#bloody knuckles and sweet nothings

[shibiichi]

Silly angst thingy

Context! Vampire Moon ran away from the facility that held him. He was very excited to be out of hell’s grips and was hoping to make a new life! He didn’t know the people at the facility would be more tolerant of him than those outside of it. So when he stopped at a town and tried to ask for help and such, the people of said town were less than kind upon seeing a 12ft tall inhuman creature! Most fled, but some did fight, or at least called the police making Moon have a not so savory encounter with humans. He luckily only ran away with a broken face, he retreated back to a service tunnel he had found the day prior and hid. Looking up at the ceiling, scrappy pillow under his head, he wondered if things would be the same as they were in the facility.. just without the sterilized walls. Same treatment, not matter where he was… he’d try again tomorrow.

Song Inspo: Everything Stays!

Will everything stay the same? Will the differences be better or worse? He’s still hopeful in this moment, just scared.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[lalunanymph]

𝟏𝟏:𝟒𝟗𝐏𝐌 ─── your husband notices everything about you—even the things you don't notice about yourself

˚୨୧⋆ sylus x wife!reader

˚୨୧⋆ warnings: wife!reader, reader has just given birth a few months ago, jealous sylus!!, pregnancy, implied mentions of a fight, injuries, mentions of b/lood, explicit s/mut, implication of o/ral, teasing, petnames (wife, darling, doll, sweetie), daddy k/ink, breeding, shamelessly self-indulgent AND very selfship-coded :')

Nothing ever escapes Sylus’ attention. 

Other than cunning resourcefulness being his trademark which many associate with ravens—his favorite bird—another marker of your husband’s personality is that like a hawk, he’s acutely aware of everything.

Tonight’s date night after you’ve given birth to the twins didn’t go exactly as planned.

While Sylus was in a convenience store, buying the both of you drinks to whet off the balminess of the summer evening, you were approached by an obviously drunk man who asked if you were here alone.

After countless times of trying (and failing) to convince him that your husband wouldn’t be too happy about his unwanted advances, the man in question whose ring is around your finger appears, tall and imposing.

Safe to say, the night ended with one bloody nose, and a pair of split knuckles, the latter being the ones you were currently patching up. 

Your husband is reclining back against the plush pillows, black dress shirt unbuttoned slightly and showing off the deep divot of his pecs. His face is a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, possessiveness, a hint of concern. All coalescing into one tense ball he keeps close to his chest as the adrenaline from the encounter with that sleazebag still hums through his veins. 

You stow your phone back into your purse, sighing.

“I've texted Sara to keep the twins for the night. I think we're both too angry and might say or do something rash.” 

His expression softens and he lets out a sigh, the anger and tension slowly starting to ebb away as he gazes at you.

“... that’s good. I wouldn’t want them to see me in this state.” 

You sigh again, picking up his bandaged hands.

“Y’know, I did tell him my husband was a big, scary man, but he still persisted in demanding a date,” you bring your husband’s knuckles to your lips, kissing the contused flesh softly. 

Sylus grunts, rolling his eyes, though his expression softens at your sweet gesture. “Some people just don’t know when to take a hint… so, I had to make a point.”

You scoff, clutching his hands tighter. “Yes. By socking him in the face. Very classy.”

Instead of appearing reticent like a sane person would, Sylus chuckles. “Didn’t see you complaining when you were cooing all over me, patching up like a good, little wife.”

His words make a flash of heat run through you, and you shoot him an exasperated glare. “Well, at least you looked sexy doing it. Punching that asshole in the face. Consider that compensation for tonight’s turn of events," politely, you add, “Thank you for defending my honor, darling.”

He lets out a low chuckle, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. Crimson eyes darken with a mixture of desire and affection, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. 

“No need to thank me, sweetie. It’s always a pleasure of mine to defend your honor. No one gets to disrespect you without facing repercussions.” 

You squirm in his lap, hitching a breath when you feel his hands play with the straps of your dress. Slowly, he drags them down, touch hot and insistent as the pads of his fingers graze your bare shoulder.

“Really, Sylus?” You try to look vexed, but the breathlessness his touch incites only fuels him to misbehave further. “Defending me has seriously gotten you all hot and bothered?” 

Your husband grins at your teasing tone, a wicked gleam in his eye as he continues to push the straps of your dress down further, baring more of your skin to his heated stare. His hands continue to explore, tracing over your exposed skin. 

“Hmm. I suppose seeing you in danger… really ignited something in me. Hearing someone insult you and disrespect what’s mine… makes me want to claim you all over again.”

Warmth fills your cheeks, and you fail to fight back a shiver. “T-that doesn’t make any sense.” 

Sylus’ fingers are now trailing your collarbone, tracing the marks he left there from the night before.

“It doesn’t need to make sense, doll. It’s something primal. Seeing you in danger like that… and the look on your face when I punched that idiot senseless… It's titillating. I just want to claim my wife, remind you and everyone else that you belong to me, body and soul and future baby.” 

Heat licks down your spine, and you shudder at his words. 

“F-future baby?” 

Sylus’ hands snake to your bare back, caressing the expanse of skin with soft, ticklish circles. Without warning, he leans in, lips hovering close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Yes, doll. Future baby. I'm going to fill you with my seed. Breed you over and over until I'm sure you're pregnant. And in a few weeks, we'll have a mini-us growing in your belly, a physical reminder of my claim on you."

His words are soft and sound almost sweet, but the filthiness in them makes you gasp, involuntarily arching your body into his. 

“Sylus…”

The idea of him claiming you again so boldly after defending you from danger turns you on like nothing in this world can. You know you have much to discuss with him about having another baby, considering you had just given birth to Sabrina and Protus a few months ago. But, in this instance, desire overtakes logic and all you want is to feel your husband deep inside you again. 

His lips are cool when they touch your jugular, trailing down the column of your neck until they reach your heaving chest. 

“Sy…” you whisper, eyes fluttering close. “Stop… teasing me.” 

You want this, he realizes with a jolt. You want this as much as he does. 

He lets out a low chuckle, hands continuing to caress every inch of your skin. 

“Oh, my pretty little doll. It’s not teasing anymore. It’s a promise.” His lips touch your ear, the heat of his breath and words snapping the last of your resolve. “And you know I never break my promises, doll.” 

A whimper slips from your parted mouth. The heat in this room is too much to bear, pressing down on you with the weight of an ocean closing in.

You can barely breathe when you exhale, “Breed me. Please… breed me.” 

Your bastard of a husband grins at your desperate plea, his hands gripping your hips tighter. It’s the predatory confidence of a man who knows he has you completely at his mercy, begging for him to claim you completely. 

“Say it again,” his fingers dance to the hair at the nape of your neck, sinking his fingers into your soft locks and using it to snap your face up to meet his darkened gaze. “Tell me you want me to breed you. Tell me you want to only belong to me.” 

The bite of pain pulls a wanton moan from your trembling lips, and you lose all bearings and composure, giving in to the desire which always leaves you wanting more of him on your knees.

“Oh god... please... breed me, Daddy. Make me yours. P-put a baby inside of me and make me a mama again…” 

Sylus’ eyes darken at your plea, the possessive need flaring in his chest. Those blood-red eyes burn with the desire of keeping and making his promise come true.

“Lay back, sweetie. Go on—there’s a good girl.” His bigger body hovers over you, pressing you into the bed. “Good girl. You're such a good girl, doll. Asking Daddy to breed you, begging to be filled with my seed, to carry my baby. You're mine. Mine to breed, mine to claim. Mine to make you a mommy again."

His words whip through you like an electric shock. You gasp, eyes fluttering and body arching further into his touch. 

“Please… yes…” 

As much as his self-control is reaching its breaking point, he needs to hear the words coming straight from your mouth; his grip on your hips tighten, eyes darkening with possessiveness. 

"You want this, doll? You want Daddy to fill you up—make sure you're pregnant with my baby?"

Your nod is equal parts desperation and desire. You lick your lips, nodding.

“Yes,” your whisper is like a bullet tearing through his chest, leaving it hot and stinging with pure need. “Yes, I want it so badly.”

Sylus groans, your words igniting the unquenchable thirst inside of him to make you his, his, his. 

Tearing the flimsy dress off your frame, he digs his fingers into your hips, mouth leaving a burning trail of kisses and bites across your neck, your jaw, your chest. 

Your hands grapple at his clothing, pulling off his expensive, tailor-made button-down and slacks, reaching into the heart of him to expose him fully to your lustful gaze. 

He sucks and licks on your nipples until they become all puffy and swollen just for him, and the second you tell him you can’t take it anymore, Sylus stakes his claim by sinking inside of you—inch by delicious inch.

Your pretty, milky pink nails stab into his shoulders, dragging down red lines across the pale expanse of his back. Your heels dig into his hips, and the way you’re desperately clinging onto him, makes him wonder if you want to fuse your body as one with his. 

“Sy… Sylus…” 

Fuck. He digs his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, strong hips snapping forward, giving you one powerful thrust after another. Your walls suck him so perfectly, like you were made for him. 

He fills you up over and over again, until every load becomes more painful. But, you can't get enough. You keen, beg, and cry for more, milking his promise to make you a mama again for what it’s worth.

Hours seem to pass, ravaging passages of time that are marked by more cum filling you; his shuddering, animalistic groans for you take it darling, take it all, take all of me like music to your ears.

Sylus collapses on top of you, breathing hard and red in the face. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his hand coming to rest gently on your stomach, caressing the soft skin with shaky fingers.

“Mhm… you’ll be the death of me one day, you know that, sweetie?” 

Giggling, you use what remains of your strength to twine your arms around his shoulders. The both of you stay like this for a while, slowly coming down from the high.

Briefly, your hand grazes your belly, and you wonder idly if what he promises has come true—if his seed has already taken.

Sylus, ever keen and observing, chuckles. It’s like he knows exactly what you're thinking. Planting a gentle kiss on top of your head, his voice is low and tender.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, sweetie. I have a feeling you're already pregnant with my baby."

Your eyes widen, and you give him a shock look. 

Stammering, you say, “How do you know?” 

But, you should know this is Sylus you’re talking about. Mastermind of the N109 Zone. The leader of the most notorious organization alive. 

He’s always two steps ahead of you, seeing what you can’t see, anticipating what you can’t expect. 

Your husband’s palm drifts down to join yours on your stomach, his hand gently resting on yours.

“Call it a lucky guess… or, intuition. A few little signs here and there. Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you confirm it."

His words make your head spin, and you give him a look of reproachful intrigue.

“A… few signs here and there? What are you talking about?” 

Sylus nods, his touch reverent and tender. 

Without caring for your astonishment, he lays down his observations like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Your scent has been different, sweeter, a little intoxicating. Your body is more sensitive, more responsive to my touch. And there's a glow about you, a soft flush on your cheeks, a sparkle in your eyes. It's subtle, but I notice when it comes to you, doll.” 

You gape at him, and without thinking, tighten your grip on your belly.

As if he has a sensor on you, Sylus immediately notices the subconscious gesture.

“Mhm... You've been doing that a lot lately, doll. Touching your belly, caressing your stomach, as if you're already feeling the baby growing inside you. It's adorable, but it's also a bit of a giveaway.”

His tone turns teasing and you flush, flustered beyond measure.

“Wh-what are you? Some kind of werewolf?” You hiss, “How're you so attentive?!”

Your husband chuckles again, amusing himself by brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gently tracing your jawline.

“It's not a matter of being a werewolf. It's just a matter of paying attention to the woman I love.” His grin turns soft, becoming tender at the edges. “I notice everything about you, doll. Every little detail, every change in your body, every little thing. I can't help it. I can't stop watching you. And you just happen to have a few tell-tale signs right now that are screaming 'pregnant'.”

Pouting, you glare at him churlishly, deciding to challenge him. But, underneath the pomp and bravado is an innate curiosity to see how far your husband’s perception can go.  

“Tell me more then, since I myself don't seem to notice anything.”  

Sylus grins at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, and decides to indulge you. 

“Hmm, you really want to know? Well, here's another one... Your taste has changed, darling. A little sweeter, a little richer. Something I can't seem to get enough of, but it also seems to have gotten stronger lately.” 

You blanch, warmth flushing your cheeks.

“You mean... whenever you eat me out... you noticed my taste? That's...” 

Your speechlessness amuses him, and he chuckles, voice growing deeper, laced with hunger and heat.

“I notice everything about you, remember? Even the smallest changes in your body,” he drawls, glancing at the spot between your thighs. “Especially when it comes to the places I spend the most time on, tasting and exploring... Every. Single. Time.”

He punctuates his words with soft kisses to your neck, flustering you even more.

All you can mutter is a cute, little, “Hmph,” scowling and fanning your cheeks. 

Sylus adores your reaction to his words, and leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, teasing your skin.

“Mhm... why are you scowling at me? Are you embarrassed? Are you... thinking about all the times I've tasted and explored you, doll? I can practically see the memories playing in your head… it's delicious.”

You squeak, slapping a palm to his mouth, feeling like your face is hot enough to explode.

“Sylus!” 

He laughs, though the sound is muffled against your palm. His hand drifts down to your belly again, the gleam in his eyes possessive this time. 

The white-haired devil pries your hand from his mouth, kissing your wrist and placing it back down onto the bed. “Oh, doll. You're just too cute when you're flustered. And it's even cuter when you try to shut me up. It just makes me want to tease you more, Y/N.” 

Emboldened and somewhat foolish, you plaster on your faux confidence, egging him on. 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think you’re dead wrong.” 

Sylus snorts, finding your foolish certainty endearing. 

“Are you doubting my observation skills? Are you saying I haven't noticed a thing? That I'm not paying attention to the little changes in your body… that I haven't noticed how you're reacting?”

You smirk, nodding. 

“Mhm hmm. I know my body better than you, Sy. You may be my husband, but I’ve been living in this meat suit for years. And I’ll know when I’m pregnant. Besides—” you giggle, enjoying the look of faint amusement spreading across his features. “—I bet you a hundred dollars that if I take a test right now, it’ll come back negative.” 

Sylus cocks a brow, eyes glistening with the challenge. 

You continue, oblivious to his smirk. “My period is due in a week, and I don’t have morning sickness, nor do I have any cravings. Besides, weren’t you the one who said we have to plan our family smarter? Why do you want to be right so badly?” 

Your husband chuckles, enjoying your bold confidence. His grip on your hip tightens, and he kneads the flesh, shrugging. 

“You’re so endlessly fascinating, doll. Yes, I do think we should space out conception times, but I never did say I wouldn't want more babies. Especially when they are living proof of our commitment and love for each other.”

Oh. You swallow hard. When he puts it that way…

But, you’re much too thick headed to give in. 

You cup his cheek, gaze softening, though the spark of a challenge remains in your eyes. 

“Fine. We’ll see who’s right tomorrow.” 

Sylus grabs your hand, enjoying the warmth of your skin with a touch of feral amusement in his crimson eyes. “And if I’m right? What is my reward, doll?” 

Grinning, you tease, “A hundred dollars.”

Your husband tilts his head to the side, as if considering your strange wager.

“... make that a hundred kisses and a dinner, doll. I don’t want your money.” 

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. A hundred kisses and a dinner—that’s easy for you. 

“Fine. We’ll see that I’m right tomorrow, then.” 

Night fades and the next day dawns.

You wake up to an empty bed, sheets rumpled and still warm. Your eyes land upon an innocuous pregnancy kit on the side table, fresh from the store.

Sylus is nowhere to be seen, though you suspect he’s downstairs in the kitchen sipping on a cup of coffee. Not wanting to look like you were chickening out of this bet, you huff and go straight into the bathroom, putting the test to use.

You’re going to win this bet, and Sylus will have to eat his words. There is no way your husband would be correct. All he has is a hunch while you know your body inside and out. 

No singular person in the world, not even the one you share a bed with every night, can claim to predict something as mercurial and unpredictable as a pregnancy which hasn’t happened yet—unless they were a prophet or someone from the world of Dune, you think with a scoff.

The timer goes off and you grasp the test, about to smirk and prance downstairs to show Sylus how far off his observation was, when you come to a hard pause.

“...”

You blink, checking the test and rechecking it again. You look at it closer to the light, scrutinizing the stupid white stick from front to back, wondering if it’s faulty or broken.

A languid knock on the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find your husband leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.

“Go ahead, doll,” he gloats, noticing your reaction, the pallor of shock written all over your face. “Read the result out loud to me.” 

You swallow hard, setting the test down in defeat.

“Impossible.”

But, knowing how competitive your husband can be, he’s not going down without a fight.

“And the result is…?” 

Tossing him a scowl, you throw your hands up in the air, caving in so he can pipe down and just kiss you already. 

“Positive,” you groan, wrapping your arms around him. Sylus responds without a shred of hesitation, grasping your smaller body and holding it tightly to his, secretly elated at this reveal. The ghost of his chuckle brushes your neck.

“Yeah, doll? Say it again. Tell me I’m right.” 

You exhale a watery giggle, tears filling your eyes. The feeling of pure love fills your chest, and you look at him like he’s hung the moon up in your sky.

You’re going to be a mommy again; Sylus has made his promise come true. 

Touching your forehead to his, you breathe in his comforting scent, feeling the softness of his sleeping robe underneath your palms on his chest.

“You’re right, darling. You’re always right,” you whisper, the love you feel for your husband overflowing from your eyes. “It’s positive.” 

Nothing ever escapes Sylus' hawk-like attention, and for that, you love him a little more than you did before.

sydawn lore: we have twins together—a baby girl and a baby boy named sabrina and protus. initially, the scans and tests only picked up sabrina and it was literally on the surgical table when the doctors made a discovery that there was another whole ass baby inside of me (they called it a shadow pregnancy when one twin completely overshadows another) so long story short, we have two babies together with a third on the way :,) ok thx for reading bye !

— reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated !! thank you all for your support <3

© lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my selfship and reproduce it into your own bodies of work. do not translate and share across on other platforms.

[rowarn]

afab!reader, gn!reader, simons a fighter, protective!simon, blood mention, fingering, lil bit of mean!simon for flavor <3 MDNI

simon riley is by all means a "do what you want, i can fight" kind of man. and fight he will. simon will go to the ends of the earth to protect you. and that's always been incredibly hot to you. you'd never had a man so eager to defend you.

especially to the point that simon was. more than once he'd come away from a fight with bloody knuckles and a split lip. 

that's exactly how he looked now, but he also sported a cut across his eyebrow as well. the guy he'd beaten in the alleyway looked much worse, but he got a few good hits in. 

all you knew was that he said some revolting things about you that simon happened to overhear. simon refused to tell you specifics, citing that you didn't need to hear something like that. 

you both had gone home quickly after that. but the sight of simon all beat up, knuckles split and bruised from the force he'd used to beat the man had something stirring in your stomach. butterflies. 

as you cleaned his cuts and wiped away any blood that stained his skin, you could feel the wetness growing in your panties. you clenched your thighs and shifted as that began to uncomfortably stick to your pussy. 

simon, always attentive, noticed right away. his pretty, brown eyes lit up in interest, a brow raised as he watched you shift on your feet. 

"something wrong?" he asked, as if he couldn't tell what was going on. 

"n-nothing, si," you responded sheepishly, tossing the bloody gauze into the garbage can before stepping away. 

simon doesn't let you get very far before his arms are wrapping around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. you can feel the heat radiating off of him and feel how his heart pounds on his chest against your back. craning your neck, you look up at him. 

"ain't nothin'," he says, voice low and quiet, "and i'm not lettin' you walk out of here with that pretty pussy drippin'.''

you swallow around the lump in your throat as he says it. he wraps his big hands around your waist and moves them downwards, slipping under your shirt and pawing at the hem of your sweatpants. he dips his head down so he can kiss along your neck, practically purring when you sink into him. 

he takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties, thick fingers prying your pillowy lips apart. you adjust your stance, leaning back against him for support as you spread your legs a little more so he can slip his fingers further down.

first he glides over your clit, pausing to stroke and roll the tender little bud under his fingers. your whole body twitched at that, trembling hands reaching to grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. your head fell back against his chest, giving him more access to your neck. 

his fingers dip lower, finding your entrance, slick and drooling all over the digits as he strokes back and forth, teasing you with their presence. 

"tell me," his voice vibrates in his chest, deep and low, "what's got you this wet?"

"mmm, d-dunno, si," you lie right through your teeth at him. 

he hums, pulling his fingers away from your sweet little hole to go back to your clit, pinching the bud. you whimper at the feeling, hips rabbing back to get away from the little pain, "you're lyin'. i want you to tell me the truth. what has this pretty little cunt all wet?"

"simon..." you whine. he knows you don't want the embarrassment that comes from the confession but he teases it out of you anyway, "y-you got me wet, si!"

"me?" he grins, wolfish and predatory, "i didn't do anything, love,"

you whine, rocking your hips forward. he took some mercy on you and slowly sunk one, long, finger into the tight clutch of your cunt. the stretch wasn't enough, he knew that, you'd become so accustomed to the fat girth of his cock that one single finger would never be enough to satisfy you now. he'd ruined you. 

"y-you beat that-that guy up for me..." you finally manage to squeeze out of your dry throat, "'s hot..."

he scoffs as if he didn't already know that that was the reason, "you like me beatin' some bastards head in for you?" you nod, sighing in pleasure when he rewards your with a second finger, "you're fuckin' filthy. you think he'd be happy to hear that it turns you on?"

"don't care about him," you quickly answer. 

his grin broadens, "that's the right fuckin' answer, love."

he finally gives you the third and final finger. you keen when he stretches you open on those digits, curling them just right to hit that gooey, spongey little spot inside you. his palm curls around your pelvic bone so the heel of his hand grinds against your clit just how you need to cum nice and hard for him. 

he works his fingers slow and deep, making sure to hit that spot every time he stuffs his fingers back inside you. his other hand comes up, wrapping around your throat to pin your against his chest. you moan freely, clawing at his tattooed arm desperately as you rock your hips against his hand. 

he can hear the wet, slick sounds of him fucking your precious little cunt open. you work your clit feverishly against his hand, helping yourself along to the high you so deserve. you're dripping down his fingers, making a mess of him and yourself but you don't care. 

"'m gonna cum!" you needlessly warn him.

"i know," he grumbles, tilting your head up so he can press his lips against yours, hand still firmly wrapped around your throat. 

he sees your eyes roll back before you melt into the kiss, your orgasm washing over you. he groans when he feels you squeezing and clenching around his fingers, pathetically humping against his hand to work your clit even harder. he slowly strokes that spongey little spot to help ease you through your high. you tremble and clutching desperately at his arm as you start to come down, whimper and panting into his mouth before he lets you pull away. a string of spit connects your lips and you look completely dazed as you gaze up at him. 

he always did enjoy the way a good orgasm had you looking all dumb and pliant for him. 

he pulls his fingers out of your panties and you whine at the loss, watching him bring those cum-covered fingers up to your face. you could see the way the bruises and splits in his knuckles were covered in your cum and had to hold back to keep from moaning at the sight. 

he popped them into his mouth, sighing at the taste of your sweet cum on his tongue. 

before you knew it, he was breezing past you out of the bathroom and down to the living room, no doubt on the hunt for something to eat. 

"simon!" you called petulantly. 

you heard him laugh from the living room, "what?"

"you aren't gonna fuck me?" you complain, feeling heat flood your cheeks when he laughs again.

"dunno, love," his tone is teasing, "we'll see."

ugh. he could be so generous one second and mean the next </3

mwah here is some food my beloveds

[moonlight-prose]

dust to dust

a/n: i chose to combine two prompts from the logan promptober hosted by the lovely @silverskyeline. only because old and belt buckle just blended so well for me and the idea i had in my head. i know i've basically written a different version of this in my fic slow, but i've made this one a whole lot filthier. solely cause this is literally my dream scenario with this man.

logan promptober: day fifteen + day seventeen - belt buckle + old

summary: when the days are long and he's grown weary of everything, he knows he can find his peace in your body. that is until he brings a whole new understanding to the belt buckle that sits proudly on his waist.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, fluff, exhausted logan, dirty talk, dry humping, he's so filthy in this one, overstimulation, domesticity.

The temperature of his body was the first thing you sought out. His scuffed boots that had seen better days were discarded by the door—his flannel on a hook beside the heavy leather jacket. You heard him by the shuffle of his feet, the tinkling echo of keys hitting the glass bowl in the kitchen. A creak of the couch filtering through the bedroom door—his raspy groan followed right behind it.

There wasn't much that could pull you out of a book when you were settled in a comfy spot, but the sound of Logan coming home still grasped all of your attention. He called to you silently, his presence strong enough to fill the house with a staggering amount of warmth. As if this place, these walls, wouldn't be the same without him.

"Baby?"

He grunted, rubbing his thumb between his scarred knuckles. "'M here."

"Long day?"

The audible huff gave you enough of an answer to make your way over to him. The dark lines beneath his eyes did little to prevent your stomach from twisting in empathy. He worked too hard. Broke himself right down to the bone and yet refused to let you help when it really mattered. You were his pretty girl, the soft swell of love he came home to every night.

To mar your skin with exhaustion was something he refused to accept.

You simply longed to help him. Bear the brunt of his anguish with him, your hand tightly gripped in his. The walls he built were too high—a mountain that only seemed to grow with each new precipice of emotion he came across—but you were resistant. You would climb until your hands were bloody and raw; you'd dig your heels in and refuse to let go.

His face dug into your stomach, hands curling low around your waist.

Silence became the embodiment of your conversations when he fell into his own mind. You tangled your fingers in his hair, thumbs curving along the base of his neck. The drop in his shoulders as tension released made you smile—the flutter of your heart dropping to your stomach within seconds.

He didn't even have to look at you, yet he had you in the palm of his hand—wrapped tightly around his pinky finger where you belonged.

"What can I do?" you hummed, tugging at a particular chunk of hair that always followed with a raspy groan.

The calloused brush of his palm dragged down your hips, grasping the flesh of your ass to drag you even closer. His face now pressed an inch above your crotch - the sweatpants you wore doing nothing to hide the fact that you were completely bare beneath them. The slight hitch in his back told you he knew. By your scent alone; the slick forming between your legs was sweet in the air, begging for his tongue to bury into you.

"Lemme see her," he grunted, inhaling sharply against your hip. "She's callin' to me princess."

A rush of air escaped your lungs. "But don't you want–"

"To see what I waited all day for." His head rose, eyes peeking at you through drooped lids—a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

"You should rest."

"You callin' me old?"

Your hands froze on the back of his neck. "No. You just–"

Fingers curled into the waistband of your sweats, dipping down beneath the fabric to slide along your hip. What little breath you had left caught in your throat—the flutter in your stomach dropping to press right up against your clit. He caught onto the minimal reaction instantly. His hand moving to cup your drooling pussy.

"Nothing underneath," he muttered, wetting his bottom lip. "This all for your old man?"

"Logan," you sighed.

"You like that huh?" Pushing further, his chest stuttered at the hot pool of wetness that greeted him—your body practically purring with such a simple touch. "Knownin' you're fuckin' an old man. Makes you wet doesn't it?"

"Oh fuck–"

"There you go." A huff of laughter escaped his mouth at the way your eyes slid shut. "Dust to dust. One foot in the grave and you still want me to ruin ya."

Unable to even comprehend what he was muttering, you nodded aimlessly.

A harsh tug dropped your sweatpants to the ground, your legs clambering out of them in clumsy quick steps. You felt uncoordinated—untethered. And Logan drank it down like the greatest whiskey known to man. He pulled you close, helping you straddle his lap, to grab a glance down at your sticky folds glistening in the low light of the lamp to his right.

You spread your legs wide unconsciously, the need to please him choking your insides until you held no other option but to relent. Yet you did so willingly and without hesitation. The smile on his face became your sole reason for why you breathed—why you lived.

All for him.

"I bet you missed me." You nodded frantically, canting your hips up into his touch. Only to realize...he wasn't talking to you. He wasn't even looking at you.

His attention lay solely in your fluttering hole creaming for the heavy cock that grew hard between his legs. Starvation bled into his features—darkening his eyes as they dragged down the length of your body. He wanted to eat you, dine on the flesh of his lover with a smile, anticipating more than just your shouts of pleasure.

Oftentimes it scared him how much he longed for the touch of your skin, the warmth that seeped from your softness. He craved you, desired to know each intimate part that lay between the crevices of your bones. The gaps in your ribs encased around the heart that beat solely for him.

"Touch me," you sucked in a breath, chest heaving beneath your tank top.

He barely spared you a glance, his thumb stroking the edge of your cunt. "That's not what she wants."

"W-What–"

The lift was nearly effortless, barely forcing a soft grunt past his lips as he pulled you directly over his cock. The very bulge you were eyeing the second you saw him. He didn't bother to unbutton his jeans or give into the throbbing ache that grew unfathomably quick. You clambered to hold onto his shoulders—mouth searching for his in the hopes of gaining something in return.

"I want to kiss you." A whine spilled free, hips shifting in his tight hold.

"Hang on princess."

"What are you–" The slow drag of your hips along his cleared the words from your mind—a stuttered cry replacing any other sound that might have come to the surface.

Cold and hard was all you could comprehend as he pushed your body back to repeat the same move. His lips plastered with a knowing smile as your eyes rolled back—a low throaty moan ripping from your throat. The belt buckle sat directly beneath you. Covering the button of his jeans. You'd maneuvered your way around it before, barely giving any detail to what it looked like.

Now you felt every minute carving drag along your pulsing clit, stimulating you in a way that shoved you towards a blinding release. Logan's hands became pliant on your hips, giving you the freedom to move as you wished. You thanked him with a kiss.

"Feels good doesn't it?" His tongue slid into your mouth, swallowing down the choked sound that rushed to the surface. "Gettin' off on your old man's belt buckle."

"F-Fuck. It feels—oh god–"

"That's it. Keep goin' honey." Cupping your chin, he pressed his forehead to yours, the hot brush of his breath hitting your lips with each word. "Soak it for me, yeah? And I'll wear it to work tomorrow."

A soft pleading cry was all he got in return, your hips jerking frantically over his lap—a wave of slick coating the tarnished metal. And he laughed. Chuckled softly into a spit soaked kiss that left your mind reeling, lips chasing his for just a bit more.

"I'll drive around with it." His words burned your skin, seeping right down to the erratically beating heart that struggled to keep up. "I'll lick it fuckin' clean while I get off to the thought of ya princess. Me sitting alone in that fuckin' limo. Stroking my cock to your pretty face."

The image flashed neon in your mind and that was all you needed to fling yourself off that cliff. With trembling thighs you pressed your clit down hard onto the metal surface, coming undone with a broken shout muffled against his cheek. He talked you through it, mumbling small praises of good girl, did such a good job for me, makin' me feel good. into your skin punctuated by the brush of his lips.

"Feel good?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, sagging into his chest with a sated grin. He grinded his hip up into you, pain sparking up your body and forcing you away from him. "Sensitive."

His hand brushed down your back, slipping beneath your top to knead at your waist—a soothing rhythm pressed into your skin. A sigh escaped his lips as he settled deeper into the couch, clutching you closer than before. You knew where this would lead. How you'd wake up with him atop you on the couch, restricting you from movement.

That alone kept you from moving.

"Good day now baby?" Your words were whispered against his neck, your lips trailing down to his chest.

A small grin pulled at his lips - his thumb working a circle into your lower back. "Yeah honey. It's a good day now."

[queen-of-nightmare-16]

PEACE | Vander/Warwick X Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Threat • Injury • Mention of death • Brief mention of blood • Season 2 Spoilers! • Cuddling (BECAUSE THIS MAN DESERVES ONE!!)

PAIRING: Vander/Warwick X Fem Reader

SUMMARY: you were once Vander’s wife but believed he was dead after the cannery exploded. Now you’re staying at Viktor’s utopia hoping the machine herald can bring him back to you

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

——————————————————————————

The commune had been like a fever dream. That something so peaceful could exist in Zaun. Where everyone pulled their weight and shared resources and supplies without ulterior motives. It seemed like a paradise. It seemed too good to be true.

It was almost too much.

In just a couple of days — or was it even hours — your world had been turned upside down.

When Vi and Pow-- Jinx found you, you were both thrilled and sceptical. To see your adopted daughters together again. It certainly confusing to see that they somehow came back together again and with a little girl in tow but they had some information that nearly made your heart stop.

Vander … was alive!

A rasped pained laugh had been your response. It wasn’t possible. You heard the tale: Vander, your husband, died saving Vi. That was it, end of story. It broke you. So much so that you went searching for his body but found nothing. No doubt Silco had it thrown in the Pilt out of spite.

But Jinx was adamant. She claimed she fought some “version” of him in Stillwater, a beast, but it was still him. There was still something inside that recognised her. It was ludicrous. You had half a mind to tell them to leave and let you wallow in your loneliness. But your motherly urge clenched your heart; there was no way you could let them attempt to track this beast alone. Especially with a young child.

So you followed them, deep into the mines with spear in hand. Vi claimed they’d be safe thanks to her gauntlets but it provided you comfort. It had always been your weapon of choice.

After Vi and Jinx had their rather childish fight, the young girl who you had learnt was called Isha, received a bloody nose thanks to Vi’s elbow. You had wiped it clean with your sleeve, offering her a sweet smile as she sniffed but you all continued further in. Until your heart sunk completely when the ground rumbled. A distant roar surged fear through all your hearts, Jinx pushing Isha behind herself and Vi took a firm stance. Your knuckles became white clutching your spear; breath becoming staggered and fearful.

That when you saw it. A glimmer of red in the darkness, growing closer and brighter with every second; the ground trembling from its pounding fists. Jinx attempted to talk to it but nothing stopped its pursuit.

The sound of Vi’s gauntlet grabbing the beasts body before it could reach you caused the bioluminescent plants to light up and that when you became face to face with it. It’s blood red eyes were raging, a clawed paw stretched out desperately reaching out for Isha. It felt as if your heart was breaking all over again. There was an unrecognisable fury. This thing wanted to kill you all. How stupid it was to believe that this was him.

Vi became bloodied and bruised as she fought the beast, Jinx shielding Isha behind her with her gun raised. In a desperate attempt to save your daughter, you joined her in the fight; slashing and stabbing at its body. Yet it did little to nothing to halter it’s anger. It’s body healed at lightening speed.

This wasn’t a fight you could win.

It reared is large paw back, attempting to smite Vi in one swipe. Until you shoved her out of the way towards Jinx and took the hit yourself. It’s large arm smacked you away, your body surging through the air to slam into the wall. A yell rattled past your lips at impact, body feeling like it had just been shattered. You struggled to raise up to your feet until you realised the beasts attention had turned to your daughters. A glob of bloody spit from your mouth regained it, its crimson eyes glaring at your in a furious wrath. As your grip tightened on your snapped spear, you wielded it like you would a knife. You were ready to die here if it meant your girls could take the opportunity to escape. But Jinx halted your determination. She pleaded — no — begged for you to believe her. That this thing in front of you was the man you loved. Your eyes had shut, breathing slow as it leapt; its teeth bared ready to tear you apart.

But when you were face to face with it, so close that you could feel its breath on your cheeks, a sudden glimmer of familiarity befell you. A flicker of hope. Either way, it wasn’t stopping. So you took that chance. You tossed the broken weapon to the side and screamed his name.

Before you knew it, you were wrapped in its large arms. Eyes wide and breath shuddering, your hands slowly crept up to rest on its chest still unsure. But it wasn’t tearing you apart. Wasn’t disembowelling you with its claws. One of its pawed hands rested almost gently to the back of your head, pulling you tight to its body like it would be the last time. You almost wanted to free yourself from its grip out of fear. Until a low grumble from his jaws uttered a single word; causing a wave of tears to flow from your eyes like a waterfall. Your name.

It was him. It was your Vander.

And here you were. In Viktor’s small utopia; praying that this “herald” could heal your husband. Or return his mind to him fully. You cautiously watched Viktor exited from the greenhouse Vander had been designated to; the mechanical man slowly walking away in exhaustion.

“How long do you think this is gonna take?” Vi asked, staring at him in suspicion.

A deep breath heaved from your nose at her question. “I don’t know. In all my years I’ve never dealt with a ‘herald’ before,” you sighed tiredly. “I’ve never dealt with someone coming back from death either”.

“There’s a lot of things we haven’t dealt with,” Vi replied sadly.

She was right about that. It had been a small comfort to you, knowing that if Vander was gone his soul was finally at peace. But now here he was, back from the dead and twisted in his own body for whatever sick maniacal reason. Your brows furrowed in anger as a certain person invaded your mind. “I’ll kill Singed if I ever see him,” you swore, teeth coming close to grinding at the mere thought of that so called ‘scientist’.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Vi quipped, her soft small smile falling as quickly as it formed. “I’m gonna head to bed. You coming?”.

“I’m … I’m actually gonna go visit him. See how he’s doing,” you informed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. With a soft nod, Vi watched as you walked away towards the greenhouse.

There was still a wave of nervousness as you reached the door but it faded away when your gaze fell upon him. A few soft grunts huffed from his curled form, lying on the ground with a sorrowful look on face only for his head to perk up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you greeted, shutting the door behind you. Vander rose up slightly, watching you with his new mismatched eyes as you sat down next to his hulking figure. You offered him a honeyed smile, stretching your legs out and leaning back against a pillar. “Any … any change today?”.

Vander snorted sadly in response and glanced down to his paws. Your hand quickly stretched up to cup his jaw, turning him back to look at you; your thumb gently stroking against his cheek to sooth him. “It’s ok. There’s always tomorrow,” you hushed, blinking back a set of tears as he nuzzled into your hand.

You couldn’t help but take in his features, from the sharp fangs to the large ears that twitched at the slightest sound. It made your heart clenched; that sometimes in a certain light or a quick glance you could just see a glimmer of the man you loved.

Almost as if he could sense your change in mood, Vander’s eyes opened; staring at you with a tilt of his head that must’ve said ‘what’s wrong?’.

“I’m ok,” you sniffed. “I’m just glad to have you back”.

He seemed to think to himself, contemplating something before shuffling closer to your body. You waited with bated breath, curiously watching as he fell to his side and laid his head to rest on your lap, his back to you and gaze directed to your boots.

Though it brought a smile to your face. Your heart fluttering at the recreation of a moment you and Vander would often share before things went to hell. Whenever Vander was stressed after a long day he would rest his head in your lap, sighing in relief as your fingers would cascade through his brown locks. The two of you would talk for hours, about your day or whatever your were worried about. It was a quiet intimate experience between you two.

“Heh, just like old times. Ey, Vander,” you teased, raising your hand to comb through the fur on his head. Vander groaned out softly, immediately relaxing against you. “Remember when we used to do this when we were younger? You denied it from hell to high water … then Benzo walked in and wouldn’t shut up about it”.

There was a chuff like laugh from Vander as his paw rested itself against your knee, his breath coming out steadier. The both of you fell silent as you thought of your fallen friend. Of all your fallen friends. Benzo. Connol. Felicia.

Silco.

You didn’t have a clue if Vander even knew his brother had passed. You hadn’t found it in you to ask or tell him either. There was so much going on already you didn’t want to bring him more heartbreak. No matter what had happened between them, Silco would always be his brother. He knew Vander long before you did. They played together as kids, worked together as teens, planned a revolution together as men. You knew in some way Vander would be devastated.

With a sigh, you continued massaging his scalp. No point in telling him now. One thing at a time.

“When we’re done here, how about we go away? Leave the Lanes, leave the Undercity. Find somewhere peaceful, somewhere safe,” you suggested. “Tell only the girls where we are so they can visit”.

Vander awkwardly glanced over his shoulder, staring at you in confusion.

“You didn’t think I was just gonna leave ya, did you?” You playfully quipped.

“However many tries, however long it takes; I am gonna stay right by you side,” you promised, leaning down to place a kiss against his brow, his eyes fluttering shut in content. “Like I’ve always said: it’s me and you till the end, big guy”.

When the sun rose in the morning, Vi had woken to discover you were missing. Both Jinx and Isha were still sleeping together in a pile of blankets whilst your bed appeared neat and unslept in. She rose to her feet and made her way over to the greenhouse, carefully opening the door as quietly as she could. Only for her shocked face to fall into a slight smile.

Somehow in the night the two of you had shifted. You were now laid out on your side, sleeping the most peacefully you had in years. Vander’s large arm had placed itself over your waist, keeping you trapped against his large body; his breath tussling your hair every time he exhaled. His massive paw was clutched in both your hands, pulled tightly to your chest. There wasn’t a care in the world to the two of you.

Just peace.

Vi smiled and decided to leave you be, allowing you both to enjoy your own personal paradise for a little longer.

——————————————————————————

First time returning to Imagines/One Shots but what they did to this man broke my heart and I felt like writing something for the first time in ages. Riot, I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Vander!!!

[crushmeeren]

master list link touya art by birf.

༝ ᭝ ༝ this was written to be the counter part of bodyguard! katsuki by @with-my-calamitous-love ! ༝ ᭝ ༝

Bodyguard! Touya, who was a sketchy hire at best. Who your mafia boss of a Father discovered on a Craigslist ad. Who has a rap sheet a mile long, which is why he was chosen. It includes, but is not limited to; arson, grand theft auto, breaking and entering, assault, etc. Whose scars and piercings scare off any lingering, unwanted leering.

Bodyguard! Touya, who is so stupidly hot that it just pisses you off. Who’s aware you have a crush on him, even when you threaten to shove your hand down his throat to shut him up. Who jokes “don’t think I’d be too fond of your hand down my throat doll, but I’m all for you sittin’ on my face if you really wanna keep me quiet.” It absolutely does not make your belly flutter with a sweet, rich heat.

Bodyguard! Touya, who stays glued to your side once he’s “welcomed” into the family. Who follows you to the grocery store, to work. Who waits patiently outside in his car until you’re off shift. Who does not give you a damn inch of space when you go bar hopping, hovering like an overprotective Doberman, snapping at anyone who dares to venture too close.

Bodyguard! Touya, who wears a perpetual catlike grin, eyes full of amusement each time you bitch at him for being overbearing. Who secretly loves it when you’re mean to him, blood rushing south when your lip curls and you cuss him out. Who takes it in stride, teasing you relentlessly until your cheeks are flushed and you’re on the verge of slapping him across the face.

Bodyguard! Touya, who gets antsy and fidgety out of nowhere. Who, when he deems you safe with friends, will disappear for ten minutes, tops. When he returns it’s with bloody, busted knuckles and white hair sticking to sweaty temples. Who always pokes fun at you when your concern shows plainly on your features, reassuring you that “it’s nothing I can’t handle, doll. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Bodyguard! Touya, who, despite getting on your last nerve, never crosses a line. Who maintains a respectful distance between you, never touching you unless it’s dire. Who grows on you as you learn about his past. Who you catch smiling at you with soft eyes when you animatedly explain something to your friends. Who drives you insane when he tugs on a lock of your hair where it’s fallen loose, lids lowering, grinning lazily as the tension notches up between you.

Bodyguard! Touya, who one day goes to retrieve the car for you while you wait outside the entrance of a bar. Who appears out of thin air when a guy crowds in your personal space and grabs your ass. Who fists the guys collar from behind and throws him around the corner into an alley, beating him until he’s unconscious.

Bodyguard! Touya, who you shove up against that same alleyway wall and kiss until your lungs burn. Whose kisses are hot and slick, chasing you and sneaking his soft tongue into your mouth when you try to break apart and swallow some air. Who you make out with until you’re dizzy, until Touya pushes you in the direction of his car. Who can’t help himself and smacks your ass when you walk in front of him.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Bodyguard! Touya, who commands you to get into the back seat of his car. Who drives you to the first abandoned parking lot he can find before he joins you. Who manhandles you into straddling his thighs, cupping the back of your neck and coaxing you into another blistering kiss.

Bodyguard! Touya, who moans low in his throat when you grind down onto his stiff cock. Who reaches into his pants and readjusts himself until slick tip peaks out of his waistband. Who places his palms on your lower back, pressing his fingers into the muscle there and helps guide the slow roll of your hips.

Bodyguard! Touya, who surges up and sinks his blunt teeth into the side of your neck. Who leaves dark hickies in a chain along your throat, ignoring your breathy warning not to leave visible marks. Who murmurs in your ear “I don’t give a shit what your Father says, I want everyone to see you’re fuckin’ mine now.” Who roughly shoves his overly warm hands up the front of your shirt, under your bra, and squeezes handfuls of your tits.

Bodyguard! Touya, who doesn’t protest when you instruct him to recline against the door. Who lifts his hips, cooing at you in a patronizing tone when you yank his pants and briefs to mid thigh. Who pets your head as you settle between his thighs, laughing at your affronted expression. Who gasps in delight when you swallow his cock in one go, securing you in place with a hand to back of your head until your throat constricts around him.

Bodyguard! Touya, who gets impatient and pulls you off his cock, shaft shiny with your spit and twitching. Who sits up and, with slender fingers, helps free one leg from your pants, letting the rest dangle on your other ankle. Who shifts you both until you’re hovering on your knees over his lap, tugging off your shirt and bra. You complain about being entirely naked when he’s not even close, but he argues that he just needs to see your tits bouncing while you ride him.

Bodyguard! Touya, who grips your ass when you reach down to circle your fingers around his shaft, steadying him, and sink down onto his cock with ease. Who lets you rest your forehead on his, fisting the shirt covering his shoulders as you adjust to the new blood buzzing ache in your pussy.

Bodyguard! Touya, who lacks self control. Who urges you to move with a sharp smack to the ass. You get the message, hastily rising and sitting down until you find a decent rhythm that allows you to bounce. Who, after awhile, sinks lower into the seat, forcing you to sit up straight, and braces his feet. Who meets you thrust for thrust after that, moaning through his teeth when you cry out.

Bodyguard! Touya, who can’t shut up when your pussy starts to squeeze him. Who babbles “ah fuck, that’s it babygirl. You’re about to cum, yeah? Fuckin’ cum for me, I know that sweet pussy loves me.” Who fucks you through your first orgasm, having to bite down harshly on the knuckle of his pointer finger to last through the second one.

Bodyguard! Touya, who inhales sharply after the second time you cum, gritting his teeth and yanking you down with both hands on your waist as his own pleasure swells and bursts. Whose head thumps back onto the seat, his sweet moan of your name making your pussy tighten once more.

Bodyguard! Touya, who manages to get you redressed and into the passenger seat, still intent on bringing you home by your curfew. Who, before he puts the car in drive, takes hold of your jaw and leans across the console, leaving but an inch of space between you. Who smirks playfully and promises “next time I get you alone, I’m tastin’ that pussy. You’re gonna sit on my face, doll.” Who then winks and acts as if nothing happened, whistling as he begins the long journey back to your home.

Bodyguard! Touya, who leaves you dumbfounded and with a furious blush. Who annoys the ever loving shit out of you, but leaves you a bit too close to falling in love for your comfort.

[jobean12-blog]

Heart and Hand

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Marcus returns from battle bloodied and bruised and you help him get cleaned up.

Author's Note: It's fucking cold in NYC today. I'm already over it but I'm not over this man and since a nice hot bath would be amazing here we are! The term pteruge (which I hope is correct) is the skirt like garment the gladiators wear. Also, I read that the baths and pools were heated from hot springs below the floors-sounds good to me haha. I love this man all bloody and filthy and delicious. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: softness, fluffy moments, tension, the General is sweet as always but delicious, smut, p in v

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Ribbons of stem snake invitingly along the surface of the water but your eyes are focused elsewhere as you untie the leather straps along the sides of the General’s cuirass.

“So much blood,” you whisper, your fingers trembling.

“And not much of it mine,” he answers, grasping your chin between his two large fingers. “I assure you my lady. I’m not hurt badly.”

Your gaze meets his and you lift a hand to run your fingertips along his temple, dust now coating your skin and dried blood flaking to the floor.

“I’m going to make sure of it,” you tell him sternly even though your expression is soft.

“I look forward to it,” he teases as his chest plate loosens and he helps you remove it.

You suck in breath, having already unwrapped his forearms and neck, and now seeing most of beautiful skin littered with bruises and cuts.

He removes his belt and the pteruge of leather straps falls to the floor, revealing every inch of him.

“We can skip the bath…”

Your eyes make a slow perusal as you fingers dance up his chest and over his shoulder. You slide them down his arm to grasp his fingers before looking pointedly at the large tub.

He pouts but eases into the water nevertheless, grimacing as it stings his wounds.

His eyebrows lift and he tilts his head. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

Your smile is demure. “Not until I scrub you clean of all this sand and blood.”

He frowns and tugs on your fingers that are still clasped in his.

“You can do that from in the bath.”

You look down at the water, already muddied and rust colored. He tracks your gaze and let’s out a laugh, the sound warming you right down to your toes.

“As you wish my love. I suppose I can wait.”

You start with his face, gently rubbing off the dried blood then running your fingers through his hair and over his scalp, ridding it off all the dirt and grime.

His eyes fall closed, dark lashes wet and stuck together and resting against his cheeks.

With a soft kiss to his lips, you start on his neck and shoulders, careful to clean any cuts and scrapes before doing the same to his chest. When you get to his hands you place a kiss across each knuckle, your skin tingling with the anticipation of his touch.

You take special care with his legs, rubbing along the thick muscles in his thighs and calves until nothing mars his skin. Your pulse picks up in your throat when he shifts and bends his knees, and you can feel it race down the length of your spine and deep down into your stomach.

As your hands move up along his thighs you can feel him hard and heavy between. Hunger sharpens your focus, and you swallow back a moan.

“We have to drain all this dirty water,” you say.

He stands, the droplets of water running down his skin and tracing every dip and curve of muscle. You follow them, staring and he watches your gaze drop with every piece of him that’s revealed.

The need to touch him, feel his warmth and strength, pounds through you.

“Come here,” he says, his lips titling up as the bath refills with water, heated from the hot springs below the floor.

He reaches for you, his hands deft and sure as he unravels the cloth from your body.

“I will never tire of looking at you,” he murmurs, tongue wetting his lips and his eyes raking over your body.

His jaw tightens as he takes you in and through some immense force of his will, he lifts his eyes to focus on your face.

“Did bathing me make you wet my love?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Show me.”

You reach down and push a shaky hand between your legs and stroke yourself while he watches.

“I want a taste,” he growls.

Your hand pulls free, and you let it hover in front of his mouth, the slickness visible in the dim light.

You paint his lips until he parts them and then press two fingers inside. His tongue is warm and curls around your fingers. He holds you by the wrist and you can’t pull away as he sucks your fingertip, licking it like he would your clit, teasing you until your entire body aches.

He drags you closer, his body not yet touching yours, and whispers against your ear, “care to join me now my love?”

At your confirming whimper he takes your hand and helps you into the water, sitting and positioning you over his lap.

You hum out a sound of contentment and his hands glide up your thighs, callouses rough against your softness and his eyes fill with the need to touch every inch of your body and take all the time in the world to do it.

Your palm flattens against his chest, and you rock your hips, pulling a low growl from the back of his throat. Your hand dips lower, disappearing under the water to skim against his hardness, squeezing.

His large thumbs move across your nipples, rolling and pinching before his hands slide down the curve of your spine, and beneath the water to cup your ass and pull you harder against him.

You stroke your fingers down the length of his cock, and he hisses, dragging your mouth down to his in a grazing, taunting kiss.

Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and then he grabs you, crushing your bodies together. The water sloshes over the sides of the tub and your fingers comb through his silken hair, dragging along his scalp.

He moans your name and inches his face away, only enough to meet your eyes, but your lips still touch, feather light. With his gaze locked on yours he slides his hand from your ass down between your legs, finding you even wetter.

A swear leaves his lips and he brushes his fingers over you again, teasing, and slow, before he draws them back and positions you over his cock, eyes glittering with predatory intent.

You frame his face with your hands and close the small distance between you, kissing him with desperation. The broad tip of his cock nudges your entrance, and he reaches down to guide himself inside you.

He eases in, just an inch, keeping you hovering above him with his hands on your hips. He trembles, halting and kissing you softer now, sweet, as he slowly pushes into you.

“Look at me,” he breathes.

And you do.

You can’t take your eyes off him. Find yourself free-falling into his darkened eyes and beautiful face.

His hips flex, and he slides in another inch, then retreats nearly to the edge. Eyes never leaving yours, he sets a steady but slow pace, stretching you and filling you.

The water continues to fall over the sides of the tub, flooding the floor and wetting your garments. Neither of you notice and your nails dig into his shoulders as his grip turns bruising.

“I could fuck you for days,” he murmurs against your lips.

And you want him to.

But your release builds and you squeeze around him, earning a low sound of need to fall from his lips. One large hand drifts between your legs, his thick finger drawing a tight circle over your clit and you can barely stand it.

His restraint shatters and he thrusts up hard and deep, fucking you until you’re crying out and he falls with you, your name a chant on his lips.

He holds you close, your hearts beating wildly in rhythm and all you can do is breathe. When you lift your head from his neck your next breath catches in your throat.

You see the words in his eyes, the same ones you know lay in your own, the same ones you’ve said a million times. He dips his head, brushing his mouth along one cheek, then the other. You close your eyes, savoring in the feel of his lips on your over-hot skin. Every gentle kiss echoes the words that lay unspoken between you.

[ellecdc]

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing, I’ve binged like all of your fics 😂. If possible could you do maybe a poly!moonwater x reader where said reader maybe gets hurt (maybe someone says something negative about Remus and she gets hurt defending him?) I just absolutely adore your moonwater fics! And when Barty gets involved is hilarious. thank you so much! No pressure if you don’t feel the Inspo for it!

I've not written for moonwater in a while, so this was a sweet treat! thanks for your request, lovie <3

poly!moonwater x gn!reader who defends Remus' honour

CW: Snape's a wanker in this and we hand his ass to him for it [sorry to my Snape apologists out there - don't hate me!], alluding to blood but no actual mention of it? small injury to hand, Regulus sharing Sirius' DNA trait for mischief

You sucked in a pained breath through your teeth which was quickly replicated by your boyfriend in some sort of weird comradery.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry dove.” Remus murmured softly as he continued dabbing gently at the broken skin on your knuckles. 

“S’not your fault.” You mumbled petulantly as you tried to ignore the stinging of every swipe he made; the once pristine white cloth now quite decorated in red. 

Remus snorted as he eyed you pointedly before affixing his gaze back to your hands. “It sounds as if it sort of was.” 

It was your turn to snort as you glared at the wall behind Remus as if it had been the one making derogatory comments in the halls a mere ten minutes ago. “You’re not the wanker who was begging to be punched.”

Remus shook his head in admonishment, but you could feel the [painful] puffs of air dancing across your open wounds as he breathed out a laugh. “He’s going to be furious, you know?”

Remus didn’t clarify who he was, but he didn’t need to. “Yeah well, if you would bloody hurry up and cast an episkey on this already, he’d never have to know.” You taunted only half teasingly [and half very nervously about how long it was taking to close up the few scrapes lining your hands from your minor scuffle]. 

Unfortunately, he walked in through the door before Remus had finished patching you up.

“What in the bloody hells is this I’m hearing about a brawl between you and Snape?” Regulus demanded with a stoney face as he stalked towards your form; face falling as your hands came into his view.

“Amour! What in Salazar’s name- On dirait que tu as combattu un nundu.” 

“Okay, well, I think that’s a little dramatic.” You deflected quickly at the insinuation that you walked away from a fight with a nundu with nothing but a few cuts and scrapes to your knuckles to show for it.

“Dramatic?” Regulus drawled as he levelled you with an unimpressed look. “I’m not the one who jumped another student in the hallways after Potions! And Snape of all people; you know to ignore his usual drivel, amour.”

You shared a guilty look with Remus who gave you a sad smile. 

“It wasn’t the usual drivel, Reg.” Remus offered, causing Regulus’ breath to leave him which he had at the ready, no doubt, to continue his admonishment. 

“I didn’t think that sod had the brain cells left to come up with anything new.” He offered noncommittally, causing Remus to snort a laugh. “Still, sweetheart; I’d really prefer you just ignore him.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore a tosser who has the audacity to speak about my, quote, half-blood half-breed freak and his blood-traitor servants who he no doubt imperio’d to be with him?” You challenged; tone both soft yet firm as you looked at Regulus imploringly. 

Regulus stood there staring back at you before you noticed his jaw tighten. “Bâtard.” He spat as he looked down to where Remus was sitting on a footstool in front of you as he finished wrapping your hands. 

“He’s just jealous that he can’t find one person to put up with his black hair and brooding personality, let alone two.” 

“Did Regulus Black just make…not only a joke, but a joke at his own expense?” You teased as you kicked one of your feet out at him, only for him to catch you by the ankle and run his thumb over your ankle bone. 

“Of course I did; I’m hilarious.” Regulus agreed in monotone causing both you and Remus to chuckle. 

“You’re all fixed up, dovey.” Remus announced as he stood, bending to press a kiss on your head before pressing one to Regulus’ too. “No more fights at my expense, okay?”

“Can I fight at Regulus’ expense?” 

“No.” Both boys chorused, though Remus pointed at himself as he nodded and mouthed “tell me first”. 

“So, where can I find Snape now?” Regulus asked as he dropped your ankle, earning him unimpressed looks from both of you. “What? I’m not going to go find him, I just need to tell Barty where he can find him.”

“Junior doesn’t give a niffler’s arse about what Snape has to say about me, Reggie.” Remus admonished as he leaned against the headboard of his four poster bed. 

“Perhaps not.” Regulus agreed readily before his gaze moved to meet yours; the horrifying glimmer of mischief present in his icy grey eyes sending shivers down your spine. “But he will care to know that his precious Treasure lost blood over that foul git.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You hissed.

But Regulus had already turned on his heel and was rushing out of the marauder’s dorm room; as you stood to chase him, two arms wrapped an iron grip around your middle and pulled you flush to his chest. 

“No more fights, dovey.” Remus murmured into your neck as he pulled you back into his bed with him.

“I’d only be fighting our sodding boyfriend! You know I’d win!” You whined petulantly, though your body traitorously melted into Remus’ frame as he nuzzled impossibly further into your neck. 

“No more fighting.” He repeated.

So you acquiesced; you stopped fighting and fully allowed yourself to be cuddled by your half-blood half-breed boyfriend that you were so unbelievably and willingly in love with.

[novemberheart]

{overview} You and your pack navigate through your heat

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, MDNI, sexual content, mating & marking, p in v sex, multiple partners, cursing

Chapter 32 <- Chapter 33 -> Chapter 34

You weren't quite sure if you had even been so well cared for in your life. If you had- it felt minuscule compared to this.

Your alpha and betas had set up John's bedroom to accommodate you. They moved your bed into John’s room, pushing your bed with his to make one large one.

You weren't even sure if you needed the pills to spur on your heat. They were doing a good job with that already.

You could tell Kyle was livid. While he was in better physical condition- out of a sling and cast, he still wasn't cleared to lift heavy objects or do anything too strenuous. He settled for stocking the bedroom up with your favorite snacks, and drinks, while also helping you collect items around the house to build your nest with. To him, it felt small, but to you, it meant the world.

The pill looked big even in Kyle’s large hand.

“What if it doesn't work? I'm not good with heats anywa”-

“‘Nough of that, my love,” Kyle cut you off. You were perched on his good knee, his arms holding you as close to him as possible. He brushed some stray hairs away from your face. “Being a bit irregular with your heats means absolutely nothing and I wish we could get that through your pretty head,” Kyle sighed, his lips pressing against your temple in emphasis. John hummed in agreement, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. You would need all the nutrients you could get.

“He’s right, sweet girl,” John sighed. He handed you the glass, bending over the couch, his lips pecking yours. “Bloody perfect,” he mumbled. You maintained eye contact when he pulled away, the look in your eyes making him groan. “Save that for Simon.”

“I want you to mark me too,” you whined. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles white against the couch.

“Can’t say no to that, John,” Kyle begged softly, his own brown eyes pleading. “The doctor said it would be alright if you stayed with her,” Kyle reminded. “The smell of you will help. You're both their alphas,” Kyle continued, referencing you and Simon.

“He snapped at me earlier”- John began to remind.

“Because you tried to take her from me,” Simon spoke, causing you to jump. “I don't mind sharing, as long as it’s an equal give and take,” Simon kept his eyes on you as he spoke. You whined softly, shifting on Kyle’s knee. You took a deep breath and grabbed the pill from Kyle’s hand, popping it into your mouth with one fluid motion.

“Are betas invited to this?” Johnny breathed from the doorway.

That would only be fair.

You would think eight hands would be enough. Yet not one of them seemed to dull the fire in your belly.

“How ya’ doing, pet?” Simon hummed. His mouth hadn't left your shoulder, trying to find where his mark would look best on you. He made sure to avoid John’s spot, the alpha grumbling when he even came close to it. You were sprawled out on top of Kyle- a panting and whiny mess.

“I’m hot,” you whined. Johnny's hands were the first to reach you, preferring to yank at your shorts than the tank top you were wearing. Kyle chuckled beneath you, his hands moving gently up your sides, pinching the hem between his fingers.

“This alright, lovie?” he hummed softly. You nodded quickly, sitting up so you were straddling his waist.

“Go slow,” Simon groaned, his hands expanding over every inch of skin Kyle uncovered as he pulled your tank top over your head. “Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed softly. The others had hardly any time to enjoy the sight before Simon was pushing you back against Kyle, hovering over both of you. John stopped Johnny from pressing himself between the two of you, by rolling atop the excited hound.

“Just enjoy the show,” John murmured against his heated cheek. “Yes?”

“Yes, alpha,” Johnny agreed, his eyes already narrowing on you. John rolled onto his side, Johnny's ass pressed firmly against the growing bulge in his pants. You clawed at Kyle’s shirt, the fabric tearing under your nails. You kept the torn shirt in bed, the soft fabric making decent nesting material. His warm skin still felt cold against you, your omega purring softly at the contact.

Simon's hand gripping the waistband of your shorts caught your attention. He paused, waiting for the go-ahead. You wiggled your hips in response, pushing back hoping to catch any sort of friction. He grumbled something low in his throat, pushing you back down against Kyle. He finished what Johnny had started, pulling your shorts down your legs. His hands massaged their way back up your legs, his thumbs digging into the sore flesh. His hand dipped between your legs giving your inner thigh a rough squeeze.

“My mark have to go on ‘er shoulder?” Simon hummed, bending down just enough for his teeth to graze over your bottom.

“Nobody’ll see it there,” Kyle hummed a lazy smirk across his face. His fingers ran up and down your sides, making you erupt in goosebumps.

“Cannae have that,” Johnny mumbled. Johnny's hands had twisted themselves in John's shirt to stop himself from digging into your softness. Simon's fingers brushed over your clothed heat, a small gasp escaping you. You buried your face in Kyle's neck, your thighs twitching around Simon’s hand.

“Soaked through the fabric,” He mumbled, his thumb swirling experimentally. Johnny groaned loudly, John pressing him further into the mattress. Your scent had already switched a flip in the beta's brains, their breathing syncing with yours, the room filling with soft, needy pants. You whined, your hips raising away from Kyle's, your ass high in the air. “That’s it, sweet girl,” Simon muttered. His thumb pressed down, finally giving you the pressure you were chasing. A breathy moan left your lips, Kyle's hips shifting below you at the noise.

Simon pulled his hand away.

“No,” you grumbled, your hand catching his wrist. He pulled away quickly, his hands pushing yours back down towards Kyle.

“Be a good girl,” Simon warned, his hand heading back between your thighs. Simon's finger wrapped around your panties beginning to pull them down your legs. Slow enough to torture you, but fast enough to give you hope. Kyle's hand collided with your bottom made you jolt, your shriek being cut off with a moan. His hands pressed against you, stopping the sting before it had even arrived.

“Couldn’t help it,” Kyle apologized against your ear. “Should see my bloody view,” he grumbled, his teeth catching your ear. His hands flung to your thighs, spreading them apart for Simon. The sudden movement leaves you completely exposed. Johnny ran his fingers over Kyles, his mouth watering at the way you pooled around Kyles fingers due to his strong grip.

A large hand rested on Johnny’s lower stomach, making his breath hitch. His hips instinctively rolled upwards, the tightness in his boxers bordering on painful.

“Doing so good, hound,” John murmured in his ear, his hand finally dipping below his waistband. He made no move to wrap around his cock, instead favoring scratching up Johnny’s thighs.

Simon's thumb slipped between your folds. His thumb running up and down your bundle of nerves slowly, applying more pressure than your body may have been ready for. You gasped out a moan, your hips trying to pull away. You would've succeeded had Kyle not held you in place.

“Too much,” you whined. You bit down on Kyle’s shoulder, growling against his skin.

“So sensitive,” Kyle groaned, against your cheek. He raised his head, biting you back.

“Simon,” you whimpered out. You were torn. One second you were pushing yourself back against his hand, the next moment you were trying to squirm out of Kyle’s grasp. “Kyle,” you added. The beta groaned underneath you, giving your thighs a squeeze.

“What do you want me to do, lovie?” he hummed,

“Make him slow down,” you panted, your eyes nearly in the back of your head.

“Just take what your alpha has to give you, love,” Kyle whispered against your head. Your mouth fell open at his words, the pressure in your lower stomach building at a rapid pace.

“I’m not ready to cum,” you babbled. That made Simon stop. You could feel him before you could see him, his large body draping over you and Kyle.

“Not ready?” he mumbled. His lips pressed against your heated cheek, breathing in your scent deeply. You quickly nodded your head. “How about comin’ around a cock?” he mumbled. His words affected everyone, each of them letting out a groan or a gasp. You could only manage a nod. “Words, sweet girl,” He grumbled.

“Yes, please,” you panted.

“Might know someone who could help you with that,” Simon mumbled, his scruff rubbing against your shoulder as he pulled you up by wrapping a strong arm around your middle. One of his hands rested against your stomach, your thighs shaking around Kyle’s hips. Simon's other grabbed yours, guiding them to the band of Kyle’s sweats. Kyle's breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling quickly. Your hands ran over the dark curly hair on his lower stomach, your fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. Kyle groaned as he was finally set free, the tip of his cock resting against his belly button. Your mouth fell open again. He was intimidatingly long. While he didn't match John or Johnny in girth, no spots inside you would go untouched after him.

“Kyky,” you whined, growing nervous. He shushed you gently, leaning up to hold you against his chest. Hands were on you in an instant, rubbing soothing circles against your soft skin.

“We’ll go as slow as you need to, princess,” Kyle murmured, brushing your hair away from your heated cheeks. “If you still want to,” he added, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. You nodded your head. You did want to continue, you just didn't want to make a fool out of yourself.

“Slow?” you mumbled back.

“Slow,” he affirmed. You rested your head against his shoulder, your eyes meeting Johnny’s. He leaned forward, his lips capturing yours. Kyle whined when Simon wrapped a large hand around his cock, tapping his tip against your soaked folds making you gasp. Johnny let go of you, settling back against John, both men watching you for any signs of discomfort- or pleasure. Kyle's hands remained on you, keeping you grounded and soothed. Simon guided him to your entrance, precum already staining your pretty folds. He pushed in gently, both of you gasping as he pushed past your tight seal.

“Fuck,” Kyle grumbled, his lips pressing against yours to distract him from the warmth enveloping his tip. You moaned against him, your hips pushing themselves down. You don't know what you were worried about. Every inch was pure bliss as he rolled his hips against yours, slowly splitting you open. You pulled away, sitting up suddenly. The new angle giving everyone a perfect view of his throbbing cock losing itself inside you. You whined, your claws scratching against his hips, trying not to break skin. Your eyes trained between your thighs, Simon's hands holding your hips steady. You were nearly there, just a few more inches. “Fuckin’ perfect,” Kyle growled, his thumb running over your clit, using the same movement Simon had. You tightened even more around him, the action making him stop. “Open up for me baby,” he purred, taking all the power away from you as he rested his hands on your side, pushing you down further on his cock.

You were praised when you finally sunk down, your cunt nestled against his sparse curly hair.

“So deep,” you whined, your knees already beginning to give up.

“So deep,” Kyle repeated. If he wasn't so enamored with the sight before him, his eyes would be in the back of his skull. You fit him like a fucking glove, every inch and vein finding the perfect home in your suffocating heat. He couldn't stop himself anymore. He sat up, strong arms wrapping around your middle, using the leverage to pull you down against his chest, his hips rolling out of you in one fluid motion. You didn't have time to dwell on the suddenly empty feeling, because he rolled back into you making your vision go spotty. You cursed, your nails digging into his arms causing the skin to break. Neither one of you could care. You joined his rhythm quickly, the two of you panting and whining like animals. Your hands pressed against his chest, pushing his back down against the mattress, fucking yourself on his cock.

The room was silent besides the two of you, everyone too enraptured to even move.

“Just like that, lovie,” Kyled encouraged, using his hips to guide you when you lost your rhythm. You were begging now. Physically and verbally.

“Please, Ky,” you nearly sobbed. “I need”-

You cut yourself off with a moan, not able to focus on anything other than the drag of his cock against your walls. Your lower half had given out, your forehead resting against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind though, his hips picking up right where you left off- better actually. Simon's hand rested on your stomach, slowly traveling lower like he was trying to please you without interrupting. His middle finger rolling over your clit was the final nail in your coffin.

You came hard- all of your senses shutting off. Pleasure coursing through your veins with such relentlessness you couldn't do anything but sob out.

“No, no, no,” Kyle growled as your hips tried to escape his grasp, he held you down, his own hips leaving the bed with how deep he buried himself inside you. The only thing you could feel was sudden warmth unloading itself inside you. It wasn't a knot, but it was enough to satiate the clawing urge inside you, your cunt absorbing as much as it could from him. He flopped against the bed, holding you close. He had never felt so lifeless yet alive at the same time. His own body quivered at the intense high.

You couldn't feel anything except Kyle. You couldn't quite tell where you ended and he started. Every twitch, groan, and mumble felt like it could be yours. You could feel lips against you. A pair on the back of your arms, a pair on your shoulder, and a pair on your forehead. You could instantly recognize John’s hand on your lower back, your omega purring happily deep within the chamber of your chest. His hand rested against your cheek, his thumb running under your wet eyes.

“You both did so good,” he murmured, making both of you preen. They were shocked actually, that Kyle was able to perform as well as he had, given the condition he was in just a couple of weeks ago. Simon rested against the two of you, half on his side, half draped over you.

A lazy smile etched your face when Johnny began to kiss against your jaw.

“Mac,” you mumbled. Your leg extended forward, wanting to be near him. Instead, your leg skimmed against a wet spot in his boxers. He grumbled quietly, a hazy look in his eyes. You peered down, coming in contact with the mess he had made in his boxers. Wasn't his fault John was stroking him in time with Kyle’s thrusts. You whined at the loss, pulling at his boxers, thick, white ropes staining his skin and the red fabric.

“Why’re you whining?” he questioned, teeth nipping just below your ear.

“Could’ve come in me,” you whined, looking at him through your wet lashes. He groaned, his forehead bumping against yours.

“You were a bit full at the moment, peaches,” he reminded, his lips quirking. Kyle’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “I can give ya’ more if you stop pouting,” Johnny soothed, his hand flattening over your back. “As long as it’s alright with the alphas,” Johnny smirked, rubbing his cheek against yours, coming face to face with Simon.

Simon's eyes scanned over to John like it was a decision that needed discussing.

“She needs all the prep she can get for you,” John hummed. Simon grinned like a shark. You were too high for the words to even register.

“Have at it, pup,” Simon sighed. Johnny breathed in relief, grabbing you by your thighs and maneuvering you to spot he had previously occupied. He rested over you, peeling off his shirt, which you quickly stole out of his hands, rubbing your cheek against. He smiled down at you, kicking his boxers to the floor. He pressed your knees together, kissing each of them before hooking your legs onto his arms. You giggled, the stretch actually feeling quite nice on your achy legs.

He ran the head of his cock through your folds, Kyle's spend already beginning to seep out of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he began to bully himself inside of you.

“Steamin’ hell, you even open her up Garrick?” Johnny groaned through gritted teeth. You accepted him greedily, your walls clamping around him like a vice. Kyle was too blissed out to be mad, Simon speaking for him when his hand collided with Johnny’s ass. His hips stuttered, a not-so-surprising groan escaping his lips. If he wasn't spreading you out in all the right places you would've laughed. “Fuckin’”- Johnny cut himself off, his mouth attaching to your neck and chest, leaving teeth marks and slobber in his path. “Mine,” he growled against your ear, your head being pushed into the soft pillows. His hips were harsh, the force of it making the headboard collide with the wall. Simon's hand rested on Johnny’s neck, pulling the eager mouth away from you.

It was then he saw it. The perfect spot for his mark. It was across from where John wanted to put his. High enough on your neck where it could be seen with almost any shirt and had just enough room so the mark could be seen from behind and front. His mouth watered at the sight. Must've been why John picked a similar place.

“Don’t stop,” Simon growled against Johnny’s temple. Simon leaned over his teeth nipping at the skin. You had an immediate reaction judging by the way Johnny groaned.

“Alpha,” you gasped, your hands not being able to decide between gripping onto him or Johnny. You settled for both, throwing your head as far back as you could to allow him the space he needed.

He ran his tongue over the sensitive spot, taking a deep breath.

His fangs sunk into the skin with ease.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed! SIMON FINALLY DID IT! See you 🫵 in four days for chapter 34! 🧡

[manicpixievixen]

Open arms

Jason todd x gn!reader one-shot

Warnings: None really, the reader is still referred to as smaller than Jason and wearing a 'small pajama set', but other than that, it can be read as any gender.

Summary: Another one of Redhoods visits to your place, and he was always welcome. You give Jason a little talk about what you are to each other.

Wc: 2.1k masterlist

Jason had been stopping by your apartment for so long you could barely pinpoint the day it'd started. Like clockwork at increasingly late hours of the night, he would climb in through a purposefully open window and make his way inside. Sometimes getting caught in the drapes and hoping you hadn't noticed him clumsily swatting them away like a cat with its claw stuck in the window screen.

The memory of how this routine started was almost blurry in your head. It was so normal now, expected even. You'd known Jason separately from redhood for a while. One night, he couldn’t be bothered to go home and change just to keep his alter ego in hiding. You'd freaked out at the supposed stranger in your house before he took off the mask. And then it just kept happening.

Tonight was no different. In fact, if he hadn't shown up, you would've been concerned considering his recent consistency.

He grumbled some obscenities at the curtains that had gotten caught around him once again with the help of a gust of wind from the open window. Then once he'd escaped he stared down at the welcome mat you'd placed under the window, an amused sigh escaping from under the deep red helmet that's so often hiding his face.

He guessed maybe you'd gotten tired of his boots dirtying the floor when he visited, but not tired of him.

He limped ever so slightly as he left his boots behind on the little mat you'd layed out, moving towards the couch and shedding his helmet and gloves once he got there. They were supposed to protect him, but his bloodied knuckles said otherwise. Later, it would make you question just how overboard he could get on anger alone. You'd supposed it wasn't quite a problem in your circumstance, Jason almost made too much of an effort to be gentle on your part. He settled into the couch, not feeling too ashamed to be the occasional freeloader.

You emerged from your bedroom, having heard him curse a couple of times on his way in. “You need somethin’?” You asked quietly, entering with a blanket still wrapped around you. Formal greetings were long gone between the two of you.

He looks up at you, eyes half lidded. “Food.” His tone is tired. He's happy to see your face, the first friendly one in a while. He wonders if eventually he might poison your sweet attitude towards him, just by being around you, like maybe you might realize he's horrible and broken and not so apologetic for his actions as red hood.

"Please?" You ask, wrapping your blanket tighter around you as you look at his pale blue eyes for a response. He smiles at your encouragement, muttering a quiet but gruff ‘please’

You left him to settle down, returning with a plate for him. Nothing special at this hour, a sandwich would do. "Thanks." He spoke, taking the plate from your hands and practically shoving half of the sandwich in his mouth, from what you could observe he hadn't eaten all day.

"No one's gonna take it from you Jay." he'd forgotten how long he'd been waiting to hear that nickname again.

Jason freezes, he mumbles something unintelligible with a full mouth, finally swallowing and clearing his throat before replying. "Yeah, well. You never know in this city."

You'd been settled beside him, picking up his red hood helmet and inspecting it. As he ate his food, you slipped it on yourself. At first, he was going to ask you to take it off, and he still might. But you looked oddly cute with it, accompanied by a small pajama set.

He visibly looked you up and down, placing the plate down on the coffee table. His usual frown had softened slightly along with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Cute.” He finally mumbles, quiet as his eyes wander before meeting your own again.

"Really?" You ask, sort of encouraging, as if to tell him,'say that again.' He rolled his eyes at that, but his softened frown turned into a smirk pretty quickly. He shifted on the couch, pulling you to sit on his lap. His larger frame easily engulfed your smaller one as he held you.

One of his hands slowly traced the curve of your hip, sneaking under the hem of your sleep shorts just a little bit. “Yeah, really.” his eyes showed he meant it.

You reached both hands up to pull the helmet off, messing up your hair a little when you did so. “Things fucking uncomfortable.” You discarded it on the opposite side of the couch, enjoying your spot in his lap.

His hand moved to your hair, attempting to untangle a few pieces, pushing them away from your face. It eventually turned into a gentle caress of your cheek. “you looked cute though.” He teased, holding your hips gently and helping you straddle his lap, legs on either side of his thighs.

"What are you doing Jason?" You hadn't asked it like you were oblivious to his intentions or innocent. Just a sort of reality check, you'd been teetering on the edge of friends with benefits for a while. You were okay with letting him come and wind down and feel safe. You wanted him to be okay, but it was going to be rough if you only ever saw him during these times. Especially if you started really seeing each other.

He slung an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and keeping you in place on his lap. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He said above a soft whisper, but he couldn't possibly put your current situation into words. There wasn't ever going to be a good answer for what you had or would have with him.

"Blurring the lines?" You'd offered, even though you were absentmindedly doing the same, picking up his hand and running your fingers over his bruised and bloody knuckles.

He watched as your smaller hand held his own, his rough and battered knuckles meeting your soft skin. The contrast sent something through him, something he needed to feel more often. “maybe.” He mumbled in response. He'd tried to pull his hand away slowly. The feeling was nice, but something deeply rooted in his chest made him cringe at the way you were so soft on him, like he didn't need that treatment.

You'd noticed, telling him not to, by bringing that same hand up to your lips and leaving a soft kiss on each knuckle, your eyes not leaving his.

Jason swallowed hard at the continued soft feeling. There was a hint of something vulnerable in the usually stoic expression he wore. His lips parted slightly, trying to let out words that were caught in his throat, leaving an almost whimper in their place. He allowed his eyes to close for a second, his other hand gently exploring your thigh.

"Jay," you said quietly, as you dropped his hand and picked up the other, repeating the same actions. "You can come in here every night and blur the lines until there isn't any," you whispered, "but you better make some time to be something other than a visitor.” Jason's eyes moved with your lips as you spoke, tensing up underneath your warm body, his hand twitching at your careful touch. He swallowed again, his gaze continued to follow your lips, then back to your eyes.

His voice was a bit hoarse as he spoke. “I will.” His hands continued to rub up and down your thighs. You pushed yourself off of him. He'd almost let out a whine at the sudden lack of contact.

“go shower.” You mumbled, pressing your lips to his cheek. He sighed, reluctantly getting up.

“Bossy.” He mumbled in response, heading towards the bathroom, already pulling his shirt up as you relished in the sight of his muscular back. It was adorned in a couple of faded scars. You liked to trace your fingers over them in the darkness of your room.

"This is my house." You justified, beginning to walk back to your bedroom. You knew he would find you there when he was finished. He rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see it.

"Then maybe you should show some hospitality." He teased, his voice slightly muffled by the sound of the running water.

The hot water was no match for your soft touch, but it still felt soothing to his sore muscles. His mind, however, was still somewhat occupied with your earlier words, going back to the feeling of your lips against his knuckles and your weight on his lap, and how your thighs felt resting against his own.

He left the washroom with a pair of sweats on and his hair sending water droplets down his toned chest. Jason paused outside the bedroom door, his hand hovering over the handle for a brief moment before he slowly opened it. He could see your figure laying on the bed, still awake, a lamp casting the most flattering warm light across your skin.

You lifted the blanket up, patting the spot beside you. Most times, he would sleep on the couch or leave before morning. Because of course, the odd relationship between you two was complicated. Sure, he'd spent a few nights on and off in your room, only in times where the city streets had been truly horrible to him. But you'd offered… He took a few slow steps forward, approaching the bed and joining you under the covers, accepting your invitation.

"Much better." You told him, running a hand through his damp hair, you'd always loved the bleached streak amongst the dark waves. He let out a barely audible grumble, shivering involuntarily at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. Jason shifted, turning to properly face you. One of his hands returning to his favourite spot on your hip.

"You gonna come over some time that isn't some odd hour of the night?" You asked, continuing the talk from earlier. "Maybe not leave before morning?”

Jason's grip on your hip tightened at the question, his eyes darting away for a brief moment before he looked at you again. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he thought, shifting forward and resting against the crook of your neck, his lips gently pressing against your skin. "Maybe." He mumbled against your neck, almost as if to hide his face while his other hand continued tracing your body.

"I'm serious, Jay." You said, all but ignoring his hand grasping underneath your shirt."If this is all it's gonna be, it's not gonna be anything for much longer.”

His body shivered at those words, and he pushed himself farther into the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. He understood what you meant, and yet, admitting he did would make things so much more complicated. He liked the way you were with him now. He didn't need to change that. "I know." His words a whisper against the skin of your neck, his hand continuing to roam under the loose cotton of your sleep top.

"Next time I see you, better not be twelve at night in that goddamned mask." You said, holding onto his wrist, stopping his hand under your shirt so he would look at you.

He stilled again, letting you stop him. The beauty of your dynamic was the way he could rip his arm away in one action if he wanted to, but he would let you hold him down like this. He took in a sharp breath before sighing, lifting his head from your shoulder. His eyes met yours for the tenth time tonight. His blue stare held a guilty expression. "I'll try." He mumbled.

"You will." You agreed, dropping his wrist.

His eyes stayed locked onto yours, his expression still a mix of guilt and something foreign. He swallowed hard. "Promise." He whispered, his voice still hoarse. You nodded in acknowledgment at him, less serious now that the two of you had that talk.

His shoulders slumped, letting the tension of the discussion go. Easing upon seeing your approving nod. He very gently pulled your figure closer to him, muscular arms making contact with the small of your back. He rested his head on top of your own, burying his nose in your hair, taking in a now very recognizable scent.

It was his choice now, to return as Jason again. No red hood in sight. Through the door this time and not the window. You hadn't seen his old self in a long while. He knew either way he'd be welcomed with open arms, it was just a matter of what you were to each other.

[alessabriel]

Female Characters Arcane

Summary: 

Character: Vi (Violet), Sevika, Jinx (Powder), Caitlyn Kiramman, Mel Medarda, Grayson, Ambessa Medarda, Renata Glasc, Cassandra Kiramman. 

Cw. ninguna. 

➤  Vi (Violet).

In retrospect Vi had always been the strong one in everything, there was so much she carried inside her that sometimes she felt nothing short of exploding so hard and imploding until she disappeared. She didn't know if she felt like a supernova in moments, maybe she was exploding and never knew it or so she thought until she felt herself melting against soft hands, long fingers, slightly calloused fingertips, manicured nails and such a delicious feeling that shook her from bone to muscle. She felt boneless, naked, exposed, vulnerable and muscles exposed to the open air, naked nerves, nerves that you caressed so sweetly letting everything inside her melt and stir in an amalgam of comfort, warmth and coziness. It was cozy, it felt good to be comforted, cared for. It felt good, cared for, loved, adored even and it was embarrassing how she pushed her face into your chest; rubbing her cheek against the softness, bewitching herself in your scent, clinging to your body and wrapping her arms around your hips, squeezing in the hope that you wouldn't disappear.

"Because you love me so much pretty girl?"

He doesn't know why he asks, he just does, because he doesn't think he deserves so much love (if he does, he deserves it so much that you consider it almost a crime that he doesn't believe it).

"Because it's you, I love you from head to toe, the satisfying or unsatisfying feelings included, when you come home from a boxing league fight in Zaun with bloody knuckles, when I see you come home from work in that uniform I know you still hate, when you wake up with your hair a mess and in a bad mood, when you sleep, when you think you're not presentable, as a teenager and right now, I can't imagine myself anywhere else but next to you Vi" you recite with such ease, syrupy words rolling off your tongue with such sweetness and ease that they seem like honey, as you gently cradle her cheeks between your palms adoring her features; slightly bushy eyebrows, bright powder blue eyes, deceptively long eyelashes, nose just a little crooked from his countless fights, the small scar that gently parts his left eyebrow, the nose piercing, slightly plump lips and the scar on his upper lip, the tattoo on his cheek of a Roman six, the freckles that so subtly dot his skin"....I love everything about you Violet, I always will, until you let me."

Vi didn't pretend that this answer didn't completely disarm her; bone by bone, nerve by nerve until she felt almost dissected by every word and how your love seeped like water through her fingers, your loving gaze was only the last nail that cemented her love for you. Your love was intense when self-sabotage was at her fingertips and nightmares made her believe she was unloved, it was soft and gentle when she felt discouraged and decided, overwhelming when she felt needy and could not express it, violent when she refused to hear that she was loved. If you loved her you filled every nook and cranny, and helped her to get through, to move on and go on. You simply knew how to meticulously dissect her, skin layer by skin layer, muscles, bones, joints and veins to sneak your love in. You disassembled her to an almost molecular degree or could be compared to it. So, she just hid her face in her partner's shoulder, feeling her cheeks flushed beyond redness even her ears felt hot, her heart racing, her hands sweating and even her body's response to your caresses and words.

"...never leave me love"

"I will never rosita" you reply in a soft voice caressing the back of her neck, playing with the soft strands of her pink hair.

"...don't call me that" Vi whispered, even though she loved that cheesy nickname.

And you always understood her, as Vi understood you.

➤ Sevika 

For Sevika the notion of a quiet night was a lot, but occasionally this was; arriving at her apartment in Zaun (the only good thing about being Silco's second in command) where you usually arrived earlier since you worked in the weapons factories, hence you arrived before her. So arriving was a daily process, arriving at the place they shared where it always smelled like a meal cooked a little at a time, sometimes it smelled like a familiar food or a random dessert.

She craved something sweet.

She never knew how her partner was always aware of when she was craving something sweet, but she had an uncanny accuracy to it and today after dealing with Jinx's problems, having to fix them and not being able to complain because Jinx's self-proclaimed father would tell her to shut up, as if her job included babysitting a girl over 18. Fuck.

"From here I can see smoke coming out of that head of yours Vika."

Before she could even articulate a word a plate with a generous piece of chocolate cake was placed in front of her with a cutlery, she justly occupied something sweet to get over the bad drink.

"...again another mess I had to clean up" she grumbled annoyed, not in the mood to elaborate.

"Jinx, right?"

Sevika just affirmed, before taking the first bite, the chocolate exploded in his mouth and relaxed him a little, it was the little treats you usually always gave him, along with intimacy, and a life together that softened his heart.

"I don't want to bore you with the details sweetie" he replies before taking another bite of cake.

"you never bore me what happened Vika?"

The best nights are those where he eats something sweet prepared by the hands of the woman he loved and just talk, sometimes about nothing, sometimes about everything, about the future they dreamed together as children (although it was not the same it was close to what they imagined although with the difference that she herself could never give you everything she dreamed of giving you), about how they were so fucked up that nothing could get them out of that hole but together it was worth it or about the day of both of them. Sometimes she allowed herself to daydream, to dream of a better life to be able to give her partner, a place where they both didn't have to be so meddled with everything they knew would cost them in the long run.

"I love you Vika" you whispered in a syrupy voice, before stealing a kiss from Sevika that tasted like chocolate and expensive cigars.

Sometimes Sevika felt good like this.

➤ Jinx (Powder)

Mylo's voice sometimes upset her more than she could bear, more than she was willing to tolerate and she felt like scratching her scalp until she reached her skull, to go even further to her brain and to be able to shut up that irritating voice. Now she was not the Powder who felt bad about everything, who felt her spirit die with every veiled insult, with every "whenever something goes wrong, you bring bad luck" or with every memory that she tried hard to forget because she would not have them anymore, because she would never have access to more of it. So she became engrossed in improving her pumps, making the closed circuit more precise and making sure no one could see inside them.

"Silco says you haven't eaten in a few blue days."

Jinx hears you, clearly he does as your voice is the only one capable of getting through all the voices swirling in his ears; Mylo scoffing and Claggor pointing out a few things on his pump, thanks a thousand times your voice.

"...Silco says a lot of things" he grumbles before pressing the pump in the perfect closed loop to throw it towards the vacuum under the huge turbine where his workshop was located listening to the explosion "but he's right this time, I haven't eaten and I don't plan to...Did you cook me? Gimme, gimme, gimme!"

Sometimes she regrets everything that was going on, but the only thing that made her feel good and maybe somewhat lucky (contrary to what Mylo was always saying in her ear) to have a girl who was in love with her and who cared for her in her own way, sometimes she thought that your love kept her halfway sane, but er a secret that she would take to her grave forever.

Powder, in the past knew what filial love, support and warmth felt like.

Until blue came along to change everything.

Jinx, knows what fear is in the eyes of others, what affection for identification is since Silco saw himself in her but never knew to what degree which led him to treat her as a daughter which he sincerely appreciated, and knew what pure love meant, love without adultery.

You, blessed and cursed be you loved her for every positive and negative trait, you held her in her crises, you embraced her when nightmares destroyed her bone by bone, and when pink detonated her. You had seen the worst of her being, that lurid, dirty, stained and ground to a bloody pulp and yet you could love her, encourage her, tell her the truth and be her pillar. You seemed to be forged in heaven with a resilience that only the devil could create, or so she formulated.

"Have you cracked the Hextech theory yet?" you question interested, looking over her shoulder at her work leaving her to eat in peace and her space.

Jinx takes a while to pass the huge mouthful of food she had taken, but it was a sandwich with everything she liked and she finally had something in her stomach, she didn't know how but every food you touched tasted a thousand times better.

"something like that" she replies as she passes the bite with a gulp of apple juice, and her mind betrays her with remembering that you had a huge gallon of apple juice in your home just for when she visited did that feel like being loved? maybe yes "they are equations, calculations, instruction and so on, sequences of steps but I have a little trouble deciphering them, I have to recreate the, understand them so I can replicate them, and runes I think? I think they are runes and I don't know what they mean, but an easy job would be boring."

"wow that sounds complicated"

She only nods at your words, before she feels the gentle weight of your bandaged hand against her slender shoulder, and immediately identifies the weight of your hand on her. A welcome weight, loved, adored even and she melts all over, mouth full; your lips softly against her hundred, with warm, abiding love.

"Blue luck" you say in a soft voice, just for her.

Jinx stays alone in her workshop, a plate of food on her desk with another sandwich which she must finish because it is a crime not to finish the food you make her with so much love next to the big glass of apple juice, a glass which you yourself had made for her filled with soft drawings of the sky clouds over a gradient in blue of different shades until bordering on black. Her old glass had broken and you, bless you, had made her a new one, a new meaning that didn't make her retch from time to time.

How much did you love her? She thinks, maybe, you loved her very much and that comforts her.

➤ Caitlyn Kiramman. 

For Caitlyn to really feel her mother's rejection for her career was like a little thorn embedded in her skin and to be reduced to only having patrols in the Piltover shopping area was a bruise on the flesh, blood grinding and reminiscent of the annoyance from time to time, she hates it. She hates that it left her on patrols in expensive stores, the commercial sector and plaza of Piltover where nothing was going on.

It took her away from the countryside where she wanted to be to see the world outside of golden Piltover.

But, as always, she found the good part of it, she could sneak away and escape at times to that elegant, beautiful and minimalist store full of beautiful flowers exported from murky waters, Bandle City, Demacia, the Freljord, Ixtal, Ionia, Noxus, Targon and Zaun, that's a lot of flowers that are on display for all who can and want to buy, a beautiful and elegant flower shop. Whenever you went in there it was a delight to your nose since it smelled like a combination of flowers, a sweet, clean and you perfume. Although it was an irony since you always smelled of flowers, and perfume.

You were her safe place.

Caitlyn makes her way pretending to check until she reaches the flower shop and enters, opening the thick ornate glass doors that only allowed a partial view of the flower shop and when she steps inside, the amalgamation of scents so pleasant hits her nose in a friendly way and then she sees you, you're in the back room she sees you coming and going with flowers in your hands, so he takes the trouble to put up the sign "I'll be back in a flower arrangement" which always gave him grace and advanced through the store seeing the elegant furniture in pleasant tones to the back room where you are humming creating very elegant flower arrangements with a crystal flower in the middle of other more extravagant and beautiful ones. She leans against the door frame, watching you create those beautiful floral arrangements before rapping her knuckles on the door.

"Did I tell you that you look like a fairy?" she questions with amusement, it's a sweet nickname she's always had for you

"This fairy witnesses an enforcer skipping her patrols? The audacity" you reply with a chuckle, amused "Mistress Cassandra put you on a leash again pretty girl?"

She snorts when she hears you, stepping fully into the back room closing the door seeing that in the back there are even more flowers on huge furniture acclimating for them "You know, she's got the short leash for me and daddy couldn't dissuade her, so I'll be here for a few weeks."

"Then we can have lunch together. What do you think?" you offer, looking for something good in between everything.

"it would be a crime not to take advantage, sure do you fancy going for lunch? I've already put up your "I'll be back in a flower arrangement" sign" she says with amusement at the text you created when you got your own place

"Oh come on, it's original miss enforcer."

Yeah, maybe there was something good about patrolling the shopping area.

➤ Mel Medarda. 

"Don't move so much dear" Mel says, without the need to see you as she hears the soft sound of the silk sliding across your skin and is concentrating on the canvas finishing finding the exact tone of your skin, as if she has it memorized already "I don't want to lose the pose I indicated".

"It's just that my thigh itches" you grumble with a disgruntled pout because of the itch and when Mel allows you to move, you scratch just a little and return to the pose that is not so uncomfortable, leaning back against an elegant armchair that Mel had acquired just for you when they started living together with only a silk covering your skin in the areas where they should be covered "Aren't you bored? I am, talk about something, I don't know."

"A troubled muse, from what I see" adds with a chuckle Mel, smiling combining the tones in the palette watching you with deep gaze analyzing your anatomy, how your thighs joined your wide hips with a softness as if you were molded by the gods themselves and maybe, it was true "I'm almost done and I'll take you to dinner at your favorite restaurant"

"I want desserts" you jump with excitement, not realizing how the silk falls from your chest revealing your breasts and you remember your possess returning to her with blushing cheeks "Sorry love"

Mel just smiles, and finds even more charming the pose you came to be in, a gentle evolution of the original pose, demure and sensual, almost an innocent combination, as your gaze falls to the side as a soft embarrassment, but notice your sidelong glance at herself, a gaze full of love and glow. It is one of the many canvases she has created, in a long list of paintings that are in her living room and there will be one more.

"You should order food first, if you eat only desserts your stomach will hurt" she points out, adding more shadows.

"Mel" you complain in a whiny and annoyed tone, holding the pose.

"Food before, dessert after and rosé wine" tries to convince Mel already knowing your eternal love for sweet, and well sweet comes back to sweet

"...okay"

"Good girl"

Silence fills the room, and Mel continues with the painting on the canvas, trying to portray your sweet self until your voice again is heard, she loves that you are that sweet and somewhat whiny woman, because it is only in moments like these where you show how spoiled she has you, and it must be so, something she learned in Noxus (maybe the only good thing) that couples will always be priority and keeps you pampered, spoiled and happy, like you have her happy always.

"Almost there?"

Yes, she loves those moments where your gaze meets hers and you look like a spoiled little princess but there is a sweet fun in your eyes that she loves and finds herself adoring.

"I think I'll paint other canvases."

"Mel!"

He just laughs, continuing, he loves when you are his muse, because in retrospect you are always his muse even when you wake up disheveled and when you are dazzlingly beautiful decked out in the best dresses. He simply loves you.

➤ Grayson. 

he stress of work weighs heavy on his body, he almost feels twice his age and when he gets home, the aroma of a meal cooking wafts from the kitchen delighting his nose and being, you are his home and he adores you, you are the perfect wife. He distracts himself by taking off his boots in the entryway, stepping onto the cold living room floor passing through the spacious living room before he gets the soft smack of you impacting against his body and he can only smile, you always do that even when they were young and he loves those effusive hugs.

"You know I come home dirty from work honey" he speaks in a soft, gravelly voice close to your ear, squeezing his arm around your shoulders and kisses your hundred, savoring that expensive cream you love so much and keeps your skin smooth, from which he steals from time to time

"You know I don't mind, I must give you your hug every time you arrive" you grumble against his suit, he smells a bit humorous and a bit sour, he sure did patrol in Zaun with the recent peace treaty between the two cities and you cling to his chest, before looking up seeing him with loving eyes, Grayson is so beautiful beyond belief and as the years go by she only gets more attractive and handsome, you love that rugged and gentle air which combine masterfully in her and you stand on tiptoe kissing her "Welcome home, I'm making your favorite but I'll leave it on low heat and I can give you a bath."

"Do I look so old that you already ueires to give me a bath yourself?" she questions, with light humor frying her nose against your cheek holding you against her body, hugging you lovingly and loving the sweetish scent on your skin.

"It's not that" you say, with a pout before kissing his jaw and biting it gently "But I want to spoil you, you're the man of the house" you add, with dark humor that only your wife understands.

Grayson can only smile, the black humor between the two was a way to deal with turbulent issues with their respective families, in your own case your father disowned you for marrying a woman (a beautiful and special woman, it should be clarified) which was something that hurt you at the time but now is a topic they make jokes like that about, and in your case your parents hated you from the beginning for not being male and well, black humor is being able to make fun of everything that can hurt them and well, in your marriage humor is never lacking.

"Well, well I can't deny my sweet wife anything."

The trip to the bathroom in the master bedroom where you both have slept for years, the uniform is left in the laundry basket and you step into the shower, getting all the dirt off listening to you humming as she watches you through the glass door that blurs everything and when she steps out, her own nakedness doesn't bother her and you less, you've seen each other naked before in all the marriage os, there's nothing sexual and when she touches the hot water with soothing salts, she almost melts against the marble, even more so when she feels your hands in her hair smearing the conditioner which keeps her frizzy hair in place and your fingers against her scalp almost makes her purr, melt against you.

"Don't you get tired of pampering me honey?" she questions in a deep voice, relaxed against the tub.

"Don't you get tired of loving me? Of waking me up with kisses? Of taking me on dates to places I tell you about and always remember? Of being the love of my life?" you question, voice soft and flowing, stroking her scalp taking care of her hair.

"Never."

"We're on the same page."

Grayson knows what it's like to feel loved, he knows what it's like to love, and he wouldn't change a thing about his life, he wants to love you for millennia if possible, in this life and beyond.

➤ Ambessa Medarda. 

"You know it's going to be hard" you say, to the air listening to her heavy, steady footsteps against the white marble floor of your personal library in the palace, your wife in all her warrior and emotionally constipated glory wandering around pacing, and you just leave her drawing the memory of the meal you had with your daughter and son-in-law; Mel and Jayce, they make such a cute couple it's inevitable not to portray them, you'll give it to your daughter.

"I know, things are never easy and even less so with Mel."

"Well, if you were banished you'd be upset too and remember, I almost divorced you, so do better."

Ambessa bites her lip, remembering that turbulent moment, as cruel as it is, that she embodies the fox and the wolf at the same time she loves her family with all her being, with everything and she could destroy a thousand regions in order to protect them, strip herself of her humanity in order not to lose them, which is a paradox since she herself banished her daughter, the daughter she loved so much and who exasperated her so much because Mel was like her before she touched death, before accepting that she could become that warlord that her clan needed because she would not throw her wife to that place although, in a global vision of everything she knows that her wife is a fox in the skin of a rabbit, she is the most lethal strategist of Noxus that even the other four warlords respect and rightly so, she does not need strength or a cannon to subdue the rest, to prove her worth and Mel also inherited that. Her daughter was, in retrospect the culmination of their love for each other in her.

"I know" she replied, annoyed but not addressing her properly dropping into the long nest you must always have in your personal library and when she sees how you put down your notebook, she comes over dropping her head in your lap "but...I really want to sort it all out."

"Have you tried talking to her yet, telling her the truth?" you question, running your fingers through her hair between wavy and curly, unruly letting her cling to your legs, her hand large and calloused against your bare leg due to the Noxus dress you wore, her fingers though they carried death and carried blood to no end on your skin, on your flesh they were gentle "...that time was hard, and you proved your point, I wasn't ready to go through that ordeal like Kino did, Mel is diplomatic and doesn't value war, death and blood like you were raised and what you held on to, but what you hold high for your clan, for your family and well Kino is just like you but with a little diplomacy in the recipe."

She just sighs, feeling your caresses and lets her guard down, feeling naked and vulnerable, nerves in the air and in your sight "I know, it was selfish of me to push her away, save her from what would end up like us"

"acknowledging it is the first step, Kino has already spoken to you and her sister, all that remains is to give that head of yours time my love."

Ambessa never knows how you can love her, weapons, blood and death, trouble recognizing her own feelings, and a fierce strength to keep her family alive, her clan but, well she wants to bathe in your love, receive your caresses and delicacy. Only you have seen this vulnerable side and yet you love it. You have seen her crying after her first war, when she came back with blood on her hands and partially broken psyche, but you were there holding her tight despite the size difference, you held her all night long letting her cry until, she became the warlord she is now.

"...Will you be with me there when I talk to Mel?"

"I'll never leave you Bess, you married me and you'll never get rid of me in hell."

And if Ambessa was true to herself, heaven, hell and earth, she always wants to be with you. With loving softness which she professes only to you, she holds your wrist kissing your pulse sliding the kisses down to your finger where a red gold ring in the shape of a vine with a crystalline diamond adorns your ring finger above the black band, she made those rings herself and you never take them off your hands.

"Then I'm in luck, because I never want to leave you."

➤ Renata Glasc. 

He knows the feeling of climbing from the depths of mud, garbage and waste to position himself at the top of the city of iron and glass, installing a house in Piltover that became the central in medicine, cost horrors but here he was today controlling Zaun from the clouds and among the light air which does not make the lungs tremble. She grew at the expense of the misfortune of others, but, in Zaun is common and controls everything, leaving a certain slack to the rest of the barons and baronesses giving them the false sensation of power and freedom, to destroy them if she believes that they will put themselves in the same step where she is.

She is privileged to be at the top of the food chain in Zaun and Piltover, even if those pilties don't know it.

Many describe her as a cruel and cold woman, she is that and more. But, if his wife asked her to freeze hell she would do it. The only truth was, your wife was the one who possessed your purest and most sincere love which she has extracted from her cold chest just for you, leaving her heart in your flimsy hands. Therefore, he finds it fascinating to look at you, to admire your body, your silhouette and various expressions, your soft hands and how your skin no longer shows that sickly tone from lack of sun.

"Stop staring at me like that Ren" you say, in a soft whisper, shy like the first time he saw you.

"Darling it's impossible to stop looking at you, you are my wife and I love to admire you" Renata replies in a deep voice, approaching with fluid steps to you, where you gently place every little piece of mirror on the wall of her office, you were her little artist "...you are a natural artist and I love to see when you create all of this"

"You have always seen me, even when I graffitied the alleys of Zaun, one would think you would be bored by now" you say, gently taking each piece of mirror sticking it on the wall creating a scene and you feel Renata's mechanical hand on your hip which makes you sigh, you try hard not to think about what happened this morning at home, when she held you with that same mechanical arm so sleek and stylish yet strong pinning you against the bed and Renata devouring you

"I never tire of your creative process."

Renata rests her chin on your head, seeing every little piece of glass on the wall simulating like a fissure where you see a beautiful city, a Zaun you dreamed of and just kisses your hundred "one day I will make that Zaun come true."

I love you and I would give you hell, heaven, earth, the firmament just to make you smile, that's what he wants to say but he's silent when he sees your smile, your eyes full of love.

Renata can't imagine anyone else by her side but you.

➤ Cassandra Kiramman. 

If someone had told you in the past that you would end up married to the girl you came to hate (I didn't really, it was a gay panic actually) who brought you gray hairs with that joy and optimism, with her sweet, pleasant and kind smiles, with her concern, naked emotions, how you weren't afraid of feelings and showing them, that girl you hate in the past is currently your wife.

She is married to the love of your life and has a daughter with you.

He sighs softly, savoring the flower tea that he likes to drink and that you brought from your travels outside Piltover, a beautiful small flower enclosed in a bud, opaque and dry until it comes in contact with hot water blooming leaving the most beautiful flowers, and creating a sweet, delicious tea with a unique flavor. A box of tea that you always brought for her, without fail along with flowers, and books from other regions that she spends her nights reading. To tell the truth, the girl she hated in the past now made her happy, her cheeks hurt from smiling so much when you came on a trip and wrapped her in a tight hug, but every time she saw that scene it made her heart flip, it was as if you carved your name on her heart and soul.

"It's not fair mommy!" you hear a little childish voice squeal with indignation, it's in the middle of the huge garden with some dartboards a considerable distance away and the little girl stomps her little foot on the ground showing her anger "You let me win and I'll tell mommy!".

Cassandra feels her heart melt, as Caitlyn is held in her wife's arms and hears her laugh, it's impossible for Caitlyn to get so angry at her wife when you always get the giggles out of her to no end.

"I didn't let you win Caitlyn, you really won there" you point out in a soft voice once you leave her leaning on your hip looking at the targets and the rifle on the ground, an exact copy of yours because that's what your daughter wanted "You'll really be a good shot you know that?"

"Do you think so mom?" questions Caitlyn, small and bright-eyed to the max, expression cheerful and hopeful

"Of course I do honey, and when you grow up I'll make a rifle just for you" you promise with a smile, watching your daughter prance in your arms and you kiss her cheeks lovingly "A rifle just for you, just like you wanted."

Cassandra just smiles, watching the cute scene and how Caitlyn sees you with bright eyes, huge and hopeful, she loved her family even that woman who made her angry, who made her laugh until she cried and break her cold facade, make her heart beat wildly, but she is the woman she loves to see sleeping next to her, she simply loves her and she wouldn't change any of that.

His life is happy.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon

fem reader

Thinking about massive beefcakes again...

Big, brawny warriors who're carved with both muscles and battle scars – who still have some blood on their hands they couldn't bother washing off before claiming their pretty little war prize.

Oh, but he's so gentle with you. No threats on his lips, just a smile as he lets his large hands do all the talking – that, and the bloody axe he left leaning against the wall of your humble hut. So big, you wouldn't even be able to carry it if you used both hands.

And speaking about needing to use both hands...

You straddle his lap while working his massive cock – trembling as you wrap your fingers around the base, one hand stacked on top of the other, fingertips curling around his shaft – unable to reach around it while rubbing over fat veins that pulse beneath your soft touch.

He coos at you – tells you you’re doing so, so good for him, how he’s going to reward you real soon – how he won't hurt you so long as you do what he wants.

Oh, and you're so scared – so very scared of those large scathed paws holding you steady at the hips as he rubs his thick manhood against your stomach – throbbing between your ribs – a good measurement for how far inside he would try to push. 

There’s just no way you can possibly cram all of that inside you, is there?

You hadn't even noticed you were crying. Fat tears slip from brimming in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and splattering on the hair of his broad chest. 

He told you to breathe, and you realized you’d been holding it in. He told you to relax – but tears only kept falling when his hand reached under to cup your scared little sex – his calloused fingers a strange type of friction on the lips of your pussy, ticklish in a sense, sending energy splurging through your core. 

Oh, but ain't you just the sweetest little thing. “You’re so wet, baby~” He hummed, voice thick with heat as his finger slid playfully through the slick pooling from your slit.

You whimpered at his teasing, and he hushed you – cooing at you while his fat fingers started prepping your tight little hole for him with a thumb rubbing over your clit – still nothing harsh – just grazing the slit, letting your body know to prepare itself for him.

You almost wished he would just push you down, tower over you, and do it all swiftly – because you weren't sure just how much of this your poor heart could take. You heard its pitter-pattering in your head, felt it drum in your fingertips, in your toes, thumping where his hands were taunting your tender flesh – petting the silk as it wept for more.

You felt something curl – coil – wind like an adder in your gut along with butterflies. Soon, glossing his entire hand with arousal. 

You heard the chuckle as he filled you up with one of his digits – long and thick with muscle, bumpy at the knuckles as it eased inside you – swirling around your velvet walls, all wet and fluttering for him – then followed by another – still with his thumb drawing sweet circles into your swollen clit, making you clench around the two fingers tightly with an ever-so-sweet moan spilling from your lips.

He groaned at the sensitivity – the stimuli and response at his fingertips – how impressionable you were for him. So sweet and pliant – knowing you were but a sheep caught on wolf claws.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, a sloppy grin showing teeth as his lips brushed up your collar with wet praise – his tongue hot as he licked up your throat with warm breath ever so very intimately – puffing like a hound as he bit your earlobe playfully, letting you know with thick rust, “I think you’re ready to take me.”

Oh, how he loved the way you tensed – knowing he had you completely in his palm – hooked right on his fingers – and soon on his cock.

BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, AFO, All Might, Mirio

JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku

DS – Doma

HxH – Uvogin

[sicutpuella]

Sweet Like Honey | Simon Riley x Reader

A honey trap—such a sterile phrase his superiors used, as if it could sanitize the rot festering in his conscience. Unethical? Yes; but that single syllable barely scratched the surface of his transgression. They needed information, they said, and Simon—God help him—had orchestrated every tender moment, every breathless laugh, every trembling touch with surgical precision. His superiors, those faceless men in their stark offices, had pushed the proposal forward; they wanted him closer to her father, that suspected architect of labyrinthine offshore accounts.

He remembers that exact moment. Her eyes had sparkled with tears of joy when he dropped to one knee—tears that now haunted his dreams, crystalline drops of his betrayal. In quiet moments, when she lay sleeping beside him, her trust radiating like warmth against his skin, the question would claw at his throat: When she discovers the truth—not if, but when—will those same tears fall in rivers of rage? Will her love calcify into hatred, sharp enough to pierce the armor he'd built around his guilt?

"Three years of marriage." Her words floated like seafoam in the Mykonos twilight; wine-hazed eyes drinking in the pastel sky as if it were a gift he'd arranged specially for their anniversary.

Simon's jaw tightened—a muscle working beneath the skin—as waves lapped at their bare feet with metronome precision. The word 'marriage' sat like bile in his throat; every anniversary a fresh reminder of his calculated lies. He fixed his gaze on the bleeding horizon—anywhere but at her—letting the salt wind strip away the taste of guilt that had become his constant companion.

"Yeah... three bloody years." The words scraped past his lips, his British accent thick and coarse as Mediterranean sand. A bitter laugh threatened to escape—three years of this charade, three years of her soft touches that felt like brands against his skin. "Can't believe it's been that long."

She reached for his hand; he let her take it.

"I'm so happy you married me..." Her words hung in the salt air—fragile as soap bubbles, painful in their innocence. Those eyes, sparkling with a love he could never return, cut deeper than any interrogation he'd endured in the field.

Simon's muscles coiled beneath his skin; her declaration struck like a precisely aimed blade. His jaw worked silently—grinding truth to dust—as guilt wrapped its familiar fingers around his throat. The sensation lasted only moments before training kicked in; sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a job to do—always the job.

"Yeah..." The word emerged like gravel. His expression hardened into the mask he'd worn for three years. "Me too."

A heartbeat of hesitation—then, striving for conviction: "It was the right thing to do..."

She wound herself around his arm like morning glory seeking sunlight. "Do you love me?" The question dripped with need for reassurance; every syllable another weight added to the anchor of his deception.

A muscle betrayed him—twitching in his jaw like Morse code airing out his lies.

"Course I do..." The words tasted of ashes as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes—God, those trusting eyes—gleamed up at him like searchlights through his carefully constructed shadows, sending fresh waves of guilt crashing against his ribs.

Mission parameters flashed through his mind like a lifeline: just a mission, a means to an end—nothing more. Clinical words that did nothing to dull the edge of her next question.

"Have I made you happy?"

The question hung between them like a loaded gun; he wondered which of them it would wound more deeply.

Simon's jaw ticked—a mechanical tell he couldn't control—as her voice spilled sweetness and light into the darkening air. His fists clenched; knuckles white with the effort of containing truths that would shatter her world.

"Yeah... you have." The words scraped past gritted teeth; his tone harsh enough to wound—though whether himself or her, he wasn't certain.

He forced himself to look at her—God help him—and found trust swimming in those eyes; love so pure it sent guilt cascading through his veins like ice water. Training kicked in like muscle memory: compartmentalize, distance, remember the mission parameters. This was all theater—a carefully orchestrated performance where he played the doting husband.

"If I make you uncomfortable or unhappy—" her voice trembled with an eagerness that flayed him alive—"tell me what to do and I'll change whatever it is you don't like about me."

Simon's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her devotion; each word of self-doubt another stone added to the cairn of his shame. Her willingness to reshape herself for a man who didn't exist—it was obscene in its innocence.

"You don't need to change anything." His voice emerged gruff, carefully modulated to hide the storm beneath. "You're perfect the way you are." Perfect—and that made it infinitely worse.

As they walked further along the shore, his boss's voice slithered through his memory like an oil slick: "Give her a baby, Riley. Solidify that you're a family man to her and her family... that'll make them trust you more..."

The waves crashed against the shore; Simon wondered if they could wash away the taste of bile rising in his throat. A baby—the ultimate collateral damage in this game of shadows and lies. His handler's words echoed like bullets in an empty chamber; each one designed to kill whatever conscience he had left.

Simon's gut twisted into knots as his handler's words burrowed deeper—parasitic thoughts breeding shame. Using her love, her body, their marriage had been one thing; but this—creating life as a prop in their charade—made bile rise bitter in his throat.

He swallowed against the acid guilt. "Baby..." The endearment scraped past his lips like broken glass; his voice rough with self-loathing. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, baby?" Her response came wrapped in a smile—always that damned smile on her gorgeous face; each curve of her lips another twist of the knife he'd planted in his own conscience.

Simon guided her toward a secluded stretch of beach—away from witnesses to his latest betrayal. His muscles coiled tight as she called him 'baby'; the war in his mind reached fever pitch—duty and disgust grappling in the shadows of his skull. Professional distance crumbled beneath the weight of what he was about to propose.

He drew in a breath that tasted of salt and lies; tried to fortify himself against the magnitude of this new deception. Speaking had never been his strong suit—now words felt like weapons turned inward.

"...I've been thinking about something." His voice dropped low; serious—as if gravity itself could lend legitimacy to this fresh hell.

"I've been thinking..." Another breath—sharp enough to cut—"that maybe we should start trying for a baby..."

The words fell like stones into the space between them; he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed on the sand—watching darkness creep across it like the stain he felt spreading through his soul. This was more than a mission parameter now; this was crossing a line he hadn't known existed until he stood at its edge—about to take a step that could never be untaken.

Her eyes widened—galaxies of hope expanding in those innocent depths.

The squeal that erupted from her lips pierced the evening air: "Yes! Yes!"

Simon's face contracted like a wound being stitched; her unbridled joy a fresh kind of torture. The guilt gnawed at his bones—a familiar parasite he'd learned to live with—but he buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference. Just the job, just the bloody job.

"Yeah... yeah..." The words tasted of ash in his mouth as he attempted enthusiasm—a poor actor playing at happiness. "I thought it was time." Time for what? Another layer of betrayal; another innocent drawn into his lies?

Her face glowed with such pure delight—Christ, if she only knew the truth behind his proposal, would that radiance transform into something that could burn him alive?

"I'm so happy... I'm so happy..." She bounced on her toes like an excited child; her eyes swimming with naked affection as she gazed up at him. "Can we try tonight?"

The question hit him like a body blow—air evacuating his lungs in a silent gasp. His jaw clenched; muscle memory of contained revulsion. "Tonight?" His voice emerged rough as sandpaper. "Uhh... tonight?"

The speed of her agreement caught him off-guard; reality crashed over him like a cold wave. The physical act loomed before him—another performance in his repertoire of deception. But sex is sex—a mantra he'd repeated through three years of marriage; a thin comfort that grew thinner with each repetition.

"Sure baby... sure." The agreement slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.

Sex is still sex—the lie tasted bitter this time.

"Yeah... alright... tonight." Each word dragged like shrapnel from a wound.

Simon forced the syllables past the knot of self-loathing in his gut. Conflict churned inside him—desire warring with disgust, duty grappling with decency. But there was no extraction plan for this mission; no way to abort without destroying everything.

He drew in a breath that felt sharp as glass. "We'll head back to the room then, yeah?"

His extended hand seemed to belong to someone else—a stranger playing at being a loving husband. His mind raced through a labyrinth of regrets; each thought a new dead end. The fraud of it all pressed against his chest—this performance of love, this pantomime of family planning.

"Come on." The words scraped past his lips, gruff with barely contained turmoil. "Let's go."

Each step toward their room felt like moving through quicksand—every movement drawing him deeper into a lie he might never escape.

That evening, as she lay beneath him—trusting, eager, loving—his guilt manifested in the most primal betrayal of all. The little blue pill dissolved on his tongue earlier was his shameful secret; another lie to add to his collection. His body rebelled against his deception—even chemistry couldn't fully overcome the weight of his conscience.

It should have been paradise, shouldn't it? Being buried in the warm sanctuary of her body—her beauty undeniable, her desire genuine. But paradise, he'd learned, couldn't be built on foundations of sand and shadows. Each tender touch felt like judgment; each passionate kiss a sentence passed. His pleasure came tainted with self-loathing—mechanical responses to artificial stimulation.

The truth burned in his throat like acid: he couldn't maintain arousal—not with guilt wrapped around his throat like a garrote; not with his handler's voice echoing in his mind. This secret he'd take to his grave—another shard of shame embedded too deep to ever extract. The warmth of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; heaven transformed into a special kind of hell, designed just for him.

She lay beneath him—all warmth and trust and love—while his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dim light caught the gold of her wedding ring; it flickered like an accusation with every movement. His own ring felt like a brand against his skin, burning with each tender touch she offered.

The chemistry coursed through his veins—artificial desire fighting against the tide of his guilt. Her fingers traced patterns of affection across his shoulders; each caress felt like judgment carved into his flesh. Paradise turned to purgatory; pleasure transformed into punishment.

"I love you," she whispered against his neck—words that should have been salvation became damnation instead.

His body responded while his mind recoiled; training and tablets working in tandem to maintain this cruelest deception. She arched beneath him—so trusting, so eager to create life with a man who was more shadow than substance. Her skin flushed with genuine desire; his grew cold with calculated performance.

The sounds she made—soft sighs of pleasure, whispered endearments—echoed in his skull like accusations. Each thrust felt mechanical; each kiss a fresh betrayal. His handler's voice mingled with her moans: "family man... make them trust you more..." Until he couldn't tell where the mission ended and the madness began.

Her hands cupped his face—so gentle, so loving—and he wanted to weep at the cruel irony. Here she was, trying to create life with a man who died a little more with each tender touch. The heat of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; intimacy perverted into intelligence gathering.

He buried his face in her neck—not from passion, but to hide the war raging behind his eyes. She mistook his shuddering for pleasure; it was revulsion at himself. Even as his body chased its chemical conclusion, his mind splintered into fragments of guilt and duty and shame—pieces too sharp to ever fit back together.

Mediterranean sunlight crept through the curtains like liquid gold.

"Did you have fun?" Her question floated up from the tangled sheets; innocent as morning dew.

Guilt lanced through him—sharp and familiar now. Her eagerness to please him felt like needles under his skin; every effort she made to earn love he couldn't give was another weight added to his conscience.

He forced out a grunt—another performance in his endless repertoire. "Yeah... yeah I did. You've gotten better." The words tasted of copper and shame.

"Why do you ask?" He aimed for casual; missed by miles—tension threading through his voice like steel wire.

"I just want to make sure I'm making you happy," she murmured against his chest, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin. "I read some articles about... you know... trying for a baby. Making it more likely to happen." A soft laugh escaped her—pure, unguarded. "I want to do everything right."

Her head rested on his shoulder—soft hair brushing his skin like whispered accusations. Any other man would thank whatever god they believed in for a woman like her; Simon could only hate himself more with each gentle breath she took.

He wrapped an arm around her—another act in this elaborate charade—pulling her closer even as his soul recoiled. The weight of her trust pressed against him harder than her body ever could. She felt like silk against his skin; he felt like sandpaper against hers—rough with deception, coarse with lies.

The urge to push her away clawed at his chest—to end this facade, to confess every sin he'd committed in the name of duty. But the mission bound him like chains forged from his own choices. His mind waged its endless war: duty versus decency, mission versus morality. An innocent woman lay in the crossfire, and he'd loaded every bullet himself.

Her warmth seeped into his side; he wondered if it would ever wash away the cold calculation that had become his core.

Simon slouched in the corner, half-hidden by a wall of pastel balloons and garlands, the sound of laughter and soft coos grating against him like nails on glass. She was radiant, glowing in that way all the books and articles had promised, a woman basking in the warmth of her impending motherhood. Friends and family surrounded her, hands touching her belly as though it held some sacred truth he could never understand. She laughed—a sweet, unguarded sound that should have brought him joy. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t bring himself to join the celebration; every time he looked at her, every time she glanced over and smiled at him, something twisted deep in his gut—a sharp, relentless reminder that he was a fraud. She deserved a man who’d be a father in more than name alone, someone who’d be wrapped up in this new life with her, but all he could feel was the weight of his shame and pathetic self pressing down on him.

That evening, Simon spun a quick excuse for her—something about a problem at the office, a sudden emergency requiring his immediate attention. She barely questioned him, simply nodded with that gentle trust he’d come to dread. But his destination wasn’t the office; it was a dimly lit bar, a familiar back corner where his superior waited, nursing a drink and an expression Simon could only describe as smug satisfaction.

“So… successfully knocked an heiress up, eh?” The words rolled off his boss’s tongue as if they were discussing the weather.

Simon ground his teeth, feeling a spike of anger flare in his chest. “Yeah.” The response was clipped, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely force the words out. “I did what you asked.”

“Head over heels for you, is she?” His boss laughed, a low, contemptuous sound. “God, the poor thing.”

Each word felt like a blade twisting deeper. Yes, she loved him; she loved him with a sincerity he’d never known he could inspire. But the way his boss spoke of it—as if her affection was some cheap victory, as if her trust was a trophy to be tossed aside—made his blood run cold.

He balled his fists beneath the table, his knuckles turning white. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his voice steady.

“We didn’t think you’d pull it off this well.” The amusement in his boss’s voice was unmistakable. “We knew you could manipulate—use people; that’s what you do best, after all. But to get her so… blindly devoted? Impressive, even for you.”

Simon bit down hard, jaw aching as he fought to keep the bile from rising. He didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t want to hear about how flawlessly he’d betrayed her, how thoroughly he’d convinced her of a love that was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“She trusts me,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, hoping to deflect, to shut down this sickening praise.

His boss let out a chuckle, cold and mocking. “Just trust, is it? Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But come on—no credit for yourself? I think you deserve a bonus for this one, Riley. You’ve put in the work, pulled all the strings. Hell, even I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Simon felt himself go still, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a coiled spring about to snap. The monster his boss saw in him—was that all he’d ever be? He forced himself to nod, his voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… sure. Send some extra cash my way if it makes you feel better.”

“Good,” his boss replied, that smug satisfaction radiating from him like poison. “I’m proud of you, Riley. You’ve secured an influential family, locked down the daughter. And soon enough, there’ll be a little Riley running around, further cementing our foothold.”

A wave of nausea rolled through him at that. His boss spoke as though this were just another operation, another mission ticked off the list. Not a woman’s life, not a child’s future—just another step in their endless game of leverage and control.

Simon gave a curt nod, jaw so tight it felt like it might shatter. He kept his silence, swallowing the urge to spit some scathing retort, to lash out and tear down every vile word his boss had spoken.

“Good,” his boss said again, with a finality that felt like chains tightening around Simon’s throat. “Keep it up… and, of course, gather all the intel you can on her father.”

Simon didn’t respond. He simply sat there, silent and still, the weight of his choices pressing down like iron shackles. The mission bound him—bound him tighter than any oath he’d ever sworn—and he couldn’t escape the feeling that, somewhere along the line, he’d traded his soul for it.

All photos sourced through Pinterest

Headers made by @rookthornesartistry

[hoeforhao]

RED AND CREAM ✨️🧨🎈🩸Wonwoo Oneshot

pairing : military official wonwoo × fem!reader

genre : pwp, pure smut

warnings : mention of blood, unprotected sex ( wrap it up guys ) , creampie, abusive talks, minors DNI

author's note : so umm I kind of wrote this smut for someone but then thought why not post it with wonwoo in mind. Bear with the he(s) pls.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

As he stood there looking at her with dark clouded eyes with his hair all messed up from the intense fight, blood dripping down his knuckles onto his black boots, she saw the devil in him. The devil staring at her, telling her that he has finally came for his daughter. That he has finally found his worthy offspring to spread his bloodied rays into the world.

Stepping close to him, she looks into his red burning eyes as if she's gonna light him up on fire that very moment, as if she's going to draw out those popping veins in his eyes with her red nails.

Pushing his legs apart with hers she stands between them with her black heels on while her hands take his fist in hers and gently swipe off the blood off of them with her fingers and put them into her craving mouth, gently sucking onto them as if giving him the temptation of how she would treat his dick so good yet so rough between her cavities.

All this time her knees move up and down his already tightening up crotch, sometimes pushing it a bit too hard earning muffled up moans from him. Because he's a man. He cannot show how weak and needy his woman is making him feel now. Being done with sucking off all of his enemy's blood and injecting it into her system, her hands now move upto his neck to hold it tight and firm in place while her lips curve up into a satanic smile.

She quickly brings her mouth up to the bone protruding so prominent out of his neck and instantly plants her teeth onto the skin, pulling it with her canines making tears swell up in his eyes from the intense sting.

"If you thought I'll let his blood infuse into kine and make me impure, you're so wrong honey. I'll make sure that yours takes control on his and completely overpowers him. I want to see you overpower each and every individual on the face of this planet and be at the very top" and with that she bites into his skin at animalistic force and draws out blood like a vampire feasting on its meal after ages. As if a blood thirsty demon got the first taste of vanilla sweet blood burning with rage finally on her lips, all the while he cannot touch her or do anything to her because he was pinned down.

But she very well knew that she would be overturned in a minute if he truly tried for it. Having had enough of his woman being a brat he finally engulfed her legs by his and pushed her down onto the floor. He stood tall before her, while she lay on the cold marble with a sinister smirk knowing quite well what was coming next.

Bending down to her level the very first instinct he had was to rip off ever piece of clothing from her body, making her completely naked infront of the beast that was now to feast on the vulnerable little prey infront of him. Having his legs placed on both sides of her shaking ones, he took her lips in his. And no it was not a gentle kiss at all. It was a hungry, desperate one. One to prove how he will always have the upper hand over her, how she will just be a playtoy under him.

While his teeth pulled onto her lower lips, popping the slender veins there making blood drip down the corner of her mouth, his hands played with her boobs. More appropriately abused them. His nails drew deep and sharp around her supple jiggly skin, leaving behind deep rooted tracks of his invasion onto her body and soul and mind.

Shifting from her lips, he now focuses on slapping the living shit out of her breasts, earning constant pleas of mercy from her, knowing that the undertone in them was nothing but her asking for more brutality.

When he's finally done abusing her chest, leaving it all red with his hand prints, as if something turns in him and he gently places his mouth on her nipples and suckles onto it like a child feeding on his mother. But oh well isn't his entire persona deceiving? While his mouth work like a complete gentleman around her mounds, his fingers find her throbbing clit and aggressively rubs it's like it's some sort of enemy he needs slain down.

Her eyes rolled from the intense pain and pleasure that her body was feeling at the same time. She licks off her own blood from her mouth and slightly pushes up her head as if to see what is happening to her bare body, only to find that it's a red hill down there. Every part of her skin is burning aflame. And in that very painful moment, he quickly unzips the tent in his pants and brings out his rock hard dick to now graze up and down her sloppy cunt.

Never giving her the pleasure to feel him inside her, while she claws out his toned back, he slaps the tip of his dick onto her throbbing pussy and sometimes teases her hole with it by pressing it a bit down and taking it out immediately. Not being able to take the torment anymore she takes things into her hand and harshly slaps him across the face.

That was his last string. How dare a bitch have the audacity to slap a man like him. And with that he presses himself in her in seconds without any warning, without giving her the time to even adjust to him.

"You wanted it so bad you whore hmm? How you like daddy's dick tearing up your walls into shreds now huh" he runts into her soft delicate hole like a complete animal gone feral, like a tiger getting a good meat after days.

He could see tears rolling down her eyes onto the floor from his intense thrusts, him completely ruining her pussy for the new few days so that she remembers he is who she belongs to, every inch of her body belongs to him and is only for him to ravish and eat and feast on.

With one more push down her cunt, he feels his high riding him as he releases all his anger, frustration into her, making his cum ooze out of her swelled up walls, mixed with some traces of blood from the intense abuse.

[justsalpals]

What if you were bones? If there was nothing else left of you?

No lungs filled with sweet laughter. No blood rushing to blushing cheeks. No skin grazing against mine when you twined our fingers together.

What if there was nothing left?

If I cradled your ribs in my palm, haunted by the ghost of your heartbeat? If I caressed the line of your ulna, almost able to feel the light brush of overlarge shirtsleeve dipping past your wrist? If the back of my knuckle skimmed the cheek of your skull, so sure I could still feel golden eyes staring so gently back at me through empty sockets?

(Mother said I'd have to watch everyone I loved pass on, but I was promised more time.)

(I walk out of step with the world, but you joined me with a gait all our own.)

(What is that if not a promise?)

What if there was nothing left but bones, yet I could still see the shape of you in the remains? If I handled every piece with the gentlest care, rebuilding you from the inside out? If I held each phalange tenderly in my palm, as if this were a new way you'd chosen to hold my hand?

(I was promised more time. Not enough, but more than this.)

Healing hurts. Magic weaving through meat and muscle and sinew, knitting together a wound before it's ready to let go. It's beautiful and necessary. The pain. Healing hurts. Living hurts. Loving hurts. Love beats in my heart my throat my hands my staff, bleeding like a gaping wound with every forbidden word spoken and ancient symbol sketched into stone.

If you need skin, blood, lungs, then you will have them. If you need flesh and meat and beating heart, I will build you them with my two bloodied hands. I will sculpt your bones a home from the carcass of a beast, breathe life into your hearth with dragonfire.

Healing hurts.

What if I didn't care who I hurt, if it meant having you again?

I think you can understand the sentiment.

And one day soon, when you look at me in the light above and give that gentle smile, I can't help but imagine hooking my fingers between the slats of your ribs and tugging you close enough to hear your heartbeat.