#paine x reader

[frickingnerd]

paine with a crush who's already in a relationship

pairing: paine x gn!reader

tags: angst over unrequited feelings, slowburn gone wrong

a/n: putting the pain in paine with some angsty headcanons

paine struggles to open up to people, so she only slowly begins to open up to you and show you the true paine, that she always keeps hidden

however, while paine slowly begins to open up to you, truly believing that you are the one person she can have a future with, you are oblivious of it, as you start dating someone else

paine doesn't even realize at first, too focused on you than to pay much attention to the people around you. but when she sees you with your girlfriend, it finally hits her…

suddenly, she feels so stupid for ever believing she had a future with you. for thinking that you were the one person who could truly see her for who she really is. that you could love her like nobody else could…

paine tries to act normal around you, to not let you notice how heartbroken she is after that revelation shattered her world. but even as she tries to act normal, she fails

she can't force a smile onto her lips, can't stop looking at you when you're not looking at her and that sadness in her eyes just doesn't fade away

eventually, she'll have to get over you! paine wants you to be happy, but she wishes she could've been happy with you as well…

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that takes great pride in being your built in pain relief.

“you right?”

delicate as always, gruff voice cutting through the peaceful lull as he stands right in the way of the television you were only really listening to.

“just a headache”

“you taken anything for it?”

you slowly open one eye as far as you can manage, confirming that the look on his face is endearing and he’s not purposefully asking stupid fucking questions.

he’s only man after all.

“i’ll give y’one if y’like?”

before you even have a chance to ask him what “one” might be in this scenario, he’s already nudging you up the couch to sit beside you.

he doesn’t give you the chance to ask any questions, really- not when he’s tucking your back into his side and slipping a large hand down your front.

long fingers slide your shorts to the side and immediately get to work, other hand holding your thighs open (more for his line of sight than anything).

“simon- you don’t have-”

“none a’that, rest y’head and i’ll take care a’ya”

[hana-no-seiiki]

yandere! husband who’s so fucking in love with you that even dreaming about kissing another person makes him wake up in cold sweat, rushing to the bathroom to wash his lips raw.

funny how even as he proceeded to surround himself with water, only the guilt drowned him.

[shotmrmiller]

size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

[juniemunie]

more deltarune sansnomaly cuz its feeding the ideas a lot

bonus:

[paintedonmyteeth]

HII another request

Mc X Mr crawling where Mr crawling is laying on Mc and giving small love bites (can be Sfw or nsfw up to you :>

Love Bites <3

A/N: Hi hi again 😌😌 fbjsbfjjsbf I took awhile with this sorry sorry, I was caught up w other things and I got a little busy — but I gotchu tho dw lmao.

⭑.ᐟ — Cuddles were becoming a must have for Mr. Crawling since the two of you were growing closer than ever since you’ve came to this horrific world of ghosts and ghouls.

⭑.ᐟ — But it was also the one thing that kept you anchored, kept you sane, you found solace in the arms of a creepy yet puppy-like ghost, and it made you feel somewhat human again since you’ve been stuck here for god knows how long.

⭑.ᐟ — Right now, you and Mr. Crawling were taking a brief break in some room you just came across while wandering the place, (either you’re still in search for an exit or you’ve given up in looking for one at this point, whichever really).

⭑.ᐟ — The both of you are sprawled out on a leather couch, you’re currently being smothered underneath Mr. Crawling’s weight which is a tad uncomfortable and you can’t move much, but you’re not complaining and enjoying the closeness with your ghostly companion.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling on the other hand had his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you and he’s melting in the warmth radiating from your body heat with a goofy little smile on his features, and he’s quietly giggling every now and then. Sometimes he’s reaching a hand into the hood of your raincoat and giving you some head pats or leaving kisses around your neck.

⭑.ᐟ — While Mr. Crawling’s busy peppering you with kisses around your neck, he felt you twitch out of surprise when he gently nipped you.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling at first was a little worried from that reaction but you assured him it just threw you off guard and told him to continue, which he happily did once he had the green light you were okay with this.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling went as far to slide his cold hands underneath your shirt when he was given permission, just to marvel at the warmth of your body and the contrast between your unblemished and soft skin and his calloused and cold fingers.

⭑.ᐟ — By the end of that break your neck and collar area was practically littered with hickeys all thanks to Mr. Crawling. <3

[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[orphicmusings]

based on this request

a cringe on your face as you adjusted your position was all viktor needed to see. his thick brows furrowed in concern, a slight pout approaching his lips. he didn’t even have to ask, he knew it was your back. “don’t worry.” you assured him, brushing it off as you usually do. “i’m used to it, i’ll be okay.”

“i didn’t even say anything.” he commented gently, palms facing you in surrender.

“no, but you were gonna.” you smiled fondly, despite the stiff ache in your back. “i saw the look on your face.” he huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “i’ll be fine.” you insisted, wincing on your way up to get ibuprofen. a delicate but firm hand intercepts your shoulder before you can.

“nope.” he countered. “lay on your stomach.”

“you don’t have to-“

“i said…” he fixed you with his golden eyes, “lay. on. your. stomach.”

you couldn’t help stopping the heat that bloomed on your cheeks. you secretly loved when he got all…hot doctor like this. you did as he said, changing your position on the bed. he let out a pleased noise of affirmation before he sat behind you, opening the bedside drawer that contained the only lotion that both smelled good and offered some relief.

“shirt off.” he commanded innocently as he lathered his hands in the fluffy lavender. you had to bite back a smirk as you discarded your top, your back bare to him now. “good girl.” he murmured.

“huh?” your eyebrows shot up.

“nothing.” he pressed his long, dextrous fingers into the flesh of your back and began to knead. his thumbs worked in firm circles, moving up and down and alternating sides. though it didn’t relieve the pain fully, the stiffness his hands released from your back felt so nice— you swear you can’t help but moan! it started innocent, little sighs and hums of satisfaction. the more he responded though, through little clearings of his throat and abrupt breaths, your mouth went as loose as your muscles. moans of pleasure floated from your chest.

“fuck, just like that…” you breathed, and you felt him dig his blunt nails into your skin to ground himself and remind himself what he’s doing. “feels so good.”

eventually, he decided to play into it. “you feel me here, darling?” he asked huskily, rubbing his hand down your lower back, pressing little circles into it with his fingers. “you like when i do that?” he let himself indulge in the innuendo, the suggestiveness of what you’re doing, a smirk gracing his face. you nodded, breathless. “speechless already, my love?”

[iluvangel]

⌌┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

┊ .˚ 🍥 ༘┊͙ Naruto guys kinks ; ‘🥛 „ ↴

⌎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Canon/non ? NSFW

A-Z order

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

ASUMA

Strip go ! : like strip poker but go, because that’s the game he’s always playing, every time one of you lose, the loser has to strip

Burning : he would enjoy marking you with the tip of his hot cigarette and pouring hot wax on ur soft exposed skin

Blowing the smoke from his mouth into his partners

DEIDARA

Creampie : “it’s like an explosion into your body!” He wouldn’t enjoy hurting you so his normal explosions wouldn’t be a bedroom thing; so this would be the next best thing in his eyes

Loud sex : he himself is a very loud person so whether it’s you loudly moaning and screaming or him it would get him off everytime

GAARA

Graphiocrotica : you drawing on him would be the biggest turn on for him every time whether it’s you just running ur fingers on his skin making random shapes, or using a pen, marker, or even paint. Full on leaving each shape and word on his body

Praising : not extreme praising like complimenting him on how his body moves in you that would embarrass him but calling him a good boy or even your good boy would be a need for him

HIDAN

Blood play : blood is literally his thing it’s obvious it would be a kind of his

Knife play : another thing to draw blood from you, or even the fear in his eyes and wonder if he will cut you or if he’s just dragging the blade along your exposed skin

ITACHI

Praising : as the respectful person he is praising you and letting you know your doing a good job would be his favorite thing to do “don’t stop your making me feel so good” “your doing amazing” “good girl”

Being blindfolded : the thrill of feeling you touch his body not knowing where he’s going to feel you next

KAKASHI

Exhibitonism : having sex or playing with you in public places, not public to the point where he’s fucking you in the middle of the road but public like in alleys or in the forest during/after missions. Places that people could walk in on the two of you

Marking : he would love leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body, small ones on your neck for people to see when their talking to you, and bigger ones where only the two of you can see “these are our little secrets”

KIBA

Acarophilia : scratching, him scratching you is his biggest turn on, but when it’s you scratching him it makes his soul leave his body

Marking : unlike Kakashi Kiba would be more open about where he leaves hickeys and bites on you, your neck would always have two big hickeys on each side of your neck accompanied by little ones that lead down to your collar bone, and bite marks everywhere and anywhere, he thinks would look pretty

NARUTO

Praising : he would love any and every praise you give him weather it’s telling how good he’s doing, complimenting how he moves or even simply telling him how amazing he is

Sleeping with it inside you : need I say more?

NEJI

Sexual arousal from intellectual conversations : you debating with him whether you win or lose the fact your smart enough to hold your own would turn him on or even just you talking about something you know a lot about

Bondage : having control over whether your body can move or not

OBITO

Being tied up : if he’s in his playful tobi mood it would bring him such thrill being tied and bound, whether it’s his arms and ankles or just cuffs on his wrists it would turn him on

Discipline : if he’s in his more serious mode he would get off on punishing you, spanking you or simply degrading you would be his favorite thing

SASORI

Toys : he loves to make things that’s just his thing, but seeing the way you move and wiggle when they’re inside you would be his favorite sight

Double penetration : him in one hole and his puppets or toys in the other with you sandwiched in the middle

SHIKAMARU

You telling him what to do and bossing him around

Degrading : he would love to tell you how pathetic you are and what a little slut you are for him (knowing damn well you have full control over him and his body)

YAHIKO (PAIN)

Edging/orgasm control : he wants to tell you when you can and can’t cum, he wants to hear your cry’s and whimpers as you beg him to not stop

Degrading : just like Shikimaru he would love to tell you what a pathetic little slut you are, and how you’re such a whore for him

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

[rxzilvia]

If you can please do rough sex with Ni-ki, like with some pain kink (whatever kind of pain you're comfortable with!) and sex toys, Like vibrator, gag etc

I was thinking Abt this actually- love u 🫶🫶

Damn tease..

Requested?: yes

Warnings: smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, fluff in the end, mdni, sex toy use, straight to the point smut, fluff at the end if u squint, if I missed smth tell me <3

Riki was pinning you down to the bed, a butt plug in your ass and a vibrator pressed to your clit as he was ruining your cunt

You were moaning your lungs out while your pussyw as pulsating after your 5th orgasm

You could feel his cum pooling down your legs as he destroyed you, you were so full of him..

The feeling was amazing you swore you won't be able to walk tomorrow after this..

"fuck baby.. yeah, you like that? Like when I fuck this pussy like it's mine? Cus it fucking is.."

You were practically shaking at this point.. you couldn't even describe how fucking hard your pussy was clenching and unclenching around his thick cock..

Every damn vein on it just brushed against your gummy walls in just the right way

The pain on your face turned him tf on, the tears spilling from your eyes and onto the bedsheets as he ravaged your cunt was so damn sexy for him..

As you felt yet another orgasm approaching Riki could feel his too and he started pounding into even fucking harder, if that was possible

You arched your back while cumming and squirting all over his abs and that thick perfect cock of his

Meanwhile he slammed his hips into you one last time as his thick load shot into you.. it took a while... He was spilling like a damn fountain

You could feel your belly bulging from his big cock and all the cum he put into you

You just layed back as he sighed and flopped onto you

"b-baby.. c-can you take the but plug out..?"

He smirked and removed the vibrator that was on your clit

"Nah.. you'll be fine till morning.."

"but-"

"shhh... Nap now.. you did good love.."

Guess you shouldn't have wore that short skirt today..

[quarterlifekitty]

So I've been thinking about what other areas of the body that the boys like to fuck (excluding the usual suspect ofc)

Like I could see Price being a fan of the mouth ofc. Or König with a weird obsession with tits. Maybe Gaz sliding in between barely closed thighs, the tip nudging at her little clit every few slow thrusts. Soap being an ass man...

I'm just.... I'm obsessed. Ive got a problem. But thank god I basically live in an echo chamber on this godforsaken site

Weaknesses: the road less travelled

cw: some dubcon, maybe pain play (it’s vague), some WHACKY shit in the price section (fantasy cervical penetration)

Nothing hits for Gaz quite like your soft, warm thighs. Especially first thing in the morning— hearing your sleepy little moans and gasps as his leaking cockhead spreads pre against your little pearl.

Soap is a bit similar. I think he likes feet literally everything, but what really gets him crazy? Is a pussyjob. He loves a quickie— so quick he can’t even bend you over or have you sat down. Just you and him, chest to chest as he jerks and ruts himself between your folds, clothes lifted just enough to allow contact.

Ghost likes fucking your mouth. He just likes to tease you, feed you his cock, slap your cheek and tongue with his hard dick as his pre smears onto your face. Likes it when you choke around him, but you take it— cause you love him. If you really wanna treat him, you’ll put on some eye makeup so it’ll get ruined with your tears while he’s in your throat.

Price. So. Uhm. Hear me out on this one. I’m about to get a little out there. This isn’t something he can do physically, but he does have a fantasy about fucking your womb. So sometimes you play a little bit of pretend (it was FAR into the relationship when he finally admitted this to you). He just loves the idea of you straining while his head pops in— deeper than anyone or anything has ever been— right in your unprotected breeding chamber. Like your fertility is something defended, and he’s proven himself worthy of inseminating you by getting so far inside. Sometimes he’ll press down on your abdomen to create a point that’s a little tighter inside you, and he’ll talk straight filth into your ear. “Y’feel how deep I am inside you, darl’? Right where I’m gonna pump my load— where I’m gonna knock you up with my baby. This cute, plump, defenseless little womb of yours. Perfect place for it, innit?”

König loves your tits. I’ve spoken of it at length. He loves to straddle you, careful about holding his weight on his knees, and have you lick up and down his cock to wet it before it slides between your breasts. He’ll spit for good measure.

Nikolai loves your ass. It’s just so versatile. Training you with plugs, playing with it using his fingers when he has you bent over and taking his cock. His favorite thing to do is insist you need it to settle down and sleep, training you you to be able to cum without him even touching your clit— your cunt empty, your ass throbbing from the intrusion.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧

→ premise: all of deans life pain has always ran parallel to love. he needs them both, he needs you to hurt him and take the pain away all at the same time, turns out you were more than willing to, you may even need it reciprocated.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2.3k words, small bit of angst that turns quickly into smut | 18+, kinda switch!dean, pain kink [slapping, biting, pinching, scratching, etc], praise kink [both reader and dean], unprotected sex, small bit of choking, multiple mentions of blood & reader nearly dying

→ a/n: kinktober 08

Dean was accustomed to pain, he learned to tolerate and push through it from a young age as his father hammered into him that it was his job to always look after Sam and conditioned him to become a hunter. Love always came alongside pain in his life, losing everybody he ever cared deeply for; it happened so often that he began to associate one with the other. And so somewhere along the way he came to yearn for both pain and love as he felt they always came together. When Dean began having feelings for you, he was scared like he’s never been before. He avoided telling you for a couple of years simply because he thought if he voiced it out loud then he'd lose you like he did everyone else.

However when a demon came very close to killing you when you were being reckless, that scared Dean a hell of a lot more and in a screaming match about it he revealed his feelings on accident.

“You couldve fucking died, ya’ know that right? If me and Sam got there even a minute later you’d have been laying in my arms dead not just unconscious” when he mentions sam, he gestures towards the couch in the small motel room where the younger brother last sat. Though when he turns to look over hoping for backup he finds Sam gone, he groans out in annoyance. Sam had figured it was best to leave the two of you to your fighting alone, yes he was also upset with your careless decision but not as heated as his brother.

“Well I didn't okay? I can take care of myself. I had it under control!” you scream out, punching your words out to get your point across, flailing your arms in frustration though the fast movement aggravates your injuries making you wince slightly. Seeing you in pain makes Dean stop short for a second, a ping in his chest as his heart aches, it however only morphs into making his blood boil more when the memory of finding you beaten and bloody on the floor of that warehouse flashes in his head. “I'm sooo glad you can take care of yourself, but what about me HUH?!” He screams out, sarcasm dripping from his voice until the latter half with his question where it breaks off taking you back. Confusion crosses your face but before you can say anything back to him he continues.

“I dont know what I’d fuckin’ do without you, im so pathetically and utterly in love with you that the thought of you dying makes me wanna lie in the dirt just so i can be buried with you!” he had been stepping closer and closer as he yelled out in frustration, not realizing exactly what he just said. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline from his confession and proximity coursing through your veins.

“You love me..?” Your voice comes out softer than Dean swears he's ever heard it before and it melts all the anger out of his body. He knew there was no turning back now that he blurted that out and even though he was worried more than ever, he couldn't stand not being with you anymore. “I think i fell in love the moment i met you sweetheart” he sighs and brings his rough hands up to cup your face and wipe away the tears you hadn’t noticed we're slowly falling from your eyes. After a long stretch of comfortable silence as the tension of the fight has dissipated you speak up.

“Would you just kiss me already ya’ idiot” you tease, smiling softly at him through your tears as you stare deep into those stupid green eyes that turn your brain to mush.

Using his hold on your face he pulls your lips against his in a desperate kiss, trying to drown out all the swarming negative voices in his head. Your soft lips mold against his perfectly and he thanks any and every god he can think of for letting him have something he knows he doesn’t deserve. Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back, the fight over your thoughtless decision not forgotten but put on the back burner. You were deans the second you told him to kiss you and if you thought you were gonna be able to continue with your bad decisions boy were you in for a surprise, he just finally got you he wasn't ever letting go now. You grab at his chest, your hands balling up his shirt as you try pulling him impossibly closer deepening the kiss. In a tangled mess of limbs and mouths still latched to one another’s you and Dean tumble back and fall down onto the rundown motel bed. Dean landed on his back in the middle cushioning your fall with you landing on top of him between his legs.

“Baby..” he mumbles against your lips making your heart skip a bit at him calling you a name normally reserved for his impala. He even squeezes your hips lightly to break your focus from the make out.

“I need you to do something for me” he groans out as the kiss heats up and your tongue slips in his mouth during his statement, your hands running all over his chest and arms. Your body was pressed up to his, hips flush against each other making it impossible for you not to feel his hardening cock on your thigh. “Anything, what do you need, baby?” You question, desperate to please him and more than willing to do whatever he asks. Now Dean was well aware if he said jump you'd ask how high, he just hoped this request as odd as it was didn‘t make you run for the hills.

Reluctantly he pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath as well as watch your face when he tells you what he needs. You open your eyes and look at him with that same sparkle they always hold when your gaze is locked on him. His cock was getting painfully hard now from the mixture of the make out session and your body so close to him.

”I- shit okay im just gonna say it uh. I need you to hurt me. I just- I need you to get the image of you laying in a pool of your own blood barely breathing out of my head” he rambles, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears with how pathetic it comes out. He silently prays you won't just get up and walk out of his life at his weird desire. He avoids eye contact when you are still silent after a minute. A fire ignites in your body and settles in your core as a million and one thoughts are running through your head at the speed of light. Every single last one however being the different things you wanna and finally get to do to Dean.

You grab ahold of Dean’s face squeezing it as you turn it so he is looking at you again. You now have a small taunting smile on your face, your nails are lightly digging into his cheeks making his cock twitch. “I can do that, but can you be a good boy?” You teasingly question as you lean up maneuvering your body so you're straddling his hips, peering down on him. The sight of you on his lap, thighs spread either side of his body and lust blown hooded eyes staring down at him knocks the breath from his lungs. It's an image pulled from his many dirty depraved dreams of you that riddled him with guilt but now it's a reality, his wonderful heaven like reality.

He frantically nods his head yes while your hand not pinching his face is working at undoing his belt.

“Gonna be such a good boy, can be s’good for you baby” he huffs out and lifts his hips to help you out as you pull his jeans down and off his legs. You let go of his face and dean has to fight back an actual whine when the small sting of pain leaves with it. Though he swallows his complaint as he watches you strip yourself of your dirty still blood soaked t-shirt, going at a teasingly slow pace when you undo your own belt pulling it through the loops and discarding it on the floor besides his pants. “Come on don't be a tease sweetheart please” he softly begs as he grabs your hips, thrusting his up to grind his bulge against your core. The rough fabric of your jeans sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine as it rubs over his aching boxer covered cock. You bite back a moan and slap his chest to stop him before lifting your body up to help you rid yourself of your remaining clothes. He is quickly behind you nearly ripping off his shirt and tugging down his boxers making his leaking cock bounce free between your bodies.

Saliva practically pools in Dean's mouth at the sight of you stripped bare for his eyes scanning over every inch of you. Your thighs spread back over his hips leaving your pussy on display for him, your slick coating his cock as your hips take up his previous action of grinding. “Such a good boy” you praise and lean down digging your nails into his sides, the pain making his eyes screw shut in bliss. Lifting your hips once again this time however sinking your pussy down onto his throbbing cock. Your slick and his precum help to aid your cunt into taking every inch of Dean's cock to the base as you smash your lips against his in a passionate kiss. The mixture of stinging pain and sweet praise and pleasure drown out all bad thoughts, all images that were flashing in Dean's head of your limp body unmoving and bleeding fade from his head finally, his only thought being of how good you feel.

“Mhmm~” He whines out in pleasure and surprise, the sound muffled in your mouth. Your hips immediately set into a rhythm of grinding and softly bouncing, his cock dragging across your velvety walls and his tip hitting your cervix when you bounce down. “Ah- Ahh~ fuck sweetheart knew this fuckin’ pussy feel amazing” he grunts out, his fingers holding onto your hips in a bruising grip that has your head spining. You bite down on his plush bottom lip in retaliation making a small almost growl erupt from his chest. The sound vibrates through your body to your core making your hips flatter a bit and a whine escapes your lips.

Within the blink of an eye dean has your legs wrapped around his waist when he sits up and flips your position breaking the kiss. Laying you flat on your back with him nestled between your thighs his cock still buried deep inside you. “Dean~” your whimper morphs into a wanton moan when his hips start at a punishing pace, your slick already forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock as it pounds into you. His heavy balls smacking your ass creating an obscene noise that fills the room with your moans and his grunts. “As much as i love how you sound and wanna hear it for the rest of my life baby, you gotta be quiet sweetheart” he taunts as his hand slips up the side of your body to palm at your bouncing tits. you whine out and paw at his lower stomach and v-line almost pushing him away slightly to stop his tip from abusing that one spot deep inside you. “Mm~ I can’t, it s’good, feels too good, i needa cum” you whine out your words slurring together as the knot in your stomach tightens. “Aww well don't want the staff or other guests hearing you scream my name now do we?” He questions with a small smirk that morphs into an almost slack jawed look when your nails dig into his back and drag down. The stinging pain of you scratching at his back so hard he's almost certain you drew blood makes his hips speed up even more.

“Bite down on my shoulder to muffle yourself when you cum okay baby?” He softens a bit though his hips don't slow down, you nod desperately in understanding. “That’s my good girl” he beams at you praising you in a sweet tone making your pussy clench down on his cock.

You grab at his hand that rests on your breasts and pull it up to your neck hoping he gets the message. A smile forms on his lips as what you want registered in his head, you wanted pain the same as him. Dean didn't think he could love you anymore than he did and yet as his hand wraps around your throat his heart swells, you're the same as him, you needed the pain with the love and pleasure, he was the luckiest fucking man alive in this moment. He smirks and softly kisses your lips as he leans down and his cock somehow reaches even deeper inside you.

The new angle causes the knot in your core to snap and your high to crash into you, making you pull away from his mouth and bury your face in his shoulder. Baring your teeth you bite down a bit hard onto his shoulder to muffle your loud moans and cries as you cream on his cock. “Oh fuck yeah, there we go sweetheart good girl baby” he praises, his head going foggy in pain and pleasure as his climax hits him head on, spilling his cum deep inside you not caring about the loud noises that leave his own mouth.

→ a/n: as always this wasnt proofread and its late, whos shocked? anyway i got a bit carried away well more like a lot. this is only my second time writing for dean and i got excited i really like writing for him. It is however my first time writing smut for him so sorry if hes out of character.

[1hot-mess-express1]

Don’t mind me just thinking about Toge is a biter in bed. Not really out of any primal interest but rather because when he’s balls deep, fucking you like crazy he gets totally pussy drunk. I’m talking moaning, whimpering, sweating, sniveling mess and out of a desperate attempt to keep himself from saying something that could land you in the hospital (or a painfully embarrassing situation) he bites down on your shoulder hard.

[lilacxquartz]

beneath the murky depths;

octoman sukuna x f!reader

plot: your vulnerable state catches the attention of an oceanic god — themes/warnings: tentacles, smut, monster fucking, orally & in v, painful sex, dubcon — w.c: 1.4k • ao3 • masterlist

a/n: by request, hope this is what you were looking for! <3 keep the warnings in mind before clicking in.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the beach, but you couldn’t help it. You were so tired and it was so warm—how could you pass up such an opportunity?

You supposed that the problem was that, when you came around, the shores were now empty and devoid of seemingly everyone. It was dark in such an odd way too, with the skies looking more blood red than the usual dark blue that blanketed over the horizon.

At first, you thought that you were dreaming but the longer that you lay awake, the more real it all seemed. Something in the air tasted bitter, almost metallic—while the ground beneath your body gently trembled—the sand flittering around without a cause. You sat up in a flash, trying to make sense of what you were experiencing, only to be met with the otherworldly sight of what appeared to be rising tides, somehow paused at a standstill.

“What the…?” you murmured to yourself, your voice coming out as a hoarse whisper as it was still thick with sleep.

The waters, so void-like and foreboding, parted at the center like two liquified curtains separating at the seams, giving entry to a tall and imposing figure beyond your comprehension. Your eyes locked onto the impossible sight, taking note of his robust frame adorned with muscles; showcasing four large strong arms sprouting from his body alongside a set of tentacles spearing from his back.

Instinctively, your first course of action was to back away as far as you could, even though it seemed like you had nowhere to run off to. There was a strange feeling of some sort of ambient pressure, like this being’s presence prevented you from moving very far, if even at all.

“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?” he purred in a deep voice.

You stared at the monster, blinking a couple of times as your mind raced for a potential response. Something like him shouldn’t exist—there was simply no way—and yet… this didn’t seem to be a dream nor a nightmare, so what on earth were you looking at exactly? His face didn’t make sense either, with the parallel half boasting something resembling barnacles with shells alike, peering out what appeared to be another set of eyes.

“W-what are you?” you finally managed to sputter out.

He smiled slightly, yet there was nothing warm about the gesture. “The mortals know me as Sukuna,” he introduced himself, eyeing you down with fixed contempt, “you should be thankful to be in the presence of a god.”

“A-a god?” you replied.

Sukuna hummed, retaining his stoic demeanour, although a hint of arrogance crept into his eyes. “Depends on who you worship, some might call me a demon…” he trailed off, letting the implication linger in the air before continuing, “now, who might you be?”

You just barely muttered out your name to him.

Addressing you personally, he took a step closer, his figure looming over yours, casting a dark shadow over where you were sat. “And what do you offer me?”

You blinked. “H-huh? Offer? I-I didn’t pray to you… d-did I?”

Sukuna rumbled out a low, deep-bellied laugh. Despite his reaction to your confusion, he didn’t seem to be amused in the slightest. “I won’t ask you again,” he warned, addressing you personally once more, “so tell me, what do you offer me?”

“I-I don’t have anything?” you nervously asked.

“Everyone has something to offer,” he corrected you, branching out a finger to tweeze at your chin, tilting your head up to meet with him directly. You froze at the sight, your eyes wide with fear. “How about… your lust?”

Your words failed you for a second before you were able to even respond.

But then you finally managed something, “I…I— What?”

Sukuna hovered over you, his scarlet gaze locking onto yours, daring you to oppose his suggestion. You were too terrified to reject him and ultimately wanted to live through whatever this was, so you found yourself apprehensively nodding in agreement.

“O…kay…” you just barely choked out.

Sukuna didn’t need to be told twice, immediately moving over you. The tentacles that rooted from his back snaked over towards your body, capturing your limbs in a tight, wrapping embrace. You gasped out at the bizarre sensation, feeling the tugging weight of them spread your legs apart while keeping your arms locked in place.

“You should be able to take me after this,” he lazily murmured, coiling a tendril over your now-spread sex, placing a fleshy suction cup just over your clit. The pleasure was immediate as soon as the connection was made, the sucker vacuuming over the bud.

As the motions continued to spread a surging sensation of warmth, a sweeping tingle simmered through your core. Almost instinctively, your body lifted itself to lean into the spike of the muscle, letting slip of needy—almost whining shuddered out whimpers.

“Such an obedient girl,” he almost praised, seeming to approve of your reactions.

There was no time to reply to his condescending flattery as the blissful sensation rose, pushing your body above and beyond its capable threshold. An exhilarating peak formed in between your legs, boiling over to overflowing ecstasy as your eyes rolled back and your toes tingled and curled.

However, it didn’t seem to be over just yet. Sukuna plucked the limb away, guiding it slightly lower to meet at your entrance instead. You were slicker at this point, with your heat glistening in your sopping release. He then speared the tentacle into your sex without warning, impaling you with the tentacle, moving another to swim through your slightly ajar lips, feeling overwhelmed as he simultaneously fucked the tendrils into your body, keeping you perfectly well filled.

Quickly flustered, you unintentionally rolled your hips to match the momentum of how he moved within you, finding that he was able to slowly bulk out the swelling girth of the boneless limbs, leaving you completely stuffed as you were forced to adjust around the size, left perfectly distracted as he slowly eased the feelers out of your body.

Thinking it was over, you wrongfully relaxed, as once again without warning or any chance to recover, Sukuna moved forward in his plan to have you fully take him, positioning the tip of his heavily thick cock into your cunt, pushing himself fully inside.

Regrettably, you weren’t quite as ready as he thought, so he suffered your teeth sinking into one of his tentacles that hovered nearby, seething out a pained hiss in response. Quickly retracting it, however, he half laughed, half scoffed as if amused by your little slip-up. “You’ll take me,” he warned or rather, promised, “and you’ll take me well.”

Once again, he eased himself into your core, his eyes fluttering in pleasure from the sensation of your walls swallowing around his length. Slowly, he drove his cock through you, taking note of how your legs widened out of necessity before settling in as far as he could realistically push.

At first, it felt like a punch to the gut, almost, as he started to move. The thudding impact of him hitting your cervix over and over, was nothing short of excruciating, feeling unlike any other pain you had experienced before. Repeatedly, Sukuna stole your breath away as he rutted into your hilt, his creeping tentacles returning to maneuver around the contours of your body, wrapping himself tightly around you—all the while he slammed himself into your soon battered and bruised apex.

And as you let yourself go, your mind blanked. It felt like your orgasm was closer to killing you, than anything else as he continued to brutally penetrate you. He too, was caught up in an almost violent body-wide rolling shudder—filling you up with the flooding aftermath of his peaking climax—with trickling residue that sept out of the cusp of the tentacles, coating you in a sealing pact of something left unspoken.

Your eyes drooped shut after that, but rather than waking up safe and sound on the beach, praying to something else that this was all part of some bizarre nightmare—you found yourself plunged into the dark waters along with him—unintentionally promising yourself to be kept until the end of time.

After all, Sukuna didn’t quite tell you one little detail of the pact.

An offering was a promise, and a promise was forever.

[suugarbabe]

Origin Stories

summary: baby first year matty arrives at hogwarts and the first person he interacts with seems to not know him at all. matty is unsure how to feel when someone treats him like just another person instead of the dark lords son

warnings: fluff, little bit o angst, sad baby matty

an: something my hubby @musingsofahufflepuff and i have been yapping about constantly, there's more where this came from, and yes...it will continue to hurt you

Knees pulled to his chest, he sat at the window watching all the happy and excited parents dropping their children off for their first time at Hogwarts. It was Mattheo’s first time too, but instead of parents dropping him off he had Feindre, his house elf.

Feindre had gotten him there early enough for Mattheo to be one of the first students on the train and stayed long enough for Mattheo to see Feindre give a gentle wave before snapping his fingers and disappearing from the platform.

That’s what he’d been doing for the last half hour; watching family after family give loving hugs and cheek kisses and bidding their children farewell. Even Mr. Nott had come with his wife to see Theo off, giving a firm squeeze to the skinny boy's shoulder and a curt nod. 

The whistle blew overhead and Mattheo leaned his head back, closing his eyes and willing himself to think of at least one positive thing that may come for him this year. He’d be away from his mother; that was a plus. As far as Mattheo was aware even she couldn’t get onto the grounds without the proper permissions; that gave Mattheo at least four months free from torture.

As the train started to pull from the station he heard the train car door slide open, an entirely too excited voice suddenly speaking to him, “D’you mind? Every other car has four or so kids in it.” Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, not even opening his eyes to look.

He knew he didn’t recognize the voice. His cousin Draco’s was a little higher pitched, whiney. Theo’s was slower, like he had to think about each word before he said it. This voice was more neutral, but seemed to be speaking quickly, like they had so many thoughts and feelings they couldn’t get them out quick enough. 

“S’kinda weird we had to walk through a wall to get on the platform, right? Magic is so cool.” Mattheo peered an eye open, chancing a glance at the person across from him. It seemed as if you were vibrating, sitting cross legged on the seat across from him, hands braced on either side as your knees held a steady bounce.

Your smile was nearly splitting your face; Mattheo couldn’t decide if your question was indicative of a muggle upbringing or just the first born for your family. “So what house do you want to get into? I was doing some light reading in one of our textbooks, Hogwarts: A History, and I think any of them will be good.” 

Definitely muggle, Mattheo thought to himself as you kept talking, “I know that Hufflepuffs are very loyal, Ravenclaws are super smart I guess, Slytherins apparently are really clever and I read that Gryffindors are supposed to be just the bravest.” The scoff leaves Mattheos throat quicker than he could control.

“Well do you think differently? I know I can talk a lot but I’m also a good listener.” Mattheo lifted his head up at this, now choosing to stare at you with a quirked brow. You continued to press regardless, “What house do you think you’ll be in?” Mattheo stared out the window once more, watching the highland mountains pass by, “I already know my house.” This statement piqued your interest, “What do you think it is?”

Mattheo used all his mental energy not to roll his eyes, “I’ll be a Slytherin, my family has only ever been Slytherins.” You seemed to sit up straighter then, your tone getting more excited, if that was even possible, “So you’re from a family of wizards then? That’s so cool, what’s it like?”

He stared at you incredulously, “You being serious?” You simply tilted your head, smile never leaving your face, “Both of my parents are normal, erm, non-wizards? I don’t know what you guys call them but that’s what they are.” 

Mattheo wore an unimpressed look, “Shocker…never would have guessed by your raging enthusiasm.” You laughed softly, “I know, right. Mum cried for like an hour when I got my letter.” Mattheo sat up straighter then, eyes widening. He could feel his heart rate pick up slightly, a tinge of sweat beading on the back of his neck, “Why, because she was disappointed, was she mad? Where did you hide after she stopped crying?”

You looked at him with confusion, shaking your head and a small bit of concern in your tone, “What? No, because she was just so happy for me…” Mattheo shrank into himself, pulling his knees back up to his chest, “Right, yeah, a’course.” 

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, “So, ehm, do you know people who are coming to Hogwarts then? I don’t know anyone…well, except you now. What, erm, what was your name again?” Mattheo visibly stiffened. You could just be being polite, asking for his name like he was just any other student. Or his reputation precedes him even with muggle-born first years and you’re just too scared to tell him that you already know about him, his father, what he’s done. “Mattheo…erm, Riddle.” You nodded, “Cool name! I’m y/n y/l/n.”

Mattheo can’t help the quizzical look that takes over him at how breezily you move on and introduce yourself. How can you not be afraid of him, of his name. Not that he wants you to be, but if you’ve been reading as much as you say, surely you’ve heard of what his father has done. 

But all of it seems nonexistent as you start talking again, “Do you think we’ll have to wear those little cone hats I’ve seen in the textbook? They’re not very fashionable are they? And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to wear one either.” Mattheo took the bait, “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to wear one?”

You shrugged, smiling a little shyer than before, “Well because of your hair. If I had curls as pretty as yours I wouldn’t want to have to cover them up all the time.” The heat on Mattheo’s cheeks was nearly instantaneous, then he started to feel a bit of rage, “Are you making fun of me?”

You shook your head fiercely, “Oh no, no way! I figured you got complimented on your hair all the time.” Compliment? You were complimenting him. Why would you do that? What were you playing at? Mattheo was fighting an internal battle, not understanding why you were being so nice to him and trying desperately to understand the new feeling fluttering in his chest at your compliment. 

Thankfully the door to the train car opens and a jolly looking woman displays a trolly full of sweets and snacks in the doorway; the perfect distraction.

“Anything from the trolly, dears?” You’re excited once more, leaving your seat to get a closer look at the sweets. You turn towards Mattheo, “What’s your favorite candy? I’ve never heard of any of these before…chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, fizzing whizzbees-” 

“The last one’s good I- erm, I think you’d like those,” Mattheo watched as you asked the trolly witch for one pack of cauldron cakes and two fizzing whizzbees. “That’ll be two galleons and a sickle, dear,” the trolly witch smiled kindly at you.

You pulled a handful of wizard coins from your pocket looking slightly confused. Mattheo cleared his throat, “Two gold ones and a silver one.” You nodded, taking the coins he described and exchanging them for your sweets. Sitting back down across from him you began opening your cauldron cakes.

You placed one on top of one of the fizzing whizzbees pack and then held it in front of you towards Mattheo. “What’re you doing?” he asked, finding your behavior rather odd, even for a muggle. You only smiled in return, “This is your half silly.” 

Mattheo hesitantly took the sweets, “Why would you share with me?” You sat back, taking a bite of the cauldron cake and humming in satisfaction, “Why wouldn’t I share with you?” you spoke around a cheek full of cake, “These are really good by the way.”

Mattheo felt a weird pang in his chest, something he didn’t recognize. It was almost like an adrenaline rush but he wasn’t in danger this time; his skin felt hot all of a sudden, his blood rushing to his ears. He pulled subtly on his curls on the side of his head, not sure exactly what he was trying to cover up. You didn’t take notice regardless, too engrossed in the foreign treat of your new world. 

The next few hours are filled with you making conversation, mostly one sided but you don’t even seem to notice. You’re the most at ease person Mattheo has ever met, finding interest in the smallest of things.

You talk about your family, and you do so with so much admiration and what Mattheo can only assume is love that he finds himself starting to get jealous. He does his best to shove that feeling down, like he does with most feelings. You’re the first person in his life that doesn’t seem to know him, his family, what that entails and he’d be damned if he let something like jealousy mess that up.

You try to ask him about his life, but he’s keeping it brief, somewhat deflective. He tells you that his father is not around, not dead but…working. He doesn’t know a good way to explain that his father has bits of his soul everywhere and your lack of knowledge on magical existence seems like that bit of information would cause your already highly wired brain to short circuit.

When you ask about his mum he stiffens involuntarily, “She’s, erm, passionate about me following in my father’s footsteps. Bit of an anger problem sometimes if I disagree about it.” You nod, a small frown on your face but seemingly understanding to not push the subject of his mothers anger further, “What’s your dad do?”

Mattheo’s eyes go wide, panic starting to spread through his body. He can feel himself starting to sweat as he looks out the window, trying to come up with an answer that’s not the truth when he sees his saving grace, “Look, Hogwarts.” 

If you’d had turned your head any faster Mattheo was sure it would have rolled off your shoulders and onto the car floor. Whatever he had anticipated Hogwarts to look like, his imagination could never have done it justice; and Mattheo hid in his imagination often at home.

Your nose was nearly pressed to the window, “Wicked.” Mattheo felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile, half wishing the two of you never had to leave the train and could just stay here, in this bubble where you don’t know the horrible truths that come with being associated with him. 

As the train slowed to a stop, a whistle blew and the two of you noticed a flurry of students starting to clog the aisle between cars. “Guess that’s our cue,” you stood up, looking towards Mattheo and waiting for him to do the same. “You coming?” you opened the car door, looking back at him. “Erm, yeah. Yeah okay,” Mattheo pulled the hood of his cloak up and you gave him a curious look.

“Heard it’s supposed to be a bit chilly on the ride up to the castle,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, now staring down at the floor. You shrugged it off, only turning to join the plethora of students once you knew Mattheo was following behind. 

You couldn’t help but marvel at the giant man that led the pack of first years to what looked like ancient wooden boats. You looked everywhere you could, trying to drink in the whole experience; whereas Mattheo kept his head down, hood up and eyes on the bottom of the boat. If he did this long enough, maybe no one but you would know who he was until he was being sorted.

Once docked by the castle the pack of you were led through the castle by an older, stern looking witch. She had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. As she led you through the castle you kept tugging on Mattheo’s sleeve. Every so often he would peek from the side of his hood and give you a half smile. 

Once in front of what you learned to be the Great Hall, McGonagall stopped all of you, giving a quick speech. “Once inside you will all be sorted into your houses. Once your house has been announced please make your way to your house table. Banners above will lead you to the correct one. During each breakfast and lunch you will be able to mingle with other houses. However, dinners are strictly restricted to your own house tables.” You turned to Mattheo, whispering, “This is so exciting!” Mattheo gives an undignified hum with a small nod as the doors to the great all open, he can feel his heart rate quicken as all the older students turn to watch the group of first years file in. Will people notice him? Can he hear them whispering his name? 

His automatic negative thoughts are interrupted by you gripping his arm lightly. Immediately he flinches away and you begin apologizing, “Oh, I’m sorry Matty, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mattheo shook his head, hoping his cheeks weren't flushing at the nickname you decided to don on him, “N-no, sorry. S’just I- erm, have this thing about people grabbing me…sorry.”

You shake your head as if to dismiss his apology as unnecessary, “S’my fault, I just get so excited. Look up there, it’s the sorting hat, I read about it in the same textbook as the houses; that’s what’s gonna tell us where we go.” 

Mattheo could feel his stomach knotting. He knew he would be sorted into Slytherin; the blood in his veins guaranteed it. But, Merlin, did he hope you were sorted there too. It would be nice to have an actual friend there with him, not just his irritating cousin and the sons of his father’s loyal followers.

He was pretty sure they were only nice to him out of fear. Did you want to get sorted with him too? Did you consider him a friend? You were already far too nice to him; far too nice for your own good he thought. There’s no way you actually got sorted into Slytherin; it‘d be a bloody miracle. 

Too lost in his worries spinning over and over in his head he seemed to have missed everyone before him getting sorted, being pulled from his thoughts for the second time that evening by Professor McGonagalls booming voice speaking his name, “Mattheo Riddle.”

A hushed whisper seemed to fall over all of the students and even some of the professors at the head table. Mattheo gave you a worried glance, but you only smiled encouragingly back at him. Either you didn’t notice the whispers, or you didn’t care; Mattheo wasn’t sure which option had him feeling that same weird pang in his chest that he felt on the train. 

He needn’t push his way through the crowd of first years as they seemed to part willingly for him. He slowly climbed his way up the steps and pulled himself up onto the stool, legs dangling in front of him. The professor placed the sorting hat atop his head.

It felt two sizes too big, falling down and covering his eyes, now encasing him in darkness. It was actually much better this way, Mattheo would rather pass than watch the judgment in everyone’s eyes, especially if they came from yours. “Hmm, Riddle, eh?” the hat spoke loudly, much to Mattheo’s dismay, “Well there’s simply no question then is there. Why of course it's…SLYTHERIN!” 

The slytherin table broke out into cheers, but they seemed to be the only students to do so apart from your clapping in the first year crowd. The hat was pulled from Mattheo’s head and he searched for your face. He found you beaming, giving him a double thumbs up as he made his way down the steps and toward his house table.

He clocked his cousin Draco immediately, platinum hair sticking out like a traffic cone. His cousin tried to greet him, along with the others at the table. But Mattheo ignored them all, turning instead to face the stool you would soon be sitting at and be told your fate. 

When your name was finally called Mattheo sat up straighter, nearly leaning forward as if that would help him hear more clearly. As you made your way onto the stool you looked over at the Slytherin table. Making eye contact with Mattheo you gave a quick wave. Warmth spread throughout his body and he found himself giving a small wave back.

The whining pitch of Draco’s voice appeared on Mattheo’s right, “Who is that, cousin?” Mattheo watched as you took a deep breath in as the hat was placed on your head, full of pride he made the statement, “That’s my friend.” Draco was obviously confused, “I didn’t know you had any friends besides us.”

Mattheo turned his sights away from you briefly to stare Draco in the eyes, “You’re not my friend. You’re my cousin, I’m forced to be around you. And if you keep talking I’ll hex out your tongue so I never have to hear your annoying voice again.” Draco held his hands up in defense, scooting over slightly on the bench. 

Turning back to you Mattheo watched as your legs bounced excitedly, just as they did on the train and Mattheo found himself smiling. This smile slowly dropped as the hat began to narrate the internal battle you seemed to be having with it.

“You want to be Slytherin, is that so? Mmm…curious, curious indeed. I do sense a bit of cunning, but your loyalty is much stronger. Better be…HUFFLEPUFF!” The tables throughout the hall cheered for you as they did every other student being sorted. Your smile never faded but Mattheo felt like his whole world was collapsing. 

There was a pain in his side that felt like someone was hexing him with a stinging jinx and his breaths were becoming more shallow. Usually he only felt like this when being punished by his mother, but in that case she was likely actually cursing him.

It seemed like the massive walls of the great hall were closing in on him as he saw you being greeted by the students at your house table. Everything from the last few hours was going to be thrown away in an instant. They would all tell you who he was, what he was, why you should hate him. And surely you’ll believe them, won’t you? Then he’ll be alone once more.

As if to twist the knife that was already being pushed between his ribs, Draco’s irritating voice was coming from next to him again, “Well cousin, guess they’re not your friend any longer.”

[fortunxa]

the sound of her absence

Jinx and Isha

summary: Bravery wasn’t in the noise, the chaos—it was in the silence that stood still against the storm.

cw: pain. nothing act II didn’t already deliver. reader not mentioned.

author’s note: i’m quick with it.

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Zaun was a furnace, its heart always burning, always devouring. The city had been forged in suffering, a machine that never stopped grinding down the weak. And yet, somehow, in all its fire and ruin, a single spark of warmth had dared to flicker. A warmth impossibly out of place in the cold steel of Jinx's world.

Isha.

Her face came back to her, vivid and bright in her mind's eye. Wide, eager eyes that shined brighter than the neon glow of the city, full of a hope that had no place here, sparkling with questions, with admiration, with trust. The small, knowing smile of hers or the shrug of her shoulders, the one that said, "I'll be fine". And that moment—that moment—when Jinx's gaze locked with hers in the middle of the battle, when the world around them turned to fire and blood.

When the child who didn’t speak answered the world’s violence with bravery.

She had looked so steady. So determined.

So much like Jinx—staring down the chaos as if daring it to break her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the image. Isha, tiny and frail and far too fearless, standing in the firestorm. Her chest puffed up like Jinx's always did, that same reckless grin trying to stretch across her soft, round face. She had called out for her, her voice tearing raw against the chaos, but Isha didn’t hear her.

Or maybe she had. Maybe that was the problem.

She had always listened too closely.

The hideout was too quiet now, smothered beneath the weight of an absence Jinx couldn’t ignore, louder than any explosion she could create.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms and leaving bloody crescent shapes. The smog-heavy air seemed thicker tonight, each breath heavier than the last. She paced back and forth, her boots scuffing the floor, the sound filling the oppressive silence. She couldn't stop replaying it in her mind.

The air still smelled of gunpowder, acrid and sour, like a wound festering. Her fingers, smudged with grease and blood, itched for something to fix, but there was nothing left to save.

Jinx hadn’t been fast enough.

She hadn’t been good enough.

She hadn’t saved her.

She dropped to her knees, her fists slamming against the floor. The sound echoed through the empty space, but it did nothing to drown out the memory of Isha’s final moments. The way she’d thrown herself forward, packing gemstone after gemstone—overloading the power source of the pistol—before firing it at Vander. Or what used to be Vander, at least.

Hot and bitter tears blurred Jinx’s vision, dripping down onto the cold floor beneath her. She pressed her hands to her face, shaking her head as if she could shake away the weight in her chest.

“Why’d you do it?” she whispered, her voice trembling. It cracked beneath the weight of the question, but the silence gave no answers. “You were supposed to stick around. You were supposed to live. Not… not this. Not for me.” Not for anyone.

But there had been no hesitation in Isha’s eyes.

Jinx slammed her fist into the floor again, harder this time, until pain bloomed across her knuckles like some cruel reminder that she was still here, alive, while Isha wasn’t. “You didn’t have to prove anything!” she shouted into the void. “You were already… You were perfect. You didn’t have to—” Her voice broke, the words dying in her throat.

She crumpled in on herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, as though folding herself small enough could make the world rewind. Make it undo itself.

She opened her eyes to the dim, scattered wreckage of her hideout and glanced up at the walls, where one of Isha’s stick figures still smiled beside a crooked sun.

“Stop haunting me,” she hissed, her voice breaking on the last word. But they stayed, stubborn in their simplicity, a silent declaration of the joy she had tried to bring into Jinx’s chaos.

She crawled to the wall, her fingers brushing over the faint lines. The chalk smudged under her touch, disappearing just like Isha had—too easily, too quickly.

Jinx’s hands trembled as she picked up one of the little girl’s old chalks, the color a soft yellow that barely showed against the grime of the walls. Her fingers shook as she pressed it to the floor instead, sketching the outline of a sun. The lines wavered, uneven and fragile, and she hated how much it looked like Isha’s.

Hated how much it didn’t.

She snapped the chalk in half, the pieces tumbling from her fingers, and rested her head against the wall, her blue hair spilling over her face like a curtain, hiding her tears from the empty room. “I wasn't worth it.” Her voice broke again. “Why'd you try to be like me?”

But hadn’t she wanted this? To be someone worth admiring? To be someone a kid like Isha could look up to? And now that it had happened, all she could feel was the weight of it, heavy and suffocating, like chains around her chest—grief.

Grieve.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, but the apology fell apart in the still air. "I'm so sorry." The tears come harder now, Jinx’s shoulders shaking with the force of them. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood.

Her pink eyes darted to the far corner of the room, where Isha’s jacket still hung on a nail. It was too small, patched and frayed, the kind of thing someone would have laughed at in Piltover. But Isha had worn it with pride, like it was armor.

Jinx got up and dragged herself across the room, her footsteps heavy in the silence. She pulled the jacket from the nail and held it close, the fabric rough against her fingers. It still smelled faintly of her—chalk dust and grease and something warm Jinx could never name.

She sank to the floor again, rocking back and forth with the jacket clutched tightly in her arms, as if holding it could somehow hold Isha, too. But the fabric was empty, and her hands came away as hollow as the rest of her.

Be like you.

Jinx shook her head violently, a sob tearing from her throat. “Not like me,” she spat, her voice cracking. “Not like me, Isha. You were supposed to be better. You were supposed to—” Her words disintegrated into ragged breaths, and she buried her face in her hands as the tears came in full force.

She couldn't breathe.

In the dim, flickering light, she felt her world splinter further while the quiet mocked her.

Jinx pressed the jacket to her face, inhaling deeply as if the lingering scent could anchor her to a world that lost its sense once again. But all it did was remind her of how empty everything felt.

She sat there for hours, her breath hitching, hiccuping, her heart racing as her tears soaked into the grime of the floor, her sobs echoing through the empty space. And when she finally looked up, the room was still the same.

Isha was still gone.

All that remained was smoke from that single spark of warmth that had dared to flicker.