said that because I’m angry.”

“You have every right to be.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Then what do you need, huh? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever you want.”

There’s more than one answer to that, but you have to give him the right answer. You’d just promised yourself last night that you would move on. Who knew that he would make it so difficult.

With a soft, shaky breath you say, “I…I need you to let me go.”

Santi goes dangerously still, his breath catching. “What?”

“I need you to let me go,” You repeat gently, closing your eyes so you don’t have to face him. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

The words sound syrupy in his ears, far away and unreal. He looks at you with confusion. “You want me to let you go?”

“Yes.”

The sharp anger and desperation in Santi’s eyes fade away, leaving his features soft and round and sad. So markedly sad. He lets his eyes trace your face for memorization; lips and eyes, the slope of your nose. He leans in to kiss your forehead, letting out a soft sigh.

Santi has done wrong by so many others and even done wrong by you. But this he’ll do right. If you want him to let you go then he will. He’ll let you walk out of here and never look back. Maybe he’ll get so involved in his work that he won’t think of you or this moment ever again. Maybe something will take him away completely. He flinches at his thought— it’s been a long time since something that has floated around in his mind like that. Taking a step away from you, he lets you go, fingers aching with the ghost of your skin against his.

You rest your face in your hands for a few moments, trying to pull yourself together. And when you straighten, you’re sure not to look Santi in his, just in his general direction. You’re broken enough and meeting his gaze would surely cause you to fall apart.

“Thank you, Santi,” You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

He gives you a stiff nod, “Anything for you.”

Why do those words feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart? If he meant them, then why did he wait so long? Why did he do this to the both of you? Your vision blurs a bit with tears and you quickly grab your coat from where it’s laid on his bed, taking deliberate steps towards the door. Your hand lingers on the doorknob— are you sure that you want to do this? To walk away from the man you’ve always wanted?

“Wait,” He calls after you.

You freeze, but don’t turn towards him— that would be asking for trouble. Trouble you are trying so fucking hard to avoid. “What is it?”

“I just— I have to say it to you one more time because I don’t know if I’ll be able to again.”

“I told you I didn’t want you gone for good, Santi. We don’t have to do this, you can just let me walk away and we can act like it never happened,” You say, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself more.

“I don’t think I can promise to stick around. I can’t watch you marry someone else. I’m not gracious enough, querida.”

“Okay,” You whisper, the tears in your eyes starting to fall.

“I…I love you. I always will.”

Silence falls between you two, an empty cove. Santi hopes that it’ll be enough, that somehow, miraculously you’ll turn around and run into his arms, telling him that you love him too. Instead, he hears a soft sob and watches as your hand rises to wipe at your face before you straighten up and step out into the hall.

When the door shuts behind you he feels like he’s drowning. Like he can’t breathe. His heart is thrumming loudly in his ears, and he crumbles, letting out a groan as his knees hit the ground.

What the fuck has he done? Lost you forever, and told you that he can’t stick around. That was the last time he would ever see you. A world without you is one he’s sure he doesn’t want to be in.

He’s completely paralyzed with fear. He’s not sure how long he sits on the ground like this, shocked and still, but eventually his body starts to ache so badly he’s unable to ignore it. He crawls to the bed, reaching up to rest his weight on it and lift himself onto it. Here he can rot until he can no longer. Until Frankie or Will or Benny come to bang down the door and figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

It’s not long after that that someone does start knocking on his door. Has it been days? One of them was here already. Santi feels like it’s been minutes and weeks all at the same time, time stretching and squeezing in a way that feels unreal. It takes real effort to rise out of bed and make his way to the door. He doesn’t bother to check who it is, opening it with no reservations.

Maybe he died of starvation or dehydration. He must have been lying there much longer than he thought because it’s you. You’re standing at the door, tear-stained and so goddamn beautiful. This has to be heaven— except he’s undeserving.

“I love you too,” You blurt out.

“What?”

“I love you too,” You repeat. When Santi says nothing, staring at you in a daze you start to ramble. “I tried to go home and I couldn’t sleep. And then I drove around a bunch but I couldn’t stop crying because how am I supposed to live my life without you? Then all of a sudden I was here again. I love you, Santiago.”

“You love me.”

“Yes, I love you. Are you okay?”

Santi feels like his body has recalibrated. “Am I— get over here,” He murmurs, reaching to pull you into his room and crushing your mouth to his.

He presses you against the wall, covering your body with his own as he completely devours your mouth, forcing his way in and sucking at your tongue. All you can do is melt into him, hands scrambling to find purchase in the fabric of his shirt so that you can clutch him closer. His mouth is firm and so sweet. You want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him for the rest of your life. Something in your brain reminds you that maybe, just maybe, if he loves you as much as he claims he does you will. It has you giggling into his mouth.

He grins into the kiss. “My kissing is funny, is it?”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use for it but just to be sure— kiss me again?”

“Anything for you,” He murmurs, his mouth capturing yours once more.

santi taglist: @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @tanzthompson, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @missdictatorme, @whatthefishh

[yawnderu]

Together — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

"In another life, I'd have the privilege of meeting you under different circumstances." His words were comforting as the cold started taking over your bodies, his gloved hand holding yours.

"In every single life, I'll be looking for you, Simon." His name was never sweeter than when it came out of your mouth. Simon was cursed, Simon lived a never-endind nightmare both as a civilian and as a soldier, but right now? Simon was the luckiest man alive, holding his loved one's hand as life began to slip away from them.

"I'll always look for you, love." His voice was weak, yet oddly calm for someone in his situation. They were separated from their group and badly wounded, yet as he began to accept this was their end, realization hit him. For once in his life, he felt deserving of something. All those thoughts about not even deserving to survive after his family was murdered seemed to be pushed to the back of his head. You didn't deserve this. Simon didn't deserve this, and there's no way in hell Ghost is going to give up. He's a fighter, for fuck's sake.

"Stray?" His gaze drifts down to her, taking in the way she's looking at him, the way she's looking at him like he's worth something, like he deserves the world, yet Simon doesn't want whatever the world has to offer.

"Hm?" Came your soft hum, throat sore from screaming into the comms after the mission failed and you were separated from Price and Gaz. It hurt, yet you didn't know what exactly it was. It was a stinging feeling all over that gave you shaky hands. It made you want to throw up, to claw on your skin until you could find what exactly was wrong, and to rip it out of your body once and for all. To be able to feel your body again, to be able to open your eyes without flinching at the harsh light, to be able to hear your own thoughts.

"I just want you to hold me." Ghost replied softly, groaning as he used all the strength he had left to help you up by the waist, making sure you could get on your feet before he leaned on the wall for support, soft groans and pained growls leaving his lips as he limped alongside you. "Don't let go."

Despite all the pain he's suffered, all his struggles and trauma, this moment feels different— it's like a release, a way to soothe the chaos his broken mind faces daily. He'd rather die fighting alongside you than fight alone. Within you, you're holding him together. You hold his heart, his pain and struggles, his mind, his soul.

"What has two legs and bleeds?" He asked out of nowhere, deep voice strained by his pain as he walked alongside you, holding you close. You were about to protest before you remember why he's doing that— he's trying to keep you awake, and he's trying to ease the tension and fear by joking around. Though this is commonly done by SAS soldiers, it's comical to see The Ghost doing it too, so you decide to entertain him.

"What?" You ask softly, a small grin on your face as you prepare for the shitty joke.

"Half a dog." He answers swiftly. Though you can't see his face due to the balaclava, you can see the slight shift on the mouth part of his mask, his eyes twinkling as they narrow slightly. He's clearly fighting off a grin, yet the dumb joke makes you laugh. You don't know if it's the blood loss making you delirious, or if the joke is actually that funny. Probably the blood loss.

"That was awful." You say, yet you're still giggling about the stupid joke. You both manage to make it out of the building, looking around at all the destruction caused by the enemy. No hostiles appeared to be near, luckily.

"Ghost, Stray, do you copy?" The comms break you both out of your daze as you stare at each other, immediately fumbling for the radio.

"Yes, sir." Ghost replies to Price, his deep voice now more professional as he requested medevac. For once in his life, Ghost felt human. Almost dying, yet more alive than ever. Maybe all his torture was finally worth it in the end, maybe for once in his life, he'd be able to have something nice. Something to call his. His hand reaches down to gently hold yours, squeezing it softly. I love you.

[bloodykora]

Scrapped Knees

Hehe I just started writing and this came out. Hope yall enjoy, more stalker mc content.

MDNI this game is 18+ therefore so is my writing. TW: mentions of blood, and the normal yandere tropes TKATB List

'Hey so uh I may be a smidge late. I totally did not fall and scrape the fuck outta my knees. :)'

You hit send and wait, looking down to your legs that are now dripping with blood. The concrete making a perfect target. You glance back to the phone, those three familiar dots appearing as Sol quickly typed back.

'Oh wow, where? I'll just meet you there with some bandages. Don't hurt yourself further.' Your face pops into a huge grin while reading his text, you look around for a place to sit. Finding a curb where you could plant while you waited.

'I'm like.. a block and half down from the cafe. But I can meet you!' You text back, taking your bag off and setting your phone down. You pull your legs near your face, observing at the carnage when you hear your phone buzz again.

'No, stay. I'm coming.' You smile and shake your head a bit, giggling at how easy it was. Bait set and trap. Not very easy to fall just enough to only damage your knees, speaking of. Your gaze falls to them again, using your fingers to pry out the few rocks that had settled into the wound.

It wasn't long until the sound of steps echoed closer to you, relaxing your legs out instead of being scrunched up. You turn to look down the road, Sol speed walking with a plastic bag in one of his hands and his backpack slung over the other shoulder.

"Hehe hi, sorry about this." You sheepishly spoke as he approaches you, setting both of the bags he had down along with yours. He immediately kneels down to look at your legs, gently taking them into his hands. Heat of embarrassment building in your body as you watch his eyes.

"You need to be more careful." His tone darker then normal, flutters of butterflies in your chest as you hear his words. Need to be more careful, careful for him because he cares. He practically rips open the bag. Gauze and bandaids, cotton balls along with two bottles of water. Even some pain meds.

"Where did you get all that?" Turning your head to the side a bit in confusion as you eye all the supplies. He cracks a top of one of the bottles off, taking out a few cotton balls before pouring some water on them. Dabbing it to the scrapes.

"I ran to the little store down the road. They luckily had this stuff." Your smile grows wider at his words. "Sol thats so nice!" The words spill out before you can even think about them. A small blush now filling his cheeks as you reach out to hold his arm. Rubbing along his long sleeved shirt.

The stinging of the cuts barely being noticeable as he touches your skin. Sticking dried blood now being wiped up, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling when he throws a cotton ball out. It goes quiet as the sun begins to set, orange skies casting over the pair of you.

He begins to open the band aids, choosing which size would fit over your knees best. You admire him, taking in his hair, his face, his piercings, his black painted nails, the way his eyes fix into a stare as he begins to concentrate on something. He places two band aids on one knee, covering the now beginning to scab parts. He then begins to repeat with the other.

"When you're all done, are you gonna kiss my boo boos better?" You ask earnestly, his stare blanks for a second before a small smile appears on his face. "If you really want me to." His smile turns into a smirk at your face blanking, your ears burning. It quiets down again as he finishes patching you up, gentle with his touch.

"Do you want any pain killers?" He asks, finally looking back up to your face as you shyly shake your head no. He then keeps eye contact with you as he lofts your knee to his face, closing his eyes softly. Then pressing his lips to the bandage. Your hands fly up to your face, covering your face. Too embarrassed to even look at his face afterwards. A low chuckle hits your ears causing you to shake your head in reply.

"Uhh anyways!" You shout behind your hands, trying to change the topic. Peaking out as he tucks the extras into his bag. "Its gonna be dark soon now, how about I walk you home?" You remove your hands and agree, smiling as he puts his hand out for you to take to get up.

"Yeah! And we can finish up the assignment there too." He nods as you two start walking as the street lights begin to turn on around you.

[bonkers-4-hatter]

@castbracelet240 asked: Lotor idea: fem reader and Lotor are fighting (not each other) and the reader gets hurt. A little angst but reader survives.

Hello! Ohhhh yes, some angst! I love me some angst and I really love writing it because damn! Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! <3

If you enjoyed this, consider buying me a coffee. <3

---

"They've entered the deck!"

Chaos was everywhere, weapons going off, screams and grunts of pain as blood was spilling on the floor of the castle. A group of space bandits infultrated Alura's castle and everyone was fighting to defend it. You saw the rest of the Voltron team fighting. You noticed the bandits were being careful not to injure them and the princess as they were needed alive.

You weren't so lucky. Your face was bruised and bloody and your clothing was ripped from cuts from their daggers. Lotor was holding his own though, he only had a few cuts. Your eyes strayed to long making sure he was okay as you let your guard down.

A piercing scream ripped through your throat as you felt a sharp hot pain in your side as you crumpled to the ground. One of the bandits stood above you with a smirk as he ripped the dagger out of your side.

You were stabbed and judging from how long the dagger actually was, it was deep.

Your scream alerted the team and Lotor.

"(Y/N)!" Lotor's scream pierced through the chaos. You looked over to him, eyes growing heavy as you felt your blood...oh God, your blood...it was seeping out of your wound. Bringing your hand up, you saw it caked with blood. The last thing you saw was Lotor's panicked face, fear in his eyes as everything around you went black.

---

A groan emitted as you opened your eyes, the bright lights of the med bay hurting as you closed them again. A deep chuckle and a hand stroking your head made you open them again as Lotor was sitting next to your bed.

His hand continued to stroke your head. "There's those beautiful eyes." His voice was soft as you smiled softly at how gentle he was being. He was usually gentle when you both were alone, so seeing as he was doing this out in the open he must've been really worried.

I scoff lightly at his words, but wince. "Easy (Y/N), the stab wound was deep, but you'll be okay. The doctor said you'll still be in pain for a few weeks while you heal."

"(Y/N)!" The rest of the team came rushing in only to have Lotor glare at them making them calm down and stop before they got to your bed. "Keep it down! (Y/N) just woke up and I swear if any of you make her wince in pain from any touching or hugging, I'll throw you into the vortex of space myself."

The team stopped dead in their tracks at his words. You couldn't help but let out a laugh making everyone stop and stare at you. Wincing lightly, you flashed everyone a smile.

"Lotor, I'm okay. They were just worried...like you were." Lotor's cheeks flush red, but he just scoffs and looks away. The team left saying they'll visit later, leaving Lotor and yourself alone once more.

"...I was more than worrid (Y/N)..." He gently grabbed your hand, his thumbs brushing over the knuckles. "When I saw you go down, my heart stopped, I never knew fear until that moment (Y/N)...I thought I lost you."

Your eyes widen as Lotor's eyes welled with tears. Your arms circled around him pulling him towards you on the medical bay's bed hugging him closely to yourself as he clung to you as if he was afraid you'd dissapear if he let go.

You weren't sure how much time went by, but you didn't mine. You just held him until he pulled away still having a hold on your hand. "You do realize I won't be letting you out of my sight for the unseeable future." You laughed and gave his hand a light squeeze.

"I wouldn't have it any other way Lotor."

[farfromstrange]

Thumb v Printer | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Your clumsiness keeps Matt on edge at all times. Like when you cut your thumb on a printer.

Warnings: None. (Maybe slight description of injury for those of you who are squeamish). Tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: ~1k

A/n: This did happen to me. It's healed now, but a piece of my thumb was missing for like a week and it wasn't fun. All because I had to print my sources for an essay and the paper got stuck. Smh.

Read Me On AO3!

If a stranger came up to you and told you, “I smell blood,” it would be more than enough to make you run for the hills. Sharing a home with Matt Murdock though, you have heard stranger things. 

You turn from your spot on the sofa, putting your laptop aside for a moment to greet him. “Hello to you too,” you answer casually.

He tilts his head in your direction. His nostrils flare. You know better than to question it. He’s wearing the same suit he left your shared apartment with this morning, his tie only loosened slightly to allow him some air to breathe. The last streaks of sunlight filter through the window, enveloping him in an ethereal glow. He’s so beautiful, but he doesn’t allow you much time to admire him as he stands in the hallway, his hands propped up on his hips as though he is about to lecture you on criminal law before the Civil War.

“You opened the first-aid kit,” he states. “What happened?” 

It’s an astute observation, you have to give him that. “Oh. Yeah.” You chuckle. “I just cut my finger on the printer, that’s all.”

He stutters for a moment, almost like an old engine. “You… I’m sorry, what?”

His worried expression fades into something else entirely. You know that look all too well; he’s confused—so confused, in fact, that he forgets how concerned he was a minute ago.

“I cut my finger on the printer,” you repeat, shrugging. “Happens.”

“I’m gonna regret asking you this, but…how?”

“Well, I was printing some documents earlier, and the paper got stuck, so, I had to lift the top and get in there, right?”

He nods. “Right.” 

So far, it sounds plausible, but he knows you. Matt is well aware that your clumsiness manages to exceed his in many ways, and you have gotten yourself into predicaments in the past that he still hasn’t wrapped his head around. Sometimes, shit happens to and around you, and he has to accept that. He never fails to try though, which is kind of endearing, in a way. It’s something you have gotten used to over the years; he has to ensure you’re okay or he can’t find a moment to rest.

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” you confess, “so I had to put my face as close as possible to see what I was doing. Anyway, the paper ripped and since my position didn’t allow for any traction, I accidentally got my thumb caught on a sharp edge because if I’d pulled my hand out I would’ve hit myself in the face.”

A moment of silence passes. The wheels in Matt’s head visibly turn. He fidgets with the waistband of his pants, still processing. Eventually, he asks, “What?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up. I was busy trying to fix my thumb and the printer.”

“I’m not… sweetheart, I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about you.” Matt slips the glasses off his nose and places them aside. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. But are you, really?

“You sure?” He bridges the gap between you, tugging at your hand to run his fingers over the bandage; the cut underneath screams in protest. “Let me check.” His hazel eyes focus blankly at the space where your nose is, but it feels as though he is staring into your soul. 

“Matt…” You try to stop him, but he swiftly unpacks the injury. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when the scent hits him. You wonder what it smells like; blood, definitely, and maybe some of the ink you accidentally got into the wound before disinfecting it. His thumb gently inspects the area around it, trying not to hurt you. Matt can’t help but shake his head again; it doesn’t take much for him to realize that it isn’t just a tiny cut. 

“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “Feels like you’re missing some skin there.”

You try to make light of the situation. “Maybe we’ll find it the next time one of us prints something.”

His jaw clenches. You’re not in pain anymore, and your fight with the printer did not lead to a life-threatening injury, but he can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, not even for a second. 

“I love you,” he says, “but you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” It’s not as endearing as it usually sounds.

“Huh.” You huff. “That’s saying a lot, considering you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m blind,” he retorts, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He’s standing there, expression suggesting he thinks you have officially lost your mind, and it rubs you the wrong way.

You retract your hand, glaring at him with all you’ve got. “And I’m extremely short-sighted!” You don’t have to yell for him to feel the intended sting of your tone. 

His hands find their way back to his hips like a condescending mother. “Why weren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“Because,” you say, “I accidentally got coffee on them this morning and forgot to put them back on.” Your confidence falters halfway through though, realizing it doesn’t work well in your defense. Especially not in an argument with a skilled lawyer such as your boyfriend.

You love his caring nature more than life, but sometimes he treats you like a child who needs saving. Your heart is racing in your chest, and perhaps that is why he stops before you can make an argument out of a simple cut on your finger. It’s not worth it.

“I… you know what,” Matt caves, and his biceps relax, “I’m not even going to ask.”

You nod, albeit not triumphantly. You didn’t exactly win this battle of wits. “Yeah. Probably for the better,” you answer, chin held high, but it’s of no use.

You got defeated. By a printer. 

His lips curve into a soft smile. “C’mere.” He leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He smells of his cologne, paper, and coffee—like home. And he probably tastes like what he had for lunch or maybe the water he gozzled before heading home, but there is always a slight tinge of something indescribable when he kisses you. 

Before your lips can finally touch though, he halts. Matt sniffs, licking his lips and tasting the air. “You smell like ink,” he says. 

Your eyes narrow. Asshole. “Thank you. That’s…should I pour bleach into my mouth to accommodate you, Murdock?” you snap, pushing away from him.

Instead of begging on his knees for forgiveness—a dramatic notion you would not be opposed to—he laughs. Matt Murdock has the audacity to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out between giggles. “I’m sorry. Hey!” He tugs at your arm once more. “At least let me hug you. Please.”

You pout. “I’ll bite you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I might.”

He brings you into his arms with little resistance from your end, guiding your head just above his heart. So you can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair. 

You bury your face in his chest. It’s unfair how comfortable he is. “Hm. You’re lucky you’re irreplaceable,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

Matt clicks his tongue. “You’re so nice to me.” 

“You started it.”

“That’s fair.” Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head back up. “I still love you.”

You can’t bite back a smile this time, purring, “Oh, I know.” 

That’s never going to change, you know. And you love him. All of him, all the time, and unconditionally. 

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[scekrex]

Hey absolutely love your stuff (obviously since I keep requesting lol) anyways could I request Adam who somehow survived after getting beaten up by Lucifer and stabbed who even knows how many times by Niffty gets found by the reader who while an overlord isn't that powerful is super rich (I also picture them being like a mix of Alastor and Vox where like Alastor still holds a lot of more old timey views but also tries to adapt with the changing views like Vox) and decides to take him back to his mansion to try and help him survive (wants to make a few bucks later using him) after a bit the two share an oh fuck moment when they realized they have caught feelings. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

Overlord reader?? Uh fuck yeah!! I fucking love this ask so much xoxo/p

Bird of Hell's Paradise

Chains on my lips just add flames to the fire

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The battlefield was a mess through and through and while the devil and his daughter had built up the hotel again, a new, more inviting looking building was now located on the lonely hill in the pride ring, you still felt Adam's presence. The residents of the hazbin hotel must've already forgotten about him and therefore didn't notice you at all, too caught up in their doing.

The first man was badly injured and while you normally wouldn't care for such things, especially because it was an exorcist angel, this case was special. Because not only was the brunette laying in front of your feet the first man god had ever created, no, he was also the leader of said exorcists. You could only imagine how many sinners and Hellborn people would pay a good amount of money to harm him, even if it was just the slightest injury possible. So you bowed down and scooped the passed out man in your arms. If these sinners and even Lucifer didn't care for him, you would put him to good use. For your own benefit that was, but no one had to know about that yet. So you carried the first man across the entire pride ring of hell until you reached your home. The brunette man in your arms was still unconscious and given the blood he had lost and the hits he had taken that was pretty normal.

Once inside your mansion, you headed to the hospital wing, walking through the building with slow, heavy steps that echoed through the empty hallways. The hospital wing was close to the entrance, a decision you had made after stumbling through the doors with a fatal wound that had been exposing your guts. It was quicker to reach in an emergency and while those rarely occurred, you didn't like the risk. You put the first man down onto one of the beds, your claw sliced smoothly through the fabric of his once holy robe to get it out of the way. You needed to take care of the stab wounds the nifty little demon girl had caused. The stabs were deep but nothing you couldn't fix. You gave Adam one last glance before you stepped over to the medicine cabinet and for a quick moment you asked yourself why Lilith and Eve had left Adam, he wasn't bad looking at all, quite the opposite. And Lucifer had mentioned that Adam had ‘kinda let himself go’ which meant back when the two women were married to him, he must have looked even better. You quickly shook your head, what in the devil's name were you even thinking?

With wound cleaning supplies and a healing potion you stepped back to Adam's bed, the first human ever seemed to be slowly waking up. He braced his palms against the mattress, tried to lift himself up but you were quick to push him back down, the more he moved while his wounds were still ripped open the more blood he lost. And while Adam would be able to recover either way, the more blood stayed inside of his body, the better. At least that's what you thought. “Stay,” you hummed as you cleaned the blood from his skin. It was unusual to clean off golden blood instead of the red mess you were so used to. But you didn't mind, didn't care even.

Adam flinched away from your touch, tried to lift himself up yet again. Your hand took a hold of his throat and held him down by it, “I said stay, stupid angel.” Adam's eyes seemed to clear up a little, the fog that had covered his golden eyes, had made them seem yellow, lifted and the brunette stared at you, clearly not knowing what to feel. You saw anger in his eyes, rage and hatred but at the same time there was fear. Fear and pain.

Once the blood was no longer staining his perfect skin, you took the potion you had grabbed, popped the cork and held the smooth, cold glass against his bottom lip, “Open up,” you demanded, yet your voice stayed gentle. Adam hesitated and you really couldn't blame him. “It will cause your wounds to heal,” you explained to the former leader of the exorcists and he seemed to consider his opinions for a moment. Then he actually parted his lips and let you spill the disgusting liquid onto his tongue. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste and he kept the liquid in his mouth. “Swallow it, Adam.” Adam looked up at you, once again seemingly considering alternatives he had. Given the fact that he did as you told him, there hadn't been many.

Adam checked his chest as the wounds that had caused enough pain to make him pass out healed quickly. The only hint left that they ever even existed were golden scars that seemed to be permanent from now on, but the first man couldn't complain, could he? He was still alive and on top of that there was no more pain. The first man frowned at you, mistrust was lingering heavy in his eyes as golden orbs followed your every move. Yet he remained silent, not a single word was falling from his lips.

Your hand that had been holding him down by his throat let go of him and Adam was sitting up right in his bed in an instant. His hands traced over the new found scars, you watched him in silence. There was something about him, about his vibe that was different. It wasn't the fact that he was an angel, no, even though that made his vibe different too, but it was something soft, something afraid to break. You cleared your throat loudly and Adam's eyes were on you within a heartbeat, while mistrust still lingered heavy in them, curiosity was close behind and you couldn't help but catch yourself that you were curious about him too.

-

Adam always bragged about being the first man, like that was his biggest accomplishment and if you looked at it from a different viewpoint it wasn't even his accomplishment but God’s, Adam didn't create himself after all. Yet it was the only thing worth mentioning whenever he didn't want to do something, “I’m the fucking man, not your fucking housewife, I'm not gonna fucking clean that.” You sighed as you took a step towards Adam and he flinched, trying to back up but his back hit the kitchen counter sooner than expected. Your hands grabbed a hold of his waist and you effortlessly lifted him up to sit on said counter, Adam was taken aback by that.

It had been a couple of weeks since you had found and saved him and the mistrust that had been filling his eyes from the first second on had never truly left them. He would always leash out on you only to back down as soon as you reacted in some way that seemed too unpredictable for him. “When will you learn to think before you speak?” Your voice held a certain amount of softness, it always did when you were speaking to Adam. The guy wasn't a threat to you, not in his current situation. And you were trying to use that to your advantage. Because he was scared, basically a deer in the headlights, why not put that fear to use? You nudged his knees apart to stand between his legs, still taller than him you hovered over the first man with a mix between a sly grin and a soft smile. “When you start to suck my fucking dick,” you chuckled as his choice of words, very aware that he simply wanted you to fuck off and leave him be, you acted oblivious to that. One hand was placed on the counter to steady yourself, right next to his thigh, the other grabbed his chin to tilt his head upwards, forcing the brunette to look you in the eyes.

“Right now? Right here?” your voice sounded so delicious, Adam wanted to eat it up, in fact, he wanted to devour you entirely, feast on every piece you had to offer and only stop once he swallowed it all. In Christ's holy name, what was he thinking? Your lips were so close to his, so so close, all he would need to do was - he leaned into your touch, why he wasn't sure, it was as if his body was following a call sent to him by nature itself. And then his lips met yours and a low groan spilled from his throat as his hands grabbed your shoulder firmly, he was afraid you'd pull back, that you'd leave him like Lilith and Eve had and he didn't even know why. Why was he afraid of losing you, a sinner, a man he barely knew? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. And yet he kissed you like his life was depending on it.

The hand that had been braced against the counter was now on his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh playfully and drawing a delicious sound from Adam's lips. Oh you could drown in the noises the first man made, the little huffs and puffs, his groans that he tried to keep as quiet as possible, the whimpers he would later deny. Adam was the most beautiful creature that had ever set a foot into hell and you mentally punched yourself in the face for wanting to use him to make money. There was no way you'd use such a divine, holy and glorious man for that, no. Adam was yours, your little secret and you'd keep it, keep him.

When you two partened a sting of saliva connected your lips and both of your eyes were hazy, he looked blissed out and it was then that you decided you wanted to see him like that more often - as often as possible. You were to lean in yet again, wanting more, needing more. But your phone rang. “Pick it up, bet it's something fucking important, they don't fucking call overlords for shits and giggles, do they?” You knew Adam was right and you hated it. You pushed your body away from the first man's and you saw how he wanted to reach out, wanted to keep you close but didn't say a thing about it. You grabbed your phone off the dining table and answered the call, “The fuck do you want, Vox?” It was the first time Adam had heard you speaking so vulgarly, you usually seemed to be collected, considering your words wisely, but that? In the name of God, that was truly something else. And it was ridiculously hot. “No I fucking can't, ask someone else,” and with that you hung up, tossed your phone carelessly back onto the table and found your place between his legs yet again. “Where were we?” you hummed through hooded eyes. And it was only then that the two of you seemed to realize what exactly you had just done, what you were about to do again.

Both of your eyes widened and the next thing you felt were Adam's hands on your body, not just your shoulder this time but also your waist, your chest, your thighs, your back. It seemed as if he was claiming you with his hands and the worst part of it? You truly didn't mind, you even enjoyed his touch on you, leaned into it and closed your eyes to fully focus on his hands roaming over your body.

Fuck, you had fallen deep for this man, way deeper than you ever thought you'd fall. But Adam had followed you, had fallen with you.

“You were about to suck me off,” Adam mumbled, his voice already sounded fucked out and you hadn't even started yet.