#fuck drawing the other eye. the other leg is the true nightmare

[sweeneydino]

Head of the Family.

You have no idea how much I hated drawing the other leg.

I nearly amputated it.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #art #tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #leonardo #artists on tumblr #grief #angst #tmnt art #tmnt fanart #fearless leader #rip 2012 leo #becoming the head of the clan in your teens #2012 leo #tmnt 2012 leo #hug your traumatized kids #aka the turtle in the sewer #fuck drawing the other eye. the other leg is the true nightmare

[bunnystalker]

father's friend (18+)

you are just what he doesn't need.

cw; afab reader, reader in a skirt, dad's friend wesker, major age gap (14-17 years), fingering, degradation, implied multiple orgasms, reader is a little naive and wesker eats that up, predatory almost???, inappropriate use of mirrors, daddy kink if you squint (get a microscope)

terms of endearment; dear (reader receives)

a/n; i don't know how this became what it did bc this was supposed to be fluff. if you'd like the fluff version, i'm more than happy to provide that, just let me know!

when albert wesker pictured his life, he saw greatness. he'd dreamt of sanitizing the world with uroboros, his pet project of years would finally come to fruition. the world would be the perfect place, full of the superior and cleansed of the lesser. his dreams realized.

what he didn't anticipate, however, was you.

you, who came into his life when he was 38 years old, fresh off the high of the mansion incident. mostly human, partially not. he'd changed his clothes- only black attire from that point forward- and kept a low profile because he should be dead, but he's not. with no body to find, they gave up on the search only months later. he'd slid under the radar with a new identity and relocated across the country to some small town on the east coast.

at the time, you were in your early twenties. maybe 24, 21 at the youngest. you were youthful and so sweet, painfully naive and lacking experience of life's true cruelties. without scars that held stories to be told, or nightmares that took hold of you in the night.

unmarked. untainted. flawless. you.

and you hadn't meant to draw his attention. you, the child of his best friend. oh, you were tempting. how whenever he was over, you'd greet him with a little "hi mr. wesker" despite him telling you over and over to call him albert.

he hung around your father because he was an operative of umbrella as well, and albert needed connections. you were quick to teach about certain things, your doe eyes drawn to him whenever he merely breathed. like you were waiting for something.

naturally, you'd maintained a healthy distance for a long time. the routine you two had whenever he'd stop by- almost daily- the greeting, the glances, the lingering, subtle touches on each other's arms, shoulders, backs, wherever you had access to that wouldn't draw immediate attention.

your father never noticed. not as he fell asleep on the couch one night. not when albert ensured the roofie he'd given your father had settled, then snuck up into your room after.

not now, as he has you on his lap, your legs spread wide, your skirt lifted up so he can rub your clit. he forces you to watch in the mirror, your back pressed against his chest, as he pushes your panties aside and sinks two long fingers inside of you. forces you to watch, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep your head still.

"you're a whore," he murmurs in your ear, "such a filthy fucking whore. you think you can tease me and get away with it, hm?"

"n-no, i'm sorry." you whimper, his fingers curling inside your weeping entrance. you're making a mess of yourself and his hand.

"mm, i don't think you are, dear. you're so wet, i bet you've been thinking about this for a while now, right? imagining daddy's friend splitting you open, ruining your perfect cunt." you should be embarrassed that he's got you down to a science, but his words make you squeeze around his fingers. you nod, much to his satisfaction, and he chuckles quietly. it reverberates in his chest and you relish the way it feels, wondering if you'll ever get to be more than just his secret.

"you're never going to get this from anyone else, you know that, don't you? nobody else will ever make you feel the way i feel." you're dumb from just his fingers, but you can't help that they're just what you wanted. the pads of his index and middle finger brush the spongy spot on your walls, making you cry out and writhe in his arms. your thighs try to squeeze shut but he lets go of your face to force them back open.

"t-too much-"

"shut up and take it. this is what you wanted, so why the hell are you complaining you ungrateful brat?" he hisses, focusing on that spot. with the way the heel of his hand is palming your clit, his fingers buried so deep inside you, you're cumming within moments. you're loud even if you don't mean to be, especially as he continues finger-fucking you after your orgasm.

"please- no more, i-i can't-" you whine, trying your hardest to move away from him, but he's got you tight in his grasp.

"you can, and you will. you don't have a choice. you'll cum as much as i want you to." he kisses your temple, the first sign of mercy he's shown you all night, and then slips a third finger in. you're weak to him, the same way he's weak to you.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ #bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ #resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker i love youuuu #albert wesker smut #albert wesker fanfic #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 14)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen

Sunlight seeps through the curtains of Y/N and Haymitch’s room at the tribute center. Katniss and Peeta are taken to suit up for the games.

Y/N does not want to leave this bed; she does not want to live this nightmare.

Haymitch startles himself awake with his own snoring. He had too much to drink last night, after Chaff refused his bangle and the alliance.

“No, Haymitch. Give those kids their best chance.”

They fought, then made up; the way brothers do. Still it is Finnick wearing Haymitch’s token into the arena.

Y/N turns over in Haymitch’s arms, resting her head against his chest, lulled by the steady rise and fall.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Bullshit,” she calls it.

Haymitch huffs a laugh, “it’s true.”

“Fine. What am I thinking?”

He flicks her ear, playfully. “Never said I was a fucking mind reader.” I just know you.

“His leg.” Y/N confesses, “Peeta won’t be able to take the prosthetic off. It hurts when he leaves it on too long.”

Haymitch sighs, “the kid’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

“I won’t be able to live with myself if anything happens to them.”

“You’d be surprised by the things you can live with.” He knows first hand.

Y/N holds her tongue.

“I know it’s not fair and I know that it hurts you.” I hate that it hurts you. I hate that it hurts them. The damn kids that grew on him like warts.

She lifts her head from his chest, staring into those tired, blue eyes. Tracing the furrow between his brows, “it’s not your fault.”

“So you can read minds.”

“No, I just know that you hate yourself.”

At this Haymitch laughs, rumbling out from deep in his chest. “Hate is such a strong word.”

“I love you, Haymitch,” she tells him.

He half smiles, “now that is your own fault.”

————————————————————————

The viewing room is different this year, all sponsors have chosen tributes. The arena theme is unclear but the tropical setting will make for an interesting game.

Finnick will thrive there, which is good news for all of them.

Katniss is visibly shaken when she’s raised onto the pedestal. Peeta is placed strategically on the opposite side of the cornucopia.

“Let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor. Ten, nine……”

“Something’s wrong.” Y/N covers her mouth with one hand.

“Eight.”

“Cashmere’s right there,” Haymitch points out. “She’s in a good spot.”

“Seven.”

“Brutus.” He’s on the opposite side, not really an enemy, certainly not a friend.

“Six.”

“Well there’s no perfect spot.” Peeta’s got Mags, and Parker. The male tribute from ten, without allegiance to the rebels or the Capitol.

“Five.”

People are going to die in the bloodbath, there’s no way around it.

“Four, three, two, one……” Cannon.

Katniss dives in, swimming toward the rocky pathway which leads to the cornucopia. Brutus comes up about the same time, hot on her trail for a moment, before jumping back into the water.

Gloss is keeping an eye on her as Cashmere reaches the weapons; securing her own, her brother’s and the bow. Gloss trips up, leaving Katniss alone when she finds Cashmere.

“Katniss,” the blonde says, gently. Extending the bow and arrows to her, with the arm sporting Y/N’s gold bracelet.

Katniss eyes the token. This is who Y/N’s chosen, above anyone else. After a moment she nods, accepting the weapon and drawing it quickly.

Gloss joins them, gathering his sword without a word. Prepared to defend them against the other victors. All three turn to Finnick, ready to strike.

“Good thing we’re allies, right?” He also flashes a bangle.

Leaving Katniss too stunned to speak.

“Duck.” Finnick warns, throwing his trident; it lands in district five’s male tribute. Cannon. “Don’t trust two. I’ll take this side, you three hold them off.”

“We need to find Peeta.” Cashmere says, shocking Katniss farther.

“I’m on it.” Finnick disappears, beyond the edge of the cornucopia.

A flicker of dark hair crosses the screen and Haymitch grabs Y/N’s face. Turning her away from the screen and holding her hostage as she bats at his hands.

“What are you doing?” She protests, continuing to push at him.

“Don’t look.”

A scream, the slash and stab. The blood that gushes out in its wake.

“Haymitch, please, who is it?” Y/N is panicking in earnest now.

Cannon. Her body tumbles into the water.

“Seeder.” Haymitch releases her, spared from the image forever ingrained in his mind.

“Mags found Peeta, he’s over here.” Finnick calls.

Peeta is grappling with Parker near his pedestal.

Katniss tries to line up a shot, but it’s impossible with the tangle of limbs. Eventually they both go down, under the water. Finnick dives in to assist but the cannon booms.

“Peeta?”

The viewing room is still, until that blonde head of hair pops out. Panting and disoriented, searching for Katniss. When he finds her there Peeta knows it is worth it. The bloodshed, the fight, the reason to keep on living is right here. “Katniss.”

“Peeta,” the archer reaches for him from the rocks.

Just that morning, Katniss told him she wanted no allies, only him. Luckily something seems to have swayed her. Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick and Mags have joined them. Together they set off into the forest for refuge, taking a moment to breathe about half a mile out.

The cannon sounds, five more times, in quick succession. “Guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” Finnick remarks.

“You think that’s funny?” Katniss sneers.

“Every time that cannon goes off is music to my ears.”

“Finnick,” Cashmere warns, with a shake of her head.

“Let’s keep moving,” Peeta insists.

The forest is deep, vines hanging in all directions. Peeta is at the forefront beside Gloss, hacking down the overgrowth to clear a path.

Katniss spots the shimmering ahead, something not quite right about the edge of her sightline. A forcefield. “Peeta, no!”

He rebounds off the electro current, knocking down the others. His body emitting hints of smoke.

“He’s not breathing.” Katniss cries, turning Peeta onto his back.

“Anybody know CPR?”

“I do,” Finnick takes over.

Katniss keeps a close eye, not sure that she trusts him.

Cashmere touches her back and the girl flinches, “it’s ok, Katniss.”

Haymitch watches intently, he does not turn Y/N away or even attempt to. Come on Finnick. Come on Peeta.

“Come on. Come on, Peeta.”

“Please, Peeta.”

The boy gasps, drawing fresh air into his lungs.

Y/N’s shoulders sag in relief, running a soothing hand over the lively child in her belly.

“Alright,” Haymitch huffs, resting a hand over hers. “Everybody calm down.” As if he himself hadn’t been in a state of unrest. He leans forward, addressing their child directly. “That means you too.”

There it is, the familiar brush of his lips against her stomach. Y/N realizes that she hasn’t felt it as frequently this time around. Perhaps she prevented it, she wasn’t ready and he knew it. She regrets that now.

————————————————————————-

After some investigation Katniss discovers that the arena is a dome.

“We’re safest with our backs protected, I say we set up camp here for the night.” Gloss says, eyes still scanning the area.

“I’ll take first watch,” Finnick volunteers.

“Not a chance,” Katniss grunts out.

“Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta, that was called saving his life.” Finnick cocks his head to the side. “If I wanted to kill either one of you, I would’ve done it by now.”

“Enough,” Cashmere cuts in, they’re worse than a couple of kids.

“Just for a little bit, let’s get some rest.” Peeta squeezes Katniss’ arm as he passes. Tucking in comfortably, against one of the trees and falling asleep.

Finnick helps Mags get settled. Cashmere and Gloss break off in the opposite corner.

“We’ve gotta get them some water.” Y/N picks at her nails, anxiously.

“You want me to go?” Haymitch offers.

“I’ll go.” Sponsors this year are chomping at the bit to send essentials for their favorite tributes. All seated near the request booth. Y/N paints on a smile as she approaches them.

“Y/N,” a hand reaches out to grab her. “We’ve been waiting to help Katniss and the baby.” The Capitol woman coos.

“That is so kind, thank you.” She jerks her chin towards the desk. “Come with me?”

The woman squeals in delight, nearly leaving behind her pocketbook in haste.

“We’d like to send my tributes water.” Y/N tells the man working the booth.

“How many bottles?”

“Not bottles.” Y/N wracks her brain, “do you have any kind of filtration system?”

“Nothing portable.”

So they can’t use the salt water.

“Is this an arena without any fresh water?”

“There is water.” The man says, giving Y/N nothing to work with.

————————————————————————

Katniss can’t risk sleeping, so she sits up with Finnick as the sky grows dark.

“How’s Peeta?”

“He’s ok, I think.” Katniss croaks out. “Just dehydrated like the rest of us.”

The national anthem rings out over the arena, lighting up the sky with images of the fallen.

Katniss thinks of her mentors then. How many were their friends?

A chime finds their ears as the Horn of Plenty ends. A parachute. Water, Katniss hopes.

She moves for it, splitting open the metal container. No water, just a note and…

“What’s that?” Finnick wonders, looks painful to use.

“From Haymitch and Y/N, I think it’s a spile.”

“A what?” Finnick follows her to the nearest tree, watching as she hammers the sharp end in with a rock. The sound wakes Peeta.

For a moment there is nothing, Katniss slams her fist against the tree. She can survive without food, she’s done it before, but not without water.

“Why isn’t it working?” Y/N is fuming, ready to wring the man’s neck who sent the faulty tool. But then, by some miracle, a steady stream of water begins to flow.

Once everyone has had their fill, those not on watch return to sleeping.

“Well if you’re not going to sleep, I will.” Finnick decides.

“Go ahead,” Katniss nods, prepared to handle it on her own.

The viewing room begins to clear out, supply booths are closed and most sponsors have excused themselves. Y/N and Haymitch take the elevator up to their floor, switching on the projector as they ready for bed.

Cashmere comes to sit beside Katniss, noticing that she keeps dozing off. The blonde says nothing, just offers a soft smile before turning her gaze out to the forest.

Y/N dares to close her own eyes, wrapped up in Haymitch’s arms as he massages the back of her scalp.

“Ahhhhh!”

Y/N turns back to the games. Back to Katniss with blisters on her hand from the thick mist.

Haymitch hisses, “get outta there, sweetheart.”

“Run!” Katniss calls, rousing the rest. “Run! The fog is poison.”

Maybe this is part of Plutarch’s plan, make it believable.

Finnick has Mags on his back, bringing up the rear. Katniss and Peeta are between Gloss and Cashmere, offering whatever protection they can. But the fog is closing in from all sides, leaving no clear path.

Poison hits each of them in turn, Cashmere worse than Gloss, who doubles back for his sister. Peeta worse than Katniss when his foot gets caught on a root.

Finnick wails when the mist finds him. Mags is silent, though the pain is evident on her features, arms coming loose enough to topple them both over.

“Mags, please!” Finnick rushes her back on.

The six of them stumble over each other, fighting to clear the effected area which spans endless.

Peeta is down, unconscious.

“Peeta,” Katniss shakes him, patting at his face. “Peeta, we have to keep moving.”

“Shit,” Haymitch curses.

Y/N paces the small space beside the night stand, tethered by her husband’s hand.

Gloss has Cashmere tucked up under his arm, her skin a tapestry of raised blisters. “We need to get him up.”

Cashmere pants out. “I’m…it’s bad. Save Peeta.”

Finnick and Mags stop to assess the damage.

“Here,” Katniss approaches Cashmere, tossing one arm over her shoulder. “I’ll take her.”

Gloss does not argue, gathering Peeta and dragging him forward.

“We’re almost-”

“Katniss, you have to leave me.” Cashmere insists.

“No,” Katniss cuts her off.

In the end it is Mags who disappears into the fog, allowing Finnick to help the others. The cannon that follows is deafening, paired with Finnick’s agonized scream.

It hits Y/N square in the chest, her knees buckle, sinking back onto the bed. She does not cry. Allowing anger to fill the holes left by the games. It seeps into her blood, familiar and all consuming. Burning hot.

Haymitch can feel the shift, from grief to rage and he does not fault her for it.

Y/N blinks at the screen. “I can’t live with it.”

“I’ll help you.” Take it out on me, if you need to. Just let me make it better…at least let me try.

Part 15

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x y/n #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x y/n #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x yn #the hunger games fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[serpentthecrow]

Sleepy time with the crows

the crows(separately) x reader🖤

Summary: just some fluffy headcannons with our favourite gangsters

Warnings : big fluff, cursing, plushies

A/n: wrote this instead of a Jesper confession fic that got deleted. I also included the plushies each of them have, so enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------

Kaz:

One might assume there will not be much to say, it's not true however

If Kaz finds u trustworthy enough to even sleep in the same room with you, consider urself lucky af

Kaz doesn't really sleep much, just for a couple hours, it's assumably another trick of his, how he wakes up

When he ACTUALLY needs sleep, he drinks Camomile tea

I picture Kaz's bedside table is actually a stack of books, and there are several more stacks on the other side of the bed, so he reads quite often

He's genuinely scared to fall asleep due to his nightmares sometimes

After getting comfortable with you, he will slowly inch by inch move your beds closed to eachother everyday, until you notice

Whispers 'fuck u ' to the moon when it shines in his window

Just lays flat on his back and sleeps (how?)

Secretly has a crow plushie he got from Jesper under his bed

Jesper

The biggest cuddle bear ever

He will wrap you up with his arms and legs like a rope, and will not let go even under the use of a fucking crowbar

It's his routine to kiss his revolvers good-night before going to bed

Not before checking himself out in the mirror to look good and ready for a night intruder

REFUSES to buy a bit bigger bed, no matter if your savings could buy a bed that even majesty King Nikolai.*million titles*.. could hardly afford

The secret meaning is that Jes doesn't want you escaping from him to the other side of the big mattress

He'd rather fall off the little cot you have

Forgets to take off his rings

HAS a goat plushie

Inej

Inej is pretty straightforward- lay down, sleep if you can

challenge: try not to stab urself in the eye by the knife she has under her pillow while turning in ur sleep

Could use some protective cuddles if she trusts u

Prays before going to sleep

Bed time= heaven time. Main reason?she lets her hair down when going to sleep

Be prepared to do some careful and slow comforting for her at 1am

U will get urself stabbed if Ur not careful

Light sleeper, can be out like a light tho, after a whole day of climbing roofs

Fuzzy socks.

Has a teddy bear

Nina

U won't fall asleep with her. I swear

Is the type of person to talk and talk and talk about random things for hours

And when u think she's already asleep, ur suddenly hear "I would never kiss a dude who eats dogs"

Eats a ton of food before bed

*cough*like me*cough*

Loves bedtime stories and singing lullabies in Ravkan- recieving or giving, doesn't matter to her

Back tracing

Has an assortment of plushies all around her side of the bed and if one is missing, she will start a war

Sleeps on her stomach

Or on u

Sleeps naked by choice

Cuddly little witch

Matthias

Wrapped around u for 'protective' reasons

Tells u stories, myths and traditional legends from Fierda

Also prays to Djel, even tho he wipes his hands after finishing and exclaims he doesn't have to really

Drinks weird amount of water

Sometimes lays in bed with shoes on - sinner

Never saw a book in his life

Normal duvets? What is that? Did I hear fur?

Wake him up. I dare you. Try it.

Extra vulnerable before bed

Don't make him sad at the time pls

LOVES when it rains at night (I think they all love that, except ONE)

Owns a tiny white wolf plushie, it's under his pillow if u wanna know.

Wylan

Certified cutie

The adorable matching pijama sets he wears

Will probably draw.

No need to say he won't read before bed

The little spoon

Warm milk with honey melted in it is his to go drink for bed(try it, knocks u out)

The bed hair(not so different from his normal hair lol)

Has a dinamite plushie he sleeps with all the time

Is the one who doesn't like when it rains, because what If the rain turns into a thunderstorm?

ABSOLUTELY HATES THUNDERSTORMS

They scare the shit outta him

The sleepy mumbles... Help

whispers good night back and forth with u until one of u fall asleep

fluffy and smol bean

--------------------------------------------------

A/n: Ahh turned out better then I first thought. Lemme know what u think! If you'd like to requests something, my requests are open, please read my pinned post before requesting, there you'll find rules but also the fandoms I write for ❤️❤️

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #jesper fahey #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey x reader #inej gafha #inej ghafa imagine #inej ghafa x reader #nina zenik #nina zenik imagine #nina zenik x reader #matthias helvar #matthias helvar imagine #matthias helvar x reader #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #wylan van sunshine #wylan van eck imagine #wylan van eck x reader #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #six of crows headcanons #kaz brekker headcanons #jesper fahey headcannons #inej ghafa headcannons #nina zenik headcannons #matthias helvar headcannons #wylan van eck headcannons

[mandos-mind-trick]

Instinct - Part 3

Summary: Omegas were rare. Some even thought them extinct. So when Boba contacts Din saying he has a gift Din can’t refuse, the last thing he expects to find is an omega in need of an alpha. Din has to make the hard decision, but what else was he really doing anyways? But naturally, there’s more to this omega than meets the eye.

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, torture, and trafficking; ABO dynamics, nightmares, rehashing some traumatic past events, some New Mandalorian bashing as well, probably fucking up the timeline but idc. 

A/N: Here’s the next part. May post part 4 today as well, we’ll see. 

< Previous | Next > | MASTERLIST | OC Version

He’s dreaming again. A dream that constantly plagued him of late. He’s on the light cruiser, he can see them just ahead. He’s running but he can’t move fast enough. He can hear the cries, loud in his ears. He’s reaching, reaching but he’s not fast enough. He can’t make it on time. He’s too late. The lifeless body falls, just out of reach of him. That little face, those big eyes. 

No, it’s not him this time. The lifeless eyes staring up at him are smaller, lighter. It’s not the kid in his arms. It’s you. 

Din is woken from his nightmare as something nudges him. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the foot passing over him, yanking it forward to make the person lose their balance. They hit the floor with a thud, the vibroblade in his hand quick to press against their neck as he hovers over them. 

“Wait!” 

He pauses at the sound of your voice. 

“It’s me. It’s Y/N.” 

He stares down at your terrified face for a moment, wakefulness slamming into him and he realizes what he’s done. He moves his hand, drawing back from you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You sit up, pulling your legs to your stomach to make yourself as small as possible. “I was just trying to go to Fennec.” 

“Why?” He asks, wincing at the harsh tone. 

“I need comfort.” There’s a subtle whine to your voice, your omega coming through. You’re shaking, he can see it in the moonlight. “I had a nightmare.” 

“Why go to her?” The true meaning of his question is obvious, and you don't miss it, even in your fearful state. 

“I trust her.” Your words bite at him a bit. “Why would I ask you when...when you don’t even want me?” He can hear the tears in your voice. He knows you’re referring to earlier that day. You’re quiet for a moment, breaths shaky. “Is it me?” 

The question is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it. “What?” 

“Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Do you-do you want to reject me?” 

The question nearly chokes him. He feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest, the knife turning and turning in his skin. He’d heard stories of alphas rejecting their omegas. It was painful, horribly painful, and both alpha and omega carried that pain until they died. They usually didn’t live long afterwards. Without their other half, knowing what they could have had...it was often too much to bear. 

“No.” The word is breathy, his chest constricting as he looks at your teary face. “No. I’m not-” He shifts onto his knees, taking a breath. You flinch, eyes darting to the vibroblade still in his hand. He drops it to the side, letting it hit the blanket with a quiet thud. “I’m not going to reject you. It’s not...It’s nothing you’ve done.” He sighs, the breath crackling through his helmet. “I’m...It’s me. I’m...complicated. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” 

“You think I do? I never got to learn this part. My home...Mandalore, it was all taken from me. By the civil wars, and then the Empire.” He tilts his head at you, his mind trying to process what you’re saying. “They never told you why omegas were so rare before? Why there were so few of us left?” 

“No.” 

You huff quietly, shaking for another reason now. He can scent the anger in the air, your brow furrowed. “Those progressives who pushed their new ways, the ones who didn’t wear the armor, the ones who claimed to lead Mandalore during the Clone Wars and after. They stopped awakening their alphas. They thought it archaic and barbaric, animalistic even, being controlled by some inner animal, forced to mate with someone who didn’t know better, someone whose entire life was built around serving someone else.” You sniffle, wiping the tears from your face. “They knew they couldn’t leave the omegas. If we’re not suppressed, we die without proper care. So they massacred them. Entire clans of omegas were wiped out simply because they didn’t want to have to deal with us.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, Din watching your face. Your head is lowered, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. 

“It’s what started the wars. Deep down, hidden on the surface. They wouldn’t admit to it, so they blamed it on something else. My father escaped one of the massacres. He watched his entire clan be slaughtered before help arrived. That’s when he met my mother.” A sad smile tugs at your lips. “She took him to the omega temple. One of the few places the progressives couldn’t reach. And they never would. The Empire would take care of that for them.” 

“I’m sorry.” He says, watching your face as it finally lifts. There’s a hardness in her eyes, a wall having risen. He can see it. A wall built out of necessity. “Your father was the omega?” 

You let out a quiet sound. “Yeah. There’s female Mandalorians, aren’t there?” 

You had a point. 

It’s quiet between you for a few moments, the air between you still churning with something unspoken. 

“I could be the last omega left.” You say, finally breaking the silence. 

Your words twist the knife deeper into his chest. You were right. The others that had escaped had disappeared. There was no way of knowing if there were any others still alive. He liked to think there were. That one of the other clans had one safely hidden away. That maybe one had been born since that day. Plenty of Mandalorian children had been born since. But two alphas couldn’t make an omega. Even the chances of an omega being born between an alpha and omega was small. 

But you were right. He was holding himself back selfishly. He had been so afraid of the truth, he hadn’t stopped to think of how you were feeling. What you would want. He couldn’t deny you. Soon your heat would start and he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He would take you whether either of you wanted it or not. He knows it’s a hard transition, leaving the nurturers behind. Even harder in your case, your parents death and then now facing the prospect of leaving the two that had saved your life and then had taken on that role for you even if they couldn’t understand it on a deeper level. 

And now he was here. An alpha being put in your path. A chance for you to live your life as you were meant to, and he was keeping you from that out of his own fear. It wasn’t fair to either of you. 

Your scent is strong. Fear, sadness, and anger swirling together in a thick fog. It’s a bitter scent, burning his nose and making his stomach churn. It was a warning. Don’t come closer. A warning to keep alphas away from volatile omegas. He pushes his discomfort aside, pushing past the barrier of warning as he crawls closer to you. He pauses right in front of you, reaching out to cup your face. 

He didn’t know when he took his gloves off. Your skin is wet from your tears, his thumbs brushing the dampness from your cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed, a shaky breath leaving you as his warm skin meets yours. His own alpha begins to settle, relaxing as he holds your face. Neither of you move, content to just sit there and breathe for a moment. 

Underneath the fear and the anger is the sweetness of your natural scent. What he had smelled in the throne room, the first time he saw you. He breathes it in again, getting a whiff of your pure scent, not muddled by anything else. There’s a soft floral undertone to it, mixed in with a gentle tang of citrus. It reminds him of a fruit he’d tried a long time ago. It’s intoxicating, his alpha rumbling in pleasure. 

He slides one of his hands to the back of your neck, cradling your head. It was something only to be done in times of crisis, he had been taught. When an omega was distressing, volatile, or unpredictable, a scruff from an alpha, or a nurturer, could calm the omega almost instantly. Of course, one had to get close enough to do so. 

It was a powerful move, one that could easily be abused in the wrong hands. It was the easiest way to get an omega to submit. An out of control alpha could force themselves on an omega with a simple move. It had happened before. His clan considered those who did so a disgrace. Alpha or not, scruffing an omega to control them was sick. 

He knows you won’t calm completely. There was too much between you, too many unknowns, too much unsaid. Too many emotions. You would feed off him, even if you weren’t bonded. So instead, he does it to relax you. To calm that raging fire inside you. He didn’t want your omega to get defensive. He wouldn’t fight back, but you would hurt herself if you tried. 

You let out a quiet sound as his hand closes around the back of your neck, your head falling back until it’s entirely held up by his hand. Your body relaxes, the tension leaving your shoulders. Your lips part as you let out a long breath, eyes fluttering. Relief, it almost feels like. He didn’t have to hold it for long, he didn’t want to. Just enough to get you to relax. 

Your hand shoots out before he can move, gripping his bicep. “Don’t let go.” You breathe, inhaling shaky. 

This was new to him. He had always heard omegas hated being scruffed. It left them feeling vulnerable, uneasy. An alpha had to be prepared to support an omega after. But an omega asking to have it done, for him to keep his hand there. This was new to him. But if it was what you needed, he couldn’t deny you. 

He holds your neck just a hair tighter, using his other hand to move you against his chest. He lays back in his pile of pillows and blankets, cradling you to his chest. He knows his beskar has to be uncomfortable for you, digging into your skin, but you offer no protest, completely limp and relaxed against him. He keeps you there, holding you as you slowly drift off to sleep again. 

He wakes as something nudges his side rather harshly. He grabs the ankle on the foot that’s kicking him, the other foot quickly jumping back to avoid getting taken out by him. 

“Knock me over again and I’ll give you a dent in that helmet to match Boba’s.” 

He shifts his head to look up at you. He’s holding your ankle, your bare foot having been what was hitting him. 

“Get up.” You say, moving your foot back as he releases it. 

You bend down, grabbing his hands, pulling him up into a seated position with surprising strength. You’re still pulling on him, trying to get him standing. 

“Okay, okay.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “I’m up.” 

You brush past him, grabbing the blankets and pillows off the floor. He scans the room, finding it in complete disarray. He watches you as you start to meticulously place the blankets and pillows he’d been using on the bed. 

“It’s not right. None of it is right.” You say, fluffing the pillows. 

Your preheat must have been starting. He must have triggered it last night. You’re attempting to nest, attempting to rearrange the room to make it more comfortable. You push him towards the bed, attempting to shove him down onto it but he’s not budging. You take a couple steps back before ramming him with your shoulder, or at least try to. He stops you before you can hit him and hurt yourself, your eyes narrowing as they look up at him. 

“Stop.” He says, letting you go. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Just tell me what you need.” 

“You, bed.” You jab a finger into his breastplate before pointing it at the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. “Stay.” 

You watch him for a moment, making sure he’s not going anywhere before turning, starting to rearrange your things. He watches you rearrange what you can, almost breaking his promise to stay when a droid opens the door to deliver food. You look ready to attack for a moment before you take the plates. You sit with her back to him so he can eat, not turning around until he tells you. 

You clean, wiping the sand and dust from every surface. You rearrange the bits of his things that he had brought into the room, putting them where you wants. He tries to keep track, but you’re moving so much he knows he’ll have to dig to find some of them later. 

You finish rearranging the rest of the room before crawling onto the bed. You move the blankets and pillows a few times, nudging him with your hip to get him to stand as you smooths out the blanket he had been sitting on. You crawl back towards the head of the bed before flopping down on your stomach, laying still. 

He watches you, watching the slow rise and fall of your back for a few minutes before he realizes you’re asleep. He pulls one of the blankets over you, not that you would really need it in the heat, but it made him feel better. He watches you for another minute before he’s leaving, heading down to the throne room. 

“You’re up late.” Boba says, greeting him. 

“She’s in preheat.” He says. “She’s building her nest.” 

“How long?” 

“Could be a couple days. Could be a week. It’s hard to say. The suppressants will have thrown off her cycle. She’s...aggressive.” 

“Can’t blame her.” Boba says. “Kid’s been through it.”

“We won’t be able to leave the room when she goes into heat. I’ll stock the room with food and water before it starts.” 

“I’ll have a droid stationed outside the door if you need anything.” 

“That’s a good idea. I will be...equally as aggressive over her. Droids probably won’t cause any sort of reaction.” 

“And after?” Boba looks at him. 

What was he going to do after her heat had passed? That was the question. He had spent time lying awake thinking of the answer.  

“I don’t know.”

Taglist: 

@donttamethebeasts​, @unicorntrooper​

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin fic #abo #din djarin x reader #din x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #star wars #star wars fic #alpha din #alpha mando #alpha mandalorian

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 25 "Why didn't you save me?"

TW/CW: Emotional angst, verbal abuse, despair, wing whump, does this need a mild gore warning? I really don't think so?? Family trauma, aftermath of torture Word count: 771

Blood dripped down from Harmonia's broken form as she stumbled over the concrete floor towards the meeting room. Chances were highest that she'd find them there. And really as she a moment later pushed the doors open with her body weight and had to catch herself to not crumble to the floor. She found all of them here. Her old employers, ex-colleagues, and others. The ones that had sent her on this fucking damned mission!

Instantly the guards shot towards her but the man at the top of the table stopped them: „No, don‘t you hurt her!“

He looked pained she didn‘t fail to notice, so he must recognize her. But Harmonia she couldn‘t bring herself to feel empathy for him. Not anymore. Not after…everything. She caught one of her old colleagues stare behind her, pure horror painted on his face and she followed his gaze and looked behind her even though she already knew what he was looking at. Her face flushed red and she sank in more in herself when her gaze fell onto her crippled wing. Torn, bloody and broken. It was just too much. „Stop staring at it! Stop just sitting here and staring! All of you! Why?! Why didn‘t you come save me?! You knew where I was! You knew exactly! You were the ones that sent me there! You could have gotten me out! Why didn‘t you save me?! You left me there to die, you left me with…with her! Why?!” Tears had started flowing out of her eyes and her chest heaved strongly. Her gaze calling upon an answer from everybody in this room. Some kind of explanation. “Harmonia we…We wanted to. I promise but…-“, one of her old “friends”, more like acquaintances, began. “-But it simply wasn’t worth the risk.”, a woman added. Harmonia didn’t know the woman, but somehow she really reminded her of somebody. “Too many angels would have gotten hurt in the process of saving somebody as generic as you. You were…A casualty.”, the woman continued emotionlessly. Harmonia’s eyes widened at the woman’s word. They stung in her broken and bruised heart and drove the shards of it deeper into each other. She sounded like her mother. Just…worse. “You weren’t cut out for this life anyway, dear one.”, another woman continued. Harmonia’s breath caught, when did that woman come in?! She wasn’t here before. Her voice and appearance-she looked like-no it couldn’t be. Not her, not her, not her, not her! “For any of this. But you were perfect for her. Everything she could have asked for. It was a good home, wasn’t it?” “Nononononono.”, Harmonia whispered to herself, shaky legs now completely giving out under her. Suddenly the two women were standing next to her. “We didn’t save you because you weren’t somebody worth saving.” “-Because you don’t want to be saved. Isn't that right? Because we didn’t want to.” What?-NoNoNoNoNo. “Please, stop, no…No, no…”, Harmonia started to sob on the ground, the two women staring down at her with a smile and cold eyes. Harmonia awoke with a jolt and a yelp and didn’t know where she was. She blindly searched around behind her with her hand until she found her left wing. It was perfectly fine. No blood, no torn muscles, no broken bones, and feathers. She could have cried in relief. It was just a dream. But then the memory of the dream really started to settle in and real tears started welling up in her eyes. This couldn’t be the truth, right? No, it was just a nightmare. But…But if it wasn’t then why hadn’t they already saved her? Why was she still here? It must be true. Either way breaks her heart and she rolls herself closer in front of the fireplace. Tears drawing paths over her cheeks. And apparently Electra’s words were starting to sink in since she heard them in her dreams. And it scared her! She shivered, a trembling the crackling fire couldn’t subdue. There was no use in trying to sleep, she knew it would be pointless. Even if Electra would scold her for her dark eye rings and sleepiness tomorrow, she didn’t want to experience this horror again.

Bonus✨

"Why didn‘t you protect me?! Why didn‘t you save me?! You were supposed to make sure I’m safe!! That was the only-the one reason you were sent here! To make sure I don't get...That it doesn't happen again! Why!? Answer me! You owe me at least that! Do you know what happened to me?! What you could have! Just...you were assigned for my prottection...why couldn't you protect me when it really mattered? Why didn't you save me...?"

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @ailesswhumptober

#jayna's writing #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober2023day25 #why didn't you save me #“No matter how much you squirm you won‘t get out” #Electra #Harmonia #whump #whump writing #whumpee #trauma #coping #creative writing #whump blog #angel whumpee #wing whump #nightmares #nightmare whump #angel whump #mission whump #angst prompt #angst fic #Whump drabble #angst #angst writing #emotional whump #vent post

[drades-lair]

Wreckin I could use some help

Fuck it! Striker had to get his ass out of Imp city as swiftly as possible, hopping on bombproof he took off towards the nearest boarder of the city. Three strikes your out at least that’s the saying and in this case, it was more then true after failing to kill Stolas for the 3rd time Striker now had to high tail it else where as that screeching bitch, Stella had sworn his death if he failed a third time. Normally threats of death were nothing to Striker as he feared no one… however there’s always an exception to a rule and that crazy bird bitch was the one to this rule. Bombproof snorted out heavy breaths with hooves pounding the pavement when a loud bang sound rang out with a flash of a spark as something bounced off the pavement, a bullet! Although it missed Bombproof still startled causing the large nightmare to stumble over its own feet straight to the ground. Striker managed to leap from his falling steed unfortunately he couldn’t clear the area completely resulting in Bombproof landing on the lower half of his left leg now if they’d been in the desert sands perhaps the damage would have been less, but pavement was harder then sand. Striker let out a pained yell as his knee popped with a white shooting pain instantly indicating it dislocated underneath the weight of his horse.

 Bombproof managed to get back on her feet only to take off leaving Striker to curse under his breath when two large figures stood over him. Glancing up Striker couldn’t tell who the two figures were however he sure as hells saw the crowbar right before it slammed into his skull instantly rendering him unconscious.

 …

 Mostly Blitz enjoyed running his own company after all getting to do what he fucking wanted all the time without anyone telling him (besides Moxxie) that it’s wrong was awesome…until the paperwork started to pile up that was. Every light was off in the office except a desk lamp with a broken shade that sat on the edge of Blitz’s desk barely illuminating the mountain of paper’s he was currently working through. Glancing up at the crooked clock on the dirty, paint peeling wall Blitz gave an exasperated sigh with a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose while putting down his pen. Blitz stood up from his desk to go get some coffee from the machine he kept in his personal office just managing to pour a cup when there was a heavy banging at the main entrance to their office. Scowling with an irritated groan Blitz put down his coffee cup then headed into the main office area which allowed him to see the main door with a frosted glass window that had his company logo on it. A clear shadow of a figure could be seen on the other side of the door, hesitating for a moment Blitz used caution moving forwards with one hand resting on the hilt of his pistol holstered on his hip. Placing his free hand on the doorknob Blitz noticed a smear of blood streaked across the frosted glass on the opposite side making him even more uneasy after all it wasn’t like they were in a great part of town.

 Blitz was just about to open the door when the figure disappeared followed by a thud noise that sounded like someone dropping something in the hallway. Twisting the doorknob’s lock Blitz unlocked it then firmly gripped the hilt of his flint lock pistol but didn’t draw it from the holster just yet instead simply flinging the door open. Glancing swiftly from left to right Blitz’s eyes widened in surprise when they landed on the familiar yet bloodied figure of none other then Striker sitting against the wall that he’d clearly slid down if the black blood streak down the wall was anything to go by. Striker’s head was bowed, eyes shut making Blitz wonder if he was even alive but knowing the slippery assassin’s ways Blitz took caution as he knelt on one knee to press two fingers to Striker’s neck in search of a pulse. A weak groan radiated from the pale imp’s figure followed by his eyes opening just a bit causing Blitz to pull back.  

“Holy shit! You’re still alive!” Blitz exclaimed namely because Striker looked like some fucking hell beast had face fucked him into oblivion. Black blood was staining every inch of Striker’s body clearly coming from the few very ugly looking gashes that Blitz could see although he was certain there were many others that he couldn’t judging by the sheer amount of blood.

“S-sure…I-if …Ya can ‘all…’at…” Striker’s voice was wrecked, words slurring slightly

“What the fuck happened?” Blitz wondered taking a quick glance down the hall where a trail of black blood lead all the way to the IMP office main door. Once certain no one was coming after Striker, Blitz proceeded to take his hand off his pistol turning back to Striker immediately making it clear the pale imp wasn’t doing well, head resting back against the wall with his eyes slowly beginning to close again, breath hitching slightly.

“Hey! Striker! Stay the fuck awake! Stay with me!” Blitz said as he quickly took a knee once more beside Striker’s form.

Although Blitz wasn’t exactly a fan of Striker especially after the assassin tried to kill Stolas, he couldn’t completely hate him, that would be hypocritical considering they were so similar. Gently as possible Blitz grabbed Strikers right arm to sling it over his own shoulder, standing up he jumped slightly when Striker let out a cry of pain. Blitz quickly recovered and continued his movements into the IMP office noting immediately that Striker couldn’t put weight on his left leg along with very little on his right meaning Blitz practically had to drag his ass inside plopping the assassin’s ass on to the large couch they kept for clients to sit on while waiting. Blitz flipped on the lights finally providing him the ability to see Striker’s condition more clearly... it was certainly an ugly sight.  

A giant gash was gouged into the right side of his head having caused blood to pour down that side of his face. Two other massive deep cuts were on Striker’s left upper arm and across his chest, a puncture was in Striker’s right thigh, but it wasn’t from a knife…Rod maybe? Striker had apparently attempted some on the fly first aid because there was a home-made tourniquet wrapped above the stab to his thigh while a piece of fabric was wrapped around the cut to his upper arm on the left side. Hurriedly Blitz grabbed the first aid kit that they kept in Loona’s desk along with a wet towel from the bathroom, starting to clean up some of the blood quickly revealed the extent of Striker’s injuries including a rather large nasty one on his right-hand rib area literally spanning the entire length of his side after pulling open the pale imp’s shirt and vest. Blitz began to realize he wasn’t going to be able to help Striker as he wasn’t equipped via knowledge nor supplies to deal with these severe of wounds as he guessed Striker had a severe concussion along with either a broken or dislocated left leg…he needed better help then Blitz could provide.

“Shit! What did you get yourself into?” Blitz cursed under his breath as Striker began to fade back into unconsciousness as he’d been doing on and off for the last bit of time indicating once more that he was in horrid shape.

“Hmm…Job…’one…w-wrong…” Striker managed to respond before slipping fully unconscious again

“It was rhetorical…keep your mouth shut,” Blitz retorted even though Striker passed out again, reaching for his phone that sat in his coat pocket. Scrolling through his contacts Blitz finds the number he’s looking for then presses the little dial button.

“Hey, I’ve got a favor to ask,” Blitz spoke into the phone

 …

 Having a magical prince of hell as your main squeeze does tend to have its perks, Blitz hauled Striker’s unconscious body through a magical portal into Stolas’ palace. The room Blitz stepped into though was one he’d not been to yet although adorned with the same slick tiled floors with fancy wallpaper the room was vastly different from the rest of the palace in that there was very little in it. A large stainless-steel table stood in the very center with a single white sheet draped over it, a large multi bulb light hanging over top, cabinets sat against the walls with various glass containers, bottles and vials adorning their shelves and drawers that probably contained more stuff. Gingerly Blitz managed to get Striker up on the table just in time to see Stolas entering the room from a door that had been hidden behind the portal when it was open. Stolas glanced at Striker then turned to Blitz with a curious yet unamused look on his features.

“What is going on Blitz?” Stolas asked with a tone of such seriousness that Blitz shivered slightly

“Look, I know you’re not a fan of Striker…” Blitz began

“Obviously! He has attempted to kill me several times!” Stolas cut Blitz off in irritation

“Calm your fucking ruffled feathers! Striker was only trying to full fill a contract, he doesn’t have any personal issue with you,” Blitz tried to explain in hopes of convincing Stolas to help

“Hmm…perhaps…if it was anyone other then you, I wouldn’t even consider this. Know that…now, any idea what happened?” Stolas sternly warned while striding over to a coat rack. Blitz didn’t need stolas to tell him how big of a favor he was asking here after all he’d been the one to stop all of Striker’s attacks but his inside information in being an assassin himself caused Blitz to somewhat sympathize with Striker, assassin’s take contracts, execute them and get paid…that’s it. It was business nothing personal.

“Don’t know? He briefly said it was a job gone bad but from what I can tell he has two bad cuts, a cracked skull and something wrong with his left leg.” Blitz briefly outlined in hopes to give Stolas an overview of Striker’s injuries. Without a word Stolas removed his flowing cape then rolled up his sleeves before moving to Striker’s unconscious body, gently taking the imp’s head in his hands in order to analyze the massive gash that was gouged into his right temple. Pressing slightly Stolas confirmed the crack below the wound in Striker’s skull, moving onwards Stolas finished what Blitz had clearly started by pulling off what was left of Striker’s clothing on his upper body to unveil the wounds located underneath.

Most who saw Stolas may not expect the prince to know a lick about medical knowledge, but Stolas was quite skilled in the field which was why Blitz had called him in the first place. Stolas kept a very serious air about him while working probably from intense concentration or at least that’s what Blitz assumed or perhaps hoped considering how pissed he’d seemed earlier. Stolas spread an odd slimy looking green concoction from a jar onto Striker’s forehead then rested the palm of one hand atop it, hand glowing a faint purple color. Afterwards Stolas moved back to the cabinets on the right-hand side of the room to pull from a drawer some stitching materials. Pulling over a rolling stool Stolas sat down to start stitching the numerous deep cuts peppering Striker’s torso including the massive one that spanned from his right shoulder all the way to under his left peck. Blitz was left with not much to do except observe until Stolas was finished thus, he did just that, watching as Striker wasn’t conscious however on occasion his breath still hitched from pain indicating he could feel some of what was happening, having been in similar situations Blitz could once again sympathize.

“Blitz, could you come help me a second?” Stolas suddenly asked making Blitz jump a little as he was pulled from his thoughts in the almost silent room.

“Uh…yeah,” Blitz agreed, quickly pushing from the wall he’d been leaning against to make his way over to the table.

“Here, I need you to hold his upper thigh while I attempt to put his knee back in place,” Stolas explained in the flattest serious tone Blitz had heard from him to date. Blitz followed Stolas’ instructions by holding Striker’s upper left thigh straight while Stolas started to roll the knee into position then with one swift movement shoved hard to get it to relocate.

Blitz nearly shot through the roof as a guttural scream erupted from Striker, body jerking violently as clearly, he was swiftly brought back to the conscious world. Striker jerked up instantly regretting that decision as he grasped at his right side, a harsh hiss slicing through the air followed by the tell tale rattling of his tail.

“Nope! Stay down Damnit!” Blitz growled as he leapt up onto the table to straddle Striker’s hips while pinning both the assassin’s arms to the table beneath obviously trying to be cautious of the injuries located in those areas.

“THE FUCK! Where…what is…Get off me…” Striker stammered clearly trying to comprehend what in the nine hells was going on.

“No can do, just settle your roll cowboy,” Blitz stated still sitting on Striker although despite being badly wounded the other imp was managing quite the fight almost managing to through Blitz clear off.

“Wait…Blitz…?” Striker trailed off finally seeming to focus on who he had been talking too.

“One and only. Look we’re trying to help you, dumb shit so hold the fuck still,” Blitz cockily smirked

“We…?” Striker questioned before catching sight of Stolas who had moved back to the cabinets and was rifling through them for materials while Blitz handled Striker.

Striker’s form seemed to relax a little now that he knew what was going on around him allowing Blitz to hope off although Striker let out a hiss of pain when even just the coat tails of Blitz outfit brushed one of his wounds. Stolas didn’t acknowledge Striker instead simply moved to his right thigh where the puncture wound was still bleeding badly, tearing the hole in Striker’s pants to allow for a better look Stolas gingerly prodded the wound instantly eliciting a response from Striker. Jerking up once more Striker yelped in pain only to find Blitz’s hands quickly on his shoulders, shoving the pale imp once again to the table earning him a snarling grimace from Striker in protest followed swiftly by a grunt of agony as Stolas began stitching the deep hole up.

“W-why…why…Ya helpin’ me…? Striker wondered through clenched teeth

“Because you were bleeding all over my hallway,” Blitz reminded him

“So…it wasn’t a…dream…” Striker grunted out his thick southern drawl thicker then normal

“Nope, blood is still on the walls to prove it,” Blitz chuckled still pinning Striker’s shoulders

“Fuck…guess I truly was desperate…” Striker quipped followed by a wince while bringing a hand up to where the now stitched gouge on his head was.

“Care to explain some of this shit?” Blitz inquired more trying to distract Striker from what Stolas was doing then anything else.

“After I failed to kill his highness’ here…my client turned on me…she sent her hounds who shot at bombproof causing her to buck me off. When she landed on my leg it dislocated the knee…then they cracked my fuckin’ skull with a crowbar,” Striker briefly explained

“Yikes, wow! That doesn’t explain how you got further fucked up though,” Blitz pressed

“Well, it’s not…like they were taking me to a theme park…I was lucky that they wanted to have some fun before killing me. The concussion made most of it hazy but could a done without the steel rod being shoved through my thigh,” Striker chuckled slightly proving to Blitz once again that he was a tough piece of shit considering how much pain he had to be in.

“You got loose though.” Blitz pointed out

“Yep…managed to get the drop on one of ‘em…shot the other…then high tailed it out of the dump they had me in…” Striker finished still gritting his teeth through the pain.  

“Then you were fortunate, now that you are awake perhaps, we could sit you up gingerly so I can access the wounds on your back,” Stolas finally chimed in having finished with Striker’s thigh.

Striker gave a ginger nod then allowed Blitz to assist in getting him sitting on the edge of the table causing his head to swim a little. Bringing a hand up Striker closed his eyes trying to regain his equilibrium only to feel his temples throb. Stolas began cleaning the wounds on Striker’s back revealing a nasty combination of cuts, whip marks and a bad stab to his left shoulder, yep, these fuckers had fucked him up good perhaps even worse than Striker had initially thought. Silence fell between the three as Stolas worked gingerly to get Striker put back together until that is Stolas moved to touch Striker’s tail a move that even Blitz tried to warn against too late. A hiss from deep in Striker’s gut rung out followed by the long whip like appendage lashing out with that tell tail rattle Striker did with it fortunately Stolas was quick to dodge it although not the blood that splashed against him as well as the cabinets and wall.

“What the fuck Ya think you’re doin’?” Striker Snarled, peering over his shoulder

“Whoa! Easy, easy!” Blitz tried to calm Striker although being an imp himself Blitz knew that their tails were a bit…personal.

“I think I’m trying to help you! Surely you could show a little gratitude!” Stolas snapped irritably

“Well, that’s not gonna happen. You can take your gratitude and shove it straight up your high mighty ass!” Striker snarled again still rattling the end of his tail despite the pain that was shooting up it from the action.

“Hey! Calm your tits! I could have left you in my hallway to bleed out you know! So, show just a hint of respect for Stolas,” Blitz interceded, he sympathized with Striker’s situation but there was only so far, he’d let the other imp go.  

“You’re right you should have! Why the fuck would you help me anyways?” Striker hissed out while snapping his head back around to face Blitz.

“Because I can sympathize! I run the same business you’re in remember. I’ve been fucked over by clients too,” Blitz stated

“So?” Striker questioned raising an eyebrow

“Soooo…. uh…um…shit! I had up till there!” Blitz pouted in aggravation, arms folding over his chest.  

“Huh, you always were an odd one…Boss man,” Striker smirked having clearly calmed slightly at seeing Blitz lost for words.  

“Yeah…well…look, minus the whole trying to kill Stolas thing you’re a decent guy. I’d like to not kill you, if possible,” Blitz explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Funny, didn’t peg you for a big softy,” Striker huffed out a laugh

“Oh, shove it!” Blitz retorted

Shooting a glance over his shoulder once again Striker gingerly brought his now silent tail towards Stolas, looping it a couple times so it rested mostly flat on the table. Stolas glanced up at Striker this time before touching the long appendage quickly finding the large slice in the center that went straight to the bone. After a few more minutes Stolas had managed to finally finish piecing Striker back together, just in time too it seemed as Striker appeared to be slightly fading again mostly relying on Blitz to hold him upright. Stolas instructed Blitz to help get Striker to one of the rooms in the palace so as he could rest while he recovered, Striker had wanted to protest but really had no choice considering his horse was who the fuck knows where and he really couldn’t walk well between two screwed up legs and one hells of a concussion. Gently as he could manage Blitz with Stolas’ help moved Striker out of the current room then down the hallway to one of the guest bedrooms where they settled the other imp on the bed before stripping him of what was left of his clothing. Striker would have complained or commented but his conscious mind was already too far gone for that thus he simply allowed the blackness to seep into his vision.

Blitz watched as Stolas quickly smeared another substance this time a clear one from yet another jar onto each of Striker’s injuries followed swiftly by hovering the same hand in the center of the imp’s body. Blitz made assumptions that these substances were a form of pain relief especially after Striker managed to stay conscious so long despite having a bad concussion.

 Striker required some care over the next week in order to continue the healing process of his wounds while his senses reset themselves, Blitz helped Stolas with this process for as long as he could however, he did have a company to run. Blitz had to get back to his job at IMP but returned to the palace whenever he got a moment mostly to assure Stolas didn’t decide to off Striker due to one of his smart-ass comments. A routine had been put in place where Stolas would go check on Striker when Blitz wasn’t in the palace first thing in the morning, assisting in changing Striker’s bandages while using his magic to help ease some of the pain associated with those same wounds. At first the pale imp would simply remain still while Stolas did his thing but as time went on Striker began to regain his strength and apparently his mouth as well, making snide little comments that would ruffle the Goitia’s feathers. Blitz on one of his visits warned Striker to shut his trap or it might get him imploded unfortunately Striker’s cocky attitude led him to not know fear thus his continual poking of Stolas remained leading Blitz to truly wonder if the serpent imp had a death wish. Unbeknownst to both Blitz as well as Stolas, Striker was all bravado simply putting on this façade because he was all too aware just how close to death he’d been especially if Blitz hadn’t taken pity on him, hells Blitz could have simply shot him right in the face for the shit he’d pulled so yeah, he was aware how lucky of a bastard he was to even be still breathing.

 …

 Stolas awoke to the sun rays of early morning as he usually did give a yawn then a stretch before sliding from underneath his silk covers. Throwing on what was considered a casual outfit for royalty Stolas dressed in a pair of tan dress pants, a burgundy button-down shirt that he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows then a black vest over top. Striding confidently from his room down the hallway he paused outside the door of a guest bedroom where Striker was making certain to compose himself before entering. Stolas reminded himself that Blitz wanted this something he couldn’t understand especially with how obnoxious Striker was towards them both, but he’d agreed to help thus he turned the doorknob.

“Striker? May I come in?” Stolas asked as he normally did on these morning checks

“Answers always yes…Bird man,” Striker’s drawl came from the darkened room

Stolas did fully enter now noting the smell of smoke in the air before catching eye of Striker, the imp was sitting on the edge of the bed with one arm draped lazily over his knee while the other hand brought a cigarette up to his lips. Stolas watched as the burning ember at the cigarettes tip sparked a little brighter as Striker took a drag from it then released a puff of smoke a moment later. Due to the injuries, he’d suffered Striker wore no shirt but after the first couple days he’d been able to at least throw a pair of loose fitting track pants on not that he really gave a shit who saw what on him.

“How are you feeling?” Stolas asked as he always did, moving to the vanity across from the bed where a host of jars sat along with bandages and other medical supplies, they’d been using to treat Stricker’s injuries with.

“Same as the last 4,” Striker responded almost irritably

“I suppose that’s good…although I was hoping for a little more progress,” Stolas commented, grabbing some bandages along with the antiseptic from the vanity before heading over to sit beside Striker on the bed.

“Yeah…well, haven’t been this fucked up in a while so it might take a little longer,” Striker casually stated while taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Humph, here I would have thought it’d be a regular occurrence for you,” Stolas taunted. Oh yes Stolas had a very snarky side to him when pressed and Striker brought that side out in Stolas full force.

“You sayin’ I’m bad at my job?” Striker snarled slightly as he glanced over at Stolas, who was now gingerly starting to remove the bandage on the pale imp’s upper arm.

“Perhaps, you did fail to kill me 3 times,” Stolas retorted

“Huh…touché, still fuck you,” Striker chuckled

“I’m afraid only Blitz can do that,” Stolas retorted with a smirk

“Yeah…I’m aware…” Striker huffed another laugh before they settled into silence as Stolas worked

Stolas left checking the status of Striker’s concussion for last gently cupping the imp’s jaw in one talon while checking his facial wound with the other. Prodding carefully around the wound Stolas could no longer feel anything below meaning Striker’s fracture was probably close to being healed and the wound wasn’t looking to horrible either finally loosing its angry red color indicating some healing was occurring. Striker’s gaze remained ahead for most of the exam however towards the end his gaze slid towards Stolas.

“Did you wish to ask me something?” Stolas inquired having noticed Striker’s brief glance at him

“Nope,” Striker made a point to pop the P at the end in emphasis

“Really? Hm, seemed like it by the way you just looked at me,” Stolas pressed as he released the imp’s jaw.

“Was more just thinkin’ how you’re just as strange as the Boss Man,” Striker once again casually stated

“Strange? Strange how?” Stolas curiously inquired

“Well for one yer fuckin’ an imp…for two you don’t seem as pious as other demonic royalty I’ve met,” Striker explained

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment especially coming from you,” Stolas smirked, standing from the bed to return his supplies to the vanity.

“Yeah, you should.” Striker smirked back

…

Several weeks later Blitz came by for a usual check in although he didn’t make it past the kitchen as he caught sight of Striker casually sipping a mug of coffee while reading a paper still no shirt on only his usual white pants. Striker’s wounds were looking almost healed, the only nasty marks left being the bruise on his side and the bruise on the side of his face where he’d been clocked with the crowbar.

“Blitz~ good to see Ya Boss man,” Striker chimed with arrogance firmly laced back into that southern drawl of his.

“Yeah, yeah…see your feeling better,” Blitz retorted casually walking into the kitchen.

“Pretty much. Still a little sore but I’ll manage,” Striker confirmed, laying the paper down along with setting his mug beside it.

“Good, then perhaps you’d like to provide me with the name of the client who wanted Stolas dead?” Blitz prompted

This had been a dance for the past few weeks with Striker mostly refusing to give a name, sounds suspicious but Blitz understood Striker’s reasoning. A general unspoken rule was that an assassin shouldn’t give out names of their clients even if that client tried to kill you, it’s bad for business. Despite Blitz understanding this fact he also really, really, REALLY wanted to fuck up the shit who tried to have Stolas killed. Striker went pensive for a moment leading Blitz to think he was once again wasting his time asking for a name until eventually the pale imp released a heavy sigh then smirked.

“Fine…seein’ as your not goin’ let this go…it was Stella Gotia…Stolas’ ex-wife,” Striker bluntly stated

“What! Are you fucking kidding me? That BITCH!” Blitz screeched in anger

“Yep, fifty grand to do in her cheatin’ husband,” Striker confirmed nonchalantly as he leaned back against the banquet, he currently was sitting in.

“Fuck! When I get through with her…!” Blitz trailed off just as Stolas entered the kitchen clearly cutting himself off in hopes Stolas hadn’t heard.

“Is it true? Did my ex-wife hire you to kill me while I was still married to her?” Stolas asked sending Blitz’s hopes out the window about him not hearing as he’d clearly heard the entire conversation that had just transgressed.

“That’s correct, she specifically told me she wanted the cheatin’ prick dead,” Striker repeated

“Could you prove it?” Stolas inquired

“Sorry your highness…no paper trail I’m afraid, cash is the name of the game,” Striker apologized knowing full well why Stolas was asking.

“I thought so but it was worth a try,” Stolas solemnly stated before moving to the kitchen cabinets where he pulled out a mug along with a tea bag.

“Good news is Ya don’t have anything to fear from me anymore. Contract was null and void the minute that bitch sent hellhounds to kill me,” Striker reassured Stolas still wearing his trademark smirk. Over the last few weeks Striker and Stolas had come to somewhat of an understanding perhaps even a bit respect growing between them.

“Indeed. Oh! I almost forgot to mention, I had my people go find your horse. It’s waiting in the stables,” Stolas stated while making his tea. Striker was taken aback by this statement as he’d not asked Stolas to find Bombproof for him.

“You what? Why?” Striker inquired in confusion after all despite their tolerance of one another Striker knew how Stolas felt about him. So why would he do a favor for him?

“I figured you would need it for when you eventually left,” Stolas responded rather casually, pouring hot water from a kettle into his mug.

“Uh…well thank Ya,” Striker responded unsure what else to really say fortunately Blitz didn’t chime in either with any snide comments.  

A few days later Striker still walked with a limp but had decided it was time to move on saddling up Bombproof but not before bidding Blitz a farewell.

“You sure you have to leave so soon? I was hoping you’d lend a hand in taking care of that bitch,” Blitz wondered as Striker sat atop Bombproof.

“Ya know I’d love nothin’ more then to pay that screeching bitch back, but I trust that you and bird boy have this handled,” Striker stated tipping his hat to Blitz

“Damn straight we do! Catch you later?” Blitz chimed confidently

“Definitely,” Striker assured before heading off  

#Helluva boss #Helluva boss fanfiction #Helluva boss fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Striker #Helluva Boss Striker #Helluva Boss Blitz #Blitz #Stolas #Helluva Boss Stolas #Hurt/comfort #humor

[ptergwen]

Yk that one scene from the kissing booth where Elle doesn’t have any school pants that fit so she has to wear her old really short skirt to school with Finn, her best friend, how about y/n has to do the same with HER best friend Peter Parker

got your back

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: swearing, suggestiveness, and flash needs to get smacked

a/n: i got ur message about the name thing lmfhjsksj and thank you for sending this in!! i changed it up a little but i hope that’s alright cuz i love how it turned out :) pls enjoy <3

-

“oh my god, this is terrible. literally everyone’s worst nightmare come true,” you mumble to peter, gripping the subway pole tight in both hands. he’s standing on the other side of it so you’re facing each other. he looks you up and down with a crooked smile. “relax, y/n. it’s not that bad!”

peter’s gaze fixes on your bare legs. you’d woken up late this morning, so you threw on whatever you could find first in your closet. one article of clothing happened to be a mini skirt from freshman year that your senior body has seriously outgrown.

you were already out the door when you realized, peter gawking at you as you met him outside your building.

it was a good kind of gawking, for the record. he’s definitely into the skimpy style you’re unintentionally rocking, but he’ll never admit it. that would be creepy.

plus, friends don’t drool over each other in broad daylight. he’s certain he’d be breaking some sort of bestie code.

peter gives you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “trust me, you’re not the only kid in the history of midtown who’s had a wardrobe malfunction.” your eyes widen at his understatement. “wardrobe malfunction? peter, my whole ass is out!”

“jesus, y/n/n. don’t announce that,” he chuckles, wrapping a protective arm around your middle. pouting, you bury your face in peter’s sweater clad chest. you feel safe here. peter squeezes you closer, the subway jittering to a stop.

you hoped you’d never have to get off.

“let’s hit it, promiscuous girl,” peter teases and receives a groan from you. your words are muffled. “shut up. i’m not going in there, and you can’t make me.” he presses his lips together, resting his forehead against your scalp. “listen… no one’s gonna care, okay? if they do, i’ll handle them.”

you back away from peter’s chest at last. he slowly lifts his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his doe eyes lock with yours. the subway doors finally fly open.

“okay, okay. i’m going,” you sigh.

peter knowingly offers you a hand, which you gladly take. he threads his fingers through yours, his sleeve covering your intertwined hands. the two of you then trek onto the platform and down the stairs to school.

“girls get dress-coded just for showing their shoulders. i wonder what my sentence is gonna be,” you snort, following beside peter to the main entrance of midtown. “misogyny starts young,” peter agrees. “principal morita is usually chill, though. i actually heard he-“

the story is cut off by someone whistling at you. it’s none other than flash thompson and his posse, who shamelessly check you out as you walk by. peter’s blood instantly boils.

“y/l/n’s got body-ody-ody. who knew?” flash shouts out, his equally annoying friends cackling along. “sheesh, perfect way to kick off the day. i love breakfast and a view.”

his catcalling draws the attention of the other students around you. you’re soon being pointed at and whispered about from all four corners. you completely freeze, unable to process the words of reassurance peter whispers in your ear.

what happened to no one caring?

flash has the audacity to strut right up to you. everybody watches the exchange. “hey, save me a slice of that cake for later,” he mocks.

you’d normally fight back, put him in his place, but you’re so humiliated that you don’t have it in you to engage. luckily, peter is more than capable enough for the both of you. he’ll handle it, as promised.

“shut the fuck up, flash. she’s not interested. no one is,” peter spits, his jaw clenched. those are words you hadn’t expected to leave his mouth. “take the loss and get out of here,” he concludes. flash rolls his eyes. “she could speak for herself, last time i checked.”

beyond fed up, peter drops your hand and steps toward flash. he gets in his face and lowers his voice.

“i could knock you out with just a punch, last time i checked,” peter threatens. he never resorts to physical violence, but he’s willing to make an exception for you. “unless you’d like to earn another dislocated jaw… i’d walk away, buddy.”

flash gulps, vividly remembering his and peter’s incident on the bus ride to prague. that time was an accident. this time wouldn’t be.

“shit, fine. just… back up, man,” he weakly gets out. peter obliges with a sugary sweet smile. flash scrambles back over to his entourage, shooting you a glare on the way. your mouth fallen agape, you rejoin peter and grab his arm.

the entire courtyard has their eyes on you two.

“uh, nothing to see here! carry on, folks!” you awkwardly laugh. peter is still fuming, steam practically coming out of his ears.

people gradually return to their own conversations, although they’re now about you and your outfit choice.

you drag peter away from the scene and begin heading into school. “what the hell, peter? are you trying to get both of us expelled?” you scold. peter exhales hot air from his nose, you leading him inside. “no, of course not. i…”

he pauses, taking your trembling hands in his. you’re a bit freaked out from flash’s crude remarks, and understandably so.

“i couldn’t let him talk to you like that, y/n. i’m sorry if i made things any worse,” peter apologizes, sincerely. “i just want you to know i got your back, alright? always.” he frowns when he feels you start to shake. “woah, you okay?”

you plaster on a grin, brushing his concern off. “better than ever. um, we should get to class,” you change the subject. “maybe we’ll be early for once.”

peter doesn’t buy the act for a second. he’s not pressing, though. today is going to be rough, and your experience so far proves it. he won’t add to your stress.

“yeah, good call” peter affirms. “after you.” he gestures in the direction of your first period class. “and they say chivalry is dead,” you tut, peter wiggling his eyebrows.

you make one last effort to tug down your skirt as much as possible, the fear of being written up very prominent in your mind. peter gets an idea he wishes he’d thought of earlier.

“wait, i want you to have this,” he prefaces, checking the area before slipping his arms out of his sweater. you quickly move to cover him. “pete, what are you doing?”

as if he isn’t stripping in the middle of the hallway, he casually pulls the light blue material over his head. you’re relieved that he ends up to be wearing a flannel underneath.

peter stays behind you and wraps his sweater around your waist. “it’s not much, but it should help a little bit. keep you warm, at the very least,” he explains while tying it so that your whole ass isn’t out, as you’d gracefully put it.

“you’re a lifesaver, pete. thank you so much,” you giggle, a genuine giggle as you admire his handiwork. “thanks for standing up to flash for me, too. that was wild. dude nearly pissed himself on the spot.” peter playfully clicks his tongue. “he did not. i wasn’t that scary, was i?”

you turn to look at him for emphasis. “uh, you totally were! by the way, was that the first time you’ve ever cussed?” color painting his cheeks, peter scratches the back of his neck. “i guess so. never had a reason to until then.”

he’s suddenly tackled into a hug from you, your arms slung around his neck as you lay a big kiss on his cheek. he hugs you back by your waist with an eye-crinkling grin, careful not to mess up the sweater. a smile overtaking your features, you place your hands on either of peter’s cheeks. he kisses your palm softly.

“you’re a real one, peter parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine

[willowedwisteria]

⁂~The Wrong Heir to the Throne~⁂

Summary -> An imposter shows up before you, changing your arrival from a dream come true to a nightmare.

Warnings -> Minor cursing, worshipping, fourth-wall-breaking, torture, public humiliation

Note -> I kept seeing so many yummy fics of this AU, so obviously, yours truly had to join in the fun. Thank you to @nicebonescomrade who kept reblogging so many good fics for this. (My goldfish brain can't remember the name of the writer)

Your eyes shift past the flight of stairs and who... or what sat on the throne above those stairs, a crown embedded with jewels blinding you, appeared to be an exact replica of you.

Your hands pressed against the cold, hard ground of the cathedral. Your knees are red from kneeling to a copycat of you, making them ache even more when you tried to make your escape in vain.

'Your' shoes clank against the floor while slowly making 'your' way down to you. A smug smirk planted onto their face. Your gut twist and turn at the sight of that wicked smile, you can't believe you're so disgusted at the sight of... yourself.

"How amusing. I'd never imagine looking so beat down and ugly." 'You' remark, balancing 'yourself on one knee and using one hand to force you to look at the spinning image of yourself.

'Your' hands are cold to the touch, too cold to be the hand of a human. What does that really change? There's no way the carbon copy in front of you is human after all of the torture and public humiliation you were forced to endure.

Leaving you in rags, letting passersby cut up your face to their absolute liking while you're held still for a whole day, engulfing you in water, even letting kids draw on you. You've experienced it all and all of the ideas mentioned were from none other than 'yourself'.

You hiss, pulling your face away from the lookalike and biting their hand. You would rather die by their hands than be in their presence any longer.

"Ow! You barbarian!" The doppelganger backs away from you, falling off of the one knee they were balancing themselves on and clenching onto the hand that you bit, your bite marks still showing on their skin.

You had already been restrained by the hands and knees with rope, and they weren't the most gentle with it. However, to add insult to injury, Venti aimed his arrow at you, the Anemo infused arrow striking you right at the leg.

You could see healers immediately rushing over to where you and well... 'you' were, but you knew that those healers weren't there to help you.

You fall to the ground, inaudibly sobbing as you glare at the healers trying to help the "creator". There's someone with a severe injury and the first person they rush to is someone who got bitten?! The "creator" isn't even bleeding!

Absurd. Insolent. Unscrupulous. Immoral. All of them.

"I'm not supposed to even deal with trash." 'You' stand up, smiling at the healers, signaling that you're okay. 'You' turn around, not willing to look at such an unsightly scene, and head back to your throne as you snap your fingers, looking at Ei and Zhongli.

Ei and Zhongli receive the message relayed, nodding. The pair rushes over to you accordingly, following the orders they've been given.

Zhongli pulls you up and tugs at your hair, causing your scalp to ache. Ei summons her sword, pushing the tip of her blade to your throat as you begin to sweat.

"Any last words, imposter? The divine creator has given you your last chance to speak."

You nod, maintaining eye contact with the "divine creator", a hint of glee in you.

"Fuck you all, to hell and back."

Enraged by your words, the crowd screams and shouts at you and 'you' scoff at your confidence.

"Your poor choice of words says a lot. It explains why you would dare mock me." 'You' sigh. 'You' take your hand, pulling it near your neck as you cut it across, signaling for Ei to cut your head off.

You feel the sword dig into your skin and you press your eyes shut, not wanting to stare back at 'you'. At last, you've been freed, you don't have to be in this hellhole of reality.

Well... at least you thought.

You wake up in a cold sweat, Albedo next to you, injecting something into your shoulder.

"Al... bedo?" You could barely speak, your throat hurt, everything hurt. Wait... your throat? Weren't you beheaded?

"Your grace, you shouldn't speak too much. I just found you in an old ruin and your body temperature was extremely low."

Your eyes widened as you pushed yourself up to lean against a wall behind you. Your brows furrowed and your memories come back to you again.

"I didn't see you in the crowd when I was going to be beheaded."

Albedo returns you with a look of confusion, placing a cup of warm water next to you.

"Beheaded? I'm quite sure we recently beheaded an imposter."

Albedo's face twists from confusion to fear, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, one for each, he asks you worriedly.

"Do you mean... that you were the one being beheaded? I was not present during the beheading, but I was confident in the archon's abilities to distinguish your grace apart from the imposter."

You nod at his question as he pulls his hands away from you and apologizes profusely. The method of your revival still remains a mystery, but you suppose you can thank Albedo for bringing you back to his camp, you would have died a second time if it wasn't for him.

Smiling, you pick up the cup and stir the cup with the spoon that Albedo provided for you. You turned your head to him and you insist that he did nothing wrong. He might have been the one to bring you to Teyvat, but he caused you no harm.

You pat him on the head, your fingers running through his golden locks and undoing any tangles in his messy hair. You push his hair aside after putting the cup of warm water down.

Cupping his cheeks in your hand, you softly remind him.

"This means that there's still an imposter taking my throne, isn't that right, Albedo?"

#Wisteriawrites #genshin #genshin impact #self aware genshin

[poppy-metal]

Eren jaeger x reader

I just wanted an excuse to write some bully!eren and this is the product of screaming abt it in the dms with @colossalnova

Eren is a god on the court. You loathe to give him any sort of credit but its true. His tall frame, his speed and ability, his competitive energy, all of it combines to make him a star player, he practically exudes a kind of raw energy that draws everyone to him, makes them watch.

Being a basketball player eren isn't just enigmatic on the court, but out of it too. Sunkissed skin and boyish brown hair, a mega watt smile and a charming attitude, by your school's standards he was the perfect golden boy. Destined for greatness in life in every way that mattered.

Too bad he was your fucking nightmare.

“I hate you”, you pant, weakly clutching onto erens stupid jersey as his cock fucks in and out of you. He’d pulled you behind the gym right before you’d been about to enter. You didn’t want to watch his stupid game but your friends had made you. And now here you were. 

“Yeah?”, he pants right back, grunting as he pulls out, till just the tip of his cock is pressing at the entrance of your wet pussy, before lewdly sliding back in, your slick gushing around him “Your little pussy doesn’t hate me though, fuck, sqeezing me so good” 

Your head thumps back and you push your fingers through his ridiculously soft hair, gripping it as he fucks you, hard, wet, and desperate. “S-shut up” you hiss, closing your eyes at the throbbing in your pussy, the wet squelch of his dick fucking you and showing you just how wet you are, how much you’re enjoying this, this with him. You can’t help your little spams, the way your cunt drools and sucks him in, not even if you wanted to, and god, you hate that. Can’t he just fuck you in quiet? Does he have to taunt you too? 

“Mm, but you like it when i talk, dont you, little nerd?” his grip on your thighs is slick with your sweat and  his nails bite into your skin harshly as he keeps you hoisted up, pratically bouncing you up and down on his thick cock stirring up your insides, “yeah, you fucking like it when i tell you how im gonna treat you like my little pocket pussy, pump you full of my cum, mm fuck, you like being my nasty little good luck charms before my games, hm? Hm?” 

“Shut up shut up, i hate you i hate you, i hate you, nnn, fuck, hope you lose today, ahh!” you cry out, little tears finally slipping out of your eyes as he batters into you roughly, never relenting. You hate yourself for the way that you lean forward with a sob so that you can whine into his ear, because you cant stand to look at him, see his beautiful face, red flushed from putting all that raw power into fucking you stupid, green eyes bright and hungry and so intense it makes your heart hammer and your clit thunder with a heartbeat that has only half to do with how well hes punching into you, punching little whines and gasps out of your sore throat. 

“I thought about you today, fuck” Eren continues, his voice a little breathy, hands gripping and steadily rocking you back and forth on his dick as he talks, voice right fucking next to your ear, mockingly gentle with his lips brushing against it, “saw you in class, nng, writing your little notes with your cute little pens, fuck, wanted to be between your legs under that desk so bad, flip up that pathetic little skirt and eat you out right there, fucking god” his voice is cracking now, getting more high pitched and whiny and your eyes are hurting from how tight you’re squeezing them shut, able to do nothing else but just listen and take everything. 

He secures one arm around your waist like you’re nothing, his other hand coming up to tangle in your hair and yank your head back and then suddenly his intense green eyes are all you sea, seagreen boring into you, as he presses your forheads together, forcing you to look at him, never letting you escape from whos doing this to you. His lips are red and so inviting from where he pants in your face, and you’re almost kissing, sharing breaths, but he’s still talking, babbling really at this point “you hate me? I fucking hate you. Think your so fucking high and mighty all the time, think you can ignore me, huh? Ill fucking ruin you, your life, this fucking pussy, fucking all of it its” thurst “all” thrust “mine” 

You cry out as your cunt spasms around him one last time, your orgasm wrecking through you like a tital wave, sobbing out a “god” to anyone, to him, you dont know, its just too much, hes too much, you cant stand it anymore. You sob into his shoulder as he fucks you through the aftershocks, chasing his high, not caring for your oversensitve little pants that you muffle into his jersey wetly. “Yeah, yeah yeah”, hes chanting eratically, humping into you like you really are a fleshlight and hes just using you to get his cock off “you fucking bitch, take it, take my cum, gonna give it all to you- oh fuck!” he sobs, shuddering and grinding into you as his hot cum pumps into you, filling you, because of course he wouldn’t pull out. 

Hes trembling from the aftershocks, and you blame it on the hormones and your still beating pussy, now filled with his cum, his brand, as you stroke his hair, legs sqeezing tight around him almost lovingly. But the afterglow never lasts. 

Pulling out of you with a disgusting slick pop, eren sets you down and backs away, tucking his now soft cock into his uniform shorts as he surveys you with a smug kind of glee as you stand there on shaking legs, his warm cum still dribbling out of you. The picture of pathetic to his unwavering confidence. He ruffles your hair mockingly as he starts walking backwards to the gym, “I’ll dedicate my win to you, baby” 

“Go to hell jaeger”

#my writing #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #eren x reader #eren smut #eren yaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #bully!eren

[logmosswrites]

That Hum of Night

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x fem!reader x Jesse McCree

Words: 4k

Warning: NSFW! 18+ only. Definitely PWP, wet dreams, BDSM dynamics, Dom Hanzo and Jesse, Sub reader, dirty talk, humiliation/degredation (verbal and otherwise), praise kink, nipple play, dry humping, rope bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm delay/denial, vibrator use, unsafe sex, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, come marking, aftercare. No y/n.

Author's note: cross posted to AO3.

There was nothing but heat. No up, no down, no world at all outside of the bodies pressed against yours. Your legs parted to make room for them, urging them closer still with every whimper and moan rolling off of your lips. You were hopelessly desperate, open and dripping for anything that would fill you. Fingers lazily fucked you open, joining a writhing tongue inside of your pussy. Hanzo and Jesse were everywhere all at once, sating your hunger as quickly as it appeared. Their mouths claimed every inch of skin they could find, the hot flash of teeth and tongue on your neck leaving you to gasp for air. You thrust your hips forward, shame long abandoned to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Please, you begged, just at the precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, deft fingers latched onto your aching clit, hard and punishing; you rocked with them, winding tighter and tighter until-

You woke up.

Slowly, the world came back to you, trickling in like a leaking faucet. Your mouth was dry; your heart pounded in your ears. You felt overheated, damp with sweat where you were sandwiched between Jesse and Hanzo- oh shit, Jesse and Hanzo .

“Sweetheart?”

And there was Jesse.

He was leaning over you, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Bracing yourself, you looked into his eyes, surprised to find concern instead of the amusement you expected.

“Are you alright, darlin’? It looked like you were having a pretty intense nightmare, there.”

Wait- nightmare?

“You nearly pushed me off of the bed,” interjected Hanzo from behind you, voice betraying his worry. It was only then that you noticed the rumpled blankets, piled up where you had tried to kick them off. Shit.

In response, you simply rolled over and tucked your flaming face into Jesse’s chest, unwilling to correct their conclusion. Jesse allowed this for a moment, but soon took your chin in hand, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, now, you don’t have to hide from me–from us. There’s no shame in bein’ a little shook up by a bad dream, sweetheart. Hell, even I get scared by what my brain decides to cook up sometimes,” the man said, sealing his words with a kiss to your forehead. You felt a tiny bit of guilt gnaw at you as he settled back down onto his side, bleary eyes watching yours for any sign of distress. But it wasn’t really lying, right? How would they ever even find out?

“Come here,” said Hanzo, snaking his arm around your waist. You went freely, fighting a shiver as you felt his familiar body conform to yours. “You are safe, my love,” he whispered, “in this bed, you are safe.” With that, your boyfriend pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over it as he had in your fantasy. Your body reacted accordingly, hips rolling forward and a gasp hitching in your chest. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late; the room was fraught with tension, none of you daring to even breathe. Well, fuck.

“Sweetheart-”

“I-”

Silence once again.

“Do you need us to sleep somewhere else, darlin’? It’s alright if-”

“No!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. Jesse searched your face for the truth, scrutinizing your awkward expression. You avoided meeting his eyes, shifting under the weight of Hanzo’s arm. Slowly, the cowboy seemed to put two and two together, lips pulling together into a dimpled smirk.

“Hanzo, I don’t think our baby girl had a nightmare."

Kill me, kill me, kill me, you chanted inside of your head, feeling Hanzo’s grip tighten as he caught up to the idea. For a split second, you considered actually lying, dismissing it just as quickly when you saw Jesse's smirk turn devilish.

"Is that true, beloved?” Hanzo asked, breath warm on your ear, “Are you trying to hide something from us?”

This time, you couldn’t suppress your shiver. Damn, Hanzo and Jesse knew just how to play you.

“You naughty little slut,” admonished Jesse, “Let’s see how wet you are under those panties of yours.” Lightning-quick, the man reached under the covers, hooking his fingers into the offending piece of fabric. Viciously, he tore them down, yanking your knees forward in order to get them all the way off. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought your panties into the hazy light of the bedroom, showing off the soaked inner lining.

“Well, would ya look at that? Our baby girl made a mess of herself, Hanzo. What should we do about this?”

Holy shit, you were going to die, right here in this bed.

“I think,” spoke Hanzo, voice gravelly, “that we should make her clean it up.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make you even wetter. Jesse considered you for a moment, eyes gaining a ferocious gleam as he noticed your quickly-growing arousal. Without preamble, he pushed your underwear into your mouth, wrapping them around two of his thick fingers. Instantly, you began to suck, tongue working around the cloth. Jesse pushed deeper and deeper in response, nearly activating your gag reflex. As it was, your eyes swam with tears, barely able to make out your boyfriend’s face turning deathly serious as he concentrated on you. Hanzo, unwilling to be left out, began to knead his hands into your flesh, pulling your sleep shirt up in order to play with your quickly hardening nipples. His scorching-hot mouth then sank onto your skin once more, lavishing your neck with kisses. You could hardly think, hardly breathe. Desperate sounds came from deep in your chest, muffled by Jesse’s unrelenting fingers.

Minutes, or maybe hours, flew by before your panties were taken from your mouth. You drew in a greedy breath, panting from sheer desire. God, how much more could you take? You were positively soaked at this point, aching with a need for friction. You knew better than to try and seek your own release, yet you still gasped when Hanzo snatched your hands away from your throbbing clit, reprimanding you with a harsh bite to the shoulder. A hoarse cry tore from your throat, reverberating loudly in the dark bedroom.

“You,” drawled Jesse, “have been a bad, bad girl, princess. First, you made a fucking mess of your panties, which you tried to hide from us. Then, you went and played with your tight little pussy even when you know you’re not allowed to. I think you’ve earned yourself a punishment, slut.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck , that could mean anything. Punishments from Hanzo and Jesse were rare, but you knew you were in deep, deep shit regardless. And if his predatory grin was any indication, Jesse knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hanzo, put her on her back. I want her begging by the time I’ve finished tying her up.”

With that, your world was disoriented, your view changing to that of Hanzo’s face right above yours. You felt more than saw Jesse getting off of the bed, quickly distracted by your other lover smothering you with a savage kiss. You did your best to reciprocate, but you were no match for Hanzo’s overwhelming influence. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your thigh where he straddled you, covered only by his cotton briefs. Before you could even think about moving your hands towards it, though, they were captured once more and pressed up above your head; holy shit, Hanzo moved fast.

“What a little whore,” Hanzo spoke, finally allowing you to draw in a breath, “So desperate for cock, you poor thing. How did you ever survive before we came along?”

Jesus Christ.

Hanzo, satisfied by your stunned silence, turned back to the task at hand, finally tearing off your shirt and sucking hickeys onto your bare chest. His goatee was coarse against your feverish skin as you rose up to meet him, writhing beneath his iron grip. You threw your head back, only opening your eyes when you felt Jesse grabbing your now-unoccupied wrist. In his other hand you saw a length of red rope, a frequent addition to your bedroom activities.

“Color?” Jessie asked, momentarily abandoning his dominating façade. Hanzo paused as well, considering you like he might consider his bow; serious and straightforward. You sucked in a deep breath, stomach swooping in anticipation when you croaked out a confident “green”.

With that, you were pulled back into Hanzo’s blazing inferno, hands and teeth and tongue setting your skin aflame. As Jesse maneuvered your wrist into a complicated cuff pattern, Hanzo took hold of your nipples once more, rolling one between his fingers as the other was caught between his teeth. Christ above, it was like someone had injected fire straight into your veins.

“You likin’ that, baby girl?” Came Jesse’s voice, off to the other side now and distinctly smug. You sent him a glare, tempered by the heady sensation of satiny rope being pulled against your sensitive skin. Jesse merely winked back, his roguish attitude written all over his relaxed-yet-confident posture. With one final flourish of the cowboy’s fingers, your hands were firmly tied to the headboard, spreading out to either side of you in a comfortable stretch of your shoulders. Before you could get too settled, however, Hanzo was moving his rough, calloused hands towards your hips–with a jerk, you were pulled flush against him, his erection just barely grazing your sex. Two forearms planted themselves next to your head, decisively caging you in.

“Jesse, tie her up like this. I want to make sure we have plenty of room to fuck her without restraint.”

God. You couldn’t believe Hanzo’s mouth.

“You got it, boss,” Jesse replied easily, taking your ankle in his hand. Heat curled low in your gut as your legs were spread wide by the cowboy’s unyielding grip, exposing you to Hanzo’s hungry gaze. The heat multiplied as Hanzo adjusted his hips, your own twitching up to meet him halfway. Yes, yes, yes, you thought, nearly salivating in anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the archer began to roll his pelvis against yours, finally giving you the friction you had been craving. It was heaven; it was perfect. Hanzo steadily began to increase his rhythm, grunts of pleasure growing louder and louder along with your punched-out gasps. The man loved to do this with you, spending hours grinding on you as you cuddled to watch a movie or even as you were falling asleep in his arms.

“That’s it, beloved. Can you feel my cock? Do you want it?” Frantically, you nodded, head swimming in a slurry of arousal and desperation. “Then beg for it, you whore.”

Fuck. You could barely think a coherent word, much less say them–but you tried anyway, panting a quiet oh and yes and please as sweetly as you could. The archer only gave a noncommittal sigh in response, clearly unimpressed by your performance.

“How disappointing, Jesse; it sounds as though our little whore doesn’t want to be fucked after all,” came Hanzo's patronizing voice, sinking low in your stomach–the man never made empty threats, especially in the bedroom. A teasing slip of Jesse’s hand set you to begging, words tumbling past your lips before you could even process them. “God, please, please, Hanzo, fuck, Jesse, please, fuck me!” you cried, pleading your case in a way that could make a porn star blush. After a moment of stunned silence, all three of you came back to your senses.

“Fuck,” Jesse snarled, chest heaving. “Fuck.”

In a flurry of motion, he was tying you off, finishing the cuff on your other ankle; then he was diving towards you, capturing your mouth with his in an animalistic mix of lips and teeth. Small, possessive noises issued from the cowboy’s throat, buzzing on your tongue like the bubbles of a sweet champagne. A scorching hand burned down the lines of your body, setting your newly-formed bruises alight with sensation. You shivered in anticipation–you wanted, needed Jesse and Hanzo inside of you now.

All thinking stopped, however, when deft fingers finally reached your oversensitive clit; you jackknifed upwards, breaking your kiss with Jesse. Your hips bucked under Hanzo’s weight as you gulped in air, starving for oxygen and touch in equal measure.

“That’s it, slut,” Jesse said, voice rigid. His eyes were positively wild, stormy with need from where he was hovering over you. A glance at Hanzo’s face revealed much of the same. You imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ship in a storm, to be something so small in comparison to nature’s unparalleled power. You opened your mouth in silent prayer as Jesse’s fingers laved over your sopping cunt, dragging them over your lips like the pages of a book. Without warning, he slipped two thick fingers inside of you, stretching you open while working his thumb in small circles over your clit. Oh, God. Your dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the actual feeling of Jesse’s hand, moving in and out with enough force to rock your whole body. Lewd noises filled your ears, setting off yet another round of sparks fizzling through you. A familiar surge of pleasure began to crescendo in the pit of your stomach, drawing out more breathless whimpers from somewhere high in your throat. However, just before you could reach your orgasm, Jesse’s thumb slipped from your throbbing clit, leaving you to clench around his fingers to no avail. Fuck, fuck, no! Just a little more...

Your eyes opened to meet Jesse’s face, finding that his impish smirk had slipped back on.

“Awww, darlin’, ya look so sad,” the man teased, crooking his fingers just to make you whine. “Don’t worry though, we’re just getting started…”

Equal measures of excitement and dread shot through you at his words. Hanzo and Jesse, while loving boyfriends, knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons; in short, they could be assholes. Beautiful, sexy, lovable assholes. Paying your trepidation no heed, Jesse withdrew his hand from your hole, leaving you empty and shivering. Jesus, you were a mess.

“Wanna taste?” Jesse asked–but he wasn’t talking to you. No, he was offering his hand to Hanzo, who regarded the cowboy with relentless heat in his gaze. A silent something passed between them, before Hanzo was leaning in and taking the slick digits in his mouth, staring into Jesse’s eyes the entire time.

“Good, right?” Jesse said, voice gravelly once more. Hanzo simply hummed in response, before withdrawing once again. Another tense moment slipped by, in which it got harder and harder to remember how to breathe. Jesse’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hanzo, seeming to ask a question; nearly imperceptibly, the archer nodded, drawing in a short breath when Jesse’s hand moved down to grasp the hem of his underwear. You bit your lip as Hanzo’s cock was revealed, red and leaking at the tip. With just a touch of Jesse’s fingers, precum was dripping onto your stomach, increasing your own arousal tenfold. Leisurely, the cowboy began to jerk Hanzo off, grip loose and taunting.

“Look at our girl, Hanzo,” Jesse commanded, swiping his thumb over the other man’s cockhead. “Look at how fuckin’ desperate she is for you”.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped to yours, and you felt the full weight of his attention crash down on you– fuck, he looked feral, lips pressed in a snarl and dark hair falling just past his chin. You couldn’t help but look away, feeling suffocated by Hanzo’s gaze; however, a metallic hand grasped your cheeks, wrenching your head back to look at your powerful lovers above you.

“Eyes up here, slut,” Jesse reprimanded, “I want you to watch him as he ruins that pussy of yours, understood?” You nodded. “Good. And don’t you fuckin’ dare cum before I tell you to, or else I’ll edge you for a week straight, got it?” Another nod, and he finally relinquished his hold on you, leaving a dull pain that you hoped would flower into bruises.

As you were told, you kept your eyes trained on Hanzo’s face, watching his eyes flutter as his cock was guided to your entrance. Once, twice, he slipped out, before he was slowly pushing in, inch by inch. God, he filled you perfectly. Finally, as Hanzo sank completely into you, Jesse relinquished his hold, stepping away to admire how the archer curved around you like a great beast getting ready to devour a meal. Arms shaking, Hanzo fell onto his elbows for support, hot breath sweeping over your face. He was close enough now that you could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. You were the only one who got to see Hanzo like this, aside from Jesse–it was a fact that never seemed to get old, no matter how many times you had joined him in bed. Equally as tantalizing was the slide of his cock inside of you, beginning to move in short, calculated thrusts. Instinctively, you clenched down, earning a warning glare from Hanzo–but you were already in trouble, weren’t you? What would be the harm in doing a little teasing of your own?

Staring Hanzo in the eye, you purposely flexed your muscles once more, feeling a hot rush of slick slowly drip out of you. In a momentary lapse of control, Hanzo buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a strangled moan. You couldn’t keep from responding with a shit-eating grin, putting Jesse’s own signature smirk to shame. However, your expression dropped as you caught Hanzo’s thunderous face, towering over you as he rose back onto his hands and knees.

Oh, shit.

“You. Worthless. Whore. ” the man hissed, jaw clenched, “It seems as though you need to be reminded of your place.”

With surgical precision, Hanzo bottomed out inside of you, pausing for just a moment before retreating once again. Another thrust, and it was clear that your self-control would be pushed to the limit; already, you were falling apart, legs shaking from the sheer effort it took to hold back your orgasm. But Hanzo took no mercy on you, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning helplessly. Fuck, this was getting difficult-

“Jesse, bring me the vibrator.”

God fucking dammit, you thought, your stomach dropping. Without so much as a stutter in his hips, Hanzo took the wand from Jesse’s outstretched hand, watching you intently as he nestled it right next to your clitoris. Your eyes flickered between the two sights, drinking in the sheer power your lover held over you. Then, with a click of a button, you were straining upwards, feeling as though you were being wrenched straight out of your body. Another click, and the vibrations grew even more intense; you longed to bury your hand in Hanzo’s hair, to scratch your nails across his muscled back, to do anything but sit there and take it. Each breath you drew in was cut off by the next, a staccato beat matching the rhythm of your racing pulse. You were close, so close that you could taste it on your tongue– shit!

“Did you really think I would let you cum, slut?” Hanzo asked, still thrusting in and out of your hole without care. Your whole body shuddered helplessly, hypersensitive after being denied once again. As you attempted to catch your breath, Hanzo reached down and twisted your swollen nipple, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“I asked you a question, whore; answer me,” the archer commanded, practically growling, “Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” As if to punctuate his question, Hanzo slammed his hips forward, fucking you hard enough to pull against the ties at your ankles.

“Fuck! No!” you screamed, on the verge of tears. Your voice was wrecked with desperation, hoping beyond hope that the teasing would be over soon. However, you were soon at the mercy of the vibrator once again, letting out a whine at the feeling of it on your tortured clit. Hanzo sped up his pace, sitting up on his knees to watch every inch of your thoroughly marked body writhe underneath him. “That is right, you cumwhore. You do not deserve the honor of an orgasm at my hand. You are lucky that I am willing to fuck you in the first place.”

The vibrator was shut off once more, and you humped against it frantically, reserve long abandoned. “Go ahead, you stupid whore,” Hanzo encouraged, “Humiliate yourself. I want to see how pathetic you look when you cry.” A sob flew from your lips as the toy buzzed to life, only to be shut off seconds later, then turned on again, a sadistic pattern that made your hips jump and stutter on Hanzo’s cock. You could feel the archer’s perfect rhythm begin to falter, signaling his quickly-approaching climax; his moans burned hot on your skin, sending wave after wave of throbbing pleasure through your trembling body. Finally, you felt Hanzo seize up, almost uncannily still in the wake of his orgasm. Scorching cum flooded your hole, arousing enough to make your battered walls flutter with desire. A few heartbeats later, and Hanzo was crashing back down over you, gulping in air like a dying man. Tenderly, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, love and awe written in his furrowed brows and slackened mouth. As he breathed against you, you could feel your own hitching breaths slow, agonising desire fading just slightly into a dull roar.

Two pairs of hands whispered over your body, freeing your limbs from their confines, massaging the marks imprinted upon you by the ropes. You felt yourself float away just a little, untethered by chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and soft hands stroking your thighs. Hanzo’s shifting body weight brought you back to the present, where Jesse was taking his place between your legs; Hanzo unceremoniously flopped to the side, grace all but forgotten in his post-orgasm haze. Your eyes opened slowly to see Jesse looking down at you, positively fit to burst with quiet affection. You smiled back, tensed and eager all the same.

"Ya did so good, darlin'," Jesse said, tone far softer now, "So good for us. Are ya ready for your reward?"

The praise melted into your skin, smoothing the raw edges that had been so expertly laid bare by Hanzo. With a simple nod, Jesse leaned in to kiss you once more, as slow and saccharine as honey. You embraced him in return, palms gliding over the coarse and ruddy plains of his cheeks; you felt like you were glowing from the inside out. Like a wave drawing across the sand, Jesse retreated, hands whispering down to your thighs. The rest of his body followed close behind, settling down between your legs with practiced ease.

"So beautiful, sweetheart," Jesse praised, "I can't wait to make you cum."

And there it was again, the knife's edge of hot desire. Almost subconsciously, you weaved your hands through Jesse's locks, giving them a tug. Jesse groaned deep in his chest, rekindling the flames in your gut. Your cowboy was so responsive. You pulled his hair again, set alight as Jesse muffled his moans into your sweat-soaked thigh.

“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’,” Jesse threatened, kissing his way towards your drenched pussy. A witty retort died in your throat as his tongue flattened against your swollen lips, lapping at the obscene mixture of cum and slick slowly dripping out of you. “Fuck,” you breathed, struck senseless by the hot-wet pleasure of Jesse’s plush mouth. An answering groan rang in your ears as the cowboy finally dipped his writhing tongue into your hole, drinking in the lewd slurry with feverish dedication. Your hands tightened into fists, pulling Jesse further and further in until his nose was pressed flat against your pussy. You whined; a sharpness ran through you along with pleasure, heightening each in a whirlwind of sensation.

Breathless, Jesse pulled back for a moment, sucking in air like a drowning man. In the low light, you could just make out the shine of your slick soaking the cowboy’s goatee–holy shit, that’s hot. Then, with fervor, Jesse was back to it, making you yelp as he latched onto your clit. You ground against him, his tongue sending shockwaves up and down your body; you were shaking with the oh-god-too-much of it all. Every inhale was a battle. Every movement made you see stars. Then, finally, finally, Jesse tore himself from your body, looking you in the eye as he said, “Cum for me, sweetheart."

You felt the command flow through you, breaking down walls and crashing into your nervous system. Jesse bent his head and sucked your clit hard, bringing you to the very edge once again. Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, he encouraged you, nearly whimpering; he was bucking his hips, and fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! You were cumming into Jesse’s mouth, vision whited out by a dazzling starburst. Your legs crashed into the cowboy’s face, pinning him to your gushing pussy as you rode out your orgasm; your whole body was spasming, uncontrollable with pleasure. Then, like a puppet cut loose, you were limp, releasing Jesse from your death grip.

The cowboy shot to his knees, ripping his boxers off as fast as possible; his flushed cock was bared, aching and practically dripping precum. "Fuck, babygirl," he moaned, hand flying, "I'm gonna-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" A final groan, and Jesse was falling off the edge with you, release streaking against your rolling abdomen--followed quickly by Jesse actually falling on top of you.

"Holy shit," you laughed, "Get the hell off of me, you jerk!" A gargled mess that might have been a "no" was your only response for a moment, before the pile of sweat and various sexual fluids that was your boyfriend rolled off of you. You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics--god, you loved your idiots. A moment of silence permeated the room, until you yawned; oh yeah, it's like three A.M...

"If you two are done, I believe it is time for some aftercare," said Hanzo, sounding equally as tired. With his help, you got up, only to fold in half from the sore feeling radiating through your pelvis--fucking fuck, you forgot how much of a bitch this could be. Seeing your discomfort, Hanzo scooped you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom. You heard Jesse follow you in, fetching a second set of sheets from the linens cabinet. Carefully, you were set by the toilet, Hanzo turning to allow you some privacy. After finishing your business, you were escorted to the shower, where the archer tenderly cleaned you off. From there, things got blurry--you vaguely remembered the smell of arnica cream, the feeling of a soothing wipe on your swollen lips, strong arms carrying you to bed, and a tender kiss placed on your forehead. Then, you were off to sleep, dreamless and peaceful.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Likes are appreciated, reblogs/comments keep me writing! Let me know what you thought, your favorite passage, or even what time you're reading this at (bonus points if it's 1 A.M. or later). Toodles! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

#Jesse McCree #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree x reader #Jesse McCree x reader smut #Hanzo Shimada x reader #Hanzo Shimada x reader smut #Jesse McCree x reader x Hanzo Shimada #mccree x reader #hanzo x reader #Smut #nsft text #nsft #fem!reader

[spicysoftsweet]

the devil is a fornicator, incubus!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna, a well-known incubus is quite fond of you.

warnings: home invasion, noncon, double penetration, size kink ig, degradation, monster form! sukuna

a/n: there is no plot here just porn lmao. enjoy.

It’s the dead of night and the incubus has returned, you realize once you’ve awoken in a shock of blinding pain, only to gaze directly into the demon’s endless eyes hovering over you, illuminated dimly by the pale moonlight that streams through your thin curtains.

He grins, revealing rows of gleaming sharp teeth.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice is a snarl that drips heavily in sarcasm, seemingly echoing in the silence of the room.

Tonight, much like every other night, you’re not sure how you ended up caged in two sets of arms stronger than wrought iron, your mind steeped in a deep, impenetrable fog and your body languid and stretched to the limit as you’re all but impaled over a monstrously sized pair of cocks. But it’s a matter of course - the demon Sukuna has picked you and continues to choose you again and again.

There’s more than one reason he’s called the King of Curses.

Aside from the fact that he has claimed you only because you are eternally damned, expletives fall out of his mouth as naturally as rain drops from the sky; harsh, caustic is the feel of his rough hands on your skin, if you can really call them something as human as hands.

“You’re pathetic, really, sniveling all because of a little pain?”

Even though his voice is light and jeering, you’re not meant to answer and you don’t dare to. All you can do is whimper, and your soft, miserable sobs delight him.

“You should be thankful I’ve become somewhat partial to a weak, worthless little thing like you.”

The palm that presses down on your neck, making it hard for you to draw air into your lungs, is so heavy - heavier than the weight of his body that carelessly crushes your fragile one.

Even if he is holding most of his weight, you are still so tiny, so small in comparison to his huge figure. He’s massive, truly, but you’re not exactly sure how large he is...  he visits you under the cover of dark, and you swear the size of his shadow varies each time. 

But the configuration of his form is always the same, and he makes good use of his supernatural anatomy - a hand presses on your neck, another grasps relentlessly at your hair and tugs mercilessly, and two more are placed oppressively on your hips, gripping tightly enough to leave blotchy discoloration on your skin. A tongue that protrudes from somewhere within the dense muscles of his abdomen laps furiously at your bare skin, now covered in a thin layer of sweat from the heat he generates. The rough, wet strokes only worsen your sensitivity but you barely shudder because he holds you so still that you have no agency to move.

But where could you go?

You want to explode.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Being splayed out like this?” His head lowers so that he can whisper directly into your ear, as he continues to pet your scalp. His fingers curl around your neck, and you gasp involuntarily; you can practically feel the way his lips curl into a smile, his cheek is so close to yours.

Of course it hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts so good, your heart hurts, your pussy aches.

“I’m too big, aren’t I? You can’t take me in that tight little cunt of yours, can you?” 

It’s true - you shouldn’t be able to take him. In fact, you’re amazed that he manages to fit despite everything, however painfully so, and if your head were a bit clearer, you’d wonder if it’s a bit of magic that keeps you from splitting in half so that he can have his fun night after night. It does help that you’re dripping wet, seeping around him enough that you can feel the unmistakable moist sensation between your legs that is your arousal, more slippery than perspiration.

“What would you do if I got bigger inside you? Will I tear you apart, little one?”

Please have mercy.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and your body is quivering, and if it weren’t for the fact that he has you pinned down, unable to move an inch, your whole body would be convulsing. You are too full, too tender, too stimulated and he’s barely even moving yet, aside from the occasional tortuous twitch of one of the penises inside you. It’s torture, the way your body clenches desperately around him, pleading for some friction. The rise and fall of your chest as you pant in a strained, almost wheezing cacophony - you don’t dare whine, you’ll take whatever he offers you - seems to delight him, and his hand releases around your neck. He thumbs instead at your quivering lower lip, his own lips pressing onto your neck.

It’s almost a mockery of tenderness, the pecks he gives the curve of your jaw as he jams two fingers now down your throat making you gag. 

He loves to hear you choke, and he sinks his hands into the futon so that he can grasp handfuls of your ass and lift up.

Once he adjusts himself so that he is kneeling onto the bed and your hips are hoisted off the ground, he pushes deeper inside you and you cry out around his fingers in your mouth.

But once he starts moving, you are too stimulated to cry. 

Sukuna fucks you loudly, lewdly, animalistic groans and foul language filling the air as he thrusts in and out of you like you’re nothing but a mere cocksleeve, ignoring whatever screams and moans come out of your mouth. You move so quickly, slammed almost perpendicularly against his pelvis, hard, that your thoughts go from fogged up to scrambled until you’re dizzy and wordless, sniveling, forgetting how to form the words to beg him to stop.

Do you want him to stop? Being fucked dumb maybe the only good part of this curse after all. 

He plays with your pert nipples as he slams you down onto his cocks; he shifts you upright briefly, sitting with his legs crossed to minimize his own effort as he pistons you up and down forcefully onto his lap.

Too many eyes focus in on the grotesque, fucked-out expression you make, your tongue lolling out helplessly and your breasts bouncing recklessly as he moves you.

“You almost look half-decent like this...” he teases, a pleased smirk gracing his hideous smirk. Again, he has to steady you, bringing your arms behind you and holding you taut so that you don’t collapse onto him,  you are nothing but a brainless toy, after all. By this point of the night, he can’t expect you to keep your posture. He’s not that cruel.

“You’re no different than a little lamb. Innocent, cute, powerless. I could swallow you whole.”

You let out a drawn out moan from an orgasm that springs forth from so deep inside you that it reverberates throughout your whole body and he laughs. In fact, he cackles wildly as you jerk violently forward, your shoulders almost risking dislocation as you move due to the fact that your wrists are still firmly in his grasp. 

“Aren’t you going to beg me to stop? Or are you just going to keep cumming like the dirty little cursed slut you are?”

You know he won’t stop. Not for hours. Not until he eventually releases hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum inside you until you pass out, until the next morning where you wake up in a cold sweat after repetitive nightmares of giving birth to hellspawn.

His two upper hands cup your face that is exhausted, weary, miserable, and dazed from fucking that will go on endlessly and for as long as he feels like it. Sucking away all your vital energy. Ruining your soul. Wrecking your body. 

His fingers caress your skin, even if he’s still pounding relentlessly into you and you’re only a few more strokes away from another gut-wrenching climax.

Sukuna kisses you passionately and you don’t think, because if there is anything you know for a fact, it’s that the devil is a liar and tonight’s lie is that you’re anything more than a hapless human he likes to fuck.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #not sfw #tw noncon

[sparkbeast20]

The Pain of Love (Lucifer X MC)

The Blue Lotus petals

As a fan of Beauty and the Beast, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I'll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them. (tell me if you want tag)

Warning: Before and after Sex but no depiction of sex sorry I don't know how to write smut, The other six kinda being torture

“Yeah, I do hear the eerie voices in this one” you were laying in the couch in Lucifer’s study, while listening to one of his curse records.

“Just make sure you don’t listen to the end, you might get nightmares, we don’t need two insomniacs in our bed.” All the while Lucifer is doing some early paper work before breakfast. You just came along with him, because you couldn’t go back to sleep.

“We wouldn’t even have one, if a certain demon learns to sleep within 8 hours” he chuckles at your poor attempt of a sley comment.

“I’ll take full advantage of this morning, since we don’t class today, that way we have the entire afternoon together”

“Promise!”

“I Promise, now cut the record, the end is approaching”

You lifted the nailed, the you sat up and stretch your arms before standing up and walk over to Lucifer, you wrap your arms around is shoulders, lean forward and kiss the top of his head. He hums at your presents.

You move down and whisper in his ear. “You want some coffee, Lucifer” you pulled away to meet his sight, he nods with a smirk on his face, then you let go and start walking up the stairs. As you about to turn the knob, he calls to you.

“Y/n, as of today no more, blue lotus petals in my coffee for now on.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“Just make sure it’s bitter, okay love” with that you gave him a playful smile and left.

“Oh sweet, yer making coffee, mind make me one too” Mammon just steps in the kitchen, happy to smell coffee in the air.

“You can have mine, I really only made for me and Lucifer” you tell him that, while waiting for the coffee to get ready.

“So, his up all ready what’s he doing now.” Mammon asks while his digging through the cabins for something.

“Finishing some bills, this month’s plan actives for RAD, and the house budgets” you answer as you pour the two mugs with coffee.

“Should I start running now or pray that none of those bills are mine”

“Just wait in an hour to see” you smile at him, you fully know that he needs to hide now, as you pass him the mug of coffee. He took it with uncertain look on his face and drop two blue petals in his coffee.

“Hey, you forgot these” you’re at the doorway, when you turn around with coffee in hand to see Mammon holding up the blue lotus petals.

“Lucifer said no more petals in his coffee”

“What!”

“Something wrong?” after a moment Mammon shake his head, tells you it’s nothing, you shrug your shoulder and walk back to Lucifer.

“Oh… Y/n, be a doll and untie us” Asmo calls to make you to look up into the ceiling to see Mammon, Levi, Satan with cloth in his mouth, Asmo, and Belphie who also have a cloth in his mouth, Strang up by their legs.

“Let me guess, one could stop ordering online, the two of you try to sneak out late in a school night, and the last two pull something that piss of the eldest” you said nonchalantly, causing Satan to violently flail, Mammon and Levi crying.

Asmo tries to fix his head to look at you properly, bashing his eye lash to soften up to you “Oh come on, you know us this is what we are, haven’t you notice that Lucifer has been a little~”

“Strict lately” you finish what he was about to say, Asmo pouts with his lower lip stick out and look at you with sad puppy eyes begging you to untie them.

In your mind, you want to untie them but remembering what Lucifer said “don’t cave to them, understand” cause you to hesitate. When all of the sudden the door slam open, causing you to turn around to see Lucifer in his demon form, dragging a tie up Beel, the latter which is sobbing.

Hearing his twin sobbing wakes up Belphie who start to flail around like Satan.

You don’t why, but you started to turn redder, you can feel the heat rushing through your face. Maybe Seeing Lucifer dragging Beel with one arm and dominant look on his face makes you want to hold him tight and cuddle into his chest.

While you just standing there awestruck, Lucifer manage to Strang up Beel next to Belphie.

“Oi Y/n, tell Lucifer that is gone too far” Mammon calls out to you

“Y-yeah, out of any of us Beel does have to Strang like this” Levi adds to Mammon call, while Belphie mummer through the cloth to grab your attention.

“Enough, Beelzebub is only going Strang up for 2 hours. For empty the fridge 2 days straight and all of you just have to wait 6 more hours depending on who has the least offense” Lucifer tells his brothers with a booming voice, then all of them started to yell, cry, and/or mummer at him.

He was about to yell, when all of the sudden you hug him and bury you face into chest, seeing your action shock the brothers.

Without looking away from his brothers, place one arm on your back drawing you closer. You look up at his face with your eyes of filled with lust and your face with red through your cheek.

He looks down, a smile creep up on his face, he cups your face drawing it closer to his.

Then you pouch kissing him like untamed animal, wrapping your arms around his neck not letting him pull away, as his arms rub around your back, one hand on your shoulder while the other one is on your waist.

Seeing you two practically eating each, the brothers watch in horror, Mammon and Levi are screaming in agony, Satan and Belphie try to look away but couldn’t, and Asmo and Beel are mortifed.

Hearing his brothers in pain, cause Lucifer to growl aggressively in pleasure, then he sweeps you off your feet while you two are still kissing taking you somewhere private, as you two slowly walk away to savior the screams, you slowly pull-out foldable knife that Mammon gave to you from your pocket and throw it at Beel, seeing the knife Beel swing forward and catch the knife with his teeth, and hums in happiness for catching it, then Lucifer slam the door closes.

“I’m hungry” Beel sitting in the dinning room groaning in pain, with the rest of the brothers still recover from Lucifer’s punishment.

Mammon, Levi, Satan, and Asmo rub their neck, arms and legs to less the street on them, while Belphie is collapse on the table awake.

“S-so which one of us want to asks Lucifer M-money for dinner” Levi asks around to who’s brave enough to go Lucifer’s room and asks him.

“Are you mad! I would rather use my own money, then going to that monster right now” Mammon yell at Levi, for suggesting that.

“I want to pull out my eyes and burn them” Satan talk to himself, trying to forget what he had to watch helpless.

Then foot steps can be heard, causing the brothers stiff in place except for Levi who hide under the table.

Not even at the doorway you start talking to them “So Lucifer asks me to give you money for take-out, and tell all of you that we’ll be skipping dinner too”

Asmo back to his cheerful self, wanting to know what drove you into acting like him ask while waiting for you to come inside the room, both hands under his chin and elbows rest on the table with his eyes gleefully close.

“Oh, are you and my big brother done~” before he could finish his question, he turns to the doorway and open his eyes to see you.

His eyes widen as he let out shock gasp, causing the rest to look up and did the same thing.

You were barely standing wearing Lucifer’s robe and nothing else, dark hand grips around both of your wrists, your almost expose chest is covered in hickeys, bite marks and three visible claw marks. And your messy hair is covered your face.

With a goofy smile, you slowly walk over to the table and place half stack of grimms on it, then slowly walk out the room leave the brothers stunned.

After a few minutes of complete silent, Mammon remembering something, cause him to yelp to himself, knowing fully well that there are royal screwed for the coming weeks.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me Belphegor #obey me reader x lucifer #obey me monster love

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Hiii Hii!!! May I request for Draco🥺

Fluff prompt 3: "It's you. It's always been you."

Steams scenes 6: "Touch Me"

And miscellaneous 12: only one bed AU

Thank youuu❣️

Travelling Companions  // Draco Malfoy

a/n: NSFW - minors DNI. FEMALE READER. 2k words (not really a blurb anymore), and the fic that has inspired my latest series so pieces of this will be taken and used there that’s why this may feel very rushed. The series will be slower. 

Fluff 3: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Steamy Scenes 6: “Touch me.”

Misc 12: only one bed.

Upon the end of the Second Wizarding War and the disgrace of his family, Draco Malfoy left the country. There was very little keeping him tied to England; a family torn apart by their beliefs, a cold house that was not a home, an inheritance built off the very hatred pedalled by his father.

No, Draco Malfoy did not want to stay in the country.

Similarly, you refused to stay at home too. Having seen the lifeless bodies of your friends, the nightmares had become too much for you to remain at home. Instead, you packed up your things, kissed your parents on the cheeks, promising to send them a postcard from every destination.

It’s in Italy where the two of you cross paths.

The night was unusually warm; sweat rolling down your back as you walked through the thick crowds on the Ponte Vecchio. You had no distinct aim of your night; happy to wander until the early hours of the morning, falling into your bed with very little to think about other than your plans for the following day.

It’s as your dodging multiple bodies that you spy a shock of blonde hair that you swear was familiar.

“Draco?” You call, watching the tall figure pause, “Draco Malfoy?”

The blonde turns at the sound of your voice.

“Of all the people to meet in Florence,” You smile, “What are you doing here?”

“An extended gap year as the muggles would call it,” He answers, looking mildly uncomfortable at being recognised abroad.

“Well,” You nod, “It was nice to see you, enjoy the rest of your travels.”

Draco nods, a small, polite smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything to which you turn away, continuing your journey across the bridge in the hopes of finding something to eat and soon.

“(Y/N)!” Draco calls after a moment.

You turn back to the man, finding him only a few steps behind you. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed as he asks, “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I was going to get some food and then walk about aimlessly. Why?”

“Can I join you?” He asks; the words leaving his mouth in such a rush that Draco looks shocked at the speed. “What I mean to say is: would you like some company? It would be nice to catch up with a friendly face.”

“Of course,” You laugh, “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Draco falls into step beside you as you wander the length of the bridge, both eagerly looking for a restaurant to catch up in.

Conversation flows naturally with the blonde, as does the laughter and the wine. You reminisce over the lighter days of your education, as well as sharing countless stories of your travels, finding yourself enjoying Draco’s company far more than you expected.

“Where are you going to next?” Draco asks, grey eyes inquisitive as he sips at his red wine.

“Greece,” You answers, “I’m island hopping for a little while. I’ve heard stories of an island that feels like the end of the world, and I want to check it out. Where are you off to next?”

“Greece, if you can believe it,” He answers, topping up your wine glasses with the dregs of the bottle.

“I’ve a proposition for you, Malfoy,” You announce over your refreshed glass of red wine. “I’ve grown tired of travelling alone, I miss conversation and company. We’re both travelling to Greece next – why don’t you join me?”

Draco ponders your proposition through his next bite of food, weighing up the pros and cons through a mouthful of Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo. “Alright,” He eventually says, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin, “I’ll join you. I’ve grown lonely on my travels too.”

Your shoulders sag as Draco’s words wash over you. It had become lonely travelling alone, that much was true, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to run into Draco tonight. That there was something bigger at play.

-------

The Ionian Islands were beautiful; travelling with Draco at your side made it easier for you to rest at night, no longer plagued by nightmares as often, but it gave you someone to talk to when the night had been bad.

Kefalonia held its own charm; its quiet punctuated only by the clinking of wine glasses on the wine tours shared with Draco.

Your time on the Ionian Islands had you seeing Draco in a different light; the sun had bronzed his skin and you couldn’t help but stare when his shirt came off at the beach. Something was changing between the two of you; the both of you lingering on a night, not wanting to be the one to say good night, not wanting to be the one to draw it all to a close.

You could only hope that things would change soon.

---------

“Are we staying in the port?” Draco asks, eyeing you carefully as you hold your hand out for a taxi. Wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt, Draco was unintentionally drawing the attention of most women and men in the port of Skiathos

“Nope,” You answer as the taxi pulls up beside you both, “We’re staying in Troulos.”

The hotel was a small, family run establishment that you had read about in one of the many travel guides bought before you left England. Draco leaves you to check in, letting you admire the scenery as you wait patiently for him to return.

The owner is the one to lead you both through the hotel, smiling politely at you as he leaves you outside your room, explaining the opening times for the bar and the pool.

“There’s only one bed, Draco,” You state obviously as you enter the room, pointing to the bed in offence.

“I noticed,” He deadpans, fixing you with an unimpressed look. “Look, I’m not sleeping on the tiled floor. So, we either share, or you sleep on the floor.”

“Ever the gentleman,” You drawl, arching a single eyebrow. Draco smirks as he bows; the motion executed perfectly, highlighting his very expensive etiquette lessons as a small boy. “Fine,” You huff, dropping your bag onto the bed, “We share, but I’m warning you now, Malfoy, I hog the blankets.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” The blonde snorts, wandering to the bathroom where you hear the shower begin to flow.

Settling down on the bed, you press a hand to your forehead, already sticky with sweat. Your stomach turned with butterflies as you think of the night to come, sharing a bed with Draco. The feelings for the man had surprised you; you hadn’t expected to feel anything for him, simply happy to have company on the last leg of your travels, but here you were – craving his touch and his attention as if it were your lifeline.

The shower turns off, and you jump up, grabbing your toiletries in an effort to give you something to do to draw your mind from the sight of Draco in a towel.

“I’m going to shower and get ready, and then we’ll go get some food, okay?” You call out, pushing past the blonde as he leaves the bathroom in nothing, but a small, fluffy, white towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’ll be waiting!” Draco calls out, laughter rich in his voice.

As you sink against the bathroom door, it’s then that you realise, you’re fucked.

-------

It became a quick tradition on your travels with Draco that you would alternate who would pick the restaurant that evening. As you chose where to eat the previous night, it was now Draco’s turn.

The restaurant he chooses is quaint, set off just from the main road running through that part of the island. It’s fairly busy, many families laughing and drinking through the evening.

The waitress hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Draco a little bit too long for you to feel comfortable. You smile politely as you give her your drink orders, immediately feeling awful for the curtness of your tone when you had no claim to the man sat next to you.

Food is ordered and conversation continues to flow, but you find yourself caught up in the way that Draco makes you feel. Every glance, every smile, every unintentional touch – it leaves you close to breathless with butterflies raging in your gut and your heart close to pounding out of your chest. You had never felt like this, and your poor heart could only hope that Draco felt the same.

When the food arrives, it doesn’t take long for you to gush over the meal. “You have to try this!” You cry out as you take your first bite of your meal, gathering another forkful for Draco. “It’s wonderful!”

Holding your fork out, you expect Draco to take the utensil from you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his lips wrapping around the fork in a manner that leaves you hungry for something that certainly wasn’t food.

“What do you think?” You ask huskily, throat dry.

Draco chews, pondering over the food. A smirk gathers on his lips as he swallows, “Delectable.”

The both of you fall silent as your meals are finished; the only sound between you being the scraping of cutlery on plates, but you cannot help but wonder whether Draco can hear the pounding of your heart every time he smiles at you, or whether he can sense the change in your feelings as you yearn for him silently.

“You were jealous – of the waitress – weren’t you?” Draco’s voice sounds, breaking your reverie. Blinking, you find him watching you with a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” You confess in a single breath, shifting your gaze from Draco’s, fiddling with the napkin in front of you.

“There was no need.”

“Oh?”

“It’s you,” He breathes, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s always been you.”

“Take me back to the room, Draco,” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

Draco wastes no time paying the bill, whisking you from the restaurant and down the road to your hotel.

The door slams against the wall as you both fall into the room; hands pulling at clothing, lips attached save for the breathy laughter filling the room. He tastes of the anise instilled into the Ouzo shared at dinner; his lips fit seamlessly against yours as he backs you through to the bedroom, his hands wandering – memorising every dip and curve of your body.

Draco lays you out on the bed gently as if worried of hurting you in some form or another.  

“What do you want?” Draco asks, grey eyes bright in the muted light of the room.

“You,” You state, sitting up on the bed, pressing your hands to the man’s bare chest, scraping your fingernails down his pale skin.  

Draco shivers at your touch, barely repressing the low groan growing in the back of his throat. “Where do you want me?” He hums, not giving you the time to answer the question as he begins his onslaught of addictive kisses.

“Here?” He purrs, kissing your jaw. “Or here?” He asks, dropping a feather light kiss to your neck, pushing you back onto the bed. “What about here?” Draco teases, pressing blazing kiss after blazing kiss down the centre of your cleavage to the top of your underwear leaving you a wanton mess as you writhe underneath him.

“Darling,” He whispers, “What do you want from me?”

“Touch me,” You all but beg, reaching for the blonde’s hand, fitting it where you need him most.

It’s then that all self-control Draco had snaps; his hand slips into your underwear, fingers slipping through your slick folds. The gasp that leaves your mouth is swallowed by Draco’s lips, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as he wrings every single ounce of pleasure from your body.

No nightmares are had that night; finding peace in each other as you sleep wrapped up together in the one bed.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #moments with millie #draco malfoy blurb #blurb night #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

'i promise I'll stay on my side of the bed' with lewis and arthur 'only one bed' perhaps? *w* maybe Vivi got injured or sick and lew needs to test without crushing her, and while they're reconciled they're still awkward together but end up octopus-ing within the hour

>:3ccc yess thank you [from this]

--

“I promise I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

The tension in Lewis’s face and shoulders is reading like he’s not saying something, but Arthur can’t figure out what and it’s frustrating. He’s so used to being able to tell what Lewis is thinking - it’s not like it’s ever been hard, the guy’s not exactly good at hiding his feelings, if anyone was paying attention - but after everything that happened, Arthur just... doesn’t know anymore. He can make guesses, sometimes, but he can never be sure. He hates it. Like he needed another reminder that even though he’s back, Arthur’s still functionally lost his best friend.

Okay. Changing subjects. That’s not helping.

“Can’t you just-?” Lewis can float. He’s never had a problem doing that before, when he wanted to rest or just sit down for a while. He’s not even going to sleep, he’s just sitting and reading - but for some reason he’s insisting he does it on the only available bed. 

“Stop being greedy. It’s not like you’re using all the space. You turn into a tiny ball when you sleep anyway.” Lewis isn’t actually looking at him, glaring daggers at his book instead.

Arthur can’t find the words to say that’s not exactly true anymore, so he gives up and just rolls over, letting his head hit the pillow with a loud fwump. Fine, he thinks vindictively. If Lewis wants to get kicked so bad, let him find out why this is a bad idea the hard way.

---

Lewis is reading peacefully when he feels the bed shift.

He looks down to see Arthur, unfurled from his normal position around a pillow, legs kicking under the thin covers like he’s trying to push something away.

Ordinarily, Lewis wouldn’t be here to see this. He’d be idling on the other end of the room, or more likely, outside trying to clear his head. Ghosts can’t sleep - or at least, he can’t, and he’s tried - so he always tries to find some other way to occupy himself while the other two slept.  Reading is usually a safe bet, or watching something, or drawing, though that last one could... get away from him.

But tonight... tonight he hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d been, well, he’d been lonely. Frankly, he’d been lonely for over a year now, but it had been easier to ignore, before. He had... other things to occupy his mind with. But now he has no revenge quest and it’s just so quiet. It was just a matter of time before he didn’t want to spend the whole night alone again.

I just want to be close to you, I don’t want to be alone felt like too much to say, too fast, and two years ago he wouldn’t have had to say it at all. Arthur would have just known, without him even having to try.

But that was then. That was before. Now everything’s different, and Arthur doesn’t know and Lewis doesn’t know if he can just say it. If Arthur even wants him near.

So he just insisted and didn’t elaborate. And if Arthur could tell he wasn’t saying the whole truth, well, it didn’t matter anyway.

But now Arthur’s twitching in his sleep and this is new. He’s never really been a restless sleeper unless he was having a nightmare, and those are rare, especially when he’s with the others...

...those were rare. Now Lewis realizes that that’s probably not true anymore.

He reaches out, intending to shake him awake and then back off - but instead Arthur’s hand finds his. And then it’s tugging him closer, grip twitching like he’s trying to tighten it but sleep is getting in the way. He makes a sharp sound that’s half muffled by the pillow, almost a whimper but not quite long enough.

Lewis changes tacks. Sets the book down on the nightstand without looking, shifts over and lies down a little more fully, pulls the still-sleeping Arthur closer until he’s nestled against his side, using his arm as a pillow. He goes still pretty quickly once they’re curled up together.

That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t, he scolds the warm feeling blooming in his chest. Arthur is definitely still angry with him and that doesn’t mean anything.

Ghosts can’t sleep. But lying here like this, it’s easy to let his mind go quiet.

---

For the first time in... he can’t even remember how long, Arthur isn’t jolted awake out of an increasingly weird and terrible dream. He blinks his eyes a few times and then lets them close again, and the first thought he has is a surprised realization that he can’t even remember what he was dreaming about.

He’s warm. He’s comfortable. He feels leaden, and his eyes burn when he tries to open them, but for once that feeling isn’t even accompanied by frustration. He could lie here forever, it feels like.

Then his brain wakes up a little more and he realizes how wrong that is.

He forces his eyes open again and pushes himself up a little on his elbow, trying to look around. Pretty quickly he realizes he’s really close to Lewis. Actually, fuck it, he’s basically on top of Lewis.

Fuck.

Apologies fight for space in his throat as he scrambles away from the warm embrace. God dammit he knew this was a bad idea, but he’d just been expecting to- fall off the bed or get kicked awake because he was being too wiggly or something, not- not-

“Arthur?” A pair of eyelights come into view, blinking at him. 

“Shit- I-” his voice still won’t cooperate.

Lewis moves back too, and that surprises Arthur enough that he stops. It’s not like he’s moving away out of anger or disgust or anything - actually, regardless of how little Arthur can read him right now, every motion is broadcasting sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” 

That just adds to the confusion. “What are you ap-a-apologizing for?”

Lewis looks away, fiddling with the end of one of his sleeves. “You, ah. Were having a nightmare, and I... I just thought...”

Wait, that wasn’t him? That was Lewis who brought them so close together?

Whatever. With practiced speed, he shoves all his confusion into a box so he can focus.

“Yeah, s-s-sorry, I should, uh, I should have warned you. Th-that’s why I didn’t, uh... want you to be... there. I’m not... exactly a- a qui- a quiet sleeper. Anymore.”

Lewis takes a moment to consider that. Then he glances over at the electric clock on the other side of the room. “You were pretty quiet for... three or four hours, there.”

Shit, did he really sleep for that long? No wonder he’s so tired and foggy.

...and Lewis was lying there the whole time? And didn’t wake him up?

His throat is getting tight.

He slides off the bed. He’s intending to flee the room, but he pauses.

“Why?” 

“Hm?” Lewis’s hum is fake-casual.

“I mean, you could’ve j-j-just... woken me up.” That’s not really what he’s asking. “Why did you... want to- to be here, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I...” he trails off, looking away.

Assuming he’s not going to explain, Arthur turns around again. He doesn’t get two steps before Lewis speaks.

“I missed you.”

Arthur starts to turn back around, to ask what? But Lewis is already continuing, with an air that suggests he’s been rehearsing this in his head.

“I’ve been missing you for... since...” He leaves that sentence unfinished. That’s fine; they both know what goes there anyway. “And I thought... maybe you wouldn’t mind if I... stayed close. For tonight. I’m just...” his gaze is fixed on his hands. “Making up for lost time.”

Dammit, his throat hurts and it’s getting legitimately hard to speak now. “W-well, I, uh, I don’t... don’t know if a f-f-f- a few hours is gonna put a dent in... th-that, but...”

Lewis finally looks up and meets his eyes. Almost hopeful.

Arthur walks back over and sits back down on the bed, letting himself lean against Lewis just a little. “I... I am st-still pretty tired.”

The corners of Lewis’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Well, then... I think we can sleep for a little while longer.”

#mystery skulls animated #lewthur #the nemesis speaks #swift writes #the nemesis answers #answrs #writing prompt

[mandos-mind-trick]

Instinct - Part 3

Summary: Omegas were rare. Some even thought them extinct. So when Boba contacts Din saying he has a gift Din can’t refuse, the last thing he expects to find is an omega in need of an alpha. Din has to make the hard decision, but what else was he really doing anyways? But naturally, there’s more to this omega than meets the eye.

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, torture, and trafficking; ABO dynamics, nightmares, rehashing some traumatic past events, some New Mandalorian bashing as well, probably fucking up the timeline but idc. 

A/N: Here’s the next part. May post part 4 today as well, we’ll see.

 < Previous | Next > | MASTERLIST | Reader Version

He’s dreaming again. A dream that constantly plagued him of late. He’s on the light cruiser, he can see them just ahead. He’s running but he can’t move fast enough. He can hear the cries, loud in his ears. He’s reaching, reaching but he’s not fast enough. He can’t make it on time. He’s too late. The lifeless body falls, just out of reach of him. That little face, those big eyes. 

No, it’s not him this time. The lifeless eyes staring up at him are smaller, lighter. It’s not the kid in his arms. It’s her. 

Din is woken from his nightmare as something nudges him. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the foot passing over him, yanking it forward to make the person lose their balance. They hit the floor with a thud, the vibroblade in his hand quick to press against their neck as he hovers over them. 

“Wait!” 

He pauses at the sound of her voice. 

“It’s me. It’s Kai.” 

He stares down at her terrified face for a moment, wakefulness slamming into him and he realizes what he’s done. He moves his hand, drawing back from her. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She sits up, pulling her legs to her stomach to make herself as small as possible. “I was just trying to go to Fennec.” 

“Why?” He asks, wincing at the harsh tone. 

“I need comfort.” There’s a subtle whine to her voice, her omega coming through. She’s shaking, he can see it in the moonlight. “I had a nightmare.” 

“Why go to her?” The true meaning of his question is obvious, and she doesn’t miss it, even in her fearful state. 

“I trust her.” Her words bite at him a bit. “Why would I ask you when...when you don’t even want me?” He can hear the tears in her voice. He knows she’s referring to earlier that day. She’s quiet for a moment, breaths shaky. “Is it me?” 

The question is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it. “What?” 

“Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Do you-do you want to reject me?” 

The question nearly chokes him. He feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest, the knife turning and turning in his skin. He’d heard stories of alphas rejecting their omegas. It was painful, horribly painful, and both alpha and omega carried that pain until they died. They usually didn’t live long afterwards. Without their other half, knowing what they could have had...it was often too much to bear. 

“No.” The word is breathy, his chest constricting as he looks at her teary face. “No. I’m not-” He shifts onto his knees, taking a breath. She flinches, eyes darting to the vibroblade still in his hand. He drops it to the side, letting it hit the blanket with a quiet thud. “I’m not going to reject you. It’s not...It’s nothing you’ve done.” He sighs, the breath crackling through his helmet. “I’m...It’s me. I’m...complicated. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” 

“You think I do? I never got to learn this part. My home...Mandalore, it was all taken from me. By the civil wars, and then the Empire.” He tilts his head at her, his mind trying to process what she was saying. “They never told you why omegas were so rare before? Why there were so few of us left?” 

“No.” 

She huffs quietly, shaking for another reason now. He can scent the anger in the air, her brow furrowed. “Those progressives who pushed their new ways, the ones who didn’t wear the armor, the ones who claimed to lead Mandalore during the Clone Wars and after. They stopped awakening their alphas. They thought it archaic and barbaric, animalistic even, being controlled by some inner animal, forced to mate with someone who didn’t know better, someone whose entire life was built around serving someone else.” She sniffles, wiping the tears from her face. “They knew they couldn’t leave the omegas. If we’re not suppressed, we die without proper care. So they massacred them. Entire clans of omegas were wiped out simply because they didn’t want to have to deal with us.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, Din watching her face. Her head is lowered, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. 

“It’s what started the wars. Deep down, hidden on the surface. They wouldn’t admit to it, so they blamed it on something else. My father escaped one of the massacres. He watched his entire clan be slaughtered before help arrived. That’s when he met my mother.” A sad smile tugs at her lips. “She took him to the omega temple. One of the few places the progressives couldn’t reach. And they never would. The Empire would take care of that for them.” 

“I’m sorry.” He says, watching her face as it finally lifts. There’s a hardness in her eyes, a wall having risen. He can see it. A wall built out of necessity. “Your father was the omega?” 

She lets out a quiet sound. “Yeah. There’s female Mandalorians, aren’t there?” 

She had a point. 

It’s quiet between them for a few moments, the air between them still churning with something unspoken. 

“I could be the last omega left.” She says, finally breaking the silence. 

Her words twist the knife deeper into his chest. She was right. The others that had escaped had disappeared. There was no way of knowing if there were any others still alive. He liked to think there were. That one of the other clans had one safely hidden away. That maybe one had been born since that day. Plenty of Mandalorian children had been born since. But two alphas couldn’t make an omega. Even the chances of an omega being born between an alpha and omega was small. 

But she was right. He was holding himself back selfishly. He had been so afraid of the truth, he hadn’t stopped to think of how she was feeling. What she would want. He couldn’t deny her. Soon her heat would start and he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He would take her whether either of them wanted it or not. He knows it’s a hard transition, leaving the nurturers behind. Even harder in her case, her parents death and then now facing the prospect of leaving the two that had saved her life and then had taken on that role for her even if they couldn’t understand it on a deeper level. 

And now he was here. An alpha being put in her path. A chance for her to live her life as she was meant to, and he was keeping her from that out of his own fear. It wasn’t fair to either of them. 

Her scent is strong. Fear, sadness, and anger swirling together in a thick fog. It’s a bitter scent, burning his nose and making his stomach churn. It was a warning. Don’t come closer. A warning to keep alphas away from volatile omegas. He pushes his discomfort aside, pushing past the barrier of warning as he crawls closer to her. He pauses right in front of her, reaching out to cup her face. 

He didn’t know when he took his gloves off. Her skin is wet from her tears, his thumbs brushing the dampness from her cheeks. Her eyes flutter closed, a shaky breath leaving her as his warm skin meets hers. His own alpha begins to settle, relaxing as he holds her face. Neither of them move, content to just sit there and breathe for a moment. 

Underneath the fear and the anger is the sweetness of her natural scent. What he had smelled in the throne room, the first time he’d seen her. He breathes it in again, getting a whiff of her pure scent, not muddled by anything else. There’s a soft floral undertone to it, mixed in with a gentle tang of citrus. It reminds him of a fruit he’d tried a long time ago. It’s intoxicating, his alpha rumbling in pleasure. 

He slides one of his hands to the back of her neck, cradling her head. It was something only to be done in times of crisis, he had been taught. When an omega was distressing, volatile, or unpredictable, a scruff from an alpha, or a nurturer, could calm the omega almost instantly. Of course, one had to get close enough to do so. 

It was a powerful move, one that could easily be abused in the wrong hands. It was the easiest way to get an omega to submit. An out of control alpha could force themselves on an omega with a simple move. It had happened before. His clan considered those who did so a disgrace. Alpha or not, scruffing an omega to control them was sick. 

He knows she won’t calm completely. There was too much between them, too many unknowns, too much unsaid. Too many emotions. She would feed off him, even if they weren’t bonded. So instead, he does it to relax her. To calm that raging fire inside her. He didn’t want her omega to get defensive. He wouldn’t fight back, but she would hurt herself if she tried. 

She lets out a quiet sound as his hand closes around the back of her neck, her head falling back until it’s entirely held up by his hand. Her body relaxes, the tension leaving her shoulders. Her lips part as she lets out a long breath, eyes fluttering. Relief, it almost feels like. He didn’t have to hold it for long, he didn’t want to. Just enough to get her to relax. 

Her hand shoots out before he can move, gripping his bicep. “Don’t let go.” She breathes, her inhale shaky. 

This was new to him. He had always heard omegas hated being scruffed. It left them feeling vulnerable, uneasy. An alpha had to be prepared to support an omega after. But an omega asking to have it done, to keep his hand there. This was new to him. But if it was what she needed, he couldn’t deny her. 

He holds her neck just a hair tighter, using his other hand to move her against his chest. He lays back in his pile of pillows and blankets, cradling her to his chest. He knows his beskar has to be uncomfortable for her, digging into her skin, but she offers no protest, completely limp and relaxed against him. He keeps her there, holding her as she slowly drifts off to sleep again. 

He wakes as something nudges his side rather harshly. He grabs the ankle on the foot that’s kicking him, their other foot quickly jumping back to avoid getting taken out by him. 

“Knock me over again and I’ll give you a dent in that helmet to match Boba’s.” 

He shifts his head to look up at Kai. He’s holding her ankle, her bare foot having been what was hitting him. 

“Get up.” She says, moving her foot back as he releases it. 

She bends down, grabbing his hands, pulling him up into a seated position with surprising strength. She’s still pulling on him, trying to get him standing. 

“Okay, okay.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “I’m up.” 

She brushes past him, grabbing the blankets and pillows off the floor. He scans the room, finding it in complete disarray. He watches her as she starts to meticulously place the blankets and pillows he’d been using on the bed. 

“It’s not right. None of it is right.” She says, fluffing the pillows. 

Her preheat must have been starting. He must have triggered it last night. She’s attempting to nest, attempting to rearrange her room to make it more comfortable. She pushes him towards the bed, attempting to shove him down onto it but he’s not budging. She takes a couple steps back before ramming him with her shoulder, or at least trying to. He stops her before she can hit him and hurt herself, her eyes narrowing as they look up at him. 

“Stop.” He says, letting her go. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Just tell me what you need.” 

“You, bed.” She jabs a finger into his breastplate before pointing it at the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching her. “Stay.” 

She watches him for a moment, making sure he’s not going anywhere before she turns, starting to rearrange her things. He watches her rearrange what she can, almost breaking his promise to stay when a droid opens the door to deliver them food. She looks ready to attack for a moment before she takes the plates. She sits with her back to him so he can eat, not turning around until he tells her. 

She cleans, wiping the sand and dust from every surface. She rearranges the bits of his things that he had brought into the room, putting them where she wants. He tries to keep track, but she’s moving so much he knows he’ll have to dig to find some of them later. 

She finishes rearranging the rest of the room before crawling onto the bed. She moves the blankets and pillows a few times, nudging him with her hip to get him to stand as she smoothes out the blanket he had been sitting on. She crawls back towards the head of the bed before she flops down on her stomach, laying still. 

He watches her, watching the slow rise and fall of her back for a few minutes before he realizes she’s asleep. He pulls one of the blankets over her, not that she would really need it in the heat, but it made him feel better. He watches her for another minute before he’s leaving, heading down to the throne room. 

“You’re up late.” Boba says, greeting him. 

“She’s in preheat.” He says. “She’s building her nest.” 

“How long?” 

“Could be a couple days. Could be a week. It’s hard to say. The suppressants will have thrown off her cycle. She’s...aggressive.” 

“Can’t blame her.” Boba says. “Kid’s been through it.”

“We won’t be able to leave the room when she goes into heat. I’ll stock the room with food and water before it starts.” 

“I’ll have a droid stationed outside the door if you need anything.” 

“That’s a good idea. I will be...equally as aggressive over her. Droids probably won’t cause any sort of reaction.” 

“And after?” Boba looks at him. 

What was he going to do after her heat had passed? That was the question. He had spent time lying awake thinking of the answer.  

“I don’t know.” 

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin fic #abo #din djarin x oc #din x oc #mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #alpha din #star wars #star wars fic