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yanderenightmare · 3 months

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Geto Suguru & Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, dubcon, suggestiveness, pressuring, blindfolding

fem reader

Your boyfriend Suguru is really nonchalant when asking if you’d like to fuck his best friend, Satoru.

Obviously, you look up at him with an appalled grimace – a look of serious shock and animated disgust – before you snort out, “What kinda joke is that?”

He keeps on just as casually as before – stroking his fingers up and down your bare arm where you lie halfway against his chest, tucked close in the nook of his body. “I wouldn’t mind.” He says – blank eyes kept staring at his laptop as though he was actually paying attention to the sitcom the two of you were no longer watching.

Your grimace drops to a frown, sitting up and raising a brow at him. “You wouldn't mind if I cheated on you with your best friend?”

You ask it rhetorically, but he doesn’t take it as such. Arguing against it, “It’s not cheating if I allow it.”

It makes you go quiet, pouting now. Looking at him while trying to decipher his game. “Do you...” You approach carefully – not sure where this is all headed. “Do you want us to?”

“Why d'you ask?”

Your grimace returns at the dumb response – now looking a little pissy.

“Why me? Why’d you ask?” This is so typical of him. Suguru just loves baiting you into admitting things you don’t want to. But this time, he's got it wrong because you have no interest in Gojo. If you did, you wouldn’t be lying in bed with his friend, now would you?

“Satoru wants to fuck you.” Suguru cuts off your inner ramble, and your grimace softens again – now just looking at him in confusion.

“What makes you say that?” You ask, and he continues pretending to watch the plot thicken on screen.

Still just as casual, saying, “‘Cause he told me.”

You gape at him, and then you scoff – folding your arms against your chest with an additional huff. “The nerve on that guy, honestly.”

“So you don’t want to fuck him?” Suguru’s eyes finally slide off to glance at you, waiting for your reaction.

You return his gaze, and then you smile. "Oh, Suguru~" You hum in a sultry murmur.

Lifting the laptop, you set it aside softly on the bedside table, freeing up room on his lap for you to crawl on top.

He accepts the advance smoothly, placing his hands on your hips as you lean in to kiss him with that same smile – moaning into your mouth with a rugged shudder when your hand dives beneath the band of his sweats.

“All I want...” You whisper while taking him in your palm, giving him a light squeeze and a gentle tug before feeling it grow fat and warm under your touch. “Is to make you happy.”

A couple of days later, you come by only for Gojo to be there as well.

You're confused at first, but Suguru acts as though it was all something the three of you had planned – and so does his white-heard friend, who’s standing by his side with a wide grin on his face – halfway hidden behind the same unnerving blindfold as always.

And you don’t know how you all wind up there...

But the three of you are in the bedroom not long after.

Suguru is sitting in an armchair just next to the bed you’re kneeling on – while Gojo kneels parallel to you.

“Uhm... I don't know about this...” You say reluctantly, folding your arms in front of your body while looking to Suguru – anything to avoid eye contact with the half-naked guy sitting before you.

You had all stripped down to just underwear under your boyfriend’s command – but contrary to you, they'd been neither shocked, embarrassed, or uncomfortable with it.

Suguru gives you a gentle smile. “You said you wanted to make me happy.” His eyes are calm and suave, like always. “This would make me very happy.”

You look at him for a while, trying to find comfort for the anxious furl between your brows – then you glance at the other boy, but your eyes don’t even reach his before you immediately look away again – back to Suguru.

You swallow the dryness in your throat.

“I’m sorry, but... I don't understand this...” You whisper under your breath as though you wanted the conversation to be private – between just the two of you, despite the third member whose knees brushed yours. “Help me understand.”

“It’s simple.” Said third member interrupted, calling your gaze to his piercing blue one. “You’re his girlfriend, and I’m his best friend – we’re his two favorite people in the world. He just wants to see us get along…” He leans closer until his breath wafts across your face. “Can you do that?”

You dismiss his advance with a turn of your head, looking back at your boyfriend again. “Are you sure about this?”

He just gives you a secure smile in return. “I’m sure.”

And with the last reassurance, Gojo’s hands slide up your thighs, making you gasp. “You heard him.” He finalizes. And you, caught by surprise from the sudden contact, whip your head back to look at him with wide eyes only for his lips to meet yours.

You make a sound, then an additional louder one as he pushes his tongue inside along yours – quickly followed by him shuffling closer. With his hands grabbing your hips, he pulls you around his torso, making you fall back until you hit the bed flat.

You don’t know how you’re supposed to enjoy this – letting your boyfriend's best friend kiss and touch your body while he just sits still and watches the two of you in silence.

You try looking at him to see if he’s still as unshaken, but Gojo’s quick – much more aggressive than Suguru usually is.

The wetness of Gojo's tongue playing with yours makes your head so hot – chest pounding so fast you fear it might just bleed out in your chest. But he has no mercy, wasting no time – hooking your legs up around his hips before slipping his hand between them.

You felt something snap in your mind when he fingered the hem of your panties, or maybe it was your heart skipping a beat – either way – you broke the kiss off with a shove to his chest. Panting out, “No, stop-”

You prop yourself up and shuffle out from under his progressive touches. Breaths hitched as you wiped your mouth dry from his spit.

“I’m sorry, Suguru – I can’t do this...”

Feeling flushed, you were riddled with goosebumps from head to toe – still denying those searing bright blues you felt stare you through. Tucking your legs close to your chest, you wrapped your arms around them – waiting for any sort of consolation, any words to tell you it was okay, that it was a silly idea to begin with, that you absolutely don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable doing.

But nothing of the sort ever comes...

Instead, after a silence, your boyfriend’s hand reaches out to brush something along your leg.

You peek up – watery eyes blinking once, then twice to focus, until seeing the thing held in his hand.

“How ‘bout you wear this and pretend he’s me?” He proposes smoothly, still with a gentle smile shaping his face.

It’s Gojo’s blindfold.

“Would that make you feel better?”

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your lip.

It takes a moment, but eventually, you give an ever so timid, “Okay...”

And again, you don’t know how the three of you get there… but not long after, you’re seated on Gojo’s lap with his fat cock nestled deep inside you, being bounced on him like a toy doll.

“Suguru~” You moan – but he's not the one who's gruffing out hot and heavy breaths against your neck while sucking fresh lovebites on top of the ones left there by your actual boyfriend a couple of days before.

“You’re real’ loyal – cryin’ out his name with my dick inside yah-” Gojo groans, squeezing your tits in both hands, tweaking your nipples until you whine out again, same name on your lips. “Aw, c’mon – won’t you cry like that fo’me too~”

Your legs are propped up on Suguru’s broad back. You can’t see him through the blindfold, but you recognize that tongue – laving at your clit with kitten licks and suckling kisses while Gojo pumps his full length inside you on every thrust.

“C’mon, you’ gon’ make me beg for it?” Gojo catches your mouth, making you share each other’s breath while sloppily feeding you his tongue. “C’mon, say my name~ it’s not that different – should roll just as easily off your tongue~”

He picks up the pace along with his pleas, punching your insides to mush – making you twist where you lie sweaty against his chest.

Hot air hits your slit with words from a tongue licking all the right nerves. “Go on, baby~ moan for him like you moan fo’me~”

It makes you shudder, feeling so hot and so awfully good – your feel a guilt telling you to deny it, but it’s simply unbearable. “Oh-fuck – Satoru~”

“Yes-yes-yes~” He chants at your ear, licking the shell of it while he slips off your blindfold to let you watch Suguru lick your clit like a puppy – his own cock kept lonely between his legs, leaking out onto the sheets – edged and red from the toll of it.

The sight makes you feel some type of way.

“Oh fuck – don't squeeze so tight, I’m gonna cum-” Gojo whines, holding you tighter while sinking in deep.

“Ew, no – pull out, pull out-” You protest, shaking your head while trying to wiggle out of the tight hug he's got you trapped in.

“No – I'll clean it out-” Comes an additional plea from beneath you. Suguru kisses the belly bulge made by Gojo’s fat cock, then licks a strip from the weight of his balls up to where he has your hole stretched around his girth, mouthing at it in moans while his nose rubs your clit. “Please, princess, let him cum inside~”

Both you and Gojo swallow thickly, panting in unison.

“How can you say no to that?” He asks against your ear.

Your thighs shake while you whine, “Ugh~ fine – but someone’s buying a pill.”

Suguru only hums, laying his tongue flat against your clit again, knowing exactly what to do to time your orgasm with the flood of cum that soon splurged your insides with creamy white.

Gojo grunts with the release, and you quake, milking it out of him until he winces from the overstimulation – sloshing out while heaving for air.

You sigh, but before you can come all the way down, Suguru’s filling the vacancy with himself – making you suck it up again as he bullies his way inside in a series of quick-timed pumps before he's filling you up with his own thick mess.

He takes your face and kisses you despite you both being too breathless to sustain it for long, left to huff short puffs of air on one another’s wet lips.

He rests his forehead on yours until your pussy’s squeezed him free of the last drop, then swallows thickly.

There's a grating chuckle. “Don’t know if a pill’s gonna help...”

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mochinomnoms · 2 months

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So uhhhh...... what other kinks would octavinnle have 😗

🦩

I already went into one I think Jade would have, so I'll list three new ones for each and a brief thing as to why, though it's not their only ones I would say it's some of their top ones.

Azul

Oral fixation: Azul has a refined palate, he can note each ingredient used in dishes with just his tongue! He's learned to put that tongue to good use, so it's logical to assume that he'd like to taste you as well. And Azul does love it so. There is no treat taster than you and your cum on his tongue, and while he's not one to indulge in his meals, for you he'd make an exception. I do hope that you are willing to keep your legs open for a quite some time, after all you wouldn't want to deny him of a treat, would you?

Praise kink: Let's be real, because of his childhood, Azul thrives on recognition and praise for his hard work. When he decides to go into something, it's never half-hearted, especially regarding his love and affection to you. So, praise him! Tell him what a good job he's doing, tell him to keep hitting that spot right there, oh god, Azul, you make me feel so goood~ It makes him feel so so good knowing that only he gets to make you feel like this, that only he gets to hear your voice praising him. It gets him off, so keep doing it at all times, whisper in his ear about how smart and wonderful he is in all aspects, the sweet tone in your voice gets him hot and heavy, turning into a need to keep hearing those honeyed words and show you just how deserving he is of your praise.

Breeding: Out of the trio, he is technically the only one with a mating season (two actually). And while he can usually get over those seasons on his own, with you at his side he instinctually develops a need to breed you silly! Who knew he had such a desire to become a daddy, you'll help him won't you? As his mate? Regardless of whether or not you can actually get pregnant, when the late spring and early fall come, he needs to fill your tummy with so much cum that it hurts! You'll spend at least two months out of the year with bent over or in a mating press until you're shuddering and twitching as milky white fluids are dripping from your hole. Now now, Azul can't have that, so won't you let him fill you just one more time? (It's never just one more time.)

Jade

Shibari: Jade thinks it's fascinating how humans don't have long, winding limbs to wrap their mates and make due with soft, pretty colored ropes. It's even more fascinating seeing the fat of your skin bulge against the ropes. Your chest, thighs, hips, all straining the ropes as your hands are tied against your back, helpless to his poking and prodding. Call him sadistic, but he loves seeing you so helpless underneath him, pretty eyes begging for him to use you and make you feel good. It makes him feel a sort of way to hear you beg to free your hands so you can hold him, dig your nails into his skin as your orgasm inches closer and closer. Jade does love having you be so helpless under him, free for him to use as he sees fit.

Service kink: Jade likes taking care of things, to be depended on. After all, he's so good at being a dependable partner, so why not place all your pleasure into his very capable hands? Be warned, though, Jade can be quite sadistic, and once you place your pleasure into his hands, it belongs to him and only him. There's no need to touch yourself when he hands long, nimble fingers to use, a long furling long to sink into your heat, and attentive eyes that watch and study every single moan, twitch, and breath you take. Jade will make sure that your lust filled brain will be drawn to him, immersed with the mind-blowing rapture he provides. All to the point that you'll only be able to cum through him, whether it be his mouth, hands, or dick. It's fine, Jade does love depend on, especially if it ruins you for anyone else after him. That's if you can bring yourself to leave, after all you'll never find another quite as attentive and caring as he. Jade's made sure of that.

Roleplaying: This plays a bit into Jade's service kink, but he does love dressing you up in cute outfits and making you play a bit. Perhaps he is a butler, and you're his master, bringing yourself down to ruin by a lowly servant as he fucks you into oblivion. Perhaps he's come to collect collateral from you for a deal, and you can only offer yourself. Maybe he's a big bad sea monster, and you're a sweet little human that drifted too far off into the sea. In any case, he loves playing into any of his roles, teasing you as you start of shy like an actor with stage fright. It's wonderful when Jade finally gets to see you lose yourself into your role, all for him. Though, don't be surprised if he decides to turn the table a bit, and dresses you up in a maid costume with a leash and collar. As much as he loves playing his usual role, Jade does also love seeing you coo and tend to him (and his dick) like the pretty, sweet spouse he knows you will be. Go on love, get on your knees and make him feel good. It's your responsibility to clean up the mess of slick you've left on his dick after all.

Floyd

Overstimulation: To no one's surprise, Floyd has plenty of energy to go around once he's interested in something, and you are very interesting to him. He wants to see just how much you can take of him and what he gives you until your crying and begging him to give you a break. But unless you give him your safe word, that delicious orgasm he just gave you is blending into the next as he seeks his own euphoria. But don't think that he won't just ignore his own overstimulation, because he will. Just feels so good for both of you that it almost hurts. And yet, Floyd just can't help and keep going. That yummy high on cloud 9 is gonna keep going, even through your shrieks and cries for a break, the rhythmic slap of skin, the shuddering breaths. He just can't stop, even if he wanted to, oh please Floyd! It's too much! It feels too good-AAAAH~ He'll keep going until you both pass out from sheer sensory overload and exhaustion, his dick still in you and ready to go when you wake back up.

Dumbification: This is a bit surprising, or maybe not, but Floyd loves fucking you until you're so sex-brained that all you can think about his him and his dick. He wants you to love his cock so much that you're bending over and spreading yourself open for him with hearts in your eyes. No thoughts, head empty except for Floyd and his cum. He wants a pretty smile with your tongue lolling out. He wants you to see him taking pictures of him fucking you with your hands forming a heart. He wants you to ignore anything and everything else except for him, because you're his little dummy that can only think about him and his pretty dick that's bruising your insides and shaping you for him. And only him.

Dacryphilia: This should actually come as no surprise, but Floyd gets really horny at seeing your tears streaming down your face. But not from being upset, no, he loves the tears that come from him overstimulating you. They're just so pretty! You're so cute, and he's so big, too big for you, but you try so hard! So forgive him if he's a bit mean, a little rough, and dragging out orgasm after orgasm from you so that you're whimpering and sobbing. Such a sweet sight reserved just for him, as only he can guarantee that these tears come from feeling good and not from something more sinister. Plus, Floyd really likes how you pout at him. It's just so cute!! And he just looooves cute things.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech smut #floyd leech smut #azul ashengrotto smut #!nsfw #!breeding kink #🦩 anon

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comatosebunny09 · 6 months

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fever dream | astarion a.

genre(s): fluff, angst

warning(s): language, self-indulgent, sick!reader, astarion’s a little ooc

now playing: the night does not belong to god - sleep token

notes: very self-indulgent because i’m sick and needed some comfort and @nanaoise08squad inspired me to finish this. thank you for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️

Somehow, the sun shines brighter today. Glaringly so.

You hold a hand to your temple to shield your eyes from its brilliance. Your armor feels heavier, too. Like boulders stacked on your shoulders and chest, making it harder to breathe. You force out a groan that’s gritty like ash. Trudge down the steps leading outside the inn to join your companions, your limbs weighted and achy.

“I hate to point out the obvious, darling.” Astarion grimaces with his hands curled to his chest in revulsion. He ducks away from the sight of you. Winces as you take a labored step forward, your balance thrown to the hells.

“But you look like utter shit.”

You scoff, phlegm making itself known in your throat.

What a way to be greeted by the love of your life.

“You sure are a flatterer, aren’t you, Astarion?”

You’re sure to drag out the vowels of his name—or perhaps your words are a little slurred due to whatever ailment took hold of you today. Nevertheless, you jab a finger between his ribs, your face twisting into something haughty.

You wonder if it was worth the exertion as your vision and body sway along with the trees, and your head pounds something menacing whilst a wave of vertigo hurtles into you.

“Shit!”

Astarion catches you when you pitch forward, your legs unable to grasp the rhythm of walking. And there are suddenly two of him. Two little ‘starions calling your name, fretting over you, shaking you to keep you amongst the conscious.

You feel like lead. Feel yourself sinking below the surface, unable to return.

Your lids shutter as if weighed down by sandbags. The muddled shouts of your friends trickle in, each tinged with varying degrees of concern. You register hands all over you, patting and pulling. Register a strained voice yelling stop, and the frantic touching ceases.

Before you fully succumb to the darkness, there is the sensation of you being lifted up, followed by the earthy scent of bergamot flooding your senses, and it furls around your heart.

Then, there is nothing.

Something savory draws you from the inkiness of your sleep. It curls around your mind, luring you into consciousness.

You caution a sound, your throat rubbed raw from disuse. You slowly open your eyes, and the bleariness gradually morphs into discernible shapes and colors. Somehow, this place feels familiar.

You’re back in your rented room. Nestled in the plushness of a mattress with too many pillows and sheets soft as linen. You will yourself onto your elbows, wincing at the stiffness of your neck. The pain is manageable. Better than it was before, you note, leisurely ingesting your surroundings.

A lone candle flickers on the nightstand, swathing the room in its bronze glow. Moonlight seeps through the curtains lining the window across. The faint symphony of crickets accompanies the murmur of the inn’s other patrons and the groans of the floorboards beyond your doorway.

Bloody hell.

How long have you been out?

On cue, the doorknob rattles, and a slither of light leaks in. The swell of noise outside commands your attention. You stiffen, fingers instinctively twitching for a weapon. But your bones settle as a thatch of white creeps into your vision from the threshold.

“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Astarion breathes. He toes the door shut, a steaming bowl of deliciousness cupped in his palms. Takes a few steps forward, rounded eyes flashing amber beneath the candlelight.

You recognize that aroma. The hearty scent which roused you from your sleep. Your stomach gnarls with life as Astarion nears the bed, donning that smug little mask.

“Hungry, are we?”

You nod enthusiastically, garnering a chuckle from the room’s other occupant. Suddenly self-conscious of how eager you are whilst he hands you the bowl, his fingers slinking away from yours as if he’s touched simmering coals.

“Courtesy of Gale,” Astarion supplies. “I can’t guarantee how good it tastes considering—well, you know. Undead and all that.”

His smile is tight-lipped. Guarded as he settles himself on a stool beside you, his spine straight and his ankles crossed. He helps you sit up against the headboard despite the unease permeating the air. Quickly retracts his hands to press them against the wood of his seat between his thighs, surveying your room.

You take some time to study him. Note that his eyebags seem more prominent than usual. Darker. Hair’s a little tussled, skin a bit paler. His shirt sits rumpled around his shoulders, the fastenings of it done all wrong. Worst of all, he has not looked at you for longer than a few beats. Like you’re made of glass and will shatter if he stares for too long.

A pang shoots through you, searing hot like lightning.

He was worried.

Worst of all, he was worried about you.

You’re no longer hungry, your stomach twisting as you gaze down at the stew bleeding warmth into your palms. You set it on the nightstand with a decisive clunk, quietly receding into yourself. Silently relenting to the smog of self-loathing draping itself across your shoulders.

“You scared me half to death, you know,” says Astarion, parting the tangled sea of your thoughts. As if he senses you berating yourself. It’s a soft drawl. An attempt at scolding you, but there’s weariness nestled in the undercurrents of it. “That’s saying a lot, considering I’ve already one foot in the grave.”

You peer up at him like a meager child. He watches you from his peripheral with crossed arms, his nose turned up, feigning disappointment. You see through the cracks of his façade, and your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.

He can be incredibly adorable when trying to shroud his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, your tone barely above a whisper.

Astarion releases a resigned sigh. And the weight of the world seems to pour from his shoulders as he angles himself towards you, reaching for one of your hands.

His expression softens, and he squeezes, his palm frigid yet reassuring. For the first time since he entered, he truly looks at you. Gaze swims through your features as if to commit every detail, every imperfection, to memory. As if he could lose you at any second.

“No need to apologize, my love. I was just…concerned, is all. I suppose we all were when you went down.”

The recollection makes your face blossom with heat. Poor little darling, taken out by a nasty cold. Causing hysteria among your friends, deterring your journey.

Astarion thumbs your cheek, smiling something genuine at the pout on your lips.

Your tongue burns with the ache of a question, and you shrink, not wholly prepared for the answer.

“How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days.”

You blanch, evoking another guttural laugh from Astarion.

“Shadowheart did her best to heal you. There was only so much her magic could mend. So, we’ve been playing the waiting game while you caught up on your beauty sleep. Not like you need much more of it.”

You snort at Astarion’s cheekiness.

Leave it to your little star to find every opportunity to flatter you.

He examines your joined hands thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve dealt with mortal illnesses. Honestly, I couldn’t begin to fathom how to comfort you. Other than gracing you with my presence, of course.”

It’s refreshing to see his humor is still intact despite his beloved pulling a Snow White.

For a while, you sit like this. Basking in the moment’s serenity, holding hands. Grinning and laughing like two enamored fools when your gazes interlock. You can tell that Astarion’s lightyears away, however. At war with himself, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, reprimanding himself for not being your proverbial knight in shining armor.

Absently, you scoot over. Relinquish your love’s hand—much to his chagrin—to pat the space beside you. You affix him with a look that’s all too serious as you say, “For starters, you could try holding me.”

Astarion stares at you with rounded eyes. Mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, forming around words that he can’t quite conjure.

“Oh. A-Alright,” he finally musters. Dumbfounded, Astarion stands, maneuvering to sit beside you on the bed. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Never does, unused to being so vulgar, so unabashed with his feelings.

Though, for you, you know he would rearrange the stars in the sky if he could.

So you help him, tugging him closer and falling into the circle of his arms. You nestle against his chest with a pleased hum vibrating your throat. Tangle your legs together, ignoring the surprised sound that leaves him.

He’s a lovely contrast to your still-enflamed skin. Fits like a puzzle piece against you, soft and lithe. He relaxes gradually, tucking you ever closer against him as if you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke if he lets go. He pets through your hair before anchoring his chin to the crown of your head, surrendering a satisfied sigh.

“Well, I supposed this isn’t so bad, now is it?” Astarion husks, stroking soothing circles into the notches of your spine.

You nod offhandedly, your lids lowering, and your body feeling at ease.

Suddenly, your ailment seems more bearable as you sink below the depths of slumber, an unguarded smile cresting over your lips.

The shadows of your conjoined bodies dance along the walls as the candlelight dwindles, and you both surrender to the tranquility of the night.

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fluff #tw: language #tw: angst #tw: self loathing #tw: sickness #sick!tav #sick!reader #astarion comfort #bg3 #bg3 astarion

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astralnymphh · 27 days

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i KNOW ellie LOVES it everytime her lover traces her tattoo. gently with love. after a make love session, bare underneath the blankets, cuddling, head on ellie’s chest. ellie would just smile adoringly at her lover’s fingers tracing her tattoo. tracing it with the intention of loving her scar. tracing it while treasuring her story behind it.

✭ i mean, we've seen ellie tracing dina's scar so lovingly— no doubt she would melt under the same treatment. strives to catch her breath in dramatic expands of her chest, simply minding her eyes to the blank and boring ceiling above in the assumption that you're laid there chasing your breath too, or asleep. but, out of the corner of her calming senses, a barely cold finger charts in specific patterns across her right arm. "babe?" her throaty hum curls, and the cotton pillowcase shuffles as her face tucks in to investigate. chuckles dry upon identifying that it was just you and your soft intrigue to examine through caress. "is my chemical burn that interesting?" spoken in a low intone, high-pitched towards the brink of her sentence. as a reflex to your touch, her fingers furl into a delicate, loose fist, flaunting her forearm for your curious use. "tell me— about the moth, again. the meaning?" your voice but a whisper above a marshland croak, prest against her ribs. fingers of their own will; they continue to trace, and tap notably upon the inked moth in chorus to your words. a loving sigh, "ahh.." drips from her mouth, and carry into a reply, radiated by a fat smirk curving her lips, cause deep-down, she fucking loves dumping her interests on you, any chance she procures or runs by, "okay, since you asked so nicely— and since you're my girlfriend and i looove rambling to you." religiously presses a smooch to the crown of your head before nerding herself out, sealing the remnant of that kiss in with a wipe of her thumb.

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP

(apologies for small text my blurbs r just humongo, lmk if you want a big text document!)

bitch I'll jizz rn

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x masc!reader #ellie williams fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #tlou ellie #ellie williams blurb #ellie the last of us #ellie williams fanfiction

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inkykeiji · 21 days

Text

you make a mess of me

character: alastor

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, blood + blood eating, periods, dry humping, biting (hard enough to break the skin), toxic relationship, noncon, possessiveness + entitled behaviour, pet/master dynamic, unintentional overstimulation + multiple orgasms, unrealistic amount of period blood, slashing/cutting the skin, alastor is getting off on the pain he’s inflicting on you

notes: this fic is extremely dead dove and involves alastor eating your period blood among other things. it gets gross; please read the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: lose control by teddy swims

words: 3.8k

The first day of your period is always, by far, the worst.

Because the first day of your period is the heaviest, the bloodiest, and, according to Alastor, the tastiest.

Which translates to: Alastor spending the entirety of the first day with his head buried between your legs, hungrily slurping blood from the most intimate part of your body, large claws curled around your hips and pinning you to the mattress, rendering you completely helpless beneath his grasp—defenceless against his vicious tongue, trapped at the mercy of his insatiable addiction.

You’ve lost track of time at this point, lost count of how many times he’s unintentionally made you cum, lost consciousness more than once, elusive and slipping from between your fingers, an intangible mist that you can’t seem to keep a solid grip on—something that melts in the heat of your palms as you squeeze too hard, too desperately.

But that promise of pleasure always seems to draw you back into the light of wakefulness, presses gasps of air into your lungs and shocks your mind from it’s muddled fog.

It’s building once more, a dense heat roiling low and slow in the pit of your stomach as it furls in on itself in an almost lazy manner—a ball of fire that grows hotter and heavier, pulses larger and larger as it expands, flares with every swipe of his nose against your swollen clit, singeing surrounding organs, consuming bordering tissues, boiling the blood in nearby tangles of vessels—until it stops, dims, dies once more, withering away to simmering little embers, yearning to catch flame all over again.

His unintentional edging eats away at your tattered sanity, renders you delirious for release, little fingers tangling in his bangs and yanking, a pitiful attempt to grind his face into your cunt, to catch your slick little nub on the tip of his nose.

The laps of his tongue, once soft as velvet, have turned rough against your licked-raw cunt, every drag of the wet muscle along your slit more painful than the last, sending tiny spikes searing through your gut.

It hurts, but it doesn’t stop you from being a greedy little thing, craving another orgasm, for that sweet, sweet relief that rushes through your exhausted body, that releases the tension building in your muscles, each graze against your clit coiling fibres tighter and tighter until your entire body has gone rigid, aching for reprieve.

For what it’s worth, Alastor doesn’t really seem to care—if anything, he encourages it, the hands on your hips aiding in your movements as your pelvis rolls up, the motion pushing another rush of warm blood from your hole. His tongue wiggles further inside of you, curls into a hook in response, siphoning the substance from your core into his throat with keen little growls exhaled out his nose.

It turns him into something primal—past animalistic, past inhuman, something ineffably sinister, all of his senses sharply honed on his singular task, antlers sprouting branches the longer he eats from you, the worse the pain grows.

He eats your blood like a starving man, with such vigour you’d think he’s never tasted something so delicious, obscenely drinking from the center your body—a delirious attempt to drain you of your essence, dangerous teeth just barely sealed behind puckering lips and an avid, twisting tongue.

It sounds disgusting, the crude smacks of his lips and working of his tongue echoing throughout his bedroom in thick squelches, his chin and his cheeks and his mouth drenched in your combined fluids—blood and spit, hurt and hunger.

It’s ritualistic in a sense, the way his tongue sprawls, swirls into your body, cups, and then darts back, scooping blood and tissue down his throat before forming a point, the tip circling the dips and contours of your cunt, sure to clean any remnants his messy eating might’ve left, before repeating the cycle over again.

Anguish turns stifling as he smothers himself with your core, time gone syrupy as it drips by dense glops, unhurried and unavailing. His tongue feels coarse against your once silky skin, now abraded by his incessant feeding, his methodical motions having caused tiny fissures to sprout along your hole.

Any faint flickers of pleasure have been completely eradicated now, morphed into torrid cinders that scorch your skin, pitchy wails scratching at your chest.

Something suspiciously similar to stop! shatters in your throat, your fingers burrowing further into his hair, knuckles rooted against his scalp right next to the base of his antlers and pulling.

He growls against you, the sound vibrating deep within your cunt, little tremors that snuggle into your flesh like worming maggots, a moan prying past your lips. A large palm flattens between your hip bones and presses down firmly, eliciting a squeak from your chest as it tries to milk your uterus from the inside out, desperate for more blood.

Another sound of frustration echoes behind his sternum, the fingers curled around your hip flexing, his talons further puncturing your flesh.

It isn’t enough for him.

Because, really, when has it ever been? When will it ever be? Your Owner has always been selfish when it comes to his precious pet.

There are already tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, streaming down over your temples in shimmering little trails. Droplets of salt glitter, suspended in spiky lashes, as your eyes flutter, blinking rapidly to clear your bleary vision and dislodging more water in the process.

Wordlessly, his head lifts from the apex of your thighs, elbows dimpling the mattress as he uses them to hoist his torso up, nosing along the junction of your hip with one deep inhale and letting the scent of fresh blood, trickling from the tiny piercings his claws have left, lead him.

His tongue, pigmented a dark crimson, unfurls from his mouth to flatten against your flesh, bathing over the little wounds in slow, deliberate laves. But that isn’t enough, either, a starving snarl ripping from his chest as he repeats the action, this time dragging his lips along, too, using them to encourage another bout of blood from the cuts as he sucks, hard.

It’s so strong, so forceful it has tiny tangles of vessels snapping beneath the skin, spilling enticingly into the surrounding tissues. A cry rips from your throat, back bowing off the bed as a bruise rapidly develops under his mouth, yet another mark he stains into you.

But staking such weak, insufficient claims isn’t what he’s here for today.

Something dark rumbles in his chest, the type of greed that’s borne in his core and nurtured by obsession, that rattles his ribs as it aches to escape, to consume more and more and more.

It’s tormented by the blood trapped below the barrier, ichor that teases him, taunts him, tests him—and, well, that’s just not fair, is it? How dare your body do such a cruel thing to its keeper; how dare your body withhold something that belongs to him.

Sharp teeth sink into supple flesh with zero resistance and scrape, effortlessly removing the first layer of skin and freeing the blood pooling beneath it. His avid tongue instantly sops up the substance, smoothing over the wound and pressing down powerfully, procuring another torrent of crimson.

But his rapacity still remains unfulfilled—if anything, it only grows in its appetency, that splash of blood serving as nothing more than a canapé.

He needs something deeper.

With another slow, vast sniff, he trails the tip of his nose along the expanse of your body, hunting for something thick and pulsing and allowing instinct to guide him, ears pricked and tuned into the frequency of a steady, strong pounding—and he finds it just above your belly button.

Stopping, he licks the area once—a long, broad stroke of his tongue, gliding across your skin and leaving a viscid smear of saliva in its wake.

Then a claw is puncturing your skin, slicing across your stomach in a controlled line, scarlet immediately seeping from the laceration, the tip of his talon missing your aorta by a hair.

It burns, a yelp sticking in your throat, tangling on a sob as you cough around it, spine arching instinctively. Cooling tingles skitter across the new incision as he breathes out a single puff of air, admiring his handiwork, before his mouth latches over it.

“Alastor!” you sob out, fingers curling against his shoulders and tugging, his name a garbled mess on your tongue. “What are you doing!”

“Hold fucking still,” he growls into the fresh injury. “Or I will rip your aorta out with my teeth.”

You know he won’t, know he values you far too much to kill you—his precious pet, his perfect little plaything, his prized possession—but that doesn’t mean that he won’t bring you alarmingly close to death—again.

Even still, and as fun as that is, he’ll never fully go through with it.

Because you’re so fucking obedient—he’s never found someone so dedicated, so devoted, so fucking desperate to please him, to go above and beyond and make him proud, all without a contract.

And he’s never giving that up.

Besides, he’s grown quite fond of you.

Predictably, you obey his order the instant it leaves his lips—never a single wisp of defiance drifting through your murky brain—squirming calmed, even as pangs quiver through your body.

He’s still for another moment or two, letting that delicious anticipation build, before he dives back into feeding, digs his tongue into the wound and tears it wider, another gush of warm blood rushing to fill the new gaping.

Another sound of pain cracks through his bedroom, jagged and crisp, and he nearly whines into your stomach, the wriggling of his tongue turned vicious.

It burrows into the wound, tip hooked as it plunges through the sticky substance, writhes under slippery tissues and broken capillaries in it’s quest for more, the rough voraciousness of it all sending blistering spears shooting through your stomach.

You’re well past the point of sobbing now, unintelligible pleads spilling past your lips soaked with spit, garbled and howled, but your nails scrape at his scalp, fingers tugging a little on his antlers, a moan vibrating against your flesh as his hands wrap around your hips again, holding you still.

He feeds on the stomach wound until the blood ceases to flow freely, until it requires too much effort on his part, blood working hard to begin congealing the gash only to be split open by his siphoning, over and over and over again.

Only then does he continue his exploration, scouring your body, nose curving over your ribs and outlining your breasts as claws slit superficial little slashes in your flesh, tongue swiping over them in experimentation, until finally he finds another heavy throbbing, right above your collarbone.

His breath, pushed from his lips in harsh, fast little pants of hunger, is infused with your blood, the stench of bitter copper stinging your nostrils as it wafts across your skin. It collects in damp little droplets against your neck, his tongue once again unfolding from its cavern to press, hard and flat and wide, against your jugular.

There’s no licking this time, no slow haul of the slick muscle to glaze the canvas before the inevitable incision, just his tongue held smooth and still pinned over the vein, feeling the steady rush of blood. Saliva drools steadily from the corners of his mouth, drizzling onto your chest in thick glass cords, tinted pale pink.

A shiver scampers up your spine as his irregular huffs ghost over your wet skin, chills erupting across your flesh. For a singular instant, everything is still, stagnant—your breath and his teeth and those wandering claws, the only constant being the pulsating thrum of your blood beneath his tongue—before his fingers are moving again, one palm curling around your neck to hold you still as a keen talon slices into your flesh once more.

A scream curdles in your throat, stifled by the hand still collaring your neck, his mouth latching over the wound to lap at the blood. Searing pain radiates from the site, shooting along your jaw and shoulder, and your spine arches off the mattress, struggling beneath his body.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you’re sobbing out, the plead spilling from your lips in a continuous sticky stream, letters tangled in threads of spit. “Please, Al—Master, please!”

Thunder rumbles up his throat and spills into the wound his tongue is prying open—a warning, or a denial, you can’t be sure—as his hips keep you pinned to the bed, his thighs spreading yours wide, his knees sinking into the mattress.

You’re trapped under him, helpless and vulnerable to his vicious attack as his lips pucker and his tongue wiggles and his teeth scrape, collecting you beneath their edges. The agony is excruciating as he devours you, as you thrash and cry and tremble pathetically, your efforts entirely in vain and failing to deter him at all, your ceaseless struggling barely a hitch in his routine.

“Please, please, please,” your chanting, bloated tears weighting your lashes, lids fighting to stay open. “Please, Sir, it—it—Stop!”

A roar ruptures in his throat, rough and loud, and he yanks himself away from his meal, raising his head to glare at you.

“Have you forgotten your purpose, pet?” he spits, flecks of your blood splattering across your cheeks, a smatter of crimson freckles. “Hmm?”

A large hand twines around your jaw and squeezes, hard enough that your cheeks hollow and your mouth puckers. His claws dig into your face as he forces you to look at him, his nose brushing your own.

“Does Master need to make you write it out a hundred times, again?”

“No,” you weep, head trembling in a poor imitation of a shake, still locked in place by his bruising grip.

“Then what is it? Why do you exist?”

“To serve you.”

“How?”

“In—In any way you want me to, Master.”

“Exactly,” he purrs, but the word is razored, teetering on the edge of vitriolic. “So be a useful little pet, like you’re supposed to, and let Master take what he owns, what he’s owed.”

And so, you do.

Because you’re nothing if not faithfully, blindingly obedient to your owner.

His grip relaxes, and your jaw raises, neck bowing off the sheets, offering itself to him unabashedly—your body, your blood.

Something nefarious spreads across his face, stretched smile curling at the edges as it reaches his eyes, a malicious little melody playing on the back of his tongue.

He takes a moment to admire your sheer obedience, your willing and unwavering faith him him, a claw tracing the newest injury, leaving behind a shallow outline in your flesh.

A whimper falls from your lips, but you don’t dare to look away from him, even as the tears lacquering your eyes finally overflow again, streaming down the sides of your head to collect in your hairline.

“Good girl,” he says, and although his voice is soft, the compliment is sharp—mean, mocking, hardened by a layer of patronization.

“Th-Thank you, Sir.”

And then he’s plunging his tongue back in, mouth sealing over the wound tightly, another shrill squeal clawing at your throat. Yet despite the white-hot pain it inspires, his saliva stinging the new contour, you do your best to hold still, to be good, body quivering with the immense effort.

“Christ,” he mutters, the word muddled with blood as he rubs his mouth into the cut. “Your suffering is so fucking delicious.”

His statement is so sick, tinged with a vile sort of pleasure that churns your stomach, acidic bile collecting on the back of your tongue, the revolt so overwhelming that you almost don’t feel it, twitching against your hip as it fills with blood, hot and hard and straining as his pelvis beings to shift, rutting in irregular little motions.

For a moment, you can barely believe what’s happening, mind numb with terror and shock. For a moment, your mind refuses to believe what’s happening, scrambling to scrape together some sort of patchwork excuse for this behaviour—maybe he was just moving to get more comfortable; maybe it meant nothing at all—but the rutting fails to cease, uneven and unskilled, a moan shuddering his breathing, and your body freezes beneath him.

If he notices, he doesn’t seem to care, the rocking of his hips never slowing, another muffled sound of pleasure soaking into your skin.

They’re sweltering against your neck, those little noises of ecstasy, every soft moan and cracked whine and hoarse grunt huffed out damp and humid, beading in little dewdrops on your marred skin.

“M-Master,” you gasp before you can stop yourself, wiggling a little beneath him to confirm your suspicions and whimpering when his cock throbs in response. “You—You’re—It’s—”

“What?” he pulls back slightly, chest rising and falling against your own with ragged little breaths. Something smug plays with the corners of his smile, twinkles of sadism shining bright in his eyes.

He’s going to make you say it.

Your gaze flees his own—it’s too intense, eyes watering with a fresh bout of tears, pins of embarrassment pricking your cheeks. “It’s—”

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

Immediately, your stare snaps back to his, wide and submissive.

“It’s hard,” you force words from your tongue, the admission fading to a shameful whisper, face twisting in a wince as if the letters slashed your tongue.

“What is?”

“Master—” you flounder, head shaking a little.

“Go on,” he urges, grinding his hips into yours, slow and purposeful. “Tell me. You’re a big girl.”

“Your cock,” you nearly whine, eyes squeezing shut, fat tears leaking from the seams. “Your cock is hard.”

“It’s your fault, you know,” he murmurs, tongue rolling over your cheek thoughtfully, leaving watery streaks of blood smeared in its wake, mopping up the salt and swallowing it down, growling a little. “Crying out in pain like that.”

“Alastor,” you sob out, head shaking in messy little motions. “I don’t—I’m not—”

“It’s quite cute, the way you’re trying to act as if you don’t love this,” he muses airily, another gust of tangy metal nipping your nose as it wafts across your face, his forehead resting against your own.

Inhaling deep and measured, his ribs expand against yours, sharp bones digging into soft flesh, a gentle tremor coursing through his form as he nestles his face into your own, noses bumping together.

“You can’t fool me, pet. I know you too well.”

His thigh hitches higher, wedged tightly between your legs, shoved up against your cunt, the abrupt action eliciting a gasp, your eyes snapping open to search his own.

“I can smell your arousal, silly,” he says, voice low and smooth, nose tracing along your soiled cheek until his lips are at your ear. “In fact, it’s so strong that it’s overwhelming your blood.” A chuckle reverberates along the cartilage. “I know my pet is a nasty little girl.”

Barbs of humiliation flush through your body, fiery and stabbing through your veins, and he laughs again, a dark and wicked strain that vibrates from his chest into yours.

“Now,” he begins, the word slimy against your ear. “You’re going to be a good little girl for me and let your Master finish his meal.”

It isn’t a question, nor is it a request—it’s an order, and it’s an order he knows you’re desperate to obey.

Because, really, you live for him now, don’t you? Live to please him, to serve him, to make him proud. Because you’re nothing without him now, aren’t you? All of your self-worth wrapped up in your Owner, all of your purpose derived from him, all of your validation sitting heavy on his tongue, desperate to suck those vague compliments and shallow praises from his lips, to swallow them whole, always ravenous for more.

Because you’re just as greedy as he is, in a way. And he knows it.

And he loves it.

His hand wraps around your throat again, pressing his claws into the delicate flesh slow and forceful and procuring new trickles of blood, cascading down your neck in ribbons of crimson.

A groan spills past his lips as he nuzzles his cheek into the tiny wounds, daubing his face with you while his hips begin to increase in speed and force.

Starched cotton chafes the wound on your stomach as he humps away at you, the thin, firm muscles sculpting his thigh flexing against your cunt with each of his movements.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you’re weeping, stuttered by the hiccups catching in your chest.

“Aw, does it hurt? Huh?” he lifts his head slightly, glowing eyes scouring your face with voracity. “Am I—f-fuck—hurting you?”

The rolling of his hips judders a little as you bawl out a confirmation, gnarled and weighted with spit on your sloppy tongue, a whiny hiss sucked through the gaps of his clenched teeth.

It all hurts so much, the grinding of his shirt against the slits he’s carved into you and the rubbing of his thigh against your sensitive cunt and the digging of his tongue into his newest infliction.

It all hurts so much, but you don’t shove him off, don’t push at his shoulders or kick at his hips, arms winding around his shoulders and clutching, a leg entwining with his own, knee hooked over the back of his.

Sharp teeth bury themselves in the fresh slash, persistently oozing on your neck right above your jugular, and gnaw at the borders, raw skin splitting further beneath their razored edges. Another scream gurgles wetly in your throat, mangled by a sob, his responding gruff sound of pleasure seeping into the wound he’s feeding on, white-hot and buzzing.

The hair framing your temples is saturated with dense salt, the strands beginning to crust and dry in flat little knots against your skin, casualties of the beading sweat and ceaseless tears.

The flesh of your cheeks feels heated and sore, gone tight from the thick streams of dried tears that stain them, tiny remnants of salt streaking your face.

He must be getting close already, snarls panted out against your shoulder, uncoordinated movements accelerating with each noise you make, faster and faster and faster until finally his teeth sink into your unmarred shoulder, a shriek piercing the atmosphere as his hips stammer, grinding hard, and then still.

A vicious shudder courses through his entire form as his cock throbs, body rippling beneath the force of it. Hot cum fills his trousers, sticky and thick and so, so much, viscous dollops leaking through the fabric. It’s tacky and blazing against your hip, the little jolts of his pelvis rubbing it in crude bands across your skin.

Your fingers tighten, clinging to him, desperate for the comfort only he can bring, even as his strong jaw flexes and his teeth burrow deeper into soft flesh, embedded at least an inch or more, his tongue laving in messy strokes over the blood-slicked skin bunched between his lips.

“Master, Master, Master,” you’re sobbing into him, his breath harsh and stinging against the bite.

Everything aches, muscles pulled taut from agony and anticipation, heavy with tension. Tiny pricks of pain erupt across your body in waves, conjured with each brush of his clothing. Sobs and screeches have left your throat ripped open, every rush of air feeling like an inhalation of razor blades.

You’re still speaking, still chanting out his honoured title, but your ears have gone numb, your own voice unrecognizable, nothing more than a distinct vibration in your chest.

It’s only when his cock is beginning to soften that he finally dislodges his teeth from your body, licking over the carvings of his mouth once, twice, three times for good measure before his head raises to look at you.

The sight is stunning, kicks the breath from your lungs and the fog from your brain, attention suddenly honed on him, tuned into his frequency.

Strokes of crimson paint his jaw in messy smears, his tongue licking lazily at the blood coating his chin, streaking it further. It’s almost artful in a sickeningly intimate way, how he’s been glazed in you, your blood staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums, his skin shimmering with his own diluted drool.

His breathing is still frayed, cedar dyed with pungent copper breezing over your face in gentle huffs. A knuckle skims along your cheek, gaping gaze following it’s trajectory, his claws varnished a glittering scarlet, only a shade or two brighter than their natural colour.

“See?” he pants out, question airy on his tongue but infused with malice, eyes refocusing on your own. Something sinister tugs at the corners of his lips, broad smile stretching impossibly wider, peaked edges of his mouth nearly nudging his lower lashes. “Was that so difficult?”

#alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin smut #tw:blood #inky.alastor #inky.hazbin

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

Note

Hi!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! Could I please request prompt number 8 from the angst dialogue list for Charles Leclerc? Thank you!!!

# prompt no.8, "what do you want from me? to throw away all i've worked for?" // "all i'm asking for is your time."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Change was something you did not lightly graze over or dismiss with a nonchalant wave of your hand. It slowly seeped inside the cracks of your monaco apartment walls, finding solace in your discomfort. But once even a portion of it was there, there was no denying its presence.

Not when the dent of Charles' curves is no longer easy to trace; yours was everpresent, wallowing and growing familiar with the ache in your bones every time you'd wake up to an cold, empty bed.

Not when, despite being allocated time off from work, Charles had let his job consume him. Nipping at his heart and head, wrapped in a frantic worry of not living up to his potential. Lately, it was as if it held greater priority than the peace you'd once been able to bring him.

He's slouched on his chair, fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel of the simulator; his movements are jerky yet cautious, risky, yet he is all but willing. Standing at the burgundy doorframe, you felt like you'd regressed to the age of a toddler—thrashing in your father's hold, begging for an ounce of attention, of care.

"Charles?"

The word drifts away, following the breeze of the opened window, swirling in the starry night sky. He does not answer. That's fine, nothing new. Your lips part to the shape of his name again, timid and picking dutifully at your fingertips. An exhasperated huff escapes his mouth, latching on to the side of his headphones and not-so-lightly placing them on the table.

With gritted teeth and a slight crane to his neck, barely allowing you to enter his peripheral vision, he mutters, "Yes, y/n?"

"Dinner's ready," you house your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting patiently for the dismissive 'not hungry right now' that would roll off his tongue in mere moments.

And Charles does not fail you or your expectations. He motions a hand to his simulator, sending you a pitiful excuse of a sorry smile that makes your palms furl into fists.

"Charles, I said—"

"I know what you said, mon amour," he sighs, and the pet name feels foreign on his tongue and bitter to your ears. "'Can't leave the sim."

Any shame you have left dwindles next to your bruised ego and non-existent dignity.

"One dinner, Charles, 'won't even take twenty minutes out of your day." Your voice is small, directed towards the back of his head, satisfaction pricking at your heart when his hands freeze, sending him crashing through the virtual track.

Desperate, do you even care anymore?

Abruptly, he stands up, arms extended on the table, to steady himself. The shift in atmosphere made you gnaw at your lip harder, and the metallic crimson made you wince. Your feet are glued to the floor.

Charles turns, standing up right to face you. He looks normal, you realize. You've been trying to figure out how to breathewithout him near you, and he looks normal.

"What do you want from me? To throw away all I've worked for?" He raises a predatory brow, malice dripping from his tongue. "Eat, y/n. I'll probably order something later, but I'm not wasting my time with—with."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

With you, is left unspoken.

"All I'm asking for is your time." You meet his hard stare and refrain from cowering at the sight. "But it's obvious you don't give a fuck to at least give me that."

You don't run, but you'd never walked so frantically out of a room before. A small part of you is waiting for Charles to scurry behind you, shouting a 'wait! wait, y/n!'. Which would probably not grant him immediate forgiveness but perhaps warm the shivers coursing through your body.

He doesn't.

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cozage · 8 months

Note

Congratulations on hitting 2k🎉🎉

I really love your writing and I’d love to see how you think the op boys would react to their s/o getting jealous you could maybe do ace law and luffy?

Characters: gn reader x Ace, Law, Luffy Cw: Put your rose-colored glasses on, folks. Because we got some red flags (cough cough Law) Total word count: 1.6k

Jealous Reader

Ace

Ace is just being fun. He’s just too oblivious to realize the other people are flirting. He doesn’t notice the soft touches across his torso, or how they lean in closer to him every time they laugh. But you do.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” he said halfway through the night. “We can go, if you want.”

“Wouldn’t want to take you away from your fan club,” you spat back, venom in your words. But he either didn’t notice or he pretended not to.

“Yeah, they’re funny aren’t they?” He laughed. “They all buy me drinks whenever I tell a new story. Hospitality here is amazing!”

“Right.” You got up to leave. “Have fun with that.”

“What?” his brows furled together in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the ship.” And with that, you slammed the door closed.

A few seconds later, he’s racing after you into the crowded street.

This man has no idea what he did wrong, but he’s trying to make it right.

He abandons everyone in that bar without even a goodbye, and as his fingers lace through yours, you can’t help but feel a little better about that.

He kisses your cheek and follows you closely, not wanting you to get away from him. He knows you all need to talk, but he also knows this crowded street isn’t the place to do it.

When you all get back to your room, you try to break away from him, but he pulls you into an embrace, strong warm arms wrapping around you.

“You’re the only one I have eyes for, you know that right?” he said, rubbing your back lightly.

“Didn’t feel like it tonight,” you mumbled harshly.

“Well you are.” He tilted your face up so he could cover it with kisses. “I just use those people to get free drinks.”

“I know,” you whispered, leaving your head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. “Doesn’t make it any easier to watch though.”

“Okay.” Ace kissed the top of your head. “Won’t do it anymore.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Of course!” He kissed your lips now, gently reminding you that he was all yours. “Your feelings aren’t worth some free booze.”

Law

Of course this woman was some fancy doctor. Of course Law had read her book. All her books. And now he had been gone from your all’s table for almost thirty minutes to talk to her.

She wasn’t just polite. She was friendly. Overly friendly. You had watched as she had scooted closer and closer to your boyfriend, minimizing the gap between their bodies.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You got up from your seat and ignored the snickering of Shachi and Penguin from the table.

“Law, dear.” You gave a strained smile to him and the woman. ��I hate to rush you, but we’re kind of on a schedule.”

Law stood, still staring at the woman. “Wow! The time really flew by. Thanks for letting me pick your brain.”

“Oh doctor,” the woman cooed, a seductive smile on her face. “The pleasure was all mine. Feel free to find me any time you want to have a…chat”

“Thanks for being patient,” Law said as the two of you walked away. “It’s not often I-”

“Let’s go,” you said to the others as you walked past the table, not pausing for a moment. “The captain made us late.”

You don’t use “Captain” often. And based on your tone, Law had to guess he was in trouble.

The snickers from Shachi and Penguin weren’t helping either. They had surely watched you become more and more irritated as time went on, so they had a pretty good idea of what was going on,

“Can you give me some pointers? Any warnings?” Law mumbled to his crewmates, desperate to get a read on your emotions.

“You don’t know what you did?” Penguin asked as Shachi burst into laughter, causing all three of them to receive a glaring look from you

When you got back to the Polar Tang, you made a beeline for your bedroom. Law didn’t follow. He assumed you needed a bit to cool off. Plus he wanted to check out another book from the woman he had just met.

After a few hours, Law rubbed his drooping eyes, and finally decided to see you again. He still had no idea why you were so upset.

You were asleep in the bed, but you had built a pillow divider between his side in yours. He rolled his eyes and quickly pulled the pillows away, curling into you.

You tried to push him away, proving you weren’t asleep, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Can you tell me why you have such an attitude?”He was irritated, and you laughed at the irony. You were the one who was supposed to be irritated, not him.

“Why don’t you go ask that famous doctor since you care about her more than-”

He scoffed, cutting you off. “You can’t be serious.”

You stared at him for a long moment, and then turned away from him, pouting at his words.

“I’ve read her books, that’s all. Can you stop acting like a child with this petty jealousy?”

His words tipped you over the edge. “I’ll stop acting like a child when you treat me like an equal!” you yelled. You rose to your feet and quickly strode out the door, slamming it behind you.

Oh, he really fucked up now. His tongue was always getting him in trouble.

He scoured the Polar Tang, searching for you. He finally found you on the couch and curled up next to you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That was really insensitive of me to say. If the situation were reversed, I would be upset too. I’ll do better in the future, okay?”

You gave him a slight nod, and he quickly shambled you both back to the bed to get some much-needed sleep.

Luffy

“Oh, Hancock is coming, right?!” Luffy asked. “I like her!”

“And we all know how she feels about you,” you mumbled under your breath. Your comment sparked laughter from Nami, causing Luffy’s attention to drift over to you.

“What’s funny?” He asked. “I want to be in on the joke!”

“Nothing,” you grumbled. You could see Boa Hancock’s ship in the ocean, and your stomach churned with dread. “Sanji, do you need any help in the kitchen?”

Working with Sanji had been a bad idea. Boa Hancock was beautiful. And while you could hear her fawning over your boyfriend on the deck, Sanji fawned over her in the kitchen

It was only thirty minutes before you gave up and retreated to your room. You were in a bad mood, but this was a celebration, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

Luffy entered the kitchen looking for two things: Meat and you. “Sanji! Y/N-hey, where are they?”

Sanji shrugged. “Said they weren’t feeling well. Not sure.”

Luffy headed to your all’s room. Now that he thought about it, you had been off. You hadn’t been chatty or smiled most of the day, and he was starting to get worried you were really sick.

As you heard the turn of the doorknob, you quickly wiped away your stray tears. But your eyes were still red and puffy.

“Oh man!” Luffy sat down next to you on the bed, staring at your face. “Your allergies are terrible! You should’ve told me, we could’ve moved to another season ecosystem!”

His idiocy made you let out a garbled laugh, trying to hide your true feelings about the party.

“It’s fine,” you said, shaking your head. But your bottom lip trembled, giving you away.

“You’ve been crying.” He stated it as a fact, not a question. He knew you too well for you to hide your tears for long. He smushed your cheeks together and held your face so you couldn’t avoid his gaze any longer. “Did Sanji make you cry?”

“No.” You tried to pull away from his grip, but he clamped down on your cheeks so you couldn’t escape. He wouldn’t let you leave his gaze until he figured out what was wrong.

While you were here alone with him, all your worries felt so silly. Luffy didn’t even realize Hancock was in love with him. If you brought it up now, you’d be causing a big scene.

“It’s stupid,” you whispered, but he only frowned at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Luffy!” Hancock called from behind the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you in there? Should I come in?”

You rolled your eyes at her voice. Of course she came to find him. He had been gone for too long, and he was the only reason she was here.

You tried to hide your disdain for the empress, but Luffy caught it, and his eyes widened. “You don’t like her!” he whispered.

“Luffy, can we not do this right now?” you hissed, and the door opened.

“Oh!” Hancock blushed seeing you and Luffy so close, but she glared daggers at you. “I didn’t realize you were with someone, Luffy.”

Luffy’s eyes slid between you and her, trying to figure it out. He was so close to the revelation, but he just couldn’t get there.

The three of you rejoined the party reluctantly, but Luffy kept you close to him for the rest of the night.

He’s always been a physical touch person, and tonight you were grateful for it. He was always holding your hand or had his arm wrapped around you. He stayed close, and even though you got death stares from Hancock, at least you had Luffy by your side to make it more manageable.

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