#or have edged a little closer away from where he is

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: the Execution

(How many times must you repeat the same song and dance before the curtain falls?

poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader, time loop

The crowd screamed for your blood.

Their voices rolled over the courtyard like thunder- sharp, frenzied, and hungry, sharks smelling blood in the waters. You didn’t flinch. You had stopped flinching a long time ago. Instead, you stood on the scaffold with your wrists bound in rusted iron and your knees aching from where you’d been forced to kneel, a once-proud back bent into prostration.

The cold bites through the thin silk of your dress. You feel the rough wood splintering beneath your knees, the way the wind stings your skin, the weight of the executioner’s shadow looming above you.

You were not allowed the dignity of a white dress, or a veil or a blindfold. You never were.

The wood creaked beneath you as the executioner shifted, sharpening his blade against a whetstone. Sparks flew, bright and vengeful. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t look at the crowd either, for they were all familiar scenes- so much so you were sure that if you were to be given a canvas and paint, you would be able to redraw it all simply from memory.

Instead, your gaze wandered.

You let your eyes drift across the sea of faces twisted in hatred, searching for the one thing that hadn’t changed in all these lifetimes-

And there he was.

You spotted him near the back, the man in the crowd. As always, standing just close enough to see the platform clearly but far enough to remain unnoticed by the mob. Hooded, broad-shouldered, and still. He didn’t yell. He didn’t jeer.

He just watched. He always did. The same stance, the same gaze.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to look away. He had been there in every loop, always standing in that exact spot, and you had stopped trying to understand why. Whatever answer you might have once craved had been buried under exhaustion and bitter acceptance, and the defeating knowledge of not knowing where to even start searching for him.

The executioner finished sharpening his blade and stepped closer, his boots heavy against the wood. The crowd’s roar swelled as the official stepped forward and began to read the charges- words you had heard so many times they no longer felt real. Were they here, you wondered, listening to your crimes?

“Treason against the Crown.”

Your nails dug into your palms.

“Conspiracy to overthrow His Majesty.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Attempted regicide.”

The crowd erupted at that, like oil meeting water, and you wondered- not for the first time- if they even cared whether the charges were true. It didn’t matter. They just wanted someone to blame.

And you had always been an easy target.

The executioner raised the blade. The sun caught its edge, and for a brief moment, you saw your reflection- tired eyes, hollow cheeks, and lips pressed into something that could no longer be called a smile.

The crowd roared louder. The executioner took his stance.

You closed your eyes.

And the blade fell.

You wake with a gasp.

The silk sheets cling to your skin, damp with sweat. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a wild animal escaping the clutches of its predator, and for one wild moment, you’re sure you can still feel the blade at your neck, the bite of steel against soft, tender flesh-

But there’s no blood. No pain.

Just sunlight streaming through the tall windows, warm and golden, painting the room in the soft golds and reds of the afternoon.

You stare at the ceiling, swallowing against the bile rising in your throat. The air smells like jasmine and lavender. It always does.

You force yourself to sit up even when your muscles ache, and your wrists burn with phantom pain from where the shackles had been. There are no marks, but the memory lingers, haunting every little move you make.

How many times now?

You stopped counting after twenty. It didn’t matter. It never changed.

The knock at the door comes exactly when you expect it, after you had forced yourself to clean away the sweat rolling down your skin and sat at your settee, begging your heart to calm down.

“Your Highness?”

Your maid’s voice.

You already know what she’ll say, what expression she’ll wear when she steps inside. But you don’t move.

The door opens, and she enters with a bow, her hands folded neatly in front of her, expression detached and polite. And behind her, four men follow.

You don’t need to look to know who they are. They’ve been with you every life, always the same tune and dance.

He stands at the front, broad-shouldered and commanding, streaks of gray in his beard and sharp eyes that feel like knives. You meet his gaze, by now fully used to him and his presence. Price- John, he’d said you can call him either in your last few lives, when your spoilt attitude had been stripped off you with each death.

“You ain’t so bad, princess. Not a hoity-toity piece of work.”

Slowly, the others trickle in after him.

The mask hides most of his face, but you don’t need to see it to know what’s underneath is Ghost. He watches you the way a predator watches its prey- calm, patient, and ready to strike, but you know that later, he will ever so slightly warm up to you.

“I don’t know what to do… I haven’t done anything! You have to believe me!”

“I know. But you’ll catch a cold if you stay out any longer, princess.”

Soap smiles when he steps inside, easy and disarming, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rests near the dagger at his hip. That same dagger has saved you before, but not always. In some lives, he is not there with you when you get ambushed- you were such a hard thing to get along with before- and yet in other lives…

“Wee lass, tell me where ye’re goin’, and I’ll protect ye always, aye?”

Quiet, steady, and sharp, like a hawk out for hunting. Gaz’s eyes sweep the room, cataloging every detail before they land on you and he nods towards you. Polite, always polite, even when you’d been like a hissy, feral cat towards him in times. Gentle when you’d been a quiet, reserved version of yourself.

“…will you stay with me? Just tonight? Please, Gaz… I feel lonely.”

“Course, princess. You don’t have to ask.”

You exhale slowly.

They’re different from the crowd, from the nobles and commoners of the kingdom. Always have been, always will be. They don’t look at you with hatred, even if they have their own misconceptions of you. But they’re still here, still close, in this life and before and next and that makes them special to you.

And this time, you… don’t have the energy to keep yourself away from them.

Price steps forward first, always the leader.

“Princess,” he says, and there’s something heavy in the way he says it. Like it means more than just a title. Or maybe less; mercenaries care little for royalty beyond what they can offer them. “We’re here to protect you.”

You almost laugh. Hired by king for no knight wanted to work for you, the shameful stain no one wanted to acknowledge or favor too much.

Instead, you turn your head and stare out the window, heart still pounding against your ribs.

“You’re wasting your time.”

You expect them to leave, even if you shouldn’t. Most people do when you push them away. Though you told yourself you won’t keep yourself away from them, you also truly want to just exist quietly, unperceived, until the inevitable hour arrives and you return back to this point.

But Price doesn’t listen to you, unsurprisingly. You can see your maid scoff about his nonchalant manner out of the corner of your eye.

“We’ll see about that, Your Highness.” He says, unbothered by your attitude.

And when you finally look at him again, his eyes are lingering on you- steady and sharp.

And thus, the loop starts anew.

Part Two

Masterlist

[deusfoundry]

18+ only mdni pls thank u!

also big BIIG thanks to ree @tbaluver for helping me w this ILY MWAAH!

zayne would never be opposed to letting you have your way with him.

one half-lidded gaze from you, one graze of your manicured nails at his clothed length, one drag of your wet tongue against the shell of his ear as you tell him how badly you want him inside you, and he's a goner. already, he's letting you drag him to the bedroom. sometimes neither of you even have the patience to go there, and zayne ends up pinning you against the wall just outside his office, his palms desperately clinging to the back of your thigh in a way that burns. sometimes he settles on having you bent over his desk, his chest pressed against your back, the same nails clawing at the heavy mahogany, papers hastily pushed to the side.

but this report is important. it's due first thing in the morning, and as much as he wants to be in bed with you, right now he has to finish this.

when you first approached him tonight with the pure and genuine intention of getting him to sleep early, he dismisses you apologetically. he places a hand on your cheek, swiping his thumb right below your eyes as if he's wiping your tears and tells you he's sorry. he'll be there soon, and you should go to sleep if you're feeling tired (which he knows you are, if the yawn you struggle to push down is anything to go by).

he watches your figure retreat from his office, shoulders hunched and footsteps unnervingly silent. the guilt starts to simmer within him, slowly, steadily eating at him until he's filled with thoughts of abandoning his work to put that smile he adores back on your face. he wills his focus back on the screen in front of him instead, dead set on making it up to you after his shift tomorrow. perhaps he can even afford to clock out a little earlier, just in time to pick up two boxes of the strawberry macarons you two love so much from a cafe at the other side of town right before they close.

except, you come back to his office a half hour later, and this time, zayne knows you're up to no good.

it's in the little things. you're sauntering towards him with a sway to your hips. the first two buttons of his shirt you're wearing is undone, one side of the collar pulled to the edge of your shoulder, exposing to him a dangerous amount of smooth skin. the cherry on top is the noticeable absence of the shorts you were wearing earlier.

zayne wonders if you'd forgo wearing your underwear as well.

"zayne..." it's there, too. in the way you say his name, drawled out and a little breathless. if he listens closely, he can hear the undertone of a whine.

he feels the all familiar strain in his pants.

zayne watches, a mix of amusement and intrigue, as you rub a palm up and down the length of his arm before nudging it away and sliding yourself onto his lap. you encase his neck between your arms, using it to anchor yourself closer until you're right on top of his increasingly aching cock.

you make no comment about the bulge in his pants poking your thighs, but he knows you're aware of the effect you have on him. a smug grin makes it way to your lips. just a flicker, a brief moment where you acknowledge what you're doing to him, and it's gone the next second.

"i'm not feeling too well, doctor. i think i need a check-up."

you begin feigning distress, making a show out of curling into yourself and leaning against his chest. the movement you make causes the fabric on your shoulder to slip off. slowly, like each added inch of skin baring itself to him is taunting him. it stops, resting right in the middle of your arm, low enough that he can see the better part of your left breast.

his face runs hot, but he decides to humor you. just for the few seconds he could afford to spare if he wanted to finish this report before midnight.

the back of zayne's hand finds your neck. he moves it around a little, shifting from one side to another as if he's checking for your temperature.

"there's nothing particularly off about your temperature." he hums, sliding you further down his lap, intent on pouring all his attention to his work. he'll just have to deal with his ... problem later.

zayne almost misses the way your face falls in disappointment once you realize what he's doing. there's that guilt again.

he plants a kiss on your temple, his lips lingering on the side of your head much longer than it should've had. he's hoping it's enough to convey his words unsaid.

"perhaps you're just missing a few hours of sleep. shall i accompany the patient back to her bedroom?"

you stay quiet, lips pursed in deep thought. the silence stretches on until zayne gathers it's time for him to speak.

only, you beat him to it, moving to straddle his thighs so quickly that zayne can only react by wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don't fall. you land right back over his cock with enough force that it pulls an involuntary groan out of his lips and a whimper from yours.

"i think-" you breathe in, a sharp inhale through your nose before you breathe out through your mouth. the searing heat of your breath on zayne's ear makes him shiver beneath you, low vibrations sending a jolt to your clit through the damp fabric of your panties.

"i think this requires a more..." you take his hand in yours, shakily drawing it closer to hover over your breast. "hands-on approach, doctor."

zayne's head is spinning. your cunt over his painfully hard cock. the odd warmth radiating from your chest, the faint shadow of your pert nipples through his shirt. this look you're giving him, eyes hazy and half-closed like you're already lost in the pleasure when you've barely gotten enough. it's too much.

it's all too much.

"dear-"

he's cut off by the drag of your hips, pressing down on him with enough pressure that his head is thrown back from the friction of the inner fabric of his pants rubbing against his length, but just shy of the speed you both need to chase your high.

zayne finally puts his foot down when your pace starts to get more frantic. he pries his hand off of yours, using the combined strength of his arm around your waist and his hand on your hips to steady you.

he hears a quiet whine slipping past your lips at the loss of pleasure.

"stop. t- that's enough." he means to add more conviction to his words, but he finds that his voice comes out as less polite pleading and more pathetic begging. "i'll make it up to you later, just- just let me finish this."

a mix of whimpers and whines fall off your lips. you try to move despite his restraints, rolling your hips with as much fervor as you can muster. and it works. zayne moans, his arms going limp over that momentary burst of pleasure. you take advantage of his weakened state to full on ride his clothed cock.

zayne begins to lose himself. the thought of his report sits there, idly in the back of his mind, but it's almost completely replaced by you. you, and the delicious roll of your hips into his, filling his vision with the sight of stars and the whole universe. you, and the blissed out look on your face as you use his body to chase your pleasure. you, your eyes shut in concentration, your messed up hair, your nails clawing at his shoulders.

you.

you.

you.

you've almost consumed him whole.

almost.

zayne regains his bearings just in time to stop you from going over the edge. your eyes are pried open, jaw slacking as his hand finds your waist once more. you're about to complain, beg him to allow you to keep going. but his fingers dig into your flesh. his grip, firm yet delicate, sends an odd blend of pain and pleasure through your senses.

"i said that's enough."

zayne says—no, commands with a certain finality in his voice that makes you think he wants to stop altogether. but you find his actions contradicting his words when he pushes his chair back, providing him enough space to turn you around with ease.

your mind is having trouble keeping up with him. you can make out the sound of his zipper being pulled, the rustling of his pants as he yanks it down just enough for his length to spring free, the light slapping of skin on skin when his cock makes brief contact with your back. but you only come face to face with what's happening when zayne hoists you up by the waist, dragging your panties to the side. your juices from earlier acts as a lubricant for him to sheathe his cock into you with little resistance.

you're so full so suddenly, gummy walls gripping him like a vice. the tip brushes against that spot inside you that zayne knows sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"zayne-!"

"shh, be quiet." he slides the chair back towards the desk, his arm unmoving around your waist. every slight twitch of his cock has you clenching down on him, but zayne makes no move to react. your only indication of how riled up he truly is are his hand latching on to your skin and the minute quiver of his voice, breath hot and shaky over your ear.

you're reminded of how it was him in this position a moment ago. how it was seemingly your victory.

"now, why don't you be a good girl and stay still."

something tells you you're in for a long night.

a/n: smut is surprisingly fun to write lmfao HKASHFD

dividers by @cafekitsune

[ghoularaki]

tw: fucking machines, yandere, noncon/dubcon, mindbreak, anal, somno, faceless yandere. MDNI.

waking up in a room never in before completely naked didn't scare you as much as you thought it would.

coming to, you were strapped to a leather bench, your ass almost hanging off the end. your ankles were bound to each leg, properly spreading you. wrists tied the same way with no give. laying chest down, your tits were squished against the cold, sleek material. around your waist, a leather strap had you completely immobilized.

you tried to call out but a gag had been shoved into your mouth prior. the room was completely silent and from your limited view, you were alone. lights dimmed down, nothing gave away where you were or why.

under your hips was a thin pillow the same material as the bench, propping them up. squirming around made you realized a tiny vibrator had been strapped to your clit.

"I wouldn't move around too much," A deep, rich voice called from somewhere you couldn't see.

Audible steps ricocheted of the tiled floor. Warm fingers brushed against the skin of your bum. You flinched and whimpered in response.

A bottle uncapping echoed behind you and cold liquid dripped down and hit the cleft of your ass. Your whimpers and wriggling only got more intense.

Those same fingers dipped down and pressed against the ring of muscles of your ass. Swirling the lube around to completely coat you, two fingers breached inside with surprising ease. You don't ever remind your ass ever being this loose and ready as his fingers slipped inside to the furthest knuckle.

He must of prepped you while you were knocked out. you could only assume as you have no clue how you got here. One moment you were walking to your car after a long shift and then woke up here.

Hooking his fingers inside, you groaned as he lifted your hips up higher.

"As I said, I wouldn't move around too much, and keep those hips up unless you want your ass properly broken into."

His words scared you. Your eyebrows tented as you attempted to look over your shoulder to see what he meant. You couldn't move an inch. Satisfied with his warning, his long appendages left you with a squelch.

The sound of something heavy being dragged closer filled the space he was before. You then felt something bulbous tap against your cunt. From this angle, whatever it was was a little bit too high for your hole. Curling your hips up more, the head slipped to right outside your pussy. You were have to keep your hips curved up and presented.

"That's a girl good, you're getting it now," The voice beamed. "Let's get this started."

The vibrator buzzed to life, unrelentingly rubbing your clit. You cried out at the immediate high setting. It borderlined between tickling and hurting. Thrashing, you begged, "Too much, too much," through your gag, but it was extremely muffled.

"Too much?"

You rapidly nodded, tears already blurring your vision. Sagging your head against the bench in relief, he turned down the settings two notches. The vibrations more pleasurable and not as intense.

Whining, your hips wiggled at the sensations. As you moved, you remembered what was put behind you. He must have too.

A loud, mechanical whirling of machine being turned on buzzed in your eardrums. Slowly what was attached to said machine sunk its way into your pussy.

The head was fat and round, on the edge of too big. It popped inside of you with some resistance causing you to gasp. The machine had no regard as it forced itself further in, stretching you to the point you were sure you were going to be torn in two. It stopped at what you thought was to the hilt. The dildo pulled away so only head sat inside. Thrusting back in with such force the air left you, it pushed more in than before.

You winced when the head hit your cervix, but it still had more to give. Crying out, the machine lunged until you felt a pair of silicone balls clap against the vibrator. The still buzzing bullet sat snug against your clit as the dildo was shoved as far as it could go and sat there.

Filled to the brim as your poor clit was continuously abused, your mind blanked, unable to think. You moaned as the cock pulled back half way and then slowly thrust back. As if sensing you were prepped enough, the machine was kicked up several notches. The slow prodding turned to rapid pounding, fuck you fast and hard.

The cock was so large there was no way for it not to hit the spot inside you repeatedly in quick succession. Your toes curled when the vibrator sped up. In an embarrassing amount of time you were forced of the edge. Your whorish moans were muffled by the gag.

Though the machine did not stop. Even past your orgasm, it kept fucking into you at the same pace. Nothing slowed down no matter how much you begged into the ball gag shoved in your mouth. Sloppy, wet sounds filled the room from your overused cunny.

How you wanted to rest your aching hips but you kept them perched high in fear of the cock ramming deep in your sloppy cunt would breach your ass. You don't think you could handle it. Your pussy barely could as is.

Tumbling over the edge once more, your hips wiggled and thrashed so much the pillow under you started to shift. Fear gripped you as it slipped further away causing your hips to sink. Tilting your hips forward in an attempt to keep the pillow up, only caused the silicone to punch your cervix at uncomfortable angle. Squirming away from the pain, the pillow fell from under you.

In desperation, you lifted your hips as much as you could, but the vibrator kicking up against your clit had you slump down. The cock bent, your pussy clinging onto it.

The thrusts slowed down once more. It leisurely drew out of your clenching walls until the head departed with a pop! Your cunt quickly missed being filled and you whined at being empty.

No longer propped up, the head pushed into your other hole. As if struck by lightning you bolted up to keep it away from your ass, but it was too late. Wiggling into your ring of muscles, the head snapped into your ill prepped hole. You screamed as it forced further inside until it was half way.

Your eyes rolled back as you couldn't handle the juxtaposition of the pain of being stretched and the pleasure of bullet against your clit.

"Aww you poor thing," The voice cooed, "I did warn you. Since you were doing so well, I will be lenient."

And by lenient he meant pouring more cool lube into your burning hole. Honestly, it did help. It slid inside you a lot more easily and didn't hiccup and drag against your dry walls.

Just as you got used to the lazy thrusts, the tempo was upped once more. You screeched as it punched deep your ass, surely breaking something deep in you. If you weren't broken in before, you surely were now.

Unable to do nothing more than take it, all the tension is you lulled out. You accepted as you tumbled into coming again. You clamped around the cock as your pussy fluttered at the emptiness.

Time became nonexistent as you were fucked into coming again and again until the edges around your vision blurred. Sucking on the gag, you could only meekly whine when you came for the umpteenth time.

Closing your eyes, you hung loose as the thrusts slowed back down to a slow pace as the buzzing of the vibe slugglishly tickled your clit until it was barely there.

Wetness coated your thighs and the bench under you. You were laid in a puddle of your shame. Nothing stopped as the voice approached.

"Rest, darling, you need it. I want to see if I can hear those pretty sounds while you sleep."

[bleedingreverie]

Yandere x reader

TW: non-con, infantilisation, trapped reader, size difference, dub-con, power imbalance and much more. All yanderes are aged up!

You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands gripping the hem of the pastel nightgown he had chosen for you earlier in the evening. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows that stretch across the walls. He’s sitting in the chair by the door, watching you, his dark eyes filled with an unsettling mix of adoration and control.

“You’ve been so good for me lately,” he says, his deep voice cutting through the heavy silence. “So obedient.” He stands, his broad frame towering over you as he approaches the bed.

You don’t respond. You’ve learned that silence is safer.

He places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers firm but not rough, and tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. “Are you scared of me?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with something darker.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “No,” you lie, because the truth would only make things worse.

His lips curl into a faint smile. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. I’ll never hurt you… unless you make me.”

The unspoken threat lingers in the air as he sits beside you, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. His strength is overwhelming, and though his touch is gentle now, you know how easily that could change.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he says, his tone almost pleading. “I’ve given you a home, kept you safe, made sure you’ll never have to worry about anything. Isn’t that enough for you?”

You nod quickly, knowing that hesitation could lead to consequences. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s what I thought,” he says, his tone shifting to something softer, almost tender. His lips brush against your temple, then trail down to your neck. “You belong to me,” he murmurs, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

Your body stiffens as his touch becomes more insistent, his large hands exploring with a sense of ownership rather than affection. “Relax,” he whispers, his voice low and commanding. “I know what’s best for you.”

You don’t move, don’t resist, even as he lays you back against the pillows, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. His gaze roams over you, a possessive gleam in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you in the nightgown he picked out.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “So perfect. My perfect little doll.”

You turn your head to the side, your breath quickening as his hands travel lower, his touch firm but controlled. “Look at me,” he demands, his voice soft but unyielding. When you don’t obey immediately, he grips your chin and turns your face back toward him. “Don’t make me remind you who’s in charge.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back. You’ve learned that crying doesn’t help; it only spurs him on. He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s more about control than passion.

“See?” he whispers against your lips. “This is where you’re meant to be. With me. Forever.”

And as he continues, the weight of his words sinks in deeper than ever. You’re his—his possession, his pet, his doll. There’s no escape, no future beyond these walls, and no way to fight the man who holds all the power.

Insert:

Bnha: Deku, old man Bakugo, All might, Mirio, Kirishima, maybe todoroki.

Hxh: Illumi, Hisoka, Uvogin, Older Gon and Killua.

[ifwdominicfike]

giving virgin sub!chris his first blowjob

this is inspired by @mattybsgroupie virgin!chris with milf!reader, so go check her out i lovelovelove her fics!!!

── .✦. ──

“p- please mama..” you hear the boy whine while clenching his fists, not knowing where to put his hands. “please what sweet boy? m’gonna need a little more than that” you grin, your eyes low as you continue to rub over the forming bulge through his jeans. “need- need your m-mouth” he murmurs, clearly embarrassed. “need my what? c’mon honey.. one more time”

he can’t help but grind his hips up into nothing at your teasing words, he knew what you were doing and he was willing to do anything to have your pretty mouth around him. “you’re that desperate? fuck baby.. just say it one more time and i’ll give you whatever y’want” he shudders when he feels you apply more pressure to his hard dick, begging to be freed from the uncomfortable layers.

“please mama! n- ngh- need your mouth” his voice now a little louder than before, you smile and begin to unbutton his jeans pulling them down to reveal him. “such a good, perfect boy, yeah? look at you, s’all for me” you wrap your hand around him and begin to slowly stroke him.

“m-mama.. mm” all that is heard from him is mumbles and incoherent nonsense, “yeah baby?” he can hear the smirk in your tone, his hips buck again as if trying to silently say that he wants needs more.

you finally take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around him. “o-ohh mam- fuck! r-right th-there” his hands start to scatter not knowing where to put them, you rest both of them in your hair. your continuous humming and moaning around him pushes him closer and closer to the edge and his hands steadily grip onto your now messy hair.

it doesn’t take him long to feel that pit in his stomach become stronger “m- m’gonna cum c-can i cum mama please!” his soft whimpers and whines signal that he’s close, you pull off for a split second. “go ahead baby, cum for me” you focus your attention on his sensitive tip and stroke the rest of him. “please please please-“ he doesn’t even know what he was begging for, just babbling off nonsense as he reaches his high.

“good boy you did s’good for me, my sweet boy” you let off of him and swipe over his tip with your thumb, teasing him. “n-no more please.. m’tired” he whines while trying to swat your hands away. “okay baby, no more. m’so proud of you” you climb up onto the bed and he rests his head on you, letting his tired figure settle onto your chest before curling up and dozing off into a peaceful sleep.

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

ok so im SOAKED thinking about virgin!chris SIGHHHH ugh anyways i feel like its so awkward towards the end when ending smut IDK but i hope you enjoy!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled

[lady-lauren]

❥ Shanks x Fem!Reader

❥ Word Count: 2.7k

❥ Warnings/Tags: Dilf/Babysitter, established relationship, praise, daddy kink, light somnophilia, breeding, marking/bruising, choking, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie

❥ Happy Holidays!! For @pixelcafe-network’s Secret Santa, I was given the lovely @semisgroupie as my elf 🥰 Hopefully this fic has a few of your ~favorite things~ 🎁

Cool fingers run down the warmth of your back, tracing the curve of your spine with skin chilled from the sea.

Tonight you’re half asleep, lashes fluttering from where your face is snuggled into the couch cushions. By the looks of it, you put his baby to bed a few hours ago and slipped into a nap while gathering and cleaning the toys strewn around the den.

When Shanks hired you as his kid’s babysitter, he purposely gave you a little more than your asking price with an ulterior motive. Because he knew one day he’d smooth your edges, poke holes into your professional demeanor and fill the gaps with him.

It took patience, mostly because his sailing career kept him away from the house for weeks. But every time he came home, you warmed to him, like a cat taking hesitant steps closer until you finally landed in his lap.

He doesn’t think to wake you, instead he moves how he pleases. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your soft pants, seeking the heat between your thighs.

You coo, drowsy and cute. Shanks continues, thick fingers languishing through your folds, building your wetness until a dark spot forms on cotton.

“Pretty baby likes that, yeah?” He asks even though he knows you won’t answer, cheek snuggling deeper into the couch as your hips buck like you missed him.

All he thinks of is you. Surely all you dream of is him. His sweet little babysitter, his perfect little slut.

Shanks pulls your pants down around your thighs, the fabric stretching as his fingers bury deeper into your cunt. Your heart begins to thump as you awaken, fear and shock and pleasure converging as he spears two thick fingers into your pussy.

“You drool when you sleep,” he teases, kissing along your cheek until he slots his mouth over yours. You mumble something against his tongue, thighs pressing together with a moan as you feel the pads of his fingers curl just right within you.

“I don’t,” your pout is cute, flushed, hips wiggling to get the palm of his hand to press against your aching clit.

Shanks pulls his hand from your pussy, sideways grin catching the light of the muted TV in the dark room. Slick drips from his skin and smears into your sweats as he pushes them down over your knees, letting you sleepily kick the fabric onto the floor next to a group of discarded toy blocks.

“You do.” He pulls you into his lap so easily, his sea-battled body thick but agile. His fingers slide back between your folds as you settle across his thighs. Skimming the outer lips of your pussy, he spreads you wide before prodding his index finger at your entrance. The press is wet, sticky, a squish against heated skin. “You’re so messy.”

The annoyance that flickers across your face, the twist of your lips and the furrow in your brow, makes his cock swell against the seam of his pants.

“It’s not my fault.” Yet you shiver when a delectable jolt signals down your body as his knuckles slide back into your tight hole.

“Don’t lie to Daddy,” his lips trail along your throat, breathing in the sweet scent that’s been haunting him for weeks, “you’ve just been waiting for me to get home and fuck you stupid. Probably dreaming ‘bout me knocking you up.”

“Have not. I’ve been busy taking care of your k-kid, I don’t need, ah, more little Shanks running around.”

But the way your cunt sucks and pulses around his fingers tells him the truth.

His fingers spread you apart, building a pace that makes your nails cling into the worn shirt on his shoulders. He relishes the feel of you, groans as your cunt drools into the palm of his hand. Your hips start to buck in bliss, the little bit of brat in you fading as he swirls the pad of his thumb against your clit.

Something delightfully wicked toils in his stomach as his cock twitches against his thigh.

“That so? You didn’t miss me? Weren’t dreamin’ bout me?”

Your pretty head shakes no, lips pressing together as you ride his hand, desperation and pleasure blurring your senses.

“Then Daddy better give you something to dream about next time he’s gone.”

Thick, long fingers stroke a fire against your velvety walls, each plunge deeper and deeper than before. His thumb presses dreamily against your clit, each swipe and swirl making you shake.

As soon as you loom against the orgasmic edge, he slows down, the raging hot sea ebbing away like tides returning to the ocean. He lets you squirm in his lap, smirking against your neck as he starts to suck against your pulse. His hot tongue slides a cool trail along your skin, tasting the cry stuck in your throat.

As patient as Shanks can be, he can’t deny your pleasure for long. Not when you start to babble nonsense, little whispers of please Daddy like you just can’t help yourself. Your hips fall down, humping and rubbing against his hand and pressing it down against his leaking cock.

“Already getting a little stupid for me, hm?” He smirks as you kiss him, all sloppy and messy like you’re chasing a wet dream just out of reach. You still taste of the lipgloss you first wore to his house for your interview, strawberries and cream, delectable ripe fruit he couldn’t wait to devour.

“You know we shouldn’t…” the memory of your timid voice rings in his ears as he remembers pinning you against the kitchen counter, rubbing his hot cock against the weeping seam of your panties. But you let him have you anyways, teary and doe eyed with your t-shirt between your teeth so he could watch your tits bounce with his thrusts.

His thumb becomes a vortex on your clit, drawing blinding pleasure until your eyes squeeze closed with tears framing your lashes.

“Oh, sweet girl, gonna make you cum for me so you’re nice and swollen when I fuck you.”

You’re panting, body begging for release. Your nails scrape down his chest, searching for an anchor as you start to get washed away. Shanks tempts you closer with another thrust of his fingers, the resounding bliss making you whimper. He rocks your body back, spreads you wider across his lap, watching how your pretty pussy stretches around his huge fingers.

“Daddy,” such a small, sweet whisper, “daddy, daddy, please!”

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh, no need to wake the baby.”

You’re the perfect picture: hair still crinkled from sleep, tits bouncing beneath one of his soft shirts, cunt spread around fingers calloused from pulling sail lines. His teeth clench as he restrains himself from pushing in too deep, keeping his pace fast and thumb coiling you tighter and tighter like a wind-up doll.

You absolutely shatter around him, head tilting back as your hips finally cease from chasing your high. Your thighs quiver, pussy spasming, orgasm flooding all your senses as you breathe out his name in reverence. Shanks slows, electing to watch you unfold for him. He sees the muscles in your lower stomach contracting, feels your pulsing pleasure on his fingers, slick coating his skin in gentle waves. Your chest heaves as you finally look at him, eyes glassy.

“Atta girl, good girl,” he loves the way you coo when he pulls his fingers from your slit, like you already miss him, “now help me out of these pants.”

He’s overly pleased at how quickly you move, nimble fingers tugging at his belt and dragging down his zipper. Feeling your hand squeeze around his freed cock makes him groan, low and deep like a predator released from his cage.

“I think you missed me more than I missed you,” you taunt, smearing pre-cum down his shaft as you pump his length.

“I don’t get to stay at home and fuck myself with toys, princess. Just get to fuck my hand and waste my cum when it should be inside your pretty cunny.”

You gasp as he pulls you down, sliding your messy cunt over the ridge of his cock. Your sensitive clit catches against the head of his cock and you bite your lip to stay quiet.

“Tell Daddy what you want, you know I’ll give it to you.”

He expects your momentary silence. He’s been pushing you for months, feeding you hints of how he’s waiting for you to make this permanent, to take your relationship farther than just a transaction between Dad and babysitter.

“I want…”

Shanks leans forward, blowing red hair out of his face as he starts nipping and sucking at your throat, undoubtedly breaking flesh and leaving little bruises in his wake.

“Yeah?” Shanks starts prodding your weeping hole with his cock, dipping the head past the first tight ring of muscle. You whine, shifting your hips and trying to push down, yet his strong hand keeps you from taking in more of his shaft.

“Want you to breed me, Daddy.”

A deep, satisfied growl erupts from his large chest. He releases your hip, lets your slick pussy start engulfing his dick. He cants his hips up, rocking into you, inch by inch fucking into your cunt.

Shanks wraps a firm hand around your neck. You suck in a quick breath at the ferocity of his fingers as they press into already bruising flesh. He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze. He watches how you search his face, glancing across the scars on his eye before landing on the smirk tugging his cheek.

“You promise that’s what you want? Want me to make you a mommy?”

You nod your head as affirmatively as you can in his hold, feeling his strong fingers flex against your throat.

Too quickie, he bullies his cock inside of you. You cry out, a tear falling down the apple of your cheek as you stretch around him and take what he gives you. You swallow against the anchor of his hand, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth as he bounces you in his lap.

“Always so pretty when you cry.”

It must feel so good to be so fucking full, he muses, a playful smile dancing across his face as you mewl for him. The head of his cock is fat and firm, nestling just below your cervix with every thrust. Every roll of your hips has the ridge of his cock sliding just right against your spongy walls, stuffing you more and more every time you come back down to rest against his thighs. He’s throbbing within you, anxious to fill your guts with cum.

Rhythmic little moans begin to pour from your lips, the vibrations tingling against his chokehold. He lets his fingers ease so you can catch breath, only to cinch tighter and make your pretty head float to the clouds as he fucks you.

“Oh Daddy,” the name is so lewd yet so sweet from your mouth, unable to control yourself as hot waves of bliss wash over your body.

“That’s right, baby, gonna fill you to the fucking brim and breed you. Give you babies that look like me, fuck,” each word is punctuated with a heavy thrust of his cock into your depths, stretching and filling, “make you mine and keep you.”

“Yes, yes, please, want your babies, need to feel you cum in me.”

“Been watchin’ you with my kid for so long, want us makin’ our own, want you here every time I come home.”

He’s not sure if the sparkling tears that start dribbling down your pretty face are happy or overwhelmed, but he doesn’t really care. He catches one against your cheek with his tongue, salt against his lips.

A tumble of strangled curses meet his ears, smothered by his hand and by the sound of his thick balls slapping against your ass. You’re getting tight again, clit rubbing against the patch of crimson curls and fit muscles with every push and pull he gives you.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect to have my babies, perfect to get fucked dumb.”

“Ah-ah, yes, Daddy, such a good girl for you, promise. Please make me c-cum, please, wanna milk your cock so, so bad.”

Music to his ears. This is what he dreams of on late nights, in a cramped ship cabin with his cock strangled in his fist—you, crying pretty tears, begging to let him breed you.

His balls tighten as your cunt cinches. Thoughts of making you his, breeding you every night until you ripen with his child overtake every corner of his brain until he’s nothing but a primal machine barreling into your body.

Shanks’ instincts go into overdrive, hand releasing your neck so he can grab your hip and pull you down with every snap of his cock into your oversensitive cunt. Your slick is drooling again, pooling against his thighs, soaking into his couch cushions. He doesn’t even care that sweat is dripping from his brow, red hair falling into his face and yours as he crushes you to him and dares to take everything he wants and more.

He’s racing to orgasm, can feel it in his weary shoulders, in his stomach. Your pussy is twitching, squelching, begging him for another release. His thumb finds its way to your clit again, pressing far too hard, but he needs to make you cry for him, to feel you come apart in his lap.

“Love fucking this tight little cunny, you’re perfect for me.”

He puts unholy pressure on your clit, coiling you until you explode, a mess of tears and slick as you convulse around the width of his cock. The suction makes his eyes roll back, shoulders falling against the back of the couch as he continually fucks into you.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it, baby. Give me another.”

“Shanks!” you squeal, but quickly slap your hand over your mouth, eyes shutting tightly as you try to listen for the sound of a waking baby over the cacophony of sex in the room. “C-can’t,” you whisper, “can’t do another.”

“Oh yes you can, pretty baby. You have it in you.”

His thumb is mean against your clit. Hot, right circles that make your legs shake, cunt squishing around the bounce of his cock.

“Please, please, I can’t. Just cum, cum in me and breed me and—”

“One more, just one more. Wanna milk my cock, yeah? Wanna suck all my seed into your guts? One more.”

You let him have you, slumping against his chest as he works in and out, in and out, toying with your clit until you’re crying again. You shake uncontrollably, jumping against his lap when too sharp pleasure rockets down your back and tickles your toes.

“Love you so much, baby, you know that right?”

“Mmmhmmm,” you whimper and nod, burying your face into his shirt and clinging to his sides for dear life.

“Love your cunny, love your pretty face, love how you take care of me and my kid. Love you,” he groans from deep within, feeling your hot pussy cream around him as he draws the last bits of pleasure from you.

You gush and shiver, mewling as your cunt squeezes and draws the cum from his balls. He pulls you close as he finally unloads, hand leaving your glossy cunt to pet your hair, making a mess of you as cum starts to string from his cock.

“God, that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.”

He pumps his load into you, warmth flooding your insides as your cunt struggles take what he gives. Cum starts to burst from the seam of where he plugs you, bubbling out and painting your thighs.

A few moments pass, your ear pressed to his raging heartbeat as you both catch your breath.

“I think you missed me,” he teases, classic grin on his face as you look up at him.

You poke his dimple, freckled from days out in the sun. “We missed each other, silly. Don’t stay away so long next time.”

Shanks kisses your forehead, making no move to unlodge his cock, content to sit with you and feel your tits press to his chest.

“I think, as captain, I can make a new rule for more parental leave. I’m getting you pregnant before I leave for the next trip.”

[woozinhos]

Hiiii can you do wonu breeding kink pls :(

ahhh I love this little series I hope you enjoy <3

Wonwoo's eyes darken as he looks down at you, his mind filled with the thought of breeding you.

He's always had a secret breeding kink, one that he's never quite shared with anyone before. But with you, it's different.

As he thrusts into you, he can't help but imagine what it would be like to fill you up with his cum, to make you his in every possible way.

He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he imagines you swollen with his child.

"You'd look so damn beautiful carrying my baby," he growls, his voice filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.

He quickens his pace, his hips snapping against yours as he loses himself in the fantasy.

"I'd fill you up so many times," he pants, his breath hot against your ear. "Make sure you're always full of my cum, always carrying my baby."

You look up at him, your voice shaky as you try to form words.

"Wonwoo," you gasp, your body trembling with pleasure. "I want it... I want you to breed me."

Wonwoo's eyes widen at your words, a mix of surprise and excitement washing over him.

"Fuck," he groans, his hips stuttering for a moment as he processes what you just said.

He leans down, his lips finding yours in a fierce kiss.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me right now," he whispers against your mouth.

He kisses you hard, his tongue claiming your mouth as he pours all his pent-up desire into the kiss.

He breaks away only when he absolutely needs to breathe, panting heavily as he looks down at you.

"I'm going to breed you so well," he growls, his eyes dark with promise. "You'll be mine forever, carrying my child inside you."

He continues to thrust into you, his movements becoming more and more erratic as he gets closer to the edge.

"I'm going to fill you up with my cum until you're overflowing," he grunts, his fingers digging into your skin even harder. "And then I'll keep going, until you're completely and utterly bred."

His pace becomes brutal, his hips snapping against yours with a force that leaves you gasping for air.

He's lost in the moment, his mind consumed by the thought of breeding you, of marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice low and guttural. "And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it."

He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispers, "You're going to carry my child, and everyone will know that you're mine. That you belong to me and me alone."

His teeth scrape against your skin, leaving marks that will remind you of this moment for days to come.

His breath is coming in short gasps now, his body tensing as he feels his orgasm approaching.

"I'm going to fill you up," he growls, his voice strained. "And I'm going to make sure it takes."

He lets out a low, guttural moan as he finally reaches his peak, his body shuddering as he spills himself inside you.

"Take it," he grunts, his hips stuttering as he empties himself into you. "Take all of it, baby."

Even as he comes down from his orgasm, he continues to move inside you, prolonging the moment as much as possible.

He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he savors the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

"I'm making sure it takes," he whispers, his voice filled with determination. "I'm not stopping until I know for sure that you're carrying my child."

He slowly begins to pull out of you, his eyes fixed on where your bodies are connected.

He watches as his cum slowly starts to leak out of you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Look at that," he says, his voice filled with pride. "You're so full of me, it's like I'm already breeding you."

[josushishushi]

A Love to Lean On | Mingyu x Reader

flulf, comfort | 748 words

Mingyu stepped out of the elevator, his smile unwavering as he jingled his keys in his hand. He was finally home after a long day at work, energized by the thought of seeing his one and only. Usually, she’d be waiting in the living room, curled up on the couch with her favorite show or rushing into his arms the second he walked through the door.

But tonight felt… different.

The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn, and the usual warm, comforting aura was replaced with a somber stillness. His smile faltered slightly as he called out, "Y/n? I'm home!"

No answer.

Mingyu frowned. He slipped off his shoes, setting down his bag carefully, and checked the living room—empty. His heart started to beat faster, worry seeping into his mind.

“Y/n? Where are you?” he called again, softer this time, heading towards the bedroom.

He noticed the faint sliver of light spilling through the cracked door. Mingyu pushed it open gently, his eyes scanning the dim room.

There she was. Lying on her side, facing away from him, her small frame curled up under the blanket. Relief washed over him, thinking she was asleep, and a soft smile returned to his face.

He stepped closer, but as the stillness enveloped him, he caught the sound—soft, muffled sobs. His heart sank.

"Y/n?" he said cautiously, his voice tinged with concern.

No response.

He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over her shoulder, unsure if he should touch her. He leaned forward slightly, trying to get a look at her face. “Y/n… what’s wrong?” he whispered.

It took a moment, but she shifted slightly, turning to face him. Mingyu's heart clenched as he saw her red, tear-streaked face. Before he could say anything, she sat up and threw herself into his arms.

“Y/n…” he murmured, holding her tightly. He cradled the back of her head, one hand stroking her hair in soothing motions. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. What happened?”

Her sobs quieted just a little as she felt his warmth surround her, grounding her. She took a shaky breath before she spoke, her voice barely audible.

“I… I couldn’t do it today, Gyu,” she started, her words trembling. “I was so drained and stressed. I just couldn’t go to work. And everything… it’s too much.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt, gently encouraging her to continue.

“My coworkers…” she sniffled. “They always have something to say about me. It’s like—no matter what I do—it’s never enough. And what if I mess up tomorrow? What if they fire me? Then what? How will I live? How will I even—”

Mingyu shushed her softly, pulling her even closer as if he could shield her from the world. “I’ve been telling you to quit, haven’t I?” His voice was gentle but firm.

She pulled back slightly to look at him, tears still welling in her eyes. “How will I live then, Mingyu? Huh? Just quit and what? I can’t afford to just—”

“Live off of me,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She shook her head quickly. “You know I can’t do that, Gyu… I don’t want to be a burden.”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away her tears as he looked straight into her eyes. “You’re not a burden. You never have been. I want this to be the last time I see you crying alone like this, okay? I mean it.”

Her lips quivered, but she remained quiet, listening as he continued.

“Besides,” he smiled softly, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’ve always wanted to open a coffee shop, right? Let’s start there. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together, Y/n. Okay?”

Her tears flowed again, but this time they were mixed with relief and a fragile hope. “…M’kay, Gyu,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he said immediately, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But promise me one thing—next time you feel like this, call me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. I’ll drop everything and come to you, okay?”

“…Okay,” she murmured, burying her face in his chest once more, clinging to him as if he were her anchor in a turbulent storm.

Mingyu smiled faintly, holding her just as tightly. “Good. Now let’s get you to bed, hmm? Tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out. Together.”

“Thank you gyu… love you…”

“I love you too”

[delulustateofmind]

The Assistant Program

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Manipulation, Dub Con, Getting frisky (they're fucking) in the backseat of a car...Pet name: Puppy, pup. Mean sugu. Cum play? (Very brief). overstimulation.

Yan!Geto x Assistant!Reader

WC: 4k

a/n: Ahhhh, geto is rotting my brain again. There's something about him NOT being allowed to defect that has me frothing. I wrote a blurb earlier about this but was never actually able to get the idea into words until recently.

What if Geto Suguru hadn't crossed the line that night? If he hadn’t succumbed to the darkness, yet still nursed a quiet, simmering disdain for nonsorcerers—a festering grudge that earned him more than a few wary glances from the higher-ups.

Their answer to his "problem"? The Assistant Program.

It was Gojo who delivered the news, all lazy smiles and half-hearted reassurances as he clapped Suguru on the shoulder. “Think of it as a little help for that summer fatigue you’ve been dragging around,” he quipped, though Suguru caught the faint edge of caution in his friend’s gaze.

Suguru only smiled in response, his usual gentle expression betraying none of the irritation boiling beneath the surface. His dark eyes, framed by long lashes, glinted with something unreadable as he watched Gojo walk away.

And then, there was you.

A grade four sorcerer. Not someone who belonged in his orbit, freshly graduated like him with an incredibly low grade. A novice in comparison to his strength—a mere puppy forced to share missions, long car rides, and quiet evenings with him.

You were annoyingly bright, a contrast to the brooding aura he so often carried. Your cheerful demeanor and the way you fidgeted nervously around him should have grated on his nerves. At first, it did. Suguru wasn’t sure whether to laugh at your naivety or sneer at your eagerness to please.

How could you grin at him so freely, as if the thought of erasing all nonsorcerers didn’t run through his mind like a broken record?

But as time went on, he began to notice the little things. The way your gaze lingered on him, captivated by the dark cascade of his hair that framed his sharp features. The way you’d steal glances at the broad span of his shoulders, the way his uniform hugged his tall, lean, but muscular frame.

He didn’t miss how your voice softened whenever you said his name, how you leaned closer without even realizing it when he spoke. It wasn’t long before irritation twisted into something far more dangerous.

You weren’t just a puppy anymore. You were his puppy

Suguru made it a game—seeing how far he could push you, how much he could demand, and how readily you would obey. His long, calloused fingers would tug lightly at your sleeve when he called you into his apartment late at night, his dark eyes narrowing with faux vulnerability as he claimed he was having “certain thoughts.”

Bleary-eyed, still fumbling to tie your coat, you’d show up on his doorstep, tail wagging in that metaphorical way that made his chest tighten. “Is everything okay, Sugu?” you’d ask, concern dripping from your voice, as though you weren’t the one being dragged into his games.

He’d usher you in with that same gentle smile, his long hair slipping over his shoulders as he draped an arm around yours. “I just needed some company,” he’d murmur, leading you to the couch, where he’d pull you into his lap with ease that left you breathless.

At first, it was innocent—or so you told yourself. He’d hold you close, his broad chest warm against your back, his deep voice wrapping around you like a lullaby as he claimed he needed comfort. But as the nights wore on, the boundaries blurred.

This time, his lips pressed against your neck, his large hands firm on your waist as he whispered, “Aren’t you supposed to service my every need, little puppy?”

You stiffened, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, but the solid muscle beneath your touch only reminded you how much stronger he was. “Suguru, this… this isn’t part of the contract.”

His soft chuckle was like velvet, wrapping around you and pulling you under. “Contracts are flexible,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was light at first—a fleeting touch that left your breath hitching. But then his tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, coaxing you to part them. You hesitated, and he didn’t wait, slipping inside and deepening the kiss. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

Your mind grew hazy, a mix of exhaustion and the intoxicating warmth of him seeping into your senses. His fingers slid up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he feared you’d pull away.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips lingered just above yours, his warm breath fanning your flushed skin. “Good puppy,” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes as satisfaction curled his lips into a faint smirk.

You didn’t leave his lap for the rest of the night. Every time you shifted, his hands tightened on your waist, keeping you firmly nestled against him. He pressed kisses to your lips, slow and deliberate, each one leaving your mind hazier, your resistance dissolving like sugar in water.

By the time you finally stumbled home, your head spun, replaying the events of the night like a broken record. Something felt… wrong.

But Suguru didn’t seem to think so.

The next day, he acted like everything was perfectly normal, lounging in the corner of the room during a briefing, his gaze tracking your every movement. When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, he greeted you with a sly smile, as if he had been waiting.

“About last night,” you started, voice trembling slightly.

“What about it?” he interrupted smoothly, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. “We’re together now. Isn’t that obvious?”

Your breath hitched. “Together? That wasn’t—”

“Stop overthinking it,” he said, his tone soft but firm, like he was addressing a child. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face with a gentleness that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been there for me all this time. It’s natural for us to take the next step.”

You blinked at him, trying to process his words. “But I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” he asked, his voice dropping just slightly. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny me now after everything I’ve done for you. After everything we've done for each other. ”

The words hit like a slap, his tone dripping with quiet reproach. He let the silence hang heavy between you before sighing, the sound laced with disappointment.

“I see,” he said finally, leaning back with a detached expression. “I must have misread things. I thought you cared about me. But if this is how you really feel, then…” He trailed off, letting the weight of his unfinished sentence fill the air.

Your heart clenched. The idea of Suguru pulling away felt unbearable, like a void threatening to swallow you whole. Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “No, it’s not like that!”

His lips curved into a smile, slow and calculated. “Good,” he said, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. “I knew my puppy wouldn’t disappoint me.”

From that moment on, he took control of your life in ways so subtle you barely noticed at first. A comment here, a suggestion there—little nudges that steered you further into his orbit.

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” he’d say with a faint frown, slipping your phone from your hands. “Let me take care of things for you.” And just like that, he’d rearrange your schedule, leaving you dependent on him for even the smallest tasks.

When you hesitated to stay late after missions, he’d fix you with a soft look that somehow made your chest ache. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? After everything we’ve been through? What if I end up doing something...?”

That final phrase was the words that always left you at his beck and call. You didn't want him to be executed, he was a good man after all.

Every move he made was calculated, each word a thread tightening the web he had spun around you. And the worst part? No matter how much you tried to resist, you always found yourself falling back into his arms, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “Good puppy.”

Sometimes, after swallowing a particularly vile curse, Suguru’s mood was dark and volatile. It clung to him like a shadow, his sharp edges cutting deeper into those unfortunate enough to cross his path. But tonight, his frustration found its focus on you.

You barely had time to settle into the backseat when his hands pulled you onto his lap, his grip firm, almost bruising. His lips found yours immediately, kissing you with a frantic desperation that left you breathless.

“Disgusting,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. The faint bitterness of his words contrasted with the soft graze of his lips, warm and plush, leaving a shiver in their wake. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You don’t have to taste it—any of it.”

Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, trying to steady yourself. Beneath your trembling palms, his body was firm, his broad, muscular build radiating a comforting heat despite the tension that simmered just beneath the surface. But his grip tightened, his long fingers digging into your waist like a warning.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soothing as his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting, devouring, claiming. His dark eyes, framed by long, silky strands of black hair that cascaded over his shoulders, bore into yours with an intensity that left you breathless. His hand, large and calloused yet gentle, trailed up to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, leaving no room for protest.

“You understand, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and coaxing, vibrating against your lips as his breath fanned over your flushed skin. His thumb brushed lightly along your cheek, the roughness of his touch sending goosebumps down your spine.

“I need this, puppy,” he continued, his words curling around your resolve like a leash. “I need you to take it away—the taste, the filth. Make me forget.”

His words carried a vulnerability that twisted something deep inside you, sending a shivers down your body. Part of you knew you should push back, should reclaim some semblance of control, but the way his hands moved—slow, deliberate, his strong fingers tugging at the edges of your sorcerer uniform—left you pliant under his touch.

“Suguru, we shouldn’t…” you whispered weakly, your voice faltering as his lips brushed along the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath leaving your skin tingling. The way he nipped at the soft skin.

“You’re such a good puppy,” he murmured, his voice softening into something almost tender as his hands roamed lower, pulling you closer, pressing your body against his. The faint scent of his cologne—earthy and subtly sweet—lingered in the air, intoxicating you further. “Always trying so hard to please me.”

Your breath hitched as his tongue slid against yours, his kisses growing slower, deeper, impossibly intoxicating. The silky strands of his long hair tickled your cheek as he leaned closer, each movement deliberate and all-encompassing.

The tension in your body ebbed away, replaced by a warmth that seeped into your very core. You stopped resisting, your hands no longer pushing him away but clutching at his broad shoulders instead, your fingers tangling briefly in the smooth fabric of his shirt.

“There we go,” he murmured against your lips, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s it. Good puppy. Let me take care of you.”

The praise sent a dizzying rush through you, leaving you feeling weightless and tethered all at once. The way his lips trailed along your jawline, the way his hands held you firmly yet with a gentleness that belied his strength—it left you unable to think of anything else.

By the time your uniform slipped from your shoulders, pooling in soft folds around your waist, you were pliant in his arms, melting into him like he had always wanted. His long, dark hair brushed against your skin as he leaned forward, his lips trailing along your collarbone with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

“See? Isn’t this better?” he whispered, his voice a dark lullaby as his lips pressed against a sweet spot on your neck, before sucking a mark. “This is where you belong. With me.”

And though a flicker of doubt lingered in the farthest corner of your mind, it was drowned out by the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and the way his deep voice curled around your name, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

Because, deep down, you wanted to please him.

And Suguru knew it.

He knew it in the way your body yielded to him, how your soft whimpers filled the air as he slowly eased you onto his cock, every inch stretching you to fit him perfectly. It was as if he was made for you, stuffing you full, hitting that sweet spot with practiced ease as he would gently roll his hips upwards. His large hands guided your hips with steady precision, his strong build towering over you, making you feel so small yet so protected in his hold.

“So cute,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress as he drank in every gasp and tremble, his dark eyes tracing the way your body moved with him. “You’re perfect, puppy. My perfect little thing.”

His long fingers tightened their grip on your waist as your breath hitched at his praise, the words wrapping around your mind like a leash, pulling you deeper into his control. Bringing a hand over to smack the fat of your ass just to hear that sweet whimper. His lips found your neck again, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin, each touch leaving you trembling with a need you didn’t know you had.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice laced with a sweetness that only made the possessive edge beneath it more apparent. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips moved instinctively, rolling against his in a rhythm that he controlled with the firm grip of his large hands on your waist. His fingers, calloused yet careful, dug into your skin, grounding you against the steady friction that sent jolts of heat through your body. The low, satisfied hums rumbling from his broad chest mingled with your soft moans, which he eagerly muffled with his lips.

“You’re mine,” Suguru murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, more vulnerable. His dark eyes, half-lidded beneath long, inky lashes, bore into yours with an intensity that made your heart twist. His smooth, dark hair, damp with sweat, clung to his temples as he leaned closer, brushing stray strands from your cheek with an almost gentle reverence. “Do you understand that? You belong to me.”

The way he said it made your heart stutter, a flicker of something raw and uncertain threading through his tone. It was fleeting, quickly replaced by the intoxicating confidence that had always defined him, but it was there—a crack in the armor he never let anyone see.

“And if you ever leave me…” His lips, warm and impossibly soft, brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with quiet menace. “I’ll find you. No matter where you go, no matter who you run to, I’ll bring you back. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His hips rolled against yours, punctuating each word with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping. His broad shoulders shifted beneath your trembling hands, his muscles taut as though holding back the full force of his need. “But you wouldn’t leave me, would you, puppy?” he asked, his tone softening, almost tender, as his lips found yours again. His dark eyes searched your face, his long hair framing his sharp jawline as though daring you to deny him. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

You shook your head, your thoughts too scattered to form words. His kisses deepened, his tongue sweeping over yours as he swallowed every moan, every gasp, while his hips began to move with increasing fervor.

“Good,” he whispered, his lips curling into a wicked smile against your skin. His teeth grazed your collarbone briefly before returning to your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses that left you trembling. “Because I’d ruin anyone who tried to take you from me.”

The promise in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when his hands held you so tightly, his firm grip anchoring you as though you might slip away. Not when his voice dripped with honeyed praise, rich and deep like a melody meant only for you. Not when the way he moved against you left your mind spinning with nothing but him. Not when you were this close.

He kissed away every gasp, every whimper, his words sinking into you like a mantra you couldn’t escape. “And I’m yours. Always.” Those words came out with a whole list of rambles, as his pace quickened. The angle of his hips driving into you with full force and practiced care.

His hands never faltered, guiding your hips with deliberate care at first, his strong fingers curling around your waist as though he could mold you to him completely. He let you set the rhythm briefly, watching through half-lidded eyes as your movements made you shiver and sigh in his arms. But when your legs trembled with exhaustion, when your pace faltered, he took control entirely.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his broad chest. The heat radiating from him seeped into your skin, leaving you breathless as his voice dipped lower. “Be a good puppy and let me take care of you.”

And you did. You melted against him, your cheek pressing into the firm warmth of his shoulder as his hands moved your hips for you, his pace quickening until you were left clinging to him helplessly. The shift in control left you hazy, your thoughts scattering as his low hums rumbled through your body like a steady heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Suguru cooed softly, his voice dripping with praise as his hips snapped upward to meet yours. His dark lashes fluttered briefly, framing the heated look in his eyes as his lips brushed over your temple. “So perfect, so obedient… You’re such a good puppy for me, trusting me like this.”

You felt yourself unraveling under him, the steady rhythm of his movements and the way his hands held you firmly, securely, driving you closer to the edge. His lips ghosted over your neck, pressing soft kisses that left your skin tingling, his whispers weaving through your mind like a spell. You weren't sure who was the addicted one anymore at this rate, he was just so intoxicating. You didn't even care what you were agreeing to by being his.

“You’re fucking mine,” he repeated, his voice trembling with something raw, almost desperate. His dark eyes, half-lidded and glinting with intensity, burned into yours as his hips rolled faster, his breathing growing heavier with each movement. “No one else can have you. No one else can make you feel like this. Say it, puppy. Say you’re mine.”

The plea in his voice, the sheer force of his presence, left no room for hesitation. His long, dark hair clung to his damp temples, strands brushing against your flushed cheeks as you gasped, “I’m yours,” your voice trembling, your words barely more than a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone thick with satisfaction, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as his strong hands tightened their grip on your hips. His pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate, more insistent, as though he were imprinting himself into every part of you.

Your body tensed, trembling in his hold as heat overwhelmed you, his relentless movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cried out softly, clinging to his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his taut muscles as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

Suguru groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself deeper, his release following yours in a shuddering rush. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you against him as though afraid you might slip away, his strength grounding you even as your limbs went limp in his arms.

His head dropped to your shoulder, his long lashes brushing against your skin as his breaths came in heavy, uneven pants. The heat of him radiated against you, his broad chest rising and falling as he clung to you, his fingers now stroking your back in slow, almost reverent movements.

He pressed a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing a vow. “You’ll always be mine,” he whispered, his voice low, possessive, and tinged with a vulnerability that cracked through his usual confidence. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he feared the very idea of losing you.

And as you lay against him, too worn to think, too lost in the haze of his touch to resist, you felt the weight of his words settle over you like a chain you couldn’t break—and, in some part of you, didn’t want to.

It wasn’t like Suguru was a bad partner by any means. In fact, he was perfect. Almost too perfect.

He was like a man pulled straight out of a drama, always knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to make you melt under his touch. He made you feel good, even if the acts he coaxed you into were sometimes a little embarrassing, leaving you flushed and breathless in his arms.

“Good pup,” he’d murmur with a satisfied smirk as he filled you to the brim over and over, the praises rolling off his tongue like honey. He had a way of making you crave his approval, of making you feel special—his and his alone.

And after he consumed another curse, when the bitterness lingered in his mouth, he’d find you, need you. He’d kiss you deeply, claiming your taste as his salvation, before trailing his lips down your body, leaving you trembling beneath him.

When he reached the place where he craved you most, his tongue would glide between your thighs, his movements deliberate, calculated. His firm hands gripped your hips with a strength that kept you from squirming too much, though the way you trembled beneath him only fueled his need to have his tongue buried inside you. Suguru reveled in the way you gasped and moaned, your body arching into him, surrendering to his touch. He’d drink your juices as if they were the key to getting that awful taste out of his mouth, his tongue teasing and coaxing until you fell apart, only for him to push you further, again and again.

He especially savored the moments when you gushed on his tongue, your legs quivering, your hands clutching at his hair or the sheets. He’d slow down just to torment you, letting his tongue flick against your sensitive clit in slow, lazy kitten licks, watching as your body writhed, overwhelmed by the overstimulation. Tears would pool in your eyes, your vision blurry as you looked down at him, and Suguru would grin, knowing he had reduced you to this state.

But his favorite indulgence came after, when he pushed himself back inside you, filling you completely once more. When he was spent, he’d make sure nothing went to waste. Suguru would lean down, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap up the white sticky mess he left behind. The act was as much for him as it was for you, his gaze locking onto yours as he gathered the mixture of your arousal and his release. Then, with calculated slowness, he’d spit the warm substance onto your tongue, his voice a low growl as he commanded, “Swallow it, pup. Every drop.”

But Suguru wasn’t always this intense, this insatiable. He had a sweet side, one that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold night.

He’d hold your hand as you walked together, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt almost innocent. At night, he’d pull you into his chest, his arms a protective cage as his breaths evened out, soft and peaceful. His presence was comforting, grounding, even if you sometimes caught a glimpse of something darker lurking beneath.

Your parents adored him.

The first time they met Suguru, he was the picture of charm—polite, attentive, and disarmingly sweet. He brought your mother flowers, complimented her cooking with such genuine enthusiasm that she beamed for the rest of the night. He helped your father carry groceries without being asked, engaging him in an easy conversation that left your dad chuckling over some shared joke.

“He’s wonderful,” your mother whispered to you that evening, practically glowing. “The kind of man every parent dreams their child will marry.”

And for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe it.

After all, Suguru was wonderful. He made you feel seen, wanted, cherished. He kissed away your doubts, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But beneath his sweetness, there was something possessive, something all-consuming that clung to you like a shadow.

You tried not to think about it too much—the way his smile tightened when someone got too close to you, the way his hand on your waist sometimes felt like a claim. Because when he held you at night, his voice soft and full of love as he murmured how much you meant to him, it was easy to forget the weight of the chains you wore

[scarletwinterxx]

my ins and my means, with you there's no in between I'm all in - kwon soonyoung imagine

helloooo ~ here's a short cute fic, saw a tiktok the other day, that's what inspired this🤭hope you like it!

for my other svt fics, check them here

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The night before had been nothing short of a storm. The kind where voices were raised, words were said that didn’t need to be, and feelings were hurt. But here you were, the morning after, standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself as you carefully dabbed on foundation, the still-slightly-raw emotions of last night lingering in the air between you and Soonyoung.

He was sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, eyes glued to the screen of his phone, but his attention kept drifting back to you. You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, the warmth of his stare prickling your neck like a soft breeze.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Not yet.

“Do you really have to stare at me like that?” you asked, your voice not quite as sharp as you wanted it to be, but still carrying a slight edge.

“I’m not staring,” Soonyoung said, shifting his position but not moving his eyes from you. “Just admiring.”

You caught his reflection in the mirror. His lips were pulled into a grin, eyes crinkled with the smallest hint of mischief. He was trying. You could tell.

He was trying to make it right, but you were still holding on to the grudge from last night. The argument, though now over, still simmered beneath the surface.

As you reached for your blush, you paused for a moment, taking in the sight of him. his eyes still glued to you like he couldn’t look away, his entire posture slouched and resigned, like a puppy who'd been scolded and was waiting for forgiveness. The mental image made your lips twitch, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You applied the blush with delicate strokes, the brush sweeping across your cheeks. The mirror caught the movement of your lips, and that’s when you let it slip—a soft smile that reached your eyes, despite yourself. The act of applying makeup was almost like a ritual, and that smile, however small, was a part of it.

But just as you did, Soonyoung’s grin widened. He leaned forward a little, his chin now resting on his hand, his face full of expectation, like he’d won some sort of silent victory.

It was too much.

You turned toward him and gave him a playful but pointed look. “I’m not smiling at you,” you said, your tone as deadpan as you could manage, but the twinkle in your eye gave you away. “This is how I put my blush.”

His face fell slightly, the corners of his mouth sagging just a little, but you could see the effort he was putting into holding back a chuckle.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” you added, holding his gaze in the mirror. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Soonyoung blinked at you, his eyebrows lifting in mock surprise. “You’re still mad at me?” he said, sounding almost hurt, but there was a soft grin on his lips that betrayed his true feelings. “But I thought we were over it.”

You hummed noncommittally as you finished applying the blush.

“We’re over it,” you said, “but I’m not just going to forget everything”

The way you said it made him sit up straighter. “Wait, are you really still mad at me?” He stood up now, moving toward you, taking slow, tentative steps like he was afraid you'd snap at him if he came any closer

You smirked, not responding immediately. Instead, you picked up your mascara wand and started applying it with exaggerated slowness, dragging it out just to tease him a little. Your eyes flicked back to the mirror to find Soonyoung standing in your reflection, his head cocked to the side, his expression unreadable but his posture full of gentle desperation.

“Can you hurry up with that?” he asked, his voice soft and pleading. “I just—uh—I need to know if you’re really still mad at me. I mean, if you’re mad, that’s okay, but you don’t have to stay mad forever.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in the chair as if giving up. “Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m not mad at you anymore, okay?”

Soonyoung brightened immediately, and just when you thought he might burst into song or do something equally ridiculous, he simply stepped closer, his expression softening. “Really?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like he was asking permission to be forgiven.

“Yeah,” you sighed again, looking up at him through the mirror. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am cute,” he confirmed with an exaggerated nod. “So, we’re good now?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” you said, finally finishing with your mascara and setting it down. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you off easy. You have to at least follow me around today like you’re trying to make up for your mistakes.”

Soonyoung’s eyes brightened, and his face lit up in a way that made your heart do a little flip. “I’m already on it,” he said, with all the seriousness he could muster, which, truth be told, wasn’t much. “You need anything? I’m at your service. I’ll be your personal assistant for the day.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing him carefully. “You’re just going to follow me around like a lost puppy?”

He nodded eagerly. “Exactly! A cute, loyal puppy who’s sorry for whatever it was I did last night. Actually make it a cute baby tiger. Anything you need, I’m there. I’ll even carry your purse if you want.”

“I’ll pass on the purse carrying, thank you,” you said, shaking your head as you grabbed your jacket. “But you can carry the coffee. You owe me that much.”

“I’m on it,” he said, practically skipping toward the door to get his shoes. “I’ll get it extra hot. Extra sweet. Just the way you like it.”

As you stepped into the living room, you could hear him rummaging through the kitchen, asking questions about where you kept the cups and what kind of sugar you liked. He was a whirlwind of energy, buzzing around you like he couldn’t help himself.

For the rest of the day, Soonyoung stuck to you like glue, hovering around you with that same puppy-eyed expression that made it hard to stay mad at him for long. Whether it was getting your coat for you or holding open doors, he did it all with a little extra enthusiasm, as though he thought that maybe, just maybe, if he was extra attentive, it would make up for last night.

By the end of the day, when you were both sitting together, sharing a quiet moment, you realized you couldn’t remember what you were so upset about in the first place. Maybe it was the way he grinned at you, or how he offered you the last bite of his sandwich without a second thought. Whatever it was, Soonyoung had a way of making everything right again, even when things felt wrong.

And, as you leaned into him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder, you found yourself smiling—this time, for real.

[ohdeerfully]

Hi,

I was wondering if I could request a story. Alastor x reader although they’re more friends at the beginning. And something thats probably not canon.

The reader is doing research for the hotel trying to find proof that souls can be redeemed. In her search she stumbles across newspaper archives about the Louisiana killer. Knowing that its Alastor she becomes interested and through more digging she discovers that his victims were actually all criminals ie rapists, drug dealers etc. She prints some of the info out (I don’t know why) and then back at the hotel she accidentally drops some of the papers and Alastor sees them. I’m not sure where to go from here, I want Alastor to get a bit angry but reader assures him that his secret is safe with them.

I know its long I’m sooorrry! Let me know what you think.

💙💙

heyyy!! thank u for the request sorry it took literal ages to touch...this short fic contains NO ROMANCE sorry alastor lovers. but i hope you still enjoy!

Silence Your Soul

Alastor x Reader (platonic) TW: nothing specific? alastor is a jerk but whos surprised. hazbin typical crimes

masterlist join my discord!

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After Charlie gave you a second chance at her hotel, saving you from the streets in the city of Pride, you were nothing but devoted to her cause. Offering her a hand in trying to prove that the damned can be forgiven and offered a spot in Heaven was the least you could do—although it wasn’t easy.

It was a late evening when you found yourself in an unkempt library at the edge of the city, only tended by a single employee that probably hasn’t seen a soul in weeks. Her excitement upon your arrival made you feel bad, seeing her nearly jump out of her chair as she greeted you made her loneliness awkwardly obvious. You exchanged pleasantries before meandering through the dusty aisles.

You had given yourself a challenge that you weren’t even sure was possible to complete; it seemed more so just busy work to keep you from getting bored at the hotel. Finding proof of redemption for one of Hell’s most prolific Overlords was crazy work, but you assumed if it was possible then virtually any other demon could be forgiven.

Fingers trailed over the spines of historical books and biographies, pursing your lips as you searched the overwhelming amount of titles at your disposal. As rundown as this library was, you would guess it had the inventory of hundreds of ordinary libraries you’d typically find while alive. It didn’t help that you really didn’t have a starting point—you had no clue if you’d even find anything written on Alastor. You only had a vague idea that he was a murderer in Louisiana.

By tedious preservation you eventually managed to find a biography very succinctly titled “Alastor - New Orleans Terror.” You clasped your hands together and raised it to the sky in relief before grabbing the dusty cover and bringing it to the front of the library. After a brief conversation and being asked to sign up for a library card—although more often than not books were never returned—you were on your way back to the hotel.

Charlie had provided you with a little office to do your work in, a small gesture as thanks for your dedication to her idea. You locked your office door and sat down at your desk, pulling a packet of sticky notes and a few pens closer before opening the biography on the resident Radio Demon.

A few hours later, around midnight, you decided to call it for the day with a hefty slam to the book cover. You pushed your chair away from the desk and stretched your arms above your head, bending your back over the head of the chair until a satisfying series of cracks went up your spine. You slumped back down and began to tidy up your area.

The book had a littering of tabs sticking out of the pages, numbered to follow the bullet pointed notes you wrote down on a few sheets of paper. You were pleasantly surprised with what you found out about Alastor, although now you weren’t sure how it would help Charlie’s case in proving all souls can be redeemed. Murder is bad, yes, undoubtedly, but a strong case could be made for Alastor regarding who and why he killed. His reasonings were rather… kind? Somehow? As kind as murder can be.

You tucked the loose pages into the back of the book, holding it firmly to keep all your notes contained. You clicked off your lamp, stood up, pushed your chair back under the desk, and left your office.

Investigators at the scenes of his murders always drew to a similar conclusion—his victims were often rapists, abusers, and two were even politicians with links to trafficking operations. Murder… could be forgiven in this case, right? Of course, Alastor is in Hell for a reason, he’s actually insane and extremely manipulative, but his reasonings for the actual crimes he committed were—

Your thoughts were cut off as you rounded the corner and full body slammed into the man of the hour himself. Shit, how did you not sense his presence? Or, better, how did he not sense yours?

The book in your hand flew almost comically a few paces away, pages scattering out and landing in a messy halo around the book. You took a few stumbling steps backwards, hand pressed against your nose, aching from the impact. Your eyes were blurred with pained tears as you lifted your gaze to Alastor’s smiling expression.

“Hey, shit, I’m sorry,” You said quickly, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you dropped your hand from your face. You began walking towards the book. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Alastor was faster, beating you to the mess with his much larger stride. “No worries at all, my dear!” He said all too cheerfully for it being the middle of the night. “Awareness goes both ways after all!”

He hummed as he bent over, swooping up the biography with his name plastered grandly on the front. His shit eating grin somehow doubled as he looked back at you, his long index finger tapping on the cover. 

“A fan?”

“Hardly,” You rolled your eyes, playing a bit coy to counter his confidence. “Just picked it up at the library. Since I work for Charlie I figured I could learn a bit about our more famous residents.” 

Your act didn’t seem to put a damper on his cheer as he briefly thumbed through the biography, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the numbered sticky notes. His red eyes casted towards you before looking down at the similarly numbered sheets of paper by his feet. You sucked in a breath before gritting your teeth. You could probably explain yourself through this if you thought fast enough. 

He knelt and gathered the pages, placing the book down so he could use both hands to shuffle through the papers. You waited, tense, as his eyes scanned your notes. As painfully quiet moments passed, you saw his brows furrow and grin grow tighter.

When he looked back at you, his expression remained calm, but you could tell by the harsher prickling of static on your skin that he was frustrated. 

“While I’m quite pleased to see someone so interested in my living affairs,” He said rather forcefully as he stood, papers still gripped tightly in one hand. “This extensive meddling is rather annoying. What was it they said about… that one curious cat?”

The air grew a bit dangerous with his words as his voice dripped with venomous radio static. You were frozen in place, thoughts flying in every possible direction for words to calm the Overlord.

“H-hey, I’m just working for Charlie, you know, like I said earlier,” Your explanation came in an embarrassing stutter. You figured you may as well just tell the truth, although leaving out the part that you chose to research him. Of course, maybe it would butter him up enough to let you go if you told him how interesting you found him and his previous life; you chose to keep your dignity for now.

“Well, I ask you to leave me out of it,” He responded quickly, and you knew he wasn’t really asking. You nodded feverishly, promising to obey and reaching for the papers in his hand. He tutted before moving his hand away.

“I assume you’ve dedicated quite some time to this research, no?” He mused, waving the stack of pages tantalizingly just out of your reach. You sighed in defeat, hand falling to your side. 

“Yeah, a bit,” You admitted, folding your arms. He laughed for a moment and then you saw a green aura emanate from his palm before a burst of flame consumed the papers. Your mouth twisted into a frown as you watched green-tipped embers of your hard work sizzle into nothing on the red carpet below.

“Well! Then that’s far too much sensitive information on my history, so better it to be gone,” He explained, patting his hands together to rid them of any remaining debris. His eyes then turned to the book, swiftly picking it back up.

“Such a fine piece of literature, really,” He sighed dreamily, theatrically tracing a finger over his own name. It almost made you sneer—what a self-absorbed prick. Then, that same green aura lit in his hand. “Shame it has to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not mine, I need to give it back to—” A whoosh of bright flame cut off your pleas, and you groaned in aggravation as shards of the book crumpled by his feet. You watched in helpless defeat as Alastor burned any remaining bridges to his living history. Perhaps that book managed to slip under his nose all these years as he built up his title as an Overlord. Now you had the awkward chore of trying to explain to the librarian why you can’t return her book.

“So…” Shit, that ominous tone in his voice was back as he met your gaze. You couldn’t handle the eye contact, so you swiftly looked to the side, down the hall, in meager hopes that anybody could interrupt this scene and save your sorry ass.

“All that remains, my dear, is you,” He stepped closer, and you similarly stepped backwards. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy, the lighting too dark. Were you crazy, or were the shadows in the corners stretching towards you?

“I can’t have you running around Hell, whispering my secrets into the ears of the unworthy majority, right? No… that wouldn’t do at all,” Another step forward from him, another back for you. This continued for a few steps before your back hit a wall, sending a freezing chill down your spine. You knew running would only enhance his drive to strike you down, so you remained stuck in place. 

The antlers on his head seemed to expand and grow sharper as he reached a hand towards you. You squeezed your eyes shut and grit your teeth. If anything, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. 

The burn of flames never touched your skin, nor did the sting of tearing flesh. You cracked open your eyes, and saw that his arm hovered only a foot away from you, palm turned upwards. His piercing red eyes bore into your own, never leaving even when you struggled to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately for me, maybe fortunately for you, Charlie is very fond of you,” He sighed dramatically. “But, still, I can’t have you walking freely around knowing what you know. You are now the last source of my history. So…”

His hand nudged, regaining your attention. You swallowed a lump in your throat, adrenaline still pumping through your entire body and creating an uncomfortable pounding in your head.

“My soul..?” 

Alastor’s eyes rolled before his grin curled maliciously. “Well, obviously, how else will I keep you from opening that mouth of yours?”

Your fingers instinctively reached towards your chest, toying with the fabric of your shirt. Was it really worth it?

“I don’t know how much of an incentive you need here, my dear,” He laughed, although his tone gave away his slight impatience. “You give me your soul and your silence, and I give you… your pitiful life. Hm. Sounds fair to me!” 

You chewed on your cheek. Man, fuck it, you didn’t really want to risk finding out if Charlie’s friendship was truly enough to keep Alastor from killing you. Your hand shot forward before you could give yourself any more time to ponder—or, any more time for Alastor to lose his patience and change his mind. 

As soon as your hand folded around his, a near blinding flash of green light forced your eyes shut as you turned your head away, a squealing and staticy noise filling your ears as you felt a heavy pressure on your neck and a lightness in your chest. In a brief moment, the room fell silent again and Alastor yanked his hand from yours.

You slowly opened your eyes again, timidly looking towards him. You didn’t really have any words at this point, only a sense of loss you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“There, all settled,” He spoke cheerfully, a complete contradiction of his actions just seconds prior. “Have a goodnight.”

Without another glance, he turned heel and walked away, a light hum playing from his lips. You stood there, staring aimlessly down the hallway and then down at the carpet where blackened ashes of his history stood.

Honestly, right now you were just grateful you weren’t a part of the pile.

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up, festive buttercups! 🎄✨

We’re back with another chapter of Sexy Christmas, and this one is for all my Matthew Tkachuk fans. 🖤 Who doesn’t love a little teasing, a little heat, and a whole lot of “naughty list” energy? Matthew had an absolute blast starring in this cheeky, steamy tale, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

As always, thank you for all the love and feedback—it keeps this holiday magic alive! Let me know what you think of this naughty little treat, and don’t forget to tell me if Matthew’s making your naughty list this year 🎁🔥

Merry reading, my lovelies!

xo ❤️

➼｡ﾟ

Santa’s Naughty List - Matthew Tkachuk

The hockey player teases OC about being on Santa’s naughty list, but by the end of the night, it’s clear they’re both interested in exploring who’s been the naughtiest this Christmas.

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Matthew Tkachuk x reader, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), sexual intercourse with guests in the house

Word count: 2.7K

The annual team Christmas party at the captain’s residence was in full swing, a mix of laughter, holiday music, and the clinking of glasses filling the room. Matthew Tkachuk had been his usual self all evening—charming, quick with a joke, and somehow always finding his way back to you no matter where you moved in the room.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to exchange playful banter, but tonight, there was something else in his tone, something that sent shivers down your spine whenever his gaze lingered a little too long.

You were standing by the bar, sipping a glass of wine, when he approached again, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Careful there,” he teased, nodding to your glass. “Too much of that and Santa might just keep you on the naughty list.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh? And what makes you so sure I’m on the naughty list?”

Matthew stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you in the dim light. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge still there but laced with something deeper. “I’ve got my reasons,” he said, his eyes trailing over you briefly before locking onto yours. “But I guess we’ll just have to find out how naughty you’ve been, won’t we?”

Your cheeks warmed, though you refused to let him see you falter. “Bold of you to assume I’m the naughty one. What about you?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone low and inviting. “I’ve made peace with being on that list a long time ago.”

The heat in his voice, combined with the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, sent a thrill through you. You weren’t sure if it was the wine, the festive atmosphere, or just the way Matthew seemed to have your full attention tonight, but your heart was racing.

“Prove it,” you said, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your voice.

Matthew’s grin widened, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of surprise before he leaned even closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Careful what you wish for,” he warned, his voice a husky whisper.

The party continued around you, but it felt as if the two of you were in your own little bubble. When Matthew reached for your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you followed him without question as he guided you away from the noise and into a quieter corner of the house.

The room, seemingly a mix of a home office and lounge area, he led you to was warm and softly lit, the faint glow of Christmas lights from outside spilling through the window. He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place making your breath hitch.

Matthew turned to face you, his eyes dark and filled with an intensity that made your pulse race. “Now,” he said, his voice steady, his hands finding your hips as he stepped closer, “let’s see who’s really been naughty.”

You tilted your head, your hands finding their way to his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

He smirked, his hands sliding up your sides as he pulled you flush against him. “Then it’s only fair we settle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, the tension between you igniting like a spark catching fire.

Your hands moved to his neck, tangling in his curly hair as his grip on your waist tightened. His lips were insistent, his movements deliberate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long.

“Matts,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips as he kissed along your jawline, his hands exploring with a mix of confidence and reverence.

“Just tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, though his actions made it clear he hoped you wouldn’t.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

Matthew’s lips claimed yours with a playful urgency, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you against him, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest when your breath hitched. The chaise pressed against the back of your legs, and with a teasing nudge, he guided you down onto the soft cushions, his body following close behind.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as he hovered over you, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Who would’ve thought Santa’s naughtiest little elf would look this good under me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your grin gave you away. “Says the guy who’s been on the naughty list for years.”

“Touché,” he replied, dipping his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver as his hands slid beneath your blouse, fingers splaying across your bare waist. “But tonight… I think I’m about to outdo myself.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, your fingers finding their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your breath caught slightly as his broad, toned chest came into view. “Show me what you’ve got, Tkachuk.”

“I told you: careful what you wish for,” he shot back with a wink, his lips curving into a wicked grin before capturing yours again. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours as his hands moved higher, pulling your blouse off and tossing it aside.

His eyes roamed over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “If this is what being on the naughty list gets me, I’m staying there forever.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips trailed lower, tracing the curve of your collarbone before descending to the swell of your chest. His hands made quick work of your bra, and when it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing, he leaned back just enough to take in the sight of you again.

“Absolutely perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist as his lips followed the path of his gaze. His kisses grew bolder, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your back arch beneath him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he worked his way lower, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Matts,” you said, your voice trembling but laced with a teasing edge. “Are you just going to admire me all night, or…?”

He grinned against your skin, his hands hooking into the waistband of your trousers. “Patience, babe,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mischief. “Santa’s got a whole list to check off.”

You laughed, but again, it quickly turned into a gasp as he tugged your trousers down, his hands sliding over your bare thighs with deliberate slowness. “Mat- Mmm…” you began, but the words died on your lips as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your hip.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk as he looked up at you. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve.”

Matthew’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in slow, teasing circles. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the room, but all you could focus on was him—his smirk, his dark eyes that seemed to burn with unspoken promises, and the way he made your breath hitch with every deliberate touch.

He trailed kisses along your inner thigh, his lips warm and lingering, each one building the tension that was already crackling between you. “You’ve been good at hiding just how bad you want this,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement, his hands slipping higher.

“Matt…” you breathed, your voice catching as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down with agonising slowness. The cool air hit your skin for only a moment before his warm hands replaced it, his touch confident but maddeningly slow.

“I said patience, babe,” he teased, his lips hovering just above the sensitive spot that had you arching into him. “I’m enjoying this way too much to rush.”

Your fingers curled into the chaise beneath you as his lips finally found your core, his touch gentle at first, exploring and deliberate, like he was savouring every moment. The heat of his mouth and the firm pressure of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking slightly against him as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and hunger as he glanced up at you. His hands slid to your hips, holding you steady as he pressed deeper, his movements growing bolder, more purposeful. Each stroke, each swirl of his tongue was designed to drive you closer to the edge, and the way he watched your every reaction only added to the intensity.

You gasped his name, your hands finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly as he continued his slow, deliberate assault on your senses. “Matthew… I—”

“Mmm yes, that's it,” he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you as he worked you closer to your climax. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The heat built steadily, his touch never faltering, his hands and lips working in perfect harmony until the tension inside you snapped. Your release crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his hands, his name spilling from your lips in a broken moan.

Matthew didn’t pull away immediately, his movements gentle as he eased you through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs soothingly. When he finally looked up at you, his lips glistening and his eyes heavy with satisfaction, he grinned. “That’s one thing checked off the naughty list.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushed as you tugged him up to meet you. “Your turn,” you murmured, your hands already working at the button of his jeans. The firelight painted his skin in golden hues as you helped him out of the last of his clothing, your breath catching at the sight of him.

His smirk returned as he settled over you, his body pressing against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. “Think you can handle me?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze dark with desire.

“Try me,” you shot back, your eyes staring at his length with hunger, your tongue sensually licking your lips. “Maybe I’ll just have a bit of a taste first.” 

And Mattew would most definitely not say no to that. 

His smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and anticipation as he watched you. “A taste, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. “Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

Matthew shifted, standing back slightly to give you room, his muscular frame still towering over you. His hands moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as he watched you with a heated gaze, his breath hitching as your lips brushed over his skin, teasing.

Kneeling on the chaise, your eyes stayed locked on his as you leaned forward, your tongue flicking out to trace a slow, deliberate line along his length. The groan that escaped his lips was deep and guttural, his head falling back briefly before his dark eyes found yours again. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his grip in your hair tightening slightly as you took him deeper, your tongue swirling as you set a steady, purposeful rhythm using your hand as well.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, his thighs flexing as he fought to hold himself together. His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he let out a string of curses, his hands tightening in your hair to guide you just a little more firmly.

“You’re… unreal,” he managed, his voice breaking as his hips bucked slightly against you. “So fucking good.”

The power you held over him was intoxicating, the way he reacted to every flick of your tongue, every shift of your lips making you feel bolder. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him as deeply as you could, and the groan that tore from his throat was almost a growl.

“Shit,” Matthew rasped, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pulled you back gently, his breathing uneven. His eyes were wild, his lips parted as he stared down at you, his voice low and thick with desire. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

You smirked, your lips brushing over him one last time before you sat back, your hands sliding up his thighs. “Guess we’ll have to finish this another way, then,” you teased, your voice sultry as you pulled him back toward you.

Matthew didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, shifting you effortlessly as he hovered over you again, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His body pressed against yours, his hands exploring every inch of your skin as he settled between your thighs, his cock hard and insistent against your core.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough as he lined himself up with your entrance, his gaze locking onto yours. “The best kind of trouble.”

You gasped as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch and heat of him sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. Matthew groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he filled you completely, one hand gripping the small sofa as though anchoring himself, while the other held you hip steady.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one calculated to drive you insane. The friction, the pressure, the way his body fit perfectly with yours—it was almost too much.

Your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into him, meeting his rhythm with your own. “Matt,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his movements growing faster, more desperate as his restraint began to slip. His lips found yours again, his kiss messy and unrelenting, his hand guiding your hip to meet each thrust as the tension between you coiled tighter and tighter.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling as you felt the wave of pleasure building inside you, your body clinging to his as he drove you closer to the edge.

“Not planning to. I’ve got you, baby,” Matthew murmured, his voice rough and full of promise as his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name, your body trembling beneath him.

Matthew followed just moments later, his thrusts growing erratic as he let go, his groan of release muffled against your neck as he shuddered above you. For a long moment, the two of you stayed tangled together, your bodies pressed close as you caught your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing over your jawline in a series of soft, lingering kisses, he grinned down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Guess I’m definitely staying on the naughty list this year,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “Definitely. If that’s what being naughty feels like, I’m never getting off it.”

Matthew smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll stay there together,” he murmured, his voice warm and low as he nuzzled into your neck. “Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, your heart full as you tilted your head to meet his gaze, brushing a soft kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, Matts.”

[knot-ee]

Truthfully it was warmer than Megumi usually slept at comfortably, but he WAS comfortable. Comfortable and safe in the arms of his fathers. Arms he had not been enveloped by for more than thirteen years yet it felt both familiar and like longing. Something he had been so intimately familiar with that it was almost like breathing yet had it been breath -- he would have died long, long ago. Children never forgot though. Toji's face had become a blur, forced like that because of pain, but children did not forget.

While awake Megumi would not remember how his father held him diligently every day, but the sleeping soul remembered. Megumi snuffled impossibly closer as if he was he was trying to become one with his dad. His knee bent and his leg swung over to get a better hold of his dad. Little beads of sweat doted his forehead, the back of his neck, and even down his back, but he didn't let go... not entirely. More than once Megumi woke up with a little start. Memories of Shibuya, Sukuna, and Mahoraga haunted him... made him feel guilty for having a decent night's rest.

The person who had taken care of him when his father left, Satoru Gojo, had also been bested and trapped. It was Toji's hold he longed for yet it had been Satoru who had been there for Megumi and his sister. It was the guilt, the impending doom, AND it was the strangeness of another person's warmth. He and Tsumiki had shared a futon when they were left alone, and after they moved they occasionally slept in the same bed. It had been a long time since then and even then it was different.

Toji's big arms were around him. His startled heart beat returned to normal and despite his guilt, he nuzzled his face closer. Just one night. Part of Megumi was sure this would never last. He was being too clingy though, wasn't he? He dropped his leg and stopped coiling his arm around his father's torso. He would have moved more but Toji had a firm hold on him and he didn't want to wake the man up. Like a baby, he just curled up against his dad.

It was far too long occupied in his thoughts before he fell asleep. Before he knew it, he had dreams his father was walking out the door. Dreams, rather nightmares, Satoru and Toji were arguing. Satoru was dead. Yuji was missing. He woke up comfortable of body but distraught of mind. It was morning but the light was shielded by the thick curtains. Only the faintest of traces of light hit the hit edges of the wall and ceiling let Megumi know what time it was. He moved his head to look at his father.

It was near pitch black but he thought he could make out his father's sleeping expression. He looked scary yet handsome. A full bladder knocked Megumi into action, and he so very slooowly extricated himself from his father. Part of the boy's face and his arm were numb from being so flush against another body and for such a long amount of time. He moved off the bed as carefully as he could and went to the bathroom where he emptied his bladder, washed his face, and brushed his teeth.

The walls were thick in such a nice hotel that the noise shouldn't have disturbed Toji. Megumi still great care not to disturb the man. He didn't know why. They had to move away from their fucked up family vacation. With no phone and no way to communicate with his classmates and senseis, Megumi really felt guilty and out of the loop; they were probably worried sick. He didn't know what he was doing but Megumi put on his boots and began tip toeing for the door when he heard the mattress creak.

There was no way he would have known that this is how they’d end up, in bed practically snuggling. Toji had some idea of how Megumi would react after he woke. He expected to be met with anger, hate, disgust even. But this… he wasn’t prepared for. He almost felt bad as if he was taking advantage of his son’s clear need for his attention and affection. Although he didn’t deserve this so soon, he almost felt greedy for it now that he’d gotten a taste. He wonders if Megumi was like this with Gojo, it wasn’t jealousy just curiosity he tells himself.

There’s no way he’s cut out to be a dad, he never was and still wasn’t now. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this was his child. That he somehow contributed to creating something so perfect. He can’t stop thinking about all the memories he spent so long trying to erase, trying to pretend didn’t happen. Those paternal instincts were still there even if he didn’t exactly express them as a normal father would perhaps. Toji somehow still knew what Megumi wanted and needed. Though of course, he thinks Megumi needs to stay far away from him, he’s already coming to terms with the fact that he nor Megumi is the type to always do the rational thing. When they really wanted something…

Even if Megumi didn’t outright say it, he knew. He knew that Megumi wanted to feel him close, wanted some sort of physical contact. He can’t help but smile softly when he feels his son slowly easing into his arms, relaxing and melting against him. He was like a prickly cat, so defensive and wary at first, but just a little love, and suddenly he is purring in his lap. Megumi is so fucking cute, he finds himself thinking as he looks down at his son. Continuing to stroke his hair and rub his back soothingly.

Then Toji almost has a fucking heart attack when he hears Megumi ever so softly say “Dad.” His heart almost fucking stopped! He tenses slightly but thankfully Megumi is already asleep. Toji inhales deeply through his nose and continues to rub their back. Trying to ignore the way one simple word from Megumi has filled with so much fucking warmth he didn’t know how to handle it. The coward he was wanted to push Megumi away and run for it. But looking down at Megumi’s peaceful face, one look and he finds himself hugging him closer. Pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, he closes his eyes and just lets himself drown in the overwhelming feelings for a moment.

“I’m here, Gumi. Dad is here now.” He murmurs lowly to his sleeping son.

Fuck, he’s so damn screwed. How the hell did Megumi worm his way into his heart again so damn easily? After years of becoming a cold ruthless killer who didn’t care about anyone including his son, suddenly it was like all the hard work he put into not feeling, all of that just shattered. He felt so damn much, wanted things he never thought he’d want again in life. Most of all he wanted to make Megumi happy. To protect him and at least make him content. If the simple act of holding him made him happy then fuck it. What the hell did he have to lose now? He’s already died once. He will have to make sure he teaches Megumi not to expect much from him, he was still a piece of shit, but he could at least give him this, at this moment.

Toji doesn’t fall asleep right away, he watches Megumi sleeping peacefully, his hands occasionally pushing hair from his face or stroking it, or running down his back. He does this until finally, he feels sleep taking him. The man finally lets his eyes close and drifts off into a surprisingly peaceful slumber. Burying his nose in Megumi’s hair he hugs him close in his sleep. Father who was so much larger than his son, enveloped and held him protectively close as they slept. They snuggled warmly under the blankets, sharing one pillow with how close they were pressed against each other, as if both were clinging on afraid to let go, terrified the other would disappear.

[thefandomsfervent]

Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 15) - Rich Gold

This is a jayvik x reader fic now but it'll still be labeled as a Vik Fic until it's fully implemented. Ft. a visit from Mel! Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

Planning on writing as much as I can this weekend to post in bulk before Christmas week, I'll be traveling a distance away and can't bring my laptop with me.

stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

The two men had been working over there for the last hour. The last thirty minutes of which they had spent muttering too quietly to discern. When you cast a look their way, curious about the whispering, you are presented with something very interesting. Jayce was standing by Viktor’s chair, his hand tracing a pattern you couldn’t make out on the lithe man’s back. That usually would not be cause for concern, it wasn’t something you had really seen before but nothing that risqué. The fact that Jayce was bent down by Viktor’s face whispering something that made his pale skin glow red? That was new. And intimate. And something you probably shouldn’t be seeing. 

It stirs a warmth deep in your stomach that you furiously try to tamp down. Whatever was happening over there was not your concern. The sketch you were working on was. When you had shown Viktor and Jayce your sketchbook they both lingered at the same spot. Answer enough. You had several iterations of it sketched out, that should have been a sign. You’ve had this happen before though. Where your subconscious had fully decided on something, and pushed it to you again and again, and it took something else to make you realize that you already knew what you wanted. So you tear your gaze away from whatever flirtations the two were engaging in to go back to your sketch. 

General composition confirmed. Now you need to decide on little details. Foxgloves for ambition. Or Hollyhock? The former also could represent ambition for another person, not just your own glory. Fitting for their commitment to each other and their Hextech dream. Golden Rod for encouragement and Grapes for charity. King Cup for yellow to go with the Golden Rod, and to represent their wish for it to prosper. Purple or yellow for the Carnations to show pride? So many options. The petals of all of these flowers and more were sketched out in front of you. Changing their colors, layering, placement. Part of your panic in selecting a final composition earlier was knowing that Mel would be visiting today. 

She had come in a few days ago looking for Jayce. Something about their next council meeting, What to and not to say. Who to kiss up to. Who to placate. Versing him, and Viktor by association, on the proper etiquette. Viktor had told you once that Jayce already knew everything he really needed to know from his patrons the Kirramans. Yet he listened to her with rapt attention. When she was done with them she floated by your station, ever graceful steps on the tile. Her jewelry clinked softly with each movement, like a quiet chorus of bells and crystals. Something about her presence was anxiety inducing and enchanting all at the same time. She thrummed with something otherworldly. 

Mel had set a date and time for her to visit with you, something that you considered a luxury. A councilor taking interest in your art was one thing. The idea had crossed your mind when you had applied for this project, part of why you had considered it in the first place. Not to climb any ladders, but to make sure you could stay here in Piltover. Now you were teetering on an edge of potential friendship or securing stability. You felt that you were not one whose words were graceful enough to secure, well, anything. Felt that your skills laid in your hands. Hands that you were doing your best to keep moving despite the appointment you had set grew closer and closer to the present. 

You were finally hitting a groove when there was a familiar sound pulling you away from the sketchpad. A scraping sound. The lab door is opening and Mel’s gentle footsteps clack against the tile floor. Smooth and swift movements to cross over the lab. She held a box in one hand. This time she didn’t immediately stop at Jayce’s or Viktor’s station. Direct line of motion to you. You stand and brush your hands against your slacks. When you glance in the men’s direction, they had separated and turned to the both of you. You realized that you did not know if Mel was aware of how deep their partnership ran. A blush on both their faces. It was cute and you try not to smile at the sight. You instead shift your gaze to Mel and offer her your smile instead.

“Forgive the intrusion,” her voice like honey, “are you ready?” 

“Yes! Just a moment.” You’re grabbing a pouch and sketchbook. Today was going to be more of a walk-and-talk situation, you doubted you’d have the time to really draw anything. Still, you wanted to be prepared. As you’re gathering your supplies you hear Mel talking with Viktor and Jayce. 

“Councilor Hoskel sends his regards.” You turn to see Jayce opening the box, the largest bottle of wine you had ever seen and two glasses inside. Piltover’s iconic gold filigree crawling up the bases, stems, and swirling around the bottom of the bowls. Expensive. 

“Whatever for?” Viktor’s holding one of the glasses now, turning it in the light of the lab. Watching as it glitters, it seems that there may be small jewels set into the whorls and swirls. Very expensive. 

“Truth be told, it’s a set he gave me. I thought that it would be better enjoyed here. I know that these meetings are growing repetitive. Consider it an incentive to continue your hard work.” Usually Viktor would scoff and mutter some reply about how they did not need incentives, but he’s eyeing the bottle of wine. It’s Jayce who stutters out their thanks and puts the box on the table behind him. 

Mel just nods, pristine and simple before turning to you. “Shall we?” You give Viktor and Jayce a nod of your own and trail behind her when she starts walking towards the door. The two of you make your way to the hallway. 

“Thank you for making time for this Counc-,” Her head tilts with her raised brow. “Mel.”

“Despite the finery and brilliance here in Piltover it is hard to find minds worth talking to.” Your cheeks heat. That was a compliment right? “If those two let you stay with them, then you must be intriguing.”

“I’m just painting.” It’s hard to keep the doubt out of your voice. Doubt that she thinks you are worth spending her little free time with. Doubt that Jayce and Viktor find you intriguing.

“You have grown close with them. I'm glad. The two are so busy I worry that they forgot how to make friends.” When she notices you falling behind she slows her pace. Having you at her side like you were equals. 

“You're a friend too aren't you?” A genuine question. Jayce had a crush yes, but her frequent visits didn’t imply to you that she returned the sentiment. Her energy was so kind, warm like the sun. It was hard for you to believe that she didn’t want companionship. 

“Mmm. Perhaps. I'm not sure both of them would agree with that." You both give faint laughs at that. She continues. “I would like to be a friend to you though. We will need to find time to paint together soon.” The statement settles around your shoulders, the air around your ears buzzing.

“Yes, I’d like that too.” This time it’s your chest heating, swelling at the thought of being friends with Mel Medarda. “Those two could probably use a solo lab day.”

 “You know with your skills, you could help promote them.” Your steps falter for a moment.

“What do you mean?” Promote them how? Why? Questions she is reading on your face.

“Job security after your painting is done. They'll need someone who can help them advertise, especially once Hextech goes public.” She says it like it’s the only logical conclusion. Finality in her belief alone.

You hadn't thought about that. Well, you had. When you first met them you had brought it up as an idea for someone else to do. Not yourself, you hadn’t assumed it would be you.  And the look on her face tells you she knew that. Like she knows everything. Not in a patronizing way, but in a calming one.

“I’m not sure how they’d feel about that.” They both didn't like the amount of schmoozing they were having to do now. If you helped with anything it could be selecting designs but you weren’t a designer or typographer. And if the other advertisements you’d seen plastered around Piltover spoke for what she would want you to make, it would be their faces. Having their faces plastered around everything is not something you thought they'd like either. This city is all about claiming credit for things that went well and sweeping things under the rug if they didn’t. 

“They are fond of you. I’m sure they would agree to it.” You give a friendly scoff at that word. Fond of you? The word makes your heart warm more than it has already. And your face. The upturn of Mel’s lips doesn’t help either. Nor does the hand she places on your shoulder. “Consider it for a friend?” 

You’re looking at her hand, her arm. Eyes meeting hers. Such genuine eyes. Green and glittering with the gold in her hair, on the freckles speckling her face. You raise a hand slowly to place on hers. “For a friend.”  

“Good!” She pulls her hand away and motions for you to walk with her. “Enough talk of those boys.” You join her side again as you travel around the halls of the Academy. You talk about art, about the pleasant memories you had of Zaun and she lets very little slip of her childhood in Noxus. She shares artists you recognize the names of, some you don’t. You shared that you make your own paint as a hobby. Leading the two of you to the topic of what paints you each preferred. It was nice. Talking to someone about things you truly did understand. Viktor and Jayce would explain their work to you, and you would listen. But finally talking to someone that was just as knowledgeable about art as you were was a breath of fresh air. You were explaining the process of tempera paints, and why you liked making them, not using them when someone calls for Mel. 

A woman holding folders approaches, giving you a onceover before closing the distance. 

“Elora. Is it that time already?” 

“Yes, it seems that-”, she pauses before looking at you again. When Mel nods she resumes. “That there’s been a development on those trade routes we discussed earlier.” 

“Hmm, it’s always something isn’t it.” She turns to you. “Thank you for our time today, a nice escape.” Mel places her hand on your shoulder again. “I do hope you’ll keep our talk in mind.” 

“Ofcourse.” With that she leaves, Elora following behind her. When they round a corner you can hear their voices talking in a hushed tone. Imports and merchants being discussed as their voices and footsteps trail away. You’re left standing in the hallway. Realizing that with the couple hours that have passed you and Mel had traversed to a part of the Academy you were not familiar with. 

A groan leaves you as you turn to where you had come from. So if you had taken a right here, then you should see a vase on your left… 

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

-------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 14-.-Part 16·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .----------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[buneio]

Love letters

Low! Honor Arthur Morgan

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Arthur wrote love letters for the gang's herbalist! but she has never been taught to read before! Arthur learns the truth and offers to teach her!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 Word count: 1051

Content warning(s): Low! Honor Arthur is slightly mean when approaching the situation at first. Reader described as delicate and tiny (if that makes you uncomfortable!!)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Love letters — love letters were the only way Arthur could think of to confess his feelings to the little florist. But when she didn’t come find him after reading his note, his hope crumbled into something cold and bitter.

“You damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, pushing himself off his cot with a frustrated huff. He couldn’t let it fester any longer. Storming through camp, his boots kicking up dust, Arthur resolved to find her.

There she was, her tiny figure sitting beneath one of the old oaks that shaded the camp, her delicate fingers wrapping thin ribbons around bundles of herbs. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing across her soft features as she worked. Her attention was fixed on her task, tying neat little knots to keep the herbs together for Pearson and Susan.

The soft jingle of Arthur’s spurs announced his approach, and her doe-like eyes flickered up to meet his. Her lips parted as if to greet him, but she froze the moment his sharp voice cut through the air.

“You stood me up, girl,” he snapped, his tone gruff and raw with frustration.

She flinched, her hands pausing mid-tie as she gave him a confused, wide-eyed look. She could see the tension in his posture, the storm brewing in his expression, and it unsettled her.

Arthur let out a low growl and leaned heavily against the tree, running a hand across his beard to rein himself in. He hated the way she trembled under his gaze, her usual warmth replaced by hesitance. His voice softened, but the ache in his chest remained.

“You saw my letter,” he rephrased, his tone quieter now, though no less weighted.

Her fingers released the herbs in her lap, letting them rest in her basket. She stood slowly, brushing bits of dirt from her skirt. Her hesitation spoke volumes, but so did her courage as she finally met his gaze.

“I did,” she admitted softly. “I… I’m sure it was lovely, but…” She trailed off, her words faltering as she wrung her hands nervously.

“But?” Arthur pressed, his brows furrowing deeper. He tried to keep his voice steady, coaxing rather than commanding. “C’mon, doll. Spit it out.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she gave a weary sigh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I can’t read it,” she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

Arthur froze. The words sank in, disarming him completely. She couldn’t read?

A pang of guilt hit him square in the chest as he replayed his own harshness in his mind. He sighed deeply, letting the tension in his shoulders melt away as he sank down to sit beside her. His eyes drifted to the basket, where his letter still sat, its envelope slightly crumpled at the edges.

He shook his head at himself. How could he have been so blind? So quick to anger? With a careful hand, he reached for the letter, pulling it from its envelope.

“I’ll read it to you,” he said softly, his voice full of regret and something else — something tender. He reached out, his rough palm brushing her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Doll. It’s alright.”

Her wide eyes lit up with a spark of relief, and she scooted closer to him, her knee brushing his as she stared at the paper he held. To her, the letters were meaningless scribbles, but when Arthur looked at them, they were a piece of his heart laid bare.

“What’s it say, Mister Morgan?” she asked, her voice quiet but hopeful.

Arthur swallowed hard, his palms sweating as he unfolded the paper. He hadn’t expected to read it out loud, and the words felt heavier somehow, knowing she’d hear them from his lips.

“Well…” He cleared his throat and began, his voice low and steady. Each word carried the weight of his feelings — his admiration, his longing, his love.

By the time he finished, silence hung between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. She sat still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she processed what she’d just heard. Who would’ve thought that Arthur Morgan, the rugged, stoic outlaw, could be so… gentle?

“You love me?” she finally whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze steady on hers. “I do,” he admitted, his voice unwavering despite the flutter in his chest.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she bit her lip as a shy smile crept across her face. “I… I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her eyes darting to her lap. “I didn’t think someone like you would ever feel that way about someone like me.”

Arthur frowned, leaning in slightly. “Someone like me?” he echoed. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“You’re strong,” she said quietly. “Brave… you’ve seen so much of the world. Me? I can’t even read a letter proper. I’m just a silly girl who spends her time pickin’ flowers and takin’ care of the horses. Why would you—”

Arthur didn’t let her finish. He reached out, his calloused fingers tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His blue eyes burned with sincerity as he spoke.

“Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There ain’t nothin’ silly about you. You’re the best thing in this camp. Hell, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make this life… worth livin’.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she could only stare at him. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his voice, left her speechless.

“I’ll teach you,” he said after a beat, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Teach me?” she echoed, blinking.

“To read,” he clarified. “Can’t have my Doll missin’ out on all the sweet nothin’s I plan to write her.”

Her cheeks turned crimson, and a giggle escaped her lips despite herself. “You’re somethin’ else, Arthur Morgan.”

“Aww, don’t be too sappy now,” he replied, his voice warm and teasing.

For the first time in a long while, She felt like she truly belonged — like she was more than just a girl picking flowers in the background of someone else’s story. She was his, and he was hers. And for now, that was enough.

[thicccshady]

Bass🔊

Eminem X Reader

Image pulled from Google

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Cursing, Flirting in the workplace

The clock was ticking down—showtime was almost here, but there were still a few minutes left. You loved this part of the gig: the calm before the storm, the moment when you still had control over everything. Focused, concentration laid on your face. You adjusted the levels on the soundboard, double-checking every mic and monitor. You’d been on the road for weeks now, part of the hardworking crew making sure every show went off without a hitch. You prided yourself on being invisible—no drama, no mistakes. But tonight, you felt someone step into your personal space.

Turning, you almost dropped your headphones. There he was—Marshall, eyes scanning the soundboard like it held some kind of secret. He casually leaned against the side of the console, watching you work. His presence was immediate, and you could feel it in the air.

"Yo," he said, his voice low but cutting through the pre-show music you were focused on. "This where the magic happens?"

You blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t said more than three words to you before. "Ha, yeah. Magic’s a strong word, though. Just trying to keep things from sounding like shit."

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Uh, you think you could turn up the bass just a little?" he asked, his voice low but with that unmistakable edge of confidence. "The crowd’s gotta feel it, you know what I mean?"

You didn’t look up right away, though you could hear the teasing in his tone. "You trying to shake the walls before the crowd even gets here?" you asked, your fingers still dancing over the faders.

He shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in just a little closer. "Maybe. Can’t have ‘em catching Z’s before I even step on stage."

You shot him a raised eyebrow, a challenging grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, so you’re worried they’ll doze off halfway through your set?"

He smirked. "Nah, nah, I’m good, but it wouldn’t hurt if you cranked up the volume a bit. Help a guy out, y’know? I’d like to keep my stamina for something else." He winked.

You shook your head, a small chuckle escaping. "Loud doesn’t always equal good, Marshall. You wanna rattle the whole place, go ahead. But we’re gonna be dealing with complaints."  

"Fuck complaints,” he said with a shrug, a playful smirk still on his lips. "Let ‘em feel it. They’ll remember this show."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t completely dismiss his request, tweaking the fader slightly. "Yeah, well, I guess it wouldn’t be an Eminem show without you trying to blow out the speakers." 

Marshall threw his hands up in surrender. “Shit, it was one time!” He watched as you let out a small breathy laugh. “Thanks for saving my ass during that, by the way.”

Determined to stay focused, you rummaged through a draw under the soundboard. “Yeah, no problem. Just doing my job.”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost intimate as he stepped a bit closer, his eyes following your every movement. "I’m just saying, sound’s important. It’s the backbone, you know? Without it, what’s left?"

You returned to the board, adjusted the sliders, trying not to let his words affect you, but you could feel the tension building between you—something unspoken, something more than just the sound mix.

He leaned in closer, pointing at a fader. His finger brushed against yours just as you adjusted it, and the slight contact sent a jolt through you. You froze for a second, your heart skipping a beat, but you didn’t pull your hand away. Instead, you slid the fader, your fingers lingering just a touch too long on the knob.  

"Sorry," he murmured, clearly not meaning it. He pulled his hand back, but he didn’t step away. His voice was quieter now, the tone more intense. "Didn’t mean to throw you off."  

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. "You’re fine," you replied, your voice a little strained, but you didn’t meet his gaze, focusing instead on the board in front of you. "We’ve got less than five minutes before the crowd comes in."  

Marshall shifted, stepping behind you, his body still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. His smirk softened into something more genuine, and he glanced over your shoulder at the soundboard. "You know your the shit. I can tell. Most of these guys would’ve just slapped the board and hoped for the best, but you’re on it, making it look pretty easy.” He lingered on the word “pretty”.

You snorted, trying to keep the mood light and ignore the heat traveling to your face. "It’s not a competition, but the board needs a little foreplay first. You can’t just slap her and expect magic." 

"No, of course not." he added, his tone playful but with an edge of challenge. Still behind you, he reached around, resting his hands on either side of the soundboard inches from your hips. His breath lightly brushed your neck. He smirked noticing your flushed cheeks "I thought you’d be used to attention."

You shot him a sideways look, heart pounding in your chest. "I’m used to attention, Marshall. Just not from you."

The words hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken tension. He didn’t move away, his smirk never faltering as he watched you, waiting for your next move. 

The sound of the stage manager’s voice suddenly broke the moment, sharp and urgent. "Marshall, we need you backstage!" 

Marshall gave you a final look, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary. Stepping away, he added, "Guess I’ll leave you to your magic, huh?" He wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell.

You nodded fighting a giddy smile, feeling the weight of his gaze still on you as he took a step back. "I’ll make sure it sounds good for you, don’t worry."  

He raised an eyebrow, a slight grin curling at the corner of his lips. "I’m sure you will, Y/N. But after the show..." 

Before he could finish, the stage manager called again, louder this time. Marshall gave you one last look, smirking over his shoulder as he disappeared backstage. You watched him go, the moment passing—but the tension between you lingered, undeniable.

To be continued...

A/N: I'm working on some upcoming NSFW stuff. Expect a mix of a little bit of everything. <3

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