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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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All In 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Okay. Back again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit up as the faucet runs, the bathroom door slightly open. You look around, searching for your own shoes, not these annoying heels. As you get up, Bucky emerges, swiping his hands over his dark hair. You gulp and stop short. You gape at his shirtless torso.

“You going somewhere, doll?” He asks.

“Um, yeah, home,” you tear your eyes off of him.

“Home? It’s late.”

“I know but... my mom...”

“I bet she’s asleep. She won’t know the difference, doll. I can’t let you go off into the night like that,” he insists as he comes closer.

“But I...” you scour the room for your purse. You really don’t know how you’ll explain it all to your mom. You can’t go home in this dress and makeup. “I have to--”

“Who say? You’re an adult, aren’t ya? You can stay.” He comes close and puts his hands on your shoulders, “you’re not gonna leave me all alone, are you?”

“Bucky, I...” you chew your lip. “I had fun...”

“But you can’t stay and snuggle. I get it. You’re a special girl, maybe I just don’t deserve ya,” he frowns. “And I’m not gonna make you stay but I can’t let you go off alone. So let me get dressed and I’ll drive you home.”

You look at him. Your chest tweaks. He did all this for you. He’s already half undressed for the day and you can see the fatigue around his eyes. To be honest, you’re exhausted yourself.

“No, I can’t-- I’ll stay,” you try to smile but you’re too nervous to do more than show your teeth.

“You don’t gotta feel sorry for me,” he scoffs.

“Sorry for you?” You pout, “no. How could I—what would I feel sorry for?”

His throat bobs and he looks away, “you really are a sweet girl.”

“Bucky,” you step closer, then stop yourself. You notice the muscles in his chest. He’s so strong and big. It’s distracting. “I’m just me. I... you—you own this whole place, why would I feel bad for you? It’s not... that. I’m just...” your lashes flick and your eyes drift down to his muscled stomach. You tear them away in shame, “nervous.”

“Nervous,” he looks at you, almost bashfully as he keeps his chin tilted down. “About what?”

“Well, er... everything. You. I... I’m just... it’s all so new, that’s all.” You twist your hand around your finger. “I didn’t mean to... hurt you.”

He stares at you and takes a deep breath. He stands up straight and comes closer. “Aw, doll, no. Don’t give me that face. It makes me want you even more. To show you that you don’t need to be nervous. I wanna take care of ya. That’s the deal, isn’t it? I’m gonna give you everything you could ever dream of and all I’m asking is for you to keep being sweet to me.”

He brings a hand up to cup your chin and you shiver. His thumb rubs along the line of your jaw as you peer up at him, “come on.”

He gently urges you toward the bed. You put your hand on his wrist and stop him. You run your touch down his forearm.

“I can’t sleep in this,” you look down at the dress. “Too tight.”

“Ah, you want one of mine, doll?” He chuckles and reluctantly pulls his hand away.

He turns and strides to the closet. To your surprise, there are clothes inside. Some of them you recognise from the racks of dresses you browsed earlier. He reaches inside and takes out a black button up. He comes back to you as he slips it off the hanger.

He hands it over and you thank him. You feel the fabric, it’s soft. It’ll be nicer than the pinch of the seams.

“Can I unzip ya?” He rasps. You sense the tension in his voice, as if he can barely get it out.

“Oh, sure.”

You turn your back to him, as much to hide your own burning blush as to hide from the heat roiling from him. You wince as his thumb brushes your skin and he slowly pulls down the tab of the zipper. You quiver out your breath and clutch the bodice of the dress as it slackens. You look at him from the corner of your eye.

His fingertips trail up your spine and he steps closer. You brace yourself. He sniffs and pulls his hand away.

“I’ll close my eyes,” he puts his hand over his face and turns on his heel.

You don’t move right away. His presence is like a noose. You step away from him and put the shirt on the bed. You shimmy out of the dress and swipe it quickly off the floor. You put the shirt on and button it up. You unhook your bra and slide it off one arm at a time before pulling it through it free from beneath the fabric.

You gather up the shirt and bra and clear your throat, “you can look now.”

He accepts your invitation eagerly. He looks at you. Nowhere else but you. As you carry the clothing to rest on the dresser, he hums. Your legs tingle as they’re exposed to the room and him. They were before but now you feel even barer.

As he approaches, you wrench back and face him. He stops to step out of his pants and you watch him in disbelief. He has only his dark briefs left. The twitch under the fabric gives you a start. You squeak and hurry for the bed. That’s not because of you... no, but...

He follows. You climb up just ahead of him and his weight dips beside you. You push your legs under the covers as he reaches back to flip the light switch beside the headboard. The lamp goes out and he groans as he jostles closer.

You lay down and just as quickly you’re locked in his embrace. His warm breath fans over your cheek as he nestles in close and brushes his nose along your cheek. His hand traces up and down your side and he clutches your hip. He pulls you flush to him. You can fill him—it—moving against your thigh.

“Doll, ain’t this nice? Just us, just snuggling,” he purrs and tucks his hand under you, hooking a leg around yours. “I wish it could last forever.” You hum, unsure what to say. He kisses your cheek and hushes your silence, “sweet dreams. Don’t think I could sleep any better than next to you.”

🃏

Sleep shrouds you in a shallow void. You can sense everything around you. Your mind won’t let go of your strange surroundings or the man next to you. Before you open your eyes, you try to convince yourself it was all a dream.

You open your eyes to find the truth vivid before you. Bucky entwines himself in your as he snores into your hair. His arm is hooked around you and you’re not sure you’re okay about his hand being where it is. As you squirm, he kneads your ass.

You reach back to stop him and he growls. The sound makes your chest twinge and you arch your back as his fingers curl deeper into your soft flesh. You cling to him as he holds you close.

“Mmm,” he drones groggily, “you’re so warm, baby.”

He rocks his pelvis and you feel just what you did the night before. He’s hard. The realization freezes you. You gulp and put your other hand over his thigh, squeezing him through the blankets.

“Bucky,” you squeak, “Bucky?”

“So good,” he continues to tilt his hips in a lewd rhythm.

You turn to look at him, pulling back to see him. You’re caught in his hold. His eyes are closed as he lays beside you. Is he asleep?

He continues to roll into you. You don’t know what to do. You’re embarrassed and helpless. He keeps on as you babble and blink up at the hotel ceiling. He grunts and jerks, shakes, then stops altogether. You shudder.

“Bucky,” you say louder as you writhe in his arm.

“Mm, ugh, huh,” he mutters as you tap his shoulder frantically. “Doll, what’s--”

You look down as you feel something wet seep through the shirt. He releases you as he leans back and lifts the blanket. He peeks down and quickly sits up. Before you can say a word, he swings his legs over the edge and stands. He storms into the bathroom and the door snaps behind him.

You gape after him. When at last you can move, you drag the blanket away from the mattress. You look at the wet spot on your shirt and push yourself up. You’re not sure but you are sure. It can’t be anything else. You’ve heard of it happening to men in their sleep but you always thought it only happened to teens.

The door opens and you pop your head up. Bucky comes out with a towel around his waist and his hand on his forehead, “doll. I’m so sorry. I was dreaming and...of you, of course, but I got carried away. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t realise...” he swallows and closes his eyes. He tilts his head and drops his arm, “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Uh, oh, I... I... well, I guess it happens, right?” You can’t look at him.

“Well, not really. I gotta be honest, I mean, after this, there’s no point lying but... this doesn’t happen to me. Not often. Not since... well, it was a while ago,” he explains. “I guess you just do that to me.”

“Erm, oh, I... I’m sorry?” You say.

“Sorry, doll,” he chuckles and nears the bed. “Baby,” his voice grits in his throat, “do you know the last time a woman made me feel anything? At all? You got me feeling all sort of ways,” he exhales with a quake and reaches for you.

You look at him as he latches onto your arm. He pulls you to the edge of the bed, “come here.”

“Bucky--”

He forces you to your feet and wraps you up in a hug, “I mean it, doll, I’m crazy for ya. And I’m tryna be patient but... you can see, I’m struggling. Huh? Can I have a little? Please.”

You bat your lashes and dare to look up at him. His blue eyes are blazing and his cheeks are slightly tinged pink. Your stomach is flip flopping.

“I...” you push your lips together and swallow, “what... what exactly... um, what did you want?”

He trembles as he brings his hand up your arm and over your shoulder. He cradles your head and lets out another purr, “can I taste it? Please?”

“Taste?” You echo thinly.

“Baby, you don’t gotta do nothing. Just lay back, right? It’s like kissing. Mhmm. I’ll just be doing it...” his eyes drift lower and his nose furrows as if he’s snarling, “down there.”

“I... I never...”

“Promise, I’ll be nice. I just wanna try it. Alright? You say stop, I’ll stop, but baby,” his nails graze your scalp, “I’m getting hard again. It hurts.”

You stare up at him, speechless. What do you say? What can you say? You’re in this hotel with him. The reason you’re there and could just as easily be the reason you’re not. And he’s you’re only way home.

All of this, the room, the casino, last night, it’s all because of him. He gives and gives and you don’t see how you can keep taking. You squeeze your thighs together as they tingle.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay?” He twitches.

You nod as your eyes flit back and forth, “er, what... what do I do?”

He exhales and puts his hands on your shoulders as he parts. He guides you back to the bed until your thighs meet the side, “you just sit, doll.” He shoves you down until you’re on the mattress, “I’ll do the rest.”

You keep your eyes straight. Your body’s all locked up. You can’t move. He gets on his knees and moves toward you. He reaches under the shirt and grabs onto your panties. He tugs.

“Help me out, baby,” he growls.

You lift yourself slightly, just until he gets them past your bottom. You fall back down heavily. You’re buzzing in disbelief. He rolls your panties down your legs and off your ankles. He flings them away.

He pulls your knees apart and you squeak as cool air grazes along your exposed cunt. He bends forward and kisses your thigh. You squeal.

“Baby, I promise, I’ll be nice,” he speaks against your skin, his warm sweat smearing up your leg, “just be good. Be good for me, baby.”

He shoves his head under the shirt and you exclaim as his tongue swipes up your cunt. You slap your hand against his head and thrash. He reaches back to hold your hand against his hair and buries his face into you. He hums and flicks his tongue. It sends a thrill through you.

Your toes curl and your muscles strain. He keeps his tongue moving, and you push your head back as you lean your pelvis into him. Oh, wow.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #au #casino au #all in #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #avengers #mcu #marvel #winter soldier

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thefirstforgottenpages · 8 months ago

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Just Another Win

I’d like to call it my victory lap

Authors note: Y’all really ate the first one tf up soooo… (me acting like I didn’t read every Rhea ripley x reader on tumblr)

Also Rhea with long hair makes me wanna crawl to Australia

Warnings: smut, hurt comfort, fluff, wrestler!reader, (twisted/noncannon storyline) Nia Jax, Rhea being stubborn, mommy/mami kink, oral, strap on (reader receiving), praise, choking, manhandling… that’s about it (not proofread, I’ll go back and fix it later lmao)

You were livid, you were positively fuming. You watched in gut twisting fear as Nia Jax went off script again and started to beat the ever loving shit out of your girlfriend Rhea. You knew that Rhea was in actual pain when her signature smirk wiped off her face as she got slammed onto her back again and again. You glance around, frantically making eye contact with a few of your friends that were sitting in front row with you. The mirrored horror and confusion that was on their face’s confirmed to you your very worst nightmare. None of this was planned.

Nia just wanted to win. And she was going to do anything she could to secure that. What made it worse was when the mic and camera would pick up Rhea’s tortured facial expressions and pained groans. You were sick to your stomach as Jax slammed her onto the monitor covered desk, the ragged gasp that Rhea let out caused you to swiftly turn your head away from the match, scrunching your nose in apprehension.

Nia’s plan failed in the end. You cheered every time Rhea kicked out of a pin, and when she won, you didn’t care that you broke character, When camera’s weren’t focusing on you, you blew Rhea a kiss, your smile growing wider as her eyes softened while she nodded back at you.

You showed more of your concern later when you both were back at the hotel. “I won didn’t I?” Rhea responds when you ask her if she’s okay. You smile before arching your brow quizzically. “If you say so hon…” you trail off kissing her cheek before wrapping your arms around her. “You worry too much.” Rhea says softer before pulling you in closer to her body. You can tell she’s flattered by the sentiment although when she kisses you quickly on the lips pulling you backwards onto the bed. “I worry too little baby,” you crow, climbing on top of her with ease. Rhea chuckles letting you straddle her, strong hands coming up to grip your waist. As she winces softly, ribs no doubt sore, you frown. “My point exactly.” You say more seriously leaning down to kiss at any skin you can reach.

You know you’ve done your job when you pull away slowly to find Rhea blushing heavily the back of her hand attempting to cover her mouth. You giggle at this scooting closer to her as Rhea’s arm snakes around your torso pulling you snug to her chest. “I love you.” She purrs smoothly, and no matter how many times you hear it, the words still make you beam, blushing as you mumble back “I love you more.”

“You’re always so good to me.” Rhea whispers and the tone in her voice has you shivering, but nonetheless nuzzling into her to place several lewd and biting kisses to her neck. Rhea bites her lip, a whine falling past them anyways. “Are you up to this?” You say trailing your hands up— and much to Rhea’s delight, they dip under her shirt coming to massage delicate circles to the sensitive skin of her boobs. “Fuck yes I do darling.” Rhea stutters as you lean your head on her chest, looking up at her knowingly, batting your eyelashes in a way you know she loves.

She licks her lips as you scoot your body lower rolling up her band t-shirt as you do. “You don’t think I would want to celebrate with my girl?” She smiles, a hypnotic look of lust evident in her eyes as you kiss down her tattooed stomach. You shrug, hiding behind your hair while you pull her shorts and panties down smoothly. “Ah ah none of that my love.” Rhea looks down at you through hooded eyes. You moan softly as her hand wraps in your hair, pulling it away from your face. “Mommy wants to see you tonight sweetheart.” You laugh at her stupefied expression as you begin to suck at her clit.

“Fuck you taste so good.” Your words are muffled and when Rhea’s thighs shake at your words, you whimper into her pussy. “Y-yeah—Jesus-you’re too-shit-too fuckin’ good to me.” Rhea repeats, her hand grips tighter in your hair and you know you’re eating her out the way she always craves. “Like this mommy?” You hum out before slowly licking down to her gushing heat. The way Rhea’s hips buck into your mouth is answer enough, but the unrestrained moan that she lets out has your own cunt throbbing with need.

Rhea’s eyes roll back when your middle and index finger slip inside her. You giggle quietly loving the reactions you can coax out of the usually stoic woman as you continue to pleasure her to the best of your abilities. And your abilities were good you thought, as Rhea let out a pleasured cry that distinctly had a mix of your name in it. “Fucking hell.” Her words are slurred as she pushes your head closer to her cunt not that you minded.

You gasp as Rhea begins to grind against your face. A mix of curse words and praises fall from her lips as her hand comes down to grip at the sheets. You can tell she’s going to cum when her thighs start to close around your head. And when Rhea feels you moan her name softly into her she does. You can’t help but to stare, absolutely enraptured with your girlfriend’s pleasured expression.

You crawl back up to her slowly lips quirking up as Rhea swears at your debauched appearance. You were panting softly, pupils blown and darkened, a heavy pink hue painting your cheeks. Rhea groaned as she pulled you in to place a sultry kiss on your swollen lips. You lay partially atop her as she reaches to her bag on the nearby bedside table. Your smile grows absolutely unrestrained as Rhea smirks at you pulling out her purple and black strap.

You strip as she puts it on, throwing your shirt into the room. Rhea’s longer hair falls into your face as she climbs on top of you. “Have I ever told you how much I like you with long hair?” You mumble as she kisses you once more. “Considering you tell me everyday I would think so love.” Rhea laughs, voice low and raspy. You cling to Rhea as she rubs the tip of the dildo on your clit loving when you gasp out. “You’re so fucking sexy.” You hiccup as she finally thrusts into you.

Rhea’s hand finds its place at your throat before she responds “That’s all you sweetheart.” You blush mouth forming an ‘o’ as Rhea quickens the pace of her hips. “Taking this so well darling.” Rhea coos to you whining when the sound of your wet heat reach her ears. Your back arches off the bed as you wrap your arms around her neck. Your voice is pitchy as you mewl out her name, Rhea muffles your cries as she drags her lips across yours yet again.

“Such a good girl.” Rhea murmurs to you as her head dips to suck at your collarbone. Your moans warble unintelligibly as you clench around the girth of the dildo. “Rhea-I-oh my god!” You can’t even speak a full sentence with how good she’s rutting into you. Rhea knows this responding with a knowing chuckle. “Does that feel good baby?” She purrs to you lowly, hand gripping just a little bit tighter on your neck.

You nod simply, already fucked completely dumb by her precise thrusts. Another keen slips from your lips as Rhea lifts up your legs, the position making her immediately find the part inside of you that had you writhing beneath her. “Oh there we fucking go.” Rhea sighs as your eyes roll back again. “Right there? Yeah?” She chides. She knows fully well that you couldn’t answer even if you wanted. But as you nod your head vigorously Rhea’s smirk deepens. “Right fucking there.” The gravelly timbre in her voice has you clawing at her back as she continues to pound into you.

“Fuck me…” you trail off in your wreaked state unable to get out more than a few words. “M-mommy please I- Rhea!” The tightened coil of pleasure winds deep in your belly, close to snapping. You’re so very, very close.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop I’m-‘m gonna cum!” Rhea groans at your state grabbing gently at your face. “I don’t plan on stopping love.” She grins as you shudder. “Go ahead and make a mess sweetheart, mommy’s got you.” Rhea squeezes again at your throat, and at her lewd words you moan out her name, coming with a hoarse cry. Rhea continues to piston her hips until you’re fucked throughly through your orgasm. As she stills, you pull her body against yours.

“All good?” Rhea asks smoothly, her breath hitches however when you press several love bites onto her bare chest. You nod tiredly but nonetheless brighten as Rhea draws nameless shapes into your skin gazing at you lovingly. “My pretty girl.” She whispers wrapped up in the feeling of just being with you. “My stubborn woman.” You coo back just as lovingly but you both laugh knowing how close to the truth it was.

#Rhea ripley smut #wwe smut #rhea ripley x reader smut #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley x fem!reader #rhea ripley x reader #Rhea ripley fic

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aventurineswife · 8 days ago

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can i request argenti, aventurine, and boothill with a gender neutral reader who has long hair but struggles to style it? i swear doing anything beyond a ponytail is so complicated 😭 also your writing style is absolutely amazing !!!

Tangled in Your Hands

Tags: Argenti x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship (Can be read Platonically), Domestic Moments, Hair Styling.

A/N: I have medium hair but I definitely get the struggle, it's painful 💀💔, also thank you!!! <33 i literally write these fics during night-time while I'm half asleep so I mostly write the characters a bit incorrecly or make them ooc💀

The sound of birdsong filtered through the open window of your modest cottage, but you barely noticed as you sat at the kitchen table, your head resting in your hands. Before you lay an array of hairbrushes, combs, and pins—all useless in the face of your long, unruly hair.

“Is something troubling you, my radiant muse?” Argenti’s voice, warm and musical, broke through your sulk.

You looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his red hair glowing like fire in the morning light. Clad in his knightly attire, he looked every bit the picture of chivalry and grace.

“My hair,” you admitted with a sigh, gesturing to the mess on your head. “I just can’t seem to make it look… decent.”

Argenti approached, his expression softening with understanding. “Your hair is as beautiful as the rest of you,” he said sincerely, “but if you wish for assistance, I would be honored to oblige.”

“You know how to style hair?” you asked, surprised.

“I have braided the manes of warhorses and woven laurels for festival days,” he said with a small smile. “I assure you, your hair is no greater challenge.”

He pulled a chair beside yours and reached for a brush. His hands were strong but careful as he worked through the tangles, murmuring quiet reassurances whenever you winced. Despite his self-proclaimed inexperience, his touch was steady and deliberate, each motion infused with patience and care.

“I find this task quite fulfilling,” he remarked after a while. “It is not often that I have the privilege of tending to something so delicate.”

When he finished, you turned to look in the mirror. Your hair was now styled in an intricate crown braid, adorned with a few wildflowers he had picked from the garden. It was charming and whimsical, perfectly reflecting your personality.

“It’s beautiful...” you whispered, touched by the effort he had put in.

“As are you.” Argenti replied, his voice filled with warmth.

You sat on the plush ottoman in your shared apartment, fingers tangled in your long hair as frustration simmered beneath your skin. The golden-framed mirror before you reflected the mess of locks that refused to cooperate, no matter how many attempts you made to tame them.

“Honestly, how do people make this look easy?” you muttered, glaring at your reflection.

Aventurine, lounging nearby in his signature attire, had been watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. He adjusted the rims of his glasses before setting aside the deck of cards he had been casually shuffling.

“Well, darling,” he said, standing and approaching you with a charming smile, “you’re not just people, are you? Perfection takes a bit more effort.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you offering to help, or are you just here to commentate?”

He chuckled and crouched beside you, his hand brushing against your wrist as he gently took the brush from your hand. “Let’s make a wager,” he suggested, his voice light and playful. “If I can style your hair into something breathtaking, you owe me a favor. If I fail, I’ll owe you one instead.”

“And what counts as ‘breathtaking’?” you asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” he replied with a wink.

Before you could protest, he was already at work, fingers deftly moving through your hair. The rhythm of his motions was soothing, each stroke of the brush accompanied by his soft hums. Occasionally, he’d pause to tilt his head, observing his progress as though you were a masterpiece he was crafting.

“Where did you learn to do this?” you asked, curiosity piqued by his apparent skill.

“Oh, here and there,” he replied nonchalantly. “One picks up a few tricks in my line of work. Charm and presentation, my dear, are invaluable assets.”

Minutes passed, and you felt your initial frustration melt away, replaced by a sense of calm. Aventurine’s focus was unwavering, his usual flamboyant energy tempered by a surprising gentleness.

“There.” he announced finally, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You turned to face the mirror and gasped. He had woven your hair into an elegant braid that cascaded over your shoulder, adorned with delicate twists and loops that framed your face beautifully. It was simple yet sophisticated, a style you had never managed to achieve on your own.

“It’s… perfect.” you said, genuinely awestruck.

“Breathtaking, you mean,” he corrected, his grin widening. “Now, about that favor—”

You laughed, reaching out to pull him into a hug. “Fine, you win. But don’t push your luck, mister.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he replied smugly, though his arms wrapped around you in return.

“Damn it...!” you muttered, wrestling with a stubborn knot in your hair.

Boothill leaned against the doorway of your shared abode, his arms crossed as he watched you struggle. “Need a hand there, sugar?”

You glanced at him, skeptical. “You know how to do hair?”

He smirked, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ve wrangled worse things than tangles in my time. Sit tight.”

Before you could protest, he had taken the brush from your hand and settled behind you. His rough (mechanical) fingers were surprisingly gentle as he worked through the knots, his cowboy hat tilted back to give him a better view.

“You’ve got some patience for this.” you said, half-impressed.

He chuckled lowly. “Patience comes with the territory, darlin’. Besides, it ain’t so bad when it’s you.”

He didn’t try for anything fancy, but when he was done, your hair was free of tangles and pulled back into a neat ponytail. It was simple, practical, and—most importantly—comfortable.

“Better?” he asked, stepping back.

You touched your hair and smiled. “Much better. Thanks, Boo.”

“Anytime, sugar,” he said with a wink. “You just holler if it gives you trouble again.”

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trendywaifus · 8 months ago

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suffering from nightmares/having trouble sleeping properly due to stress? say no more! cw: mention of panic attack. mention of fake character death. spoilers. angst to fluff. fem!reader

ACHERON is a light sleeper, so anything can rouse her from her slumber. she likes to spoon you and prefers you to be near the wall while she’s closer to the door to protect you if anything happens. if you’re having a nightmare, stirring in her arms and mumbling incoherent words under your breath, acheron will immediately wake up and know what’s going on. she won’t wake you. no, she’ll hold you tighter, pressing your back into her front, occasionally kissing the nape of your neck and softly whisper in your ear, talking you through it. “ you’re not alone, i’m here. “ and “ shh, it’s okay my love. you’re in my arms right now, you’re safe. “

if you’re having trouble sleeping, acheron will stay awake and talk to you about anything you want. if you just want her to talk that’s fine, she’ll just ramble on about some philosophy or if she remembers, she’ll recall some funny one-sided interactions she had with random people. you don’t wanna talk and just want her to hold you until you fall asleep? no problem! she’d quietly lull you into her strong arms and rests her chin on your temple. her calloused hands rub your back, occasionally drawing non-existent shapes against it. ngl, i see acheron unconsciously rubbing your ass and shyly apologize once she realizes what she’s doing (please continue).

if you’re having a terrible nightmare and wake up into a panic attack, struggling to differentiate what’s real and what’s not, that’ll be one of the rare times where acheron is scared to death cus ur her baby frfr.

(don’t attempt what acheron’s doing because people react differently during panic attacks and some do NOT want to be touched while having one. verbal redirection and MAYBE minimal touching is okay. )

“ (name). (name)! look at me, hey. “ acheron grabs your wrists, trying to hold you still while you hysterically sobbed and trembled. you frantically tried to escape acheron’s firm grip, shaking your head. “ i-i ha-have to get out of here—i-i can’t be here—you don’t understand!”you babbled, struggling to kick off the sheets and scramble out of the bed. she’s quick to pin you down against the mattress, straddling your hips to prevent you from escaping and hurting yourself.

“ you have to calm down. do you know where you are now? can you recognize me? you need to look at me. i’m begging you. “ acheron pleads, voice nearly cracking as she desperately tries to connect her amethyst eyes with yours. for several minutes, she tried to reorient and reassure you as you struggled to fully grasp reality. once you tired yourself out, it took some time for your lover’s voice to finally reach you.

“ that’s right, calm down. deep breaths, focus only on me my precious girl. no, no, don’t look over there, only at me. “ she whispers, releasing one of your wrists to brush the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead and caressed your face lovingly, wiping the tears away with her thumb. “ i-i’m sorry, “ you choked out, “i didn’t mean to—“

“ it’s alright. you need’nt to apologize. i understand, my love. night terrors are truly horrible. “ acheron dips down to firmly kiss your forehead. she removes herself off of you and protectively pulls you into her midst. “ you nearly scared me to death but i know it was nothing compared to what you were experiencing in that nightmare. i promise that who or whatever is the cause of that dream, i’ll reduce them into nothingness if my blade can reach them. no, i’ll make sure of it. “

BLACK SWAN doesn’t sleep, she’s a memetic entity after all. if time allows her to, expect her to lay in bed and cuddle you while you sleep. her nimble fingers would comb through your hair, while your head is settled on her generous chest. you prefer to sleep on top of her because her presence is so soothing. that includes her voice, it’s so smooth and low, it’s like water when she hums and whispers sweet things into your ear. unfortunately, that still isn’t enough to escape from nightmares. as a memokeeper, black swan knows when you’re having a nightmare. she’ll enter into your dream and save you from whatever’s troubling you. when you wake up, she’d stroke your back and kiss the side of your head tenderly. “ that was quite the nightmare, wasn’t it? was i there to save you, my dear? “ black swan softly asks, sliver of tease in her voice.

you can’t sleep? that’s no good. sure she has the ability to ease your mind and body but physically comforting you with her touch is simply better. your cute sighs of content and the feeling of your body melting against hers is a savory memory to have. if you wish to talk, she’ll talk about the memories she witnessed, her favorites which is the ones with you in it, and then the downright ridiculous ones that she had collected from others. oh? don’t feel like talking and just want silence? that’s fine. she’ll simply hold you close till’ you fall victim to sleep—which won’t be long because her touch is sooo therapeutic and this woman knows it.

of course there will be times where she won’t be there with you due to her duties but if you call her name, especially with urgency, she’ll do her best to come to you as soon as possible.

“ bl-black swan! “ you hurriedly called out into the darkness, breath irregular and tears threatening to fall from your eyes. another night, another nightmare. you thought, running a shaky hand over your face. after a few minutes of waiting, there was still silence, no familiar weight on the bed, no angelic voice confirming her presence, no arms reaching out to embrace you—nothing.

“ sh-she must be busy. i’m foolish to think she would come the second i call her. “ you hide your face into your hands, sniffling.

“ it’s not foolish, my dearest. you musn’t think that, “ a gentle voice says in front of you, as the mattress softly dips. “ i heard the frantic call of my name and i did my best to wrap up some matters as fast as i could. i’m a little late, my apologies.” warm hands grasps your hands, slowly peeling them away from your face. once your watery eyes finds hers, black swan offers you a beautiful warm smile. “ there’s my pretty darling, come here. “ as if you were the most fragile thing in the universe, she delicately pulls you into a embrace and presses a quick kiss right below your brow. she sways you in her arms, humming a soothing tune you don’t recognize.

“ if you wish, allow me to erase that awful nightmare from your memories. “

FIREFLY is a sweetheart when it comes to you, her precious love. she puts you before herself and she’ll continue to until her very being fades away. so if you’re awake, she’s awake. you’re asleep, she’s asleep. in bed, firefly wants to face you while holding your hand, it grounds her and she hopes it does the same for you. when she’s on missions, you’re always on her mind, she has you to come back to after all. if you’re having a nightmare, firefly is quick to notice it and wake you up, greeting you with a sweet smile reserved only for you as your eyes flutters open. “ it’s just me, (name). “ she’d whisper, brushing the messy hair away from your tired eyes. firefly leans down to land a chaste kiss right between your eyes.

having trouble sleeping? that’s okay, firefly will do her best to entertain you while you’re up. if you want to talk about anything, go ahead! she’ll listen and share her thoughts with you. she herself doesn’t really have any fond memories to share except the ones she has with you. oh, you don’t want to talk? okay, let her hold you then. because of her fire element, she’s warm so i can imagine her protectively enveloping you in her arms, legs tangling with yours, and nuzzle her nose into your temple. your ear is pressed against her chest, the soft rhythm of her heart is all you hear besides her faint breathing.

unfortunately, firefly won’t be there all the time with you because of her missions, so nights by yourself are a little common.

with a heavy heart, you lift your head from the pillow, sitting up. cold sweat rolls down the side of your face as ominous darkness swallows your form. “ a nightmare. “ you murmured, glancing to the empty side where your missing lover should be. she’s on a mission and is expected to come back soon. you exhaled deeply, snatching your phone from the nightstand to look at the time. “ its nearly one in the morning. i need to sleep before—“

“ you’re awake. “ a deep, low robotic voice observes, heavy footsteps entering the shared cabin along with the sound of shifting metal. your drowsy gaze turns over to the looming, large mecha walking towards the bed, it’s blue slits glowing in the darkness. “ well, i was sleep but i can guess you can see how that went, sam. “ sam’s large metal hand reaches out to gingerly touch your cheek, it felt warm and comforting against your skin. “ yes, i do. would you like for me to get you a glass of water or anything that you desire? “

you rest your hand over sam’s, giggling, “ no, i just desire you and you. “ your hand then points at the mecha’s chest. sam pauses before a bit, taken back by your gesture and chuckles fondly. they retract away and takes a few steps back. “ as you wish, my love. “ blue lightly highlights sam from head to toe and wisps of flames wraps around its form. not a moment later, firefly emerges from the short-lasting flames, smiling warmly at you.

“ it’s nice to also see you again, firefly. “

ROBIN is another sweetheart! she makes sure you’re all comfortable before anything else. much like firefly, she loves to lay in bed while facing you. robin adores your pretty resting face and often times retrains herself from touching you. if you’re having a nightmare, which is rare because of robin’s angelic presence, she won’t wake you up, instead, she’d sing a soft tune and stroke your hair. “ don’t worry my muse, “ she whispers, dulcet voice filled with love and a hint of sadness, “ you’re not alone. when you wake up, i’ll be here to comfort you with open arms. “

can’t sleep? no worries, if you want, she can relax your body so you can sleep! oh, you don’t want to? you want to just talk to get your mind off of things? okay, robin will listen to whatever you have to say with a fond smile. she’ll gladly give you a response if you want her thoughts. if you want her to talk, she’ll talk about her tours, songs she’s writing (excluding the ones that are about you cus it’s a surprise ;)), and her brother! don’t feel like talking? that’s fine, she’s gonna admire you until sleep overtakes her.

robin absolutely hates it when you have terrible nightmares, it breaks her heart to see you in a state of distress.

“ sweetheart, are you alright? “ she asks worriedly, touching your shoulder and tilts her head to the side to see more of your face. you breathed heavily, casting her a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reassure robin one bit. “ mhm, “ you bring her into a hug, burying your face into her shoulder, breathing in her lavender scent. “ just a small bad dream. don’t worry, robbie. “ you muttered, holding back a sob. it was just a small bad dream where your lover dies right in front of your eyes is all.

her wings flutters with sadness as your body trembles against hers. she wraps her slender arms around your frame, softly frowning. “ a small bad dream that left you like this? please don’t lie to me, love. i want to help you. “

“ you already are, “ you hold her tighter, voice evidently cracking, “ by being here with me.” robin feels warm tears stain her nightgown, her lips pursues.

“ no—please, allow me to see your face so i can wipe your tears away and ease your mind. “

after a brief moment, you tentatively pull away from her shoulder, letting her see your teary face. her jade eyes glosses a bit. robin cradles your cheeks, brushing away the small droplets of tears with the stroke of her thumbs. she leans forward and rests her forehead against yours. a warm feeling whirls in your stomach and spreads through your body like a wildfire. your tense muscles relaxes and your troubled mind gradually clears. your lover places a lingering kiss against your shaking lips, silently promising you that it’s going to be okay.

#trendy #acheron x reader #black swan x reader #firefly x reader hsr #robin x reader hsr #honkai star rail women x reader

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

Note

Other ways for your character to say I love you?

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea – What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?” —Percy Bysshe Shelley, Love’s Philosophy

Be soft on someone - to love someone or like someone very much

“Be with me, darling, early and late.” —John Frederick Nims, Love Poem

Besotted - to be completely in love with someone and always thinking of them

Carry a torch for [someone] - to be in love with someone

“Clasp me close in your warm young arms, while the pale stars shine above, and we’ll live our whole young lives away in the joys of a living love.” —Ella Wheeler Wilcox, I Love You

“Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove.” —John Donne, The Bait

Dote on someone - to love someone completely and believe they are perfect

“Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine.” —Ben Jonson, Song: To Celia

"For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love [you]." —John Donne 1572–1631 English poet and divine: Songs and Sonnets ‘The Canonization’

Head over heels (in love) - completely in love

“I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life. I knew it was hopeless, but that didn’t matter to me. And it’s not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you. Tell me what to do. Show me how to behave. I’ll do anything you say.” —Choderlos de Laclos, Dangerous Liaisons

“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.” —A.S. Byatt, Possession

“I dreamed you bewitched me into bed and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.” —Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song

“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” —W.B. Yeats, Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

“I have to tell you, there are times when the sun strikes me like a gong, and I remember everything, even your ears.” —Dorothea Grossman, I Have to Tell You

“I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.” —Gabriel García Márquez, Love In The Time Of Cholera

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.” —Elizabeth Barrett Browning, How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways…

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.” ―Margaret Atwood, Variation on the Word Sleep

“I'll help you hide the body, always.” ―Me (L. V.)

“I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.” ―Ian McEwan, Atonement

“If certain, when this life was out, That yours and mine should be, I’d toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity.” ―Emily Dickinson, If You Were Coming in the Fall

"If I love you, what does that matter to you!" —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749–1832 German poet, novelist, and dramatist: Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795–6) bk. 4, ch. 9

"Immature love says: ‘I love you because I need you.’ Mature love says: ‘I need you because I love you.’" —Erich Fromm 1900–80 American philosopher and psychologist: The Art of Loving (1956)

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” —Jane Austen, Pride And Prejudice

Infatuated with someone - having a very strong but not usually lasting feeling of love or attraction for someone

“It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution’s power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It well may be. I do not think I would.” —Edna St. Vincent Millay, Love Is Not All

Live for someone - to have someone as the most important thing in your life

Lose your heart to someone - to fall in love with someone

Love me, love my dog - said to warn someone that if they want to be in a relationship with you, they must be willing to accept everything about you

Love someone to the moon and back - to love someone very much, usually used to tell someone how much you love them

“Oh plunge me deep in love – put out my senses, leave me deaf and blind, swept by the tempest of your love, a taper in a rushing wind.” —Sara Teasdale, I Am Not Yours

Steal someone's heart - if someone steals your heart, you start to love or like them very much

Sweep someone off their feet - to make someone become suddenly and completely in love with you

The apple of someone's eye - the person who someone loves most and is very proud of

The light of your life - the person you love most

“This poem is endless, the odds against us are endless, our chances of being alive together statistically nonexistent; still we have made it.” —Lisel Mueller, Alive Together

“Trees and seas have flown away, I call it loving you.” —Reginald Shepherd, You, Therefore

Worship the ground someone walks on - to love and admire someone very much

“You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.” —Arthur Conan Doyle, The White Company

“You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.” —E.E. Cummings, I Carry Your Heart With Me

Sources: 1 2 3

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tteokdoroki · 2 years ago

Text

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— happy home day + eijirou kirishima.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — exactly one a year after adopting from the pound, kirishima plans a special surprise for you, his special little puppy hybrid, on their birthday.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, smut, fluff, hybrids, lingerie, collars, creampies, dumbification, possessiveness, pet-names, body-worship, orgasm-denial, dom-sub, unprotected sex, praise!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, afab!reader, puppy hybrid!reader, pro hero + owner!kirishima.

⭑ words — 4.3K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! i wanted to post something so had you guys vote on what you wanted to see next. the winner ended up being kirishima <3! this was a birthday fic commissioned by my baby @eijirhoe ( who has given me permission to post ) and was beta read by the lovely @vagabondings!! i hope you enjoy !! kiss kiss - m.list ✩

“for fucks sake, kirishima, that is not a fuckin’ guard dog.”

only katsuki bakugou could be this miserable in an adoption centre for adorable hybrids— kittens, bunnies, mice and puppies alike. the redhead gives the employee standing nearby an apologetic mix between a smile and a grimace, the poor thing shaking in their boots at the proximity of the dynamight.

“katsuki, don’t yell. you’ll scare the ‘lil thing,” he pouts, sticking his fingers through the wire bars on the cage— coaxing the little hybrid inside closer. “and i thought you said german shepherds made great guards!” kirishima wiggles his digits again, pursing his lips to make those kissy sounds that are usually used to call to cats and crouches down to the height of the enclosure.

bakugou smacks him upside the head but takes a stance beside his rioting hero friend before signing dejectedly. “wrong sound idiot, you’re meant to whistle,” the two strong, and surely intimidating men spare a glance at the cowering hybrid as katsuki whistles in an attempt to gain some trust. “and they usually do, but this one looks like they might shit themselves if someone looks at them funny. not a guard dog.”

“but bakugou—“

“i hate to interrupt, mister riot. mister dynamight.” the employee from earlier steps in, steeling her nerves as she gestures to the cage the puppy hybrid is in. “but if this one doesn’t get adopted soon, i’m afraid they’re going to be put down. we don’t have the space for slightly quieter and apprehensive hybrids like them, no one really wants them if they’re not overly friendly or energetic and…if they do it’s usually for the like…”

“hybrid farms,” bakugou finishes for the kid, his voice thick with disgust. “just shut one of those down the other day. awful fuckin’ places.”

kirishima pouts again, peering into your cage— noting the gloss in your big pretty eyes and how you shrink in on yourself, tail pinned to the ground without the happy swish to it that other puppy hybrids in the centre have. “so…” he can’t imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen to have ended up here. “if they don’t get adopted today, they’ll be put down? isn’t there any other way? that hardly seems fair.”

“to us it’s a little more humane than ending up at a hybrid farm or those indecent love hotels exclusively for sex with hybrids…” the employee trails off again, nervously fidgeting with their fingers. in the distance, a bell chimes with the notification of more customers— a mother and her child, probably looking to adopt one of the younger, nosier hybrids for their family. “if you’ll excuse me…”

“i’ll take ‘em!” red riot blurts without even thinking, the employee not having taken two steps away from him and his angry blonde friend who looks at him like he’s gone bat-shit crazy. “this is their only chance, right? i have to do something, they don’t deserve to go out like this.” the blonde closes his mouth, holding his protests thoughtfully.

he’s right. kirishima is right, his kind soul always is. “ai’ght, fine. but don’t expect me to train that thing, they ain’t nowhere near close t’bein’ a guard dog.” bakugou grunts, folding his arms across his broad chest with a faux look of dismay— not admitting how impressed he is with eijirou.

eijirou kirishima has a heart of gold, he’s always been like that— putting others before himself because he believes in them. he takes in strays, builds up their strength and their confidence, letting them know that he’ll always be the sturdy figure they can fall back on in times of need. katsuki was one of those strays, an unwanted dog just like you. he’d bared his fangs to the sweet redhead in fear of letting in someone that would hurt him, but as it turns out, becoming friends with someone as selfless as kirishima was just what katsuki needed.

the employee sighs, shoulders sagging with relief as they glance between the two pro heroes. “should i be getting the adoption papers then?”

with an enthusiastic nod, red riot peers back at you with affectionate eyes and a smile you can trust— one that only widens when you bump your head against his fingers over the bars of your pen and let the tips of them just brush your lush puppy dog ears. “yes please,” he says warmly, his gaze never leaving you. “don’t you worry about a thing little one, it’s you and me now, got it?”

and for the first time in forever, your tail wags happily, and you don’t feel worried at all.

being adopted by eijirou kirishima most probably saved your life.

he’d been eager to get you out of that shelter, with the promise of a better life written against his lips and lost under his tongue as he babbled about your new home and how excited he was to have a puppy hybrid of his own. a timid, sweet faced and jumpy german-shepherd hybrid nothing like their breed— with big eyes, a set of pointed and twitchy puppy dog ears and a tail that stays pinned to the ground with nervousness. there’s a lot for him to undo, a lot of trust to build up.

kirishima was patient when introducing you to his home that only big time pro hero money could buy— he let you sniff out the place, scenting areas that made you feel safe even having his comforting, large presence right beside you was enough to make your ears perk up and heightened senses go wild. he let you pick out the biggest spare room in the house and had even felt sad for you when you stated that you’d never had your own before.

“with me, i’ll make sure you have everything you want ‘n more, kay pup? things will never go back to the way they were for you.” the red head swore to you, crossing his heart — that was the first time you’d ever felt love like that.

the two of you quickly fall into an easy routine; kirishima would leave for work in the mornings after making sure he’d set out the perfect meal a growing pup, like you, would need— using all sorts of kibble that his explosive friend katsuki had recommended. occasionally he’d spoil you with pieces of turkey bacon that he knew you weren’t allowed to have, but what was the harm in spoiling someone who hadn’t experienced luxury before? plus he liked the way your German shepherd tail would wag and your pupils would dilate at the sight of the meaty meal.

eijirou made sure you had all the toys possible to play with while he was away for work— you didn’t like sitters and nearly chewed out the last one katsuki had recommended for a nervous puppy such as yourself. you didn’t like her scent and how it had gotten all over your owner. you preferred to be alone, surrounded by the pinewood and musky husk the redhead would leave behind. and, by the time he came home from being red riot, you’d be sitting right by the door with big bambi eyes to welcome him home, the little bell on your store-bought collar jingling as you rush to meet kirishima at eight pm sharp each day.

though you’re pampered with treats and pretty things and ear scratches 24/7– kirishima does have you trained by that awful bakugou. you’re by no means a guard dog, despite what your hybrid breed might indicate— but you’re disciplined with house rules and how to sit and act properly. bakugou is mean and he snarls at you from time to time, but the praise and kisses you get from your darling and sweet red haired owner make the training completely worth it.

nowadays, katsuki doesn’t even question when you scamper onto the couch or perch yourself on eijirou’s lap whenever they have their boys nights to watch the hero rankings live. “pampered fuckin’ pooch,” is all he grunts from over his can of beer.

“hey,” eijirou will huff, his hands on the fat of your waist or twirling through your fluffy brown and black tail. “don’t be mean, katsuki. they don’t know any better.”

even with all that house training— you still sneak into his bed when being on your own gets too much. his warmth calms you, and eijirou doesn’t seem to mind the brush of your thick and soft tail against his thighs in the morning. “pup, you’re not s’pposed to be on the bed,” he’d tried to scold you the first time it happened, he really did, but your ears lay flat against your skull and you gave him those eyes and kirishima was quick to dive in next to you— asking you what was wrong. “nightmares huh? of the pound? well, those can’t be very nice. maybe you should share a bed with me tonight. one night won’t hurt, will it?”

except one night, becomes every single night.

repeatedly, each night, eijirou scoops you up into his flexing, toned arms and carries you to his room instead of your own— tucks you under his weighted duvets not yours, and swamps you with his body heat. he runs like a furnace during the later hours, not that you mind, it’s nice to be close to him. to feel adored like that.

yourself and kirishima are touchier than most hybrid-owner pairs, you’ve noticed. bakugou thinks it’s because you have a clingy-attachment style, the red head because you’ve been deprived of the affection that most pups deserve. he goes beyond headpats and chin scratches, and the ones that itch right behind your floppy fluffy ears. kirishima keeps a hand on the slope of your waist when he takes you for walks on sunny days, he holds your hand instead of your leash most of the time and his lips linger against your forehead a little longer than normal for a hybrid that’s just a housepet.

you think it’s normal at least, you’ve never been cared for like this and having eijirou’s attention some, if not all, of the time feels like a dream come true. you know that he loves you when actions of endearment become more passionate— when innocent cheek kisses become sloppier lip-locks and when hugs turn into desperate attempts to grab at your flesh, also when your heat cycles become less about finding a mate and more about begging kirishima to ravage you against the nearest surface, soothing the instinctual ache in your bones and lower tummy.

he loved you, and you loved him— and you knew that you owed it all to kirishima for the better life he gave you. taking a chance on a shy little puppy hybrid at risk of being put down.

taking a chance on you.

“angel, ‘m home!”

the rustling of brown paper bags, heavy foot-steps and keys jingling in the front door make your puppy dog ears twitch and you perk up from your place deeper in the house at the sound of kirishima coming home from a long day’s work. you scramble up to meet him half-way into the kitchen, tail swishing a mile a minute behind you, nose wriggling in anticipation. “e-eji!” you breathe, fingers itching to reach out and touch him. “you’re back!”

you’re so cute, so loyal that it warms the pro hero right down to his core. kirishima nods once, giving you the go ahead to latch onto him since you’d waited so patiently and lets out a small chuckle as you tuck yourself into his side. “i always come back, don’t i?” setting the bags on the marble island, he frees up a hand to brush over your head softly, using a knuckle to rub behind your ear. “have you been good, baby?” moving to cup your cheeks next, he presses a gentle smooch to the tip of your nose. “‘course you have, you’re always good f’me…but, i gotta know— did ya miss me?”

“i always miss you,” you say a little too quickly, nuzzling into the palm of red riot’s large hand, tail wagging even faster. “can i…can i have a kiss, eiji? please.”

for a moment, a primal look flashes through the hero’s eyes before being replaced with something softer, something that mirrors the smile he gives you. “only ‘cause you asked so nicely, baby,” he says playfully, sliding his hands from your face down to your waist and tugging you nice and close, your hips flush against one another. “c’mere puppy, gimme some sugar, hm?” your body can’t help but bristle, keening into kirishima’s touch as he subtly lowers his voice and guides you into following his command.

you stand on your tiptoes without even realising it, tilting your head upwards as kirishima coaxes your mouth open with his mellow moving tongue—sighing sweetly against your lips until he’s captured them properly in a slow kiss, not giving you too much but pouring enough words into it to let you know how much he cares for you. he pulls away so things don’t too heated, but still keeps his hands on you before you can whine in protest.

“what’s that?” you ask softly, cocking your head to the side when you notice the bags behind him.

“oh those? well,” kirishima swoops down to your height, nipping your nose with pointed teeth— only serving to make it scrunch up adorably. “i heard it was a certain pup’s birthday today…and it also happens to be the one year anniversary of their adoption. so i got ‘em a lil’ somethin’ to celebrate.”

he lives for the way you smile, almost dies at how your eyes sparkle. “c-can i open it eji?”

“not all of it, pumpkin,” eijirou briefly lets you go and you really do whimper this time, knowing better than to claw at him to stay when you know he’ll be right back. the burly redhead turns to grab a perfectly wrapped package from within the brown paper bag and passes it to you with an eager grin. “go put this on f’me, will you baby? then meet me in the living room once you’re done, for the rest of your present, kay?”

“okay! i’ll be quick!” you practically squeal, vibrating in your place.

“good pup, i’ll be waitin’,” he turns you around with a grip that's barely there, handling you as if you’ll break with too much force and patting you on the bum softly as you go.

by the time you return to the living room, it’s been completely transformed.

the lighting is dimmed, a ruby glow filtering through and the soft hum of your favourite song reverberates against the walls and high ceilings. kirishima seems to be fixing a box on the coffee table by the couch before he notices you, a slick and sexy grin tugging at the corners of his lips as you approach him. “there’s my pretty puppy,” he rasps lowly, sending a shiver from the tips of your ears right down to your toes. “god, i think i made the right choice pickin’ that cute lil’ number out for ya, looks so good on you, hun.”

heat pulses under your skin like buzzing kinetic energy, making you tuck the swell of your cheek into your shoulder bashfully, fluffy ears flattening against your skull. “you think so?” said number is a darling little babydoll dress, made of black silk and red lace lace accents that tickle the backs of your thighs with hearts embroidered at the chest.

“it looks perfect on you baby, you’re breathtakin’,” kirishima tells you earnestly, holding his hand out for you to hold— which you take shyly. “c’mere, twirl f’me? wanna see all of you. show off for me, cutie.” every single one of his compliments has your tail swaying from side to side and blood rushing to your brain, making you dizzier than the cute little spins you do for him while the pro hero sinks into the couch to watch you.

he leans back, thighs spreading wide— and you have to fight the urge to drop your gaze between them. “that’s it pretty thing, my puppy’s such a fuckin’ stunner.” kirishima swallows thickly, ruby glossed eyes darkening with desire. “come t’daddy pup, wanna give you your other gift.”

you quickly shift to stand between his spread legs, quivering like you’re cold has large and rough hands swallow your waist and bunch your night dress up at your hips. he presses sloppy kisses to the softness of your tummy over the material.

“sit.” he commands simply, tugging on your hips to pull you down with him

“yes daddy,” your breathing is ragged as you sink into kirishima’s lap, thighs apart so that you can straddle him properly. you wonder if he can hear your heart racing from its place in your chest— your heightened hybrid senses can already pick up on his, kirishima’s pulse sky-rocketing now that you’re on top of him. “c-can i have my gift now?”

his calloused hand pushes the black silk up and over the curve of your ass, red riot digging into the fat of it to rock you back and forth over is hardening girth. “r’member your manners, puppy. yer s’pposed to ask daddy nicely.” nonetheless, he relents and snatches up the box on the coffee table— handing it to you to unravel. “open it up, baby.”

excitedly, you tear through the daintily wrapped package, revealing a red patent leather collar—decorated with red and black bows, and a heart shaped tag with the letters ‘EK’ inscribed into it. collaring was a big deal in the hybrid community, it meant a permanent mark, belonging to someone, being in love.

“let me put it on you,” eijirou simpers, readily slipping the leather around your neck and sliding two fingers underneath it to tug your lips up to his. “i love you, pup.” he confesses, licking into your mouth hungrily and grinding up into your dripping heat.

it’s embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten and so fast, dumbly following him to the forest fire of lust, sucking on his tongue like a parched puppy lapping at the first drink it can get. hybrids slick up faster when aroused and kirishima turns you on like no other— somehow finding your panty covered clit between your salacious bump and grind.

slumping against his beefy chest, your nails dig deep into his shoulders and whistle tone dog squeaks bubble up on the swell of your lips each time eijirou swipes the pad of his thumb over your swelling pleasures nub, encouraging your juices to gush over his hard on—glueing you both together by strings your arousal.

“i love you too…p-please e-eiji!” the air in the room feels heavier, tainted with the lust that clouds your logical thought. in fact, you can’t even think right with the way your owner toys with you. he drools against your puppy tongue, curses into your heated mouth all while you’re riding his fingers like your life depends on it, kirishima pinching at your sticky clit just to hear more of your needy whines. “p-please daddy,”

the hand that once sat lightly against your neck now trails over each dip and curve of your body, barely brushing over your nipples or digging into the meat of your ass and thighs. “you look so fuckin’ good in the things i buy you, hun, drive me fuckin’ insane,” kirishima fights back a moan, cock twitching against your ass, desperate to be inside of you. “so beautiful in that lil’ dress, with my name around your neck. fuck… ‘m so lucky. my pup, daddy’s sexy fuckin’ puppy.” he rambles and praises you all at once, giving you whiplash, making you clench and ooze sweetly around nothing.

you’re sure that the redhead is almost as brainless and as fucked out as you are just from dry humping his darling little pup… but through his own grunts and groans, hips wildly bucking up to meet yours— kirishima still manages to dominate you, make you feel like you don’t even have to think around him. “you want me, pup, is that it? want me to fuck you?” he hums huskily against the shell of your ear, pinging your collar against your neck when you nod your head yes wordlessly. “gotta—fuck— gotta use your words f’daddy, c’mon now, you know that.”

“y-yes daddy, want you. badly.” you slur, and suddenly, your world tilts on its axis. your back hits the sofa with a bounce and you're pinned against it by the weight of your owner above you, your knees being pushed into your shoulders.

“a-always such a good…obedient lil thing f’me,” eijirou groans at the sight of you beneath him. “so perfect, ‘m so lucky t’have such a beautiful puppy all to myself, shit!” your silk baby doll gathers at your hips, soaked panties tucked to the side and your glistening, pulsing mound on display like an attraction made just for him. he wastes no time in yanking down his sweats and boxers in one go— revealing his bright red and angry dick, covered in a thick layer of gooey white precum. all for you. kirishima slaps the length of himself against your slit once, twice before his forehead falls against yours.

“p-put it in eiji, c-can’t wait daddy…”

even though your cute little sex makes him a wreck, eijirou still manages to hold control over you— teasing you as he forces his fat tip past your tiny, creamy entrance. “so impatient, cutie, i should make you say please… but fuck, i need you so bad right now. might not last long…”

the pair of you let out strained moans as kirishima pushes in and he reaches the hilt—your sweaty bodies flush against one another, both of you covered in layers of each other’s arousal. your pussy flutters at being filled up so fast, clinging onto the pretty blue veins that spiral around his chubby, swollen cock— a low whine rumbles in your chest as the redhead sets a rough stream to his thrusts, milky cockhead brushing against each pulse point on your sensitive walls.

it’s almost like you’re being knotted, squelching as kirishima tries to pull out of your snug sex that grips him selfishly. all the while, he pounds you to hell and back. you're so full, you’re a slobbering mess already teetering on the edge of insanity. red riot leans over you, washboard abs pressed against the backs of your thighs to force you down into the creaky couch— each time he withdraws from your messy and wet walls, your ears fall back and your tail thumps hard against the cushions, coated in your viscous nectar.

“fuck, this puppycunt sounds so dirty, gorgeous…feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he whispers to you, words damp on your cupid’s bow. “my perfect puppy, a dumb lil’doggy on my cock…s’such a fuckin’ dream.” your brain empties, becomes a void that’s filled with only eijirou kirishima and the way he fucks you deep, hits every spot, touches your body like a man worshipping a higher power. “‘m so lucky baby, really am.”

your collar jingles, the pendant with his name on it bouncing every time kirishima’s cock bullies its way into your gooey insides until they give into him. you’re the lucky one, you think— lucky to be loved like this, to have been rescued from the pound and pinned down on a dick that aches to be inside you, wrapping around his pulsing length to the point where you’re practically milking him already.

“d-daddy!” you hiccup, big fat tears clumping in your lashes, your face a beautiful mess to the man above you. “i can’t…”

the pro hero reaches down between your bodies, close to cumming just from listening to you howl over the sounds of skin slapping on skin, and tugs at your soft slick tail—stroking it until your pussy quivers and gushes around him, painting your babydoll dress and his half rolled down sweats with a fresh wave of your essence. every time he pets the fluffy appendage, you get wetter and wetter, tighter and tighter and your moans loud enough to wake the neighbours.

heavy hips rock into you, even heavier balls clap creamily against your fleshy ass and kirishima lets his head drop to your neck—biting and sucking possessively at exposed skin just above where your collar lies. “yes you fuckin’ can, your daddy’s good pup right?” he slurs hungrily, writing his claim against your throat. “when you get close, hold it f’daddy, be obedient ‘n you’ll get your reward.”

you feel like everything’s on fire, every nerve ending in your body buzzing with anticipation— the knot in your stomach seconds away from unwinding. “b-but daddy—!”

“hold it.” eijirou warns sternly, though his breath stutters— every instinct that he has threatening to breed you up full with a load of his hot cum. “h-hold it, hon,” you sob at the pain and pleasure of holding off, thighs twitching, tail hitting the couch hard and puppy ears flopping over your face. you’re so adorable like this, jolting up the piece of furniture as the redhead languidly canters into you. he finally breaks when you let out a weak cry of his name, his first spurts of cum pouring into you. “f-fuck, let go for me puppy, make a mess on daddy’s cock—shit, thats it. so good, all over me, wanna see you cummin’ with me…”

white hot ropes of seed paint your insides just as your eyes roll back into your skull. he feels so warm, coating your insides with a layer of his cum as if to claim you from the inside out. there’s so much of it that oozes out of your entrance thickly, like a running tap of honey that ruins your pussy lips with opaque white—triggering your own orgasm. kirishima holds you close, whispers sweet nothings into your ear as your release crashes over you, rocking your world while your juices splatter out against his pelvis and all over your cute little gown in clear streams.

“happy birthday, beautiful,” the redhead mumbles to you sweetly, kissing his initials on your pendant and right up to your lips. “i love you.”

“t-thank you eiji,” you whisper back— a sleepy, full and content puppy. “i love you too.”

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instaspacenoodles · 16 days ago

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Hello! I saw your asks were open and wanted to know if you'd be ok with this headcanons request: Wuthering Waves male characters finding out fem/Reader has a tacet mark in an embarrassing area (we have most characters with normal places like hand, neck, back, but what about when you can't show your tacet mark)? Have a great day!

✧₊⊹Finding Your Tacet Mark | Jiyan, Calcharo & Scar

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 — Fem!Reader, Suggestive, Light kissing, light NSFW

✧ 𝐉𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐧

Jiyan had you pinned against the desk in his office. Even though this was far from professional, he just had to let himself indulge in a small bit of you. It was rare to see you dressed in such casual clothes outside of your Ranger Uniform and the sight of you in that short skirt made him feel like a starving man. He didn’t waste any time pulling you into his office the first chance he saw, unable to take the temptation anymore.

The soft blush on your cheeks only encouraged his exploration. His strong hands sliding up your stocking clad thighs, propping your legs higher so he can see you in all of your beauty. The motion pushed your skirt up to pool around your hips, giving him a damn good view. Oh, but the man wanted more… so much more of you that he was slowly going crazy. One of his fingers hooked into the thin fabric of your stocking to slowly pull them down. Jiyan was like a kid unwrapping a present on Christmas morning and you can clearly see the anticipation growing in his eyes. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as he revealed what you had been hiding from him all this time - your tacet mark placement. His brow quirks up, interest flashing in his eyes at finding the unique placement on your thigh of all places. No wonder you always made sure to keep it hidden with your uniform - he wouldn’t know how to focus if you were constantly exposing this area.

Rough fingertips brush over the darken star shaped marks on your skin, tracing the pattern slowly with a hum of approval. You advert your eyes from the sight, mumbling under your breath how embarrassing it was for the mark to appear on your inner thigh of all places.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he leans down to press his lips against the source of your power. His golden eyes flickered up as a shutter rushed through your body, his ears being rewarded with the sounds of your soft moans. He couldn’t help but be a little smug at finding another sensitive spot on your gorgeous body.

“I’ll show you how beautiful your tacet mark is.”

✧ 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐨

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall of the Ghost Hounds’ base as Calcharo chased after you. You couldn’t help but let out a mischievous giggle as your feet swiftly carried you around the corner. Excitement and anticipation coursed through your veins as the game of cat and mouse continued. It was only a matter of time before you were caught.

The footsteps drew ever closer and you were running out of places to go. You turned left at another intersection. As you ran, you realized that this hallway was definitely the wrong choice to make your grand escape. You reached the dead end. It wasn’t before long a hand caught your arm and pulled you back with a gentle tug. Your body was pushed against the cool surface of the wall seconds later. You gaze up at Calcharo’s calculating stare with a semi innocent look on your face.

“You have something that belongs to me, doll. Now, my shirt please?” The man raised an eyebrow, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Though, even with his stoic nature, you could clearly see the amusement in his expression- essentially with the small quirk of his lips. He had definitely enjoyed this little trick of yours. You gave him your best pouty face as he tried to remove the shirt, lifting it over your head. Though his motion froze when his eyes caught a familiar star shaped marking on your hip. You looked down to where he was staring and- oh. The tacet mark.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your veins as you tried to squirm away. Too bad Calcharo’s hold on your wrist was unrelenting. “Seems like you've been hiding something else from me.”

Your mouth opens as you try to come up with an excuse, anything to explain why you never showed him the placement of that mark. Yet only a squeak escaped when his cool fingers brushed against it without warning. Oh that shouldn’t have affected you the way it did. Amusement had definitely bled more into his expression - that rare, goddamn smirk pulling at his lips.

“That’s it, be a good girl and stay still for me.” Your knees got just a bit weaker from his voice, “Let me investigate this mark you tried to hide from me.”

✧ 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫

A sigh leaves your lips as you open the door to the bathroom, steam pouring out as you walk. There was a towel wrapped around your damp body, hair still dripping from the water. You have moved over to your drawers when warm arms suddenly wrap around your middle. A chin found its place on your shoulder and you could feel the person’s soft hair brush against your ear. You jolted a little in surprise at the sudden gesture but you knew exactly whose arms they belong to. There was only one person that would invite themselves into your house with no warning.

Scar makes a delightful hum as he presses against you from behind, his hands wasting no time in exploring the natural curves of your body covered by the towel. The man was always the touchy type no matter who was around and where they were. He made sure to find any situation to make you flustered.

“My, what an interesting placement” His tone was a smug one, like he had just discovered a rare, hidden treasure. It took you a few moments to realize what exactly he was talking about before you clutch the towel tighter in embarrassment. Your tacet mark, resting right above your breasts, was currently out in all of its glory. He was never meant to see it - you had kept it dutifully hidden for a reason! Now, he was definitely going to abuse that knowledge. You sputter trying to get an explanation out, your hands pulling the towel up higher to cover the dark, star-shaped marks from his sight. A laugh rings in your ears as he turns you both to face the mirror next to the closet. You can spot his signature shit eating grin in the reflection as his hands reach up to replace yours with his own. The towel, your last line of defense, fell to the floor with a thud.

“Oh no, don’t even think about hiding it now, little sheep” He mutters in your reddened ears, “I’m definitely going to have fun with you~”

#wuthering waves #wuwa jiyan #wuwa scar #wuwa x reader #wuwa calcharo #calcharo x reader #calcharo #calcharo wuthering waves #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x reader #scar wuthering waves #scar x reader #jiyan x you #calcharo x you #scar x you #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x y/n #fem reader

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dollwrites · 2 months ago

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ᴍɪsғɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀᴍᴇʟᴀ ɪsʟᴇʏ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!robin!reader, established relationship, predicament bondage ( plants ), blood mention ( mind the thorns ), improper use of Pam’s powers and plants in general, it’s kinda dub con, suggested age gap, praise kink, maybe a very small amount of sex pollen if you squint. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act six [ object stimulation ]

“Well, well, a little birdie got caught in my trap.”

vines slither up your legs, coiling like serpents around your thighs and squeezing tight. Pam’s voice sounds like it’s all around you, but you know better than that. she’s just a pro at playing up the villain bit. “Ivy,” you break out into a subtle smile even saying her name, but attempt to hold it at bay by nibbling on your lower lip. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Isn’t that what you said last night? And the time before that?” Pamela’s voice only grows softer as she gets closer, practically materializing out of the darkest shadow at your back, until slender fingers drum against your shoulders, and glossy lips smack against the shell of your ear. “Oh, and the time before that?”

“Heroes make mistakes,” you remind her, but you’re happy it’s her causing chaos in Gotham and not that looney tune Joker. “I have just made… a lot of mistakes this week.”

and you wanted to make another. just one more, terrible decision before Batman ruined all your fun.

“Pamela—“ you reach for her, wanting to run your fingers through her fiery curls or caress her face long enough to guide those tantalizing, glossy lips to your own, but more vines got in the way. snapping around your arms, they pin them tight to your sides, looping several times around your midriff. this is when you notice the thorns, angry and red, nipping at the spandex of your uniform around your belly, tearing several, minuscule holes in the threading and pressing into your soft skin beneath. “Ivy.” you say, more firm this time. the fabric that clings to your thighs like a second skin is also being torn at by her dubious, thorned ‘babies’ as she called them. “Now’s not the time for your little games. Batman is—“

“Shh, sh, shh,” Pam cuts you off, allowing her hands to careen over your shoulders and down your front, caressing your chest as her lips tickle the column of your neck with tender kisses. you moan out loud when she teases a particularly special spot that she already knew was there, and her svelte, razor sharp nails slip beneath your neckline, severing quintessential threads that hold your top in place. the seams snap with a soft sound, and part to expose your cleavage. “I know Bruce is probably scouring the rooftops of Gotham right now, searching for you, little bird. But you and I can still have our fun before he finds you.” both of her willowy hands envelop your breasts through your top, running her thumbs along the shape of your budding nipples, and you moan, your resolve slipping, as you allow your head to fall back, simply enjoying the attention. “There you go, my little pet. Such a good girl for me.”

but you can’t ignore the thorny vines that are vice-tight, digging into your arms, waist, and legs. shredding the integrity of your outfit. “Time to call off your babies, Ivy.” you tell her in a mew, but they only seem to tighten their grip at that, twisting against you. some of the sharp edges find your skin beneath the costume and liquid rubies bead up from you at the contact points. you let out a sharp hiss at the sensation of so many cuts at once, and tilt your head back further to look up at her, demanding to be released.

but Pamela is simpering wickedly at you as she peeks up from your neck— the visage of a heroine, usually so strong, reduced to a damsel in distress. “Mm, nn-nn.” she denies you simply, “I think I’ll have my fun with you all tangled up this time.” as she speaks, the two tips of the vines incapacitating your legs meet in between your thighs, their bulbous buds stiff and oozing a nectar-like substance as they begin to rub against you. it was sticky and warm, but not unpleasant, the smell of a honey-arousal cocktail wafts in the atmosphere the longer they tease your sensitive cunny through your suit. you were almost worried the two, determined little buds would rip a hole in the crotch of it with all their furious, hard scrubbing, and you would have a difficult time explaining to your mentor why your private parts were exposed. the injuries from the thorns you could probably explain away without raising much suspicion. however, the edges of these buds were slick enough to lubricate the fabric ( and you, of course, taking care of the interior the more they pleasured you ), so the majority of the integrity of the suit tonight remained in tact.

your gloved hands ball into fists at your sides, but you can’t deny it feels good. the flowerlets seemed to be ribbed in all the right places, writhing in tandem to toy with your cunt— pushing the spandex around until your nerherlips slot around them, and they can worm their way, instinctively, to the more sensitive parts, like your throbbing, little button that swells further. “Ah, uh—!”

one of the sprouts blossoms, the flower mimicking the shape of a small mouth, and latches itself in place with several, microscopic teeth-like thorns impaling through your suit. the seal creates a suction against your clit hard enough to make your eyes cross and your knees buckle. it felt like Pamela’s mouth when she ate your pussy, the way it sucked hard on your nerve-bundle. that’s how you knew she was in complete control, aware of the sensations that bring you the most pleasure and channeling them into these, little minions. the bubbling in your belly, a brewing orgasm, flares at the sudden ferocity, and your mouth hangs open, half in shock and half to simply allow your needy moans to flow freely. “P—Pam, oh, god, this feels… Good!! Don’t stop…!!”

your pleading nature elicits a giggle from the vixen fondling your breasts, further overloading you with pleasure, and she traces her name along your throat with her tongue, as if claiming Batman’s young, pretty sidekick for herself. “You’re always so sensitive, so responsive. Taking whatever I give you, doing so well.” she croons softly, her thumbs and forefingers pinching at your pert nipples to intensify the pleasure her plants are giving you. the still-closed floret has taken to prodding against your hole as it clenches, helplessly, behind the flimsy defense of your suit, teasing you with fantasies of tearing its way through and impaling you. right now, you were intoxicated by the pleasure ( or perhaps, that sweet-scented sap that seemed to envelop you in a warm, tingling sensation ), and you wanted nothing more than that to happen. but Ivy knew there wasn’t time to ravage you, not like you both wanted. “My pretty, little bird. My favorite.” she emphasizes the word favorite, by allowing one hand to flee to your jaw, grasping it, and turning it to capture your lips in a steamy kiss.

you can’t help yourself. you’re teetering on the edge of orgasm, and all this praise is only throwing gasoline on an already-raging fire. so you kiss her back, as fervently and hungrily as you can manage. your tongue tangling with hers in a dangerous dance as her suffocating kiss muffles the higher octaves you reach when your orgasm hits you like a sack of bricks.

you come undone, your hips bucking back and forth, riding the waves of intense pleasure because you can do little else, your fists balled so tight that your knuckles hurt, and you whimper when Pamela sinks her teeth into your lower lip, tugging on it. your eyelids flutter when you release, and then, without so much more as a second to torture you further, the vines retreat. Pam breaks the kiss, kicking her lips, smirking with her arms crossed as she steps back.

without the vines’ support, you are more than a little wobbly on your feet. you manage to stay standing, only barely, and pant, chancing a glance down at your suit. the chest is ripped open, exposing more cleavage than normal, it’s riddled with small, puncture holes, and the aromatic slime mixed with your own release creates a thick, damp patch in the crotch. Explaining this to Batman might be a little harder than you anticipated, but you would figure it out. your eyes flicker over to her, watching the vines retreat into the darkness behind her, and she only stands at the edge of escape. she looks stunning, irresistible, and in your post-orgasmic state, still riding the high, you want to grab her and insist on a round two. bury your face between her thighs and drink her in. but you couldn’t, and you both knew that. not yet, at least. “Don’t look so sad, baby.” Pamela speaks first, reading your pouty expression, and she reaches out to caress your cheek and trace your jaw with the very tip of her nail, smiling fondly. “We’ll see each other again soon. You just have to find some time to sneak around Bruce. Keep him distracted a little longer, and then I will really and truly ravage you.”

your heart thumps harder at the idea. you’ve been at the mercy of Poison Ivy and her insatiable appetite more than once, but it’s always a place you want to be. “Yeah, just stay out of his way in the meantime, okay?” you plead with her, tilting your head to kiss her fingers, mumbling softly, “It’s a pain in the ass to sneak into your cell at Arkham.”

#poison Ivy #poison Ivy x reader #poison ivy x you #poison ivy smut #pamela isley #pamela isley x reader #pamela isley x you #pamela isley smut #dc comics x you #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc x reader #dc smut #dc comics smut #dc #dc comics

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inkblot22 · 6 months ago

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Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream?

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together.

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you.

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open.

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t…

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears.

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves.

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage.

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?”

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together.

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say.

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you.

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today,

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff.

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does.

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw.

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily.

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you.

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

The Quiet Ones 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: it's hump dayyyy.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Lloyd drags you away as you hear the disgusted muttering of his parents. You try to tug free but he’s too strong. Even if he did let go, where would you go? Your ankles nearly bend in the heels as he urges you to the stairs and you stumble into his back.

“Aw, baby,” he faces you, “don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ll get there.”

Before you can react, he scoops you up. You cry out, the dregs of your bile burn your throat. You make a face at the smell. He’s hardly bothered as he turns to continue up the staircase.

“Damn, jelly bean,” he snarls as you feel his heart racing, “I knew you were a freak underneath it all. The way you just dug right in. Like an animal. Feral,” he snickers and kisses the top of your head as he gets to even ground, “we’re more alike than you know, aren’t we?”

You gulp and say nothing. You’re disgusted as much by yourself as him. All that and for what? You’re still stuck with this madman. How on earth did he even notice you? By his parents’ suggestion, you’re far from his type.

“Urgh, I don’t feel good,” you rub your stomach and wriggle in his grasp. It would be a good excuse to get away, or at least some space.

“That’s alright, jelly bean, you let me take care of you,” he carries you breezily down the hall, his footsteps jaunty. You put your hand on his shoulder to steady yourself and his blue eyes flick down to the diamond ring, “fuck, that looks amazing on you. I’ll look just as good on you.”

He laughs at his slimy joke but it only unsettles you. Even with barf on your breath and steak in your teeth, you can’t deter him. You’ve tried everything; ignoring him, waiting him out to the point of starvation, and making a fool of yourself. Your hope dwindles to a single strand, ready to snap.

He takes you into the bedroom and through to the adjoining bathroom. The shining marble and gleaming golden accoutrements reflect the overhead light in a pristine sheen. He places you down on the counter so your legs dangle over the edge and he puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Don’t take it to heart, bean, mom and dad are just like that. You’ll always be good enough for me,” he winks and shifts over to the sink.

You watch him, helpless. You know better than to hop off in those heels and twist your ankle. He fills a clear cup with porcelain and wets a toothbrush before adding minty paste. He holds them out to you and you accept them wordlessly. The sparkle of the ring makes you wince.

“I’m their son and they don’t really like me. Sometimes I wonder why they even had me...” he sighs and flicks the cup lightly with his finger.

You put the brush in your mouth and scrub your teeth. It’s a good excuse not to reply. You don’t really get this man. He’ll kidnap a woman then spill his heart out like you care. Still, knowing how his parents are, you can piece together how he got to this point.

“You get me, jelly bean. I know you got no parents and sometimes, I feel the same--”

You choke and pull the brush from your mouth. You swig with the cup and lean over to spit into the sink. You sneer at him, a genuine wave of anger rising in you, “how do you know that?”

Surprise washes over him at your reaction. He shrugs and hooks his thumbs in his pockets, “well, of course, I had to learn everything about you, honey. To take care of you. Tie up any loose ends hanging off of you--”

“What the... you...” you scrunch your brow up and shake your head. You feel even sicker. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Stop?” He smirks, “stop what?”

You sigh and put the brush back in your mouth. You scrape away the taste of vomit and rinse your mouth again. He takes the cup and brush and puts them aside for you. He comes back to stand in front of you.

“Your special, bean. I gotta keep you safe. I mean, look how easy I just waltzed in, imagine what a really bad guy could do,” he frames your face with his hand, “just look at you...” he squeezes your jaw tightly so you can’t pull away, “so small and cute and... delicious. I bet you taste as sweet as a jelly bean, huh?”

His other hand tickles your side and he steps closer, wiggling his way between your knees your legs splay wide. The skirt strains around your thighs as he grips your hip more firmly. He purrs and leans in, his nose tickling yours.

You press on his chest, "your parents."

"They can see themselves out, they always do," he slithers, "baby, I only need you."

"Wait, I'm not-- I--" you babble as his hand slips down and his fingers curl under your ass to grope you, "Lloyd, please, we-- we aren't even married yet."

He pauses, hovering before your lips and draws back. His mouth slants.

"Are you an old-fashioned girl, huh? I shoulda known," he purrs, "well, I can get with that," he drops his hand from your chin, "we don't gotta go all the way."

He brings both his hands to your hips and pulls you towards him. You fall back with the suddenness and barely catch yourself on your elbows. You squeal as he keeps your legs wide and yanks at your skirt.

"Please, I'm not-- I'm not ready," you plead.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll get you warmed up," he rasps as he shoves his hands up your dress, bending over you as he exposes your panties.

"Ah, gosh," you sputter dumbly, writhing as he bows down to bury his nose against your underwear. He takes a big whiff and you exclaim, embarrassed. "Ayeee, Lloyd."

"You smell like heaven," he lowers himself to his knees, "and I'm not a religious man, mind you."

You clutch the edge of the counter as you slip down, propping one elbow as you fight the slipperiness of the satin. He nuzzles you, dragging his nose along the trim of your panties as his breath dampens your skin. He nips at you playfully and snarls.

You squeal in surprise once more. The rippling sensation that radiates from his touch has you as off-kilter as your position. He feels along your thigh and hooks his hand around your other leg. He flutters his fingertips against your panties and tugs them to the side, a waft of cool air dancing over your bare lips. You wriggle again.

"It's okay, baby, I'll be nice, just a little appetizer," he coaxes and swipes his tongue along your cunt. As you gasp, he rears back and does the same, "jelly bean, you lied to me. You are ready," he licks his lips and you look down at him, his lips already glistening.

As he dives back in, you gulp and shut your eyes. You turn your head away as he spreads his tongue wide and laps you up. He rocks his head, tickling you deliberately with his mustache, humming into you. You whimper and slap a palm onto the marble counter top.

He flicks up and down, swirling as you squirm and pant helplessly. As in all things, you can’t resist. Your head falls back against the mirror and you whine. How is he doing this to you? Why is he making you like this? You don’t like him, you don’t want him!

He tilts his head all around, garbling into you hungrily as he smears your wetness all around his face. His shamelessness spikes your arousal, a new flame razing up your spine. You heave and reach down to latch onto his hair, tugging on it as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks.

You cry out, legs quivering against his face as you try to close them. He growls and snarls eagerly, devouring you as the pressure wells up to the brim. You huff and puff, curling your spine as you try to fight the pulsing in your core. No, no, no. It’s so intense you feel the tingle in your toes.

Your voice grows louder as your spasm and the spring overflows. You feel yourself spill into your mouth. He hums again, laughing into you as he drinks up your orgasm. You throw your arm over your face, thoroughly ashamed of your desecration.

You slide limply down, head tilted up against the mirror, as your legs open and hang loosely. Lloyd kisses your cunt before he pulls away, making a slurping sound as your eyes slit open. You can see the wetness in his mustache. He grins proudly and sighs.

“Fuck, jelly bean, you’re just like candy,” his eyes drift back to your exposed cunt.

You try to close your legs and he catches your knees. Holding them open. He tuts and pokes his tongue out, once more licking up the slickness around his lips. You cringe and push yourself up on your elbows.

“You want me to wait for all that?” He growls, “damn, baby, you must be a sadist, making me hurt so much.”

He traces his fingers up your thighs and pinches until you squeak. He clucks and reaches past you to the counter. He pulls himself to his feet and you see the bulge in his pants. He rubs his hand across the obvious outline and he shudders.

“You don’t gotta do anything, just let me look at you while I play with it, how about it?”

He doesn’t wait for your permission. In that moment, you can’t speak. Even if you could, you don’t even know what you would say. He unbuckles his belt and pushes down his zipper. He’s trembling as he frees himself, his swollen top poking out of his fly. He crumples the top of his pants as he shoves them down impatiently.

“Show me your ass, I just wanna see it,” he grabs himself and groans, “ah, shit, please, jelly bean, I’m begging you. You want me back on my knees?” He kneels again, stroking himself slowly, “please, turn over, baby, promise I won’t touch.” He moans, “can’t you hear how much pain I’m in? For you?”

You slide down, feet touching the cold tile. You flutter your lashes, legs shaking. You’re weak and senseless. You can’t look at him. You turn and he groans again. He sounds agonized.

He chuffs out air as you hear him pumping himself. You hang your head, leaning on your arms as he pulls up your skirt. He whines as he reveals your bare ass around the slender string of the thong. You’re roiling in humiliation and something else.

“Shit, shit, shit, baby, you are... immaculate,” he grits, “where-- where do you want me to come?”

“Huh?” You utter.

“Fuck, too late,” he lets out a roar, punctured by deep huffs, petering out to a pathetic panting that leaves him droning.

You stay as you are, hiding as your heartbeat slows and the coil inside you loosens little by little. You pull your skirt down, skin scoured in shame, and face him. He sits on his knees still, head down as his dick twitch and slowly softens. You try not to look at it.

He lifts his head to you, his cheeks flush and his hair askew. He looks around with his foggy eyes and chuckles, “well, it’s good we’re in here, huh? We can get cleaned up.”

You just stare at him. You’re mortified. You can’t believe what he just did. To you. Then after. And you just laid there. You think... you think you had an orgasm.

“Let me...” he begins and wobbles before he can plant a foot on the floor. He stands stiffly, not bothering to hide his dick. You ignore the way it flops.

He turns and goes to the tub. The top of his ass peaks out of his crooked pants. He’s absolutely ridiculous. He the last kind of person you would ever associate with. Not that you talk to anyone, but he is not anyone you would dare to speak to. Yet he has made himself your personal pest.

He bends over the large tub and cranks it on. You peek over at the door. How loud were you? Were his parents still there to hear you? You frown and raise a foot then lower it again. Your instinct to run fights with your logic. You know you won’t get far, not on jelly legs and not from him.

The water spills out and he stands, backing away as he rubs his lower back. He strips off his jacket and rolls his shoulders. He turns back and lays it across the other end of the counter. He unbuttons his shirt and looks over at you.

“Come on, jelly bean, unless you like a bit of zest, I don’t mind it,” he pokes his tongue out at you, “extra flavour and all.

You let your disgust singe through and curl your lip. He laughs. He drops his shirt and nears. He turns you to face him as your skirt drapes back over your legs. He guides the straps down your shoulders. He shimmies the sheath down your body, his fingers grazing your skin cloyingly. You shiver as bumps raise on your skin.

“You been hiding, jelly bean, well I’m about to bring you right out of that shell,” he smirks, “if there’s one thing to know about Lloyd Hansen, there’s no walls that can keep him out. I’m gonna tear yours right down.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the quiet ones #the gray man #series

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tonberry-yoda · 5 months ago

Text

Five More Minutes - Kento Nanami

notes - This one's for the poll :) Thanks for voting guys, seriously, it always helps because I have such an urge to write, but don't know who to write for T^T Speaking of, feel free to drop any character in my inbox :) word count - 402 genre - fluff warnings - none :)

“When’s the last time we took a vacation?” you asked, your voice thinning out as you stretched in bed.

Nanami snorted and rolled over on his side. “Have we ever even taken one?”

You turned yourself over and cuddled Nanami. “We should take one then.” you whispered.

“Easier said than done.”

You ran your fingers over his bare back feeling goosebumps rise.

“We deserve it though.” you told him, pressing your fingers onto his back, almost massaging him lightly.

“You deserve it.”

“Shut up.” You pressed a kiss onto his shoulder and hugged around him. You felt his thumb rub over your knuckles before he placed a kiss onto them. “Everyone deserves a vacation. Plus, I don’t want to see you work yourself to death. You’re better than that.”

Nanami rolled over so he could look you in the eyes. He had bags under his own eyes and despite a good night’s sleep, he looked as though he could pass out again. “I could say the same about you, y/n.”

“Shush.” You let him wrap his big arms around you that always gave you that secure feeling. You smiled and took a big breath in. You never wanted to leave when he did this, but you also always knew what was coming.

“We gotta get ready for work.” Nanami said, pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

You groaned and held him tighter. “Five more minutes.” you grumbled.

“No, love, we have to go. We had five minutes.”

You pouted as he tried to pull away from you, and you clung onto him like an animal.

“Babe, I’m serious.” he giggled, trying to pry you away.

“And I’m serious too.”

You somehow managed to let go, but maneuver yourself in a way where you grabbed onto his back and slammed him right back down on the bed. When he fell to his doom, you looked at your hands in surprise. You knew you were strong – since you were a sorcerer and all – but not that strong.

You turned to Nanami and smiled before pouncing on him to press kisses and lay in bed for just five more minutes.

“We really do need a vacation.” he said, grabbing your thigh and rubbing his thumb over your soft skin.

“I’ll start planning.” You pecked him on the cheek and got out of bed to get dressed.

“Going already?” he pouted.

“You’re awful.” you teased.

~~~~~

jjk masterlist | pinned post

2024 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

#tonberry writes #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #my writing #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #<3

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iomoru · 28 days ago

Note

the GI boys in reverse!au, when they are the player and the male!reader is the character.

what if they expect you back but it's Qiqi (it happened to me😑)

Not Pulling You

A/n: I don't write for male readers which I already said in my pinned post. I do Gn! Reader instead so everyone can read it, well here you go anyways! (*・ω・*) (I'm sorry it took long（；へ：）)

Genre: Modern! Au, Reverse! Au, Fluff, Gn! Reader, Second Person, Proofread

Chars: Xiao, Venti, Gorou, Itto

Summary: He’s saved every single primogem for a chance to add you to his team—but when the banner finally drops and he pulls he got Qiqi instead, his reaction is anything but ordinary. From quiet resolve to dramatic breakdowns, he’ll keep trying until you’re by his side.

Xiao:

Xiao’s heart raced as he watched the star glimmer across the screen. He’d been waiting for this banner to come around—waiting to bring you to his party. But as the star faded, a small figure appeared on the screen instead.

“Qiqi…” He whispered to himself, almost stunned. It wasn’t disappointment, not exactly; she was adorable in her own right. But he’d hoped for you, wanted to see you move effortlessly through the battlefield, maybe even have you in his party for every adventure.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile slightly. He’d try again—after all, he knew patience better than anyone. But until then, he’d let this moment hold a certain charm. “Alright, Qiqi… let’s see what you can do.”

Venti:

Venti watched with shining eyes, leaning so close to his phone that his nose almost touched the screen. The wish animation played, vibrant and colorful, and he could feel his heart thumping. But as the sparkle faded and Qiqi appeared, his face dropped instantly.

“Qiqi?!” he wailed, throwing himself back on his chair, clutching his head. “Noooo! My precious primogems! All my hard work!” He dramatically fell to the floor, as if fate itself had wronged him. “Why, oh why, would the universe deny me this one simple wish?”

He lay there, sighing loudly every few seconds, only peeking at his phone when he thought no one was looking. “Fine, Qiqi…fine. But mark my words, my muse—I’ll get you one day!” He resolved to sing songs about his “woe” until he gathered enough primogems to wish again.

Gorou:

Gorou sat on the edge of his seat, his tail flicking with excitement. He’d saved every wish he could for this banner, all to bring you to his party. But as the star fell, the face that appeared wasn’t yours—it was Qiqi’s.

“Oh…Qiqi…” His ears drooped slightly. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her skills or what she brought to a team. But he’d been imagining you beside him, fighting alongside him, someone he could rely on in the heat of battle.

After a pause, he scratched his head and laughed at himself. “It’s alright,” he reassured himself softly. “I can try again. And besides, Qiqi could use a strong team to keep her safe, right?” Gorou couldn’t help but smile, already planning his next team configuration to give Qiqi the backup she needed—until he’d finally have a chance to pull you.

Itto:

“Alright, here we go!” Itto chanted, practically bouncing as he made his wish. His fingers were crossed, his eyes wide with expectation. But as the summoning animation finished, there she was: little Qiqi, gazing at him blankly.

His jaw dropped. “No way.” He threw his head back, groaning loudly as he clutched his phone dramatically. “Come on! I didn’t save up all my primogems just to end up with…Qiqi! Why does this keep happening?!”

Throwing himself onto the floor, Itto flailed dramatically, wailing at the ceiling. “I just wanted you! Is that too much to ask?” He peeked at his phone, then sighed, resting his head on his arm. “Alright, Qiqi, looks like we’re sticking together for a while, but I swear, next time it’s you I’m bringing home!”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A/n: I ran out of dividers (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ) (not really I'm just picky (≡^∇^≡) )

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inkykeiji · 2 years ago

Text

characters: jouno saigiku x fem!reader x suehiro tecchou

genre: smut

notes: hi hi! sooo this was only supposed to be a lil drabble based on a dream i had a few nights ago, but it grew into a full fic!! absolutely no one is surprised. please heed the warnings below, this one is a lil dark!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, sexual torture, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, two slaps to the face, dacryphilia, noncon then dubcon, knife play, blood, a hint of mindbreak, a hint of misogyny from jouno, needles, drugs (epinephrine aka adernaline), a hint of degradation, one pussy slap, size kink/size difference, a lil bit of praise, pet names

words: 3.6k

synopsis:

“Would you like to know what my favourite hobby is?” the first man begins conversationally, busying himself with tugging on your restraints, testing their strength. “It’s breaking pretty little bratty bitches like you. Because as beautiful as you are now, nothing compares to how breathtakingly gorgeous you sound when you’ve been thoroughly shattered into tiny little shards of yourself, smeared with tears and sweat, with those sweet, precious sobs—you know, the ones that rattle your ribs and shudder your chest—spilling from your lips. Oh, it’s the loveliest sound, wouldn’t you agree?”

At your responding silence, he continues, gloved index finger tracing the curve of your cheek.

“No? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

“Where are the remaining Agency members hiding?” The vibrating wand is ground harder into your puffy clit, a plastic click! echoing throughout the dull room, the wand’s intensity kicked up another notch. “Do not make me ask a fourth time.”

It sends a shock of tremors racing up your spine, bending each vertebra into a perfect curve, and your body arches off the bed, worn leather restraints cutting into your wrists and ankles, thick silver buckles jingling as you tug and writhe.

“I told you already,” you manage to gasp out through the gaps of your clenched teeth, fury flaming in your gaze. “I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! Don’t make me say it a fourth time!”

The sharp sound of skin slapping skin slices through the dense atmosphere as his knuckles connect with your cheek, strong enough to have your head whipping to the side, hard enough to leave stinging little indents of his bones in your flesh—marks that will inevitably blossom into blotchy petals of navy and violet.

“Such a foul mouth for such a pretty lady,” he tuts his tongue. “Didn’t your Daddy ever teach you it isn’t polite for a woman to use such nasty words?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, but the word quivers with your bottom lip, pins of pain searing through your cheek. Reflexive tears coat your vision, burning and bleary, and your nose twitches with a hard exhale, a feeble attempt to quell your crying, bottom lip sucked between your teeth.

“Aw, crying already? Just from one teensy slap?” the man with the crimson-tinged hair shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed, as if this is such a shame. “Looks like we caught ourselves a cry baby, Tecchou.” The man’s head tilts toward your face, lips curled up in sadistic glee. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“Indeed,” the man with the chestnut tufts agrees, idly swiping the pad of his thumb across your cheek and killing a teardrop mid-stream, salt water collecting in the grooves of his fingerprint. It shimmers in the dim light as he brings it to his face to examine it, turning his finger one way, then the other, before finally sticking the whole thing in his mouth, lips puckering as he sucks it clean.

At your responding silence, he continues, gloved index finger tracing the curve of your cheek.

“No? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

Several denied orgasms later—you don’t know how many, you’ve lost count—and everything hurts, muscles dense and sore from the constant coiling before relief is abruptly snatched away, again, fibers unwinding, unraveling, slow and sluggish, barely afforded a moment to rest before they’re being wound back up again by a vibrating toy or two slender, gloved fingers.

It’s hard to gauge how much time has passed since this whole thing began, the officers’ questions dribbling into one another, gooey as they drip from their lips, melding together in one continuous stream before they melt again, mix again, spit out rephrased and repeated.

They’ve since freed your wrists and ankles from the restraints, the man with the crimson tips—Jouno, you’ve learned—twisting his face in revulsion at the thought of you staining them with blood.

She’s too weak to fight back now, anyway, he had reasoned. His partner had agreed.

Crusted salt weights your eyelashes, lids heavy as you blink, hard and slow, in an attempt to rid the bleariness from your vision. But it’s no use, another thick wave of tears rushing to coat your eyes only seconds after it’s been dispelled, rendering everything in your line of sight soft and hazy.

The sterile walls are bleeding into one another, corners fusing into wavering curves, sticky and watery. Someone’s talking, but it all sounds muffled, as if they’re murmuring to you from above the surface, and you frown.

Another slap to the face—open-palmed, this time—throws you back onto their frequency, the pain momentarily clearing the thick static from your head and tuning your ears into their voices.

“I think she’s about to pass out,” the deeper voice—Tecchou—says, a faint note of concern woven into his tone.

“Oh no,” Jouno gasps mockingly. “We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Metal clinks together delicately, then the sound of a nail being flicked against plastic twice before something pricks your arm, sinks in about an inch or so, and sends a substance rushing into your blood; little bolts of electricity that zip through your veins, alighting your frayed nerves but doing little to eradicate the stuffy haze blanketing your mind.

Another question is asked, another question you don’t have the answer to, brain so soupy you can barely comprehend the words hanging over you, suspended in the air. The vibrations from the wand climb another grade higher, your whole body shivering with them. You whine a little, a pitiful sound stringy in your throat, before managing to push a few heavy words from your tongue.

“Incompetent,” you gurgle out, the mangled insult oozing past your lips with large, fizzy dollops of drool. “S’what y’are.”

“Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” you rasp out, head nodding in messy, lethargic motions. “Wasting time on th’wrong person.”

Jouno laughs, and it’s mocking, mean, stitched together with malicious threads of amusement.

“I don’t think we’re wasting our time at all, actually. On the contrary, I’m having quite a pleasurable time.”

The wand rubs over your clit, first in slow, almost soothing motions, back and forth, back and forth, the touch resembling something gentle, before it begins to build speed, higher and higher, faster and faster, matching the pace of his rapid-fire questions, and you can feel it, a concentrated ball of flames roiling in your gut, furling in on itself quick and tight and hard, and then—

It’s gone.

Again.

He can read your body better than anyone else ever has, better than you yourself have ever been able to, keen senses picking up on those tiny telltale signs of an impending orgasm: the sweet little hitch of breath in your throat—catch, hold, exhale; the muscles beginning to be pulled tense and taut by accelerating pleasure—stomach tightening, thighs clenching, face scrunching; the gentle yet desperate twitch of your hips towards the toy—a pathetically cute attempt to milk your own orgasm from your body before he inevitably takes the toy away.

It’s entirely unfair.

You’ve gone delirious with delayed pleasure again, hysterically hedonistic, nonsensical babbles pouring from your lips in thick, unbroken weeps, sopping with spit and tears.

But that’s okay, Jouno can decipher them, can wring them out and and lay them out to dry, brutal berating falling from his lips in reply as he presses two fingers to your puffy clit, sensitive skin rubbed raw and abused, stroking the swollen nub in slow, purposeful circles.

It’s hard to concentrate on anything when he does this, when you can feel the warmth of his skilled fingers through the thin fabric of his gloves, when he’s laughing at you for being such a good little slut, and look how quickly you drench his gloves!

Because there’s something so much more personal about this, about his hands on the most intimate parts of you, leading you by the nose to the crest of pleasure and allowing you to teeter on the edge, so close to falling, before he harshly hauls you back with a swift slap to your cunt, the heat of his fingers gone in an instant, replaced by a painful tingle.

And then he’s appearing, your brief salvation, your fleeting angel, broad shoulders blotting out the faint light as he leans over your body to wipe you down, strands of chestnut falling to frame his kind eyes.

“I know, I know,” Tecchou’s humming, dabbing a cloth along your damp hairline, soaking up the little dewdrops of sweat caught in your hair. “It hurts, I know.”

“Please, Tecchou, please,” you’re whimpering, trembling fingers curling weakly at the hems of his shirtsleeves, nails scrabbling against the thick material. “Please, make’im stop! I can’t—I can’t—”

“You have the power to put an end to this immediately,” he reminds you gently, as if he genuinely believes you have a choice. “You just have to tell us one piece of information, blossom.”

His palm is cool against your clammy forehead, sweeping hair back from your brow.

“No piece of information is too tiny or insignificant. Anything helps. Just one.”

Another torrent of tears floods your vision again, instantly overflowing past clumpy lashes, your head shaking in disbelief, fragments of denegation on your tongue.

“I don’t—” you hiccup. “I du-dunno what to tell you—I dunno what you want—”

With a sigh, Tecchou clicks his tongue as if he’s disappointed in you—and that hurts, too, an inexplicable ache taking root deep behind your ribs, throbbing with yearning—before slipping easily from your clumsy grasp and melting back into the shadows, Jouno taking center stage again.

“No, please! Wait!” you cry out, head shaking quickly, fingers twitching. “I swear I don’t!”

“Pathetic,” Jouno spits, a merciless type of glee painted across his face, the word so caustic it sears into your flesh, corrosively gnawing away at your skin.

“No, no, no,” you’re whimpering to yourself, eyes shutting tightly as your head shakes again, tears leaking from the crinkled corners. “This is—This is wrong, ’n I—I’m gonna, gonna report—”

“Yeah? And who are you going to call? The police?” they both chuckle, sharing a look between themselves.

A flash of fury slices through your chest, cutting clean through the decadent daze they’ve effectively cast over your consciousness, and you blink hard, red rage incinerating the tears in your eyes in an instant.

With an indignant sniff, you lift your dense head from the pillow to glare at them. Their cocks, impressively thick bulges, strain against maroon fabric, the only physical indication this torture is affecting either of them at all, voices calm and features composed. Jouno’s since removed his hat and his cape, the sleeves of his jacket stained with your sweat—ugly irregular patches of dried salt, material crusty and stiff. He shrugs it off easily, tosses it over a chair in the corner and unbuttons the cuffs of his starched shirt, rolling them up to his elbows.

“Oh?” Jouno tilts his head, a subtle response to your morph in mood. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I told you already,” you cough out viciously, grinding the words between your molars. “I have nothing to say!”

“Hm. Shame. Maybe this will help jog your memory.”

His fingers dip into his pant pocket, feeling around laxly for an item, a soft hum vibrating on his tongue when his fingers come in contact with what they were looking for. He pulls a piece of glinting silver from the depths, the sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal slashing through the atmosphere as he flicks it open.

A Hattori Higonokami switchblade, beautifully crafted with Jouno’s full name elegantly engraved into the nickle of the handle, the edge of the blade glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“I know it’s not as impressive as Tecchou’s sword,” he begins, turning the knife over in his hand, the very tip of the blade pressed precariously into the fleshy pad of his index finger. “But it still serves an exceptionally important purpose.”

As if to demonstrate, he runs the point of the blade along the line of your jaw, featherlight and stinging. It’s so sharp it leaves a raised scratch in its wake despite its gentle pressure, quivers coursing through your body as your nerves furrow.

He circles the hinge of your jaw, then continues down the curve of your neck, outlining your collarbone before tracing your sternum, coming to a stop in the middle of your chest, pressure of the blade increasing ever-so-slightly, piercing the thin skin.

“Shall I cut your heart out?” he asks, voice irritatingly calm, lips curled into a polite smile. The tip of the blade travels back up your sternum, retreading its previous trail, before it sinks into your skin, right above your left breast.

A yelp catches in your throat, pitchy and cracked, and your body instinctively bows off the bed, pressing further into the knife. A laugh falls from Jouno’s lips, the sound silk and syrup.

The blade curves, then drags down your sternum and to your ribs in a perfect slant before sharply pivoting upward in a V motion, curling around your breast to meet its initial starting point.

A heart.

It isn’t dire, the wound too shallow to require any stitching or attention, but it’s deep enough to have blood seeping from the slashes in a slow, smooth ribbons. They flow as one, not as singular drops but as a whole entity, cascading warm and sticky over your breast and ribs.

“I bet you look so gorgeous like this,” Jouno breathes, and that’s the most impacted he’s sounded all night. Two fingers trace the heart carved into your skin, slow and hard, smearing blood across your chest in crude strokes.

Inhaling deeply, he brings his blood-glazed fingertips to his nose, whole chest expanding as he fills his lungs with the coppery scent. A deep moan rumbles behind his ribs, and he presses both fingers flat to the back of his tongue, dragging them along the expanse of the slimy muscle and depositing thick streaks of crimson.

Revulsion churns your stomach, features puckered in sour distaste, but you can’t help the way your cunt flutters pathetically, wickedly, a shameless gush of heat flooding the apex of your thighs—so much so that you can feel it, leaking down the soft skin, slick smudged and slathered across the dry layers from earlier as the muscles clench and squeeze together—and Jouno laughs.

He can smell it.

Tecchou emerges from the shadows then, the pungent stench of alcohol clinging to his fingers.

It burns as he pats a rough cloth drenched in the substance across your steadily weeping wound, pacifying condolences falling form his lips in little hushes as he works, attempting to ease your pain, his words working as a salve to his partner’s crimes.

“Can’t you just be a good girl and cooperate for us?” he murmurs as he tilts a glass to your lips, sure to feed you in short streams of water. His eyes are brimming with mercy, begging you to to be good, to obey, like the proper little girl he knows you are.

And, really, its his kindness that breaks you, that thoroughly smashes you to pieces, his sheer and unwavering compassion—so genuine, so real—that has a sob tearing from your throat as your head shakes in slow, lethargic strokes, breath stuttering in your chest.

“I don’t—I’m, I’m not—” your tongue fails, trips over itself as the letters tangle around it, curls in on itself and drowns in pools of saliva. “I’m trying, but you aren’t—aren’t listening—”

A fierce sob smothers your words, whole body shuddering from the force of it, and your limbs weakly curl into your chest in desperation, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together, to keep your ribs from splintering and splitting you in two. Your voice is thin, stretched and staining beneath heavy distress.

“Please, please, please,” you’re nearly wailing, nails scraping against your own skin. “Please, stop—I promise—”

A coo of contemplation marinates on the back of Jouno’s tongue, both men peering down at you.

“Perhaps we do have the wrong girl after all,” Jouno muses after a moment, voice painfully indifferent, as if they didn’t just spend hours torturing you. Your heart leaps, potent relief melting your bones, and he chuckles, a thumb caressing your clammy forehead. “Oh?” he questions, a teasing laugh infused in the question. “Does that make you feel better, cry baby?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, fingers latching around his wrist and clinging to him. Another soft chuckle slips from his lips, and he lets you hold him, maneuvering his hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“I’m beginning to think so, as well,” Tecchou chimes in, frowning slightly, head tilting as he observes you. “They usually talk by now, and she’s been thoroughly broken, yet all she can seem to say is that she doesn’t know...”

“Well, Tecchou, I think we owe her some relief from all of this, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. I will handle it.”

And it’s decided so easily, so simply, so fucking quickly it has you wondering if there was ever any doubt that you were the right person in the first place, if you were merely chosen because you were a pretty girl in a short skirt, plucked from the street between Jouno’s forefinger and thumb, just because he wanted to. The thought tugs at your consciousness, but it’s too frayed and and ruined to fully sew it together, to make sense of it all, the sound of clothes rustling—the drop of a heavy pair of pants against the tiled floor—recapturing your delicate attention.

With an affirmative nod, Jouno pulls his hand from yours, the action more tender than anything he’s performed all night, grinning at the discontented little whine that sounds at the back of your throat.

“How curious,” he murmurs to himself, Tecchou busy unbuckling his belt and shoving at his waistband. “Even after all I’ve put you though, you’re still seeking comfort in me, huh?”

You can’t say anything, can’t do anything but nod dumbly and gurgle to yourself, mind stuffed full of the solace that comes with the promise of repose.

The mattress dimples as Tecchou crawls between your legs, knees spread wide and digging into your thighs, effectively keeping them open and wide. He wraps a palm around the base of his cock, massive and drooling out thick dollops of pre-cum, fat crystalline drops that roll down the shaft to pool in the creases of his fisted fingers.

“Tecchou, T—Tecchou,” you’re whimpering as you reach for him, the name a knotted mess, soaked in spit, hands little grasping claws at the space between the two of you, desperate for the man that has been so sweet, so sympathetic, to end this, to take the pain away and relieve the bulging pressure in your gut, finally.

“She’s been on the verge of cumming for hours,” Jouno says nonchalantly, concentrated on the dirt he’s cleaning from his nails. “She’ll probably cum within seconds of you shoving your cock into her.”

“Shh,” he hushes you gently, taking your shivering body in his strong arms, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders. “I’ve got you, I’m gonna make it feel better, hush, now.”

The head of his cock bumps against your hole bluntly, taking a moment to find its proper place before he pushes into you, pace slow and steady. He’s fucking huge, thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you can feel your delicate flesh stretching, straining, splitting to accommodate him, cute little hole sucking him in, gorging on his cock as it stuffs you full.

The sting isn’t too terrible, though, his motions aided by how embarrassingly aroused you are, another onslaught of slick streaming down his shaft as he bottoms out, head pressed snug to your cervix, juices pooling in the folds of his heavy balls.

And, as always, Jouno was right.

Because it’s over pathetically quickly, only a mere three snaps of his hips before you’re creaming all over him, tears cascading down your cheeks in glittering streams, collecting in the hollows of your tired eyes and leaking into the hair at your temples.

Tecchou doesn’t fair much better, though, collected composure splintering beneath the pleasure as your cunt convulses around him, the whines flowing from his lips stuttered by the uneven rutting of his hips, hard and fast and flexing against your body.

“Holy fuck,” he’s gasping out, a dewdrop of sweat running down the bridge of his nose. “H-Holy fuck, she’s—she’s so tight, she’s so tight, it’s so good—”

It only takes a few more pumps before he’s following after you, cock pulsing almost viciously as it spurts load after load of thick, hot cum into you, so much so that you can feel it oozing out of you, seeping past his cock and rolling down your ass in fat globs to form shimmering ivory puddles in the ridges of the rumpled sheets.

Sobs are still scraping your throat, lungs swelling painfully with them, so violent they have your whole body shuddering, expanding with each wail before it shrivels up again. Because the alleviation is so pure, so potent, so intense that you’ve gone boneless and pliant, your flesh rippling with chills.

It feels so good, to finally have the tension that had wound your organs and muscles into tight knots releasing, tissues and fibers disentangling, dissolving, stress seeping through your pores; it feels too good, every brush of the threadbare bedspread against your sensitive skin nearly painful, as if your entire body is overexposed, nerves frayed to the nub.

It’s hard to stitch even a single word together now, letters unravelling at the seams, disintegrating into strands of smoke every time you try to grasp them.

But it’s okay; you don’t have to say anything, Tecchou gathering what’s left of your body in his arms.

“You did good, petal,” he pants out as he cradles you to his heaving chest, voice barely more than a wisp of breath. “You did so good for us.”

“Yes,” Jouno chimes in with a murmur and a small, knowing smile. “I think we’ve caught ourselves a very good girl.”

#jouno saigiku x reader #jouno saigiku smut #suehiro tecchou x reader #suehiro tecchou smut #jouno smut #tecchou smut

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thisblogisaboutabook · 4 months ago

Text

Bound for Hewn City

Balthazar x Reader, Azriel x Reader - Angst- One Shot

Azriel owes a debt and fate has its own plans.

“He fought for his life but finally fell captive, certain he'd come to the end of his days. His fight was over, his fate was sealed by the will of a leader of a rogue war band.”

TW: character death, alcohol, language

“Promise you’ll be careful?”

“Of course love.”

A small smile battles against the dread I fear each time he leaves. Eight years, now. Eight years since he defected from the Illyrian army, tired of the backwards ways that were too slow to change, and decided he’d be the change in his own way.

The night he’d found me tied down, my father’s merciless hands pinning me down, moments away from making that life altering incision, robbing me of flight for the rest of my days.

We fled and never looked back.

Balthazar’s hand reaches my face, his palm a warm, comforting touch molded perfectly to the rounded curvature of my cheek. I lean into it, never growing tired of his touch.

My lashes flutter involuntarily at the connection. As I look into his eyes, my heart squeezes. “Sure you don’t want to go for one more round in the bedroom?” I tease, knowing very well that our girls wouldn’t leave us alone for a moment to do such a thing. In fact, said little girls, are peeking around the corner now, giggling as Bal gives me another kiss.

“Hurry back, okay? I’ll be waiting patiently.”

“You? Patient? I never knew you to be a liar, love.”

I roll my eyes at the jest. Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Balthazar crouches down, the girls running to his arms. “Daddy!!” Celeste’s little voice is pleading as she gives him the biggest eyes possible. “Can you bring us back lolli’s this time, pleeeeaasseee?”

Balthazar pretends to contemplate the request, as if there has ever been a time he hasn’t brought them back for the girls.

“If you promise to be super good for momma, I’ll bring some back for you, yeah?”

Celeste looks to her little sister with a grin, they both cheer gleefully practically knocking him over as they swarm him for one more hug. He presses a kiss to their foreheads, mussing their hair with a broad palm playfully. “I’ll be back soon.”

His strong form raises up from his crouching position, wings tucking in tight as he moves swiftly forward, pulling me into his arms, peppering my head and cheek with kisses, before bringing his lips to mine, with a warm kiss, full of promise. I relax into his grasp, reveling in the kiss. “And Bluebell seeds for my wildflower.”

I smile at the gesture. Flower seeds aren’t necessities like the vegetable ones for our gardens, nevertheless he knows what joy they bring me.

And with that, he’s on his way to fetch supplies in the Hewn City. I watch him as he walks through the wards surrounding our home. They’re not the best, but we’ve learned to weave magic over the years, they’re enough to help keep our quaint little cabin out of view. I don’t miss the misty eyes of the girls as they watch the empty space where he’d been.

——————————————

It was the middle of the night when they came.

The girls were sound asleep in bed with me, as they always were when Bal was away.

The first sign was the unmistakable boom of Illyrian wings, of several wings, there was no hiding that sound from even the sleepiest of ears.

“Girls” I whispered to wake them.

I signaled in the candlelight showing them where to hide. The loose floorboard under the bed with a shelter big enough for the two of them.

I geared up as quickly as possible. Suiting up with my leathers that Bal had worked tirelessly on for months. Our first taste of freedom after leaving the war camp, our first “fuck you” to the patriarchal bullshit that had oppressed me for so long. On our fifth anniversary, he surprised me with my very own siphons. He’d worked hard in obtaining those, crafting wood carvings, cultivating our property, and selling our goods whenever it was safe to, and was able to discreetly have a set made for me.

My heart sung when he’d presented them to me in a hand carved box of his making. The meaning was not lost on me. Yes, they would allow me to channel my power and defend myself- but they also represented exactly what we’d left Illyria for, equality. They signified that I was indeed, Bal’s equal in every way.

My siphons glowed brightly, he’d chosen a blue to match my favorite flower, the Bluebell.

I held my head high as I exited my home, my wings flaring wide in a show of defiance as I greeted the rogue band of Illyrian warriors at my door.

My siphons glowed brightly under the moonlight. Twelve towering males stood before me.

Many had fought them.

Many had died.

The leader, the largest of the males took me in, eyes catching on my siphons. In the dark his gaze was calculating and something like admiration shown in them as he took in the female he was was about to overtake- the only female Illyrian to ever don siphons.

His low, gravelly voice finally broke through the night. “Where is your husband?”

I was going to die.

I unsheathed my weapons and my siphons flared brighter.

But I would not die without a fight.

“I wait for a man who is bound for Hewn City, flying alone fetching seeds and supplies.

Leaving behind his home in the canyon wife and two children with tears in their eyes.”

———————-

Azriel was exhausted. Between Rhys and Feyre being too busy ruling the Night Court while simultaneously juggling parenting and all the joys that come with it, Mor still playing Courtier and Cassian dealing with the Illyrian war camps, helping with the Valkyries when needed, and preparing for the arrival of he and Nesta’s little one, it left Azriel taking the brunt of top secret missions.

Which brought him to the gods-awful Hewn City.

The Moonstone palace, at least, was a reprieve.

And as much as Azriel hated the Hewn City, there was a particular pleasure hall serving ale that rivaled even the best that Velaris had to offer.

And gods, he needed a drink after dealing with Keir all day.

After a stupid amount of time trying to flag down the bartender Azriel noticed another Illyrian male enter the bar.

“Fantastic.” Azriel muttered to himself. His disdain towards the Illyrians and their backward ways was not unknown among their kind.

Between Azriel’s dislike of his own kind and the fact that this male was in the Hewn City, the “probable threat” analysis was not boding well for the newcomer.

Alas, Azriel remained seated at the bar, sipping his brew and listening for any alert from his shadows.

To Azriel’s surprise the male had kept his distance instead of making the usual insults toward a “scarred bastard” of Illyrian upbringing. The male simply sat, ordered a light fare for dinner, and minded his own business.

It wasn’t long later that Azriel’s head started to feel… off. His usual stoic public demeanor became aloof, woozy.

Some of Keir’s brutes entered the bar, seating themselves beside Azriel. He bristled, knowing that this would end in a fight. Azriel threw back the rest of his ale and braced himself for the inevitable brawl to come.

His siphons sputtered as his head spun. Gods, what was in this drink? The males only smirked as they watched Azriel’s pathetic attempt to summon his power.

“Ahhh looks like the Illyrian bastard can’t handle his alcohol.” One of Keir’s darkbringers sneered.

Az tried to brush it off, pushing himself up to leave. He had no interest in a messy drunken brawl.

“Bet he didn’t even taste the faebane in this ale.”

Red flags immediately went off in Azriel’s head. Fuck, he had been so bothered by the day that he didn’t even consider his drink.

The bartender’s voice boomed “Did you tamper with my ale!?”

Azriel was too bleary to register the sounds around him. And then a darkbringer brought his fist to Azriel’s face.

Azriel threw a fist back desperately trying to take on the brutes surrounding him but in his intoxicated state and his missing powers, he was out numbered.

As Azriel became bloodied, the other Illyrian male in the bar stepped in, his siphons flaring. “Where is your honor?” his deep voice inquired.

The largest darkbringer sneered “Honor? An Illyrian dares speak of honor?” before throwing a punch at the male. The Illyrian caught the punch and twisted his arm and managed to take down multiple darkbringers as Azriel fought for some semblance of composure.

It seemed that Azriel and the Illyrian stranger would win before several more darkbringers entered the bar. Az and the Illyrian fought hard but when a knife met the strangers heart, Azriel knew the male’s Illyrian healing powers wouldn’t be enough.

The bartender quickly tossed a tonic to Azriel to counteract the poison and it took affect nearly instantly as Azriel’s powers began to come back. The darkbringers saw the siphons flare and knew they stood no chance. A few fled but Azriel managed to take down several on their way out.

Azriel fell to his knees beside the stranger who had helped him but it was too late. The male’s final breaths were approaching.

“Why? Why did you help?” Azriel asked.

The male only murmured something about the Valkyries in the rite and the Shadowsinger that helped give voice to the voiceless.

Azriel had never been taken by surprise in such a manner by another Illyrian. “You mean Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie?”

The male attempted to nod in recognition as Azriel’s attempts of stopping the male’s bleeding were failing.

“Find…. My wife.” The male stuttered. “Behind wards, in the Night and Day borderlands”

Azriel was caught off guard. An Illyrian living outside of the war camps was unheard of.

“Your wife, is she Illyrian?”

The male sputtered a “yes” before his body gave out.

Azriel couldn’t help the tear that slipped free as the male’s heart gave way, his soul returning home to the Mother.

The male had no reason to defend Azriel and yet… he gave his life in his aid.

He would find the male’s wife. It was the least he could do.

The bartender approached with bandages he’d found but Azriel signaled that it was too late.

The bartender shook his head in mourning. “He was a good male. Simply passing through for supplies, bluebell seeds for his wife, and lollis for his daughters. Came through here once every so often.”

The pang that ran through Azriel’s gut had nothing to do with the lingering poison in his system and everything to do with the fact that the male who gave his life had a family. One that he loved dearly.

“Lying there's a man who was bound for Hewn City, flying alone fetching seeds and supplies

Leaving behind his home in a canyon, wife and two children with tears in their eyes”

———————————

Azriel ignored the lingering effect of poison that the tonic hadn’t fully remedied and trudged out into the night. He would find this female and her children and pay his debt to the male who lay dead in the Hewn City.

He trudged through the night and into the early morning searching the borderlands of Day and Night for the male’s family.

As he fought through the tiredness, the hangover, the aftermath of the poison, he didn’t even notice the sounds of Illyrian wings. He fought through his daze against the rogue band of twelve but fell captive.

One of the most powerful Illyrians in history, felled twice in twenty-four hours. And now, he’d die not only with his debt unpaid, but the Illyrian who had saved him in the Hewn City died for nothing. He refused to beg or plead, not to the Illyrians. He fought as they administered faebane, taking away his powers once again.

So much for calling out to Rhys through the mental bond.

The males forced him along for some time, arms and wings bound with a sack over his head. This was humiliating in every way possible.

As the morning sun rose fully the males pushed Azriel to his knees, ripping the sack off his head.

Azriel couldn’t believe it when he opened his eyes to find an Illyrian female standing before him outside of the cabin, with her own set of Illyrian siphons.

“You’re not Balthazar…” she spoke softly yet with an air of confidence and concern. “Who are you?”

Two little girls stepped out from behind her. “Mama? Where is papa?”

Azriel choked up as he took in the enigma of a female before him, whispering, “I’ve… been looking for you”

To Azriel’s shock the band of Illyrian males only gave the female a respectful nod and took to the skies.

“Where’s Bal?” She asked, her lip quivering as if she already knew.

Azriel looked at the little girls clinging to their mother and could only manage a shake of his head.

The mother sent the girls inside, keeping a brave face and letting them know she had to speak to the male, to Azriel.

As soon as the door closed to the house, she fell to her knees with a guttural cry for her love that was lost.

Azriel gave her time before he told her the story of the male he owed a debt to, the family he would care for in gratitude for the life that was sacrificed for his own. The woman was broken. She was in pain and Azriel’s heart couldn’t take it. He embraced the female as she cried into his shoulder, comforting her for as long as she needed it.

“I'm in debt to a man who was bound for Hewn City flying alone fetching seeds and supplies

Leaving behind his home in a canyon, wife and two children with tears in their eyes.”

When she finally settled and looked into Azriel’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

Not that fate arranged this star-crossed meeting.

For now, he would pay his debt.

And someday, he could tell her what happened when he saw her step out of the cabin today.

About the moment that his soul found its match.

————————————————

A/N I’m a sucker for cowboy ballads and when I heard this song, I knew I needed to write a fic based on it.