#masked men make me weak

[rottenroses777]

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

oh shit I haven’t posted art here in a hot minute. what do I even draw

[beloveds-embrace]

Idgaf abt how military works sorry yall but imagine the 141 gang having to do mandatory charity and no, not even Ghost can opt out of it regardless of how he says he’s honest to god not fucking fit to be visiting sick patients. But alas.

But they end up meeting you- frail, fragile, and sick you, no visitors around you. Though you look at them with curiosity and admiration, you keep yourself away, almost as if you don’t want to bother them.

You can’t help looking at them, though. You’ve been sick all your life- born to a mother who left you on the doorsteps of an overcrowded orphanage, left alone often and long for your body to just… fail you. You don’t think you’ve seen outside the orphanage walls and then these hospital grounds since your birth. You would be dead now if it weren’t for the CEO of the hospital taking pity on you after you turned eighteen and the orphanage cleaned their hands off you.

And so, you can’t help but envy them just a little. Strong, agile people in the military, bodies fit and healthy. Despite knowing they are always putting themselves on the line, constantly in danger, you can’t help the longing you feel. Longing you don’t realize is clear as day in your eyes.

The one to approach you first is the man you thought one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He introduces himself as Kyle, and despite your silence- your interactions with others that are not doctors or nurses are far and few, and you are painfully shy- but he is nice. Gentle. Easily keeps the conversation going despite. He is so easy-going he has you grinning and laughing in no time. It catches the attention of a the Scot with a mohawk, who joins in by sharing even wilder stories. And then the man with the scary ghost mask, so often in their stories, comes to your little crowd. He is big, scary if the nurses’ reactions are anything to go by, and yet the only thing you’ve ever truly been afraid of is dying with a life not truly lived. So you don’t flinch or cower from him, merely ask if he has anything interesting to share with you.

The last you speak with is John Price. Captain John Price. If there is a man that can embody a bear, it has to be him. You are sure of it. Especially when you witness him smacking the back of Kyle’s head lightly after a teasing comment.

Maybe your chances of a long, fulfilling life are slim but today, just for today, you allow yourself to envision a life with them. Such a strange desire, a useless and wistful one.

“Thank you, for today.” You tell them quietly, when it’s nearing time to leave. Your hands are held in Kyle and Johnny’s, frail and weak compared to theirs. You smile at them, squeezing lightly. “I think this is the most happy and content I’ve been all my life. I won’t forget today.”

And in return? Neither will they. How could they ever forget you, the sweetheart in the hospital bed, your sickness keeping you away from the joyful life you deserve?

The won’t forget you. Not at all. And when you start receiving gifts, polaroids and letters and texts, you already know who is sending them to you.

It makes things just a little easier- your life just a little brighter.

Other works + help me choose a title for this!

[uzurakis]

jjk men w gf who’s overly sensitive and they said something that hurt her feelings? ^___^

FALLING INTO ARGUMENTS?!

featuring: megumi fushiguro. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. nonnie, allow me to spice your req a bit by make them getting into arguments which hurts your feelings in the process. sorry it took a longer time to write this cause i really don’t want to mess their characterization on this one t—t you also didn’t say i need to end it with comfort so…

GOJO SATORU.

the atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if every breath you took stirred up a storm of unresolved emotions. the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the lines of frustration etched into gojo satoru’s face. his piercing gaze fixed into yours, a silent challenge hanging between both like a veil of uncertainty.

as you stood before him, the weight of his dismissive words bore down on you like a crushing weight. it was as if every syllable was a dagger aimed straight at your heart, each one leaving a deep, painful wound that threatened.

you cried out, "i can help, satoru," your voice quivering with a mix of hurt and desperation. "please, just let me help you."

however, his reply felt akin to a blow to the face. "i don’t need your help, alright?" he yelled, his voice snapping like a whip. "i've got this covered myself.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, filling the space between you guys with a palpable sense of defeat.

you begged, your voice almost audible, "but satoru, we're supposed to be in this together. i thought you trusted me. isn't that what relationships are built out of?”. nevertheless, his expression remained impassive, a mask of indifference that hid the pain lurking beneath the surface. “trust has nothing to do with it," he replied, voice colder than you had ever heard it before. "i do better alone."

with those comments, the abyss between you and gojo deepened, threatening to swallow both whole. then as you turned to leave his room, the weight of his rejection settled like a stone in your gut, leaving only a hollow ache and the bitter taste of regret.

the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. every fiber of his being screamed for him to go after you, to swallow his pride and beg for your forgiveness, but something held him back, he didn’t want to pull you into his mess any further.

with a heavy sigh, gojo sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he let out a long, ragged breath. the weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let himself break down in the face of his own weakness. he had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle any situation with ease and confidence, but now, in the aftermath of this argument, he felt more vulnerable than ever before.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

"are you okay, megumi?" you asked softly as you reached out to touch his shoulder.

his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a tense energy that crackled in the air, setting your nerves on edge as he flinched away from your touch, his expression hardening as he turned to face you.

he snapped, "i'm fine," in a tone that was unlike anything you had ever heard. "stop asking me that."

the words were like a slap to the face, leaving you feeling with hurt and confusion. all you had wanted was to help him, to ease the burden he carried on his shoulders, but instead, you found myself faced with a wall of anger and resentment.

you tried to protest whilst trembling with suppressed emotions. "you know you can always talk to me, right? you don't have to go through this alone." yet he shook his head, his eyes dark with pain as he pushed you away. "i said i'm fine!” insisted, tone slightly went higher. "just leave me alone."

the tears threatened to spill over, but you just held it down and bit your lips. with a heavy heart, you turned and left his room.

as the door closed behind you, megumi let out a frustrated growl, the sound muffled by the empty room. he cursed himself silently, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the weight of his harsh words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"damn it," he muttered under his breath, very much thick with regret. "fuck you, fushiguro.”

the memory of your hurt expression haunted him, a reminder of the pain he had caused with his thoughtless words. he had never meant to hurt you, never intended to push you away, but in his fear and uncertainty, he had lashed out without thinking, building walls around himself to keep you out.

now, as he stood alone in the quiet solitude of his room, he realized the magnitude of his mistake. he had pushed away the one person who had always been there for him, the one person who had never given up on him, and now he was left to face the consequences of his actions.

with a heavy sigh, the man sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of the mess he had created. he knew that he needed to apologize, to make things right, but the thought of facing you again filled him with a sense of dread.

ITADORI YUUJI

under the soft glow of streetlights, yuuji and you found yourselves standing at the edge of a heated argument that threatened to consume the bond between you. the cool night air was heavy with tension, each word you and he exchanged hanging in the air like a cloud of unresolved emotions.

"i just wish you would trust me, yuuji." you said, sounding frustrated as you looked for any indication that he might understand.

however, he shook his head, his expression stubborn and closed off. "i do trust you, but this is different. i need to handle this on my own, babe.”

his remarks pierce deeply. it seemed that he was shutting you down even though all you wanted to do was to help him. you looked at yuuji and said, "i can't just watch you struggle."

"just, give me some time alone, okay?”

the hurt in his voice mirrored your own. as you watched him walk away, the sting of his words lingered like a bitter taste in your mouth. just as you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name, his voice filled with panic and regret. "wait! baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

you turned back to face him, the ache in your chest easing slightly at the sight of his vulnerability. in that moment, you understood that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared and uncertain as you were.

"it's okay, yuuji," you calmed him down, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "we'll figure this out together."

GETO SUGURU

you couldn't stand idly by as suguru pushed himself into further depression from time and time again, and tonight, you had finally reached your breaking point.

"suguru, you need to take better care of yourself," you begged, tinged with frustration and concern. "you can't keep treating yourself like this."

“is there really nothing i can do to help you?”

only he scoffed at your worries, waving off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, expression stubborn and unyielding. "i'm fine, babe.” with a deep sigh, geto suguru pointed out, "and what would you know about my problems, huh?" he reacted with resentment.

those words cut deep, leaving you mourning with hurt and disbelief.

"suguru..” you claimed, “do you really think i would just stand there as you destroy yourself? when you mean so much to me?”

his eyes softened at your words, a flicker of regret passing over his features before he shook his head, expression hardening as he turned away from you. "i don't need your help," he spat.

“i can take care of myself."

the finality of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing the last vestiges of hope that lingered in.

"fuck, i'm sorry," he murmured right before you decided to walk away. "i didn't mean to worry you."

“i, i just don’t know what to do with myself. shit, i’m so sorry.”

you turned back to face him, tears welling in your eyes as he crossed the room to pull you into a tight embrace. his familiar arms curled around you, providing comfort and warmth despite the tension. you could feel his heartbeat against yours, a rhythm that expressed both guilt and tenderness. at last, words were unnecessary as you allowed the quiet to envelope both, saying more than any apology could.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[tacticalprincess]

how would konig react to reader getting jealous?? ps i love ur writing!!

jealousy is könig’s weakness. in his twisted brain, it’s one of the upmost proofs of devotion. you wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t truly care about him, and that thought makes his heart swell in his chest and his dick fill in his pants.

watching you pout and refuse to talk to him after he was oblivious to some civilian flirting with him— grazing her hand along his bicep, batting her eyelashes up at him— he would be so confused at first. he thought she was just thanking him for his service, why are you dragging him away now? it all clicks for him when you mutter “more like begging you to touch her cervix” and he can’t help but smile to himself. so you fear losing him just as much as he does you? (that may be a stretch, but he’ll choose to believe it.)

he loves the role reversal, it’s about time you get a taste of how he feels about you on a daily basis. the head rush it gives him to see you care about him so much is addicting. he’ll start purposefully putting himself in position to be flirted with, which is getting increasingly easier when he’s clad in all his military gear— unfortunately for you, women love freakishly tall masked men nowadays. the way you wrap yourself around him, making your presence known and staking your claim on him for everyone to see, makes him want to give you everything. he surrenders so easily, letting you drag him home and forgetting all about the faceless person he used to make you upset. you’re just so adorable and possessive when you’re jealous, he can’t take it seriously. it always ends the same; him comforting you, swearing he’ll never leave, as you bounce yourself silly on his broad lap.

“‘s my cock, right, köni? tell me it’s mine.”

“it’s yours, liebe. every inch.” his voice is wobbly and shaky with adoration, looking up at you like you hung the stars whilst you work yourself on his meaty, throbbing dick. gummy walls clenching him tightly, almost threatening. you’ll tell him no one could handle his fat cock expect for you, empty his heavy balls like you can, and he’ll go cross eyed, “die fraumeiner träume— fucking made for it. the only cunt i’ll ever need.”

it’s hard not to believe him when he goes all stupid like this, ready to pray to god just because the feeling of you can’t be explained by anything natural. you have nothing to worry about, schatz, can’t you see you’ve ruined everyone else for him?

[goldenstring6123]

Sylus: Naked and feisty

Warning: 16+, Suggestive content, almost nudity, female!mc

Author's notes: I wrote this 6 days ago and i just wanted to share even if it's not in the posting calendar lol.

"Why are you only in your underwear?" Sylus stops in his tracks the moment you set your foot out of the guest bedroom, towel around your neck and a comb in your hand.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing," The brush in your hand combed through your wet, freshly washed hair, leaving a few droplets onto the polished cement floor.

A sigh escaped his lips and an evident frown on his face. "This is my house, you brat, I can do whatever I want." thick and veiny hands traveled to the ribbon of his robe, un-doing the knot that held his cover in place. Swiftly, he threw the robe towards your way and pointed at it: "Put that on."

"It's night time," She tilted her head with a smirk, "I like to sleep naked." You lied to him and he, for sure, was not buying into it. A quick gruff escaped his lips and he made his way to the kitchen, ignoring your attempts at getting on his nerves.

"Do what you want, but just so you know," he tilted the moka pot into his small mug, opening a cabinet and getting a jar. "There's eyes all over my house, not mine, of course. Your images would be in the black market by tomorrow morning. You wouldn't want that *do you?"

"Hundreds of men lusted after seeing you at the auction, even with the mask on, they would be fools if they don't notice you right away." He sipped on his coffee, eyes on the woman that sat on his black couch, smirking at him in her lacy, maroon underwear.

It was a feast for his eyes

The n109 zone is a cold and chilly island, much less inside the home of the onichynus' leader. The hairs on your body was practically standing from the cold air, yet you remain determined to walk around in your bare clothing. Why were you doing this in the first place? There was only one reason:

You wanted him to loose his composure.

Petty and childish? Most definitely, but Sylus' irritable yet in one way or another: tolerant.

*towards you at least.

It was pure curiosity and presumably something that you can use when the time calls for it - A tool against him, his weakness.

"It's not as if this is the first time someone has seen me in this state," You chimed, almost worried that you sounded over confident to the point of faking it — No one has seen you naked before, not even your doctor, Zayne.

"tch—" Sylus clicked his tongue at the thought. God knows what he was imagining to have a scowl on his face.

Swift, and calm, almost tempting like a fox, you make your way to the towering curtains that blocked the full length window. A slither of silver peeked through the awning, hitting the floor.

"Let them see what they want to see, yeah? My body's not that different from any body else," Your fingers tugged on the black out curtains, pulling it to reveal the view of the dark, decrepit city, and a bunch of ravens and crows flying about the night sky.

Certainly there was no one in sight, yet you feel a gaze - more than one, and the strongest one coming from from that behind you.

You turn your heel and came face to face with his bare chest. A hand pressed you back against the glass with slight force, a knee squeezed in between yours. His fingers under your chin tilted you up to look at him and his eyes - filled with uncoceivable emotions, bore holes into your own eyes.

"If you like to parade your body around so much, Should i carve out a statue to your liking and display it in the middle of Linkon city? Or would you like me to commission that damned lemurian to paint you naked, You decide." there was a lace of venom in his voice, irritation colder than the breeze. "But between you and me,"

Behind you you hear the crows gawk in their flight.

He pulls himself closer to your neck, "i'll kill anyone who lays his eyes on your bare body."

Before your could retort, a spine chilling sting traveled from your neck, a pinch in your neck caused by his teeth nibbling, sucking until you pushed him away.

Sylus smirked at the sight of the hickey before turning his attention to the bird on the branch. Seeing a crow jerk its head in curiosity, he let out a chuckle.

"I don't share, Little brat." Sylus whispered to you, his voice deeper than anything you have heard someone speak. "and if you want to walk around naked," Without warning, he slung you onto his shoulder like a sack of cement and pulled on the curtains to a close.

"You can do so in my bedroom."

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 5)

You were never one to complain. Living in the foster system means accepting all kinds of shit that comes with being an orphan in a stranger's house.

You almost never received any presents. It was rare the times you did get something at your placements, but if you did, it was a hand me down. Like the thin blue jacket you came wearing, that was a present from a divorced mother who kids were already too big for the jacket. Or the white dress that a christian family gave to you so you could go to church with them 'dressed appropriately'.

Well, you couldn't complain about that one. The simple white dress is to this day your 'fanciest' piece of clothing.

You wouldn't say you were that much of a picky eater either, but you certainly didn't like all kinds of food... which is pratically torture in the system. You just learned to push all kinds of food down your throat quietly, and if it was truly too bad for you to manage? You would simply come up with a weak excuse and run away from the food.

Being any kind of picky eater in the system was torture. Even worse if you have allergies. You knew a boy at your last group home that was allergic to glutten and peanuts, and he was basically as thin as you were. He was still bigger, being a cat hybrid and all, but at least you knew you weren't the only one suffering at these houses.

So imagine your surprise when John, the big hybrid dragon, spend his whole morning gently coaxing you to go shopping with him and Simon, to get 'things you might need', and 'snacks you might like to eat', and even 'go grab lunch at the mall'.

At first, you were too nervous and anxious to say anything, mostly just staring back at him as you fidgeted quietly in place. It took Johnny joining the conversation excitedly, Kyle sending you stupid thumbs up quietly from the living room couch, and Simon picking up the keys to their car while looking at you expectantly for you to finally agree to go with them.

So here you were, walking between two giants of men at a big and loaded shopping center, nervously trying to keep your pace matched up to theirs as Simon made sure to keep a hand enveloped tightly around your much smaller hand.

Worse of all? A lot of people were looking your way. Big hybrids like Price and Ghost weren't unnusual, but the small little human holding their hand surely was. Not only human, but a human under the care of hybrids. You wanted to burry your head in a deep hole and never come out.

"Darlin'." John's deep and purred voice called your attention immediatly as you looked up at him quietly. "Don't try and wander off, understood?"

You nod quietly, slightly intimidated by his tone and serious face.

"Good baby." He purrs out, giant hand coming down on your head as he messes slightly with the small strands there. "Now, sweetness, let's buy you some things."

"I... I really d-don't need anything..." You murmur quietly, a bit anxious about them wasting money on you.

Both of them looked at you with those serious expressions for a few seconds, considering you. John smiled slightly as he compromised, lifting both hands up.

"Then let's look around, if we find something, then that's good." His laugh is deep, slow and rough. It's clear the smoke from his dragon side had some effect on his throat. That, and he probably smoked cigars and cigarettes too.

You just nodded quietly, not willing to go against his word, as you three kept walking around. That is, until Simon grunted, fixing the surgical mask on his face and looking down like he was thinking of something.

".......what...?" You murmur softly, confused.

"I think you're breaking Simon's back, hun." John laughed deeply, shaking his head slightly.

"W-Wha...?"

"You're too small for me to hold your hand confortably." The wraith deadpanned. "Stay still."

"W-Wait, wh- Aah!"

You were stunned for a second, as you were suddenly held high up. Big, thick arms held your legs easily, making you sit in the crook of his elbow, as he held you to his side like a toddler. It was enough to shut your little squeak of surprise as you were just in shock now.

"Simon, I told you to be gentle." The dragon smirked slightly, tho his voice a bit more rough than usual as it seems to always have an edge of a growl on it.

"I am." The wraith grunted quietly as he started to walk once again. "This is the best option for the both of us. Right, luv?"

"A-Ah... I..." You were too flustered to properly say anything, but you still nodded your head slowly, trying to settle on his arms.

"See?" Simon smirked under his mask to John, as the older man simply rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"Say, darlin'. Do you like ice cream?" John offers out of nowhere as he smiles confidently, ignoring Simon's remark.

".....some flavors, yeah..." You mumble back, a little arm holding on Simon's shoulder as you looked around quietly, trying to ignore other people's looks.

"What's your favorite?" He asks easily, taking a different path as Simon followed close behind.

"...Vanilla is good..."

"Good, then vanilla is what you're gonna get." He answers simply, with the confidance you don't think you have ever seen on anyone else.

"...it's... it's really okay if you don't..." You try quietly, only to see him shaking his head slowly, looking over his shoulder that didn't have the wing, expression serious and stoic as his rough voice murmured.

"I provide to my hoard, little hatchling. It would do you good to remember that."

Those words, spoken in that way, was enough to immediatly shut you up, your body instinctively curling on itself (more on Simon really) at the sigh of an intimidating predator.

Tho, Simon didn't let you suffer in your fear and anxiety, as his big and wide palm settled on your small back, pulling you closer to his chest for confort as he was speaking, slow and quiet, even if his voice always sounded rough.

"Price's not mad, fledgling. Stay calm. He's not mad, much less mad at you. He's just a protective bastard." He snorted quietly, bouncing you a little on his arms to help you calm down.

"Watch it, Riley." Price mumbled, tho he had a small smile on his face as he slowed his pace a bit to stand by you and Simon, big hand now being placed on your upper back, which was a slightly shock due to how warm it felt. Simon was wearing gloves, but he felt much cooler. "And i'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you."

He was also doing that subtle baby voice, keeping his voice much quieter as he leaned in and gently nudged half of his face against yours, making you freeze a bit at the action. It really felt like a big animal was trying to be apologetic.

"If Kyle was here, you would've gotten an ear full." Simon commented simply as he watched, amused.

"Thank god he isn't." John huffs a little, stepping back. "I don't need mother hen scolding me for this. I didn't even growl." And now, he was leaning slightly closer again, that quiet and gentle tone coming back as he looked at your small, nervous face. "I'm not that scary, am I, darlin'?"

"'Course you are, for a small little thing like this?" Simon laughs roughly, shaking his head, his grip in you getting firmer.

"I-I'm not scared..." You mumble quietly, playing a bit with the sweater that they lent it to you yesterday, not making eye contact with either of them.

"Of course not, darlin'..." John cooed deeply, tho his tone made it clear that he wasn't taking your answer seriously, rubbing your head gently. "Come on."

In the end, they got you a vanilla ice cream on a big cone, that you were licking it quietly. They were speaking with eachother as they planned what next things to buy, and what stores to visit. You weren't paying that much attention, just focusing on your vanilla ice cream as Simon carreid you around.

You got used to him carrying you, and now, you were much more confortable on his hold.

"Baby, look here." John's voice once again called your attention as you lifted your head from the ice cream to stare at him. "What do you think of this blanket?"

You tilted your head to the side, slightly confused, but you reached for the soft blanket he brough close, feeling the fuzzy, confortable texture.

"It's... good." You mumble, unsure about what to say.

"Just good?" John asked, considering your answer, looking between you and the blanket, before putting it back in place. "Let's see others, then."

You were not entirely sure what John was trying to do. Maybe buy you a blanket, but... you already had lots of blankets on the bed they gave you. And on the weird nest on the middle too.

Still, you got distracted once again with the ice cream in your tiny hold, going back to licking it. You were already getting a bit full... you were never the biggest fan of ice cream, you got tired of it fast. So, as you looked quietly to the side to stare at Simon's face, you gently brought the cone close to his face, making him look at you passively.

"Do you want a bit...?" You mumble softly, only to see the man pushing his surgical mask to his chin and taking a big bite out of the ice cream you were holding in front of his face.

You managed to see his scary, pointy and large teeth, the slightly too long and sharp tongue at the action, making you instinctively shudder on his hold. It was natural, a human watching their predator showing their dangerous teeth like it was nothing. Still, you were thankful for his help.

"Oww...." You turned a bit alarmed to John's direction as you heard the dragon's deep croon, his eyes getting half-lidded and pupils dilating. "Always soft for the hatchlings, aren't you, Simon?"

Simon just hums, swallowing the ice cream and licking his lips simply, keeping his serious expression.

"I'm used to being the kids' trashcan." He... joked? You were not sure, since he kept his face and tone so stony, but by John's laugh, you deduced it was a joke.

"Here, hun, how does this blanket feel?" John asks as he brings another fuzzy blanket close, light blue and full of colorful little dots.

"Good... confortable..." You mumble, feeling the material.

"Hmmm...." John considered once again, humming as he squinted his eyes.

"John, you know humans don't nest. She's not going to have hard instincts towards blankets." Simon comments, almost bored as te took another bite of your almost finished ice cream.

"I know, it's just... different to see it." John nods slightly before shrugging. "Do you like this color, little one?"

You just nod quietly, now understanding a bit more what was going on. Indeed, you shouldn't expect nesting instincts from a human, but even you could tell when the blanket was confortable and made from a good material.

"Come on, doll. Let's see what else we can find for you before having lunch." John mumbles softly, leaning close once again, quickly kissing Simon on the lips, who kissed back easily, and then kissing you on the forehead gently.

They were... very nice. Even if a bit scary.

[divinegrey]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿 / 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

took a slight left on the prompt i was given, but it just felt more fitting given what i know of ambessa. hope you enjoy!

prompt: Hi! How about an Ambessa x Reader where the reader is her only weakness besides her family? And, maybe, reader gets hurt in the last battle and Ambessa realizes that sometimes, winning a war is not worth all the losses it causes along the way.

words: 1337

warnings: canon typical violence

“Every war comes with a price to pay.” 

The words echo in your head as you swing your glaive in a wide arc, slicing through the bodies of the blue-suited Enforcers trying to bull-rush you onto the ground. It comes naturally you, the motion and flow of handling your polearm; six feet of handle and two feet of blade, creating a damning vortex of death around you as you cut through the defenses set up by Piltover. The stench of blood lays thick in your nostrils, metallic and complimentary to the lingering scent of magic littering across the stone battlefield. Behind you, more reinforcements rush into the gray, drawing attention off of you.

You glance up in time to notice the Hextech cannon aimed in your direction; there’s little time to think before you dive to the side, curling yourself behind a fallen stone statue as the payload strikes the spot where you once stood, arcane blue scattering out in an explosion that wipes out half of the infantry under your command. 

Despite the ache in your bones and the several gashes bleeding through your armor, you haul yourself over the statue, sprinting across the battlefield. 

Ambessa’s plan is sound— they always are, such is the nature of the Warlord. The death of Rictus, her second-in-command, sent echoes through the ranks. Through you, especially. He, more than anyone, was your brother in arms, a man you could trust to guard your back as much as you guarded his. But even with his esteemed spot by her side, he was never a recipient of special treatment. He never received Ambessa’s love and adoration like you did. 

You slide across the stone, your heel making contact with the shin of an Enforcer. The snap of bone is felt ricocheting through your boot as you come up onto your feet, driving your steel through their chest. Blood spills onto the ground and you exhale, turning face to your General. 

“Thirty percent of my men are dead. The Hextech cannon is proving to be a nuisance,” you remark, a gesture toward the sky where the cannon unloads another shot toward the infantry, bodies going flying. You hardly flinch, more of a grimace passing your face. 

“The cost we pay. Ignore the cannon, press the advantage,” Ambessa instructs. Her eyes flicker past your shoulder, visible beneath the golden mask, and you follow her wordless command, shifting your body to the side the same moment she steps forward, arm raised and magic flaring from the runes wrapped tight. A bullet bounces off the momentary shield. You spin on your heel, hurling your glaive at the would-be killer. 

They fall to the ground, red soaking blue. 

Ambessa kicks up a glaive from the ground, borrowed from another Noxian soldier fallen, and presses it into your hand. “We shall win the day. You most of all. Leave the infantry to deal with the Enforcers. You, with me. We must break through to the door!” 

“Yes, General!” You step into pace with her, charging through the fray at her side. She defends your left, you defend her right. Hours upon hours spent training against her as lent a strength fighting with her, knowing intimately how she moves just as well as she knows how you move. There’s a tenacity, an unbreakable wall forged in the bond between the two of you. 

But every wall will suffer a siege. Every wall will suffer a break. 

You see it before she does. You move before her, your hand finding purchase in her armor and swapping places. The shout that rips through your throat is not one of victory, of force or strength, but of pain, a payload from the Hextech cannon slamming into your back. Your position and the refractions of her runes protect Ambessa; the same cannot be said for you. 

You find yourself hurtling through the air, landing against the stone, metal screeching as you slide to a stop, blood smeared in your vision. You can hardly get a lungful of air down without sputtering out due to the searing agony working up your spine from the impact. The feeling in your legs is fuzzy, barely there, and you struggle to push yourself up. 

Ambessa arrives, the golden halo of Runeterra’s sun behind her head. 

“You fool, why did you—” 

“Can’t ignore the cannon, General,” you hiss out, laying your hand on her arm. Red spreads on her skin, melting into the fabric. “Not when it puts you in danger.” 

She reaches to your face, her palm gripped on your helmet and pulling it off. It’s thrown aside, her own mask removed too— for the first time in what feels like a long, long time, you see it in her eyes. Fear. 

As quick as it came, it’s gone. Ambessa stands, sliding her arms under yours to drag you behind a barricade of Noxian soldiers, shields pressing tight to protect her. 

“That is not the order I gave you,” Ambessa grits out. Her head snaps up, the urgency in her voice enough to instill the smallest worry in you. “Medic, now!” 

“I will be fine, you need to keep fighting, General, please, victory hasn’t been secured—” 

“Victory means nothing if you are not there to see it with me,” says Ambessa, a whispered tone to protect her the vulnerability in her words reserved only for you. 

You’ve known the truth for a long while— there is one weakness you bear, and that is the soft spot in your heart that cradles Ambessa Medarda with all the love you have. The same can be said for her, a tightness in her expression as a medic drops to their knees beside you, pulling the straps of your armor in order to properly assess the damage. You raise your good arm to hold her face, wiping away the tears that could very well easily pass for sweat instead. The very motion seems to stoke an anger in her, not to you, but to those who did this to you. 

“My lion,” you whisper, a forced smile on your face. “I will not fall. And neither will you. Win. For Noxus. For us.” 

Like tempered steel quenched in oil, Ambessa’s face hardens. She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, breathing in your air as easily as you breath in hers. Never before has she so willingly displayed this much affection with you in front of her soldiers, but if any of them have anything to say about it, they’re wise enough to keep their mouths shut. You and Ambessa apart are terrifying forces of power, but together, you’re nigh unconquerable. 

“Steel your heart, my shield,” Ambessa murmurs, and you nod the slightest amount, enough for her to know you heard her. “We will see Noxus anew.” 

It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to an I love you. 

Ambessa kisses you, her hand cradled on the back of your head. The din of war seems to cease around you, your senses and what left you have of your fading consciousness focused on Ambessa Medarda, of the woman you swore your life, your fealty, your love to. When she pulls away, you see the struggle in her eyes, her desire to ensure your safety conflicting with the pressing need to ensure victory. 

You make the choice for her, her mask in your hand outstretched to her. 

“The price we pay,” you say, watching as she takes it, a barely there moment of hesitation before she puts it back on her face. She takes her sword in hand and rises, her shadow casting over you. 

“If they do not survive,” Ambessa speaks to the medic, who pauses to listen to her orders. “You will not even get a grave.”

The medic does not deign to respond with words, rather a nod and a renewed urgency. Ambessa looks at you once more; you thump your fist weakly on your chest. 

She runs headlong back into battle, shouting a war cry for the ages. 

~~~~~ A/N: ambessa.... mommy... WHO SAID THAT

[visionsofmagic]

◜ mk1 men when they get hard in public because of you ◞

▸ characters: bi-han, liu kang, tomas, johnny cage, syzoth ◂

▸ tags: drabble, nsfw, possession, dominance, submission, invisibility, semi-public (kinda), pet names, & more! couldn’t help myself and wrote about mk1 men once again. enjoy! ◂ ▸ m.

BI HAN doesn’t like it even a bit. he’s not a weak man, and he shouldn’t be - has to stay still, calm, and steady in every situation, yes, he can let his anger go from time to time but except for it, he can’t let any feelings go away from his palms, to appear, to control him.

yet, here he is, leaning against the wall, watching you from behind as you train alone in the lin kuei’s training area - bending over, showing every curve of your body, with no shyness and no holding back even though you know he’s right there! he knows you tease him, that you don’t pay attention to him intentionally while doing every position you can as naughty as you can.

hands crossed across his chest, face is covered with his mask - doesn’t give away how he breaths deeply whenever he holds himself from going to your side and fucking you right there - in the middle of lin kuei, making everyone watching you.

the bulge is visible through his black and blue armored suit, but, he doesn’t give a damn fuck about it. contrary to that, he enjoys having it because after a moment, when he is done with your teasing, he picks you up, takes you into his room, and pushes you into the bed as he hovers upon you - lust and dominance rising within him as well as the coldness that he’s body creates on its own because of how you made him turn on in the public, breaking his norms, making him weak. he has to punish you for that.

putting your hand on his crotch, he makes you feel how turned on he is.

“do you feel it? it’s because of you. acting so bratty in front of me, making me watch you, giving me a fucking bulge. you made me have it in public. you have no idea how much it pissed me off - such a greedy brat. will teach you a lesson then, maybe you will learn how to only open your legs wide when you’re alone. if you don’t obey, I will fuck you in front of everyone. as your grandmaster, it’s my responsibility to make sure you act accordingly to the rules.”

LIU KANG has great stability, never showing his true feelings, keeping his face straight except for two things; one, rolling his eyes whenever johnny’s ego goes high, and two, you.

he can’t help it - he tries though, believe it, he tries his best yet you break every wall he has as staying calm and unreadable. to others, he is still unreadable but to you, he isn’t because you see him purely and entirely unlike others, and you know how to push his buttons - the god of fire himself by acting so innocent while showing him your dirty side.

it doesn’t matter what you do to become dirty; from holding your window wide open when he passes by and taking your clothes off, to simply putting dishes on the table in front of him while sitting with others as well, bending over to him so lower that he can see the sight of your breasts - wearing no bra, and even winking at him.

he talks little in those moments, watching you from the corner of his eyes, pushing the desire to fuck you on that table down, waiting until everyone leaves, holding you by the wrist, pulling you onto his lap, making you feel his hardened cock on your ass.

whispering into your ear, his hands travel your body.

“you know how to push even a god’s buttons, princess. but making it in public? oh, you need to learn not to do that, or, I will make sure that you won’t do it again by fucking you on this table where anyone can see. now, let me take you to a more special place. you should take care of my cock after all, with these pretty breasts you showed me.”

TOMAS will definitely try to hide it right away, a bit shy, yet dirty thoughts rushing into his mind when he sees you training - having a little cloth on your body; a bra, and a mini shorts, your body is entirely visible to his eyes.

he knows he shouldn’t take it as an attempt to make him turn on but he realizes your intentions turn from innocent ones to evil when you see him looking at you directly, gulping, a hand stays on his lap, hiding the bulge underneath his clothes, face full of heat because of not having his mask on.

he avoids your eyes immediately, looking at you from the corner of his eyes in a shy way, staying still on the chair he’s sitting on and trying to pay attention to other trainers when he sees you coming to his side, kneeling down - hands on your knees, you ask what’s wrong and from the way you speak, he understands that you’re being a brat.

however, even though he is shy, he doesn’t stop himself from being as needy as you.

“I know what you’re trying to do, yet, it will not create a difference. trying to break me in public is something and you achieved it, I am so turned on that I fantasize about you in ways I shouldn’t have in public. but who I am to blame when you’re being so greedy for me? don’t worry though my goddess, being a good lover for you, I will do my best to fuck you good enough after we get back to our room that you will see your effects on me.”

JOHNNY CAGE will not try to hide it, not even for a second. he doesn’t care about what other people would think when they see a bulge rising under his pants, or how he puts his hand on it, caressing it under the table when he’s sure no one is looking, a smirk on his face as he watches you dance on the floor, giving him a goddamn show - you move your body so beautifully, only for his eyes to see, it makes him turn on the moment you take glances to his direction.

he can see you try not to alert others while showing off your body to him while dancing.

he will say ‘damn’ and drink his favorite liquor, watching you with pleasure, saying ‘it’s nothing’ when others ask what he’s talking about.

when he has enough, he will join you on the dance floor. under the dark lights and in the corner he chooses - less crowded, he puts his hand on your abdomen, pulling your body to his.

back touching his chest, you let his other hand grips your inner thigh under your dress, lip touching your ear as he says with a playful and cheerful voice, pushing his lower part onto your ass so that you can feel how hard he is full.

“feel it, princess? see, this is you making me go so hard in a fucking place like this, in front of everyone, by just dancing. such a naughty little girl you are for me, showing off your skills. ohh, pretty lady, you have no idea how I want to fuck you in one of the guest rooms - oh, and you know what - for this ass, will sure do it. come here, gotta go, you should pay for what you have done to me.”

SYZOTH turns invisible right away when he has enough, getting up from where he sits, eyes not leaving yours as he finds a corner and becomes invisible.

no one can see him - only you who chuckles at his lack of self-control when it comes to you, especially when you make his mind go crazy in the middle of a meeting with others. having no actual job, you just mind your own business until you see how syzoth watches you from a distance, eyes never leaving you as you eat a very juicy fruit, licking your fingers to clean them, slowly, showing how skilled your tongue is which was on him and his entire body, including his cock, a night before as you look up to his heat rushed face, chuckling at him seductively, making him feel submissive yet dominant at the same time.

when the memories rush into his mind, he finds only escape in being invisible but he knows you shouldn’t get away with that so easily, so, when others pay attention to other things and you stay alone, he stays behind you as you sit. then, he slowly appears, dick that is hard enough to be felt through the fabric of his clothes touching your back. he holds your shoulders, kneeling down, he whispers to your ears.

“I see that you didn’t have enough of me last night or you just did all of that to make me go crazy, wanting to eat you alive in front of everyone and staying invisible while doing it. oh my pretty lover, if you keep doing this, it will be the only option for me to make you regret having me hard in here, where anyone can see it. maybe, I will not wait for you to act behaved and fuck you right here, now. hm? what you say, my goddess?”

💚

[rottenroses777]

let me cure your depression real quick part 2

[messenger-of-babel]

Fragile Stability

Summary: Very few things could make Dick this scared, but patching up his younger sister is one of them . (Nightwing x batsis!reader)

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: Back with Nightwing and part of this got deleted but I cannot remember where so it mustn't be that important. (On that note: I might redo and reuse this concept for some of my other works in the future with different characters, or try again if I remember what I wanted to add). Warning for blood and mentions of needles, I don't think there's any language warnings. Enjoy! xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Stay with me birdie, please stay with me." Dick grits out, feet thudding against the pavement. It had been a while since Dick had needed to outrun a villain, normally grappling away and flipping over the rooftops like he had been made for it.

Except this time, he had you in his arms, tears streaked down your face as you sob at every rough jostle. "It's okay, I'm getting you to safety, just hold on. Just a little longer, sweetheart." he panted, eyes scanning for the entrance to the nearby safehouse. If he just took a few more turns and twists he could make it, getting well out of range of Black Mask's men. When he found it, he veered heavily, slipping into the abandoned warehouse and pulling the sliding door shut.

"Nightwing, reporting in." He says tensely, activating his commlink the moment he deems it safe enough. It crackles to life, the rough voice of Batman replying.

"Copy Nightwing, report."

"Birdie's been hit." he pants out, manoeuvring to the third to last shipping container at the back. punching in the code with bloodstained fingers, he frees the lock that hisses open, pulling the doors open.

"Their status?" Batman's voice grunts, but even Dick could tell the hint of panic that sat underneath. He unloops your arms from around his neck, stepping into the hidden field surgery set up. A weak LED strip light flickers on above, casting shadows over the walls as he lays you into the surgery chair. There's very little else, a few rolling drawers of medical equipment, a fridge in the back with more supplies.

"Not good." he replies, sitting on the stool beside the chair and dragging a set of drawers closer to him. "She's-she's bleeding badly. Puncture through the thigh from the explosion, a piece of rebar." he swallows thickly, mind replaying the horrid sound of your screaming filling the air once his ears had stopped ringing. "Another in the shoulder, serrated stab wound."

His hands shake as he presses on the puncture on your upper thigh, making you scream out. He winces seeing the way your face is scrunched up, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. "I'm sorry birdie, I'm so sorry." he murmurs, heart twisting painfully.

"We're sending help to your location. Red Robin is headed there now with the car, get her stable in the meantime. We'll prep the ward immediately."

Dick's head felt light, darkness floating at the edges of his sight. He swallowed, cold sweat beading at his hairline. "We…we were ambushed by Black Mask's men. This was a set up, they were ready. They're still nearby, if they find here-"

"We'll worry about the Mask." Batman cuts him off. "You know your job, keep her stable."

"We?" Dick replies, voice closing up more and more.

"Red Hood and Myself are going to pursue Black Mask. Spoiler and Robin are going to take out the rest of the men from the hideout."

Dick swallows, blinking rapidly. "I-It was just supposed to be a minor drug bust." he manages to get out. "Just get the Mask, send more people here not out there-"

"Everyone has their orders."

The tone of Batman is cold and hard, making the words Dick wants to say die on his tongue momentarily. He hesitates before speaking again. "Why are you sending everyone?" There's a small silence, before Batman's voice crackles back over the line.

"I didn't. They left before I could say anything. Now stabilise them."

Dick's well aware of the warmth on the underside of his palm, seeping into the material of his suit. His non bloodied hand comes up to stroke your face gently, wiping away the tears coming from your puffy eyes. "It hurts Nightwing," you say, voice choked with a sob. "It burns."

His heart wrenches and he nods. "Yeah, yeah its gonna burn birdie." he says. "I'm…I'm gonna make it burn a bit more, okay?" he offers you a weak, apologetic smile, hands shaking as he goes for the first drawer, pulling out a surgical needle and sutures. "We need to close it, I need to stop the bleeding." he chokes out, tears burning at his eyes as your hand grips his wrist, hearing you whine as you try to pull his hand away from the uncomfortable pressure. He folds his hand over yours, making your hand press on the wound instead. "Hold down on this." he instructs softly. "I'm going to go get something from the fridge. Nice and tight, there we go." he murmurs, getting up from beside you to hurry for the fridge.

Pulling it open he rummages around, cursing under his breath as he doesn't find what he needs and pressing his earpiece to contact Tim to bring it. He comes back to your side, face lined and worried. "Okay, bad news, sweetheart." he says, grimacing. "I don't have anything to take the edge off. We've got no painkillers left." your eyes look up at him, glossy and scared.

"It hurts Nightwing." you cry, voice trembling. "It hurts, please don't make it hurt more."

He tries to ignore the heartbreaking gaze you send him, leaning over you to tie a bandage tightly around your stabbed shoulder. You cry out, body bucking upwards. Thankfully the stab seemed to be less urgent, the knife doing less damage than it could have with the serrated edge. He searches around a little more, a flat, wooden utensil set up by the sink.

"Bite this." He says softly, coming to your side once more and slotting it in between your teeth. He hates the way that your eyes look up at him all glassy, brimming with unshed tears. You shake your head, making him bring his hands up to cradle your face. "Hey, hey sweetheart, shhhh. shhh..." he tries to soothe, your chest beginning to tremor with muffled sobs. He plasters a fake smile onto his face, hoping that you can't see his teeth clenched tight.

He sits on the stool next to you, moving your hand over the thigh wound so he can look at it. His hands feel numb seeing how much blood you've lost, and he has to snap himself back into it. He peels off his gloves, shake in his fingers now prominent as he grabs tweezers and the sutures.

Stabilise you. That's all he has to do. Till he can get you back to the infirmary.

Despite the steady breaths he takes to calm himself, they're ripped from his throat the second the needle pierces your skin. The wooden spatula falls from your mouth as your mouth splits impossibly wide, eyes scrunched up as you scream. He has to lean over you, forearms keeping you pressed to the chair while he desperately pleads for you to stay still. He can see how much it burns, the way you hiccup after every breathless sob. He hates it, hating how after each pull of the suture through your skin your face ripples with pain. Each stitch he makes stabs at his heart.

It was supposed to be simple.

He grits his teeth, trying to not let himself cry. This was supposed to be an easy mission, it was your first after all. Sure, Bruce was hesitant to let his daughter run around in a costume fighting bad guys. He had wanted you, his unspoken favourite, to live a peaceful life. However, when you expressed interest in the night life, Dick had vouched for you. He offered to be the one to take you out on your first mission, spent countless hours with Bruce in the cave training you. You were meant to come home with scrapes on your knees and a rip in your suit. Not here in a dingy downtown shipping container having a needle shoved through your skin repeatedly.

This was his fault.

Your screams ring so loud in his head that he forgets what the sound of your laugh is like, the irritated huffs you make when you and Tim discuss entrance exams. "D-Dickie..." you sob weakly, hand pushing lightly against his. "Di-Dickie. St-stop…please. Puh-please stop…" you sob, a wispy sound as your eyes scrunch up again. He doesn’t care that you called him by his real name. After all, it was Dick Grayson that had failed you as an older brother. Not Nightwing.

His vision tunnels as he continues to stitch despite your whimpers and sobs, hands shaking so badly it takes him twice as long as he expects to even get halfway. Right now, you weren't just the next Batgirl. You weren't just another spandex clad orphan standing next to Bruce. Right now you were his little sister, the same one he'd spend movie nights with and let hide in his room to cool off when you were mad at Bruce.

When he finally finishes and ties it off, the tools clatter from his hands. He leans forward on to his knees, breath struggling to make it into his lungs. He felt lightheaded, everything feeling like it was burning. His hand managed to feel for your limp one, thumb sliding over your wrist to feel your slow pulse. His other hand pinched the domino mask from his face, letting it clatter to the floor as he wiped his eyes. he didn't even pay attention to the calling of Red Robin through the com, letting him know that he was pulling up right outside. He let himself take a few shaky sobs, fingers digging the tears from his eyes and splattering onto the discarded mask under him.

He wasn’t Nightwing right now.

He was Dick Grayson, the older brother who put you on death's door.

[beloveds-embrace]

More poly!141 please and thank you my dear 🥰🤗

Anon is banished to the timeout corner to ponder on their grievances

That trope of roommates reader x poly 141…

Imagine you are Desperate with a capital D. Things aren’t lookinh bright for you, broke and stressed college student, right now in general, you need a new place quickly, and as it happens, you see an all-too-good offer while apartment searching on Craigslist. Rent is within your budget and god, the place looks really good, but…

You’ll have to share with four men. Four polyamorous men apparently, but still- men. More than one. That alone should’ve made you give up on it, not even think about considering it. It’s dangerous, incredibly so. No one within their right mind would agree to it, especially when you read that they are asking for someone who is willing to take up a good bulk of taking care of the place while they travel.

It’s clearly a scam. A front to a dangerous group.

But the apartment is even better when you actually, stupidly, agree to it. The (military, you learn soon enough) men so very handsome, helping you move in your stuff- the way Price commanded them actually made your knees tremble just a little, but you are not about to get between anyone’s relationship(s).

Moreover; you really like them. Soap is funny but he’s also the one who tries to stay up with you during your late exam studies. Keyword tries because he falls asleep anyways, head lolling on your shoulder only to end up getting carried by Ghost later.

Gaz is also funny, and he often forces you to go out when you hole up yourself for long lengths of time, get some fresh air on a walk that almost always leads to him treating you to coffee and sandwiches in the little corner bakery. Also the only one to share your love for horror movies so he’s your designated partner for whenever you wanna go to the cinemas.

Ghost and Price are your unofficial guard dogs. Grocery shopping? One or both of them tags along, carrying everything without letting you touch a single thing-

“What kind of man would let a lady carry groceries? I’m not weak, sweetheart. Let go of that bag, just see what else we’ll need.”

Ghost just stares straight down at you; no balaclava, but a black surgical mask and his hood drawn up. “Don’t even think about it.”

-and they are both bulky. They don’t even have to try to appear intimidating, everyone almost subconsciously makes way for them. Never in your entire life have you had easier shopping trips. And you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve stirred awake to find yourself carried to your bed after accidentally falling asleep on the couch.

They were not lying about the lengths of time they are gone, and you understand why they had put in that ad that landed you here in the first place. Once, they were away for months, and they have no contact with you. You always worry for them, regularly checking for any possible texts and sending them updates even when no reply comes.

(You have no ideaaa they have you saved as ‘lil missus’, ‘wifey’, ‘the madame’, ‘darlin’ in their phones. Or how much they cling to your texts even when they can’t reply yet. You don’t suspect shit, but the longer the mission drags on, the more resolved they are to just come home to you as soon as possible.

The second John checks his phone and sees your text about getting stood up on a date, his jaw clenches so tightly that Soap glances over, immediately concerned. The others quickly catch on, a tension settling over the group as he reads the message aloud.

Got stood up on that date lol

Guess its just me nd a frozen pizza tonight 🤷‍♀️ yes ik u hate frozen foods but ur not here sooo

If he wasn’t so incredibly angered by the thought of you going on a date that is not with them, getting stood up, he would have focused on your little disobedience. Would have thought of making you repeat why he hates having them in the flat while you sniffle and whine, the result of him taking his palm to your ass a few dozen times for doing this behind his back, but he can’t focus on that now.

“Let’s finish this and get home,” He hisses out at last, pocketing his phone. “Missus needs a reminder who she belongs to.”

All he gets, unsurprisingly, is approving nods.)

Back in the flat, you sneeze. How strange; you had just recently finished dusting, and everything should be clean.

It’s probably nothing.

a bit more

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 2

Part two of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking

A month. You didn't go back to the bar for a full month. Avoided the place like it was the birthplace of the plague. And it was to you. You didn't want to run the risk that they were there again, that the man in the mask would berate you for making eye contact with him that night despite knowing he'd probably forgotten about you 30 seconds after. Social anxiety was a bitch.

But they were there. EVERY. FUCKING. FRIDAY.

Ghost thought he was going to lose his mind. The others had started to think he'd imagined you or had a hallucination of you. So when they sat down on the fifth Friday, there wasn't a mention of you from them. Simon still kept his eye out for you.

Surely a month was long enough that they'd have moved on, gotten bored with the dark, dingy bar and the same crowd every Friday. Arriving with your friends, your heart was in your throat and there was a swirl of nausea in your stomach.

They're not here. They're not here. They're not here.

The mantra was on repeat, but you couldn't help checking the back table anyway. You froze where you were standing as your eyes landed on the four larger men, your friend bumping into your back and asking what was wrong. You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, claiming you thought you saw someone.

You took your usual seat at the bar, tucked into the far corner where you could see the table of men and watched as your own friends filtered out onto the floor again. It was so easy for them to just introduce themselves to men, flirt their way to free drinks and possibly a nice little one night stand.

Ghost clocked you the moment the bell above the door dinged pathetically against the wood door and you walked in with three of your friends including the little blonde that informed them that you would be there every Friday. His gloved hand reached out and smacked Soap center chest, incidentally grabbing everyone's attention at the table as well.

"That her, LT?" Soap asked, eyes darting between his lieutenant and you. Soap eyed you for a moment, taking in the open scoop neck long sleeve shirt and the swell of your breasts that weren't hidden very well.

"Tha's 'er. Pretty thing, hm?" Ghost replied before picking up his glass and knocking it back, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. You were as pretty as he remembered and the urge to have a picture of you with him at all times roared to life in his chest.

Gaz being on the end gave him the best view of you, taking in the jeans that hugged your plump hips and ass. He could also see the way you held your jacket over your stomach to hide your belly as best you could.

Price could tell you were uncomfortable, watching you watch your friends with a hint of resentment and disdain in your eyes. He hadn't missed that all of your friends were "conventionally beautiful" and he could see that it bothered you.

"Go get her," Price suggested to Gaz, nudging him a bit as he knew Gaz was the proper man to send. You'd never come over if any of the rest of them approached you. Ghost made a disgruntled noise, looking to his captain for a brief moment of silent communication before he nodded, conceding to his superior.

You ordered your whiskey, sipping on it as you flipped between checking on your friends and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You couldn't help but to let your eyes flick up from the dim screen to check on the table in the corner every once in a while.

Which was where your eyes were now, but there was one missing, the pretty one. Oh, he wasn't missing. He was settling himself against the stool next to you, looking down at you with those molten eyes of his and a friendly smile. "Come join us for a drink. Promise we won't bite. Well, I make no promises about Johnny."

Yup. I did a part two. This is really speaking to me right now for some reason.

Hope you guys liked it!

<- Part One Part Three ->

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and how they deal with their children and domestic life.

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, lyney and neuvillette x fem! reader.

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. pregnant reader is mentioned to introductions but not too elaborated. not beta read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

kazuha’s part. | part. ii

Wriothesley 

If outsiders had once been intimidated by the Duke's mere reputation, the announcement of your pregnancy elevated that fear to an entirely new level. The very mention of Wriothesley’s name was enough to unsettle even the bravest of men.

It was no surprise, really—Wriothesley’s demeanor during those months was enough to terrify anyone. He was often seen patrolling the corridors of the Fortress of Meropide with a perpetual frown and clenched fists, as if prepared for battle at a moment's notice. New prisoners, who already dreaded the idea of crossing paths with the Duke, now did everything in their power to avoid his gaze entirely.

What they didn’t know, however, was that beneath the icy exterior, Wriothesley was a bundle of nerves. The mask of aloofness he wore so convincingly was the only defense he knew against the overwhelming fear brewing in his soul.

Fortunately for everyone in the prison, including Wriothesley himself, you were there—attentive, reassuring, and endlessly confident. Your steady presence and unwavering support helped him find calm amidst his storm of insecurities. With your encouragement, he overcame his fears and finally allowed himself to celebrate the arrival of his son.

When that day came, even the guards seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. They silently thanked you, the Duchess, for the sudden shift in their boss. You merely winked in acknowledgment, sharing the unspoken understanding.

Little Cameron’s entry into the world was far from smooth, arriving during one of the most tumultuous times for your family and Fontaine alike. Your own health had been fragile during the pregnancy, leaving you weak and bedridden despite Sigewinne’s best efforts. To make matters worse, the political upheaval in Fontaine added layers of stress and uncertainty.

Wriothesley’s fear of losing both you and the baby loomed large, but deep down, he knew better than to underestimate you. His wife was nothing if not resilient. He held onto that faith as tightly as he held onto you.

Thankfully, Wriothesley’s faith was not misplaced. Against all odds, both you and Cameron emerged victorious from the harrowing ordeal of his birth.

“Please don’t scare me like that again,” Wriothesley said, his voice trembling with residual fear. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.”

“You really need to start giving me more credit, Wrio,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your wife is far too stubborn to let herself be beaten by anything, even illness.”

Though Wriothesley had his doubts about fatherhood—his own troubled upbringing having left deep scars—he turned out to be an incredible father. His gentle affection was boundless, and not only you, but the entire Fortress of Meropide began to notice a softer side blossoming in him.

That didn’t mean he let his guard down completely. As the prison's director, he remained unwavering in his enforcement of the laws and its administration.

Still, it was a sight both comforting and amusing to see Wriothesley patrolling the production zones or administrative areas with a baby carrier strapped to his chest. Cameron, a tiny replica of his father, sat calmly nestled against him. Of course, no one dared to comment on the endearing scene, much less approach the new father uninvited.

Cameron, for his part, was a remarkably calm baby. Rarely fussy, he spent most of his time quietly observing his surroundings, his icy blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. Wriothesley found this trait endlessly fascinating and would often spend hours simply watching his son’s inquisitive nature at work.

You and Wriothesley were a seamless team when it came to parenting, balancing your responsibilities to both Cameron and the Fortress of Meropide. When Wriothesley was busy with his duties, Cameron was perfectly content in your care. Likewise, when you were called to perform your job as an interrogator, Wriothesley often retreated to his office with Cameron sitting on his lap. There, father and son would share quiet moments—Wriothesley sipping his tea, Cameron clutching a toy as he mimicked his father’s serious demeanor.

Like every first-time parent, Wriothesley experienced the highs and lows of fatherhood. Some nights, his past demons would awaken him, flooding his mind with fears of inadequacy. But those fears always dissolved as he watched Cameron grow—celebrating his son’s milestones, witnessing his small successes, and marveling at the honorable young man he was becoming.

In those moments, Wriothesley knew he had done well, that there was nothing to fear.

“Well, since we have nothing to fear,” you said one evening, a playful glint in your eye, “I suppose it’s time for me to announce that I’m pregnant again, huh?”

Lyney

Lyney liked to believe that even if you hadn’t met in this life, your souls would have found each other in another. Even if you belonged to different worlds, the thread of fate that bound you both would transcend time and space, drawing you together. It felt as though an invisible red string—one only the two of you could see—connected you, weaving a tale written by destiny itself. For Lyney, it was undeniable that the stars had aligned perfectly to lead him to you.

The love he held for you was unconditional, unwavering, and unshakeable—an immutable truth in the fabric of his universe. But that certainty deepened, expanded, and transformed the day you gave him the greatest gifts of his life: your twin babies, Quentin and Corinne.

Everyone in Fontaine already knew Lyney was a devoted husband. From the earliest days of your relationship, he had made your connection known, never shy about showcasing his affection for you, whether privately or in public. When your pregnancy was announced, his pride only grew. His characteristic smile became brighter, his steps more buoyant, as he walked through the streets of the hydro nation with you by his side, radiating joy and treating you as if you were the most precious treasure in the world—much to your delight.

His affection for you remained unchanged during your pregnancy, but now it was accompanied by an even greater attentiveness.

Lyney anticipated your needs and desires before you could voice them, always eager to ensure your comfort. His innate talent for understanding people made him not only a caring husband but also, as you would soon discover, an exceptional father.

And exceptional was truly an understatement.

You had only ever seen Lyney’s tears once—on your wedding day, when his eyes glistened with barely restrained emotion. That changed with the arrival of the twins. As he cradled his newborn children for the first time, tears streamed freely down his cheeks, his voice trembling as he whispered, “They look so much like you. They’re beautiful.”

Indeed, Quentin and Corinne inherited almost all their features from you, save for Lyney’s striking violet, cat-shaped eyes. Far from being disappointed, Lyney was overjoyed—he believed no one in the world was as beautiful as you, and he was delighted to see that reflected in his children.

Fatherhood transformed Lyney into an even more devoted man. Despite the challenges of balancing his duties with the House of Hearth and his magic performances, often requiring him to travel far from home, Lyney rose to the occasion with grace. He made it a priority to support you, especially during the sleepless nights. Whether it was feeding, changing diapers, or comforting a fussy baby in the early hours, Lyney was always there, sharing the responsibilities of parenthood without hesitation.

From the start, it was clear that Quentin and Corinne had distinct personalities. Quentin’s boundless energy reminded Lyney of his own enthusiasm, while Corinne’s calm, quiet demeanor mirrored Lynette’s. Lyney adored them both equally, cherishing the moments when Quentin’s giggles filled the air or when Corinne snuggled into his embrace for a nap.

While Lyney relished the thought of showing off his children to the world, he prioritized their privacy while they were young and vulnerable. He kept his family close, shielding you and the twins under his protective wing while teaching them to care for each other and grow into independent individuals.

Magic and illusions were constants in your household, with Lyney delighting in performing small tricks for the twins. Their wide-eyed reactions and gleeful laughter were the highlights of his days. As they grew, Lyney made it clear that his love and support were unconditional. No matter what paths Quentin and Corinne chose to walk, he would be their greatest supporter.

Though Lyney sometimes feared that the world might dim the sparkle in their eyes, he vowed to do everything in his power to protect their innocence. His actions, words, and unwavering love ensured that they knew, every single day, just how deeply he cared.

Neuvillette

In the beginning, it was a surprise for the people of Fontaine to see their reserved and dignified Iudex walking through the capital’s streets at your side. That shock only deepened a few years after your marriage, when the front page of The Steambird featured you with a slightly rounded belly, accompanied by an exclusive interview about your career and personal life. The issue flew off the shelves, with sales as abundant as the waters surrounding the hydro nation. Charlotte, ever the savvy journalist, wasn’t the least bit surprised—Fontaineians, after all, had an insatiable appetite for juicy gossip.

While the interview revealed little to sate the public’s curiosity, it didn’t stop them from spinning wild and absurd theories about your life. You, of course, found their speculation amusing and even played into it for your own entertainment. Neuvillette, however, didn’t share your sense of humor. Rumors about his supposed "lack of sensitivity" or imagined scandals involving his name often resulted in rainclouds replacing Fontaine's sunny skies.

The truth, hidden from prying eyes, was that you and Neuvillette had been planning to start a family for quite some time. However, the uncertainties surrounding his draconic heritage made the journey a cautious one. Neuvillette’s greatest fear was putting your health and safety at risk for a selfish dream. It was only after much reassurance, support, and medical guidance from Sigewinne that the two of you felt confident enough to take the leap. The result? The arrival of your beloved daughter, Éveline.

To say Neuvillette was a helicopter husband during your pregnancy would be an understatement. His meticulous care and constant attention, though rooted in love, sometimes left you feeling smothered. His devotion to even the smallest details, while appreciated, occasionally pushed your patience to its limits. Yet, when the time came, and you saw him cradling your newborn daughter in his arms, all the frustrations melted away.

At that moment, Neuvillette revealed a side of himself you had never seen before—a serene, passionate love that only his daughter could inspire.

Fatherhood, unsurprisingly, suited him perfectly.

In those early days, he rarely left Éveline’s side, instinctively anticipating her every need. Whether it was his centuries of caring for the Melusines or simply his natural instincts as a father, Neuvillette’s devotion was unwavering, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Éveline inherited much of your physical appearance but unmistakably carried Neuvillette’s draconic traits, including his calm yet commanding personality.

Unsurprisingly, Neuvillette was fiercely protective of your daughter, allowing only a select few to meet her during her first months. His philosophy was simple: love meant protecting, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.

One secret you cherished—shared only through photos and private moments—was Neuvillette’s tendency to transform into his draconic form during his rare nights off. The sight of his massive dragon figure curled protectively around tiny Éveline as she slept was enough to melt your heart. Though she was growing older, these tender moments continued, with Neuvillette showing no signs of wanting to let go of such precious rituals.

Neuvillette’s love for his daughter was evident in his every action. Though a man of few words, his affection was shown through countless gestures, whether it was a comforting hug, a gentle pat on the head, or quiet moments spent together. Under his guidance, Éveline grew up in an environment filled with warmth, where affection was as natural as breathing.

Even with the immense responsibilities of his role as Fontaine’s Chief Justice, Neuvillette made sure to be present for every milestone in Éveline’s life. Patiently and lovingly, he guided her, teaching her to become a person of integrity, fairness, and a noble heart. Through it all, his devotion as a father shone brighter than any duty or title—a testament to the boundless love he held for his family.

.

.

a/n: i intended to rewrite kazuha's part, delete his solo post and add it here but it'd be very troublesome because some people has read already. even though i wished to let it all together i'll let it like the way it is already. furthermore, i don't know if it's gonna turn into a series since my will to write disappears as fast as it appears. but if so, i'll only write for these four men.

please let me know if there are any mistakes ;)

edited: nov/2024

[aventurineswife]

hear me out!

Reader was in a relationship with aventurine and Dr. Ratio, BUT! It was like Aventurine and Rayio liked eachother more than they liked the reader!

You following along?

Good! Cause I'm not done!

THEN! Reader goes to bar gets a little tipsy (read as drunk) and ends up venting their sadness and frustration to kind strangers willing to listen! (Aka Argenti and Boothill!) Things end up almost getting, suggestive to say the least before reader ends up stopping any more advances and leaves, little does reader know that her encounter with Argenti and Boothill would leave them desperate for more...

(Basicaly Yandere poly Argenti and Boothill x Reader)

And, this is just something else I wanted to say but what if Aventurine and Ratio notice reader kinda drifting away, ad they notice that reader is starting to make more friends and reader starts trying to spend less time with them? Maybe somehow they findout Argenti and Boothill are obsessed with reader? I see Aventurine and Dr. Ratio being possessive of things or people they consider "theirs" and slowly they start becoming as obsessive as Boothill and Argenti and now reader has 2 couples vying for her attention!

( I totally understand if this is to much or confusing!)

“I Wanna Make You Mine”

Summary: You are in a relationship with Aventurine and Ratio, but you began to feel like an afterthought as your partners’ interest in each other overshadows your bond. One night, seeking solace and a brief escape from your lonely frustrations, you meet two enigmatic strangers at a bar—Argenti and Boothill. Both quickly become captivated by you, their admiration bordering on obsession. You find yourself ensnared in a dangerous game of affection and desire, with each group willing to do whatever it takes to win your undivided attention. The question is; Who are you going to be choosing?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Ratio, Argenti x Reader x Boothill, Polyamory, Not really a love triangle since you pulled 4 men/Love pentagon, Jealousy & Possessiveness, Yandere Themes, Slow Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Longing, Light Drunkenness, Obsessive Behaviour, Emotional Tension, Emotional Angst, Slight Cheating Behaviour.

Warnings: Possessive and Obsessive Behaviour, Light Alcohol Use, Yandere Themes, Emotional Distress, Do not try this at home or think this is cute and all. This is fictional.

A/N: I'M DEFINITELY HEARING YOU & DON'T WORRY ANON I UNDERSTOOD YOUR REQ!! 🤭 THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR STUFFS LIKE POLYAMORY RELATIONSHIPS (SO DON'T COME AFTER ME IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG!!) AND YANDERE! 😪 I personally don't ship any characters in HSR but for the sake of this fic, they're being shipped.

In the dim glow of a hazy bar, the soft clinking of glasses and murmurs filled the air as you downed your third drink. The evening had started with only a desire to escape the gnawing ache that Aventurine and Ratio had unwittingly left in your heart. For so long, you had been the third in your relationship, watching the connection between them bloom far more intensely than their affection for you. It was hard to pinpoint when exactly you began to feel this way, but tonight, the loneliness finally hit.

You sighed, stirring your drink absentmindedly, lost in thought until a warm voice cut through the fog of your mind.

“Are you alright?” Looking up, you were met with the striking gaze of a man with fiery red hair and green eyes that sparkled with curiosity and concern.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine...” you muttered, masking your sadness with a weak smile. But even before the words left your mouth, you knew they were unconvincing.

“Ah, doesn’t look like it to me.” drawled another voice from beside you. Turning, you found yourself facing a man who looked like he walked straight out of a rugged holo-western. He had a silver gleam in his eye and a smirk that promised trouble, yet there was something comforting in his casual demeanor.

They introduced themselves—Argenti, the knightly-looking redhead, and Boothill, the roguish gunslinger. They struck an odd pair, yet somehow, they both seemed genuinely concerned. That genuine concern, however small, was enough to tug open the lock on the emotions you’d been bottling up.

“I just feel like… no matter how much I try, I’m always a shadow between them,” you confessed, the alcohol loosening your words. “It’s like I’m just… there. I know they love me, but sometimes, it feels like they’re happier with each other.”

Argenti’s gaze softened as he leaned closer, his voice rich and sincere. “A soul like yours deserves to be cherished, never neglected,” he said, his tone filled with a quiet reverence. “I see a light in you, something so rare and beautiful. Anyone who fails to treasure it is unworthy of your heart.”

Boothill leaned in with a sly grin, his eyes flickering with something darker. “If they can’t see what they have, then maybe you’re wastin’ your time on ‘em.”

The warmth of their words and the way they leaned closer, as if drawn to you, sent a flutter through your heart. It had been so long since anyone looked at you like that—with full, unbridled interest.

His hand moved gently to the small of your back, his touch radiating warmth. “Allow us to show you what it means to be honored—to be loved without restraint.”

His words lingered in the air, weighted with a knightly promise. You felt your pulse quicken at his sincerity, yet even through the comfort of his presence, something held you back.

The heat in his touch and Boothill’s gaze made your heart pound faster, and for a dizzying moment, you felt tempted. But, catching yourself, you pulled back, gathering the scraps of your resolve. “I… I can’t. Not like this,” you stammered, stumbling up from the table. “Thanks, but… I need some air.”

You barely noticed their longing stares as you left, desperate to clear your mind, unaware of the yearning spark you had ignited in both men.

Days passed, and you tried to shake off that night. But a strange unease began settling over you. Everywhere you went, you could feel eyes on you. Argenti’s soft, almost reverent gaze in places he couldn’t possibly be; Boothill’s devilish grin, catching you in your peripheral vision even when he wasn’t there. As if they were everywhere, waiting.

The more you found yourself in their orbit, the more their obsession seemed to grow. Argenti, once chivalrous, was now desperate for every glance, every smile you gave. Boothill, once a lighthearted scoundrel, grew possessive, his words laced with dark promises of keeping you safe… from anyone who dared come between you.

Your time with Aventurine and Ratio was no longer as comforting as it once was, either. They sensed the shift in you. Aventurine’s charming smile had faded into something sharp, his eyes assessing as he caught sight of Argenti and Boothill’s names in your messages. Ratio’s typical aloofness twisted into jealousy, his usual intellectual grace tempered by a fiercer intensity.

One evening, as you arrived home, you found Aventurine and Ratio waiting. Ratio was seated calmly, but his piercing gaze was anything but passive. Aventurine leaned casually against the wall, his fingers twitching as if he longed to reach out to you—or hold onto you, tightly.

“We’ve been worried.” Aventurine said with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Ratio inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me, have you… made some new friends?”

The question caught you off guard, and you stammered out a response. But their knowing expressions only confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in both of them.

That night, they wouldn’t let you go. Aventurine’s once-teasing nature had turned possessive, his charming smile a mask for the tension simmering beneath. Ratio was no different, wrapping his arm around you, his touch firmer than usual, as if reminding you that you belonged to them. They held you close, more than ever before, but their embrace now felt like a cage, one you couldn’t escape.

And just as you thought you had nowhere to turn, there came a knock on the door. The sound was calm, persistent, carrying a strange sense of finality.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was. The question that burned in your mind wasn’t if it was Argenti and Boothill waiting outside. It was what they would do now that they had come for you. And with Aventurine and Ratio on the other side, waiting to stake their claim, you realized you were caught in a game where escape might be impossible.

The question was: who would be the first to make their move?

Don't ask for part 2 lmaoo💀