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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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The Safeword is RadioApple (part 1)

I’m gonna go ahead and apologize right now

Lucifer x FemaleReader x Alastor

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

Alastor would give you anything, all you had to do was ask. When you asked for Lucifer, he delivered. But after seeing just how much you enjoyed Alastor’s rough handling, Lucifer takes a turn and gets a little lost in the pleasure.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, fem reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, cervix hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

Minors dni

“Sir.”

Lucifer jumped, whipping around and shoving Alastor’s face away. “You are a living nightmare, fuck!” He hated being snuck up on, as most people do. Adjusting his hat, he looked around the hotel lobby to see if anyone else witnessed his personal jump scare. Charlie and Vaggie were seated nearby, but hadn’t paid them any attention.

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

But Charlie was not laughing. She finally turned her focus to them. “Dad, you have to start trying to get along with Alastor.” She looked to Alastor who was nodding along as if he actually cared at all, “He’s trying to spend time with you. Come on, Dad. For me?”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

Alastor let his microphone follow behind Lucifer’s back, an unseen and unfelt safety net so he couldn’t back out. When they approached Alastor’s door, Lucifer put up his hands as if to physically stop the situation from progressing, “There is no way in all of hell I am going in your bedroom.”

Alastor’s eyes rolled, frustrated already with the interaction. “Are you sure about that?” He pushed the door open, using his mic to make contact with the small of Lucifer’s back. He stopped resisting when he finally looked into the room.

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your silk sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

It was no secret to anyone that you two were fond of each other. It was the little things you did that endeared the fallen angel to you, how you doted on him. Filling his glass at dinner when you noticed it getting close to empty, holding the door for him, keeping eye contact when he went off on some excited tangent.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

You’d seen the broadcasts of the King of Hell defending his daughter during the last extermination. The power he gave off, even from your screen, brought goosebumps down your arms. So when you found your way to the hotel, you were elated to see Lucifer himself readily available for interactions. Your luck continued, as your father’s love of jazz had been passed down to you and allowed the radio demon to notice your presence among the sea of new residents. Following the sounds of Nat ‘King’ Cole, he found you one evening in your room, and a mutual fondness for music bore a new friend. And then, more.

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

No part of him understood your motivation, but the idea of making the king of hell pussy-whipped to his darling was understanding enough. And, of course, the pleasure of watching you enjoy yourself. While he was capable all his own, he was happy to allow someone else to fill in. Not to mention—- no, actually, definitely mention the fact it would give him a little more power in the tense dynamic between himself and Lucifer.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue. Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

Watching you mewl under someone else, knowing he gave the permission, that Lucifer would never have a chance in Hell if The Radio Demon didn't allow it, made his head dizzy with the loss of blood flow. Whatever pleasure Lucifer could give you was pleasure he has granted you both. The idea of someone pining for you but never having a chance unless he says so made him feel powerful.

“I have a request, of sorts.” You tried to keep your smile still, cheeks twitching with pure nerves. The room was lit by only two small lamps on either nightstand and the light coming from the half open bathroom.

Lucifer approached you, making a dramatic point of going past Alastor. The radio demon chuckled, the king of hell scowled. He placed one knee on the end of the bed, trying to forget this was the spot you shared most nights with Alastor. His smile encouraged you to continue.

“You can say no.” You added quickly.

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker.

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you.

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed her.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing. He just stared at you. Alastor’s long legs and lanky arms came down beside you, behind you. You looked like the enticing light of an angler fish’s lure, sharp teeth shining just over your shoulder.

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“You don’t have to do that, kitten. I don’t need that.” He reached out a hand to touch your cheek but stopped himself; he’d never touched you before. He had gone out of his way to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear what it would do to him. He’d just be hurting himself, he had thought. His hand began to pull away but you reached out with both of yours and took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my girl.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

He buried his face in his free hand, opening his fingers to look over you once more. In the shade of the canopied bed, Alastor sat motionless. But Lucifer couldn’t see him, not because of the shadows but because his focus was so purely on you. He had absolute tunnel vision, which happened often when you two would speak. Lucifer made a low sound, coming from somewhere deep in his chest, hidden beneath all his shame and sense of inadequacy.

Your question was answered as he removed his hat, tossing it to the chaise lounge near the wall. You sat back on your legs and gave him space to remove his coat. Your heart seemed to double its pace, skin practically vibrating. A not-insignificant part of you expected a gentle but firm, “kindly fuck off.”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he pulled his bow tie loose, only returning his knee to the bed when he’d kicked off his boots. Just the shifting of the weight of the bed made your thighs twitch, finally. Alastor leaned backed and watched, Lucifer’s gaze was full of uncertainty as he crawled to you.

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission.

Both on your knees, you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on Lucifer’s lips. Pulling back, you looked at him and he felt like we’re looking at the sun. Your face was so bright, and warm. What light were you reflecting back at him? Surely not his own. That was long dead. Long buried under bruised wings and lost promises.

You snaked your fingers into his hair and brought him in for a deeper kiss. When you bit gently on his bottom lip, he shakily opened his mouth. Your grin spread across both of your faces as you pushed your way past his lips.

Lucifer’s tongue was long, and tapered more than you’d expected. It moved, unsure, against yours. Your hands slunk out of his hair and down his chest, sliding until finding the buttons of his vest.

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

A scream echoed in your skulll, your own scream, thankfully entirely in your mind. He was so cute. So soft. He looked so worried, you wanted to rip him to pieces with affection. Was that possible? You were going to try.

Your hands fumbled over his belt, the tremble in your fingers making the pants button feel like an aptitude test. Your mouth returned to him, kissing down his cheeks and into the space under his jaw. Finally you could slip your hand down into his pants, and you hissed without thinking.

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin.

Did you do this? Had you gotten the King like this with just a question and a kiss? Tip nearly purple with pressure, you rested your forehead on his collarbone and watched his stomach jump as you wrapped your fingers around it.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants.

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.”

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, no preparation, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

Your breath over his shaft and now down his balls made his hips buck against you. Your hands gripped at Lucifer’s thighs, trying to get steady enough to return your mouth to his waiting heat. You could smell his arousal, your head dizzy with so many of your senses being assaulted by both men.

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek.

Your watery, lust clouded eyes met his, “It feels so good, Luci.” His dick jerked. When you finally managed to get him in your mouth his head fell back, legs under him twitching with the need to move along to the bobbing of your head. Lucifer was wider than Alastor, the corners of your mouth burning as you tried to take in as much of him as possible.

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft. He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“I think you may need a little demonstration, from someone more–, “ Alastor leaned down, his face now inches from Lucifer’s. His hand wrapped around your neck, “experienced.” He pulled you up by your throat.

Lucifer watched, your knees no longer touching the bed as Alastor fucked up into you. One hand gripping your throat, one arm holding your body against his. Your face began to redden, and your thighs noticeably clenching as best they could, legs open and feet on either side of Alastor’s body. Lucifer winced, you looked pained, he wanted—

“Aa--Alastor,” Your voice was like honey, thick and sweet around Alastor’s name. Lucifer’s face fell flat, how could he have that? What did he need to do to have you say his name in such a debauched way? Why did that gangly sack of bones get all of the fun?

“See? She can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself.

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.”

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your sopping cunt. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it.

When you popped the head back into your mouth and moaned around it from Alastor’s continued fucking, Lucifer gripped your hair with both hands. Alastor’s own erection jumped in you, the king of hell himself buckling from his dearest’s mouth. He could break him entirely by just pulling you off of Lucifer’s cock and refusing to return you. He was positive Lucifer would cry into his ruined orgasm if he did such a thing.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms.

He pushed aside the thought entirely, instead returning to the task in front of him. Your tongue was pinned down when Lucifer was in your mouth, cock too fat to allow any room for movement. You abandoned trying to suck him off, and changed tactics to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh in your hands.

Lucifer’s mind was—- he wasn't sure where exactly. His consciousness splintered around you. The feeling of you; your tongue was swirling around him, the first contact he’s had other than himself in literal years. The sound of you; your soft moans and huffs were both audible and physical, the hot breath ghosting over him. The sight of you; head in his lap as he leaned back, your ass in the air and making a satisfying slapping noise every time–

Alastor. His eyes met Lucifer’s and a wicked grin took hold of his features. Lucifer could practically hear Alastor whisper across your body, ‘Watch this.’ Maybe Alastor had thought it, but he kept it to himself.

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again.

Lucifer sat on his legs still, eyes flitting from between your face to the place you and Alastor connected. He could see Alastor disappearing inside you, and every intrusion had you gasping and mewling into the blankets. Your hand was still gently stroking him with outstretched arms, eyes clenched close.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your clit with his middle finger. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your cervix with every kiss of his hips.

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your jaw lock. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm.

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed.

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants.

“I have complete faith in you, for once.” Alastor teased Lucifer, hand motioning to your still limp body. His smile seemed to dare Lucifer, challenge him, to keep going even with Alastor’s release sitting pretty in you.

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

With an uncharacteristic hunger in your eyes, you forced your line of sight up to him, “You, Luci.” Visibly shuddering, you sat up and brought your legs towards him, your knees touching each other in an odd display of shyness. Your hand felt at your entrance, Alastor’s seed just beginning to find its way from your relaxed walls.

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci.

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide between your folds with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it.

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your lips. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn.

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway.

Luci stopped, your face clearly pained. Your head shook in response, “Please, you just have to keep going. I’ll adjust.” While both of his heads swelled with pride – Alastor’s cock clearly smaller – Luci didn’t notice the wild eyes of the radio demon.

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling doe.

What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were sure you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your hole got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths.

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead.

You nodded, answering a question he didn’t ask, and he continued to force your walls open to accommodate him. The only sound in the room was the soft instrumental jazz number playing from atop the dresser. Your voice was stuck in your throat, Luci was focusing too hard to form words. Alastor could speak, but the music was just too enjoyable to interrupt.

Finally, after what could have been two minutes or twenty, you felt Luci bottom out. You had to just lie there for a second, never having felt something so solid in your otherwise soft body. No slight to Alastor, who was perfectly skilled in his abilities. Luci was just—- more than you had expected.

As he pulled out, you thanked the heavens and hell and the rings within that Alastor had left you so wet and already softened. The first few thrusts were genuinely uncomfortable, the pleasure you felt almost entirely mental, drawn from the reality of who was pulling your insides back and forth. You were so tight around him that he too was almost pained; so much pressure but no way to move enough to get any release.

Slowly, the ring of your entrance relented and Luci could finally move at a normal pace. He would take himself out to his head before slipping back in. Every thrust made your body spread around him, a semi-truck through a field of sunflowers. Your body didn’t stand a chance, and you were grateful he chose gentleness for his entrance.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would wretch shut, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper.

It wasn’t jealousy, it was something more personal that stung Luci. While he couldn’t actually discern the looks you two gave each other, Luci felt very much the odd man out. But, he considered his position. Literally. He was leaning as far from your body as he could. He remembered the way you said Alastor’s name. Alastor had showed him exactly what to do, albeit in his usual obnoxious, showy fashion.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If she needs you to stop, she’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever she can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your pussy clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing him to rub against your clit as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more.

“Are you sure she isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel her? Or does she just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back.

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He pulled out suddenly, his head leaving you for the first time since it managed to fit in initially. Luci put both hands on your hips and directed you to roll onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up, knees bent. You crawled up enough to rest your forehead on the crook of Alastor’s leg, one lazily outstretched and the other bent under him slightly. Luci wasted no time pushing back in. He leaned over you and pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest to be slightly crushed into the bed. He pulled out and slammed back into you, tearing a yelp from you as he hit deeper than he had before.

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were soaking wet, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock threatening to push past your cervix. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning.

You could feel him spreading open your womb. The feeling of your cunt pressing down on him from all sides including the front was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Screams that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

An ever shrinking part of Lucifer existed too, the piece of him too preoccupied with your two fingers on his leg to enjoy you. It got smaller and smaller, no longer a blockade to his pleasure, but a safety net allowing him to walk the tightrope of sadism.

The radio’s volume dial rolled, smooth jazz now blaring and drowning out your painfully pleasured cries. Alastor was fine with allowing someone to take care of your needs at his permission but strangers had no business enjoying your sounds.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your wet pussy trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

Your lips dropped his name and it fell like lead into his thoughts. He fought the urge to close his eyes again as he felt his orgasm building. He watched your flushed skin jump beneath every punishing thrust, his name a spell you could now barely whisper, not enough breathe to scream. Your upper body was entirely buried into the mattress. It felt like your back might snap with Luci’s loss of control. You kept your hand on his leg, ever ready to tap out.

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci was already over that peak when his eyes flew up to catch Alastor’s, it was too late to stop his orgasm. He was helpless to disobey, despite his now desperate desire to never cum again. With a moan, and a hiss, he pressed your body fully into the mattress. Your body now flush, he waited until his cock stopped jerking his long overdue seed into your bruised womb.

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you.

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

“I sleep on the left. I’d prefer you on the right.” he gently moved your head from his lap, “Beside me, my dear. A darling barrier.” Alastor didn’t look at Lucifer, just slid off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom. “No outside clothes under the comforter.” Alastor called from the bathroom before the sound of rushing water poured in.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer turned onto his side, hand caressing your arm. “Are you okay, kitten? I didn’t mean to lose myself like that.” He felt shame, like he had done something terrible. “And— I didn’t help you finish. That’s pretty shitty.”

But it fell away when you smiled back at him, “I feel great. Sore, but great all the same.” You let your fingers clumsily lace with his. “I really like you, Luci. And I don’t need to cum to enjoy myself. You can always try again, ya know?”

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

There was a moment where he was alone, noticing the radio was back to a tolerable volume, the water splashing softly out of view. He felt out of place, like he had accidentally walked into a stranger’s home. He wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go from there when Alastor’s head popped back into the room, annoyed, “Are you coming or not? Those are clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

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mooonjin · 28 days ago

Text

Reminiscing

Notes: BLESS THE SECOND SEASDON OF ARCANE OH MY DAYS HES SO GOIREGOSUSSSSSS can u tell viktor is my fav :3

Pairing: Viktor x f!reader

Summary: Years ago you and Viktor had parted ways, and for good reason. It was no longer about science to him but evolution. But evolution is the future? So why was Viktor dwelling so much on the past?

Warnings/Tags: 16+ because its bit suggestive so shooooo - tin/machine viktor, SLIGHT submissive viktor, SLIGHT submissive reader (hopefully its pg enough), swtiching, exes, trying to get back together (oof dont do that), suggestive innuendoes, touchy feely mentions, f!reader implied but no use of feminine pronouns — tell me if I've missed anything!

Part Two >

It had been years since you last saw Viktor, yet the memory of your parting remained etched into your mind like a wound that refused to heal. You remembered the way his gaze had shifted, once warm and full of curiosity, now cold and unyielding. His obsession with the Glorious Evolution consumed him entirely, leaving little room for anything—or anyone—else in his life.

He spoke in absolutes, his words more like calculations than sentiments. You watched helplessly as the person you once knew vanished piece by piece, replaced by a man driven by a vision far beyond your grasp.

The day you walked away was devastating. You hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he might pause, might see the toll his ambition was taking on everything he once held dear. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Viktor had chosen his path and you had no choice but to choose yours.

In the years that followed, his name became a distant echo, carried to you only by the occasional whisper of rumours. Tales of the Machine Herald, a figure deemed a God, filtered through the shadows of the world. You heard of his relentless march toward perfection, but not once did he cross your path. Not once did you imagine he would.

Until tonight.

The moment you flicked on the light in your living room, your heart stopped, the air leaving your lungs in a rush.

Someone was there.

Seated in your armchair like they owned the place, their silhouette sharp against the glow of the lamp. You froze, instincts screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there rooted in place. For a moment, they said nothing and neither did you. The stillness stretched thin.

Then, their voice cut through the tension like a blade, calm and deliberate.

“We need to talk.”

Your chest rises and falls erratically, the sound of your ragged breathing filling the heavy silence around you. He stays where he is, his presence is unnervingly calm. The dim light catches the gleam of his golden eyes. It feels alive, almost predatory, as it fixes on you.

“Are you done gasping for air?” he asks after a long moment, his voice gripped with impatience. The words slice through the room as if your panic were little more than an inconvenience.

“What the hell—who are you? Get out!” you exclaim, your voice raw and trembling with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Your fists clench at your sides, your body tense and coiled, ready for a fight or flight you haven't yet decided on. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for something—an escape, a weapon, an explanation—anything that could make sense of the stranger sitting so calmly in your home.

The figure doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react to your outburst. Instead, he remained perfectly still.

“You know who I am,” he replies, his voice distorted by the rough mechanical overlay of the mask he wears. The silence stretches taut, heavy with tension, his lack of movement somehow more menacing than any action could be.

Then, with a faint whir and the soft ‘shing’ of metal, he shifts slightly. The purple artificial muscles in his left arm flex beneath the layers of metal, “And there’s no way I’m leaving until we’ve spoken."

He leans forward in the chair. You take a step back, your foot catching slightly on the edge of the rug, but you don’t dare look away from him. Another step, then another, the distance between them never feeling like enough.

You stumble slightly as your heel brushes against the wall, your retreat halted. You were trapped between the hard surface behind you and the immovable figure in front.

Yet he doesn’t rise. He doesn’t chase. He simply watches.

With a deliberate motion, he takes a step forward, and another, closing the space between you with ease. Panic rises in your chest, but before you can react, he’s there, leaning over you. His body is so close, trapping you between himself and the walls of your home.

“You’ve changed,” he remarks after a long pause as he regards you like an old friend. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in every detail of your appearance.

“You look… softer,” he adds, his tone flat and dismissive, as if this change in you is something that doesn’t sit right with him. You don't miss how mechanical his voice sounds.

“Who... are you?!” The words escape in a rush. Your voice shakes, betraying the fear that is starting to creep up your spine. Who is he? Why does he feel so familiar, and yet so... wrong?

There’s no trace of recognition, no warmth in the air, just cold steel and the distant hum of something supernatural beneath his skin.

His fingers graze your skin lightly before gently grasping your chin, the coldness of his touch like ice. His grip is firm but there’s an unsettling gentleness to it. He tilts your face upward, forcing you to look into his eyes.

You can feel the weight of his touch and yet, it feels like it’s not just physical. It’s invasive, as though he’s reaching inside, probing for something. Your neck feels exposed, your breath catching slightly as your body instinctively tenses.

There’s nothing soft, nothing human about his stare. It’s all too alienated, too distant. The faint hum of his prosthetic arm seems to vibrate through the air, a constant reminder that whatever—whoever—this is, it isn’t entirely human anymore.

He leans in slightly, his head tilting to one side, as if pondering the absence of recognition in your expression.

His mask doesn’t convey anything, “You really don’t recognise me?” His tone carries an edge of disbelief, as though it’s almost unthinkable that you wouldn’t. He shifts his weight slightly, but his grip doesn’t loosen, his fingers still lightly holding your chin.

“Take your mask off!” your voice firmer now, though it trembles with the intensity of your frustration. The metallic distortion of his voice only makes it worse, the mechanical overlay making everything feel distant. He’s not any person you could remember, not even close.

He raises an eyebrow at your demand, "Very well," he mutters, his voice still tinged with that mechanical rasp but there's an odd calmness in it now. He pulls it free and it’s as if a veil is lifted from the air.

What lies beneath the mask is a face you know all too well, yet so different from the last time you saw it. His features are gaunt, sharper than you remember, as if the years have carved something out of him.

His skin is pale, almost ghostly under the light. There’s no mistaking it. His eyes, though shinier, still carry a familiarity that hits you like a wave. It’s him. The man you once knew—his face, his expression, the very essence of the person he was, buried beneath the mask and the years.

For a moment, you just stare at him, speechless. He’s right in front of you now.

Real. Yet he feels like a ghost, like a shadow of the man you once knew.

"… What happened to you?"

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind and it seems to carry the weight of everything that’s changed, everything that has shifted between the two of you over the years.

You stare at him, your gaze traveling over the sharp angles of his face, the hardness in his eyes. This isn’t the person you once knew, the person you once trusted and once loved.

The question seems to amuse him, “What happened?” He echoes back to you, his voice ringing with that familiar accent of his. A humorless smile twists at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The smile is dull, "Piltover happened," he adds, as if the mere name of the city is enough to explain everything.

"What happened," he says again as a growl now, “is that Zaun was cast aside—ignored, neglected, abandoned.”

His words hit you. Zaun. That forgotten, broken city that had always been on the edges of Piltover’s gilded perfection. The place that had been swallowed up by the ambitions and the indifference of those who held power.

The place where everything was left to rot, "So I made the city better, myself." His voice is steady, but there’s a dangerous edge to it now.

“And now Piltover is afraid.”

Before you can even react, he reaches up with a swift, practiced motion, placing one hand on the wall beside your head. His fingers splayed wide, as though he owns the very space you’re standing in.

“And you?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, laced with taunting amusement. The question hangs in the air, thick with challenge, daring you to respond. “Are you afraid of me?”

It’s a question loaded with intent, the kind of question that isn’t meant to be answered, but to make you feel small. However there’s something else in his voice, something... hungry. His words aren’t just a challenge, they’re a test, a way for him to gauge whether or not you see the change in him.

There’s a part of you that wants to deny it, to pretend he’s still the person you once knew, but the truth is right in front of you. This is not the same Viktor.

“You’re not a person,” you’re not sure if he can hear the quiet desperation in your voice as you speak. But as his gaze locks with yours, the chilling look in his eyes seems to confirm what you fear most. Whatever humanity once existed in him is long gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

He’s not a person. Not anymore.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that isn’t obvious,” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain, “I’m as human as you, if not more so,” he rasps, his words cutting through the space between you with confidence.

There’s a hum in his voice, a certain finality in his tone. “I still have a soul—a heart. One that beats just for you.”

His claim is so absurd, so twisted. A heart that beats just for you? He sounds like he believes it, like he truly believes that his obsession, his transformation, was somehow a sacrifice made for you.

His hand on your chin tightens and you can’t help but flinch. Here he is, speaking of love and devotion as if those words still carry any meaning. As if you’re supposed to believe him.

“No, we parted years ago.” The statement feels heavier than you expected. His expression flickers, ever so slightly, the faintest crack in his demeanor. The bitter smirk that had curled his lips falters for just a second before settling back into place.

“We did,” he says, a blend of mockery and intimacy. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. The corner of his lips quirks into a sly, humorless smirk. “I always parted you… in bed, that is.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back the sharp retort you wanted to hurl at him.

He laughs again, this time his chuckle is dark and deep, “You remember that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “You remember how I used to make you scream,” he says, the statement suggestive as it sounded.

His smile widened, the curve of his lips taking on an unsettling mix of nostalgia, “I’d drop to my knees for you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Anytime, anywhere… begging you to touch me, just where I needed you most.” His eyes burned into yours.

His hand finally released your chin, the absence of his grip almost startling. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers trailed down your neck in a slow motion, the touch lingering just enough to make your skin prickle. When his hand slid around your waist, the shift in contact was seamless.

“You didn’t just take my heart when you left me,” he continued, his voice softening into a purr that sent a shiver down your spine. “You broke it.” Viktor whispered. His lips quirked upward again, but this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You know why we split,” you say, your eyes narrowing as you force yourself to meet his gaze, despite the suffocating proximity.

"Always in the lab,” he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, but the growl lingers beneath the surface, ready to rise again. “Late into the night, always trying to find a new way to reach the Glorious Evolution.” His lips curl into a faint, humorless smirk, as though mocking himself as much as the memory of his relentless drive. “Always chasing perfection… and always losing sight of everything else.”

His fingers continue their slow, deliberate path down your body. His hand finally reaches the edge of your shirt, pausing there for the briefest of moments before grabbing it and lifting it slowly.

The fabric drags against your skin, exposing your chest inch by inch. His gaze flickers down, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You really are soft now,” he murmurs, "so soft."

You grimaced, "Stop it."

“Why?” He asks, his fingers moving even further down, sliding over the top of your thighs. “You don’t like it when I touch you?”

You instinctively swat his metal hand away but the moment your hand meets the hard, surface of his prosthetic, a sharp jolt of pain runs up your arm. You winced in result.

He grabs your wrist in a sudden, forceful motion, his fingers tightening with a painful grip, “Don’t do that.” He says, a warning tone in his voice. “Don’t swat at me like I’m some filthy little pest, when you used to kiss my hands like I was your god.”

"You're no God." You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you.” He says, leaning down to bury his face in the side of your neck. Viktor lets go of your wrists and instead pushes himself between your legs, pinning you to the wall with his body.

“I thought of you when I was supposed to sleep.” He purrs, his voice soft and rough in your ear. “I thought of you when I woke up.”

Then, with a deliberate movement, his body shifts closer, and you can feel the undeniable pressure of him grinding against you, pushing you harder into the wall. “I thought of you when I was desperate.”

Viktor's lips are close to your ear, his breath warm and unsteady as he speaks again, this time with a cruel twist. "You don’t even know, do you? How much I’ve ached for you." His words hang in the air.

“I thought of the way you looked back then.” He says, one of his hands trailing back down, grabbing your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. “When I still had you…”

He presses close to you, his hips pushed firmly against yours and his body close enough that you can feel the heat from his body against your skin. “How your skin used to taste…..”

“...You need to leave, Viktor.” You murmur. He leans in just a fraction closer, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no amusement there.

“Oh, I’ll go.” He says, his lips tracing a path over your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses over your skin.

“But not until we’ve caught up.” He lets go of your hair, one hand grabbing your thigh to keep your leg wrapped around his hip, while the other goes to your shirt, grabbing hold of the material once more.

“Maybe we should start with a little… reminiscing.”

Post Notes: lol i want to make another part but wioth smut oopsise!!!!!!!!!!!! viktor is eating my brain rn

~ ~ ~

my taglist form!

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor lol #mooonjin #arcane #arcane viktor #the machine herald #viktor machine herald #viktor m #machine herald #arcane act 3 #arcane s2 #arcane spoilers????#arcane season 2 #viktor season 2 #viktor x you #ENJOY PLS :DDDDDD #viktor imagine

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lillotte17 · 6 months ago

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*throws more Veilguard Banter into the gaping maw of Tumblr and then flees*

Solas: “I have another question, Varric. If I may?”

Varric: “Just the one?”

S: “For now. I must admit, I was surprised to see that you were the one they asked to make an attempt at dissuading me from completing my mission. Not to belittle our prior bonds of friendship, but if the intent was to send an agent who might presumably hold some power of persuasion over me, I…would have thought another candidate might have seemed like the more obvious choice.”

V: “Would it really have changed anything if she had been the one telling you to stop?”

S: “I…do not know. I should think not.”

V: “But at least you would have gotten to see her again, right?”

S: “Perhaps.”

V: “Heh, don’t you worry, Chuckles, I’m sure you’ll get your chance. The fact that I was here instead of her is more of a fluke than anything else. She was more than eager to follow up on the tip that led us to you, but then the kid insisted on tagging along, and you know how it is.”

S: “…kid?”

V: “Right, the kid. You probably haven’t seen him either.”

S: “…No. I have not. Although, I would have thought that there would have been news if the Herald of Andraste had… Well. I suppose there is wisdom in striving to keep such affairs private. I certainly have no right to voice an objection.”

V: “Why would you object to seeing the kid again?”

S: “Again? I… You are referring to Cole.”

V: *snorts* “Well, yeah. Who’d you think I was talking about?”

S: “Never mind.”

Rook: “So, Varric, do you really think the Inquisitor is going to show up?”

Varric: “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be here. She’s been searching high and low for Chuckles for nearly a decade.”

R: *whistles* “And she never caught up to him in all that time?”

V: “Once. It…didn’t end well. After that, a few of our agents came close over the years, but it turns out that the world is a pretty big place, and tracking a lone elf with a network of magical transportation mirrors on his side is about as tricky as you’d expect. It’s even harder when you’ve got a notorious reputation and half of Thedas has seen portraits of your face. One whisper of the Herald of Andraste entering a city, and all our leads would vanish overnight.”

R: “But…I thought the two of them liked each other?”

V: “I think that made it worse, actually.”

Solas: “You do realize that I am standing right here?”

Solas: “For what it is worth, I am sorry about your Bianca, Varric.”

Varric: “Oh, you know, what’s an irreplaceable keepsake from the woman I can never be with in the grand scheme of things, anyway? At least you didn’t turn me to stone.”

S: “Your anger is justified. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I would apologize for my actions, none the less.”

V: “Look, if I were you, my forgiveness isn’t what I’d be worried about right now. Someone else has a much bigger bone to pick with you than I do.”

S: “I am not expecting her forgiveness, either.”

V: “So, you’re not even going to try?”

S: “And what, precisely, should I be trying, Master Tethras? This is hardly the sort of situation to be solved by a bouquet of flowers and a well-constructed poem.”

Rook: “Maybe you could send chocolates?”

V: “I was going to suggest groveling, actually.”

#Solas #Varric #Rook #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #fic #i don't know that i feel like these flow as well as the first set #but i'm having fun with Varric dragging Solas through Uncomfortable Conversations

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suntoru · 11 months ago

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─ ✰ STUPID CUPID!

─ SYNOPSIS: gojo's desperate to get something from you, his unoffical partner (you just don't know it yet!) on valentine's day. what a pathetic loser.

─ WARNINGS: swearing, gn! reader, pure fluff, not proofread, delulu gojo, valentine's special, high school au, 2.3k words

─ AUTHOR'S NOTE: guys IM SO SORRY FOR SPAM REPOSTING BUT LETS FUCKING GOOOOO TAGS WORK AGAIN!! i am a firm believer in loser loverboy gojo!! have some fluff to make up for the angst before c:

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!!! it has to be somewhere..." satoru hisses urgently, his desperation clearly palpable. his frustration mounts as he rummages through his locker, a chaotic cascade of seemingly endless cards spilling out.

pastel pinks and softly-laced letters, each one a potential hope dashed as he frantically sifts through them. with each piece he retrieves, his heart races a little faster, his anticipation building as he scans through the names written on each envelope. riku, hana, aoi, chiyo, akane, akari... yet no y/n?! where was yours? the absence of your name among the others sent a wave of panic coursing through him, his heart hammering in his chest as the pile dwindles. his stress starts to seep in as the pile of cards gets smaller and smaller, and the ones he did read get larger and larger. he bites his lip nervously, his fingers trembling as he searches desperately for even the faintest trace of your name.

surely, there had to be something, anything, to reassure him that you hadn't forgotten him on this special day. what if they really didn't?? had he not made his feelings clear enough? but... he was so sure he'd get one! even a sloppily written, coffee-stained, ripped piece of paper would do. he just wants to see your name, somewhere, anywhere, in this damn pile of pink.

his heart pounds in his chest as he reaches the bottom of the mound, his fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and dread. with bated breath, he picks up the last letter, his pulse quickening as he carefully peels back the edge.

emiko.

the name stares back at him mockingly, as if confirming you really hadn't given him one. with a heavy sigh, satoru lets the letter fall back into the pile, his shoulders slumping in defeat. even the plush teddy bear that someone had left in his locker seems to taunt him with its stitched smile, as if was purposefully picking a fight.

"wipe that smirk off your face," he mutters under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. the though of sending it flying across the hall sounded pretty good right about now.

shoko's voice breaks through the silence as she and suguru enter the locker room, their curious gazes falling upon satoru's disheveled state. "wow, you got so many!" shoko exclaims, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the pile of chocolates and cards. she quickly crouches, snatching a few of her favourite in sight. gojo lets out a dramatic sigh, sulking with a pout on his lips. he hates valentine's day. how could he not get something from the love of his life? they're dating, y/n just don't know it yet. suguru cocks an eyebrow at satoru's crestfallen expression.

"what's the matter? didn't get one from y/n?" he questions, confusion etched onto his features. satoru lets out a dramatic groan, collapsing onto the floor in a mixture of frustration and despair.

"nooo... what if they're giving chocolates to someone else?"

he whines, the mere thought of you bestowing your affections upon another causing a pang of jealousy to stab at his heart. he rolls around, letting out a quiet sigh. he imagines you shyly offering your affections to another upperclassman, causing his lips to tug downwards. it should have been his card you held, his name on your lips, your heart he captured leaving you starstruck. but instead, he was left with empty hands.

"sugu... am i dying?" he mumbles, drawing puzzled glances from passersby who can't help but observe his melodramatic display. "it hurrrrttts.... my heart..." he pouts, folding his arms in a manner reminiscent of a petulant child. shoko rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"get up!! you're embarrassing yourself," she chides, playfully nudging him with her foot. ignoring her, he lets out whimpers of sadness, fully immersed in his theatrics. but then, as if a switch has been flipped, he catches sight of you approaching down the hallway. panic washes over him at the thought of you seeing him in such a pitiful state. with a sudden burst of determination, he straightens up, leaning casually against his locker with an air of nonchalance. adjusting his glasses slightly and parting his lips in what he hopes is an alluring manner, he prepares to present his best self to you. suguru and shoko exchange a deadpan look, silently acknowledging the absurdity of the situation.

"hey," he greets you with a dazzling smile as you draw near, as if he wasn't just have a crisis about you seconds ago. you return the gesture warmly, and he can't help but swoon over you. you're so cute. his eyes are immediately drawn to the bag you're carrying, its baby pink hue and intricate design make his heart race with anticipation. is it a valentine's gift for a special someone? perhaps there's still hope that you'll choose him after all!!! he subtly tries to peek at it's contents, but to his dismay, it's sealed shut.

"you got so many confessions!" you remark in awe, taking in the massive pile of gifts surrounding his locker. it's only ten in the morning, and yet the offerings seem to overflow, spilling into neighboring lockers and filling the air with a sweet, floral scent. the space is thoroughly decorated, as if a unicorn had burst in and left its magical touch behind.

"did you get one from anyone special?" you inquire, and he quickly shakes his head, inwardly congratulating himself for his loyalty to you. (yes, he's that delusional.) "nope... not from who i wanted, yet," he sighs dramatically, gazing into the distance with a hint of longing. suguru and shoko, observing the exchange from a distance, can barely contain their amusement, stifling snorts as they eavesdrop on your conversation.

"hey, are you planning to confess to anybody?" he asks casually, though his heart is racing with anticipation. he subtly fluffs his hair and fixes his ocean-blue gaze on you, trying to gauge your reaction.

"hm? oh... i am, actually!" you admit, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink as you attempt to conceal your embarrassment with a feigned cough. he resists the urge to scoop you up in his arms and pepper your face with kisses. nevertheless, his heart swells with hope, silently praying that the gift you're carrying might be intended for him.

"oh? and who to?" he feigns nonchalance, though every fiber of his being is hanging onto your every word, desperate for a hint of your true intentions. you look away, huffing softly, leaving him hanging on the edge of anticipation.

"it's a secret," you tease, sticking your tongue out before mentioning being late for your next class. with a quick goodbye, you slip away before he can protest. left alone once more, he slides down his locker, staring into the distance with a heavy heart. you... just left! does that mean the gift wasn't for him after all? his worst fears seem to be confirmed, and he feels the sting of disappointment threatening to overwhelm him.

someone else will get to make you blush, tenderly kiss your soft lips, and hold you close. but who could have possibly stolen your heart? he's the school's biggest heartthrob, after all. why couldn't he win over the only heart he truly desired? he's more handsome, smarter, and cooler than your crush, he convinces himself with a huff.

suguru slings his arm around his white-haired friend, giving him a playful noogie in an attempt to lift his spirits. "cheer up, 'toru. there are plenty of fish in the sea," he says, but satoru's mood only darkens further. he doesn't want anybody else; he only wants you. shoko sighs, rolling her eyes at the typical male cluelessness.

men.

as the day progresses, satoru slowly loses hope with each passing hour. he doesn't even have the energy to entertain the people who approach him, confessing their feelings with bowed heads. he smiles, accepts their gifts, and walks away, tossing them into his bag mindlessly.

he won't fall for any of them; not a single one truly understands him like you do. they only care because he's 6'3, and conventially stunning. but you? you go along with his silly antics, make him laugh until his stomach hurts, and only you can make him feel like he's floating on cloud nine. that's why he treasured having you as a genuine platonic friend... until his friends burst his bubble, insisting he was in love. it's only then that he realizes, oh shit, they're right.

the minutes trickle by, his anticipation dissipates, each passing class period making him lose hope that you'll ever confess. you're absent from his sight in every shared subject, from english to biochemistry, calculus to philosophy. with each missed encounter, his heart sinks a little lower, the disappointment weighing heavily upon him. when the clock finally strikes three fifteen, signaling the end of the school day, he finds himself trudging to his locker with leaden steps, the faint glimmer of hope dimming with each passing moment.

fingers trembling slightly, he slowly gathers his belongings, each movement drawn out as if in desperate anticipation of a surprise that never materializes. as he stands before his locker, the absence of your presence echoing loudly in the empty hallway, he can't help but wonder if you've already confessed your feelings to someone else.

in that moment, all he can do is hope—hope that whoever holds your affection will cherish you as deeply as he does, that they'll never bring tears to your eyes, and that they'll safeguard the innocent spark that ignited his own heart in the first place.

he plods homeward, shoulders slumped, his steps heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. each footfall echoes a somber rhythm as he idly kicks a rock, the dull thud punctuating his melancholy thoughts. cupid is so dumb. his heart, burdened with a gravity far surpassing the load of his overstuffed bag, threatens to pull him into an abyss of despair. oblivious to the world around him, he fixates on the ground, unaware to the approaching footsteps until a familiar voice pierces through the fog of his depression.

"satoru!"

startled, he lifts his gaze to find you, breathless and flushed, struggling to catch your breath as you call out to him. your cheeks glow with exertion, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath as you double over, hands braced on your knees. it takes several moments for you to regain your composure, during which he can only watch, concern etched deeply into his features.

"i've... huff been trying to call you for... the past ten minutes! why didn't... you pick up?" you exclaim, frustration evident in your voice as you finally manage to catch your breath. he fumbles for his phone, realization dawning as he sees the numerous missed calls from your number, his heart sinking with a pang of guilt for inadvertently ignoring your attempts to reach him.

"oh... sorry," he mumbles, embarrassment lacing his tone as he rubs the back of his head. "what are you doing here? how did your confession go?" his attempt at nonchalance rings hollow, the weight of his own unspoken feelings casting a shadow over his words.

"actually… i haven't confessed yet," you admit softly, your gaze flickering away from his as you reach into your bag. you hesitate for a second, but take a deep breath as you try to calm your pounding heart. intrigued, he watches as you withdraw a delicate baby blue bouquet of lilies, with it, attached a card, adorned with intricate bows. the sight warms his heart more than he cares to admit, the lilies adorning the card outshining even the most extravagant displays of affection he's received.

"i know you probably have countless girls vying for your attention, but i wanted to take a chance," you confess nervously, your words tumbling out in a rush, unable to make eye contact. "i hope you don't mind that i chose blue instead of pink. it just felt… more like you." your vulnerability touches him in a way he hadn't expected, a swell of emotions rising within him at the sincerity of your words.

"i like you. a lot. i like your laugh, it's so pretty. i love seeing you smile, i always wanna be here for you. ...will you be my valentine, 'toru?" your voice wavers with uncertainty as you await his response, but when he remains silent, you meet his gaze, searching for any hint of what he might be feeling. to your surprise, his cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson, his hand instinctively rising to cover his mouth as he struggles to find the words.

you almost feel like you've permanently short-circuited him when he gently cups your cheeks, a smile brimming with innocence gracing his lips.

"i thought you'd never ask," he murmurs, his lips forming a playful pout. he's tantalizingly close to kissing you, but then he deliberately pulls away, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your slightly annoyed expression.

"what?" he huffs, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip teasingly. "you teased me the entire day; don't you think it's my turn?" you're on the verge of offering retorting when you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, drawing you into a tender, unexpected kiss. your cheeks flush with the rush of being caught off guard; he always had a knack for keeping you on your toes. he tastes like coconuts and cream and everything sweet, and you can't help but sink into his embrace.

your valentine. you can't think of anything sweeter.

...even if he does tease you for your sappy letter later.

#gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

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sonicblueartist · 9 months ago

Note

What about a one-shot or just a suggestive story where Shadow takes advantage of y/n?

A/n: I'm probably gonna get all the fans' attention with this one huh? I normally don't write anyone but Tails but I am making an expection for some reason today. Have a good read I guess! Idk why I write what I write today XD Sorry for the long wait.

I left you guys in a cliffhanger. hah! idk if I would continue tho

Masterlist

Pairings: Shadow x Reader

They/them // She/her // He/him // Other

Summery; Eggman made a new weapon out of Shadow. Let's see what it is

Warnings: smut, lemon, suggestive themes, blood, marking, biting, tearing flesh, attempted rape

Word Count: 1371

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

As your eyes flickered over him in fear, you were instantly struck by the sharp and scary aura emanating from his breathtaking violet eyes. Shadow stood before you, his chest heaving rapidly as if he had just completed a long and demanding marathon. His fur was damp, drenched in sweat, and his claws peeked out menacingly from his gloves. His fangs were visible, adding to the unnerving sight that confronted you. But what puzzled you most was the absence of any evidentiary explanation for his condition, except for one haunting phrase that echoed in your mind.

"What do you think is the most natural instinct of an animal, the most wild and scary one?" Eggman's voice resonated in your head, reminding you of his words moments ago. "Their bloodlust? Hunger to stay alive? Maybe. But there is something else that is much *more* dangerous and entertaining. 'The will to do anything to death for their mate.' "

The memory of Eggman's sinister revelation half an hour ago flooded your mind. You hadn't expected this game of catch to turn into something so disturbing. Though you had managed to catch your breath, your heart still raced uncontrollably, struggling to make sense of the unsettling situation unfolding before you.

Your eyes widened in fear as Shadow took deliberate steps toward you, raising the possibility of him falling victim to Eggman's trap, turning against his friends. A sense of terror gripped you, leaving you feeling trapped with no way to escape. Desperately, you scanned your surroundings, searching for an exit, but found nothing. You found yourself backed into a dead end.

"And to mate, of course." Your throat tightened as you heard Eggman's words reverberating in your mind. The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning—Shadow was hungry, thirsty for you. Eggman's twisted plans had successfully turned him, and now the true extent of Shadow' instincts became clear. No, this couldn't be true. Shadow wouldn't do this to you, would he? The shocking dishonor of Eggman's manipulation left you bewildered, unable to fathom the torment inflicted upon your friends.

"C-come on, Shadow. This isn't you," you started nervously, your voice shaking. "We both know that you don't wanna do this. Behave yourself! Think logically, like you always do! We're still in Eggman's base. He's playing with you, with your mind, your instincts! You are the ultimate life form, damn it! You can't just succumb to Eggman like that! There are Badniks running around, and if they find us, we're finished-"

Your plea was interrupted as Shadow forcefully pinned both his hands beside your head, a whimper left your lips in fear. A deep snarl escaping his lips as you attempted to slide away. Trapped between him and the wall, you realized the extent of his transformation. No longer the loyal companion you once knew, he approached you with predatory purpose, garnered by one sole instinct—breeding. You were left with a terrifying decision. Would you become the first to fall at his hands before the Badniks got to you?

After examining his prey's frightened face for a while, Shadow slowly lowered himself, his nose skimming along your neck. His actions mirrored those of a true animal, inhaling your scent as his salivating mouth revealed his primal desire for your presence. The sensation of his warm breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the horrifying nature of the situation.

Attempting to muster the strength to push him away, you fought against his grip, but his strength surpassed anything you could have imagined. Like an iron vice, his grasp held firm, rendering your efforts fruitless. In spite of the predicament you found yourself in, you couldn't help but be mesmerized by Shadow' well-built form, his muscles flexing in the most hypnotic manner.

You quickly shook away such distracting thoughts, forcing yourself to concentrate on finding a way out of this nightmare. Every fiber of your being screamed for escape as Shadow began to suckle at your neck and shoulder, exhaling his hot breath in sporadic bursts. The sounds he made only served to further ignite the blazing heat that reddened your face, flooding you with a mix of desire and terror.

Suppressing a moan, you desperately struggled to redirect your focus, your mind racing for an escape plan. Yet, how could you concentrate on anything other than the overpowering dominance Shadow exhibited? Pressed against the wall by his scorching body, each breath and moan he emitted only served to remind you of the pleasure he was experiencing.

Amidst his sloppy kisses and teasing nibbles, you fought fiercely against the sensations threatening to consume you, trying to maintain your composure. However, as Shadow momentarily eased the pressure of his body against yours, he replaced it with his leg pressed against your groin, effectively preventing any escape. The mix of pain and pleasure elicited a whine from your lips, pushing Shadow to suckle at your shoulder with renewed vigor.

Finally, he got bored and withdrew from his sloppy territory. The room grew suffocatingly silent as he moved his fangs along your throat, gently biting a few places, feeling your heartbeat increasing. He licked his lips and shifted his attention to your other shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses and sucking hungrily, leaving little marks. But it seemed like that wasn't enough for him anymore; he growled, as if yearning for something more primal.

With his fingers deeply entwined in your hair, he pulled, causing you to gasp, displaying your neck like a plate of meal to him. Without warning, he sank his teeth into your shoulder, his fangs piercing through your skin. Tears slipped from your eyes as you cried out in pain. He let your arms go and held you tightly from your waist, as you gripped his back for support. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, and unwillingly scratched his back in pain. It felt as though his teeth were digging deeper into your shoulder, testing your limits.

Shadow let out a pleasured sigh through his nose, not yet satisfied. He continued biting harder than before, his eyes closed as he let out an animalistic growl. The realization that he could break your neck in half if he wanted sent a shiver through your spine. He sucked your blood with such thirst leaving you weak as you sobbed silently, drinking and swallowing it all as if he hadn't had a drop in weeks.

Before things grew any wilder, he pulled back, a string of blood and saliva still connecting the two of you. Panting for air, he tried to lick all the blood flowing from his mouth with his tongue, his breath hot against your face. Your blood flowed from your shoulder to your chest.

Satisfied with the mark he left on you, Shadow now went for your lips. Gripping your form, he forced his lips onto yours, connecting them. You hesitated, not wanting to taste the disgusting blend of your blood and his saliva. He pulled your hair once again, and when you whimpered in pain, he immediately seized the opportunity and engaged in a fierce kiss, taking your breath away.

Your heart raced as his hand wandered across your body in a manner both unnerving and inquisitive. He marked his territory, staking claim to every inch of your being. Your mind battled to comprehend the situation, as your body responded to his predatory touch.

Fighting the rising panic, you summoned your inner strength you managed to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a desperate attempt to distract him. As your lips collided in a feverish kiss, you hoped to manipulate the situation to your advantage.

To your surprise, he welcomed your advances. He tilted his head, letting out a low, carnal moan. Sensing that this could be your one chance to regain control, you decided to play along. You pushed aside your feelings of self-disgust and harnessed your newfound determination.

As you passionately kissed, your mind churned, searching for an escape plan. With each stolen moment, you became acutely aware of his animalistic nature, his primal desires, and his desperate need to assert dominance. Yet, instead of submitting to the imminent danger, an idea began to form in your mind.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic characters #allenwrites #sonic #shadow x reader #shadow #shadow the ultimate lifeform #shadow the hedgehog #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedghog fanart #shadow the hedgehog x reader

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certaimromance · 5 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 You Says.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

Read part one here!

Summary: After a rough night and some misunderstandings, Spencer needs to do everything he can to make things right with you and get his relationship back on track. The problem is, things aren't so easy for you, and he's willing to do anything you ask, even take care of you when no one else will.

Words: 3,1k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime and trauma. fem!reader. angst+comfort. reader gets sick (nothing serious, just a normal cold). second chance yep. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Ok, I didn't think of doing a second part before, but reading my own work made me so sad😭 the cat deserves happy parents (we are the cat) but I warn you that I do not believe in magic apologies.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

I. I Love You, I’m Sorry.

Spencer had been losing his mind since the last time he saw you in person, and it was all his fault. From the moment the door to his apartment closed behind you and the oven beeped, he began to feel the broken pieces of his heart that you had once held together unravel and shatter even more. He hated himself for letting his insecurities get in the way of the one good thing he had managed to have over the past few years, and for pushing you away when you didn't want to. You had been his exception among all the bad things that had happened in his life for as long as he could remember, the only one that didn't seem to want to be temporary and left him when he least expected it. And he himself had forced you out of his life, even when you didn't want to, begging him with tear-filled eyes for a little remorse that he didn't give you.

Just a few hours after the incident, he tried to go to work as if nothing had happened to clean up the mess the leak had made and put the killer in jail. He brought Penelope the promised cookies and your computer for her to examine because it felt right at the time. Part of him needed her to find real proof of your betrayal so he could stop feeling bad about making you cry and saying such ugly things to you.

Then he found out that you were telling the truth and that your computer contained nothing but photos of the two of you, all the articles he had ever written or been mentioned in your searches, and a few writings in which you poured out all your love for him in the cheesiest and most poetic way possible. You loved him, you really did, and there was no evidence to the contrary, because even Garcia could later assure him that the information had come anonymously and had been bought for five hundred dollars. But it was too late, because he had given you a conviction without even knowing it.

That's when he started to fixate on making amends for what he'd done. Every time you left work, bouquets of your favorite flowers with notes asking for forgiveness and wishing you a good night began to appear in your car. He also made a point of stopping by to talk to you and repeat how sorry he was. You knew this would happen when he realized his mistake. You had told him before you left, and that's why you refused to see him. It was good that the security guards at your workplace didn't let him in, even with his FBI credentials. The tricky part was your building because the doorman already knew him and let him in normally thanks to the excuses Spencer made up, even though you said a thousand times that he shouldn't have.

And that was happening again, for the fifth or sixth time in the last few days.

“Please, just let me talk to you and tell you how sorry I am. Listen to me for a moment.” You could hear Reid's voice from the other side of the door.

You didn't say anything. You just sat with your back against the door and one hand on your heart, as if you were trying to hold it. It didn't even cross your mind that he was in the same situation.

“Just a few minutes, please."

Once more, you remained silent.

Silence was the worst answer someone could give. You knew it, and it hurt to have to do it with him. But you had no choice because you knew that by looking into his eyes for just a few seconds, all the bad things would dissipate and maybe you would even forgive him without thinking just because of the love you had for him. You didn't like being this vulnerable and having so many feelings for someone who didn't trust you.

Lately, you've been spending every waking moment wondering what you could have done to make him believe that you were really capable of betraying him in such a cruel and selfish way. You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night to try to comfort him every time he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. You drove to his apartment no matter what time it was to make sure he was okay. You lost your breath repeating that he was safe with you. You drank many cups of coffee the next day so you wouldn't fall asleep on the job every time the situation repeated itself. That's why you started sleeping in his apartment, wrapped in his arms because he said it made him happy to wake up and see you. And even with all that, Spencer was able to believe that you didn't love him.

You were running your hands through your hair and sighing, trying to block out all the thoughts running through your head, when you heard his phone ring. You could tell it was important by the way he spoke and changed his tone of voice, so you got up from the floor at the same time he did to put your ear to the door.

“I really have to go now, but could you open up a little bit so I can take a quick look at you?” He asked in a pleading tone after hanging up the call. “Please, I know you can hear me. I can see the shadow of your feet under the door.”

You really thought he didn't know you were there, feeling like a fool for listening to every word he said.

“If you want to see me, turn on the TV.” Your voice finally reached Spencer, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. It was the first time you had spoken to him since that night, and even though there was a door between the two of you, you were talking to him.

“It's not enough.”

“And it's not my problem.”

That was more hurtful than your silence.

“I know, it's mine.” He replied after a couple of seconds, trying to process everything. “And I will do everything I can to fix it...I have to go now, but take care of yourself. The nights have been getting colder lately, so wrap up warm.”

You knew it was a bit silly to think of that now, but his attention to detail was impressive. Since you did the evening news, you used to get off work very late, and the change from air conditioning to the city cold was quite a lot. Spencer had cited scientific studies to you many times to make you aware and know what kind of clothing materials to use to avoid a cold. You missed that a lot.

If he had the same attitude as the night of the conflict, it would be easier. You could hate him and stop loving him so strongly.

“I love you, William misses you and so do I.”

You frowned because you didn't know anyone by that name.

“William?”

“Our cat.” He answered simply. “When we talked about how we would name him, you said that a lot of people name their pets after their favorite characters. You love the movie ‘Notting Hill’ and whenever we watch it, you always say you like Hugh Grant's character named William. It also means strong-willed warrior. I just thought you would like it.”

You didn't say anything at the time because you had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep from doing so, but you liked it and you liked it too much. Once again, he focused on the details.

“You can change it if you want because I don't know if he likes it, but what I do know is that he misses you. He lies on your blanket and starts meowing, and he also looks at the door. I certainly think that every time I come home he expects it to be you.” He kept talking as he received no response from you. “It sounds like I'm talking about myself. And it's true because it happens to me the same way.”

When he paused, a tear escaped and fell down your cheek. It wasn't fair for him to say those things now.

“If you want to see him and me not being there, you can send me a message...but I'd really like to be.” He paused again, as if searching for the perfect words.

What did it cost him to have searched for the perfect words the night he distrusted you?

“I must go, I love you.”

The last thing you heard before he left was Spencer's footsteps heading towards the elevator.

II. I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Just two weeks later, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Spencer when he said the nights were getting too cold. If you had, now you probably wouldn't be lying on your bed with an unbearable flu and no one there to bring you soup or a cold washcloth for your forehead because your mother was taking too long to get to city.

When you were younger, you thought it was a great idea to get as far away from your hometown as possible. Now, however, you realize that you need a familiar face to take care of you because you can't do it alone all the time.

You felt a sense of relief when you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Mom? I'm really hungry and the soup is all gone.” You spoke in a tired tone as you heard footsteps approaching. But at that moment, you watched as the cat you shared with Reid jumped onto the bed and started purring at you.

You thought you were hallucinating from the fever until you saw Spencer walking into your room with a couple of bags.

“I know you were expecting your mother, but we brought you soup and medicine.” He said, sitting up in bed to look closely at you and put a hand on your forehead. “You're burning up.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

“Your mother called me because she couldn't find a flight today and was very worried. She asked me to take care of you.”

Of course she did, because she adored him and didn't know that things were bad between you two.

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You barely settled into bed and petted the cat. “Go to work, make sure no one leaks information.”

Oh, that was a low blow for him.

“I asked for a few days off because you have a high fever and someone needs to take care of you.”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to.” He said, interrupting you and putting a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Just because you're looking out for me doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything and forgive you.” You clarified right away, trying not to lose focus because of the relief you felt thanks to the cold compress.

“I know, and I don't expect you to. Just let me take care of you now, forget you hate me until you get better. I won't take advantage of this, I swear.” He looked at you with a serious gaze, as if he were swearing an oath. “Please.”

God, not puppy dog eyes now.

You used to love it when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes. Now, though, you felt manipulated by it.

“Fine, give me the soup.” You finally agreed, knowing you didn't have much of a choice. “Just a warning, please don't answer any calls near me. I can listen in and use the information to hire a nurse.”

He ignored the comment and didn't bring it up to make you uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, and his eyes searched yours as he spoke.

“Is there anything else besides soup I can bring you? More tissues, or maybe some medicine?” He asked in a soft, soothing voice.

You shook your head, still a bit dazed by the situation and your stomach rumbling. You watched as Spencer disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the house, followed by the clatter of pots and pans and the sound of the stove being turned on. You could only lie back on your bed, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down next to you on the bed, being careful not to spill anything.

“Are you planning to feed me soup?” You asked, with a hint of irony in your voice, as you watched me hold the spoon and watch you.

“If you wish, I'll be happy to.” He replied simply and brought the spoon gently to your mouth.

“I'm not a baby.”

Especially not his baby.

“You hate me, I know. But I really want to take care of you, and I won't leave until at least your mother arrives.” He paused for a second, as if to catch his breath. “If you don't want me around, that's okay, I'll just sit in the corner of the room or in the living room in silence. It hurts, but I'll take whatever you want.”

You remained silent for several seconds, dedicating yourself to stroking the cat to avoid Spencer's gaze.

“I don't hate you.” Was the only thing you could say at the time.

Something inside you was expecting a more exaggerated reaction for letting your guard down a bit, or maybe you were just too feverish. The thing was, he had only given you a small, almost non-existent smile.

“I know.” He finally spoke and gently adjusted the cold compress on your forehead. “And that's why I hate myself.”

At that moment, while you were trying to make sense of how things had changed so much in just a week, he was watching you.

Spencer was waiting for you to explode, to tell him how sorry you were for getting involved with him and his complicated world, that it was all one big mistake that you would regret forever. He was expecting disaster, pain, tears, and a lot of chaos.

But you didn't give him any of that.

Just a sweet nothing.

He could tell at that moment that even though you were in a feverish state and had many reasons to be cruel, you would not be. He realized that you would never yell at him or do anything to hurt him, that the most painful thing you could give him was your silence. And it was then that he confirmed that you loved him the way he thought he did not deserve to be loved: honestly and genuinely.

“Why?” You whispered after a few minutes of silence. “Why are you with me if you don't trust me?”

“I trust you.” He looked you straight in the eye as he spoke, trying to show that he was being completely sincere. “I just don't trust myself.”

You frowned and let out a groan from the discomfort in your forehead. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating because of the cold or if Spencer was really shivering.

“I don't think I'm good enough for you, or deserve you, or that you love me because you want to.” He finally admitted, his voice slightly shaky. He seemed to be in a worse state than you. “It's silly because you've never given me a reason to distrust you.”

“I know you thought I was going to leave. But I didn't want to leave until you asked me to.” You were close to crying, so you pretended to sneeze to hide your watery eyes. You didn't want to show how vulnerable you were. “It was easier to distrust me and blame me like I was just another bad person you catch.”

“Yes, but...” He replied, trying to answer your question.

“Don't talk. It's my turn.”

He nodded after a few seconds, watching you with concern. “Just be careful, you're still sick.”

You already knew how sick you were and how deplorable you probably looked, but you wanted to say it all and stop feeling a lump in your throat.

“You say you trust me, but you really don't, and I've been trying to understand you for almost a year, Spencer. It's been eleven months of trying not to invade your space, avoiding topics that make you tense or your eyes glaze over.” You had to stop to catch your breath and drink some water with his help. “And you think I don't understand you or really know you, but I do. I know how all your dishes are arranged, I know how you like to fold clothes and eat toast, I know that chess reminds you of someone because your eyes get watery every time we see a board, I know about the book signed by Maeve that you hide in your closet and about which you tense up every time I'm near, I know about your nightmares about prison that you don't like to talk about, and about your mother's favorite colors that change every day. I know so much about you, and yet you think I know nothing.”

Once more, there was a long, quiet pause.

“I'm so sorry.” He held your hands as he repeated the same thing, this time with a truly sincere tone. The whole room was still tense as his knees touched the floor, and the apology he gave you seemed like a plea. “I'm really sorry. I know you don't want apologies, you want trust, and I'm going to show you that.”

You didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I trust you, that's why I always tell you about my cases. And I will tell you about all my past, if you want, because for me you are my present and my future...of course, only if you still want to.”

The eyes of both of you were fixed on the cat you shared, who was purring and lying very comfortably in the middle of the bed. It was nice to know that at least one of the three of you was happy.

“Tell me.”

And just as you asked, he told you everything because he wanted to show you that he trusted you.

This time he really trusted.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #matthew gray gubler

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whismizxal · 7 months ago

Text

show me off dr3

── in which daniel ricciardo loves showing off his greek girlfriend.

── warning: google translated greek, some spelling and grammar mistakes, relationships, kind of suggestive? anything else I missed please let me know xx

f1 drivers. navigation.

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danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 645,922,192 others

danielricciardo be jealous or should I say να ζηλεύεις γιατί είναι ΤΟ ΚΟΡΙΤΣΙ ΜΟΥ. (be jealous because she’s my girl)

tagged; yourusername

view 11,221 comments

username absolute beauty

username I am very jealous

username pls their so cute

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yourusername duolingo lessons payed off

⤷ danielricciardo you were a better teacher

⤷ duolingo I see how it is.

⤷ danielricciardo she gave me private lessons mate, what can I say?

⤷ username DAMN OUTING HER LIKE THAT

⤷ yourusername you’re sleeping on the couch

⤷ danielricciardo wait I am sorry please baby

username he calls her baby 🤭🤭

⤷ username so do many couples in the world, what about it?

username you forgot to add a comma after the say.

⤷ username aren’t you just a ray of sunshine

────────────────────────────

DANIEL AND Y/N WERE IN LOVE.

there was no doubt about it.

the way their eyes glow when the other is mentioned or walks into a room is something that is out of a disney film. the quick glances of adoration they give each other are constantly caught on camera proving their love for each other further more.

the way he looked at her when she was talking made it seem like she hung the moon and the stars, and there wasn’t a soul who could get daniel to tear his eyes away from the girl he loved calling a goddess.

“daniel, you listening?” she asked softly, looking at him a smile which told him she had caught him staring at her.

“can’t lie baby, I wasn’t.” he responded sheepishly but never taking his eyes off her. “you’re just so beautiful.” he muttered as he went closer to her and stroked her cheek.

“how’s the greek going?” she asked with a soft smile as she looked into his eyes with complete affection.

“I think it’s going quite well. wanna hear me speak?” he spoke excitedly, a huge grin on his face as he asked the question.

“of course I do.” she replied, her smile matching his.

“εισαι η αγαπη της ζωης μου.” he says with a accent, a proud smile on his face. (you are the love of my life)

y/n laughed softly as blush crept on her face at his words. she reached up to kiss his cheek. “κι εσύ είσαι δικός μου.” she spoke sweetly. (and you are mine.)

“wait what does that mean?” he asked a little panicked as he goes on his phone to search it up, forcing a laugh out of her.

“I love you so much.” she tells him, grabbing his face to look at her.

he dropped his phone and kissed her with a smile, lifting her off her feet as they laughed into the kiss. “I love you too.” he says against her lips.

“I know, you love to show me off on instagram.” she giggled, running her fingers through his hair.

“can you blame me?” he responded, picking her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moving his hands to be under her thighs to hold her. “you’re so fucking beautiful and I need to make sure everyone knows it.” he says, kissing her cheek as she blushed.

“thank you for leaning greek. you don’t understand how much i appreciate it.” she whispers to him, leaning her forehead against his as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“of course love, got make sure your family can understand my vows.” he smiles smugly as he walks towards the sofa still holding her in his arms as he sits down.

“been waiting three years for you to ask.” she joked as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“don’t worry, I’ll ask soon. just don’t want you to be expecting it.” he said, kissing her head when he saw her cheeks turn red.

they both sat in a comfortable silence as daniel rested his head on y/n’s, stroking her thigh as he smiled at the thought of the engagement ring he bought two weeks ago that was hiding in one of his socks at the back of his drawer.

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danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 239,821,292 others

danielricciardo some more future wife appreciation

tagged; yourusername

view 10,922 comments

yourusername show me off 🤭🤭

⤷ danielricciardo course 🤭

⤷ username he’s in love in love

username looked at my bf and sighed cause why can’t he show me off like this

⤷ username cause if he did then people might try and take you away from him.

⤷ username omg thank you ☺️

⤷ username call me 😉

username future wife this, future wife that, make it present wife!

⤷ yourusername that’s what I am saying. I wanna be called his wife not his girlfriend 😔

⤷ danielricciardo all in due time baby

username yourusername if he gets you to wear a really nice dress and get your nails done, there’s a 95% chance he’s gonna propose

⤷ yourusername 🤭🤭 oml thank youuuu

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yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 282,627,911 others

yourusername HE PROPOSED IN GREEK. I AM GONNA BE HIS WIFEEEEEEEE 🪿🪿

tagged; danielricciardo

view 12,945 comments

username FINALLYY

username WHY DID SHE USE A DUCK EMOJI

⤷ yourusername they remind me of daniel.

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⤷ yourusername I am not permitted to talk about it

username so happy for you guys!

username in greek!! THATS ROMANCE

carlossainz55 finally did it I see

⤷ landonorris at least he no longer will say she’s his future wife, but just his wife

an; this is kinda of bad so I might end up re-writing this in the near future.

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towriteloveontheirarms · 8 months ago

Text

The princess´ favour (Criston Cole x Targtower!Reader)

synopsis: Your love may never be accepted by the people around you, that doesn´t hold you back from expressing it in the privacy of your chambers.

warnings: age gap, kinda forbidden relationship, smut, oral sex (m receiving), afab reader

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

As a girl you never understood what was so great about tourneys. Sitting beside your mother, flinching away from the raw violence of it all, while your brothers watched with a fascination you had rarely seen them have for anything. However, now as a woman grown, you began to see the appeal. Not for the fighting, but for something entirely else. Or rather someone entirely else. Sitting all the way in the front row of the stands with your brother Aemond, who was just under the age of being allowed to participate himself, watching on as knight after knight gets knocked off their horse. Analysing and talking on and on about what they could have done better, while your eyes solely rested on one knight, sitting on his horse waiting for his turn to most assuredly destroy his opponent. Your knight, as you called him in the secrecy of hidden places in the gardens, empty hallways around the keep and your chambers in the dead of night.

When it is Criston Cole's turn to compete against some knight from the Reach, whose name went in one ear and out the other almost immediately, he rides up to the stands. As his horse comes to a stand, his helmet finds its way under his arm and those dark eyes search for your own.

With a poorly concealed wide smile you lean over the railing. "Ser Criston."

His eyes light up with the way his name sounds falling from your lips and his own lips split into a smile, nodding to you in greeting.

“Your highness. I am sure to win this tourney. Would you do me the honour of doing so with your favour?” His voice carries over the background of excited chatter and knights barking commands at their squires.

Without hesitation you skip over to the small table to grab the ring braided from acacia blossoms to let it down the lance that is safely propped up against his side.

“Good luck, Ser.” You chirp, waiting for him to bow his head ever so lightly and then ride away to take his position. Only then you sit back down by Aemond´s side. The side eye he gives you easily goes ignored, as in the moment he opens his mouth, the horses start to race towards each other.

Of course, Criston ends up successfully knocking his opponent off his horse, having you jump up to applaud him enthusiastically. Along many other Ladies. Yet one look of his beautiful, dark eyes is enough to quell your doubts about his loyalty. It would be your chambers he would be sneaking into later.

“Have I told you how much I hate seeing you get hurt like this?” Your thumbs run over his cheeks to assess the extent of his wounds.

“You have, princess.” Criston smiles up at you, brown eyes watering as you run one of the digits over his busted lip, despite his victory he naturally had taken a few hits himself.

The heavy plates of his armour discarded and the clothes underneath unbuttoned to reveal his muscular chest.

“My apologies.” You mumble upon hearing him suck in a sharp breath.

Criston shifts ever so slightly before he lets you put the washcloth to his skin again, wandering down steadily. When you reach his chest, the backs of your noses brush against each other ever so slightly. Your breath catches in your throat and almost reflexively Criston's fingers twitch against your thigh.

"How are you feeling?" You mumble, still fully concentrated on cleaning his wounds.

"I feel quite alright, now that I have you all to myself." Criston looks at you, the glimpse of something sparkling in his eyes.

"My attention will always be on you only, my sweet knight. My affections will only ever belong to you." You put down the cloth you had used to clean him up and run your hands through his hair, before kissing his forehead.

After that you barely separate until your foreheads rest against each other, noses rubbing against each other playfully, before Criston´s lips find their way onto yours. They lap at each other in tender, languid motions while eager hands run over clothed bodies they had explored a multitude of times before. Still, even if you knew each other’s bodies like the back of your own hand, you would never grow tired of it. In all this time the butterflies never calmed.

In the blink of an eye Criston joins you on the bed, straddling your hips and pushing you onto your back. The world spins around the two of you from the abruptness of the motion, as the rough pad of a thumb traces your jaw line first, before running over your lower lip.

Instinctively your legs wrap around Criston´s hips. Before your lips can seal in another kiss though, you roll the two of you around, to comfortably kneel above the knight with a triumphant teasing smile.

“You have done enough already. Let me reward you for your win.” You whisper against his neck.

The tip of your tongue traces a line down the middle of his chest and abs to the hem of his pants.

On the bed Criston propped himself up on his elbows to look at you better, his breath hitching as you teased just under the material.

“As you wish, princess.” He breathed, hiding a half smile, by biting his lower lip.

You follow this up by pulling his pants and breeches down to his ankles to set the tan hardness free from its confines. The same action makes your mouth water at the thought of what was to follow alone already.

In a matter of moments, you gently take the base of his cock into one hand to lick up the length of the vein on its underside. When the wet muscle reaches the tip, your lips wrap around it eagerly, teasing the weeping slit. Underneath the hand resting on his strong thigh, the tired muscles begin to shake from the teasing actions.

“Princess…” Criston's shuddering voice sounds through the room.

His dark eyes, though half closed, are trained as you give his cock an experimental suck. Taking it in just a bit deeper. As an immediate reaction you can see from the corner of your eyes how the knight’s hands grip the sheets a bit tighter. With a happy sigh at the reaction, you set a comfortable pace. His hips meet your mouth, thrusting up with trembling legs.

After a while his thrusts become harsher, hitting the back of your throat now to elicit the most enticing moans mixed with quiet gagging sounds he had heard from you.

Amid trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose and the view of him vanishing under a veil of tears, the hand on his thigh wanders upwards. Immediately his body trembling turned into a full-on shaking. Your hand barely cups his stones, yet the touch pulls a groan from him, that has the juices from between your legs dripping down your own thighs. The sound is more rousing than anything you had ever heard before. You gently roll them in your palm and the knees on either side of your shoulders tighten abruptly and Criston´s hips push off the bed and into your mouth on their own volition.

“So good… I don´t think I am able to hold back much longer.” The cries of pleasure from his lips grow louder, uncaring of who outside the door might hear them.

The tip of the knight’s length slips past the back of your mouth and into your throat to make you gag. The wet sound fills the room for a moment followed by sputtering and panting, as you desperately gasp for air. At the same time, you never stopped pumping his hard cock.

The quick motions and have his body shaking uncontrollably, even more so when you put your lips to his big sack, placing gentle, wet kisses onto it and sucking it into your mouth. The two of you moan in unison. The vibrations again send shocks through Criston’s body, his eyes rolling back into his head and arms underneath going limp, unable to hold him up any longer.

“Please, princess.” The begging whimpers get repeated like a prayer.

You barely manage to separate long enough from laving affection onto his lower body to answer. “Please what, my sweet knight?”

“I'm so close." Is the desperate, needy whine you get to hear in turn. “Please, I want to finish.”

It's truly adorable how he still asks for permission to let his climax overcome him. Hips trying to hold back from trusting into your hand until you answered his pleads, swollen lips hanging open and a sheen of sweat coating his face.

“Go on then. Paint my face with your seed.” You encourage him, before going back to pay attention to his stones. Your tongue flicks out to play with them, while your hand tugs on the knight’s hardness just a bit faster. The other hand, which rubs circles into his inner thigh again, wanders up just far enough to let one finger put the lightest amount of pressure on the point right behind the sack. The reaction it earns in return is all the bigger.

Criston´s hands fist into the sheets and the groan that breaks free from tightly pressed together lips has you praying that no one would storm into the chambers while Criston does as you have told him. Painting your face with his seed, making you look like one of the women serving in the pillow houses in flea bottom. The ones Aegon would talk about, whenever he wished to upset either you or one of your siblings.

And in the moment, there exists no more beautiful sight in the entire world to your secret lover. You continue pumping his cock until he has nothing more to give and the whimpers from above have turned even more raw and high pitched. For a moment after that you sit back on your haunches to just revel in the glow that shines from Criston after his climax. One finger collects the seed on your face to get it into your mouth.

After that moment of respite, the washcloth is picked right back up and wet again. This time to wipe your face first and the knight's privates afterwards.

But the second you crawl onto the mattress the both of you know that there is not much time left to cuddle. Outside the sun started to set, colouring the sky in all kinds of beautiful shades of red and orange. Alerting you that you would be expected at a dinner in your mother's chambers and Criston needed to go back on post. Perhaps you had taken a bit too long to take care of his wounds, but when your knight’s lips graze yours, his chest still heaving underneath your hand, you can't find it in you to care about any of that. Not as long as he would be lying there with you.

“I do not know what I have done to deserve you, princess. You are too good to me.” He rasps against your lips, noses brushing against each other to make the moment more intimate, as your hands wander over the other´s sides and arms.

“You deserve only the best. I hope you know that.” You answer in a raw voice.

#ser criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x you #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic

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suuuupernovaaa · 5 months ago

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Relief ft Benjicot Blackwood

Benjicot is to be married off, and you don’t believe it is to you.

Tags: fluff, arranged marriage, lots of fluff, not proofread

The grease from the bird coats your fingers as you pick at your food, pushing it around the plate but not eating.

“Y/N!” your sister hisses, chiding you for the mess you’re making, and you cannot offer her anything in response but a childish eye roll.

“Stop that,” she whispers. “You blame me, but this is not my doing.”

Though she’s right, you fear you will hate your only sister until your final breath rattles in your chest.

It is you who has loved Benjicot Blackwood since you were practically babes.

You who has spent your years teasing him, learning him, meeting him in secret as - even though you still kept your maidenhead - the two of you spending time alone was improper.

It is you who knows every freckle on his face, has the brown of eyes his memorized so that you see it when you close yours, and can smell his scent in the wind on cold days.

Yet you know, by the end of this night, your sister will be betrothed to him. Not you.

Everyone whispers of it. A union between your great houses. A lord and lady to wed. Your sister is older and must marry first, and Benjicot is heir to the stewardship of these lands, and so it will be the two of them united.

Wiping your hands on a napkin, you rise and excuse yourself. Your parents sit even now with Ben’s parents, bartering the union, and soon it will be announced. You exit the hall and find yourself outside, the chill in the air raising bumps on your uncovered arms. The guards in the courtyard glance at you, and then away.

No one stops you as you cross the muddy courtyard and through the open gate under the quickly setting sun. Just ten minutes, you tell yourself. Ten minutes to gather your composure, and then you can return.

Ten grows to twenty, and thirty, and the chill is bone deep before you return to the fort. Unable to bring yourself back to the banquet all, no matter how you will be chastised for it later, you make way for the guest quarters, aiming to cry yourself to sleep.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice hollers as you begin to round the bend in the stairs. You stop, and turn to see Benjicot charging up after you, breathless. “I have been searching everywhere! Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out,” you reply.

“Out? You left in the middle of dinner.”

You shrug. “Why does it matter? I am sure no one else noticed.”

You try not to be touched by the fact that he did. After all, he won’t be yours much longer. The thought grips your chest, spreading like black ink out to your limbs, and you feel exhausted by it. You just want to lay down away from everyone and forget even your own name.

A smile spreads across Benjicot’s face, a familiar, cunning smile that sends chills down the spines of his enemies, and up yours.

“Everyone noticed you left. How can they announce my betrothal, if my betrothed is missing?”

The words don’t quite make sense in your mind when you first hear them. “Missing?”

You ask. “My father made to announce that we are to wed, and a panic ensued when you were found not present.”

“You and I, to be wed?”

He simply nods.

“But, my sister?”

“I spoke plainly with my father, and yours. Your sister has many prospects for her hand, and we will wait until she is married to proceed with our ceremony, but I would have none but you.”

Your heart, heavy almost moments ago, flutters in your chest.

“We are to wed?” you ask again, and Benjicot cannot help but laugh. Instead of answering, he wraps a strong hand around the back of your neck and pulls your mouth firmly to his.

“You are to be mine, as you always have been,” he whispers against your lips, and you fall into him, a sob of relief escaping you.

“Hush now,” he chides as he places kisses all over your face, still cold from the outside chill. “No tears in the face of good news, my beloved.”

You throw your arms around his waist, and he holds you tight to him, tucking you into his warm chest.

“They are happy tears,” you manage to say into his coat, and he laughs again, the sound more beautiful than any you’ve heard before.

“I am hurt that you thought I would let you go so easily, my dove. Come. Dry your face, and we will go show them all how happy we are.”

And indeed, you do. There are huge for everyone. Your father and mother, your sister with tears of relief in her eyes, and your future family as well.

Benjicot steals you away once the congratulations have ended, to join the dancing. You feel lighter than air as he spins you around and dips you down low, whispering kind words and dirty promises your ears all the whole.

When the night is ended and you must part, he kisses you again. “Sleep well, wife,” he whispers, and you blush.

Sleep does come, eventually, and your dreams are filled with your betrothed.

#benjicot x reader #benjicot blackwood #Benjicot Blackwood fic #HOTD

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fatherbrat · 8 days ago

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cw. prequel to this. college au hockey player!sukuna. fatherbrat’s 2nd hugh hefner costume mention. reader is drunk. crack-esque. sfw, 1.3k words.

the first time you meet sukuna is at a halloween party.

(it’s technically your halloween party. it isn’t your house or anything, but the boys that live there are happy to let you host as long as it means a house full of girls and none of the responsibility of setting up. you're happy to fulfill their requests, since it means you can have things go your way and then dip at the end of the night, leaving the post-party cleaning up to them.)

needless to say, you and sukuna do not make good first impressions. you would blame the alcohol, but honestly, it wouldn’t have gone any different if you were sober.

he arrives at the party in a group. you recognize one of them—the tall, smiley one with impossibly white hair who sits behind you in biochem. he’s dressed up like a character from an snl skit, clad in an ill-fitting suit and round sunglasses with a present box glued to his pelvis.

you don’t recognize the one who comes in behind him, but he’s sexy and tanned and has a mustache. he’s also wearing the same costume as the white-haired one. gojo, you remember. isn’t he on the hockey team?

you immediately pull out your phone, searching up the school’s official instagram page for the hockey team. there they are, front and center in the most recent post. the third guy with them—the one with black hair and the scar that runs through his lip—is in the picture too. he’s wearing a batman costume now, half-assed but recognizable enough. at least he has on the mask.

you squint at the last man in the group and frown. your gaze drops back down to your phone.

in the second row of photos is a carousel full of pictures of this pink-haired brute. sukuna, the apparent team captain. his personal account is tagged, but it seems too professional to you, public and polished to perfection for recruiters.

anyways. he’s here. at your halloween party. wearing an outfit you deem completely unacceptable.

you down the rest of your (sixth) drink and toss the empty can onto the kitchen counter before making your way towards the group of men, wobbly as ever.

gojo is the first one to notice you. “hey,” he beams, “cool party.” he puts his arm around the guy with the mustache—shiu—and wiggles his eyebrows. “you like our costumes?”

you ignore him, something you wouldn’t do sober, but you’re on a mission.

you point at sukuna, jabbing your nail into his chest. “where the fuck is your costume?”

sukuna glances down at your finger, then your costume, then your face. “you don’t see the jersey? i’m a fuckin’ hockey player.”

you pull back your hand, disgusted. “first of all, drop the attitude, mister. second of all, that’s not a costume. you’re on the hockey team.”

someone snickers. the one dressed as batman, you think, but you don’t turn around to check. sukuna’s face morphs through a few different emotions—amusement, annoyance, astonishment. he eventually settles on agitation, pissed that he hasn’t even gotten the chance to get some liquor in his system before dealing with bullshit like this.

“you wanna talk about costumes? you’re wearing underwear and a robe,” he says, gesturing towards you with a dismissive wave.

you gasp and plant your hands on your hips. “this isn’t just underwear, idiot. it’s lingerie. i’m wearing a garter belt, for fuck’s sake. and thigh highs! plus you forgot about my hat?”

you use your entire arm to point at gojo. “who am i dressed as, dick-in-a-box boy?”

his face is flushed from laugher. “sexy hugh hefner. obviously.”

you throw your arm up in the air and let it fall against your thigh with a smack, not noticing the murderous glare sukuna sends towards gojo. someone somewhere turns down the music a bit.

“see!” you exclaim, addressing sukuna once again. “this is clearly a Sexy Costume™. and you know what else makes it a costume? i would never just leave my house like this on a typical day. it’s not a regular outfit in the slightest.” you speak slowly, wanting to make sure he understands every word.

“you wanna know what makes this Not a costume?” you continue, still talking slow as you wag your finger up and down sukuna’s body. “it’s a regular-degular outfit. literally anyone can put on that campus store-bought jersey and wear it with those jeans on a normal day.”

sukuna starts to speak, but you cut him off. “didn't you see the sign out front? ‘no costume, no entry.’”

his jaw ticks. his right eye twitches. “yeah, i saw the fucking sign. i don’t-”

“oh, great,” you interrupt. “so you don’t know what a costume is and you can’t read. perfect. that hockey scholarship must be doing a lot of heavy lifting, huh?”

even in your inebriated state, you immediately know that was the wrong thing to say. the little crowd that gathered to watch your back-and-forth takes a collective inhale. sukuna looks downright irate, fists clenched at his sides as a storminess settles over his face.

gojo lets out a long and low whistle, the kind that cartoon bombs make right before they hit the ground and explode. he pats your shoulder twice before abandoning you altogether. the rest of the crowd follows, leaving you to contend with this bear you repeatedly poked.

the music returns to its original volume, but it sounds like the speaker has been moved. away from you and closer to the living room.

maybe it’s the alcohol in your system, but you swear you can see literal steam coming out of sukuna’s ears. you sway on your feet a bit, waiting for him to say something. a thought occurs to you as you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose and breathe deeply, but you keep it to yourself, screwing up your lips in a physical attempt to keep from digging your grave further.

sukuna didn’t even want to come to this party in the first place. he actually mentioned the sign out front to the guys before they came in, trying to use it as an excuse for him to go home. his plan was to make an appearance, drink a beer, and then escape after thirty minutes. but here you are, this drunk stranger yelling at him for being dressed like a normal fucking person. the urge to stay strikes him. he wants to linger just to piss you off.

“are you done?” he asks you.

you cross your arms. “are you leaving?”

“no.”

“then no.”

just as you’re about to dig into him again, sukuna’s thinning patience snaps.

“stop being a fucking bitch about this, alright? just relax. you’re acting fucking crazy.”

your jaw unhinges itself and you stand there, gawking. sukuna seems about ready to walk away, cracking his knuckles and looking somewhere behind you. your eyes land on his cheek, reddened and ready for a smack. you draw your arm back, wanting to make sure you gave him a slap that stings—and he catches it mid-air.

“are you serious?” he scoffs. you glance at your hand, his fingers around your wrist, the scowl etched into his face.

he glowers at you, not letting go when you try to shake your arm free. so you do the next logical thing.

you spit on him.

a glob of your saliva lands just below his eye. you smirk, satisfied. he drops your arm and curses, lifting the bottom of his jersey to wipe his face. then you make your first smart decision of the night and turn around, running back to where the rest of the party is to hide amongst the bodies.

he yells after you, but it’s drowned out by your giggles and the sound of chatter as you get nearer, bumping into countertops and side tables on the way.

someone pats your back and puts a drink in your hand. you pray you never have to see the captain of the hockey team again.

tags. @nonamevenus @lavenderdaydream97 @rinofcike @gdamnackerman

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #fatherbrat ♱ library #jjk #sukuna

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myfictionaldreams · 9 months ago

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request: nyx x female reader where they’re matted but don’t know it and reader visits him at the illyrian camps and she gets hurt and nyx loses it

Don't Touch // Adult!Nyx (ACoTaR) x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even thank you enough, anon, for this request! I've been desperate to write something like this (especially including my sweet love Nyx; I have an entire headcanon/long-form story of him already, oops). Thank you for requesting! To you or anything else, please request more SJM fics, I am adoring writing them.

Warning: there is a description of visibly seeing the colour of bruising on the skin. Also, intense emotions and responses to situations due to the mating bond.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, minor injuries, possessive behaviour/sex, obsessive behaviour, over-the-top reaction (or just right depends how you like your partners), threats of violence, aggression, rough sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, size kink, intense emotions/sex, sex until passing out :)

Words: 6.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

"I've never seen you like this before, Mor" You observe your friend closely as the beautiful blonde woman checks her reflection in the glass of a passing shop.

Morrigan paused, where she was currently trying to perfect her already stunning hair. Trying not to baulk from the intense, fiery stare that turned your way as she raised a single well-groomed eyebrow and attempted to sound as unconcerned as possible, "I don't know what you're referring to. I'm acting completely and utterly sane".

Linking an arm with your friend, you both continued to walk as you sarcastically agreed, "Oh yes, of course. Except that was the tenth time you've stopped to stare at your reflection and tried to fix your already pristine hair, Morrigan".

Mor rolled her brown eyes playfully, moving closer as a brisk wind brushed over the two of you. "You already know I'm vain; why is it such an issue if I want to stare at myself?" she asked, leading in the direction the two of you were walking.

"I didn't say there was an issue. I'm just pointing out that we're heading towards a certain someone's shop, and she's going to love how you look no matter what". Mor hid her face for once, but you could still see the rosy colour deepening in her cheeks.

She quickly recovered by lifting her head and flicking the blonde strands behind her shoulders. "You're one to talk. I've seen you searching over your shoulder 50 times now. Wouldn't it be because of a certain family member of mine, would it?"

There was no hiding the grin that spread across your face as your pulse quickened ever so slightly. "Nyx doesn't even know that I'm in Windhaven. I might not even see him; I'm not here for him."

"Who says I was talking about Nyx? I'm pretty sure Feyre and Rhys are here too", she laughs as you shove your shoulder into hers playfully. As you both calm down, Mor's expression turns more serious. She glances at you, "I'm surprised he hasn't sensed you're here yet. I also don't necessarily think he'll welcome you with open arms; he's attempted to shield you from this side of his life. As hard as we are trying to change the cultures and traditions of the Illyrians, most of them are still unpleasant to be around, especially if you happen to be a female, wings or not."

"You didn't have to bring me here, you know".

"Yes, well, don't make me regret it. Stay nice and close to me, and anyway", Mor paused as she paused outside Emeries shop. "I needed an excuse to come here", she admitted with as much sheepishness as Morrigan would ever allow another person to see.

You couldn't help but grin as you squealed, "Ha! I knew it!"

The bell dinged above the shop door as you followed the blonde through the door. The answer, welcomed by Emerie by the counter, "There you both are! Welcome to Windhaven, stay away from the males, and please have a lovely time", she beams, walking around the counter towards Mor.

Glancing around to give both women a private moment, you admired her shop and eyed some of the winter clothing that would be perfect for the cold weather approaching Velaris in a few months. As you ran your fingers over the lining of a beautiful coat and casually suggested over your shoulder, "If you want, I can watch the shop if you two happen to find your way upstairs. Didn't you say you have some new socks in the back room?"

"Oh yes, thank you for the reminder!" Emerie played with your antics and took Mor's hand, dragging her into the back. Smiling at seeing their happiness, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the man whom you'd been searching for from the second of landing in Windhaven.

You and Nyx had been friends since childhood. You'd spotted a young boy flying over the Sidra, mesmerised by the freeness of his movements, not watching where you were walking, tripped and scratched your knee on the pavement. Having watched it all from the sky, Nyx landed beside you and helped you home. He hadn't laughed like the other children; he'd shown compassion and kindness.

The son of the High Lord and Lady quickly became one of your closest friends, spending every waking hour possible together when you weren't in lessons or he was in training. Along the way, lines became blurred, and you were infatuated with one another. The relationship was intense, to say the least, and the two of you often joked about being mates, but no sign of the bond had occurred yet.

Not that this mattered to you. You were thoroughly and obsessively in love with Nyx, and he was with you. In fact, his obsession and possessive behaviour were renowned throughout Velaris. Every occupant knew that you were Nyx's; if a single hair on your head was out of place, he would bring all of the power of the Night Court down on them. It was extreme at first, but in truth, you were not much of a fighter, so being able to walk around Velaris with the reputation of belonging to Nyx was a relief.

Now, however, it had been weeks since you saw him as he'd been training with the other Illyrians, and even though he used his daemati skills to talk mind to mind with you or he left intimate little notes throughout your home, it couldn't ease the ache in your chest. So when Mor mentioned visiting Emerie's shop in Windhaven, you jumped at the opportunity to see, hoping you'd run into him, even if he didn't want you near the camps.

Lost in your thoughts of black hair and vibrant blue eyes, you'd not noticed that someone had entered the shop until a male growled from behind you, "Where is she?"

Jumping and turning on the spot, you looked the Illyrian over from the golden-brown skin covered in the darkest black tattoos that stretched up his neck and over the sides of his shaved head, leaving a tuft of hair down the centre. His membranous wings were widely spread as he stood in a defensive stance, fists tightly clenched at his side and armour creased from lack of care.

"Who?" you asked innocently, facing him fully and trying not to let his anger intimidate you even though you could already smell the sourness of your anxiety and fear in the air. The stranger walks forward, the tips of his wings knocking into a collection of hats, all toppled to the floor. "Watch where you're walking!"

The male stops a step away, tilting his head and frowning with even more vigour, "What did you just say to me?" As he took another step forward, you matched his step with one backwards until you were pressed against the wall with him towering over you.

"Just - Just watch it, ok? You're knocking over the display" You pointed to the knocked-over items, but he didn't take his eyes off of you, searching over your body until your skin crawled with discomfort.

"Wherever that thief is, give her this", he shoves the letter that had been screwed up in his meaty hands into your chest. You gasp out loud at the pain that rips through your shoulder, knowing it is going to bruise, and you have to look away to hide the tears that had formed as you grasp the letter and watch him leave.

It was only as the bell rang as the male exited that Emerie and Mor rushed into the room with a dagger in hand as they rushed to your side. If it wasn't for the shock and pain in your shoulder, you would have commented and jested how they both looked flustered with dishevelled hair and swollen lips, but this was the last thing on your mind now.

"Who was just here? Why do you smell of fear?" Mor asked as she rested a hand on your arm, looking at you furiously with concern.

"I don't know his name, but he gave me this for you, Emerie." You held out the letter, ignoring how your fingers trembled as she accepted it with a roll of her eyes.

"His name is Prumlos. He works closely with my uncle, and they believe they have rights to my shop. No matter how often I tell them, they keep coming back. Unlucky for me, he trains here in Windhaven and often brings new threatening letters from my extended family. He's a really brute", she pauses as she eyes you closely, "are you ok? Did he harm you in any way?"

Swallowing the thick lump formed in your throat, you attempt to compose yourself, not wishing to seem weak in front of these two strong females. Maybe you'd been sheltered too much throughout your life, but you didn't want to be emotionally broken just because one arrogant male was rude to you, even if your shoulder throbbed terribly.

"He just gave me the letter", you managed to spit out, not looking either female in the eye.

"Bullshit. I can still smell your fear; what did he do?" Mor demanded, stepping closer.

"Nothing! I mean, he was just an arrogant male and just wanted to scare me. I'm fine, really. But could we go, please? Sorry, I know we've only just arrived. Maybe I can wait for you in the High Lord's mother's home, Mor? I just need to be shown the way". You held your breath, waiting for Mor to answer, hoping she didn't try to question you further, but thankfully, she agreed.

"I'm sorry you've been shaken up; I hope it hasn't deterred you from coming to visit me every so often," Emerie smiled gently while holding your hand.

Thanking her, you and Mor left the store and began walking down the street. "Are you sure you're ok? I can see you're still shaken up; talk to me, Little star", Mor asks a couple of silent minutes later and hearing the nickname the inner circle had named you from a child finally brought a smile to your face.

But then Mor tried to link her arm through yours, and you couldn't help but flinch as the movement caused the pain in your shoulder to worsen. Mor noticed and stopped abruptly, turning you towards her, "He did hurt you, didn't he? Tell me so I can go and deal with him".

"No! Please, Mor, can we just go? You know I hate violence".

"Do you want me to go and find Nyx?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No!" you say urgently, looking up at her with wide eyes, "Please don't, you know how he'd react. I just want to go to Rhys' mother's home and forget about the day. I'll speak to Nyx another time".

With great reluctance, Mor nods, and the two of you continue the walk back to the home. Once inside and next to the fire, you could finally stop and relax, especially as Mor offered you a hefty glass of wine to help your nerves.

After half an hour of sipping away at the absurdly expensive win, shoes off and feet tucked beneath you, Mor suddenly sat up further in her seat with a smile, informing you, "You're about to be a very happy female".

You're confused by her statement, but then you feel it: the connection in your heart is strengthening, like the missing piece to you was suddenly warming and filling in. The front door opened, and Feyre and Rhys walked in first, followed by Cassian and Nyx.

You're half aware of Cassian's joyful greeting: "Ah, Little star! You've finally come to join the camps. We'll have you trained in no time".

You stand quickly, eyes only on Nyx as he stands in the doorway, not breathing as he stares only at you. One second, you're near the table, and the next, you're running full speed towards him, sliding across the wooden floor with your socks, not that you care as you're suddenly in his arms.

The pain had diminished the second you were reunited with him. All you cared about was breathing him in, the relaxing scents of spice and lavender, the strength of his arms as they wrapped around your waist, keeping you up off of your feet that had tucked around his hips. Your fingers clenched into curling hair at the nape of his neck, not caring that it was sweaty from where he'd been training. He could be covered in mud, and you would have jumped into his arms with as much enthusiasm.

The others in the room pretended to look busy as he continued to hold you, his face moving into the nape of his neck, and he took a deep breath, breathing in your scents. Nyx's voice was like dark silk, wrapping around you entirely as he said, "I knew you were here. I mean, I thought I was losing my mind; an hour ago, the tightness in my chest eased".

You couldn't help but giggle, kissing his cheek, "That was me; I arrived about an hour ago". Pulling back in his arms, the back of your fingers caressed against his cheek, admiring the light stubble that had grown since you'd last seen him. "I like this", you admire.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his thumbs stroking circles from where he still held up your body.

"I came to see my best friend, of course", you claimed, watching his handsome features as his smile grew to a grin, the dimple in his cheek deepening beneath your thumb. "Yes, I came to see my best friend Emerie", you joked as Nyx rolled his crystal blue eyes before moving his face back to nuzzle against your jaw.

"I've missed you", he mumbles, not caring that you both had an audience and your heart clenched tighter at the need in his voice.

"I've missed you too, more than you could ever know".

"If you two aren't mates, I'll eat my trousers", Cassian quips sarcastically over the rim of his glass of wine. Mor slaps his arm for interrupting as you're lowered back to the floor by Nyx, but you still lean on the tip of your toes, pushing your chest against his to remain close.

Admiring the passionate way Nyx is searching your face, you turn to grin as Cass is over your shoulder when the sudden deathly shift in the air has you freezing. The faelights casting a golden glow across the house dimmed as the room became cold, the fire extinguishing in a single breath.

Your head spins as you turn back to Nyx, who is staring at the opening of your shirt beneath your neck.

"What's that mark?" Nyx asked, his voice a terrifying tone you'd only heard on a handful of occasions. Instinctively, you were stepping back, but his gentle hand grabbed yours, keeping you close. You can sense his family moving closer, and Nyx doesn't wait for you to answer his question. He carefully releases your hand and pushes aside the material of your blouse until your shoulder is exposed.

Glancing down, you could see now that where Prumlos had shoved the letter into your shoulder earlier had now formed a deep purple bruise. Nyx leans forward, sniffs your skin, and his spine instantly stiffens.

"Who did that to you?" he asks, voice thick with venom and anger.

You're unable to give him an answer as Mor is suddenly by your side, holding open your shirt to stare at the injury as she gasps, "I asked if he hurt you!"

"He?!" Nyx growls, looking between Mor and you.

Attempting to take a step away from both of them, you try and calm the energy, sensing it is escalating to a level that could not be returned from. It wasn't that Nyx was scaring you; it was quite the opposite, as his protection made you feel safe; you were just frightened that he would do something he couldn't undo and start a war within the camps.

"I'm fine; it doesn't even hurt anymore" you tried to reason, but that only made Nyx breathe heavily out of his nose as he turned to Mor.

"Who did this? Give me his name. Tell me right now, Morrigan!"

Thankfully, Mor didn't answer immediately and glanced at you from the corner of your eye, knowing that you didn't want to cause a fuss, so she didn't respond immediately, which only frustrated Nyx more in his crusade for revenge. "This is why you shouldn't have bought her here! I told you on multiple occasions that it wasn't safe!"

"Nyx, you need to take a breath; maybe you and your father should go outside and release some of that energy" Feyre tried to reason with him, stepping closer, but it was useless; Nyx was like a boiling pot of deathly anger. Shadows pulsed and darkened around him, travelling up the length of his muscular arms and around his neck. Rhys and Cassian finally began to step forward, moving into a warrior stance between Mor, Feyre and Nyx, even attempting to urge you behind them, but there was no way you were being forced away from Nyx.

Stepping toe to toe with him, your fingers moved back to cradling his face, forcing his now icey eyes onto you, and for a fraction of a second, he seemed calmer. "Nyx, please listen to me, I'm fine. Everything is ok, it was just-"

You were unable to finish your sentence because his knees buckled, and he audibly gulped down air as all signs of anger and pain disappeared from his eyes and tears lined the edges. "Nyx?"

"Mate", he whispers in awe, leaning his forehead against yours as his arms come around your waist, holding you delicately.

You could feel it, too, like an elastic band was tied around your heart, strengthening with each passing second. "I can feel it too"," you confirmed with glee, tears beginning to fill your eyes with the sudden realisation of what was happening. You and Nyx were mates. The Cauldron had blessed you both; even after waiting what felt like a lifeline for the bond to confirm itself, you both knew it had only been a matter of time. The relief was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

"Finally!" Cassian cheered, loosening his warrior stance to return to his glass of wine, raising it towards where you and Nyx stood in the entryway. "Welcome to the family, Little Star!"

You grin up tearfully towards Nyx, who in turn returns the joy, but that all disappears as the anger and rage return full force as he growls, "Someone hurt my mate". Moving away from you, he faces Mor and demands, "Tell me his name, Mor, I know you know it. Don't make me find it out".

Morrigan shifts, rolling her shoulders back as she looks down at Nyx, which is an incredible feat considering the fact that he is considerably taller than her. "Are you threatening me, Nyx??

"He hurt my mate!" he bellows at her, but she doesn't so much as flinch as she shifts her gaze to you, looking like she's contemplating a hundred thoughts at once. Then, without looking away, she confirms the man's name.

"Prumlos".

Nyx vanishes before you have time to stop him, and seconds pass before the ground trembles and shakes the home's foundation.

"No! I didn't want violence! Why did you tell him, Mor?!" you gawped at the blond, who didn't look remotely sorry.

As Rhysand grabs Cassian and winnows away, Mor steps closer with Feyre at her side. "I told him because we protect our own. Not only has he hurt you, but he's also threatening Emerie; he deserves what's coming to him. In fact, I shouldn't have faltered with telling Nyx, that is my only regret".

You feel defeated and stare at your feet with a thousand thoughts dizzying your mind. Was Nyx ok? Was he hurt? When would he come back? He was your mate. Nyx was YOUR mate.

A pair of brown leather boots entered your vision as Feyre stepped close, wrapping an arm carefully over your not-injured shoulder as she directed you towards the table, kissing your cheek as she moved, "Welcome to the family, properly that is. You've always been one of us, Little Star. Now, why don't you take a seat and I'll see if we have any healing ointments remaining in the cupboards".

Thankfully, Feyre had found a purple ointment that had already worked enough that the pain in your shoulder was considerably less, and the colour of the bruising was now a subtle yellow. Nibbling nervously on the corner of your thumb as you awaited your mate's return, it finally dawned on you. "Wait, how am I supposed to do this? Aren't mates supposed to have a ceremony or something?"

"There can be a ceremony where you offer Nyx some food; we can organise it once we return to Velaris if you'd like? Or if you'd rather not wait, you could offer him food whenever you'd like", Feyre explained warmly with a gentle smile that matched Nyx's.

"I don't think I want to wait. We've all known we would be mates, and waiting for this bond has been slow, so I don't want to wait to accept his bond.

"Why don't you go and have a look in the kitchen? There might be something here", Mor encouraged with a nod towards the back of the house.

You scoured the kitchen cupboards for any sort of food, but with the house having not been in proper use for years, there was nothing except some stale bread on the kitchen table with suspicious-looking green mould on the edges. Even after ripping away the discoloured sections of the bread, you still eyed it with uncertainty.

Stepping out of the kitchen and returning to the dining area, you were surprised to find that Mor and Feyre had gone, and Nyx now stood calmly in the centre of the room, his eyes watching your every breath.

"Where did everyone go?" you ask, trying to fill the thick tension with some noise.

Nyx smiled, not enough to show his dimple but enough to have your shoulders dropping with ease as he stated, "I don't care where they've gone, as long as you remain". Those blazing eyes lowered to your hands as he sucked in a powerful breath as he looked at the stale bread that you were still holding.

As he took several steps forward, you couldn't help but ask, "What did you do to him?"

"What he deserved". There wasn't a speck of blood on his leathery uniform. "What are you doing with that bread?" he asked in a low voice.

You're unsure why you're so nervous when you answer, "Oh, um. It was meant to be for you. I can't find anything else for the mating bond, but it's stale and has mould over it. Maybe I can find a little shop here to find some proper food and serve that to you- NYX!"

Closing the gap between you, he takes the bread out of your hands and, without taking his eyes off of yours, begins to chew the bread that was so clearly dry and stale as he chewed for considerably longer than he should have.

As he finally swallows, you're reaching up for him, resting your hands on his chest and feeling the racing of his heart beneath your palms. "You're my mate", you breathe in awe, forgetting everything that had happened that day and only focusing on the man before you.

"I am. I'm yours, and you're mine", he states with as much wonderment as you felt in your soul.

Grinning up at him, you remind him, "Forever. You're mine forever". The tension beneath your fingers eases as he takes a steadying breath, and then his eyes lower to the edges of your blouse.

You watch with bated breath as he checks the mostly healed bruise. "I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier".

"Nyx, you could never frighten me, " you reassure and tip a finger beneath his chin so that he has to look at your face, not the injury.

"I've always wanted to keep you safe. Seeing that bruise on you today, I was ready to destroy the world to find out who harmed you".

"I know". You watch as he nuzzles into your palm, kissing the centre as you try to lighten the mood, "You're very intense, you know that, right" you say with a light laugh.

Nyx grins, that precious dimple capturing your attention. "I'm more than intense; I'm obsessed. I've been obsessed for years, and now, there's no escaping me" he chuckles as his hand cups around the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, your arms and legs wrapping around his firm body.

"I thought it was just me with the obsession", you retort whilst curling your fingers into his hair once more. Leaning your forehead against him, you both just breathe the other in, eyes closed and hearing the hearts beating as one.

"There hasn't been a second since you entered my life where I haven't wanted you to be by my side. I think I always knew, even when we were children. And now, you're mine".

"Officially", you joke with a giggle, squeezing your arms and legs more firmly around him.

"Officially, my mate", he agrees and then sighs, balancing your weight on one arm so that he could move aside your blouse and kiss the lightening bruise. "I don't want you to come back here again if you can help it. I don't trust these males".

"That's fine with me. I don't particularly want to return, no matter how lovely Emerie's shop is. I don't know how you can stand to be here, let alone train with them", you agreed wholeheartedly.

"You deserve to be in nice and happy places like Velaris, and I can deal with dreadful places like this. It's in my blood, after all". Nyx took a moment to admire your beauty before he stepped forward and winnowed the two of you into his bedroom in the River House in Velaris. "Finally back where we both belong. Now, you're wearing too many clothing articles".

"Wait, don't you have training?" you ask in confusion.

"Not anymore. They'll have to come here and fight me to drag me back to that shit hole tonight. I have other plans now anyway". As he finished talking, he gently eased you onto the navy silk sheets of his bed, resting his arm next to your head as he looked down at you.

You giggle as his hair falls into his face. Reaching up, you pushed the dark curls back to see him grinning at you with just as much glee. "Mmm, I love that sound", he admires before lowering his face to the junction of your neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive area, causing a shiver to burst over your skin.

"What sound?" you ask in a daze.

"You laughing. Your happiness. It's the best sound in the world", he groans as his lips travel up the slope of your neck before teasing your earlobe.

"You're being extra soppy today, Nyx", you say halfheartedly, secretly loving how open he was with his emotions.

However, the man above you freezes, his mouth next to your ear as he asks, "Say that again".

You know exactly which word he wanted you to repeat as you sigh happily, close your eyes and say, "Nyx".

He moans deeply, his hips rutting into the bed with a thrust as a shiver shakes his large frame. "Again," he asks as he lowers his hands to palm your breasts through your blouse.

It was your turn to sigh before whispering, "Nyx".

He lowers his body, kissing down your sternum as he unbuttons the material, exposing your bra and soft skin to him. Your fingers continue to weave through his hair, subtly scratching against his scalp as he doesn't stop on his journey lower. Next, he removes your jeans and socks until all that remains is your underwear.

He appeared to be a man possessed as he stared at you beneath him, biting your lip in need. With an easy snap of his fingers, he tore through the centre of your bra and pushed the useless straps off of your shoulders and down your arms and then repeated the tearing with your underwear.

Nyx utterly admired every inch of your body, his eyes full of emotions and desires. He seemed conflicted, though, unsure whether to spend his sweet time kissing and tasting every inch of your body. Still, as you spread your legs and directed him where you truly wanted him, he growled lowly, lowering his body until he kneeled next to the bed, arms wrapped around your thighs and feasted between your legs.

"Nyx!" you cried out, eyes closing and back arching from the stimulation.

The two of you had been intimate for years, both losing your virginities together and exploring each other's bodies; you knew one another better than yourselves. Nyx liked to show this off as he perfectly flicked his tongue and held you firmly with his hands; you were begging in a matter of seconds. The man bringing you closer and closer to the edge chuckled as he felt you tremble with restraint, knowing he was only doing enough to keep you on the very brink, loving the desperate little cries you released until it was all too much, and you cried out, "Please! Nyx!"

Sucking on your clit was all that he needed to do to have you spiralling into euphoric bliss. Your thighs trembled as they squeezed around his head, but he would happily be suffocated between your legs, so let the warmth of the press into his cheeks until you'd calmed down enough to relax the muscles.

Breathlessly, you looked down your body to where he was grinning, kissing the top of your pubis before licking his shiny lips.

"You're wearing too many clothes". The armour he was wearing vanished in a flicker of magic. Sitting up on the bed, your hands wound around his toned shoulders, feeling the muscle ripple and move beneath as you tugged him closer and kissed him with all the desperation you could muster.

Both of you were moving with such urgency that your emotions were overwhelmed, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cried out the words, "Mine!" repeatedly. You'd heard of the frenzy after a mating bond is accepted, but you never anticipated it to feel this chaotic. You needed every single inch of him, wanted to taste his body, feel the warmth of his skin, and hear the moans from between his lips. There was too much to do, and your brain was engulfed with the need to do everything simultaneously.

Gripping onto his arms, you pulled Nyx so that he was now the one lying in the centre of the bed as you moved to straddle over his waist. With your lips still desperately moving together, tongue caressing and deepening into each other's mouths, your hands finally grasped around the thick, veiny length of your mate.

During any other intimate moment, you would have admired the sheer size of him or the beautiful sensation of him throbbing between your fingers, but right now, all you were desperate to do was give him pleasure.

Squeezing your fingers more firmly around the shaft, you moved up and down, using your thumb to smear the precum over the head. He shivered at the touch, his abs tightening and flexing as he groaned in pleasure.

"Need to be inside of you", he pleaded against your lips. You didn't need to tell twice as you roused high on your knees and direct the tip of his cock towards your drenched hole. You only gave yourself a second to adjust to the sheer size of him before you were rotating your hips and beginning to rock back and forth with increasing speed.

Nyx's arms wrapped around your spine, reaching to grasp onto the back of your shoulder so he had a good foundation to hold and fuck his hips up in time to meet yours. The firmness of his strokes had you seeing stars with how deep he felt. You were utterly consumed by Nyx.

The two of you were fucking each other with such a bruising pace that all you could do was dig your nails into his chest and ride him like your life depended on it. It was only a matter of minutes until you were coming, squeezing your walls tightly around his cock until he, too, was tipping his head back and grunting your name with his own pleasure.

You all but collapsed on top of his chest, greedily sucking in air that smelled entirely of him, and you couldn't get enough. It seemed he couldn't for you either as you continued to feel his hardness within you, not softening even after his orgasm.

Before long, with your face still plastered to his sweaty chest, your hips began to roll, his cock nudging deep inside of you.

"I can't fucking get enough of you", you gasp as he throbbed within you.

Nyx rolled the two of you over, so now he was on top, your legs repositioned so that they were against his shoulders, and you were all but bent in half, the angle meaning he could fuck even deeper.

"Yes! Nyx, please don't stop!" you scream, reaching over his shoulders and stroking the sensitive membrane of his wings, watching them flare behind his back.

"Say it", he begs, his eyes glazed whilst looking down at you.

"Nyx!"

"Yes! Say you're mine!"

"I'm yours!" Nyx moves harder, his hand slipping down your legs until his thumb could circle your clit.

"That's right", he grunts between thrusts, "And I'm yours. Forever".

You orgasm so hard you're sure you black out for a couple of seconds because, in the next breath, Nyx is beside you, spooning himself around you, kissing along your collarbones and stroking his palm down your stomach.

"I didn't go too hard on you, did I?" he asks with a rough voice.

You smile softly whilst reaching up to scratch your nails behind his ear, tucking the curls behind his pointed ears, careful not to snag the strands on the multiple silver hoops in his ear. "Not at all, I loved every second".

Nyx grinned, and the starlight that usually glowed in his eyes returned for the first time that day, and he was finally at ease.

"I can't believe you ate that stale bread", you say, laughing at the memory.

"I would have eaten the mould too if you'd given it to me. Whatever food you gave me, I would have accepted it with need in my heart". Those perfect lips of his began to kiss across your cheek and down your throat; however, now that the madness of needing to have sex with him had calmed for a moment, you could actually look him over properly, and that's when you noticed the doting of bruises over his arms and chest, all in different stages of healing.

You tense and ask urgently, "Were these from him? Earlier in the day, I mean?"

Nyx moves away from kissing your throat to look at what you're referring to, shaking his head and casually explaining, "No, they're from training. That asshole didn't have time to make a move against me before I-". You'd lost the ability to hear anything further as a fire burned so thoroughly throughout your soul that it momentarily stole your breath. Red burning anger pulsed in your soul, unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

Before a coherent thought could drift through your mind, you're pushing away from Nyx and climbing out of bed on unsteady legs. Needing to half crawl on the floor before righting your posture, you marched towards his bedroom door.

"Woah, Little Star", Nyx is suddenly in front of you, blocking your exit as he holds his hands up.

You try and push past him, but he just carefully eases you away from the door, "Let me past!" you shout in frustration, trying to wiggle past him.

"I don't think so", he responds gently and calmly.

"Nyx, let me out of this house!" You don't get far through as he moves to press your body against the wooden door.

"And what exactly do you think you're going to do?"

Baring your teeth at him over your shoulder, you continued trying to get out of his hold. "I'll kill everyone who harmed you!"

"Oh really?" Nnyx says lightheartedly and with a slight chortle. "You'll kill them? Miss' I despise violence'?"

You turn around so that you're chest to chest with Nyx, looking up at his with eyes so full of fury he actually bulked and softened his laughter. "Whoever hurt you doesn't deserve to live! They hurt you. My mate. MY MATE. They won't live to see the night!"

Nyx wasn't sure how to calm you down, having never seen you with such anger pulsing through your veins before, but he did what he thought was best: distract you. His fingers clutched desperately into your hair as his mouth pressed against yours firmly enough to cause bruises.

You fight and push against him at first, but then thoughts of anger and pain dissolve into lust and need as you're once more desperately grabbing him. Tearing your mouth away, you kiss down his throat, tasting the salty spice of his natural scent.

"These feelings, they will pass", Nyx reassures as he closes his eyes, thoughts entirely on your mouth as you close your lips around his nipple, biting the sensitive bud.

"So you get to have revenge on someone that wrong me, but I don't get to do the same for you?" you ask whilst looking up at him through your lashes, your nails scratching down his abs before grabbing his once more hardening cock.

He releases another long breath, trying to keep his composure as he thrusts into your palm. "I'm saying that I've had a lifetime of training, and taking care of one pathetic asshole was light work. The mating bond is the intense anger you're feeling, protecting my pride. Everything is so new and fresh, but it will pass Little Star. You'll understand that these bruises were all part of my training in a couple of hours. Everyone has similar marks, making the training brutal and volatile. So this feeling, it will pass. Anyway, you are not leaving this room naked with my cum still dripping down my thighs".

You're finally beginning to relax as your harsh touches soften until you're gently cupping his shaft and looking up at him sheepishly, "I thought you would have liked it if everyone got to see who I belonged to?"

Turning on the spot, you rested your hot cheek against the cool wood of the door and began to grind your arse against his cock, "Mmm, don't tempt me", he growls against the side of your face as he moves closer, bending his knees so he could position his cock into your cunt.

Nyx proceeds to fuck you so hard against the door that it begins to crack down the centre. But neither of you stopped for hours. Not until you were both thoroughly exhausted that neither could stand.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips as you teeter on unconsciousness's edge.

"I love you too", you tiredly say back, eyes drooping, and the darkness of sleep welcomed you into its abyss.

#nyx #nyx archeron #nyx acotar #nyx smut #nyx x reader #nyx acotar smut #nyx acotar x reader #acotar smut #acotar #mine*#ADULT Nyx #adult!Nyx archerson

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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Note

Do you think you could do a male version of the radioapple is the safe word? Or maybe just a gender neutral pronouned story? I adore it so much

of course! I am happy to adapt my stories whenever possible 🥺✨ sometimes I can’t but this one was an easy enough shift! didn’t tag the horny deer cult, this is the same story but with the hardware swapped out. Will tag in new pieces 🙏 warning; I almost exclusively watch femboy gay porn and it shows

The Safeword is RadioApple (Part 1)

(RadioApple x MaleReader)

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, male reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, asshole hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

MINORS DNI BRUH

“Sir.”

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue. Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

“You can say no.” You added quickly.

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker.

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you.

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed him.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my boy.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission.

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin. Your own cock twitched under your robe at the feeling.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants.

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.”

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, hole soft and ready for him already, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek.

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft. He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“See? He can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself.

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.”

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your tight heat. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms.

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your dick, now pulsing under his hand. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your g-spot with every kiss of his hips.

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your face tighten. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm. His hands working your shaft, fingers ghosting over your balls and head with every stroke up and down.

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed, your own release sticky and already cooling under you.

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants.

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci.

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide in and out of your with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it.

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your ass, teasing your entrance with every pass. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn.

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway.

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling dear.

What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were worried you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your bullied boy cunt got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths.

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would roll back, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so sticky wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If he needs you to stop, he’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever he can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your muscles clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing his stomach to rut against your returning erection as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more.

“Are you sure he isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel him? Or does he just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You unconsciously tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back.

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were covered in oil and cum, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock opening parts of you never before reached. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning.

You could feel him spreading open your body, soft walls helpless to resist his raging member. The feeling of your silky boy cunt sliding along his cock, your tight hole gripping him, was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Wails that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your body trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you.

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

༻Masterlist༺

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thewickedjazzy · 3 months ago

Text

“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more of fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are, gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks, and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded, sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories, you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!

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