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inkykeiji · 19 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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michelleleewise · 1 year

Text

Bewitched

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Warnings: somnophilia, thigh riding, masturbation, spells gone wrong, "sex-pollen" type fic, swearing, dirty talk, loki speaking Norwegian, swearing, mildly explicit smut, unprotected sex, penatration (p in v), fluffy ending.

Summary: you borrowed a book from Loki's personal library, and weren't prepared for the consequences.....

A/n-graphics by @harlequin-hangout. This story inspired by my dear @mochie85 and her amazing story "Pheromones". Thank you so much my dear for all your help and support!! This story absolutely got away from me, it's definitely longer so be prepared 💚💚

You walked into Loki's room, slowly closing the door behind you making your way to his overly large book case. He had been away on a mission for the last week, but told you to feel free to borrow whatever you wished. Carefully putting back the ones you had borrowed you browsed his large collection. Running your fingers along the spines you couldn't help smile, knowing you were one of the only ones, if not the only one allowed in his room, let alone allowed to borrow his books.

Over the last year you had grown close to the God, being born with powers you didn't understand, let alone control had made your life burdensome. You didn't have many friends, your family had basically disowned you, dropping you at an orphanage. Apparently you were too unpredictable for them to handle. But Loki had taken you under his wing, helped you understand your abilities, even training you to control them. On more then one occasion telling you how proud he was of you....calling you his "little witch" making your heart flutter.

You wandered over to his personal books, ones he had been able to save and being back with him when they had to leave Asgard and come to earth. You pulled out one of the larger volumes, Your fingers running over the golden runes inscribed on the cover. Tucking it under your arm remembering you could translate it with your phone you walked back towards the door, glancing around seeing his daggers displayed on the wall, his desk neatly organized not a thing out of place. A warm feeling running over you picturing him laying on the couch reading...sitting at the desk writing some long letter, his long slender fingers wrapped around his pen.

A shudder running through you thinking about those fingers gliding aross your skin, gently wrapping around your throat as he took what he wanted from you, claiming you for his. You shook the images out of your head remembering he was your friend, your mentor, your teacher. He would never see you as you saw him. Sighing you hugged the book to your chest, grabbing the knob turning the lights off as you closed his door, smiling as you made your way back to your room excited to see what knowledge the book contained.

"AGAIN!" Loki yelled, throwing another green blast at you, deflecting it just in time as another came out of nowhere knocking you off your feet. You laid on your back trying to catch your breath when he came over looking down at you "have you not kept up your training in my absence?" He asked crossing his arms "y...yes...i...have." You panted grabbing your chest "then you would not be so easy to defeat. On your feet, we are going again." He said sternly walking out of your vision. You sat up watching him walk to the other side of the room, he looked powerful, regal, you would give him the world if you could. "I said up...now!" He yelled making you jump.

You got to your feet, bringing your hands up holding them out emitting a purple glow, watching his glow green. "This time you shall have no warning, you must react on instinct y/n." He said as you nodded, planting your feet in a defensive stance, watching him slowly stalk around you. Your anxiety rose as your eyes followed him, traveling between his hands and his face seeing him smirk. You saw something in your peripheral, turning slightly to see what it was you were hit in the chest hard by Loki's seidr, once again landing on your back. "Y/n where are you? You are not focusing!" He yelled as you sat up rubbing your chest.

"Loki, I'm only....ow human. What do you...." you were cut off as he drug you up to your feet, gripping your shoulders "you are not merely human y/n, your are...more." He said clenching his jaw "and I expect more from you then what you are giving me." He snapped as you looked to the floor "i..I'm sorry, it's just.." you started "don't be sorry, be better. How am i to be sure you will be alright out there hmm?" He asked as you looked back up at him, the green of his eyes seeming to glow "how will I know...." he started, feeling his thumb rubbing your arm, his eyes shooting to your lips and back. "Loki..." you whispered when he dropped his hands "I expect better next session." He said storming towards the door, leaving you alone with your wounded pride.

You made it back to your room, the look of disappointment on Loki's face was burned into your mind as you walked to the bathroom. You knew when he came back from missions he was like this. Harder, firmer, more demanding, but it didn't hurt any less seeing that look. "I'll never be good enough." You sighed, turning the shower on you slipped your training clothes off, throwing them in the corner as you stepped into the shower, the hot water making you wince as it hit your sore muscles. You wanted to be better, to impress him but it seemed to be a losing battle. You sighed, wrapping a towel around you you walked into your bedroom. Putting on a tank top and some sleep shorts you walked into the living room.

Flopping down on the couch you saw Loki's book on the coffee table. You hadn't had a chance to look at it yet with everything that had been going on, but now would be as good a time as any. You got up, grabbing your phone and a piece of paper and pen you sat back down, opening the book to a random page seeing the runes running along one side, a picture of a heart engulphed in flames on the other. You slid to the floor, opening your phone you went down the page finding the word for each rune writing down the translation, smiling as you reached the end. "Ok, now let's see what your saying." You said to yourself leaning back.

Hearts Desire

Suns shine, and moons shimmer,

Love and passion meet in shadow,

The fire burns, the flames grow higher,

The body yearns, the hunger grows,

Only sated by your hearts desire...

As you recited the last line you saw the book begin to glow on the table, the runes shimmering with a gold light on the page before suddenly stopping. "What the..." you said to yourself, running your fingers across the page feeling a shock in your fingers making you pull your hand back. "Ooook, I think that's enough reading for tonight." You said, carefully closing the book you put you phone down as you stood up feeling light headed. "Time for bed." You said Turning the lights off you climbed under the covers. Knowing you had another training session with Loki tomorrow you closed your eyes, willing sleep to take you.

You rolled over, groaning as the blankets stuck to your damp skin. Looking at the clock seeing it was just past midnight you sighed. You put your hand on your forehead wiping the sweat away "why is it so hot in here?" You breathed, throwing the covers off you went to stand feeling your knees try to buckle. "I better not be getting sick" you said to yourself slowly making your way to the thermostat seeing it was still set at a cool sixty degrees. "What the hell." You turned on the ac, going back to bed you layed down, the cool sheets making you sigh as you closed your eyes trying to go back to sleep.

Images flashed in your mind. Long dark hair...deep green eyes that seemed to penatrate your soul...long fingers running up your thighs, moving up to slowly caress your clit..."Come to me darling...I need you." You heard furrowing your eyebrows feeling the fingers slide down towards your entrance. "Come....now!" The voice growled as the fingers pushed inside you waking you with a gasp. You shot up, looking around into the dark room seeing you were alone "Holy hell." You panted rubbing your eyes. You scooted forward feeling the wetness between your legs, your body covered in a sheen of sweat "maybe a shower will help." You sighed, scooting off the bed, the friction of your shorts against your core making moan as you braced the wall. "That must have been some dream." You thought making your way to the bathroom.

You turned on the cold water, stepping inside you let out a deep breath. You felt like your were burning from the inside out. You closed your eyes standing under the spray when the images returned. You hand slowly sliding down between your thighs, opening yourself up as you saw Loki...standing before you In nothing but his leather pants, slowly stalking towards you with a hunger in his eyes "come to me pet...I must have you." He purred, reaching out his large hand he wrapped it around your throat, his eyes boring into you. You worked your fingers through your folds, circling your clit feeling a shiver run through you as he leaned down, feeling his breath on your neck "I will give you pleasure as you have never known...all you must do is...come." He said sternly.

"L..loki..." you moaned, feeling your orgasm wash over you, pressing your thighs together at the feeling. You opened your eyes seeing the white tile wall "god...if only." You panted. You finished washing up, wrapping a towel around you you grabbed another tank top and clean shorts you sat on the bed, the pressure on your core making you moan. "What is happening?" You said to yourself shaking your head. You had dreamt of Loki before...numerous times but usually a little self care would sate your lust until the next dream, but now it only seemed to make things worse. You slipped your clothes on, feeling your body begin to heat up again, worse then before. "A...am I dying?" You said to yourself, gripping the side of the bed goaning as another wave of pleasure rolled over you.

Your eyes shot open remembering the book, the letters glowing as you read from it. "Oh shit...I cursed myself." You said rubbing your temples feeling sweat beading on your skin. "L...loki! I need to talk to loki, he'll...ahhh...know what to do." You moaned, slowly standing up feeling another wave push through you. Looking over seeing it was past two in the morning. "Well, I hope he's awake." You sighed, making your way to the door, nails digging into the handle as a another wave washed over you, your core feeling like it's om fire "I....ahh....better hurry." You moaned, quickly making your way to the elevator you pressed the button hard as the next wave hit you making you knees buckle. "Aahh fuck.." you moaned gripping the wall.

You made it to his floor, slowly walking out of the elevator you braced yourself on the wall, another hit you hard bringing you to your knees. "Holy shit..." you panted, standing up you felt the wetness between your thighs soaking your shorts. "L..loki..." you moaned making it to his door. You pressed your forehead to it, sighing as the cold wood met your hot skin. "Loki..." you breathed, knocking to be met with silence. Your thighs clenched together as you tried to knock again, still not getting a response you gripped the handle, turning it finding it unlocked. "Oh thank God." You sighed slowly pushing the door open.

You stepped inside, quietly closing the door looking around the dark room. Your body shivered as the scent of pine and sandalwood washed over you. You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts "Lo..." you started, wincing feeling the skin under your ear burn, putting your hand over it feeling your skin hot to the touch. "Fuck.." you whispered looking back across the room, seeing the bedroom door slightly ajar. You walked towards it, you mind getting hazier the closer you got. "L..loki..." you whispered, slowly pushing the door open, the moonlight streaming through the window giving the room a soft glow when your eyes met his sleeping form, biting your lip seeing the sheet pooled around his hips, revealing his bare chest.

You opened your mouth trying to say his name, a moan coming out in its place as you gripped the door knob, leaning over as your head swam. Squeezing your thighs together you stood up, your vision hazy as you walked towards the bed, slowly making your way across the bed, running your fingers along the soft sheets looking down at him. You stood at the side of the large bed, his long hair splayed across the pillow making your hand twitch, you needed to touch it...now. You leaned down, slowly sliding back the sheets hearing him groan lightly as you climbed in next to him, carefully scooting towards him pressing your front to his side hearing him sigh.

You leaned up on your elbow, reaching your hand up you gently moved his hair exposing his long neck, smiling seeing a small freckle under his ear. You leaned down pressing a gentle kiss to it, his skin warm on your lips hearing him groan. You continued peppering small kisses to his neck as your hand slowly slid across his stomach, moaning as your fingers found the light patch of hair that traveled down. flattening your palm your hand slid down, feeling his muscles tense as your fingers grazed his adonis belt. "Loki.." you whispered against his skin as you went lower, your fingers running through the tuft of hair just above what you wanted most. "Y/n.." he moaned softly, freezing hearing him say your name, looking up seeing his eyes still closed.

Was he dreaming about you..you thought as your lips pressed back to his skin feeling his head turn slightly. Your pressed your thigh over his as your hand found what it was searching for, smiling feeling him hard as you slowly wrapped your fingers around him, groaning as you realized you couldn't get them all the way around him. "Mmm..god..." you moaned into his neck as you slowly moved your hand up and down, stoking him as you teeth grazed his skin. You groaned feeling him twitch in your hand as his hips rocked upwards meeting your strokes. "Mmm... I need you so bad." You whispered into his ear hearing his breath hitch.

You slowly rocked your hips against his thigh in rhythm with your hand. Tightening your grip you stoked him harder, your lips traveling to his collar bone as you squeezed your thigh against him, the friction on your clit sending electricity through you. "Y...y/n..." he groaned as your teeth grazed his collar bone. "Loki..." you breathed into his skin feeling him stiffen "w...what are you...ahhh...." he hissed grabbing your wrist stopping your movements. You looked up at him, his eyes wide as he stared at you "i...I need to feel you." You panted, releasing your grip on him you threw your leg over him, straddling his hips.

"Wait...y/n..." he trailed off trying to grab your hands as you tried to shift the sheet off of him. "P..please loki i...i need you." You panted, lifting your hips trying to get the sheet out from under you. "Y/n...stop this at once." He demanded as you looked into his eyes, a shudder running through you "i..I cant.." you whispered, leaning back you reached for the sheets again "Y/n...wait..." he said as you felt another wave slam into you, bracing yourself on his chest you rocked your hips against his erection, moaning at the friction when he suddenly bucked his hips, flipping you onto your back as he settled over you, pinning your wrists above your head in one large hand. He took in your appearance, seeing the sweat beading on your skin, your skin like fire under his hands. "What are you doing y/n?" He asked sternly as you dug your nails into your palm "i..need you." You whispered.

"You are not yourself, What did you do?" Loki asked sternly eyeing you. "Nothing! I just....please...." you pleaded, bringing your hips up as he pushed them back down with his other hand. "Y/n, I will not ask again, what..." he started as his eyes went to your neck, reaching up he grabbed your chin turning your head "all I did was borrow a few books while you were gone." You said shakely, feeling sweat pooling on your skin as his eyes met yours again "which books?" He asked still gripping your chin. "I..I don't know i..." you started "Dammit woman, which ones did you take?" He yelled making you shiver "i..I don't know the title...I just t..translated a page." You said shakely feeling your eyes burn. "P..please loki...I feel like I'm dying." You said feeling a tear escape your eye, traveling to your hair as he turned your head back.

He released your chin, his fingers ghosted over the skin of your neck, moaning when he touched where it burned the most, your thighs gripping his sides feeling another wave of arousal wash over you, your walls clenching around nothing. "Hearts desire..." he whispered splaying his large hand against your neck. "It appears you borrowed one of my spell books and...enchanted yourself." He said as his eyes met yours again. "A..m i...am I dying?" You whimpered feeling another tear fall as he wiped it away with his thumb "no my dear, you are not dying, not yet anyway" He said "but, your condition will worsen until you body becomes too hot and starts to shut down." He said feeling your forehead "how long ago did this happen?" He asked "a..a few hours or so." You said as he nodded. "H..how do I make it s..stop?" You asked shakely as he looked down "the only way to cure Hearts Desire is to become one with the one you...love." he whispered as your eyes widened.

A sob escaped you as he released your hands, leaning back slightly watching you "i...im s...sorry loki, I...I didn't want you to find out like this, or ever. i..." you cried, covering your face with your hands "I'm s...sorry." you said again as you shifted, trying to get out from under him when he grabbed your hips. "Where are you going?" He asked making you look at him "i...I've ruined everything with my stupidity and...." you rambled, feeling his finger prsss to your lips, it taking all your will power not to wrap your lips around it. "You need to calm down darling, your getting warmer." He said shifting closer to you "did you not hear me, your condition will worsen." He said sternly "i am going to help you." He said cupping your cheek "n..no! You don't have to do that, i..I'll just..." you trailed off "pleasure yourself? It will only make it worse." He said, gripping the sheets as you felt another roll through you, your nerve endings igniting making you whimper.

"Those sounds...you have no idea what you do to me my little witch." He groaned, pressing his hips to yours, feeling his erection rub against your clit "g..god....loki...." you moaned wrapping your arms around his back. "Let me take care of you." He whispered, leaning down pressing a kiss to your neck making your hips jerk. "I can smell you..." he groaned, rocking his hips into you as he leaned back, hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts, slowly sliding them down your legs "no panties hmm?" He purred, tossing them across the room. "I...they were dirty." You stuttered as he lowered himself back between your spread legs. "Oh, im sure they were my little vixen." He smiled, leaning down pressing a kiss to your collar bone.

You moaned feeling his hand slide up your thigh, slipping between you as his teeth grazed the top of your breast "mmm....you are soaking darling." He said, his long fingers gliding through your folds making you arch up into him. "P...please Loki...." you panted, screwing your eyes shut. You felt him shift, pulling the sheet from between you as his cock pressing into your thigh, precum smearing across your skin as he lined himself at your entrance "open those eyes for me, I want to see you as I take you." He growled. You opened your eyes, looking down seeing his cock begin to push into you. "Look at me." He said, as your eyes shot up to his "så vakker.." he whispered, pressing his hips forward, your nails digging into his back as he inched inside you, stretching you to your limit.

"Norns! Your so...warm, so...aahhh tight." He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as he jerked his hips forward, knocking the wind out of you as he bottomed out. "Holy...fuck..." you panted, spreading your legs further apart as he pulled out to his tip, thrusting back in. You felt your body tingle as he slowly rocked in and out, keeping his pace slow. "L..loki....harder....fuck me....harder." you growled, sliding your hands down to his ass pulling him into you. "A...as you...mmm...wish." He growled, pulling out as he slammed into you, jolting you up the bed "oh fuck...yes..." you yelled, burying your face in his neck biting the skin under his ear hearing him growl.

"F...fuck....I can feel you...ahh squeezing me darling." He panted, snapping his hips hard, his pelvic bone hitting your clit with each thrust making your cry out. "I..I'm gonna..." you breathed, digging your nails into his cheeks as he pushed you up the bed. "Mm...min lille heks...ahhh...hvor jeg har lengtet etter deg." He said, slipping into his native tongue making you shudder. "kom for meg ... melk kuken min." He growled, slamming into you hard, your head hitting the headboard as your orgasm flooded over you, your walls clenching hard around him "c..come with me loki...fuck...let me feel you." You panted, feeling him twitch inside you as his hips met yours, holding himself in you as he spilled deep inside you. "Fuck...y/n J...Jeg elsker deg." He panted, dropping his head to your shoulder, his warm breath fanning against your skin.

He slowly pulled out, shifting to lay next to you as you stared at the ceiling. You pulled the sheet up covering yourself feeling your skin start to cool off, your mind clearing as you glanced over, seeing his eyes closed. You looked back to the ceiling, a knot forming in your stomach as you thought about what just happened. "Your thinking too loudly." He said making you look over at him, your eyes meeting his. "Im...I'm sorry Loki, about all of this." You said, pulling the sheet back starting to get up when you felt his hand on your shoulder pushing you back down as he leaned up on his elbow looking down at you

He reached up feeling your forehead smiling "how are you feeling my dear?" He asked tucking your hair behind your ear "b..better." you said looking down. "Is it true?" He asked, his eyes staring into you "umm..i...well you see..." you tried, looking back to the ceiling, feeling his fingers genlty grab your chin making you look at him. "Yes loki, it's true." You said gripping the sheet. He leaned down gently pressing his lips to yours, his tongue slowly sliding across your bottom lip. A warmth filled you, your toes curling feeling his tongue gently pass your lips, cupping your cheek as his tongue tangled with yours, his lips impossibly soft against your own as he claimed your mouth, biting your lip as he pulled back looking at. "Be mine y/n." He breathed, pressing his forehead to yours "i..what?" You asked tilting your head up "I have wanted you for so long, i would like to court you." He said smiling "y..yes Loki, I would like that very much." You smiled back as he pulled you towards him, laying on his back guiding your head to his shoulder "get some rest my dear, we can talk more tomorrow." He said running his fingers through your hair as you wrapped your arm around his middle "and y/n...no more books." He said making you laugh "ok, no more books." You agreed, closing your eyes slipping off to sleep listening to the steady beat of his heart....

Translations-

hvor jeg har lengtet etter deg-how i have longed for you

min lille heks-my little witch

Jeg elsker deg-i love you

kom for meg ... melk kuken min-come for me...milk my cock

så vakker-so beautiful

@vbecker10 @lokisgoodgirl @springdandelixn @kinky-faerie @xorpsbane @midnights-ramblings @simping-for-marvel @holdmytesseract @kkdvkyya @slpnbty2001 @lokixryss @vane28282 @violethaze @coldnique @aniar4wniak @nate-ate-hate @buttercupcookies-blog @brattymum96 @dukes2581 @your-taste-on-my-lips @mybaby @blog-the-lilly @irishhappiness @sinsandguilt @filthyhiddles @lovebyloki @kikster606 @javagirl328 @misunderstoodself @highkeysimpingforloki @eleniblue @commanding-officer @athalialaufeyson @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokiandbuckysdoll @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @high-functioning-lokipath @kittiowolf210 @slytherclaw1227 @joyfullymassivewhispers @wolfsmom1 @libbybeaz @lokikissesmyforehead @goblingirlsarah @thomase1

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lehguru · 1 year

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CALLING THEM MY LOVE + BLLK BOYS

characters: itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru + michael kaiser

warnings: this is a request! not proofread (we die like men right where we stand), gender neutral + requests are open ! check pinned post for requesting rules

itoshi sae raises his eyebrows as soon as the words leave your lips. you notice he is about to leave your shared apartment and you give him a soft kiss; "don't go too hard on yourself, my love". while the rest of his expression remained the same, the way his eyebrows shoot up was so obvious you noticed it immediately. sae wrapped one of his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. 'don' worry, baby... can you call me like that again?'

itoshi rin would never expect you to say that. he was having some struggles; his body was exhausted, but he felt like he didn't practice enough that day. when you found him in the treadmill, not even five minutes after he arrived home, your heart immediately stopped. he looked like he could pass out at any moment. "are you okay, my love?!" you exclaimed, running up to him. he tripped softly, making you even more worried, and his wide eyes looked at you. 'w-what?' his breathless self held your hands that pressed against his sweaty face. 'i'm...your love?'

isagi yoichi have the sweetest pet names for you. he's always calling you cute things, a big smile on his face whenever he does it, so you thought you could give him a soft pet name too. that day, he and his friends organized a small meet up and your boyfriend seemed so hyped for it. before he left, he walked to you and pressed kisses all over your face, his arms wrapping you in a big bear hug. "have fun, my love!" you murmured between giggles. the smile he gave you was enough to make you melt in his embrace. he pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose and 'i love you so much!'

bachira meguru gives you the biggest and brightest smile as soon as the pet name leaves your lips. "my love, can you come here?" you say and, when you blink, he is immediately jumping in front of you, almost doing a little dance out of happiness. before you can say what you wanted to, he throws himself in your arms, burying his face on your neck. 'my love? hm, i really reaaaaally like that! i am your love, after all!'

calling michael kaiser with any pet name wouldn't be a good idea. that man already have a big inflated ego, his beloved partner giving him such sweet names would only inflate it even more. "my love! you were amazing today!" you say when he arrives home after a game. the smirk that he wore on his lips grew larger as he hugged you tight against his body. 'of course. your husband will always be the best man in the field. can i get a kiss as a reward, my love?'

2023 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used on them belong to their respective creators!!

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exhaslo · 4 months

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Puzzle Pieces Ch12

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11

Warning: Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex, praise

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"Fascinating. Your family runs that supermarket chain." Miguel's smile was mischievous, "And you can't leave why again?" He asked you sweetly.

"Um, they...they want me to t-take over the business, b-but I really don't...like working there..." You admitted.

Music to Miguel's ears. You slowly placed your fork in your mouth, slowly chewing on your vegetables. You had a hesitated expression. What else was there?

"I'm sure...you've noticed, b-but I'm an only child...My um, parents didn't really...pay much attention t-to me. A-All I know and was t-told that I will t-take over the family business..." You whispered. Miguel reached for you hand, giving it a gentle squeeze,

"You can tell them no." His tone got lower as you started to shake, "You can do whatever you want."

"N-No one...w-wanted to hire me...b-because of my s-stuttering-" You whimpered softly.

"I'm hiring you. I can talk to your parents."

Miguel leaned forward to wipe your tears away, not wanting other people to see you cry. Those tears were for him to protect. Now Miguel knew that it wasn't just your ex he had to teach a lesson, but your parents as well.

Wanting to cheer you up, Miguel decided to order you some dessert. Tapping his finger against the table, Miguel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Your smile had returned for the moment, but what else was going to threaten it?

"Now then, cariño (sweetheart). Will you take my offer and not go to work at that shitty place and be my personal assistant?" Miguel asked you once more.

"I-I'll have to let me pa-"

"You're an adult. Telling them might not be in your best interest." Miguel saw your body tense up, "I would love to tell them for you, baby, but this is your decision."

No, it wasn't. Miguel was lying through his teeth. He was going to find a way to get you to quit your job.

"I-I won't tell them...If I do then...t-they will j-just bring up-" You paused and took another bite of your dessert, "T-They always did treat my ex like a son." You whispered harshly.

Miguel's smile twitched for a moment. Things just kept getting better, didn't they? Not wanting to sour your mood anymore, Miguel paid for the meal and offered to take you out to more entertaining places now. You agreed and followed him back to the car.

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You were flustered as Miguel let you stay at his place again. No matter how many times you slept over, it still felt so strange. It was as if you were at home. You knew better to assume since you were still very early in your relationship with him, but it felt so right.

The moment all of your things arrived, you wanted to sort them out, but Miguel had them taken to an empty walk in closet. Your eyes sparkled at the size since it was larger than your current bedroom. You gasped in awe before noticing that Miguel had started to place your bags in certain areas.

"This closet is yours. Organize as you want, I'm going to shower." Miguel said as he kissed your hand. Your jaw nearly dropped,

"B-But-"

"Eventually, I would like to share this place with you, when you're ready of course," Miguel chuckled lowly.

You bit you lower lip, feeling your heart race a mile a minute as Miguel stepped out of the closet. That was an invitation basically to move in with him. The question was, were you ready? You still haven't recovered from your last relationship.

You were still healing.

Glancing around the closet once more, you slowly started to put your new clothes in their places. Miguel was different. He treated you kindly and with respect. Miguel always spoke softly to you and never once threaten to hit you.

Even so, you were still healing and weren't ready to move in.

And that's okay.

Miguel understood perfectly, which was why he only offered the idea to your leisure. Humming quietly, you finished putting away all of your new clothes and shoes. Your eyes sparkled once you found the bags with your plushes and puzzles.

"Miggy, is it okay...if...if I scatter the stuffed animals around?" You asked, poking your head into the bathroom.

"Of course, baby."

"Yai~ T-Thank you~" You chirped.

You smiled wide as you held your flustered cheeks. All of these cute nicknames Miguel kept calling you made your heart flutter. Stocking the empty bookshelf from before with more puzzles, you jumped in joy at the sight. Maybe soon you'll be ready to move in with Miguel.

Next was your new mountain of plushes. You wanted to be subtle with your placement. Some went on the couch, some in the guest room, some in some other rooms you didn't know existed, and finally-the bedroom.

You looked at your remaining plushes and placed them on Miguel's bed, wanting to make sure they didn't take up too much room.

"You promise to still cuddle with me and not those, right, ¿Mi pequeño conejito? (my little bunny)" Miguel whispered in your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"O-Of course!" You squeaked, melting under his touch, "I-I'm g-going to shower..."

"What's mine is yours," Miguel pecked your neck, his lustful gaze staring into your soul, "I'll be waiting,"

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Once you were sound asleep, Miguel decided to make his move. He got off the bed and put his clothes back on. Before leaving for the night, he approached the bed and kissed the top of your head. Everything he was about to do was for you.

And would benefit him as well.

Heading down stairs to his driver, Miguel loaded up the supermarket security footage from earlier. A low growl escaping his lips as he watched Eddie demand your presence. If only there were sound. Miguel just wanted to hear the fucker call himself your boyfriend.

"Keep that up and you might scare even the machines," Lyla teased as you stepped outside the elevator, "You won't believe what else we found on this Eddie guy."

"I'm already going to personally kill him slowly, what else can there be?" Miguel spat as they approached his car.

"Well Peter with the green hair-"

"Que? (What?)"

"Sorry, we had waaaaay too many Peters so I told some of them to do something different. So Peter P. Parker dyed his hair green, Peter J. Parker got an ear piercing-"

"I get it." Miguel rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I'm sure none of the other families have this many people with the same name."

"Hey, we're working with it. Anyway, enough about the Peters, back to this Eddie guy." Lyla huffed as they sat in the car, "Peter with the green hair was watching the footage to some of the others and one of the Venom druggies we caught was reacting to the footage."

"Oh?"

"He was calling Eddie their king." Lyla said with a wide grin. Miguel scoffed,

"So, we're killing two birds with one stone? Perfect. Just fucking perfect," Miguel chuckled darkly as he leaned back in his seat, "How's the hunt for the drug source?"

"We're tackling every warehouse, port and abandoned or for lease buildings. Eventually we're going to find out where their distributing the new drug."

"Good. We need to get it off the streets. The normies are getting their hands on it." Miguel hissed lowly. Lyla looked at her phone,

"Not even the other mafia families want to get involved. Plus, it took forever for our men to recover from the drug that they took by accident." She explained before glancing at Miguel's angry visage, "Anyway, seems to be going great with (Y/N)."

"Thanks for reminding me, you're finally going to get that girl day you've been wanting. Tomorrow take (Y/N) shopping for whatever she wants."

"As excited as I am, didn't you just take her shopping today?" Lyla said, not even trying to hide her glee. Miguel glanced out the window, spotting his base,

"She's on the hunt for something else. She'll tell you."

"Ohhhh, this is going to be great!!! I'll gladly take the day off!" Lyla chirped and started to text some others.

"It's not a day off." Miguel sighed as he stepped out of the car, "But there is no point convincing you further."

"Oh, it's going to be great. Anyway, basement."

Miguel rolled his eyes slightly as he made his way into the basement. The sound of his footsteps echoing across the building. Lyla followed behind only until they reached a large metal door. She gave a slight wave and stayed behind with the guards.

Miguel glared into the room, spotting several of Eddie's goonies tied up on the floor. Miguel had his men stand against the wall as he loosen his tie. His smirk widening as he held a small bag of drugs in front of the goodies-who went crazy.

"Awe, do you cerdos (pigs) want this?" Miguel's tone was dark and cruel, "I can give this to you, if you help me out."

"No! We will not listen to you!" One of the men yelled. Miguel chuckled lowly as he walked over and grabbed the man by the hair,

"We just need one of you." His smile never fading as he tossed the man into a separate room, "Take care of him."

"Yes, sir," Peter and Ben said in unison, entering the other room.

"Now, do we have a deal?" Miguel asked, shaking the bag of drugs in front of the druggies, "I just want some information...and a location."

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Hearing your phone buzz, you let out a small whimper as you reached for it. Wincing slightly, you wanted to complain about Miguel being rough again. You grabbed your phone and saw that it was still very early in the morning.

You laid back into the bed and noticed that Miguel was gone too. There was small note on your phone, stating that he had some urgent business at Alchemax. Believing him, your attention returned to your phone which started to buzz again.

"M-Mom?" You whispered in shock, surprised to see a call from her.

"Don't act so surprised, child. I'm allowed to call my child, aren't I?" She huffed over the line.

"S-Sorry, t-this was the f-first time y-"

"Stop stuttering. Your father and I have some news for you." You mom stated. You slowly sat up, feeling your nerves kick in,

"W-What i-is...is i-it?"

"We've decided to approve of your engagement with Eddie. We'll start the plans for the wedding immediately, so get your act together and do not lose him."

Your heart sank. You had ran away from that hell only for your parents to sink you back into it. Unable to stop shaking as tears rolled down your cheeks, you just ended up hanging up on your mother. You stared down at the blanket, taking notice of Miguel's love bites all over your scars.

"I-I have to t-tell M-Miguel!"

Ready or not, you had to escape from your past.

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 4 months

Text

(I'm sorry it took me so long, I realized I wanted to participate in Kinktober after my ask box filled up with requests, then life got crazy, I moved, started a new job, got a baby (cat)..) CW: Gang bang, GN!Reader, multiple penetration, licking, both male and female partners, abduction, monster fuckers, non-con, forced oral, non human genitalia, urination

It's been two months since (Reader) fell.

They wondered if anyone had noticed they were missing.

Had their boss called the police? Maybe the apartment manager when (Reader) failed to pay their rent?

It didn't matter.

No one would ever find them.

There was a trail leading through a large patch of woods behind (Reader's) hometown that they often enjoyed hiking, but a couple of months ago (Reader) had made the mistake of traveling too far off from the trail. The young adult quickly became lost in the thicket, getting turned around as the sun went down. Then, they fell.

The hole seemed to go on forever, and they would have died, or at least broken something important, if a pile of soft bedding hadn't cushioned their landing.

"My, my, my.. what little snack has fallen into my chamber?"

(Reader) struggled in the mass of leaves and furs, frightened and disoriented from their sudden descent into the earth. But before they could sink deeper into the remains of animals unfortunate enough to have fallen before them, (Reader) was hoisted into the air by a strong hand clenching a fistful of their sweater. A giant creature larger than a suped up truck held (Reader) at eye level.

"Oh? What a cute little snack." The feminine voice echoed through (Reader's) skull. Whatever it was that now had (Reader) captive looked like a human woman that had a bug grow to a horrific size within her; soft pieces of human like flesh stretched out over a hard exoskeleton, tearing in multiple spots.

An exposed, human like skull molding into mandibles was presented as her face, with insect eyes lodged within it's sockets.

Because of the unrealistic, dreamlike scenario (Reader) found themselves in, they responded numbly, "Please don't eat me." It wasn't confidence that kept their voice from quaking, but shock.

Their request seemed to amuse the monstrous woman. She chuckled loudly, both within (Reader's) mind in a beautiful laugh and from her metal-like chest. The sound that reverberated from her body sounded like a knife being drug across a pipe. Her strong hand shifted, moving from (Reader's) sweater, holding them up like a kitten by their scruff, to cradling (Reader) against her bare chest. The chest was flat and without breast tissue, but it still felt effeminate to (Reader). Perhaps it was because of the soft curves above her hips, or the slender shape of her nape, but it made (Reader) feel almost embarrassed, exposed, in the nude woman's embrace.

The parts that resembled human flesh were cold like a corpse, chilled from the hard insides. Her skin was a dulled earthy color, and the longer (Reader) was pressed against it, the more the reality of their situation sank into their mind, transforming the numbness into paralyzing fear. And the monster holding (Reader) gently to her bosom smelled the change in their sweat, further entertaining her.

"Do I frighten you, little one?" Her hypnotizing voice that telepathically sang into (Reader's) head spoke in unison with the actual voice of screeching, ear piercing scraping of sharp plates.

(Reader) went rigid. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Their limbs involuntarily shook. How should the respond? What could they say in this situation?

"No." They lied. They didn't know how they found the strength to speak, but the lie tumbled out before they could clamp their mouth tight.

Another laugh rocked (Reader's) weak heart within their rib cage.

"How sweet.." An abnormally long, mostly armored finger stroked (Reader's) face. "You lie to the Queen.."

(Reader) was laid down upon what they assumed to be the Queen's bed, a more organized stack of furs and leaves. The Queen stood above (Reader), giving them a better view of her body. She had two sets of arms attached to a slender abdomen, with no belly button, her gently rounded stomach ended in a strange split at her pelvis( what (Reader) guessed to be her genitals), and from her hips were very large, inhumanly shaped thighs, without any skin texture, attached to rough and bumpy legs bent backwards and elongated, ending in insect like feet.

"Shall I eat you, little one?"

(Reader) began to tear up, feeling their bladder about to betray them. Their thighs quivered under the pressure of their fear.

"Or.. shall I keep you?" The Queen's upper hands traveled up over her chest, caressing herself, as her lower pair made circles on her lower stomach, inching closer to her exposed slit.

A horrified noise escaped (Reader's) nose as they felt warmth leak out, soiling their pants. The adult began silently sobbing, heaving as they failed at holding in both their crying and their urine. Before them, the Queen seemed to become excited, her antenna twitching as the air filled with (Reader's) scent, one only she could detect. Animalistic and hungry, she fell onto her hands and what appeared to be knees, crawling over (Reader) and tearing off their bottoms with unnatural strength.

(Reader's) body was revealed against their will, and they could no longer hold back their terrified screams. Their hollering didn't phase the woman as she felt their piss stained underwear. Her skeleton like fingers ripped open their wet fabric, purring as she investigated the human body, a reproductive body unlike her own. And it aroused her.

"You are an adult.. I can smell it.." Her mandibles opened, revealing a human like bottom jaw, with sharp, carnivorous teeth, and a long tongue dripping with saliva.

(Reader) couldn't fight back; their struggling didn't budge the Queen as she lowered her mouth onto (Reader's) wet lower half. Her long muscle explored (Reader's) warmth, before finding their ass. The skin on (Reader's) fists scraped and bled as they weakly beat the Queen's head, begging her to stop as her tongue entered their clenched hole.

"Stop!" Their screams fell on deaf ears as the organ seemed to elongate, pressing up even further into (Reader's) colon painfully. It pulsated as she tasted (Reader), breathing in deeply as she did so, relishing in their scent.

Her exposed septum rubbed against (Reader's) most sensitive place, exciting their nerves against their wishes. They fought against it, but their body began to feel pleasure despite (Reader's) emotional anguish. And the Queen could taste it.

The change in (Reader's) smell spurred on the creature, speeding up her movements as she fucked (Reader) with her tongue faster, enjoying the leaking fluids mixing with (Reader's) pee. Their stomach muscles tightened as their climax built.

......................................

(Reader) cried out a pathetic "No!" as they came into the Queen's mouth, writhing under her as their muscles spasmed.

But the Queen wasn't done with them yet..

Two months later, and (Reader) was glued to the Queen's side. Her new favorite mate, she never let (Reader) further than an arm's distance away from her, regardless of what she was doing. (Reader) had to be present for some of the most disturbing activities they had ever seen, including the Queen laying eggs. The Queen often told (Reader) that they were (Reader's) children as well, frightening (Reader) as well as confusing them. It was impossible, (Reader) thought, but they never saw the Queen mating with other monsters.

And there were other monsters.

Males and females, all significantly smaller than the Queen, hitting about (Reader's) height, who would occasionally enter the Queen's chambers to retrieve the eggs or bring food for the Queen and (Reader). Each creature was just as disgusting as their queen, with flesh stretched uncomfortably across ant like bodies. But it wasn't their anatomy that disgusted (Reader) the most: it was the way they stared at them. Monsters unable to blink, they never turned away from (Reader's) face whenever they entered the room. (Reader) didn't know what they were thinking, and wasn't sure if they wanted to know.

But they couldn't take it any more.

The Queen hardly slept, not needing to sleep as often as (Reader) did, only sleeping once since (Reader) fell, but when she did, she was out. Out hard enough where she was practically dead to the world.

And it seemed as though it was time for her to sleep again.

(Reader) stood by the drowsy Queen, naked. Their clothes were destroyed after their arrival, and the creatures had no need for clothing, so nothing was available to replace their hoodie and pants. It was a discomfort that (Reader) never got over.

"I shall see you soon, little one.." The Queen clicked softly as she curled up into the bedding.

'I'd rather die.' (Reader) bitterly thought, scrunching up their nose to prevent themselves from snarling like a caged animal. Although they did their best to keep their hatred off of their face, the Queen chuckled, seemingly taking joy in (Reader's) rage.

'You won't be laughing for long..'

They waited for what they hoped was an hour after the Queen passed out, trying to count the seconds down without the aide of a clock or ability to see the sky. Then, they took their chance.

On all fours, muscles sore from lack of use, body weak from nearly constant abuse, (Reader) crawled as silently as they could out of the den, unaware of the bemused twitch of the Queen's antenna.

They were silent, breathing such shallow breaths that (Reader) felt light headed.

But what they didn't account for was the stench.

(Reader's) tender sex and ass smelled of their's and the Queen's intimacy, even though (Reader) couldn't smell it, the rest of the hive certainly did.

As they snuck through the halls, the hive were alerted immediately of (Reader's) departure by the telepathic Queen, and were on the hunt for (Reader), following their smell.

It only took one to see (Reader's) cute little behind as they pathetically tried to crawl past for every member of the hive to know where (Reader) was, and for every worker not actively caring for younger members to immediately beeline for (Reader's) location.

And it didn't take long, for (Reader) to become hopelessly lost.

Panic began to fill their lungs and suffocate the poor captive.

"It is you!" A raspy voice exclaimed behind (Reader), startling a yelp out of the human. A male stood behind (Reader) with his hands clawing at his chest as if to steady his heart.

Fright rocked (Reader) to the core. "Please don't kill me.." They muttered nervously, already spun around on their knees to beg for their life.

The worker didn't seem to be listening, his antenna rapidly flicking about as he rambled under his breath.

"So sweet.. so cute.. so soft.. our mate.."

From his pelvis an endophallus emerged, pointed at (Reader's) face. The realization of (Reader's) fate caused a surge of adrenaline, propelling them in the opposite direction, running as fast as they could move their legs.

As they ran they heard voices down every corridor they passed, chanting words of love and attraction for their "mate". There seemed to be no escape; each hall (Reader) nearly turned down had voices calling out for them. They continued trying to run where there were no sounds, but eventually found themselves in a giant room of furs and leaves:

(Reader) had stumbled upon the sleeping chambers of the adult workers.

Tears filled their eyes as the room began to fill from multiple entrances with workers excitedly crying out for (Reader).

"It is!-"

"Our mate!-"

"Finally!-"

They wasted no time pulling (Reader) to the ground, ready to prove their love for their Queen's favorite mate.

As (Reader) opened their mouth to scream a long tongue entered and thrust itself deep into their throat. Choking and gagging, they were too busy trying to push the creature kissing them away to cover up their lower half. Like a dog pile, (Reader) was swarmed from all sides.

The workers fought one another just for the chance to touch (Reader). The second a crevice on their body was violated by a sharp inhuman dick, rubbing wherever they could reach, the creature would be thrown off, replacing the cock for a tongue or a hand. Sharp fingers massaged (Reader's) swollen body as every every hole was filled and every fold caressed. The long tongue was exchanged for a monstrous dick, but even that cold metallic-like phallus suffocating (Reader) was replaced by a female's vaginal slit as soon as the male filled (Reader's) stomach with a sticky liquid.

There was so much being touched at once that (Reader) couldn't focus on all the ways they were being assaulted.

If their ass was getting rammed by a cock, and their mouth was occupied by something else, with no holes available the creatures found other ways to fuck (Reader); folding their arms and knees and masturbating into the folds of their soft flesh; using (Reader's) hands like dildos and forcing (Reader) to enter their bodies; licking the sweat off of whatever body part they could reach while touching themselves impatiently.. Even the shallow button of their naval was molested by prodding tongues and fingers.

(Reader) was painted over and over again by fluids. All the while, the monsters would sing praises for (Reader) between their panting, grunts and moans. There seemed to be no end, with dozens of men pumping warm slime into (Reader's) stomach and ass while women rode out their orgasms on (Reader's) body.

Everything went black at one point, passing out due to a combination of a lack of air and exhaustion.

But when (Reader) woke up, they found that their body was still being used as a cum dump for another wave of workers. Their body was past the point of over stimulation, incapable of pleasure. It was pulsating electricity rolling across their abdominal muscles, contracting without (Reader's) permission.

They didn't know how long they were passed around for, but it was impossible to keep track of the number of monsters taking turns using (Reader's) body. Blood was dripping out of every orifice asking with cum and arousal fluid, the sharpness of their big like cocks and the hardness of the women's pelvises tearing (Reader's) body both inside and out.

The last thought (Reader) had before going completely dumb, was wishing that they hadn't left the Queen's side..

(A/N again, I'm so sorry it took so long! And that my drafts wouldn't let me edit your story anymore 😭 I hope you see this, Ant Anon!)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster fucker #yandere harem #cw noncon #tw noncon #gn reader #cw blo0d #yandere male #yandere female #monster harem

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moondirti · 1 year

Text

give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in.

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home.

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else.

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry.

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar.

You’re glad you’d left that life behind.

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass.

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks.

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead.

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.”

You pour him a glass regardless.

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh.

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him.

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down.

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home.

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them.

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood.

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition.

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres.

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace.

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces.

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for.

“They’re alright.”

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm.

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up.

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head.

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer.

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause:

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost.

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment.

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral.

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says.

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway.

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you.

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs.

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles.

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything.

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back – was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign.

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any.

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips.

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?”

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him.

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up.

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time.

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain.

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth.

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base.

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head.

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring.

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it.

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster.

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you.

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in.

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair.

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust.

“Go ahead.” You coax.

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement.

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain.

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh.

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact.

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you.

“A-Ah! Simon, y–”

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.”

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood.

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing.

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you.

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple.

He slowly removes the mask.

The balaclava follows soon after.

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow.

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid.

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man.

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him.

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

permanent taglist: @saintbedelia @tusk89 @cactuswaterscactusfields @lexloon

since i've only written for star wars previously, if you're on this list and want to be moved to a character specific one instead, i've added the option on my form!

join my taglist!

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yourlocalstranger123 · 7 months

Note

Hello may I request a yandere Imbibitor Lunae (From HSR) with a reader who is a writer and very lazy doesn't mind getting kidnapped as long as the reader (You could pick the gender if u could a male) can write and very flirty and openly affectionate

Take care ❤

I'm not actually sure what you meant, but I'm just guessing that you'd prefer me doing a male so ima do it <3 of course, there isn't much details/words saying out-loud the reader is male so it can still be seen as any gender!

《 I am so sorry if you just wanted full fluff and ur a minor. If you do not feel comfortable with the pictures at the end, I don't mind taking it down!! Again, IM SO SORRY IF U DO FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE (つд；*) 》

Warning!: Kidnapping?, ofc yandere theme, broken stuff, stalking, containment, blood, murder, also slight sexual themes under the 2nd set of pictures(aka the mostly sussy one)

MINORS DNI Unless you are okay seeing some slight sexual themes. It's not fully smut, so it's okay rn.

A/N: I will still put gn, female, male reader tags but if you think that the reader is too manly or smt, I'll change it. And sorry if I used wrong tags ALSO ARTIST CREDIT IS AT THE END (except for the official art bc it's og from hsr so)

Info for reader's figure: SORRY IF U DIDN'T WANT THE MALE(or any gender since it doesn't clarify that the reader is a male) READER TO BE TALLER AND IG SLIGHTLY LARGER? IM SORRY. (´д｀|||)

–◇{Imbibitor Lunae}◇–

You simply went out for groceries. Buying some decent ingredients to make food. As you were walking back to your house, you felt someone was watching you. Looking around to see no one's eyes looked at you, you simply shrugged off the feeling and walked home tiredly. (If you had a sharp eye, you would've seen horns and a tail sticking out behind a tree....suprised that no one saw him)

You put the ingredients in the fridge, not feeling like eating dinner today. Yawning as you simply flopped down onto the bed, not even bothering to change clothes. As your eyes finally close as you drift off to sleep, you feel a figure hovering over you. But of course, you didn't get up since it was soooo comfy. Who wants to get off of bed when they FINALLY get a comfortable position to sleep.

So the figure took its advantage and....held your hand-? You feel the figure holding both of their hands to hold yours. You started to feel a bit uneasy. Maybe this is just a dream! Surely it is... you felt the other side of the bed droop as the weight of the person was on it. You can feel them trying to snuggle into your embrace, hearing them hesitantly sigh in delight as they get closer in contact.

This must be a very strange but nice dream..... The next morning, you sat up and stretched out your arms, then remembering that strange "dream" you experienced. Quickly turned your head to the other side of the bed, and you found nothing. Perhaps it was just a realistic dream! Surely no one broke into your house without any traces or not even do anything bad!(yet)

You heard something crashing, quickly running out of your room. You see a bunch of shattered plates, glasses, a broken chair, and....He even dropped the books you hard-workingly wrote on! Is he serious?! You went up to the figure, seeing his eyes widen, but you didn't care. You started lightly scolding him for breaking your books! Now you have to write the whole thing again!(the book wasn't totally a fan fiction, lmao)

His face clearly showed confusion as you continued lightly scolding him. Seeing his tail slightly droop, you stopped and sighed. Forgiving him, you were about to wave him off until you felt his tail wrapping around your leg before he crossed his arms. Frowning(pouting) at you and refused to let you go. You were about to try to get out of his grasp to re-organize the books that fell, but you soon felt dizzy, passing out before you felt him hugging you.

You found yourself in a locked room(his room?) with chains that were tied onto the bed to restrict you going too far. You heard footsteps as you saw a head with horns peeking out of the doorway, then the figure finally showed himself. (why dies he have blood on him?)

You could see him hesitating but soon let himself lay his head on your lap. Tilting his head up to look at you, quietly asking what you want for breakfast. (he's quite cute even though he had blood on him, and the blood is slightly smearing on your shirt and pants) You simply ask for an apple.

He tilted his head in confusion, asking you again, what PROPER breakfast meal do you want. (Yeah, you should get a proper meal. You know who you are) You said again, an apple. He sighed and regrettably had to leave your warmth to give you an apple. (Why weren't you mad at him? Aren't you scared that he kidnapped you?)

Before he left the door, you asked him to give you a pen or pencil and a paper if he could. Which he complied and did, only sitting beside you and watching you write a story down. But as he tried to read it, you covered his face and put away the paper. He tried to move your hands, but when he did, he felt you kiss his forehead. He quickly scooted away, trying to process what had just happened. You kissed him???.....That means you love him, right? It has to be!

You could see the blush forming around his face and neck. Hearing you chuckle made him even blush more. "Oh my, you're red as a tomato!!" You said, slightly laughing. He becomes more embarrassed but so delighted because you love him! Surely, you even kissed him on his forehead! You won't go, you won't leave him or hate him.....right..? He held your hand, hoping for more affection from you. Seeking it, desiring it, needing it

Timeskip:

"Mine..." he mumbles as he snuggles against your palm. He shudders and lets out a soft sigh when you touch his horns. Rubbing the base of his horns, he watches you enjoy touching his horns as you smile. You were about to retract your hand, but he grabbed your wrist and begged for more of your affection and warmth.

Not wanting to let go of you, he wrapped his tail around your body and tightly hugged you in place. He looked so adorable when he frowns(pouts) as he looked up at you. You couldn't resist teasing him,

You held his chin and went closer to his lips. Which in return, his face becomes red as his thoughts explode and are scattered everywhere. He shuts his eyes, waiting for you to kiss him.....but you didn't. He opened his eyes after hearing you chuckle. How mean! You didn't give him a kiss :(

His face was full of shock and disappointment. He desperately tried to get a kiss from you, tugging your sleeve he politely asks for one. He was still satisfied when you smothered his face with kisses(except for the lips, sadly) he flinched when he felt your hands petting his tail. Covering his own mouth from letting out pleasurable sighs.

"You have such beautiful scales." You said, softly picking up the tail closer to your face and kissing it, making him feel flustered. You stared at the fluff on the end of his tail, so you softly pet it too. "It's quite fluffy and soft, I feel like I'm in some sort of paradise," you slightly laughed at the statement you made.

He retracts his tail, and he suddenly rips out a scale from it. He hissed at the pain but soon held both of your hands and put the scale onto it. It was a token of his love. "I would do anything for you to prove my love, even if I have to get my hands dirty, even if I have to injure myself too. So please love me back," He begs. His sanity and life are in your hands. You were still shocked and concerned as he said this. Hearing you sigh, he panicked. Did he do something wrong? He's sorry! Please forgive him, he'll try his best to fix it! :(

He becomes putty in your hands, letting you bandage his tail (although it was a bit hard since his tail was thrashing around as he was very happy for some reason.) You kissed the injury on his tail, making him tilt his head in wonder and blush....

Soon, he lets you out of the room and even outside! Of course not without him. He glares daggers into people. If his stare could kill people, the whole world wouldn't even exist. He was about to kill the merchant that touched your hand! How dare they touch you?! (Poor merchant was trying to give you a sample of food)

And he kills the people who try to flirt with you and dispose of their corpse. He comes home all bloody as you scold him. You had to take HOURS to wash the blood off of him. And it's even worse when it got on the fur of his tail! (One time, he whimpered and moaned by accident when you scrubbed his horns and tail....didn't appear for a whole week unless u were going outside)

But he becomes sooooo flustered when you flirt with him and especially in public. (He thought you were showing people that he was yours....I mean, I can't say it's not true)

He always whines and begs if you don't give him your attention and affection. And of course, all of your love within 2 minutes. And if you don't, you'll have to comfort him that you do love him because he starts over-thinking that you don't anymore or he has done something wrong.

He was getting some empty books for you to write on until he found a book with the exact same writing.....(he may or may have bought it) he definitely bought it. He read the whole context, and whenever you were near him lately, his face turned redder than red itself! (The book was about you and him love life)

Oh, how he loves you.....he wonders how you'll react when he gives you the heart of the person you hate..well, he won't do it now until marriage.

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

Text

You’re too sweet for me — Kai Anderson x Reader (pt. 1)

kai is obsessed with you, but determined not to get to close to you. that is, until you are attacked in the woods and he’s forced to enter into the proximity of your feminine pheromones. how can he resist your angelic presence now?

warnings: sexual themes. vulgar. stalking. millennial texting?

this sort of reads like a second person p.o.v. of You :/ womp womp. italicized kai thoughts btw

Kai watched you.

He learned your favorite songs, holed up in his dark room, finding every photo of you online that ever existed. He started following you home, mapping out your days in his free time.

His obsession began when you had bumped into him on your way to a local cafe. You had looked at him with startled eyes, put your hand on his bicep.

“Oh, excuse me, I’m sorry!” Your words spilled out, hyperfeminine and littered with apologetic concern. It was like you were trying to drive him crazy. Like you were trying to torture him with your softness. The image of your sweet face, your neck craned up to look at him got so caught in his mind that he had to take his coffee to the car and rub one out in the parking lot.

He planned to only ever watch you from afar. If he ever got near you, he’d taint you. He didn’t want that. You were too clean for his sinner filth.

Could it hurt to follow you home once or twice, though? You’d finish up with class, you’d walk home through the trees and the Michigan twilight— he’d be there.

You were good; good like he’d never seen before. You visited your parents on the weekends, you went to class, you went to some feminist organization meeting on Tuesdays and Thursdays (your only flaw, as far as he knew— exceptionally forgivable), you wore soft sweaters and heart necklaces, you smiled at everyone, everything. You listened to older music, you read at your window nightly. You were so clean. So pure.

He could never touch you.

He hates when his plans get muddled. Most of the time.

On a night mid-November, he had followed you from class back to your place, wearing a zip-up hoodie pulled over his blue hair.

You took some shortcut through the woods, which, if he was your boyfriend, if he was your protector, he would never allow you to do, but he wasn’t, so he followed closely behind, ducking behind trees periodically.

He was staring at your hair in the moonlight, thinking about blindfolding you, stuffing that lacy white headband you always wore in your mouth, wrapping that white cloth belt you wore loose on your hips around your neck and using it as a leash, when he saw a shadow from the left side of the pathway lurking up towards you. It wasn’t long until it had approached you. It was a man, he could see now through the dark, and he was taller than you, and larger, as well.

“Pretty little thing,” he heard a deep voice through the darkness. Kai’s instinct lit aflame. He ran up behind you, where the man had now grabbed your shoulders.

While the man was larger than you, Kai was taller and broader than him. He kicked him to the ground in one swift movement, then kicked his stomach many times. He then leaned down over the man’s face and said, “Run. Away. Now.”

He’d have that dealt with that later.

As quickly as seemed possible, the man was trails blazing down the pathway, swallowed by the dark.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kai touched your shoulder, wiping sweat—or blood— from his forehead.

“Yes, I’m alright, are you okay?” you looked up with those big fucking doe eyes, touching his chest, tip-toeing to get a better look at his face. You hadn’t seen if he was hit or not. It didn’t look like it.

“I’m fine,” he said, backing away slightly.

You stared at him for a moment. The purple light was fading into the ground, so you couldn’t see well, but you recognized his face. “Wait… hey… do I know you?” That pretty, meek little voice.

I could kill myself right now, he thought. It’d be better than this. “Oh, really? From where?” he shifted his feet, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I can’t… put my finger on it,” you whispered, biting your lip, deep in thought, twisting your necklace in one hand. “Oh! I know. I bumped into you at Brookfield Café.”

He tilted his head, furrowing his brows. “I don’t remember, but I’m sure you’re right. Memory isn’t my strong suit.” Lie.

“That’s okay, I have a pretty bland face,” you respond, smiling. Not at all.

“No, no, I must’ve been in a hurry,” he paused. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

“Oh… I… Uhm… Sure,” you nod, beginning to walk.

Jesus, you were as trusting as a hungry puppy, he thought.

“You know, you really shouldn’t walk alone in the dark. It’s not like it used to be around here. People are dangerous,” Kai said.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrug. “You’re right.” You decided to add so as to not seem dismissive.

No one would take care of you like I would. No one knows how to take care of innocent, sweet girls like you. I do. I do, (Y/N). “What’s your name, by the way?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry!” Kai’s dick pressed against his pants harder every time you said ‘sorry’. You had to know. You must. What the fuck were you apologizing for? “I’m (Y/N). What’s yours?”

“That’s a beautiful name, (Y/N),” he paused, which left only silence, and he couldn’t quite see your face well enough to gauge your comfort. “I’m Kai.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Kai.”

Fuuuuckkkkk.

“Thank you for saving me,” you spoke into the dark.

“I’m just glad I was there.”

“That’s my place,” you pointed as your two faces emerged from the dark of the woods into the warm streetlamp light.

As you reached the entrance, you turned to him and reached up to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Must be shock, he thought.

“Thanks so much,” you said as you pulled away from him. You turned to walk away, then turned around again, speaking to his back for a moment, “Hey, wait!” He turned around. “Could I… get your number?” you asked. “Sorry, I just… sorry,” you smiled lightly, no teeth.

How could he say no? “Sure,” he said. You handed him your phone. White phone. Pink phone case. Of course. He typed his phone number. ‘Your Savior ;)’ he made his contact name.

“My savior,” you giggled, waving a goodbye, then stepping inside.

I’m afraid I’m going to tear you apart.

#kai anderson #american horror story #ahs fandom #ahs cult #kai anderson ahs #evan peters #kit walker #tate langdon #ahs #evan peters ahs #fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs x reader #kai anderson x reader #evan peters x reader

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marlynnofmany · 2 months

Text

The Good Perch

“You would think,” Captain Sunlight said drily, “That a spaceport organized enough to have a whole section for courier ships would have a more visible labeling system.”

“Yeah, really,” I agreed with a frown at the small sign marking our ship’s berth. The thing was barely ankle-height and a thin font. Not even a bright color; it hardly stood out from the pavement in its gray-and-black subtlety. With all the spacefarers parading past in a rainbow of body types and clothing styles, not to mention the equally wild spaceships everywhere, those signs were easy to miss. I asked the captain, “Have you been here before? Is this normal, or did the wrong person take charge of designing things?”

“It’s been a while,” said Captain Sunlight, crossing her scaly arms. “I don’t recall this being a problem before. But I suspect our wayward client is still wandering the walkways looking for us.”

“Normally I’d say our ship would stand out, but the visibility’s not great for that either.” Lemon-shaped spaceships with foldable solar sails were pretty uncommon. The one parked behind us would have been easy to spot from a distance if not for the larger ships looming close on either side. These berths were too close together.

Captain Sunlight pulled her phone out of a belt pouch. “Still says they’re on the way.”

“Maybe we need to scoot forward a bit?” I suggested. “Make the ship easier to see?” I stepped up to the walkway for a better look at the view from there.

This turned out to give someone else a better view of me.

“Hey, person who climbs things!” called a cheerful voice. “Come help me brace this.”

After a confused half-second, I located the speaker on top of the gray-brown ship next to ours. I realized with a start that this wasn’t the first time our ships had been parked side-by-side. “Hey, Acorn!” I called back. “Are you waiting for clients too?”

“We were,” the fellow courier called back, waving something that looked like a wrench. She herself still looked like a baboon crossed with a crocodile. “Now it’s time for errands and maintenance, and this needs fixing before we get back into space. Care to give me a hand? Everybody else is either busy or too much of a coward to get up this high.”

“Sure thing!” I said with a glance at Captain Sunlight, who was waving me on. “What’s the best way up?”

Acorn directed me to a row of handholds on the other side of the ship, which made for a nice easy climb. A pity her crewmates didn’t appreciate heights; the spaceport was a beautiful, chaotic sprawl of color from here. And the top of the ship was flat enough to feel plenty safe.

“Welcome to the good perch,” Acorn said, offering me a wrench. “It’s a very exclusive club. Can you hold this part in place so I can adjust that?”

“Absolutely,” I told her. “This end, right? Wait, got it.” I actually had no idea what this open panel was for, but I like to think I hid it well. The job was a simple one with two of us. I could see how it would have been awkward with just one, though. I wondered if she’d resorted to using her feet to hold things in place. I sure would have.

“Got it!” she said. “Now to close it all up. I knew that would be quick.”

I removed the wrench. “What’s the saying? More hands means less work?”

“Makes sense to me. Though by that logic, your friend there could get everything done by himself.”

I looked down to see that Mur had joined Captain Sunlight, in all his many-tentacled squidlike glory. “He probably could, actually. Though I don’t know how he is with heights.”

“Well, no need to share the good perch,” Acorn announced, snapping the panel shut. She spread her arms. “Look at this panorama!”

“It is a nice one! I was just thinking that. What kind of ship is that blobby green one over there? I haven’t seen it before.”

Acorn stood up for a better look. “I think it’s a Waterwill design?”

“That makes sense.” I got to my feet too, glad the ship we stood on wasn’t one of the shiny racer models. Those were much too slippery to make good sightseeing towers.

Not that Acorn seemed bothered either way. She probably would have found grippy shoes somewhere and run up the side just to prove she could. Her appreciation for climbing had been a nice change the first time I ran into her, and was no different now, given how much time I spent among alien crewmates who didn’t have tree-swinging monkeys in their family trees.

“That ship looks like it would make an excellent climbing structure,” she said, pointing at a pink model with grooves along the sides. “Pity it belongs to a security force who are likely to be uptight about such things.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that always the way of it? There’s a police station in my hometown with a roof that slopes down to meet a very climbable wall, and you have no idea how tempting it looked. Well. Maybe you know.”

She definitely understood, and we spent an enjoyable few minutes talking about which buildings and spaceships looked like the most fun to climb.

Then I spotted someone wandering from one berth marker to the next, looking both lost and a little nearsighted, and I had a suspicion that I’d found our missing client. This was a fellow human wearing the kind of drapey clothes that spoke of dignity and no little wealth. Her expression was exactly the kind I’d wear if I had to deal with those hard-to-read signs long enough to be late.

“Hey Captain!” I called down to Sunlight. “Is that her?” I pointed.

Captain Sunlight hurried forward with her phone out, matching the look of the person with an image there.

Yup. Called it.

Acorn chuckled while the pair of them exchanged greetings and complaints about the station layout. “Nice one. The wisdom of the heights strikes again. Do they need you down there now?”

“Probably,” I said. “Actually not yet, this package is a small one. Mur’s got it.” As I spoke, Mur pushed a hovercart forward with a box on it liberally covered in “fragile” stickers. It had a carrying handle on the top, which it had come with, and rubber bumpers on every corner, which Paint had added just to be safe. All precautions had been taken.

“Oh good,” Acorn said. “Then enjoy the view with me a little longer.” She bent to pull something from the toolbag’s side pocket. “Top-of-the-tree snack?”

“Are those the ones you’re named for?” I asked, remembering a conversation the last time I’d seen her. Translations being what they were, her name meant a similar nut from her homeworld. It had been an amusing conversation, since we were both named after things found in trees. She didn’t know what a robin was, but once I explained it, she claimed to have met a number of people back home with similar names.

“Yes, the salted version,” Acorn said, opening the bag. “I recall these were on the safe list for your species.”

“Safe and tasty,” I agreed. “Thank you.” I accepted a handful of alien acorns and marveled quietly at how universal salt was on snacks. Well, for some species. I don’t think Waterwills or Strongarms were that into overly salty food in general. Probably for slug-like reasons. Eggskin the medic would know. I should ask him later.

Acorn peered over the other side of the ship. “Ohh, Riverbrook’s wearing his goofy helmet. I owe him some acoustics since he played that loud music while I was working.” She crouched, peering down at a crewmate who had just emerged. With care, she selected a nut from the bag. “Think you can thwack him from here?” The grin she threw over her shoulder was full of teeth.

I joined her at the edge. “I like my odds.”

The crewmate was one of those people made of crystals instead of flesh. I forget the species name. Very interesting to look at, and unlikely to be hurt by a high velocity acorn no matter where it hit. The helmet was golden, shiny, and probably a fashion statement of some kind.

“First we throw, then we hide.”

“Got it.”

“One, two, throw!”

Ping! Ping!

“Ow, what was — Acorn, is this yours?!”

We both giggled in childlike glee, just out of sight.

“No thanks, you can have it!” Acorn called back.

“I’m going to put this in your fruit drink next mealtime.”

“Good luck with that!”

I nodded. “Ah, a prank war. A noble pursuit.”

“See, you get it.” Acorn offered me more nuts.

I took them and made myself more comfortable. “I don’t suppose you know what a rattlesnake is?”

“Nope.”

“Then let me tell you about the time I got Trrili — the big scary Mesmer on my ship — with a classic prank from Earth.”

“Oh, do tell!”

I didn’t have to get back to my ship for a few minutes yet, which left plenty of time for more anecdotes and snacks on the good perch.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

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fandomunite2107 · 3 months

Text

Help Wanted (Pt. 2)

Summary: Carmy not liking the idea of you working somewhere else.

Pulling into a parking spot at the restaurant, both you and Carmy unbuckle your seatbelts. You leave your groceries on the floorboard of his car, but take your bag as you open the door to his car.

“I just need to take care of something really quick. Shouldn’t be long.” Carmy says as he opens and holds the door to the restaurant for you.

“No rush. Take your time.” You say as you enter through the back of the building. Once you are inside you see Richie with a couple of other people standing around the kitchen.

Richie notices you first. “Hey kid. Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” Everyone turns to look to see who he is talking to and you smile and do a small wave. Richie then looks at Carmy with a smirk. “What’s got you two hanging out with each other?”

“Shut up Richie.” Carmy says. “Y/n, this is Sydney and this is my sister Nat.” He nods in the direction of each woman. “You already know my asshole cousin over there.”

“I’m not an asshole, you’re an asshole. You’re the one who fired the girl today.” Richie says.

“Wait, you worked here?” Sydney asked looking confused.

“For about an hour before I realized that the job didn’t exist.” Nat and Sydney looked at you as you continued. “Richie hired me without talking to Carmy about it.”

They both reply at the same time with a chorus of “Oh, yeah that tracks” and “Figures.”

Carmy runs his hand through his hair. “Alright, that’s enough. Syd, what’s the issue with the menu?”

“Might as well follow me to the office. Once they get started on that damn thing it takes forever for them to take a break.” Nat says to you as she starts to walk away. Following her into the office, you take a look around and see piles of papers on every surface, even the floor. “How good are you at organizing?” She asks as she takes a seat on the floor next to one of the larger stacks of papers.

“Honestly, I’m pretty amazing at it. I find it kind of soothing.” You say as you place your bag on an almost empty area of the desk and take a seat next to her.

After going through one of the stacks of papers together, you stretch your arms above your head and move your shoulders around. “It doesn’t even look like we made a dent.”

Nat stands up and looks around. “I actually think it multiplied.” She holds her hand out to help you stand. Looking at the time, you realize that it is much later than you thought. “You want a ride home? I think they’re still working.” Nat offers.

“I’d appreciate that.” You grab your bag from the desk and follow Nat back to the kitchen, where you see Carmy cutting up some vegetables.

“Hey Bear. I’m going to head out and take y/n home. Where’s Syd?” Nat asks as she digs through her bag pulling out a set of keys.

“Shit. Didn’t know it’s this late.” He glances at the clock and puts his knife down on the cutting board. “Syd. She had to take my car and go pick up her dad.” Carmy looks at you and runs his hand through his already messed up hair. “S-Sorry. I lost track of time. Syd should be back soon and I can take you home.”

“It’s fine.” You try to hold back a sigh. It’s not fine. Your groceries were in his car, a car that is no longer here. It could be worse you thought, at least you don’t have to walk home in the dark.

“Don’t stay too late Carm. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Nat looks at you and asks if you’re ready to go.

“Sure. Bye Carmy.” You give a small wave, which he returns with a nod, and follow Nat out the building.

After giving directions to Nat on how to get your apartment, it doesn’t take very long to get to your building. You thank her for the ride and walk up the stairs. Once you reach your apartment and walk in, you take off your shoes and lay your bag down. It has been a long day, and you are exhausted. Slipping into some pajamas, you plug your phone in and turn off the lamp on the night stand before crawling into bed. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

With the sun coming through the curtains you just bought, you wake up glancing at the clock. Knowing that you have things you want to get done today, you shower and get dressed for the day. Remembering that you still don’t have your groceries, you go to the cafe that you went to yesterday. With your bank account in mind you only order a pastry and a drink, which you eat at a table as you people watch. Once you have finished your breakfast, you open up your bag to find your list of things to do. Finding a part time job is still on there, and you decide that is where you are going to start today. Walking out of the cafe, you see a bulletin board by the door with a variety of papers advertising jobs pinned. Most of them are for restaurants or local bars. Taking a picture of some of the papers, you notice that one restaurant isn’t too far from here. Deciding to check that one out, knowing that you don’t have any experience in the food industry, but hoping that they’re desperate enough to hire you.

After walking a couple of blocks you arrive at the restaurant, not knowing if the place is open yet you try the door. When it opens and you walk in the entrance, not seeing anyone around. “Hello?” You call out.

“One moment.” You hear someone shout out to you, appearing a moment later. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

“I’m y/n. I saw an ad that you were hiring. I was hoping to get an application.” You say as you hold your hand out to shake.

“I’m not the manager, but I will tell you we are doing open interviews later on tonight from 5-7. If you’re interested, I will tell you that there is a uniform that you have to wear. It’s also encouraged to wear it during the interview. It’s free to take it and if you don’t get the job you just have to return it, if you don’t you pay for it.” She says.

Not entirely sure how you feel about a uniform and not knowing what it looks like, you decide that it’s worth a shot “I’ll be here. Do you have a uniform that I can get?”

A phone rings from the back. “I gotta take that. The uniforms are in the closet over there help yourself to your size. Fill out this form and be here between 5-7.” She says as she walks off handing you a form.

Opening the closet that she pointed out to you, you see dozen of hangers with the restaurant’s uniform. Finding your size and picking it up, you think that it could be worse. The skirt looks short and the top seems like it would barely cover anything, but it’s not the worse thing you have ever worn for a job. Taking the clothes and putting them in your bag, you head back to your apartment to work on a few items before the interview later.

About an hour before the interview you start to get ready, you do your hair and put on some make up along with the uniform. As you predicted, it’s a bit short and the top barely just contains everything. You could just bring the uniform to the restaurant and change before the interview, but what if there isn’t time and what if everyone who’s applying already has it on. You feel safer just wearing it to the interview. Not really wanting to walk the few blocks dressed in this uniform you put a coat on, even though you’ll be warm, you at least feel more covered. Making sure you have everything, you grab your bag and start to head out of your apartment building.

As you shut the main door to your apartment building and start to go down the front steps, you see Carmy getting out of his car.

“Carmy?”

“Uh. H-hi. I asked Nat where you lived. Hope you don’t mind. I wanted to drop off your groceries from yesterday.”

“O-oh. Um. Thank you. I appreciate that.” You walk closer to his car.

He opens the passenger door and takes the bags out. You go to grab the bags from him but he refuses.

“I got this. Just lead the way.” He says.

Not wanting to be rude. You thank him and walk him up to your apartment. Having done the stairs twice now in your coat, you are starting to get warm. Opening the door to your apartment you both walk in. Carmy places the bags on the kitchen counter and wipes his forehead.

“I’m not sure how you’re walking around in a coat. It’s fucking hot out today.” Carmy says looking at you, wiping his forehead.

“Oh. Well trust me I’m warm. I have an interview soon and the uniform I have to wear isn’t the best.” You say a bit embarrassed.

Carmy smirks. “You’re wearing a coat in this weather because you don’t like your uniform. It can’t be that bad. Show me.”

Not sure how you ended up in this situation, you unbutton the coat. “I need a job so don’t laugh.” You take the coat off and place it on the counter. Standing in front of Carmy in your uniform you feel too exposed. You look up at Carmy because he hadn’t said anything yet. He’s just staring at you. You start to ramble. “I found an ad today about this restaurant that was hiring so I went there after breakfast. The lady there said that they were doing open interviews today. She said that it was encouraged to wear the uniform to the interview.”

“No.” It was the only word that left his mouth.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are not wearing that.” He rubs his hand down his face.

“It’s not that bad.” You turn around in a circle. “Plus, I do need this job.”

“We’ll find you another job. I’ll find the money to hire you.”

“You don’t even know me. Why are concerned with where I work?”

“Just go change.” He’s pinching his nose. “Please.”

“Carmy. I appreciate that you brought my groceries here and are concerned where I work, but you did fire me yesterday. So I don’t think that I should be passing up a job opportunity based on you not liking a uniform.” You say as you put the coat back on, feeling exposed and embarrassed by his reaction.

“Y/n. Nat told me you were a teacher. You really thinks it’s the best move for you to be dressed like that when a parent shows up to that restaurant?”

“I-I.” You sigh, knowing that he’s right, but you’re getting a bit desperate at the moment. “Good point. I just need something. Preferably one that doesn’t require this much skin.” You look down at your uniform as you open up the coat.

Carmy coughs and his cheeks turn a shade of pink. “I’ll move things around and make it work at the restaurant. Nat said you were good with the paperwork.”

“You promise not to fire me within the first hour?” You smile up at him.

“I promise. Now go burn that uniform.”

You start to walk toward the bedroom to go change into something else. “I have to bring it back to the restaurant or I get charged for it.”

“Jesus. I will pay for it so you don’t have to go back there.”

Looking over your shoulder at Carmy you smile. “Hey Carmy.”

“Yeah?” He looks back at you.

“Thank you. For the job, for everything.”

He nods and points to the bedroom. “Go change.”

——————

Possibly another part?

—————

Taglist: @anelissegets @onlyreadz @iletmytittietitty-russ

#carmy x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy the bear #the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear hulu #carmy berzatto x reader

244 notes · View notes

trashpandato · 6 months

Text

Art

Kara is a doodler.

Anytime she has a pen or pencil in her hand, she doodles. Initially, it started off as a way for Kara to find a credible explanation for when she was drawing Kryptonian symbols on the edges of her school work in high school.

“Kara likes to doodle,” Jeremiah explained to her teacher who had pointed it out during a parent-teacher meeting.

Kara had to ask Jeremiah what doodling meant, and then vehemently disagreed with him that that is what she was doing. But then Jeremiah reminded her, again, that she could never let anyone know that she wasn’t human and really shouldn’t be writing Kryptonian words on anything that could be seen in public.

From that moment on, Kara learned to stay away from words and began to try and capture her memories of Krypton as images. She still doddled, as Jeremiah called it, because all anyone not familiar with Kara’s background would see on the page were circles (not Krypton’s moons) or abstract shapes (not the skyline of buildings Kara remembered seeing from her bedroom window).

Over time, Kara’s doodles became less about Krypton and more about things she had seen on Earth. Cat Grant famously asked her about a scribble of a cat in a tree that showed up on the upper left edge of a printed press release Kara had handed to her. Kara stammered her way through an apology and explained that she had rescued a cat during her lunch break and the image must have stuck in her head somehow.

Most of the time, Kara’s doodles are about food, though.

She draws little pizzas, dumplings still in their steamer baskets, croissants that make a decorative edge around the notes from her latest interview. It’s mindless fun and keeps her hands entertained when she’s bored or needs some release valve for her extra energy.

“It’s almost Freudian with you” Alex joked once when she found a small ink pen drawing of a box of donuts on a few notes Kara made while listening to a briefing at the DEO.

“I told you not to schedule the briefing over lunch,” Kara shot back and then immediately launched herself into the skies in search of her favourite donuts in National City.

And then she meets Lena, and it doesn’t take long for Kara’s doodles to include little chess pieces, loops that remind her of the earrings Lena wore that day, sharp lines that look a lot like a certain building with a large L on its facade.

It’s years into their friendship when Lena finally asks her about it.

Kara is sitting at her kitchen island, lost in thought. She’s spent the last few days frantically trying to help organize Alex and Kelly’s wedding. She’s exhausted, and Lena has offered to make them some tea to help Kara relax when she turns around and asks.

“What’s that?”

Kara frowns but looks up at Lena then.

“What’s what?”

“You’re, I don’t know, scribbling something. Or drawing. I’m not sure because it almost didn’t look like you were even paying attention to what your hand was doing.”

“Oh,” Kara feels a little like Lena caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle.”

Kara wants to cover up the paper in front of her but Lena is already there, craning her neck to see the small image that has appeared on the edge of Kara’s to-do list for the wedding.

It’s a small portrait of Lena. Next to a larger doodled heart.

It’s not subtle, but then again, none of Kara’s doodles ever are. It’s just that usually no one else sees them. But when Lena does see this one, she freezes. For a brief moment, Kara wishes a portal would open up in her kitchen so she could disappear rather than have to explain. But then, Lena turns to face her, eyes wide but oh so full of hope and Kara knows this is it, the final step for them.

Years later, Sam finds the framed doodle in Lena’s and Kara’s apartment, hanging just to the side of several photos they’ve taken over the years of their friends and family. Sam turns to Kara and smirks.

“This is high art. You should feature it more prominently.”

Kara smacks Sam’s arm but can’t help the broad smile overtaking her features.

“I’m sure if I move the Kandinsky to hang this one up by the fireplace instead, Lena is going to divorce me.”

Sam laughs but then says: “Lena loves you so much, she would let you doodle on that Kandinsky.”

And Kara isn’t so sure about that. It’s an original, after all. But she is sure that Lena loves her, so she just nods and pulls Sam back into the living room to re-join their friends.

Kara does draw a small portrait of Lena on the side of her Yahtzee score sheet later, though.

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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musings-of-miss-j · 3 months

Text

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part five: in which the doctor extends an olive branch (of sorts) while childe and signora demand your cooperation and a certain someone laments your absence

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: very very slowburn, reader has an attitude and a touch of social anxiety, crack, fluff, vague flirting and emotionally constipated yet unfairly pretty people pining for you

warnings: blood and organs

as always, inform me if you find any pronoun slips!!

series masterlist

word count: 4722 words

author's note: next part will probably be out in the next two days :) please enjoy some weird mfs being simps in the meantime

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

The Doctor was sitting at his desk reading over some files when you walked into the lab, his free hand holding a vial of bubbling golden liquid suspended in the air as though he’d been in the midst of something and got distracted by the paperwork. You idly wondered if the liquid would evaporate if he let it sit like that for too long while you briefly searched the lab for your cloak. You frowned when you didn’t find it. Where else could it possibly be? Dismissing the issue for now, you rolled up the sleeves of Childe’s coat yet again and checked on the fungi you were growing in petri dishes. If your hypothesis was correct, they’d mutate into the Tri-Lakshana fungi when exposed to concentrated Dendro energy, but before you could test that the samples had to grow. Which they were doing a fabulous job of; one strain in particular had completely covered the bottom of the petri dish, and you quickly transferred it to a larger surface to continue growing. A crow squawked from outside one of the laboratory’s enormous windows, and a cursory glance revealed it was one of the many that had taken to visiting your chamber’s window for food. It was easily identifiable from the purple stain across its claws; the wolfhook extract you’d used to mark them was clearly holding up well.

So was the all-cure you’d taken that morning; reliable as always, it had reduced your headache to a tiny buzzing in the back of your skull, and the only thing that caused you mental pain at the moment was the thought of Signora and her unwelcome invitation.

You chewed over the less-than-appealing prospect as you rummaged through the cabinets for a whopperflower stamen. The gala was bound to be uncomfortable, with the Harbingers and their political allies in attendance. You still hadn’t the slightest idea what had come over Signora to invite you; as far as you were concerned, you had absolutely no business being part of such an event. Not to mention the fact that you wouldn’t know anyone there, save for Childe, the Doctor and Signora, but you didn’t seek them out for conversation even in day to day situations, much less in galas where they’d no doubt have important people to chat up. All in all, the entire situation made you a little queasy, and you finished extracting the whopperflower nectar with an anxious sigh.

You turned to take the bottles of nectar to the cooler, only to jump and stifle a yelp of surprise when you found the Doctor standing right in front of you. Honestly, what is it with these Harbingers and startling me?

“Doctor.” You acknowledged him with a nod. He leaned in closer still, resting his hands on the countertop behind you and effectively trapping you between it and himself. You were immediately struck by several revelations at once; the Doctor was significantly taller than you, tall enough to block out the light from the ceiling lamp and throw a shadow over you, and he was so incredibly close. For whatever reason, you suddenly found it a little hard to breathe.

“You left a few documents on your workbench last night.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Did I?”

“Yes,” he confirmed wryly, dropping a stack of paper on the countertop behind you. You transferred the bottle to one hand and picked the papers up with the other, a twist of nervousness settling in your stomach when you recognised them. You hadn’t meant for the Doctor to see these.

“Ah, yes. I’ll take them back with me today.”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain why you have a comprehensive procedure for creating an artificial Vision in your possession,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to the side as he watched you. You swallowed.

“It was a… pet project, I never pursued it to completion,” you replied, hoping he’d leave it at that.

“It’s quite the blasphemous study, don’t you think? Trying to recreate the power of the gods?”

“Hence why I never completed it.”

“These lovely notes you left in the margins state otherwise,” he remarked, tapping the paper with a gloved finger. “In my laboratory, no less.”

Oh dear. “I-”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rules, my dear student,” he cut you off. “Any experiments you wish to carry out on my premises must be approved first. And this”- he tapped the stack of paper again- “was never submitted.”

You felt an embarrassed flush rise to your cheeks. You’d been caught red-handed. Dottore found himself more interested in the blush on your cheeks than your questionable research. Sadistic as he was, watching you scramble for an explanation was rather enjoyable.

“My apologies, doctor. I let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“You have a recurring habit of doing that,” he replied amusedly. It occurred to you that he didn’t seem particularly angry. You fiddled with one of the buttons on Childe’s coat.

“I acknowledge it as one of my faults.”

“So very righteous of you.”

“Not particularly, considering I do nothing to remedy it,” you muttered sheepishly in response. The Doctor chuckled. He has a nice laugh. Appalled at yourself, you bury the thought deep in the back of your mind in an attempt to forget you’d ever conjured it.

“Well, well, well. It seems my apprentice has a rebellious streak after all.” He grinned lazily, stepping back and resting his weight on the countertop behind him so you could slip past and store away the nectar to cool.

You feel yourself flush anew. Archons, this is horrifically embarrassing. “Once again, I apologise for acting without approval.”

“And if I don’t accept your apology?” Dottore asked, more to see you squirm than anything else.

“I suppose I’ll conveniently vanish from the face of Teyvat without a trace, doctor.”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Why, are you implying I’d have you killed?”

“Well, consider this: your interpretation is ultimately a reflection of your subconscious,” you replied, shooting him a lopsided, slightly uncertain smile over your shoulder. This was unfamiliar ground, joking around with the Doctor, and you were afraid to overstep. He returned the smile with twice the intensity and amount of teeth; you caught a glimpse of his fangs.

“If that is true, then perhaps you’d do well to watch your mouth.”

You turned away to hide your widening smile, chuckling softly under your breath. Exchanging barbs with the Doctor was proving to be incredibly fun.

“Would you like me to offer you a third apology?”

“I’m feeling generous,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone. “I’ll forgo causing your disappearance in exchange for your assistance in an experiment.”

“Deal,” you agree with a mock-serious nod, shrugging off Childe’s coat when the sleeves slipped past your fingertips for the millionth time. It wouldn’t do to have them in the way, and besides, the lab was warmer than the rest of the palace. “What’s the procedure?”

Three hours later, you slumped over the marble workbench with a groan. Blood stained your arms all the way up to your elbows, and your favourite turtleneck was utterly ruined. The experiment was a lengthy, gory process; the removal of organs for individual study. Though you were hardly one to shy away from getting your hands a little dirty, this was a little much even for you. You’d gone through thirteen scalpels alone, but at the very least the liver, brain and kidneys you’d extracted were perfectly intact and more than suitable to be experimented on. You wished for an immediate solution to your agonising back pain after holding yourself stiffly over a corpse for hours, though; you couldn’t even keep yourself upright, your forehead pressing against the cool surface. It helped with the headache that was gradually squirming its way back into your skull.

“Tired?” The Doctor asked, sparing your collapsed body an amused glance. He was somehow perfectly fine, much to your indignation.

“I think tests on my organs would reveal unprecedented results at this moment,” you grumbled without lifting your head. Your hair splayed across the marble, which you recognised as a potential source of contamination yet wholeheartedly dismissed in favour of giving your aching muscles a rest. Dottore tugged off his bloodied gloves, watching you with a bemused smirk.

“That can certainly be arranged,” he replied, baring his teeth in a shark-like smile. You shot him a withering glare then fumbled with the chain attached to your belt to check the time; your pocket watch smugly informed you that it was close to midnight. A muttered curse slipped past your lips, foul enough to make even Dottore raise his eyebrows behind his mask and do a double take while you ruminated over the unpleasant possibility that the dining hall would be closed at this time, and you idly wondered if dried jueyun chilis would serve as an adequate substitute for fresh ones (you knew perfectly well they didn’t even compare, but deluding yourself was an infinitely more appealing prospect at the moment.) You heard the clinking of jar lids, specially sealed with an anti-moisture formula developed from the pollen of Nilotpala lotuses.

“Add a little slime condensate to the brain,” you muttered into the countertop with an absent-minded gesture of your hand.

“My, my, how brazen of you to issue orders to your superior.”

“Please add a little slime condensate to the brain, doctor,” you quipped back with enough sarcasm to make the title sound like an insult.

“No,” Dottore replied pleasantly, sealing away the liver and kidneys. “It’ll disrupt the ion concentration and water content.”

“That would be true if I said concentrate, but I didn’t. Slime condensate is dilute enough to not interfere with the neurons' cytoplasm, but it’ll keep the brain fresher.”

“Very good,” he said approvingly. He’d heard you, and he knew you were right, but he’d wanted to test you. “You retain your focus even in subpar conditions.”

“As expected of any scientist worth their salt,” you said wryly, lifting your head to rub your eyes and grope along the countertop for your glasses. You were a little miffed that he’d felt the need to test your understanding of such a simple concept.

You rubbed your eyes again. “Doctor, can you see my glasses?” You asked, squinting to observe the array of equipment strewn across the workbench.

“No,” he lied, twirling them between his fingers and watching you search for them. You clicked your tongue with dissatisfaction, leaning in closer to the workbench’s surface in an attempt to see more clearly. Dottore bit back a chuckle.

“Oh, damn it all. I could’ve sworn they were right here…”

“Can’t find them?” He asked, an obvious lilt of amusement in his voice. You looked up, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You have them, don’t you?”

“Ah, you saw through me so quickly,” he said, sounding simultaneously impressed and disappointed. “Am I really so obvious?”

“Hand them over,” you demanded, holding out your hand.

He grinned so wide that you saw the flash of white from his teeth even with your vision blurred.

“Such a shameful manner to adopt with a superior,” he said with a shake of his head.

You rubbed your eyes and let out an exasperated huff. You could sense a shift in your dynamic with the Doctor, but clearly he was the only one who knew how to navigate it, leaving you disoriented and unsure of how to respond.

“Doctor. It’s nearing one in the morning, and I have to return to my dormitory. Which I can’t safely do without being able to see half a metre in front of me.”

“Surely your eyesight isn’t quite that terrible.” He knew it was. In fact, he had a perfect copy of your first diagnosis and most recent check-up in his file of you. That file had grown to concerning sizes ever since your apprenticeship began. The Doctor reasoned that it would be a scientific sin if he didn't document everything he could about such a fascinating test subject. You sighed; you had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“Please give me my glasses.”

You didn’t he could possibly grin any wider, but he proved you wrong. Despite his amusement being at your expense, you still found yourself thinking that his smile wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Objectively speaking, of course.

“In exchange for what?” He drawled, raising his eyebrows behind his mask.

An indignant flush rose to your face. In your defence, it was late, and the Doctor really was being an ass.

“In exchange for your DNA cloning not to be tampered with,” you fumed. “It would be a shame if someone were to denature the enzymes. Or accidentally alter the base sequence.”

“My dear student, are you threatening me?”

“The glasses, doctor.” You held out your hand again.

Dottore sighed mock-defeatedly, rounding the workbench and making his way towards you.

“You are so terribly demanding,” he remarked. You glowered at him, arms folded, until his gloves fingers took hold of your chin, tilting your face upwards. Your eyes widened in shock as he came close enough for you to make out the detailing of his mask. “Just demanding enough for me to listen to you,” he murmured, lifting you glasses and setting them on the bridge of your nose. His grasp on your chin didn’t loosen, and he was incredibly thankful for his mask in that moment. It hid the way his eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards your lips. You stood there frozen from shock until your limbs regained the ability to move and you stepped away with a nervous mumble; “I should be going now.” Dottore watched you hurry away with a self-satisfied smirk.

Disconcerted by the Doctor’s behaviour, you didn’t notice Childe’s sleeping form sprawled in front of the laboratory door until you tripped over him. He jerked awake as you steadied yourself.

“Trixy!” Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he clambered up from the floor and instinctively grabbed onto you for support when he swayed a little on his feet. You did your best to support his much taller body with your own.

“Eleven? What are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. He leaned heavily against your shoulder, stifling a yawn. His movements were oddly uncoordinated, you noticed.

“You promised you’d come to dinner and you didn’t.” He was practically pouting. It was almost cute, if you convinced yourself to forget that he was a Harbinger. “I was waiting for you!”

“Why in Teyvat”- with a grunt, you pushed him off you. “What possessed you, you buffoon? Dinner was six hours ago!”

“If you keep calling me names I won’t give you these chillies I brought from the kitchen.”

“Oh, Childe,” you murmured, dragging a hand down your face. “Are you sober?”

He giggled.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” you agreed, looping his arm over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the wine on him. Red, if your nose was accurate. “Move it,” you ordered, dragging him towards the stairs. He grumbled a protest, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You took off my coat.”

“The sleeves were too long,” you replied, carefully navigating the stairs with him in tow. Surprise, surprise, it was far from easy to descend a spiral staircase with an overgrown Harbinger who refused to look where he was going leaning against you. “Eleven, for Celestia’s sake.” You rapped your knuckles against his skull to get him to look up. “Raise your head and tell me where your bloody dorm is.”

“Trixyyy, don’t yell at me,” he whined into your neck.

“Focus, Eleven. You’re drunker than a single father on a Friday night and you need to rest. Now exert a little effort and tell me where your dorm is, or Archons help me I’ll leave you right here in the hallway.”

His incoherent mumbling echoed through the empty corridor, the palace eerily silent save for your footsteps and breathing. The foggy glow from the lamps glinting off the silver in the walls and throwing large shadows across the floor only added to the unnerving atmosphere, and you found yourself slowly getting nervous. With a muttered curse, you decided to drag him to your room instead. You knew where that was, at least.

It took entirely too long to reach the door to your room; Childe was not only ridiculously tall, but also heavy and resolutely uncooperative. You fumbled for your key with one hand while the other supported his limp body; after a moment of struggling with the chain at your belt you managed to get it unhooked and unlocked the door, dumping Childe onto the nearest armchair.

“Damn you,” you muttered.

“So mean,” he protested, staring up at you as you made your way to the bathroom. He really wasn’t that drunk; a little tipsy, sure, but he was definitely playing it up. If it got him an ounce of your attention then he’d gladly throw his dignity to the four winds, shameless as it was.

“Don’t move,” you instructed him with a stern look before disappearing into the bathroom. He heard rushing water and concluded you were probably getting rid of the mysterious blood stains all over your torso.

To your eternal horror, when you emerged from the bathroom La Signora was lounging in the other armchair by the fire smoking a pipe of some mysterious substance you were quite certain you’d smelled in the Jade Chamber before. Perhaps Lady Ningguang and La Signora had similar smoking habits.

“L-lady Eight?”

She turned slightly to shoot you a knowing, dangerous smile after darting a look loaded with meaning between you and Childe passed out drunk in the other armchair. You blushed scarlet from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearing your throat and towelling your hair dry.

“A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

“Is it really, little one?” She countered, surveying you with her one visible eye and taking a long drag from her pipe. “I seem to have come at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” you insisted. “Lord Eleven- well, I tripped over him while exiting the Doctor’s laboratory. He seems to be fairly… intoxicated.”

Signora hummed, resting her chin in her hand and tapping her manicured nails against her cheek as she watched you dry off your hair. No doubt you’d been preparing to go to sleep.

“Is there anything you require my assistance with, my lady?” You ventured.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she replied, calm and unhurried. “Come here.”

You stepped towards her.

“Closer, little one.”

Another couple of steps.

“Perfect. Now…” She rose from the chair and held you by the shoulders, manoeuvring you into it instead. Setting the pipe aside, she bent over to scrutinise you thoughtfully, tilting your face to assess how you looked at different angles and in different lighting. Truly a work of art, she thought. You held your breath and sat as still as possible, your back ramrod straight.

“Lady Eight…?”

“You have nothing to wear for the gala. We’ll have to remedy that,” she murmured, tapping her finger on your cheek. You weren’t surprised that she knew the contents of your wardrobe in the slightest; the Fatui probably knew things even you didn’t know about yourself yet. (You were right).

“You’d look ravishing in red,” she mused.

“I’m sure your opinion on such matter is indispensable.”

“Quite right,” she agreed, moving away from you a little. “And my opinion is that we should dress you in red.”

“As my lady wishes.”

Childe had had quite enough of listening to Signora fawn over you, and chose that exact moment to get up and stride over.

“I think blue would be a better choice,” he interjected. You shot him a disbelieving look.

“You put on quite a convincing act of being unconscious, don’t you, my lord?”

Signora appraised him coolly. “Nonsense, Childe. Red.”

“Blue,” he argued, grazing his knuckles across your jaw. You shivered.

“Let us discuss this in the morning,” you suggested, moving to get up. Both Childe and Signora pushed you back down while glaring heatedly at each other. The air crackled with tension you could identify but not recognise; the two were clearly locked in some battle of wills.

“You should wear something blue, Trixy.”

“The gala is still months away-”

“Red is a much better choice. You agree, don’t you, little one?” Signora interjected, stroking your hair.

“Objectively speaking, it’s hardly relevant nor important what colour I wear,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense,” Signora said dismissively. “You’ll be the gem, the star of the gala. Of course it matters.”

Childe nodded, as much as he hated to agree with Signora. You massaged your temples.

“That’s simply not true. Lady Eight, you told me yourself this gala is an event reserved for the maintenance of the Fatui’s connections. My personal appearance doesn’t factor into the equation in any way, shape or form.”

“Maybe our enjoyment depends on you,” Childe said with a grin, taking your hand and brushing a kiss across your knuckles. Oh, Archons. He’s completely drunk. Utterly sloshed. You were beginning to feel a little cloistered with both of them hovering over you, making nonsensical claims and debating irrelevant points.

“Blue.”

“Red.”

“A coin toss in the morning will decide,” you announced firmly, rubbing your eyes. It was appallingly late, and you knew waking up for the Doctor’s seven am lab session was going to be an evil experience. You really weren’t keen on making it any worse because two Harbingers couldn’t hold back their egos over something as trifling as your outfit.

Of all the ways to establish superiority, why did they have to pick one that involves me?

“My lord, my lady, please allow me to see you out,” you continued, rising from where you were seated. Childe pouted.

“I’m drunk, Trixy. You have to nurse me back to health.”

Signora clicked her tongue derisively, and you mentally agreed with her. With a sigh, you rummaged through your medicine drawer for the tonic you’d concocted for hangovers. Though you weren’t a big drinker yourself, during your Akademiya years many of your friends indulged in the bad habit of drinking themselves half-blind (usually Kaveh and Dehya) and you didn’t have the patience to deal with their slurring words and careless behaviour. Hence your useful tonic. You shoved a vial of it at Childe.

“Drink this,” you ordered.

“What is it?”

“If you want to be ‘nursed back to health’ then drink what I give you without asking questions.”

He shrugged and knocked back the tiny vial in one fell swoop, grimacing as the bitter taste settled on his tongue.

“Is this poison?” He exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Signora rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you fool,” she said contemptuously. “The little one had the utter gal to poison you in front of a Harbinger. That’s absolutely what happened.”

He muttered a derisive comment or two under his breath while you tried to push him towards the door. When he didn’t budge an inch, your patience finally snapped.

“Damn it all, won’t you leave, both of you?! I have more important matters to concern myself with than an overgrown child and a tempestuous mistress!”

Stunned by your outburst, they both left without another complaint. Childe even uttered a ‘Sorry, Trixy…” as the door closed behind him. You locked the door, stomped over to the bed and went to sleep without even bothering to fully dry your hair.

You regretted that in the morning as you wrestled the unkempt, tangled strands into a semi-acceptable state. Panic prevailed; you didn’t have anything stored away to eat for breakfast, and a trip to the dining hall would definitely make you late. You cursed the Doctor to the lowest ring of hell, making a mad dash to grab a bite to eat anyway; it was his fault you woke up so late, keeping you in the lab until after midnight. You nearly crashed into Anya in the hallway in your haste, and you called out an apology that was quickly swallowed by the chatter of recruits and their footsteps. The dining hall had never seemed so far away, and you kept stealing glances at your pocket watch as you leaped down a full flight of stairs and all but tripped through the enormous doors, making a beeline towards the tables with the intention of wolfing down a leftover slice of pie at the very least. Damn it all. Even your precious morning tea was forgone in favour of scrambling back to the door and attempt to make it to the lab in time.

But you didn’t even make it to the door; a hand grabbed the back of your coat (Childe’s coat, really, that you’d thrown on in a fit of desperation) and yanked you away from the door.

“What”- you whirled around and were met by a rather familiar masked face inches from yours. The strange woman who you’d taken to calling ‘Arlie’ as a nickname. “Release me this instant, I’m late.”

She tsked, pulling you closer by your collar this time.

“Where have you been?”

You shot a desperate glance at your watch. In all fairness, her irritation could very well be justified; you often took dinner together and chatted over dessert at least every other day. Besides, the sheer authority she exuded was enough to make you feel rather guilty. You hadn’t been to the dining hall in nearly a week, surviving off jars of reheated soup and candied amakumo fruit. Clearly your presence was more impactful to Arlie than you’d thought (she thought it was rather obvious; going to the trouble of a disguise just to indulge in conversation with you should’ve been an adequate indicator).

“It’s been an awfully busy week, Arlie, I’m sorry,” you said hurriedly, licking a few crumbs from the pie’s crust off your fingertips. Much to her relief, her mask concealed the way her eyes immediately latched onto your mouth and tongue. The room felt a little hotter all of a sudden. “I really must be going, the Doctor will have my bones on a silver platter if I keep him waiting any longer.”

Arlie rolled her eyes. As if she’d let any harm come to her little pet, by the hand of Dottore or otherwise. Nevertheless, she released you.

“I’d like to see you at dinner today.” It was more of a warning than an invitation. You were too rushed to protest her patronising tone, and you rather enjoyed the meals you shared too.

“You will,” you promised, and then rushed out of the door towards the lab. She watched the white velvet of your coat disappear with a slight frown; now how could she get you to stop wearing that fool’s clothes?

The door to the laboratory was hanging ajar. Thoroughly unusual, but you were fifteen minutes late by then and a lapse in the Doctor’s obsessively maintained habits took a backseat. You stepped into the lab with as much dignity as you could muster, determined not to look guilty; everyone was late now and then, the Doctor could bloody well suck it up-

A pair of hands grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you the rest of the way into the lab, shaking you vigorously. With an irritated, surprised yell, you tried to shove away the assailant, and when that didn’t work you resorted to your trusty glare.

Oh. The man looked remarkably like the Doctor. The same curly, silver-blue hair and stubborn set to his jaw. And the same curve to his top lip.

The jarring similarities made you pause and scrutinise the man a little more closely.

“Who are you?” You asked bluntly, frowning as you tried to remember if the Doctor ever mentioned having siblings. You could hear more voices coming from further inside; tiptoeing, you caught sight of several more Dottore-like people. So definitely not siblings, then. The not-Doctor tsked, then shook you hard again to regain your attention. “Who are all of these people? Why do you all look like the Doctor?”

At the sound of your voice, all the Dottore clones went scampering away through exits you hadn’t even known existed.

“Where were you, you disagreeable fool?”

You stared up at the clone who still hadn’t let go of you.

“I’d like an explanation as to why there are apparently multiple copies of my supervisor.”

“You’re every bit as nosy as Prime said…” he muttered.

“And who, pray tell, is Prime? Is that some sort of a code name for my Doctor?”

“Quite right,” a familiar, drawling voice responded. The clone tensed up then hurried off, leaving you off-balance and stumbling. “You are late. Inexcusably so,” the Doctor said, watching you steady yourself.

“Why are there seven clones of you?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

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