#i have vile in my throat

[camvrin]

HELP

[nb-dstri]

so A finally got my adhd diagnosis from a psych B she was on the fence about diagnosing me with the full autism rather than just ‘autistic traits’, which was kinda the opposite of what I thought might happen? Like from the previous two sessions I felt like the case for autism was coming off a lot stronger than adhd. But considering the goal was specifically to try treat the adhd I can’t complain too much

[liliesdiary]

sorry I haven't been active, I've been hanging out with my amazing boyfriend but I'll start writing requests soon mwah <3

(he's so hot I'm going feral over the things he does to me. I can still feel his hands around my throat.)

[rotting-pond]

Sometimes I think Joe Biden is honestly just ravenously blood thirsty. How else do you explain it

[tiedsuccubus]

No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, gently, rough, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, pancake, throat fucking, till my insides are white, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, till my dna is 50% cum, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, on the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, having the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering. eye rolling. hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blowing, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, lustful, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocius, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity detying, nail biting, sweaty, teet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly feeling, ruining me,corrupting me, choking me, biting me, tying me and handcuffing me taking him for 69 times in a hundred positions 'cause never back down never what??? Never give up!!! And I'm not giving up to screw me 'till my mind becomes nothing but subservient to him and I pass out.

[acid-ixx]

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.

[virgovirgo]

holy cannoli i’m bored out of my miiiiiiiiiiind

[seresinhangmanjake]

To add on to my last ask about the celebrating the holiday for the sake of Feyds new wife:

LIKE SHE MAKES FEYD A FLOWER CROWN AND HE WEARS IT

Like from the “friendship bracelet” dialogue from bobs burgers

Wife: :)I made you a flower crown!:)

Feyd: *thinly veiled annoyance and disapproval*

Wife: :( you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to :(

Feyd: No, I’m gonna wear it. Forever. Back off.

Anniversary

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Giedi Prime is different than your home planet. They don’t celebrate the things you used to. So, you show your husband one of your traditions to mark the first year of your marriage. 

Notes/Warnings: none, i think. It's just a cute fluffy thing.

Words: 1050

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You once would’ve bet everything you had that you would never fall in love with him; from every coin to your family’s name, to every extravagant gown you owned, to every jewel that adorned your neck. When you walked down the aisle, you saw something vile waiting for you at the other end, not the husband you would come to have. You saw a snake to match the name of Harkonnen, and the prospect of a future together made your stomach turn. Until you became his wife. 

What you expected in the form of threatening words and a knife to the throat on your wedding night didn’t come. He left you alone when you told him that was what you wanted. In fact, he left you alone in every aspect of your relationship until you were ready to come to him. 

That moment came three months later. For those three months, he made sure you were comfortable, as happy as you could be, well-taken care of, and he didn’t once force his presence upon you. From that, you opened yourself to him and, in a quick decision one night, dressed yourself up, went to his room, and let him take you. 

You’ve been inseparable ever since, unwilling to leave his side and vice versa, even when he’s needed elsewhere. He takes you with him to his meetings, his executions, Arrakis. You’re his wife, in all senses of the title. And as more time has passed, you’ve adjusted to being a Harkonnen wife; everything it means, down to the things you gain and the losses you face. 

The most difficult of losses have been the traditions you grew up with. You don’t see your family anymore—as enemies of Giedi Prime, they aren’t exactly welcome on the planet—and so the values your House believes and partakes in have disappeared from your life. Holidays celebrated on your home planet do not exist on Giedi Prime. Religion is not the same. Your people bow to a Goddess. Harkonnens bow to Harkonnens. Your people bask in the changes of the seasons. Giedi Prime doesn’t experience those same seasons due to the lack of rotation around their sun. Celebrations do not exist for anything other than war victories and birthdays. But most painful are the anniversaries that go entirely unacknowledged. 

At home, anniversaries are one of the grandest events. Another year of love, of shared life. Each year, you watched your parents grow giddy as their anniversary neared, and you witnessed the people of your planet rejoice for them as if it were their own milestone of marriage. 

Giedi Prime—the Harkonnens—do not care for that. Something to do with wives not lasting very long in their House. History states you’re one of few who has made it to a year of marriage with a Harkonnen, as most women, unless pregnant with an heir, have offended their spouse in some manner and so have received that dreaded knife to the throat. 

You’re lucky there, you suppose, but it doesn’t make you miss the things you can no longer have any less. And Feyd has noticed.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he says to you as he sits beside you on your bed. 

You hesitate, fearing laughter and jokes about how ridiculous your upbringing was—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when you explain further, he’s much more receptive than you imagined.

“A celebration of love?” he asks. His brow raises, but he doesn’t scoff. 

“Yes,” you say. “Back home, couples do not have to stay together. If they are unhappy, they separate–” His head jerks and he makes a displeased face. “Staying together, continuing to be in love with each year that goes by, is considered an achievement. Something worthy of praise and pride.”

“And you want this…praise?” He doesn’t understand. Praise is harder earned in his world. Praise comes when pain is inflicted. “How do you receive praise for love?”

“People have parties–”

“We cannot have a party for this.”

You take his hand in your lap. “No, I know,” you say. “But there’s also gifts.”

He shakes his head. “No one will–”

“Between us,” you stop him. “We give each other a present as a symbol of the strength of our love.”

He thinks on your words for a few moments, slightly staring off into space, until he says, “Like what?”

“Well…” Taking your hand back, you reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a small box. “Something like this.” You peel back the lid of the box to reveal a black band with a ring of silver running through the middle. “I had this made.”

“A ring?”

As you nod, you set the small box down between you. “It’s a wedding ring. I know you don’t exchange those on your wedding day here, but back home, when you say vows, each person puts their ring on the other’s finger. This one right here,” you say, tapping the correct finger on your hand. “It’s a kind of ownership that you show to the world. You’re telling everyone that you’re taken by someone who loves you.”

Feyd swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the ring. “People know you belong to someone else if you wear this on your planet?”

“Yes. And seeing as you belong to me, I thought…” you pause, realizing he might hate the idea. What if it bothers him? What if the light weight throws off his knife skills? What if it gets in the way of his armor? You didn’t think about these problems until now when he’s blankly staring at the damn thing. 

Feyd plucks the ring from the box and puts it up to the light. “They all look like this?”

“They’re all different,” you tell him. “If you don’t want to wear it–”

He slips it onto the correct finger. “I’m never taking it off.”

“Wh–” Your eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Never,” he says, still staring at the onyx circle around his finger. “Even my enemies will know I’m taken.” You sigh. A chuckle of relief leaves your throat, and he turns his gaze to you. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Oh! But you don’t have to just because I did.”

His features twist in disapproval. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will wear one as well. Silver,” he says. His hand raises to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. The ring is cold against your skin. “With black diamonds.”

“You want to match?”

“Yes.”

[yan-randomfandom]

Hi! Is it possible to get a platonic Yandere Stanford with a teenager reader? The reader likes mysteries and monsters and all that just like him, so Stanford sees them and he’s like ‘yup. That’s my kid now’ lol

P!Yandere!Stanford Pines & Teenager!GN!Reader

warnings: violence(toward monsters), implied abuse

[THIS IS PLATONIC] I think I made this a tad too long... it's not even in bullet form anymore. thank you for the request! I love your idea sm 😭 [Word Count: 1047]

Stanford Pines has completed another mission. He lifted his head, his eyes squinting at the sight of the looming trees. The sun peeked between them, visibly on its way down.

To keep it short, he had to chase a dangerous, vile monster into the woods and take its life.

He probably saved thousands of lives. It's just that... it came down to the price of being lost. Ford has never gone this far from Gravity Falls before.

That's totally okay. Curious, even! This is perfect material for his research! He'll have to use a makeshift one for now—this cheap notebook he got from the gift shop.

As he was about to start writing, a panicked roar reverberated throughout the forest. Such strong growls—enough to blow away his clothes and body! Ford had to see it with his own eyes!

He ran and ran until he finally saw the giant. A single, widened eye stared at him, and suddenly he couldn't move anymore. Heavy breaths rose and plunged from his chest.

But he didn't have to worry any longer. A figure hopped down, continuously slicing the middle part of the eye as they descended.

Ford grunted, falling on his back as its blood squirted and leaked, even having some splatter on his nose. He watched the monster turn and run away, knowing that it'd die soon enough.

"Woah! Grandpa, you okay?" A small hand filled Ford's vision. "You froze up pretty quickly. I bet you'd be dead if I wasn't here!"

Once his vision finally cleared, he paused at the sight of a teenager. He's never seen this kid before. Ford cleared his throat, accepting your hand and standing up. "I'm fine. And don't call me that."

You hummed, tilting his open wallet with a nod. "I dunno. Being in your sixties sounds pretty old to me."

"What? How— When— Give me that!" Ford swiped his wallet out of you, to which you respond with a silly grin. He scoffed, crossing his arms. This is such a Stanley thing to do. "Who are you even, kid? Why are you out here?"

"I'm out adventuring!" you declared, placing your fists on your hips. You do certainly have equipment fit for an adventurer. "I mean, did you see me back there? Killed that monster with one swipe!"

Ford rubbed his chin in deep thought. He smiled. "That was pretty impressive. It reminds me of my nephew. You've gone straight towards the monster's weak point."

Unbeknownst to him, your face starts heating up from the praise. You've never received positive reactions from your oh-so-dangerous hobbies. "Well, yeah! It's no big deal. Eyes are usually common for being weak."

Ford chuckled. "Anyway, do you know the direction to Gravity Falls? I may be a little lost."

"Course, duh! It's like... that way! Opposite of the sun," you grinned, pointing behind him. He turned around to check, his shoulders slumping. You touched his nose with a grin when he looked back at you. What a Mabel type of personality. You were really just removing the monster's blood, though. "Boop!"

...Okay.

One glance at the sky, and Ford knew that there's no way he's going to go home at this time. While he loved adventuring, especially at night, he's still in undiscovered territory and would very much like to go home in one piece.

"Alrightnicetomeetyoudude! Byeeee! Good luck!" you exclaimed, already waving at him and walking away.

Wait! You're his only ticket out!

"Pray tell, kid, are you alone? Don't you have guardians or friends tagging along?" he asked hastily.

"Naw. I have parents waiting for me back home, though," you smiled.

Ford somehow convinced you to bring him home to yours.

Now, you stood in front of your house with him by your side. The older man couldn't help but notice that you looked a bit anxious, weirdly enough. You're scratching your arm.

The door finally opened. The first thing Ford saw was a frustrated face of an older woman, which was swiftly wiped when she took note of his presence. How odd.

"Oh, sweetie, who's this with you?"

"Found him in the woods! Isn't he neat?"

"Let's talk for a bit. Please give us a moment," the woman smiled at Ford, grabbing you before closing the door on him.

Ford awkwardly stood outside the house, checking his watch. Faint voices reached his ears. That's your mother, yes? She sounded upset. You sounded upset. He hasn't been in this dimension in a while, but would it really be so bad to take home a man you haven't met? He's just literally lost!

You opened the door. He froze when he met your tear-filled eyes.

"Sorry, whatever-your-name-is. I can't let you in," you muttered meekly. "But you can wait for me tomorrow. I'll help you go home. Bye."

The door closed. Why were you crying? That's not right.

Next day.

Ford waited for you on your front porch, mindlessly writing in his notebook. He had to sleep on a makeshift cushion of laundry. It wasn't the worst place to sleep, and he's just glad he didn't get caught.

"Good morning! You're early today!" you beamed, already walking.

"Is there anything I should know about your parents?" he deadpanned, trailing next to you.

You got uncomfortable quickly. "Uh, next question? Hey, look, a parasite! So weird!"

"Don't touch that! I can't believe it ranges up to here!"

The journey towards Gravity Falls felt long and tiring. But it simply made you and Ford closer.

"What's your name again?"

"Ford. Just call me Ford."

"For— Holy shit! I didn't even notice earlier! You have five fingers and a thumb!"

"Please—" he hid his hand in reflex.

"Six cylinders on your hand! That's so cool, Ford!"

Ford simply sighed, a smile growing on his lips.

Eventually, you both reach the mystery shack.

"Woah... That's yours? No wonder why you're so used to being in the woods. You live in one!"

Ford chuckled, opening the front door. "I can safely say you're going to get along with my family, kid."

...

You paused, hesitating. "I can't. I have to go home."

...

He smiled sweetly. "Not even for dinner? It'll be quick."

Your stomach growled quite loudly, causing your cheeks to heat up. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little."

Stepping right into the shack, Ford shuts the door behind you. He can't let you go back in that godforsaken house. You looked too miserable.

You can be happy with the Pines family here.

[losersiren]

𝒜 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒!𝐿𝑜𝓇𝒹

”𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈.” A continuation of my oc Ambrose, The lord N: Don't I have a gift for you, Anon! God, I had to rewrite this so many times, BUT I'M DONE!! Eat up! This is a long one! I had to watch so many gun videos (like two), which was unexpected... CW: Fem reader (she/her), acts and talks of violence (not towards the reader), implied murder, threats, guns, fluff (with the reader lol), mocking, power balance (?) Jealousy (or pettiness) Wc: 3.5k 

A shotgun sound echoes throughout the forest, followed by yet another dead Grey partridge and light crunches of leaves beneath stomping leather boots. 

“That bastard of a man! A prick! Son of a bitch! Son of an adventuress at that!” Ambrose stops in his tracks, reloading his sporting rifle with more gunpowder. Anger consumes his entire being. ”Did you hear what that bloody cocksucker Patrick said to her?” He hissed through his clenched teeth, grabbing the tiny 0.5 mm sphere lead bullet and layering it on top of some fabric. Shoving it inside the rifle barrel, “If what he said changed from the last few hundred times you’ve re-told the incident, then I have no utter clue.”  The younger male rolls his eyes, picking up the tenth bird Ambrose has slaughtered this afternoon. He ignores his younger cousin’s sarcastic quip and continues. “ ‘If you wish for a lovely evening, do not be a stranger; send me a letter, and I'll be by your side.’ I should’ve darkened his daylights when those vile words left his devil mouth.” He fixes his gun upright, pushing the first trigger, waiting for another prey to be a victim of his wrath. 

“Is she spoken for? Have you outwardly said you intend to court her?” His cousin questions, and Ambrose, in retaliation to his younger relative’s question….blushes like a young girl. Clenching his jaw, he answers, “No,” “Are you mad?!?” “I’ve attempted…but my nervousness has sabotaged me alas.” Astonished, his cousin continues, “Then you have no right to be jealous of her, you fool.” 

Bushes start rustling. Ambrose aims and squints instantly, with a pointer finger on the second trigger. A small grey rabbit appears, and immediately, it's killed straight through its skull; a soft smile appears on Ambrose’s face. “For her, I'll be whatever is needed.” 

“You are not sane.”

“Don’t be rude, Finch. This is love in its purest form. One day, you’ll understand.” The older male shrugs his shoulders.

“Now,” Ambrose reloads his gun, repeating his past actions, but this time, he looks straight into the other male’s eyes. “What do you know about Patrick Barton?” “I do not-” Ambrose cuts him off. “ Do not lie to me, young Finch…” His voice becomes lower, mocking, his aura more sinister. “You frequent more gentleman clubs than I; lord knows I hate the people and atmosphere of said clubs– Your mother grumbles enough to mine about the subject.” In goes the gunpowder: “You surround yourself with such…’ vast’ personalities from the elites to the ladies of the night.” The grey-eyed man reaches into his waistcoat for a lead bullet. “Yet you tell me– you don’t know about a mere Lord.” He scoffs.

Finch watches his older cousin's actions. Of course, he only asked to spend time with him for information regarding the apple of his eye’s new ‘suitor.’ The young man knows his current situation, the number of Grey partridge carcasses he holds because of Ambrose, and how far deep he’s in the forest, alone with his turbulent cousin. This was a warning, a show of sorts, that he could join these insignificant birds. He tries to swallow the heavy lump stuck in his throat. Ambrose was always the odd man; his smile never reached his eyes, his charm as real as a disloyal man’s ‘ I love you.’ His older cousin wasn’t above putting his hands on his own blood to get what he wanted– Ambrose’s father’s scar is evidence enough. 

“He partakes in Hell’s, frequents them more than gentleman’s clubs, a gambler of sorts. Loves it! He brags about the thrills of it and his winnings. Folks whisper that he’s a dishonourable shark. But it's not just hell establishments he attends; If there's someplace to gamble away his earnings, he's there,” Finch sputters his confession. 

“And Mills? Does he attend those as well?” “Yes,” The younger lad answers his senior instantly.

Ambrose just hums in return.

Just finishing his task, he aims for his cousin; he wears an inexpressive face, his grey eyes darkened and vacant, with no light, no soul.

“Wait, wait! I told you what you wanted!” Finch pleas. He could run, but in retrospect, how far can he go? Ambrose has a fucking rifle. He’s a good shot, no, an excellent shot. Hell! It’s borderline impossible how he always hits his targets, especially with how hard it is to aim for those things. Finch is panicking; his cousin has already pushed the first trigger. The nervous lad just accepts it; what else could he do? He closes his eyes, expecting his death to come quickly, then he hears a gunshot…

And he's fine…? Another Grey partridge falls from the sky right before him, its dead eye looking at the twenty-year-old.

Ambrose’s gun aims towards the sky. He lowers it. Then he casually approaches the stunned male, who lets out a staggered sigh, relieved he escaped death by a hair. Ambrose looks down at Finch, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in close. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again, especially when the topic concerns my love.” Finch nods rapidly, shaking like a leaf. “Of course, sir, sorry.” Then, the older male releases his shoulders. “Good. Gift those birds to a peasant; perhaps they’ll make dinner with it, oh, and the rabbit, too. Say I have decided to help my community or something along those lines.” He looks at the sky. “I have a woman blessed by aphrodite to court.” His smile is bright, contrasting how he was a mere few seconds ago. He pats his younger cousin’s back and leaves the forest– The lifeless Grey partridge stares back at Finch, and he stares back.

Social calls…How dreadful. Worse is conversing with Lord Barton. He’s a bore, vulgar, and has an underlying inconsiderate, bitter personality. Having your mother as a chaperone does not make the situation any more bearable. 

 “Have you ever pondered about the future?” he inquires.

What kind of wet rag question is that? 

You put on a gentle smile. “Of course I have. Since I was a chit, I would read the local papers with my father-” He cuts you off “Children.” You look at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

The gentleman looks at you like you’re the biggest dunce in the country. “Children, how many children do you wish for? It would be sensible for us to have eight or ten,” “Hah…well…” you lift the tea cup to your mouth.

The man has no decorum…

After that fiasco, you decided to take a stroll downtown, and perhaps you’ll get a book from the local store, some new fabrics from a linen draper, or even some oils. Your pin money given to you by your parents could only cover one item... what a conundrum….

“Do tell me why the viscount’s only daughter is doing without a chaperone?” He leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, his smile beaming.

“Lord Howard, have you dropped your hunting hobby in exchange for stalking?” He chuckles. “Witty as always, but dare I disappoint? I was just strolling about my day and coincidentally saw you– Perhaps fate has decided for us to meet?” He pushes himself off the wall and offers his arm. Was it coincidence or fate…? No, it was none; it was all Ambrose, him asking your fellow lady peers about your whereabouts. Then, wandering near whatever local shops would possibly pique your interest. Memories play in his head, such as when you both were young and would rendezvous at the local forest. You would acquire many hobbies when you were younger– your mother said you would have a higher chance of obtaining a suitor with diverse skills. He would remember them and watch you in amazement when you talked about them. 

You made him feel human. You made him feel alive. His father was never a loving one; he gained the son he wanted, and his heir then wanted nothing more to do with him. The only attention Ambrose earned from The Earl was if he needed reprimanding. Every laugh that was too loud, every fork that he unitized improperly, every action, small or big, was scrutinized. His mother was a vacant husk of a woman at home and a social butterfly in the public eye; she watered herself down to being a wife and a mother. She was neither. He detested both of them and hated that damned empty feeling of his soul and heart that matched his vacated house; he felt nothing. His world was as grey as his eyes.

Till he met the colourful Viscount’s daughter– If he got kicked by a horse and lost his memory, he would still somehow remember the day you two met—the memory ingrained in his bones, body, and soul. On the way to your estate, the stately carriage was soundless and suffocating, as if the air was thick. Ambrose remembers how he bore his eyes into his obsidian-polished boots, wishing for the minutes to pass faster.  

You were a naive hoyden the first time you introduced yourself; you forgot to say his title and yours. Using his common name and giving him an oh-so-sweet genuine smile, he hadn’t ever seen such an authentic smile for him and only him—not for his parents nor his riches. Just him. Your parents scolded you while apologizing profusely for your ‘disrespect.’ Before his parents could utter something backhanded yet elegant, Ambrose smiled. He didn’t know he could do that. For the first time, the young boy speaks up; he feels this protectiveness over you. But, at the moment, Ambrose couldn't care less about his father's punishment that would soon come; the only thing that mattered was you, and soon he’d found out that it would always be you.

An airy laugh escapes you. “Do you wish for us to be caught in a scandal every time we meet?” He raises a faux, worried face and voice. “Me?!? As a future Earl, I am fulfilling my gentlemanly duties by escorting a fine young lady and keeping her from potential dangers. What’s so scandalous about that?” You take his arm. “You’re far from sane, My Lord.”

“For you, My lady? I hope so,” He says proudly with his chest out.

A comfortable silence lulls you as you look at how the sun hits the trees, people, and him. The sun's rays lighten his dark brown hair, blessing it with an orange hue and grey eyes, becoming Iridescent, more akin to a pearl.

“The latest on dit says Lord Barton has called for your company?” He inquires 

Your face grimaces at just the sound of his name. As much as you loathe the man, he is a viable suitor with good money and an excellent reputation, but a suitable suitor does not equate to a good man. “He’s…an interesting individual…” His jaw clenches. You’re not being open as he wants; you’re holding back…he hates that you might be hiding something. Not you per se but that damned rake Patrick. “He’s a rake,” he spits out, and you gaze at him. He’s uncharacteristically serious.

You smile. “He is,” Ambrose turns his head to you, returning your smile.

“Quite the feat to dissect the woman you are trying to woo as well.” The gentleman’s eyebrows furrow. “He did not,” you huff. “Oh, he did!” Ambrose stops in his tracks and mummers your name softly. “If you would only permit it, Allow me to court you,” You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question, “Pardon?” He continues, “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.” “And you do?” he chuckles. “No, but I’ll do everything you ask me to, then maybe one day I'll deserve you; you wish for dresses? I'll buy you the tailor and store. Money is far from an issue. Heavens, ask for the world, and I'll give you it with the stars and beyond as accessories.” He turns his whole body to you, his hands finding yours, his leather gloves causing a barrier between your soft ones.

He hates that 

“Ambrose…” 

“Please…only if you’ll allow me.”  The love-sick man entreated “But what about the other more suitable ladies? I’ve heard-” “I do not care for them,” He interrupts you. “Every second I was apart, I only longed for you. The only reason I kept my studies up was to be the perfect suitor equal to you.” He caresses your knuckles. The butterflies in your stomach flutter more after each word spills out of his mouth. Your relationship with Ambrose was vague at most. You couldn’t put your finger on it; every time you were in his presence, you had this comfort no one else could recreate. You were hesitant to put a label onto it, and maybe you feel this way because he was the only man you truly felt you could be yourself with. 

“If you wish to court me, you must’ve thought to ask my father for permission rather than myself.” 

“I could’ve,” He pauses, “But I'd rather ask you first; I need your permission. I am not marrying your father, am I? I need to hear you wish for me as much as I yearn for you,”  

You amuse the thought. Ambrose is a prick at times, his teasing relentless, but despite that, he’s charming, sincere, soothing, and protective. He’s a good man, indeed. 

“I’ll bite, My lord.” “Please do.” He smirked, masking his nervousness.

You slap his hand lightly, reprimanding him, “Let me continue, you brute…I’ll allow you to court me.” “Truly?” he exclaims, Astonished. “Truly,” You nod meekly. In a haste, he kisses your bare hands, each knuckle, each finger. “I’ve been blessed indeed,” his voice is as blissful as a child receiving a sugary dessert. You yank your hands away from him, flushed from his actions. “You dog, we are in the public,” you scold him. “I shall make it up to you in our next outing; I vow,” You swear you could see a wagging tale behind him. You sigh. 

The day went on, and by sundown, Ambrose had hired a post-chaise for the both of you despite your protests of you living just around the corner. He claimed he had ‘Earl-like duties to attend to’ and you were just on the route back either way. As a gentleman should, he dropped you off promptly; as he left in the carriage, away from your estate, you softly ran your fingers over your knuckles. A smile adorns your face. “What an oaf,” you whisper to yourself. A fond grin decorates Ambrose’s face, a few giggles even, but as euphoric this day was, he did have business to attend to. A certain lord has decided to make his lacklustre presence known, and Ambrose couldn’t celebrate until he exterminated said pest.

Gentleman’s clubs were boisterous, loud, and untrustworthy. The men here are just as vile as the feed that is fed to pigs. The soon-to-be-Earl disliked them and only engaged in them because he needed to build his reputation. He may be judgemental, but he isn’t an idiot. Others may regard him as a friend, but for him, he could care less for it. The males around him start to recognize Ambrose, yelling pleasantries, which he would return and shut down politely or…as politely as he could in his eyes. A booming voice reverberates against the wall of the finely furnished building, only belonging to the one and only Patrick Barton. Unconsciously, a scowl appears on the young man’s face. Ambrose knew more than he led on about Patrick; he heard whispers of Barton’s hobby in the mills, rigging the boxing matches that were bid on by elites and peasants alike. Word says he would pay one of the desperate participants to lose on purpose– word is bound to escape one day or another. It is not a sustainable income source. Yet another reason Lord Barton is not fit for you.

Ambrose walks towards the table where the bastard sits, narrowing his eyes.

Lord Barton and his goons recognize the lord approaching them. Barton speaks first: “Lord Howard! Is it a blue moon? What on earth might’ve convinced you to come out of that dreadful estate?” He laughs, arranging some snuff onto the mahogany to snort. “Perhaps it’s because you plan on courting his woman.” a nameless male inquires. “No, could it be? I don’t blame you, Ambrose; she is a fine woman, isn’t she? She is just in need of training,” another male said, joining in. “So does every woman in this country.” Another chuckle escapes the vulgar lord. 

Ambrose’s leather gloves wrinkle. His fist clenched to prevent him from beating the man in front of him into a pummel. He has a plan, the grey-eyed man repeats in his head. Then he forces a smile on his face. “On the contrary, I've decided to pick up a new gambling hobby; why not ask the man of the hour himself for advice? Or even a game or two.” Ambrose signals a servant and orders drinks for the table. The man in question gets up, slapping Ambrose on his back. “Atta boy, never let a woman come between men; let bygones be bygones, what a joyance plan! Come, come.” The night continues, and Patrick is as drunk as the rest of the men in the club; Ambrose, the gentleman he is, offers him to join his carriage in his words. 'Let’s start this newfound friendship off with a bang.' Cold water hits the once-drunken lord, and he awakens, gasping for air on the cold textured ground. ‘Where am I?’ he thinks, discombobulated, looking around and grasping his situation. The dark forest surrounds him, almost engulfing him; the trees blow along with the wind, and the creatures of the night rustle in the background. A voice comes from the shadows, luring him away from his racing thoughts, “Gunpowder is such a messy substance, but did you know a man invented a gun powered by air? What a time to be alive! How revolutionary!” Patrick looks at the man, most of his body consumed by the darkness of nightfall, the moon only making his grey eyes visible. 

“Ambrose, what the utter fuck-” “Don’t interrupt.” He says sternly. “As I was saying, a gun powered by air,” He continues. “A watchmaker of all things invented it; how preposterous! He eliminated gunpowder entirely and named this new gun  Windbüchse or, I know you only know English, so pardon me, I'll translate, wind gun.”  

“It’s far better than my hunting rifle; the tedious thing is quite a hassle to reload. But this wind gun can load much faster, 20 rounds a minute! Compared to the other, it is much quieter. It's a shame its range is far smaller.” The man standing pouts. “But all is well. The Austrian army decided to order thousands of supplies, and it’s fortunate I even got my hands on one.” Patrick squints, trying to distinguish Ambrose, and it finally sets in. In a forest he doesn’t know of, with a man who has a gun in his hand in the dead of night. Not just any man but a Lord known for his physical fitness and hunting expertise since he was a just a lad. 

Fuck

“If this is about your lady, Ambrose, you can have her! There’s no need to do this!” Patrick tries to reason with the love-sick lord, yet it's no use. The other man scoffs, “I’ve always detested men like you, greedy, hypocritical. Ready to jump boat when things get too tough for your liking– where is your backbone? Where is your spine? Your pride?” Ambrose circles the pain-filled man on the ground. “You never deserved to even be in her presence; you aren’t even entitled to breathe the same air as her,” He then spontaneously kicks Patrick's ribs, causing him to curl up on a ball, yelping. Ambrose looks down at the pathetic man. “But, I am a fair man, unlike you, so I'll give you a chance to run while I read you the note I have written in your writing announcing your hasty departure after news of your rigging in the mills comes to light, your writing was not hard to duplicate as well; who knew mother’s penmanship lessons would come in handy,” He chuckles.

 “Now run, monkey, while you still can.” He sets the trigger and then turns the spindle of his gun clockwise till a clicking sound can be heard, indicating he doesn’t need to turn it anymore. Ambrose opens the barrel, puts in an 8.5 mm bullet, and then shuts it. 

“I’m sure we can talk this out reasonably, money! I have money! Have it all; buy your woman something nice-” Patrick feels his thigh get warmer at first rather than the pulsing pain of a bullet shooting through his thigh that would soon follow shortly after. He screams.“To think you have the naivety to think I couldn’t fund my lover for generations on end,”

Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Scream louder; perhaps you’ll awaken a bear to save you,” yet again, he starts reloading his wind gun, faster at that, “I am not one to repeat himself nor give mercy. Run, rabbit.”

With adrenaline coursing through his body, Patrick runs…or well, attempts to. 

 Ambrose reaches into his waistcoat for the forged letter, clearing his voice to read it while his other hand holds his gun. Though his attention should be on the task at hand, he is utterly distracted by possible outing plans you would adore. Shall he go canoeing with you? Or a picnic? A carriage ride underneath the newly blooming cherry blossoms? Why not all three?  

Oh. how he longs to see you again.

Notes: I'm gonna be so honest, romance is the hardest thing to write for me. It's probably noticeable, forgive me (⇀‸↼‶) I had to do some research for this one, but it was a fun process learning more about Regency lingo and gun history. For my next full fic. I was thinking of a yandere! Cannibalistic 50's housewife, but idk….hehe…if you have any ideas send them to my inbox!! I'd like to say again THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! Reading all your kind words makes my little shy heart soar (o^ ^o) see you soon, my little guppies!! 

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING VICTORIOUS !!! CS55 + CL16 + LN4 X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: the podium finishers weren’t the only thing that finished that night.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), explicit language, gangbang???, mmmf smut content, dubcon, pwp, double penetration + oral sex (m receiving), mentions of sexism/misogyny (NOT APPLIED TO DRIVERS), consensual degradation, squirting, praise kink, i did not proofread this (the race just finished two hours ago duh)

note: i have returned with a short blurb eheh enjoy xx

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

there was something vile about the way celebrations occurred for the ferrari drivers.

ferrari 1-2’s are rare, sure, so this called for celebration— a massive one even.

so if anyone ever saw how carlos and charles celebrated with their sweet girl, anyone would consider this… morbid.

for some, it was filthy. sinful, even. 

but having walked into carlos sainz’s hotel room after the two scarlet drivers called it an ‘early night’, lando’s eyes couldn’t find themselves to look away when he found the woman sandwiched between the two. 

both carlos and charles were spearing through her holes and carrying her like she weighed nothing, both foreheads were sweaty after fucking her the moment they’ve stepped inside the suite. 

she couldn’t even find herself to talk, her body too busy being manipulated and moved around while both her holes were stuffed with their cocks. 

any man could call her a whore for having not only one, but two men fuck her at once. any man could degrade her for allowing men to do this to her body while she writhed and whined about how good she felt when they stuffed her.

so, it was too bad that lando wasn’t just any man. he couldn’t even stop himself from watching unless someone killed him themselves.

the british man’s mouth was practically salivating when carlos lifted her up and sunk her down their cocks, watching her cunt produce liquids that indicated her pleasure. 

lando was so busy gawking at the way her cunt throbbed around charles’ cock that he couldn’t feel anything but his own cock painfully throbbing under his trousers.

he was too busy watching that he didn’t notice the way charles and carlos glanced at him with amused smirks. 

it was only when charles spoke up did he snap out of his thoughts. 

“which one?” charles asked with a teasing smirk at the british man, making lando shake his thoughts away.

when he saw how lando got confused, charles repeated, “she expressed her interest in inviting you before but not once did we see how… interested you were.”

“now you’re here,” carlos laid her down on the king sized bed gently. “so which one?” 

“i- uh- i-“ lando stammered, his buzzed self no longer there as every rational thoughts he had were long gone. 

“hm,” charles hummed before looking at carlos who stood as well. “do you think she can handle another one?”

“yeah,” the three men looked at the woman on the bed, watching her hazy eyes glossing over the three as her mouth let out, “i want more cock in me…”

“atta girl,” lando’s eyes darkened when he saw how frail, sexy, hot and beautiful the naked woman was. he never truly saw her in a new light until lando saw how fucked out she looked.

so much for a podium celebration with the ferrari men.

anyone with two eyes could tell that this was a sight to behold: her cunt sinking down on carlos’ cock, her back hole preoccupied by charles, and her mouth full of lando. 

it could be considered a renaissance painting, for she was a masterpiece waiting to be coated full of the three men who can paint her in any way they wanted her to be. 

“oh fuck, baby,” lando groaned, growling as the tip of his cock reached the back of her throat. her muffled moans only added to his pleasure as her mouth vibrated around his length. 

“mmf-“ she hummed around lando’s cock. her eyes glimmered. was it in joy or simply in overwhelming pleasure? both things correlate to one another. 

charles thrusted inside her roughly, his hands digging to her hips. he growled lowly and nipped in her ear with a murmur of, “merde, your hole is too fucking snug, bebe. you’re so fucking good for me.”

“you like that, sì?” carlos reached up to pinch her nipples, eventually slapping her tits as she yelped around lando’s length. “hm? you like it when you have three cocks inside of you? you love being a good slut for us?” 

when she was expected to give an answer, lando grabbed her hair and pulled her away from his cock. his other hand continued to stroke himself while he murmured, “c’mon baby, he wants an answer.” 

she tried to utter a word, but it was only the light slap of lando’s palm that had her uttering, “yes- yes. i love your cocks so much.” 

“good girl,” lando’s cock slapped against her cheek before he slid it back in her mouth, now fucking her face as the ferrari drivers behind and under her picked up their paces. 

“fuck- fuck, good fucking girl,” lando praised her repeatedly, hearing her choke on him quietly as she tried to get a hold of herself. 

she couldn’t. she was so… overwhelmed.

“i’m gonna fucking cum, merde,” charles hissed behind her, not even minding that his cock had gone deep inside her as he let out a groan. 

“i can feel you— oh… fuck,” carlos groaned. “you are so fucking good and tight for me, bonita… you gonna cum, huh?”

she couldn’t respond, thus earning chuckles from the three men. regardless of whether or not she could, she was beginning to feel herself cum again. and again. and again.

never mind getting a podium or a race win, because the three men knew that she was the only one who deserved the victory and the celebration that occurred between the four of them. 

it might be morbid for most, but god… no amount of champagne sprays can top the celebration she was having with the australian grand prix’s podium finishers. 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck @stinkyjax

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129 @maxillness @bigsimperika @xoscar03

[olivianott]

BRAIN CHEMISTRY

Tell me I’m not the only one happily not recovered from the deatheatertok (yes that’s why I’ve been MIA😬) and the Lorenzo Zurzolo gifs from the other day? 😭 I could not help myself with this one.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, OCTOBER CAME EARLY TO ME.

ꕤ 1.6k words 

ꕤ deatheater!Theo Nott x fem!reader

ꕤ warnings: toxic ex, deatheater Theodore, pure smut, unprotected sex, explicit content, not for minors, 18+

ꕤ all characters are adults

You knew you were in trouble. That you fucked up. You somehow found yourself at a party in an unknown manor. You and your friend got talking with some people at a pub and now you are surrounded by glimmering Death Eater masks. Everyone is acting as if they are just having fun at a party. But you see their eyes following the two of you everywhere. 

You already know what is going on at these parties. You heard stories, awful stories, from him. You wonder if he is in attendance. No. Stop thinking about him, he didn’t want you anymore. He is one of them after all. 

You try to think of a way out for you and your friend. Get drinks, but don’t drink them, discreetly inch towards the entrance while smiling and acting like you’re having the time of your life, getting through the door and the few steps over the anti-apparition wards and poof, you’re both safe. 

That was the plan. Everything went smoothly, until just before getting through the door, your path is crossed by a tall Death Eater with an overly decorated mask. “Hello, beautiful.” He says while you watch your friend successfully execute the plan and disappear with a crack. 

You turn around and try to escape the lewd gaze of the big Death Eater, but there is another one in your path and you realize you are surrounded. Fuck. This is not good. No, don’t panic, don’t panic.

You panic.

Your vision starts to blur and you can’t seem to think straight. Heart in your throat, the ground becomes unsteady. Another mask enters your field of vision, too close to your face. This mask looks elegant, not overly decorated, but with artistic lines strategically curved around the planes of the artificial face. He grabs you by the upper hand and starts to drag you away from the crowd that formed around you, barking something to the other Death Eaters. You try to fight him off but it’s not working, his grip tightens and when you don’t stop, he loses patience with you and puts his wand under your chin. It doesn’t hurt but the threat makes you tremble in fear.

The man leans down next to your ear and hisses: “STOP IT.” The voice is so hard and threatening but at the same time familiar. 

You momentarily freeze and that gives him time to drag you through the hall and into a bedroom. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He closes the door after you and you finally have time to compose yourself, because he goes to the other side of the room, leaving you alone. While he locks the room with his wand, your mind clears slowly. You suddenly realize why the voice is so familiar. 

Theodore Nott. 

You’ve never seen him in his Death Eater robes and a mask before, but now you can’t stop looking at him. 

Theodore turns around, throws his mask on the bed, and stalks to you so fast, you actually step back in fear until your back is against the door. “Why the fuck are you here?!” He spits in your face, his eyes are feral and full of anger but also fear. 

“It was an accident, my friend thought it would be a good idea to-“ 

“To what? To enter a devil’s lair full of fucking Death Eaters that enjoy killing too much and don’t ask for permission to do anything? Don’t you fucking know what’s going on at these gatherings? Fucking hell!” He is talking quietly but with so much anger, you can actually feel his magic vibrating between you. 

“What’s it to you? You’re one of them now, you look like you’re right at home at this vile party, huh?” 

“Do you really think I like it? That I wanted this? Do you even know where you are?”

“In some nasty pureblood’s manor?”

“Yes. Welcome to the Nott manor.” His sarcastic smile falls off his face as he looks down and backs off of you, finally letting you breathe air. 

Oh. Nott manor. It’s his home. 

“Are you actually hosting this party?”

“Well, as I said, those people don’t ask permission for anything, so here we are. But now you are here and you made this night even more difficult for me. They have set their eyes on you now and they are hungry, in more ways than one. The Death Eaters need their food, and they like to play with it before eating.” 

He says this so matter of factly it takes a while for your mind to catch the whole truth of what you’ve casually walked into tonight. 

“You’re a Death Eater too now.”

“Exactly.” He smirks. 

You’ve missed him so much. His scent brings back memories, and you feel your body heat up despite his arrogant behavior and attempts to scare you off.

“What- what are you going to do to me?” You say breathlessly. Without your permission, your mind shows you pictures of you and him from the past, the little bit of fear just heightening your excitement. 

“Oh please, you know I’m not like-“ he stops himself mid-sentence and focuses his glare on your throat, pulsing with blood rushing through you, your red cheeks, your trembling hands, the rise and fall of your chest. 

“Now I remember.” His mouth curves in this arrogant smirk and his eyes look mischievous at the same time as dangerous. 

“You like danger… you like being scared, amore? Does it turn you on? Tonight you bit more than you could chew though, princessa. And now…. You are trapped in here. With me.” 

You can’t respond to him, but your body does. Your breathing gets more labored and you can’t help your gaze falling to his lips. 

His hand starts roaming down your body while again hovering over you, leaning against the door, the height difference between you more obvious than ever. 

“I- uhh…-“ you are unable to say more. But you close the distance between you and crash your lips against his. 

Theodore groans loudly, takes both your hands in his, and slams them against the door above your head. 

“Oh princessa, you don’t know what you just started, do you?” His hard kisses resume and your mind is filled up with sensations. 

The feel of his body against yours, the hardness of the door digging into your back, his teeth biting your lips, dragging against your throat, his lips sucking on your pulse point. 

Your eyes are closed, but you feel your feet leave the ground as Theodore picks you up and sends you flying on the bed. While crawling over you on the bed, he picks up his mask and puts it on his face. 

Fuuuuck. 

You can barely see his eyes staring down at you from behind the mask, in between the short strands of hair falling down around it. 

The world is a blur now, clothes start flying off of you, his hands tracing your curves. Suddenly he loses patience and flips you over, on your hands and knees on the bed. With his hand under your chin, he makes you look up. A mirror. Your moan is embarrassingly loud. The vision of him in his mask behind you, admiring you through the mirror, hand grabbing your throat… you’ve never seen anything hotter. With his other hand he traces your wetness and groans into your ear: “So ready for me princessa, you really do get turned on with fear and danger. How nasty of you. Was this your plan all along? To get fucked by a Death Eater?”

You can only manage to shake your head no, since he is already opening his Death Eater robes and taking out his beautiful cock. 

“I bet you were hoping to find me here, right? Wanted to make me take you back? Make sweet love and be together forever?“ He chuckles condescendingly at that thought. „Look at you now, writhing under me, dying for me to fuck you like this, with my mask on. Scream for me, princessa.” You can’t see the expression on his face since he is wearing his mask but his words are so degrading and harsh. And still, your eyes roll back into your head. 

And you do scream for him, you can’t help it, you are overwhelmed with sensation, his hands, his cock, his scent. After a while, your arms give out and he pushes your chest down into the bed, holding your hands crossed behind your back, you can’t even move. You are completely at his mercy and the feelings in your head are so confusing. You feel pathetic, under him like this, your body getting rocked by his trusts, but still, the way his cock feels inside you, the way he seems so powerful and in control of you and your pleasure with the way he manipulates your body and mind creates a fog inside your brain. Surrounded by his grunts, you realize he is using you for his satisfaction, seemingly oblivious and uncaring about your comfort or pleasure. You being completely naked, with your face in the mattress while he is still fully clothed behind you is just another layer of the humiliation. But your fucked up brain makes you love it so much that with his whimpery moans in your ear you finally lose control as you feel him lose the rhythm and push all the way inside you, so incredibly deep,  as he spills himself inside you. 

There is no cuddling after. He unceremoniously pulls out and sits in his bed propped up against the headboard, a trembling hand bringing a cigarette to his mouth, while you try to find your clothes and dignity on the floor. 

“Nice show. You were loud enough, so now they know you’re mine and hopefully leave you alone. Doesn’t change anything between us though. You can use the floo to get out of here and I hope to never see you at these things again, you understand me?” He says all of this so coldly and without even looking at you at all, so you quickly throw on your clothes and leave through the floo, throwing a “you’re still the same asshole” at him over your shoulder. 

Sitting on your sofa two days later, you are replaying everything that happened that day in your head. Your brain keeps getting stuck on the fear in his eyes when he dragged you to the room, a shaking cigarette in his hand after the sex, a slight tremble in his voice while he kicked you out of the manor after fucking you into oblivion. 

Maybe everything is not as he wants you to believe. He saved you from them after all. 

As always, thank you for reading, hope you liked it. I’m not done with deatheater!Theo though 🤭.

moodboard

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ Your principessa ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚

If you want more: 🖤here🖤

If you need more death eater Theodore 😌

[jam3sacaster]

“You have no idea what ‘ya doing to me, do ‘ya?” PT 1

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader PT 1

Suggestion by my sweet anon / SPOILER 🫶🏽 Maud has unexpectedly took off for London, leaving Declan alone. He could never touch, or even look, at another. Or could he?…

18+ FANFIC / SMUT. Unfortunately I got rather carried away so this one is fairly long. Hopefully it’s not boring! Reader character aged at 21. Pls leave requests in my ask box 🫶🏽🫶🏽

It has been 3 weeks, 2 days, 9 hours & 32 minutes since Maud O’Hara took leave for London — not like Declan is counting. And since then, he has spent every day with his mouth firmly clasped over a bottle of whiskey, and sleeping between the dewy blades of grass at The Priory. Taggie had since grown tired of peeling her intoxicated father from the ground and had ordered him into the village to gather supplies for her next catering job.

Begrudgingly, Declan stumbled through the village shop, throwing items from Taggie’s list into his basket. You, however, were having a mundanely average day. Filling your basket with fresh fruit and cream for a majority of your shop, you lingered for just a second by the bakery. Expecting the comforting smell of fresh bread, the sharp musk of wood shavings & rosemary aftershave danced through your nostrils as a suited man with a distinguished moustache appeared next to you, nonchalantly swiping a loaf of bread into his basket. Your slender hand reached out for a tiger loaf, just as he began his next embittered swipe.

“Sorry. Oh, hello.” He muttered under his breath, as he recognised you as the receptionist from the hellhole that is Corinium. “It’s okay. Go for it.” You reply, filling your face with a friendly smile. Hearing the melodious tone of your voice, Declan looked up to meet your gaze. The breath caught in his throat as he drank you in from top to bottom — from the gentle black kitten heels to your carefully curled brunette hair. “No, no. Take it.” He spoke, softening his voice and motioning his hand towards the bread. What a stunning girl. He had never noticed before. As you shot him another gentle smile, you picked up the loaf, popped it into your basket and begun to walk on the opposite direction. Watching your every move, Declan kept a firm concentration on your floral dress, admiring the elasticated hem that hugged your waist so tightly. Now that Maud has gone, surely he’s allowed to at least look at another woman— something he would’ve never dreamt of doing in his previous life.

Trudging out of the shop’s door with plastic bags clinging from your arms, the man is leaning against the wall, puffing furiously on his cigarette. “Hello again, Declan. You really didn’t have do that.” You immediately begin, sweat beading on your forehead. “Ahh, don’t worry,” A painstaking awkward silence ensued. The smell of his musk was intoxicating— comforting and manly. “How’s life treatin’ ‘ya workin’ for that cunt Baddingham?” He spoke Tony’s name like he was spitting it out, vile and sour-tasting. “You don’t have to… you don’t have to make small talk.” You mutter, turning away from him and beginning your walk home. Sure enough, Declan was striding to catch up with you, eyes firmly fixed on your svelte legs as you walked. “I’m not makin’ small talk. I’m just askin’. Everyone makes out that I’m a bastard, but-“ Your hand shot up to silence him. Declan’s pessimistic commentary was unbearable at the best of times, but you couldn’t stand to hear it right now. Being unable to hear anymore, you strutted off, being extra sure to sway your hips as you go, praying that he was watching. He definitely was.

•

Bursting through his own front door, Declan collapsed his shopping bags onto the floor and practically threw himself onto his sofa. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your legs looked under that skirt. Caramel bronze, effortlessly smooth. The way the bottom of your ample cheeks just about slipped into sight as you swayed. Fuck. Closing his eyes and unzipping his trousers, Declan released his cock from the confines of his boxer shorts. He was aching, and dripping pre-cum from something as innocent as your legs. Clasping his hand around his girth, he began to pump himself slowly — imagination leading the way. Just picturing the soft skin of your breasts as he grabs a handful whilst simultaneously thrusting himself inside you. The aroma of your hot, sweet breath as you moan into his mouth, every pump taking you another second closer to ecstasy. Declan’s thighs twitched as he pictured you taking him into your mouth, humming gently on his cock as you forced him deep into your throat. Fuck, this was getting too much to bare. Pumping his hand faster, he could practically feel your tight walls enveloping him, closing around him like a tight hug. It was all too much.. he’s gonna cum. Im keeps with the worst timing humanely possible, there was a gentle knock on the front door. “Go. Away.” Declan managed to grunt out through gritted teeth. And predictably so, the mystery guest knocked once again. A few seconds pass. Angry, stomping footsteps. Door swinging open and… “WHAT?” The Irishman bellowed — half furious at having his wank disturbed, half grieving over the stunning image of you he won’t be able to get back.

“Oh, sorry, I- I just wanted to say sorry for being rude earlier. But you’re, umm… obviously busy.” You mumble under your breath, fidgeting with your hands nervously. Declan’s flies were unzipped, with a rather curious wet patch seeping through. Your eyes glazed over, and darted immediately to the side, cheeks blazing in pure crimson embarrassment. “Come in.” He replied, fighting off a smirk and zipping his trousers back up. Hesitantly, you sit on the sofa, trying not to take up any space and keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “Drink?” Declan asks, showcasing a rather expensive looking bottle of whiskey. “No, thank you. Don’t let me stop you though.” You smile, pearly teeth on show. He wouldn’t let it stop him regardless — pouring himself a huge glass, sitting down next to you and knocking the glass back like a shot before pouring another. “As I said, sorry for being rude earlier. You caught me at a bad time,” You begin to tell your endless, anxious story, crossing your legs and exposing the laced line of your thongs under your painstakingly short skirt. Declan cracked his neck side to side, too afraid to look. Out of respect.. of course.

•

Pouring himself his third glass and sparking his 12th cigarette of the day, his clumsy, (almost) drunken hand knocked the lid of his whiskey bottle onto the floor. “Oh, let me get that.” Time to go on for the kill. Just about lifting yourself from the sofa, you bent over to retrieve the lid — the lining of your skirt almost touching your lower back, pink lace thong tucked neatly between your behind .. a full frontal view of your shapely arse. “You have no idea what ya’ doin’ to me, do ya?” Declan growled under his breath, collar growing increasingly hotter and his bulge threatening to tear through his trousers. Pretending not to hear him, you sit back down and screw the lid back onto the bottle.

“Hmm? Did you… say something?” You question, closing the gap between you both, hot breath reverberating off him. You have always found Declan O’Hara unbearably sexy.. Why not take your opportunity? “No. Have ya’ come here just ta’ be a fuckin’ tease, or did ya’ actually want sumtin’?” He snarls in the most playful manner he possibly can. You’ve had your fair share of men leering at you, but there was something so passionate and inebriating about Declan that made your loins ache. “Why would I be teasing you?” Eyes widening innocently as you talk, wrapping your hand around his fingers and guiding it to the fabric of your thong. Instinctively, he ran his fingers over your clothed slit, grunting carnally as he felt the material soak under your heat. “Fuck. I can’t. Maud.” He moaned breathlessly, the image of his sweet wife’s face clouding his mind. It mustn’t have bothered him too much, as he was soon pushing your panties to one side and swiping his pointing finger across your clit. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ wet.”

Unable to resist the devilish temptation any longer, Declan delved two fingers inside you, hooking and pulling towards him instantly. The sudden shock of pleasure made you groan with all your lungs capacity. The sound of him coaxing out your wetness paired with your affirming moans was enough to make him blow his load then and there. “Fuck, Declan.” You belt out, feeling your orgasm grow closer, your thighs tightening and your stomach binding. “Yeah? Ya’ like my fingers inside ya’?” The man asks, speaking into your ear, the bristles of his moustache sending a chill down your spine. Feeling you clench around his fingers, he lowers himself to the ground, beginning to lap at your clit like a ravenous animal, hungry for your orgasm and fiendish for the taste of you.

The front door opens and the man you recognise as Rupert Campbell-Black lingers by the frame, puffing a cigarette and smirking with pride. “Oh fuck!” You scream, pulling one of Declan’s velvet cushions over your lower half. Menacingly, Declan threw himself up. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rupert, don’t you ever knock?” His tone increasing in volume with each word.

“I’m so sorry. This was a mistake, this was…” You manage to push out, your eyes brimming with tears. How utterly embarrassing. It’s dawned on you what a huge mistake you’re making. Fastening your skirt and brushing tears from your eye, you fly out the door as fast as your legs would take you — brutally aware of a furious yet saddened Declan calling your name from his open living room. “Fuck.. please!” He shouted again, running his hands over his face.

[turnfires-secret]

Kinich x top male reader? Imagine that Kinich limps a little after their night with reader, and while reader is trying to make amends, Ajaw makes fun of them in every possible way. That would be fun lmao😭

Anon ilysm i've been craving a reason to write ajaw for days now and I finally get my excuse!

This isn't really smut tho... sorry if I've disappointed anyone!

Payment Due | Kinich X Male Reader

It’s beyond hot inside your shared bedroom. How long had the two of you been at it? Neither you nor Kinich could recall. Kinich has buried his face into the crook of his arm again, trying to keep himself quiet. It doesn’t bring the Turnfire hunter any sort of mercy from the ruthless unending pleasure plaguing his mind, seeing as you just start fucking him harder fueled by the desire to listen to the whorish sounds that slipped from his mouth.

When Kinich wakens the next morning he’s met with a terrible sticky sensation and… as per usual, the most aggravating sound Kinich had heard in his whole life.

“Ew! You humans really are disgusting! I’d have never expect my own servant to engage in such… foul, vile, unholy, unsanitary acts of sacrilege in the close presence of the mighty dragon lord, Ku’hul Ajaw! “

Attempting to ignore Ajaw’s incessant yapping, Kinich takes a deep breath and gets up out of bed… Only to realize the pain and agony that came with such a task. Actually, phrasing it that way is abit too… dramatic. What he was actually facing was the aches and pains of post sex. Kinich is limping, and (to make the situation worse) Ajaw notices. 

“Oh? Did that puny human you drool over fuck you that hard to the point you can’t walk straight?! Wait- Meheheheh! maybe today’s my lucky day! You should go outside and try fight a pack of those idiotic tribal warriors and die!”

“I’m not that stupid, now leave me alone”

Kinich replied, taking yet another deep breath before going to the bathroom and taking a shower. The dendro user finishes his shower, feeling much more refreshed and awake despite the fact he’s still limping. Changing into some fresh clothes he feels your arms around his waist and your head nuzzle into his shoulder. 

“Well good morning to you too”

“Mhhh~ Kinichhh why are you up so early….?”

To Kinich, the sound of your voice was always the best part of his day.

“It’s far from early my love, Infact, it’s 11 am”

“Still too early…”

“EW, DISGUSTING LOVE BIRDS, YOU MAKE ME SICK!”

Theres a pause in the room before you and Kinich both decide to once more completely ignore the yelling pixelized projection. 

“Moving on, you, should be paying me compensation.”

Even though your voice was the best medicine for the aloof warrior, you were still not exempt from his habit of counting costs. To Kinich, it seems his aching grievance was enough to warrant payment.

“Wh- payment?!”

“Because of your prior actions i now find it hard to walk normally, so personally, i think you should pay the prince, no?”

“Personally i think you should charge them has much as you can, Kinich!” (Ajaw says, bardging into the conversation only to get ignored)

“Wh- Alright then~ For payment how about… we go another round?”

You respond, your voice now holding that seductive tone you seemed to enjoy using with him. 

His neck is sensitive after last night’s activities. You bite down, hard enough for him to feel it. Such an action’s associations mixed with such sensitivity forced a needy whine from Kinich’s throat, aswell as changes the Turnfire warrior’s mind. 

“... fine, i have time to spare… just… be abit more gentle this time, will you?”

[novemberheart]

{overview} Ammends are made

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, some threatening, slight emotional angst

Chapter 37 <- Chapter 38 -> Chapter 39

They are wearing you down. The near clawing and whining at the door, like two pups. Even John had given up trying to deter the two betas. John entered Simon’s room, heading straight past the man and towards the bathroom. They shared a bathroom, the other door leading directly into his room- your shared room. It wasn’t just his room anymore. He didn’t want it to be.

The door was unlocked, lucky for him. Your eyes narrowed at him, a growl dying in your throat.

“What do I have to do to make this better?”

It caught you off guard. The man with an answer to everything was unsure of how to approach this. Why didn’t he? He was your alpha. It was his job to know how to fix this.

“How do I remind you how much we love you?” He said just above a whisper. Your eyes welled, your throat constricting painfully.

“I’m mad at you,” was all you were able to get out.

“Sweet girl there was nothing we could do,” he rasped. He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers aching to grab a hold of you.

“I just think the timing is convenient,” you started. “I’m marked, then suddenly all of the gestures go away. Marked omegas leave their packs all the time you kno”-

“Don’t be cruel,” John chided. “Threatening to leave,” he spat to himself. “When are you going to stop looking for a reason to leave us before we leave you?” he questioned. Your breath caught in your throat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“You’re worse than I am,” Simon spoke from the doorway. How long had he been there? “Remember when you marked me and you asked me to not run away from it?” he asked. “Remember?” he pressed after you didn't answer.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Well I'm asking the same of you,” his voice was firm- unwavering.

He headed towards the door unlocking it for the betas who charged in, nearly tripping over each other in the process. Kyle reached you first, the beta resting you against his chest. His scent was anxious while Johnny's was sad. it made you whimper, your heart twisting in your chest.

You couldn’t refuse anymore. Your stiff body relaxing between theirs, a soft purr rising in you at the sheer comfort they brought you.

This was deeper than the rest of your pack knew. The only people who knew its depths were you, Anais and Briggs. Maybe that was part of your resentment. You were scared. Scared of who was tracking you and scared of what your pack would do if they found out. Why would they want anything to do with you? You did nothing but cause problems.

Maybe you should just rip the bandaid off now.

You were already upset. The storm had already been unleashed. You were in the eye of it now.

What about Anais and Briggs? You couldn't get them in trouble.

But what if what Briggs said was true? What if your pack already knew about your visit. They had already known you went to the medical center. They were your alphas and it would be well within their rights to question the procedure that had been done. Why didn't they call you on it? Maybe they didn't want to deal with it. It was your problem- not theirs.

What would happen if you just came clean? Either way you would know where you stood within your pack. Either way you would have an answer to the question that had been eating you alive the past few days.

“I lied,” the words fell from your lips and landed against Kyle’s shoulder. He shuddered from under you. Johnny brushed the hair away from your face, the never ending ache in his chest flaring up again. “There was a wire in my leg- one meant for tracking. It was supposed to have dissolved by now, it hadn't, my body rejected it. That's why I went to the medical center. They removed it and sent it to a lab so I could see who it belonged to,” your words were shaky. You couldn't bear to look at any of them, your eyes trained on the headboard.

You waited for the vile scent of an angry pack. Yet it never came. It was like you were surrounded by statues. None of the breathing, moving or speaking.

“Not happy about you keeping it from us,” John broke the silence. “How long ago was it placed in you?” he asked.

“The doctor guessed eight-ish years ago,” you replied, holding your own breath.

“Just because we weren't with you then doesn't mean it isn't our concern,” John continued.

“Are you mad?” you asked suddenly.

“No,” he replied instantly. “I don't know- or want to know how long you were planning on hiding it from us. But you told us now, that's what matters.”

Where were you?

Why wasn't he bearing his teeth and charging towards the medical center for not informing anyone? Why wasn't Simon scolding you for not telling them as soon as they walked through the door? Why wasn't Johnny rolling up your pant leg to inspect the injury? Why wasn't Kyle already logged into a computer tracking the person down himself?

Why was everyone so calm?

“Let me see Bonnie,” Johnny murmured. Well at least one thing came true. You rolled up your pant leg, Johnny's fingers pulling the small band aid that covered your measly four stitches. “They'll need to be taken out soon,” he sighed, his lips connecting with your knee. “Hate you had to do this alone,” he growled, tucking you back against Kyle. Your heart warmed, the uneasiness beginning to settle.

“Me and John’ll go to the lab tomorrow. See if they've found anything on it,” Kyle added. That seemed more like it. The uneasiness flooded back when you remembered one little detail.

It was under Anais’ name. Not yours.

Think fast.

“It's under Anais’ name,” you explained. “I thought that would be a better idea just in case the person who placed it could still have access to it because it wasn't fully dissolved. If it was under my name there would be a record of it and they would know I know about it. If it was under her name they’d think it just dissolved and I know nothing about it,” you explained like the script had been written for you.

If they knew you were lying you think amongst their anger they would be secretly impressed.

“That's quite clever,” John muttered. “We’ll still have a look at it tomorrow,” he assured. “Don’t want you worrying about it anymore,” he insisted. “It’s on us now,” his large hand ran up and down your back, your skin erupting at his touch. You couldn't help but lean into it.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

You woke up to everything being right in the world.

The past few weeks left you exhausted and your sleeping schedule showed that. You woke up to your body being moved upright, your head lulling into a perfect spot against John’s shoulder.

“Time for lunch,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your sides. “You need some food in ‘ya,” he pressed, his lips firm against your forehead. You agreed, begrudgingly. Still half asleep as you untangle yourself from his lap, not bothering to change out of your sleep clothes, just throwing one of his sweatshirts over top.

Price

Was painted across your back making the alpha more than pleased.

“Name fits you better than me,” he hummed, his hand traveling down your back. You peered up at him sleepily, a small smile on your lips. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips finding their home against your cheek. “And don't listen to any pesky thoughts in your head tellIng you otherwise,” he urged.

“Missed you too,” you whispered back. You nuzzled your way under his arm, the affection making the edge in his scent disappear.

Johnny had picked up breakfast for all of you. You were grateful you didn't have to go to the cafeteria.

“Bagel with strawberry cream cheese for the pretty lass,” Johnny smirked, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “And a fruit cup,” he added. You smiled widely. This is what you had missed. Being doted on. You don't care if it makes you spoiled.

Johnny finished assembling your bagel for you, a grateful purr leaving you and you quickly gripped his jaw pressing rapid kisses against his cheek. His cheeks raised from under you.

“Anytime, peaches,” he smirked.

“You have a kickboxing class today,” Simon spoke, passing you the parts of his bacon that ‘weren’t cooked enough.’ Truth was that Simon just liked burnt food. “Still up for it?”

As soon as Simon saw the sign up sheet for kickboxing he added you to the list- in fact- you were the first name on it.

You nodded your head, mumbling a small ‘yeah’ through your bacon. The rest of breakfast was nice. Domestic. Familiar. The energy was still a bit off, mostly due to Kyle and John. Something strange was happening, but you didn't have the energy to press.

“Let’s get you ready, pup,” Simon sighed, grabbing your empty plate from you.

Getting ready included Johnny helping you pick out and outfit and then helping you with your knotted hair.

Maybe you were spoiled…

“We have to tell her,” Kyle spoke as soon as the front door shut. John sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “It's the perfect time. We can play it off like we never knew,” he continued.

“Then what if she goes lookin’ for her?” John reminded. “Especially after all that's gone down between us all. She may feel more inclined to find a different pack,” John gruffed, already working on his fourth cigar of the day.

“Give her some credit,” Kyle sneered. “She won’t just up and leave us,” Kyle defended. “And she has every right to want to reconnect with her mother.”

“Her mother doesn't deserve her,” John shot back. “She already left her once. It's not like her mother doesn't know where she is. She has probably been tracking her till it disconnected. Leave it up to her mom to decide.”

“Her mother is probably scared. Could you imagine leaving her then wandering back into her life after years have passed? She probably assumes she never wants to see her again,” Kyle illustrated. John shook his head, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“That may be true. Then what happens if she does reconnect? What if her mother moved on, has her own pack and wants to take our girl away from us? Then what? What if she could provide her with the stability we can't?” John questioned.

“What if our girl finds out we hid it from her not only once, but twice? She’ll never forgive us and I- I can't live with that,” Kyle breathed, his throat tightening. “We have to let her decide,” Kyle affirmed. “Whatever happens, happens.”

“No,” John growled. “It's our job as her pack to protect her.” John ran a hand over his face, his eyes falling onto the kitchen counter. An idea popped into his head. A compromise. “What if we track down her mother?” John hummed. Kyle’s brows furrowed. “We are her pack. We reach out to her and ask if she even has any interest reconnecting with her daughter. If she does we’ll access her- make sure her intentions are pure. Then we bring it to our omega,” John explained.

Kyle’s shoulders felt lighter already, his back resting against the chair.

“That's not bad. We won’t necessarily be lying and we’ll be able to keep our girl out of harm's way,”

“So you agree?” John pressed. Kyle nodded slowly. “Atta boy,” He smiled, his hand clapping against the betas shoulder.

“She's a fierce little thing, isn't she?” Johnny smiled. Simon was flushed under his mask, his eyes not quite sure where to linger. You were doing very well in your new class. It was much more fun than you thought it would be- especially with all your pent up emotions.

“That one yours?” A man asked from next to the pair.

Johnny smiled wider, a bounce in his shoulders.

“Aye, she is as perfect as she look”- he cut himself off. His smile faded from his face as he stared down the man. Simon’s lips quirked beneath his mask at the sergeant's change in demeanor. “She is mine,” The Scot kept it short and not-so-sweet this time. “Which one is yours?” he asked.

“I don't have one. I just like to watch someti”-

He had no opportunity to finish the thought before Johnny had him by his scruff, escorting him out of the room. “Well, you chose to watch the wrong one cause I’ll scoop out your eyeballs if I catch you looking at her again,” Johnny growled against his ear. It was a bit cliche- but it got his point across.

“Where’s Johnny?” you panted, taking a small towel from Simon to dab your face with.

“Your beta had some issues to take care of. Should be back soon,” Simon said blankly. He rested a hand on the back of your head, guiding you out of the training room.

“Did I miss the finale?” Johnny questioned, hoisting you up to press a kiss against your sweaty cheek. You giggled your feet swinging to find the floor.

“Coach said she did decent,” Simon approved, downplaying your success. You rolled your eyes, nuzzling your way into the Scots side.

“I did really good,” you smiled.

“Course you did Bonbon,” he whispered back.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Ser you in four days for the next one! Lots of love 🧡

[sugurouge]

— flame of despair : soulmate! sukuna ryōmen x rebirthed! f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, historical au, noncon, monsterfucking, aggressive hair pulling, dacryphilia, hurtful pet names (whore & pet), yandere themes, reader is viewed as sukuna’s property, deep throating, cunnilingus, blood, mindbreak, misogyny (he makes a nasty remark about the role of a woman), degradation

summary: Each and every life of yours will always belong to Sukuna. He will remind you of that promise with every new life, no matter the methods used. The idea of romance and being bound to your partner by soul, the thing you always dreamt of, becomes ruined and reality turns out to be a living nightmare once your soulmate claims you.

wordcount: 2.5k | my kinktober masterlist

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"No, no, let's try that again, pet."

The monster looming above you muses, mischief gleams deep in those dreadful red eyes as Sukuna watches your trembling form at his feet. You're exposed to him, the white fabric of your drape drenched with blood and water from the unfortunate weather of the recent weeks; almost as if some higher being has been angered by your reunion.

Your hair is a tangled mess from where Sukuna's claws dragged you to kneel in front of him, and your lips are bruised thanks to a previous blow to your once-pretty face. The bitter taste of iron taints your tongue, yet the flavours pale in comparison to the horror that awaits every time Sukuna decides to let you out of your cage to 'play'.

"I—"

"Who do you belong to?" Sukuna interrupts, shattering the last fragments of your dignity.

"N-no—"

No one. No one, you were trying to say. You’ve tried to tell him that for weeks, ever since he found you and claimed you, spouting wild fantasies of past lives and how, in every new one, he would always come to find you again.

But you can’t even force those two small words past your lips before a harsh slap to your cheekbone sends fresh tears streaming down your face, sobs erupting from your throat. The claws digging into your cheeks sting, they tear at your skin as sharply as his words pierce your soul. "You belong to me. You’re mine. My property, understand?"

He makes you nod, grinning as your tears glisten under the dim light of the fires dancing around his hall. "Repeat it for me." His deep voice rumbles ominously, the tip of his nose brushing almost affectionately against your tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm... I'm," you falter as your brows crease in disgust over the words about to escape your lips. You’d rather die than give him the satisfaction, the defiant glare in your eyes stating as much as you meet his gaze.

"Say it," he drawls, his voice is sending shivers down your spine. Four eyes bore into you as Sukuna seems to grow larger with each passing second, his presence is suffocating.

Yet here you are, as helpless as an infant, yet as brave as a tiger whilst you shake your head in his iron grip. You don’t even have time to blink before your face slams into the cold, unforgiving floor. Your cheek is pressed into a vile mixture of dried blood and water as a thunderstorm rages above, the temple trembling beneath its wrath.

You feel numb, the groan that escapes from deep within your lungs barely registering in your mind since you're fully overwhelmed by the high-pitched ringing that clouds your senses. But the violent tugging on your body snaps you back to this living nightmare as four hands tear at the flimsy fabric Sukuna dares to call a dress, leaving you naked and vulnerable under his cruel gaze.

Your tears mix with the blood running down the side of your temple as you stare up at him in horror. You wouldn’t even be able to attempt to cover yourself, your limbs feeling as though they don’t belong to you as they are pressed to the ground by two strong hands.

“Look at me.”

You comply, your eyes slowly focusing on the blurry demon as you blink the tears away. “Stop, please…” you hear your own voice, shaky and weak, yet apparently utterly entertaining to Sukuna, judging by the grin etched on his face.

He guides your nimble fingers over his muscular body, across his black markings and prominent pecs, as his lips graze your ear. “If you’d stop being so ungrateful… you could enjoy all of this,” his faint whisper tickles your neck, his hot breath contrasting with the icy cold water on your back. “Just say you’re mine. Admit it.”

“I’m not yours.” You don’t even have time to groan as a third hand snakes around your throat and applies pressure to your airways, nails tearing through the first layer of your skin and continuing to dig deeper into your flesh.

“You’re mine. You have been mine from the moment you were born, you dumb whore!” he snarls, fingers forcing their way through your tangled hair, exposing your neck to his teeth. Sukuna savours every drop of your blood, every dried tear and bead of sweat before his teeth sink into your body, eliciting a defeated whine from you. Yet it’s the fourth hand applying pressure to your hip bone that has you gasping in horror, a new set of tears welling up along your lash line as you vehemently shake your head in denial.

“You’ve been mine ever since your village offered me my soulmate, isn’t that right?” he breathes, the devilish grin returning to his lips as he leans in to kiss you harshly. His tongue invades your mouth, spreading the taste of your blood to every corner before he pulls back, leaving only a thin string of saliva connecting your bodies— as faint and delicate as your bond to this monster.

“They threw you at my feet. Offered me my toy to play with in exchange for protection.” His lips trail between your breasts, greedily pressing against your heaving chest and staining your skin as Sukuna’s journey takes him further south.

“Dumb as they are. As if I’d let anyone live who treats my property with such shame.” Sukuna traces the lines of your bondmark; the action almost seems adoring by how gentle his touch is before his nail redraws the lines in red.

“You’re mine,” his eyes snap up to your face. “You’ll forever be mine. With every reincarnation, I’ll find you, claim you, and break you until you’re my queen again.”

Your voice finds its way back to you in this moment, as you cry out from the pain Sukuna inflicts on your body, his words reminding you of the horrors you witnessed that day.

How your mother dressed you in her finest dress and let you play princess, promising you the world as soon as you found your soulmate. Only for your father to push you to your knees in front of a demon, a curse—him. Sukuna Ryomen.

And your eyes saw the lines on his side as the top of his yukata pooled around his hips. The same devious mark you had on your body ever since you were a baby.

You were cursed. The entire village treated you like a lesser being, like filth and a secret, promised to stay hidden until they could rid themselves of you—all because of legends passed down for hundreds of years about the only weakness the King of Curses holds.

They all too willingly tore the beautiful dress off your body and gave the devil not what he came for, but what he most desired.

“I don't want to be a monster’s queen,” your bold statement makes Sukuna’s face deform into a hideous mask, violent laughter erupting from deep within his chest at the fighting spirit you try to uphold. “Were you not dreaming of the day your soulmate would find you like all those other pathetic little mortals do?” The words are nothing but a murmur; Sukuna doesn’t even make it sound like a question, and he leaves no room for your reply either—not when black nails dig into the fat of your thighs or strong hands pin down your wrists to the floor. “I understand, you must be claimed, to learn to appreciate your life at my feet, pet.”

The most disgusting part of this moment is not the grimace looming above you, or the horror in Sukuna’s eyes, no, it's the feeling of a wet, hot tongue lapping at your cunt while this abnormality holds you spread open like you’re on a serving plate.

Sukuna sees the aversion on your face, the way your eyes squint before you have to look away once the pleasure starts to feel undeniable as he fucks you open on his tongue. The squelching is so lewd, you can only cry over yourself.

“Stop your miserable act, whore,” Sukuna punctuates his words with a deep thrust of the thick tongue from his stomach, forcing a moan from you whether you like it or not.

The hand around your small wrists hurts, feeling as if Sukuna wants to actively burn his fingerprints into your skin as his eyes stare into the depths of your soul. You know where his tugging leads, know what you feel when the hot, sticky sensation meets the palm of your hand. Encased between your much smaller and Sukuna’s own large palm are his cocks. Your whimpers are unending as he forces your hand to drag over their shafts, his maniacal stare into your disgusted face unwavering. How dare you continue to insult him like that? You should feel grateful for his attraction towards you.

You whine the moment your head hits the floor once more, Sukuna easily pressing your form against the stone-cold ground, finally forcing your eyes to snap up to look directly into his red gaze.

There is no such thing as tenderness to be found in them, no love, no sympathy. The concept of soulmates is nothing but a nightmare for you.

“You’re hurting me…” you whisper in desperation, yet Sukuna only basks in this newfound tenderness in your eyes as fat tears stream down your cheeks.

“Then stop denying me!” Sukuna growls right next to your ear. His dominance and your own fear send shivers down your spine, rendering you limp beneath him.

The rough pads of his fingers squish your face beneath his grip—disabling you from facing anything but him. “You could have another fulfilled life…” Is this tenderness you see in his eyes? Love he held for the yous from the past? It can't be. Not him. “But you leave me no choice.” In one fell swoop, you find yourself back on your knees, your face brought up right in front of the tips of his cocks.

The cold flooring hurts your joints, making you wince once more, but your sounds are all the same to Sukuna—simply confirmation of his influence on your body. In pleasure or pain? Who cares.

However, he notices the slight shake of your head. It's causing his grip on your hair to tighten, eliciting another loud whine from you.

Your dainty fingers try to ease his grip to no avail. “Please, I don't de—” but the loud gulp of your throat cuts off any protest. The thick tip of Sukuna’s shaft spreads your mouth beyond your imagination, the salty flavour of his pre-cum coating your tongue and messing with your taste buds before he prods at the entrance to your throat, muscles trembling around his infiltration. You struggle to keep the choking at bay, swallowing back any disgusting liquids threatening to crawl back up.

Sukuna groans in satisfaction. His darkened eyes stare down at your weak figure, admiring your hollowed cheeks and stretched lips. His thumb sweetly swipes over your cheekbone, followed by a slap to the same area. When he pulls back, you choke up a mixture of nasty fluids, but there is no time to recover due to the way he forces your head to stay in place. Once more, you are overwhelmed by his length, his second needy cock now taking the spot inside your mouth. “Silence and a breedable womb are the best presents a woman can give.” As if to highlight his words, Sukuna pushes in deeper, the choked squeal of your panic drowned by his girthy cock as he holds your head in place, nails harshly digging into your scalp as he bottoms out.

His pelvis presses against your mouth and nose to further restrict your breathing. Every attempt at swallowing your saliva makes you feel his cock even more, it's almost impossible to stay conscious as Sukuna opts to abuse your throat only seconds after he enters you.

It hurts—the pistoning of his hips, the repetitive assault on your throat by his thick member, and the hateful words hitting your skin with no form of defence.

Demands to take it, to stop being weak and disgusting, are just a few of the many insults you have to endure. By now, your nails have left nasty scratches on his thighs as you desperately try to relieve some of the pain he forces on your body, while your mind isn’t sure if passing out would be the safer option for your sanity.

Tears won’t stop running down your face. The mixture of your spit, tears, and his arousal creates a nearly disgusting flavour in your mouth, causing you to gag further on his cock.

“Get your act together,” Sukuna bites. At this point, it actually feels like he is ripping strands of your hair out due to his harshness.

But you can’t—it’s impossible, especially once you feel him twitch at the back of your throat, prodding against the muscles of your pharynx. The second your tongue can nearly trace the load of cum being pumped through his shaft, Sukuna pulls out. You didn’t have time to notice him stroking his second cock, couldn’t register fast enough the fate you were about to meet as one of his hands holds your head in place.

Sukuna’s deep moan rings through the echoing hall and sears into your memory while the white-hot seed lands on your face and chest, tainting your figure with his cum.

It’s the most humiliating way of claiming you.

Sukuna kneels down to be at eye level with you, proudly taking in his all-white masterpiece before his thumb swipes part of his load off your cheek and holds it in front of your lips.

You glare at him, the hatred in your eyes a challenge he will fuck out of you. “Dumb little bird,” he murmurs while smearing his cum over your tightly sealed lips before hoisting you up and over his shoulder in an instant.

Sometimes it is best to show patience. Most of the time, it is better to teach through pain. Your fate for the night shall be to learn to love your throne, positioned on top of Sukuna’s lap, stuffed beyond your capabilities until either your mind or your body gives out first.

dividers by @/cafekitsune