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shivunin · 1 year

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Ficlets Masterlist

A list of all my various fic etc. on tumblr, organized by pairing and internal chronological order. I've named ask memes by the general topic of the prompt and the others by title, if they have them.

(Edit: If there is an issue with a link, please let me know--I've gone through and fixed the ones I've found with issues, but they might always break again)

Arianwen Tabris/Zevran:

Only a Kiss: (1215 Words, T) Arianwen has never been kissed; Zevran offers to correct this

Without a Name: (857 Words, T) In the aftermath of their kiss, Zevran watches Tabris and considers what comes next

Liar, Liar: (459 Words, Hurt/Comfort, T) Zevran is feverish and Arianwen offers care

Hart of Hearts: (535 Words, Fluff, T); A moment in the Brecilian Forest, briefly before they decide to be together

Saccharine: The night Zevran and Tabris decide to be together; full AO3 fic here (explicit)

And Eat It, Too: (1,257 Words, T)Arianwen admires cakes in the city; Zevran makes sure she gets what she wants

Scars: (539 Words, M) Wen notices a scar that Zevran will not discuss.

Look At Me: (this and The Last Thread are collected into one fic on AO3 here) (973 Words, Hurt/Comfort, M) Wen leaves the Deep Roads with a bad infection, haunted by the ghosts of all who’ve died along the way.

The Last Thread and the Long Drop: (3.171 Words, Hurt/comfort, M); Arianwen is wounded. Zevran can only watch as she is sewn back together.

From the Depths: (1,321 Words, T) Zevran delivers a piece of good news after Arianwen spends a week recuperating in Orzammar

Rest Now: (1,631 Words, Hurt/Comfort, M) Post-return to the alienage, Zevran urges Tabris to put down her blades and let herself rest

Fang and Thorn: (883 Words, T) Arianwen decides what to do with her mother’s dagger

Breath of Life: (3,658 Words, M) Zevran confronts Taliesen and nearly loses his life in the process; Arianwen grapples with the idea of losing him forever; explicit version on AO3 here

Have This Dance: (928 Words, Fluff, T) Zevran and Wen find a moment of respite on the palace rooftop in Denerim

Vincit Omnes: (1,049 Words, T) Arianwen and Zevran finally admit they love each other.

Breaking News: (297 Words) A reporter attempts to discuss the Temple of Sacred Ashes with the Warden-Commander and the researcher who located the place

The Heart Grown Fonder: (1,133 Words, T) Letters between Arianwen and Zevran about how they’re doing apart.

Regarding Spiders and Caves: (403 Words) A letter from Arianwen to Zevran regarding current events at the keep

Reunion: (1,528 Words, M) Zevran comes back from his travels; Arianwen plays a game

A Letter from Kirkwall: (506 Words, T) Zevran re: his absence from Amaranthine, set immediately after his role in Act Three of DA2

Lock and Key: (2,298 Words, Hurt/comfort, M); Zevran is captured by the Crows and tortured. Arianwen frees him.

A Red, Red Rose: (1,952 Words, Fluff, T) A wedding scene

Dawn and Gold: (905 Words, Fluff, T) Tabris helps Zevran get ready for the day

Maria Hawke/Fenris:

Lend a Hand: (965 Words, T) When Hawke is struggling with an injury, Fenris offers some assistance with the pain

A Fond Farewell: (2,548 Words) Hawke is fond of casual touches and long goodbyes; Fenris tries to understand why he likes this about her

The Small Hours: (1,496 Words, Fluff) Fenris comes to Hawke's manor to read, but he stays because he doesn’t want to stop listening to her.

As Two Reflected Stars: (12,438 Words, Hurt/Comfort/ T) (AO3 Link) No matter how close Fenris and Hawke come to each other, they never quite seem to connect—unless one of them is already hurt or bleeding. (An exploration of healing as a proxy for affection/touch)

Do You Want to Hear a Joke?: (1,459 Words, Angst) Fenris helps a drunken Hawke home shortly after her mother’s death. Hawke tries to prove that she isn’t in love with him.

Grief and Memory: (1,493 Words, Angst) Hawke is stricken by a memory of her mother during a night at the Hanged Man; Fenris cannot offer her comfort.

An Interview for Posterity: (449 Words) Kirkwall's chronicler tries to make sense of the events surrounding the Viscount's death

To the Last Drop: (1,682 Words, this one is all yearning) Fenris observes Hawke closely on an excursion to the coast

A Fool and His Gold: (1,932 Words, Fluff/more yearning) Hawke throws Fenris a surprise party

Between Strokes of Night: (2,601 Words, fluff) The second night together; full version (explicit) on AO3 here

Poppy Red: (1,273 Words, Fluff) Hawke and Fenris experience their first date

At the Dead Drop: (624 Words, epistolary) A series of letters between Hawke, Carver, and Fenris regarding Hawke’s relationship with Fenris

Know When to Hold ‘Em: (792 Words, Fluff) The first night of cards after Fenris and Hawke decide to be together

Flow Gently: (1,036 Words, Fluff) Fenris talks Hawke to sleep

Nooks and Crannies: (1,164 Words, Fluff) Hawke shows Fenris where she's hidden the weapons in her home

Stack the Deck: (1,310 Words, Fluff) Hawke bolts after a card game and a puzzled Fenris follows her back to the manor

Corpus Animaque: (1,138 Words, Fluff) After Hawke falls asleep, Fenris continues to speak to her in Tevene, knowing that she could not understand him even if she could hear him.

Wake Easy: (555 Words, Fluff) Fenris feigns sleep so Hawke can kiss him awake.

Winter's Grasp: (4,834 Words, Hurt/comfort) (AO3 link) Hawke takes an unnecessary risk in Lowtown; after they return to her manor, Fenris tries to discern why

Pour Forth: (3,830 Words) (AO3 link) Hawke makes the same misplaced joke across the span of her relationship with Fenris. He does not, in fact, cry about it. (Or, five times Hawke tells Fenris it's okay to cry and one time she doesn't.)

Ebb and Flow: (705 Words, Hurt/comfort) Hawke is having trouble resting; Fenris helps her to bed

Ash and Salt: (798 Words, hurt/comfort) After the destruction of Kirkwall, Fenris finds Hawke and offers what comfort he can.

If Sorrow I Let In: (1,344 Words, Hurt/Comfort) Hawke has a nightmare about almost dying in the Fade. Fenris is there when she wakes

A Letter From Home: (403 Words) Letter resting on a counter in a cottage near Amaranthine, as yet unopened, dated nearly six months ago

*Sleight of Hand: (7,734 Words) (AO3 Link) Magician AU: Hawke is a stage magician who's never asked much about her grumpy assistant. When Fenris spots his pursuers during a show, it may be time for the two of them to face the likelihood that this may be his very last performance.

Emmaera Lavellan/Cullen:

A Bond Beheld: (1,710 Words) The Commander pledges fealty to the new Inquisitor

Tipsy: (209 Words) Conversation overheard while drunk

Lavender Cakes: (236 Words) A codex entry describing a special request from the Commander; (collected with a codex entry on a marriage offer post-Inquisition and rumors circa Trespasser)

A Letter from the Viscount: (368 Words) Varric writes to see how the Inquisitor has been, and to deliver an offer

Entanglements: (704 Words, Fluff) A quiet, simple morning in retirement

Just a Hair: (676 Words, Fluff) Emma trims Cullen’s hair

From Behind: (513 Words, Fluff) Cullen reflects on life as a father and husband

Structural Integrity: (4,300 Words, Fluff) Cullen and his daughter build a pillow fort—now all that’s left is to test it (also collected in my anthology fic here on AO3)

Letters from Adhlea: (527 Words, epistolary) While Cullen visits family in Ferelden, his daughter writes him a letter with updates.

Elowen Lavellan/Cullen

Summer Tea: (897 Words) The Inquisitor takes a moment away from a party to rest on the balcony; Cullen joins her

A Storm’s Aftermath: (786 Words) Elowen tries to be normal after nearly kissing the Commander (she…doesn’t quite manage it, but neither does he)

At Your Side: (678 Words) As Elowen returns to her room in Skyhold, Leliana notices a new mannerism

Disarming: (773 Words) The Commander and Inquisitor spend a morning training

Falsehoods: (851 Words, Hurt/comfort) Elowen takes a wound in battle; Cullen visits her room at the inn to make sure she's alright

Call Your Mother: (515 Words) A letter from and to Elowen’s mother regarding her choice of beau

Daybreak: (615 Words) After the events of Your Fate for Mine, Cullen wakes in bed with Elowen and finds himself with a small predicament.

Salshira Lavellan/Cullen

Slander: (547 Words) Codex entry detailing several complaints about the Inquisitor

The Fire at the Center: (556 Words) Cullen tries to focus on his prayers, with some difficulty

Wait: (621 Words, Fluff) Salshira passes through Cullen’s office on the way to other tasks

Fires of Battle: (846 Words) Salshira closes the last distance before the Temple of Mythal and meets the Commander on the battlefield

News from Wycome: (740 Words, Emotional hurt/comfort) Cullen rushes to deliver a crucial bit of news

Don’t Look Down: (448 Words, Hurt/comfort) Salshira regains consciousness after a nasty fall

After the Dark: (841 Words, Hurt/comfort) Salshira returns from the Deep Roads; she is not doing well

Adahlena Lavellan/Cullen (aka the arranged marriage au):

Pip: (2,611 Words) Adahlena Lavellan and Cullen meet for the first time in the Elvhen lands at Halamshiral

The Morning Mist: (820 Words) Cullen and Adahlena take breakfast together in the gardens

Misc:

Hounds and Strays: (4,521 Words, T) A young Arianwen tries to protect a stray dog and fails; as an adult, Alistair realizes they share a connection to animals (the first thing they have in common)

Something to Cry About: (954 words, G) Following the events at Redcliffe, Arianwen begrudgingly admits that she might be friends with Alistair.

Shut-Eye: (996 words, G) Arianwen and Alistair discuss happiness on a sleepy night before the fire.

#my writing #maria hawke #arianwen tabris #emmaera lavellan #elowen lavellan #salshira lavellan #adahlena lavellan #i just *clenches fist* love organization!#mainly made this to stick in the pinned post #when i tell you i *did not realize* how many of these i was writing #hoo boy #shivunin scrivening

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tojisun · 2 months

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still on that "simon teaching you how to shotgun while you're riding him lazily" shit and will always be on that shit!!

•°. *࿐

he pinches your chin, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the smooth of your skin. “breathe it in slowly—it will burn, especially ‘cause this is y’r first time—so tap when s’too much, okay?”

“okay,” you hum, eyes fluttering slowly at the gentle touch, a caress you know that is meant to be beckoning.

simon shifts the two of you on his seat, shuffling carefully, but the slight movement still makes you gasp, a sputtering of your breath, as muted please races through you at the deeper press of his cock.

he croons at your reaction, eyes crinkling as he murmurs praises and ‘i love you’s, his voice so full of adoration. it makes your heart clench, lips wobbling at the softness of it all—

simon is not a good man. he said this to you the first time you begged him to take you to his place.

(“please,” you whimpered then, too overwhelmed with your lust to notice the way he was straining against his self-control. “i need you.”

your voice broke, a sad tinge curling in your words, and you wonder if it was that which finally pushed simon to the edge. if it was the desperation he could see burning in your eyes and rippling into the way you held him—loose fists bunching up his shirt—that finally made him buckle.

“i’m not the man that you think i am, sweetheart,” he spat out, his voice weaving between his teeth in a barely-contained snarl. “y’re too good f’r me.”

“i don’t care,” you murmured, stepping closer into him, devouring even the minuscule space between you two because simon needed to know. he needed to understand that there is no one else you yearn for but him—

“goddamn it.”

his snarl was followed by the way his teeth sank into your skin, marking, tugging.

yes! you thought with giddiness, a sharp gasp getting torn from the base of your throat. yes!yes!yes!)

simon is not a good man, but he kisses you like one. he cares for you like one. he loves you like one.

simon is not a good man, but did he need to be? he was yours. was that not enough?

you rut your hips in slow circles, quiet rasps of your gasps filling up the space. you watch with hooded eyes as simon lights his cigarette, before you lean forward to snuff the fire off his lighter. your eyes meet his above the wafting smoke, desire mutual as it drips into each other’s laps.

sweat beads on your forehead, sliding down your temple.

you brace yourself on your knees, mewling as you feel the base of his cock sliding out from the grips of your wet walls, before slowly sinking back down to engulf the thickness of it. his cock digs deep again, settling somewhere that makes you feel so full—you swear your organs shift to make room for him—and it is in the midst of your stuttered whimpers that simon takes a drag of his cigarette, slow and deep.

you become so hyperaware all of a sudden, watching as his chest expands with every inhale. then, he takes the stick out, and he turns to you with pursed lips. simon cups your cheek once again, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye.

anticipation courses through you as you pitch forward, willing your shaking body to sit still. you see the muted spark of the cigarette in your peripheral as you go—a temptress in its own right—until you feel the scruff of his unshaven chin tickling your own.

you didn’t realize how much your lips are trembling until you feel the steady press of simon’s against yours. he gives you soft pecks, reassuring kisses, and then he’s breathing out the smoke into your willing mouth.

you breathe it in slowly, feeling the burn on your tongue slither to your throat until it fills up your lungs. it feels like a thick miasma is being poured down your trachea, choking you with the tendrils of its fiery fog, and you cough, ripping your lips from simon’s.

“shh, shh,” he murmurs, quick to comfort you, his hand steady on the base of your head. “y’did great, sweetheart. y’did great.”

you can’t hear him, ears ringing as the heat spreads within you.

it is so foreign, dangerous, yet it is so, so sensual—

a metaphor for simon.

suddenly, sharp pleasure curls in the pit of your stomach, batting away the burn, and you keen, drawn out and high-pitched, before tipping your head down, needing to watch the way simon circles his thumb on your clit.

he’s let go of his cigarette—

“sim-onnn,” you hiccup, heart thudding with your disappointment. “wan’ more.”

he chuckles, the sound of it so fond.

so proud.

“look at you,” he croons. “it hurt you an’ yet you want more.”

his hand slides down from the base of your head to trace the plane of your spine before settling atop your ass where he grabs a fistful of your flesh. you groan, feeling truly edged out—the lapping euphoria you feel from the slow caress on your clit is not enough, and the thrill of breathing in simon’s sin having been cut short.

any more teasing and frustrated tears will trickle from the corners of your eyes.

simon catches your pout, and he grins, one that is a bite too mean.

“so needy,” he says, sighing dramatically, before he reaches for the stick and pinches it between his lips.

it makes you squirm, excited, your mouth already open—

needy, just like he said.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cw shotgunning #afab reader #suns #q #the way id forget im riding him bc i wanna keep shotgunnin

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kentopedia · 1 month

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౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold.

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity.

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants.

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards.

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding.

he can feel the man swallowing.

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well.

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand.

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you.

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity.

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you.

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them.

limply, they fall to the floor.

chuuya rushes over to you.

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it.

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing.

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?”

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?”

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either.

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.”

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.”

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones.

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.”

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.”

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later.

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.”

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off.

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him.

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage.

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course.

but you… you’re different.

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.”

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own.

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable.

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you.

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow.

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy.

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets.

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found.

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain.

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him.

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain.

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding.

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips.

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you.

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads.

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.”

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?”

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.”

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken.

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word.

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you.

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you.

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies.

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest.

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well.

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating.

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe.

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend.

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.”

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation.

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you.

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation.

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own.

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed.

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive.

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them.

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall.

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive.

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes.

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats.

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile.

dazai hums. “you the leader?”

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you.

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all.

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him.

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become.

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple.

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.”

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.”

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?”

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.”

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

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world-of-aus · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky x Pornstar!Reader

Warnings: MINOR DNI 18+ (Oral, Fingering, P in V, Praise all around,) Its Porn With a substantial amount of plot?

Author's Note: Second Starkhub Installment for 'The Soldier & Eden Ivy' hope you all enjoy, make sure to drink some water...

STARKHUB - Eden Ivy Fucks Her Boss to keep her job

Eden Ivy

“Eden Ivy.” Your name was on everyone’s tongue including his own.

Stark looked up from his calendar brow raised and pen stilling over the boxed paper, “Eden Ivy?” He questions. “You know carter’s available for this shoot right?” Bucky nods, “I know, but I asked for Eden Ivy, not Carter.” Tony raises his hand in mock surrender, “easy there soldier, I heard you just making sure I heard right, ANYWAY.” Bucky watches his manager scribble your name in finalizing the soldier's filming week. The pen drops to the paper, Tony leaning back in his chair, “so Eden ivy,” he questions with a grin, “She’s really that good?” Bucky raises a brow in question, “what do you mean?” his boss leans forward, “oh c’mon Barnes it’s rare you film with female costars more than once. Carters your go to, your like Starkhubs ‘it couple’.”

The broad-shouldered brunette grimaces, “we’re not a couple.” he grits shutting the rumor down. “She just happens to be the only one that can take what the soldier gives her, you know how intense it can get, not many like that.”

Tony nods, “you’re right, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if what I’ve heard of Eden Ivy so far is true – I think the soldier may have met his match.” His boss knocks on the desk after his thought, “well we’re done here pal and listen don’t forget to get with Pepper and Eden to let them know about the upcoming shoot, don’t want any surprises.”

The brunette stands with a nod, “are they here today?” Tony looks down at his schedule, “they’re on set three should be wrapped already.” Bucky sees himself out of Tony’s office with a wave over his shoulder, feet carrying him out of the building containing the offices and into the building where the sets are located.

Sex invades his senses as he passes the sets, pushing the door open for set three, he makes it two steps in before he’s freezing, cock hardening in his joggers.

Quiet whimpers leave your teeth bitten lips, your body gyrating down onto a silicone pink cock, fingers buried between your thighs as you work quick circles over your clit. Bucky isn’t new to solo’s he’s done his fair share of them when he first started at Starkhub, but he’s never seen one look this good. If he was at home hidden behind a laptop, he’s certain he would be watching your scene right now hand wrapped tightly in a fist around his cock.

He’s entranced by the way you bounce on the silicone, lips parted on a moan as filth spews from your lips. Pepper is the first to spot him, not that he takes any notice barely seeing her cross the floor to where he stands hard and aching. “Like what you see Barnes?” she teases, freeing him from Eden’s spell. He blinks owlish like as he looks over at his smirking bosses wife, “you could say that.” he speaks gruffly. “Tony said you would be wrapped up, sorry for just barging in.” he chokes out ears trained on your moans, you were close he could tell. Peppers grinning, “Tony knew our wrap time, though knowing him, he has his reasons.” is all she says as your climax hits, Bucky’s eyes shutting, teeth clenched, hands fisted at his sides as he hears you ride it out.

“So, what can I do for you?” Pepper questions the buzz of the set ringing around the two of them as your set wraps.

“I requested Eden for a scene on Friday, Tony wanted to make sure I ran it by the two of you to make sure she’s available.”

The one thing Bucky loved about Pepper is how organized she was, he watched her pull out her phone, going into her planner for you. She scrolls through your scheduled week; she hums looking through your days.

“She’s all yours,” she says looking up at him, “just make sure you let her know too.” Bucky nods and then she’s leaving him. He makes his way across the set, the crew moving around him as he closes the distance between the two of you. You’re still perched on the sets bed, a sheet lazily thrown over you, and a fucked out sweet smile on your lips. Suddenly he wishes he was the reason for that smile.

Your gaze is locked on his as he closes the distance, “hi,” you breathe, “is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me soldier?” You question teasingly gaze drawing down to the tent in his pants. Despite the cheesiness of your comment Bucky chuckles, “you wanna see just how happy you’ve made me Eden?”

You try to conceal your grin, teeth capturing your bottom lip as you look up at him, “careful soldier, unless you want a free show, though between you and I we both know our bosses won’t take to kindly to that, nothings free here.”

Bucky laughs more relaxed this time, “well maybe it won’t have to be a free show, are you available this Friday?”

Your grin morphs into a smirk, “you want to make a video with me soldier, get me naked and spread out till I’m screaming your name?”

He gets bold, leaning forward fingers hooking under your chin as he guides you up onto your knees, the flimsy sheet falling exposing your naked breasts to the room. “Want to do much more than a video with you, I want to wreck you, want you to only think of me when you’re with someone else, want to hear you screaming my name when you should be screaming theirs, and when I do, all I want to hear from you is thank you.”

He’s not above taking you now, especially with how you preen his name, leaning into his touch wanting more. He pulls away, grinning when a whine leaves your lips, “I’ll see you Friday Eden, be a good girl for me now.” He leaves you with a wink, your body slumping into the messy sheets and a curse of his name leaving your lips.

He’d have you cursing more than just his name come Friday, he’d have you begging.

You were dressed in the tightest, tiniest skirt wardrobe could find you, a black silk blouse clinging to your skin, buttons popped open to just below your sternum - and the heels?

He was going to fuck you in those heels. The next time you wore them his name would be on your lips; he’d make sure of it.

There was a pout on your painted features as you met ‘your boss’s’ demeaning gaze, you were swaying “nervously” in your spot, really playing into your role of being the scared secretary on the verge of losing her job.

“I should fire you Eden,” he grunts pretending to look at the blank sheets of papers stuffed in a prop file handed to him before the cameras started running. “You fucked up my numbers, you’re fucking with my money. You know what I do to people that fuck with my money?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “I kick them out on their ass’s Eden.”

You shrink back at his outburst, but he catches the way you rub your thighs together. “Please sir,” you whimper, fuck he wanted you on your knees, his hands fisted in your hair while he choked you on his cock. “I can’t afford to lose this job, my daddy will be so upset with me, please.” He huffs as he kicks away from his desk pushing to his feet as he watches you, strong arms brace him against the fake wood of his desk. “Daddy? You think I give a fuck what Daddy’s going to think? Is Daddy going to get me my money you just lost me?”

Your lip's part to answer but a knock on the flimsy doors set sounds, the two of you look to the door, Bucky beckons them in. Walker newest recruit to Starkhub struts in paper in hand it was Tony’s idea to introduce him like this - you’d be filming his feature film with him next week. Bucky finds he hates it; he’s staring at Eden like he wants to eat her all while he brings the papers to the desk Bucky stands behind. Walker only stops undressing you with his eyes to tell ‘your boss’ he’s got the newest numbers for him.

He could care less about the blonde male, but his blood runs white hot when Walker delivers a slap to your ass, one neither of you were expecting on his way off the set. “See you later Eden.” He chuckles, Bucky doesn’t miss the way you shrink back, Walker’s little slap wasn’t part of the script, so your tongue tied, thrown off. He takes control calling your name bringing you back to him, “Eden, eyes on me, you and I aren’t done talking,” your gaze returns to his, good girl he thinks. “You plan on telling your daddy that you messed up, hope he gives you money to fix your mess?”

You shake your head, “I - No sir my daddy can’t know, he’s going to be so mad at me – please sir – I'll, I’ll do anything I can’t lose this job.” He pushes off the desk, rounding it, closing the distance between the two of you. He stops just a foot short of you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek, thumb running over the apple of it, “you really want to keep this job?” You're nodding eagerly, breath already uneven and he hasn’t even touched you the way he wants too, “and you’d do anything?”

Those doe eyes you’re so good at dishing come to life, “Anything sir – please.”

His gaze turns dark, hungry. “Get on your knees.” You gasp mock offense, “sir I -” his hand slips from your cheek falling to your neck, squeezing, “you said you would do anything – now I’m telling you to get on your knees. You want to keep your job, right? Keep daddy and me happy?”

You’re nodding, “then get on your knees Eden.”

Your descent is slow, his hand around your neck guiding you as you get down on your knees for him. You look up at him as your fingers reach for the belt buckled through his slacks, you pull the belt from the buckle opening the leather. Your fingers move onto the button holding his slacks closed next letting it pop open, a groan bubbles in his chest when your nimble fingers brush against his hardened cock as you pull the zipper down slowly. Your fingers hook over the top of his slack and boxers tugging on them, his cock springs free from its confines, he watches you lick over your lower lip.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs hand sliding up your neck to cradle the side of your head, “now show me just how much you want to keep this job.”

Eyes locked on his you get your fingers around his girth, hand fisting around the base of his cock. He waits with bated breath, dark hungry eyes watching you lean forward letting his hand that cradles you follow your movement. Your tongue peeks out past your lips to lick along the underside of his cock, your tongue running over every vein that has his breath leaving his chest. His head falls back a long low grunt falling from his lips as your tongue swirls around the tip before you take him fully into the wet, warm, heat of your mouth till your stretched out around the base of his cock, till he’s hitting the back of your throat. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers fisting tugging as he guides your motion “just like that” he moans, “fuck Eden knew you were good at something.”

You moan around his cock, your other hand finding his muscled thigh as you brace yourself, jaw slacking, eyes begging. The fist he has in your hair tightens, his other finding your cheek as he holds you still, complacent. He grinds into your mouth once, twice before he pulls you back till only the tip rests on your tongue, all self-control is lost on him as he fucks his way back into your mouth, pace unrelenting as he makes you take what he gives you.

“That’s it,” he growls, watching your mascara streak with the tears that pull from your eyes, “take this cock Eden, take it like a good fucking girl, let me see how bad you want it.” He tugs you off with a snarl harsh tug to your hair as he holds you at arm's length to get a good look at the mess he’s made of you. Your spit pools around your lips, dripping down your chin, staining the black satin shirt a shade darker. He can feel his cock pulse at the sight, watching as you run a thumb over your lips sucking the digit into your mouth as you lick yourself clean, “Did I do good sir? Yont won’t tell my daddy?”

He takes hold of his own cock, bringing you back into your space as he taps your parted lips with his member, he groans when your tongue slides out, “I don’t know Eden, I don’t feel like you’re very sorry, like you really want this job.”

You’re whining, kitten licking his cock as if that will fix your ‘mistakes’, “please sir,” you plead doe eyes beaming up at him, “I said I would do anything – and I mean anything.”

A growl vibrates in his chest as he halls you up, a cry so pretty leaving your lips as you stumble to your feet falling into his embrace. Hand still fisted in your hair, the other finding purchase on your neck as he brings your lips to his, tongue wasting no time as he delves into your parted lips licking up into your mouth.

“I want you naked, bent over that desk Eden - heels on.”

You’re tense as you wait bent over the wooden desk, breath caught in your throat, ass high in the air. He drinks you in, watching you all spread out and waiting, your poor pretty pussy clenching around nothing waiting to be filled.

He takes slow steps forward, “she’s a hungry thing isn’t she.” He husks from behind you. The first contact made is his hand slapping your pussy, the action jolting you up the desk, gasp tumbling from your lips. “Oh yes she is.” he murmurs fingers dipping into your sodden folds, you moan, head thumping against the desk at his touch, “sir please.” You push back into his hand, gyrating against the desk, he leans over you, thick digits circling your clit sweeping up your slick before plunging into your awaiting heat.

A moan leaves your parted lips, “you’re soaked Eden, slipped in so easily, who got you this wet? Was it Walker?”

His hot words ghost over your neck, you shake your head, biting back the whimpers, “No sir.” His fingers fuck into you, “tell me Eden who has you this wet?”

“You sir – please.” you preen pushing back into him, eager as ever.

“You’re such a good girl Eden,” he murmurs leaning into to nip at the lobe of your ear, “Do you only listen when your cunt is stuffed?”

You swallow back the yes, instead answering, “no sir – I can listen, I can be good, I promise.”

“Of course you’ll be good, you’ll do what I tell you if you want to keep this job.” he murmurs ravishing your skin, licking, nipping, biting any of you that he can reach. You’re so reactive to it all, preening his name as he fucks you with his fingers your ass pressing back into his hand as you try to get some control, get him a little deeper. “That’s it, fuck yourself sweetheart, come on my fingers Eden, get yourself wet for me – get yourself ready.”

The wet slick slide of his fingers into your drenched cunt fill the sets air, skin slapping skin. “Sir please – please!” His teeth capture the lobe of your ear, “Come on Eden, you’ve had no problem taking from me before, come on my fingers, come on.”

A low moan builds in his chest at the tightening of your cunt against his fingers, a broken cry leaving your lips as your orgasm washes over you. “That’s it Eden good fucking girl,” he growls his warmth that covered your back disappearing as he pushes up, his other hand holding your hips down as he fucks his fingers into you with vigor.

A cry of his name leaves your lips, hands scrambling to grab a hold of his wrist, he's unbothered, “uh uh Eden, M’not done give me one more, come on now. You’ve taken from me now it’s my turn.” It doesn’t take him long to pull another from you, your body going taught as you gush around his fingers, wetting his slacks. “Fuck such a good fucking girl.” he growls.

A whine leaves your lips when he pulls his fingers out, making quick work of repushing down his slacks to let his hardened cock spring free again. He covers you with his body again pulling a groan from you as he swipes his dick through your slick getting himself wet. “What’s wrong Eden, you think you’re the only one that can take? Think you could fuck me without getting fucked yourself?”

Your answer is a choked-out moan as he slides into the wet warm heat of your channel, walls constricting him like a vice. “Fuck,” he growls sliding in till he’s buried to the hilt, the hand that fucked you covering your mouth, “let’s get one thing straight here Eden the only one doing the fucking here will be me. You ever fuck me over again, and you’ll find yourself in a far worse position then this one, you understand?” You’re nodding, whines bubbling past the hold he has on your mouth his cock accentuating every word.

He can’t hold back anymore as he grabs the parts of you he can with his other hand holding you in place as he makes you take his cock. He only uncovers your mouth to hear how pretty you cry as he drives into you over and over again. He wrecks you like he promised, your body taking every inch of him, “that’s right take my cock like you took my money, keep me happy and you keep daddy happy,” he growls feeling himself closing in on his high.

He doesn’t want it to end this soon, he wants to have you under him for hours crying for him to stop, that you can’t take anymore maybe another time right now he needed to give clint his money shot. So he pulls out, biting back the groan as he manhandles you to the floor, getting you on your knees as he fists his cock. Your eager for it, tongue rolling out as you look up at him waiting for his cum to paint your tongue, “should have you on your knees more often, it's a good look for you,” he grunts feeling the pleasure build, “much better than that desk you sit behind.”

Your moaning drives him over the edge, his cum shooting from his cock, painting your cheeks, lips, tongue. He’s winded breath heavy as he watches you clean up his cum from your face with your fingers, he didn’t think he could get hard again but watching your lick your digits clean of his cum would be the thing to do it. He drops to a squat hand fisting in your hair as he brings your lips to his, its a wet dirty kiss all teeth and tongue as he tastes himself on you.

He wants to laugh when you speak your last line, “does this mean I can keep my job?” but he doesn't instead he pats your cheek thumb running over your lower lip, tugging it down, “you keep me happy, you can have whatever job you want.”

“Yes Sir.”

Clints calling cut over his shoulder, the loud buzz of a finished set sounding in the air.

The two of you relax then your back pressed against the wooden desk as you catch your breath. “How you doing Eden you alright?” he questions needing to check in.

You smile at him, “more than alright soldier, you always show your costars this good of a time?”

“If they’re not having a good time m’not doing my job sweetheart.” he answers hands going to the buttons of his shirt. You watch in question as he undoes each button, entranced as he pulls it off handing it to you. Your smile is soft as you take the fabric from his hands putting it on to cover up your naked body.

“Careful soldier or I might take more than just your money.”

He laughs, he was betting on it.

#pornstar!bucky #pornstar!au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes smut

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wildestdreamsblog · 7 months

Text

Latibule: Season 2 Prologue

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: happy halloween! 🎃

Masterlist Epilogue

"You'll open your stitches, Yoongi-ah," Kim Seokjin noted with a monotonous tone, his eyes still trained on the tablet he was holding when he heard a rustling of the sheets, the first ever sign that the man was truly alive. The mafia prince that turned medical director was sitting comfortably, his long leg over the other as though he had gotten a good night's sleep since the mayhem that happened. It was the eighth day since Yoongi was in a coma, and similarly, it was the eighth day since you passed.

Since then, numerous things transpired- and they were all of violent nature. The five of them shed volume of blood, more so by the youngest of them. It was too bad for the traitors that Jeon Jungkook was frustrated because he almost found his wife. She was almost within his grasp when he was urgently needed back in Korea because unshockingly, one of their brothers was trying to kill the other. And well, the organization needed cleansing of traitors.

Additionally, it was worse for the traitors because the moment he returned was the moment he found his sunshine gone.

Yoongi was physically healing, as evidenced by his vitals that Seokjin was diligently monitoring. It was expected. Yoongi was not likened to a cat for nothing. They all physically saw him fall from the third floor, stood up, and brushed his hands as though it was nothing when they were younger. There was not even an ounce of doubt in their minds that he would wake up one of these days.

That was the thing, Yoongi was healing. But now, Seokjin wondered what would happen once he knew what happened to you.

He didn't have to wait long.

"W-where is she?" Yoongi asked with apparent effort, his hand clutching his shoulder with a barely restrained pain flashing on his face. "I need to go to her. She must be so scared," He sat up and waited for Seokjin to say something, anything.

And he waited, and waited- yet, Kim Seokjin didn't answer him. He merely regarded him with a somber expression on him, a foreign look on his usual jovial face. Jin's jaw was clenched, and he hated to be the bearer of bad news.

Yoongi blinked, looking at the older man's eyes with quick realization. He couldn't have gotten any paler even if he wanted to, his eyes widened at what he already knew.

"No. Hyung, no. Fucking no," he shook his head, his movements quick as he pulled the dextrose harshly from his skin, blood now dripping on his hand. He stood up as he aimed for the door, every step he took was shaky, yet his determination to see you was strong. "Take me to her! Where is she!"

Jin tried as best as he could to contain the man, and that was how Kim Namjoon found them. He should have known, he was no match to a man who just lost the only person he ever loved. Namjoon immediately helped his hyung, securing Yoongi's other arm on his side. But the mafia leader was like a wounded animal, thrashing around as it tried to find reprieve. In this case, it was you who was his peace.

"Hyung, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself," Namjoon ordered as gently as he could, but it fell on deaf ears. Yoongi looked at Namjoon, his dark eyes filled with panic and unshed tears. He thought that maybe Namjoon would take him to you.

You were just hurt, right? You were just resting that was why his hyung couldn’t take him to you…right? You were somewhere here. He just needed to ask more, to impose more, and if needed, he just had to scream louder for you and you would come to him…right?

You were alive, right?!

"Namjoon-ah, where is my angel, hmm? Take me to her!" his voice were shaking as he fisted his hands on Namjoon’s shirt, trying to get the taller man to look at him, to listen to him. He was close to pleading, and he wasn’t above it.

Why were they quiet?

Why were they looking at him as though they pity him?

He wasn’t pitiful, he thought. He had you.

The two men shared a downcasted look. Both men didn't know how to tell him that you didn't survive, that not even your remains survived. But they had to.

"She didn't...survive."

Yoongi blinked, and the two of them were quiet as they waited with bated breath for his reaction. Yet, Yoongi just straightened up while chuckling. “Stop lying, Namjoon.”

“He’s not lying,” Jin stated before showing you the necklace he kept in his pocket…your necklace. “This was the only thing left in the scene. You’re the Chief of Police. You know what this means, Yoongi-ah.”

Yoongi smirked before marching to the door. “T-that’s not hers.”

“Hyung, where are you going?”

“To find her. She’s not dead. She’s not gone. S-She promised me she would never leave me. She never breaks her p-promise,” he struggled to say each word as his body had not yet fully recovered. His determination was commendable, but seeing him reduced to denying your death broke what was left of the brothers’ hearts. “Angel needs m-me. I cannot fail her. N-not this time.”

Yoongi’s body swayed to the side, yet he remained steadfast, walking to where he thought you were. And if he needed to crawl, then he would. If he needed to kneel just to see you, then he would be down on his fucking knees, begging for your forgiveness.

His body failed him the moment he opened the door, his barely-recovered form crashing on the ground that Jin had no choice but to contain the thrashing man the best way he could. With a small prick on his neck, Min Yoongi lost consciousness.

The last thing he called for was you.

Even in his dreams, you never came.

Chapter I

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #yandere min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi yandere #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x you #mafia bts

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ghouljams · 1 month

Note

i absolutely love your professor ghost and love series <333. i’m curious what you think will be the event that pushes them over the edge of wistful pining to an actual relationship🫣🫣🫣it would have to require an extreme event or something bc old man simon is way too deep in his fantasies to actually do anything about them😐😐😐

It's a the way there isn't a single thing. There's no change, there's no rejection, there's a consistency that drives Ghost mad. Love is as she always is, and he can't stand it anymore. She interrupts his lecture, she presses close and smiles at him, she smells like rosehip and honey and her lips are so soft looking up close. But she keeps leaving, winding him up and leaving him. It's a dance he can't keep up with, one that has born a new school of philosophy and pain. Love gathers her papers and turns to leave with a smile and quiet 'thank you' and Ghost?

Ghost grabs Love by the back of the neck, catching her tight before she can make her escape. The motion of it jolts her stopping her in her tracks. There's only so much flirting a man can stomach before he starts getting agitated. He doesn't want to scare her, not badly anyway, he just wants her to stop playing with him. He's past delusional, he's going insane. He's imagining a future he shouldn't be, swiping her things, waiting for her just to be disappointed. He's writing, loving to the point of creation, to the point of philosophy.

The absolute devotion in her eyes, the soft flutter of her lashes when he reels her back in and cages her against his chest, God. He pulls her hair tight in his fist, his cock twitching as she settles her hands on his chest. He should dismiss class early, but he doubts anyone would clear out of the lecture hall fast enough for him to bend her over the lectern. Ghost settles on his previous plan of asking Love what her fucking problem is.

"You 'avin' fun?" He asks, his voice a low growl. Love hums, spreads her fingers wide over his pecs, before curling them in the fabric of his button down.

"Be having more with your hand around my throat." She tells him, still flirting, and still getting a reaction from him. Ghost tightens his grip, tugs her head back, and watches her lips part around a sigh.

Does she even know every vulnerability that she displays? The bared throat, clear path to major organs, a lack of awareness that teeters on trusting. God, she trusts him.

The knowledge licks at him like holding his hand too close to an open flame. It tightens in his chest, makes his stomach churn. What has he done to earn that? What can he do to make her take it back, to make her take all of it back? Every touch, every spare glance, every word out of her mouth. She could take it all back and he'd still be here, he'd still have seen her and wanted her, wanted to know her. He'd still have seen her name on emails and known there was something missing from him. He'd still have wallowed in his misery, in a world- a life- without her.

"Why're ya doin' this to me?" He feels it fall out of him, pleading, the question he never could come up with an answer to, even with every degree of philosophy he could scrounge up.

"Because it feels right," She murmurs, "doesn't it?"

"No." Ghost insists. Love blinks, her eyes sliding over him, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You don't want me?"

There's such a vulnerability, a disbelief, in her voice that he wants to scream: that's not it. That's not it. He'd be lying with just a twitch of a nod, and lying has never suited Ghost, withholding sure, but not lying. The way she looks at him tugs bile up his throat, makes the pain in his chest clench that much tighter.

The universe has only ever taken from him. No good deed has ever gone unpunished in Ghost's life. He's built his camp on sorrow and rage, but it bites out of him to tell her:

"I've never wanted anythin' else."

#simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #professor au #professor!ghost #oc: love

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rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months

Text

rafe being an aggressive lover headcanons <3

words: 800

warnings: mentions of violence, rafe being controlling a bit lol

“i love you so much, baby. i would kill everyone on this fucking island for you.” you know he’s serious, but you can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you. rafe pouts, hands tightening on your hips. he goes to duck his head in slight embarrassment, but you stop him, “i love you too baby.” you kiss him. “while i don’t want you to kill anyone, i will definitely keep that in mind if someone is pissing me off.”

“if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to go.” rafe says, admiring your dress as you smooth it out in the mirror for the hundredth time, nervous about dinner with your parents tonight. they’ve never been the biggest fans of rafe, but what upsets you more is how overly critical your dad is of you. he never gives you a break, and rafe knows how his words cut like a knife. “if he starts that shit again, i will deck him in the fucking face.” you roll your eyes, but know rafe absolutely would do that for you.

rafe has been at your back all day, arms around your waist or hands on your hips. it’s cleaning day at the house, and you find it really satisfying to move room to room, organizing and sanitizing, but it’s a bit hard when you have a lovesick rafe following you around. “baby, ow.” you wince in pain as he squeezes you too tightly. rafe backs away quickly. “i’m sorry.” you turn around and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “it’s okay, handsome. just too tight.” you peck his lips. “i know, sorry, just wanna squeeze you until you pop.”

“you’re never allowed to leave me.” rafe says seriously. you roll your eyes as you swipe on your lipgloss. “honey, i’m not leaving, i’m literally just getting dinner with the girls.” rafe pouts as you grab your purse. “you’re going to be gone for hours.” rafe whines. “you’re not going.” you turn to rafe, placing your hands on your hips. “excuse me?” rafe shakes his head, holding firm, “you’re not going.” “i’m going.” you head for the door, but rafe grabs your hand. you interrupt him before he can speak, “and you’re coming too.” rafe gives you a puzzled glance. “i already told the girls that you’d be joining me.”

“call me every hour.” rafe says, kissing you again, moving slightly closer to the door. “rafey, aren’t you gonna be in meetings and stuff?” you ask. rafe has been putting off an important business trip for weeks, and it can’t wait any longer. he really wanted you to come with him, but you insisted you were fine to stay at your house, you’re an adult after all and it’s only three days. “doesn’t matter. let me know whenever you’re leaving the house, i’ll be watching the cameras.” rafe had cameras put up in all of the common spaces, coincidentally a couple of days before he left. “i will call you.” you nod. “annie is coming over tomorrow evening, and i will probably go to the grocery store when you’re on your flight back so i can make you dinner.” rafe kisses you, pauses to open the door, and kisses you again. you’re glad you convinced him to leave an hour early, knowing that rafe actually leaving the house always took forever.

you’re sitting in bed together, having spent the whole sunday just lazing around the house. rafe pulls you onto his lap, pressing your body close to his. his teeth suddenly sink into your bottom lip, making your eyes shoot open. rafe doesn’t let up, gently biting down on your lip, tugging it slightly. you moan against his mouth, letting him know how much you like it.

“chicken?” rafe asks, and you shake your head no, a sour look on your face. “pasta?” another shake of your head. “chips? ice cream? pretzels? baby, you have to eat something. pizza? i’ll order from any restaurant.” “raaaafe.” you stop him, “i’m just not hungry, babe. it’s fine.” rafe runs his hand through his hair, chest puffing up and down, “it’s not fucking fine, honey. you can’t just skip a meal.” rafe pauses, clenching and unclenching his fist. “are you sick? should we go to the doctor?” “not at all honey… why don’t we order in pizza? that sounds good.” rafe can easily tell that you’re lying, but if it’ll get you to eat, he doesn’t care.

“get down!” rafes sudden yell startles you, making you wobble on the ladder. rafe is quick to grab you, literally pulling you off your feet and into his arms. “what do you think you’re doing?” rafe shakes you. “rafe!” you let out a little squeal. rafe sets you down on the couch, pacing the living room, “do you know how easily you could have fallen? whatever you’re doing, next time wait for me to get home and let me do it okay? i can’t have you hurt.” he kneels down in front of you. “you scared me.” you whisper. “sorry, bunny.” he squeezes your knees. “but please, no heights. nothing even a little dangerous. i- i can’t lose you.”

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months

Note

Hi grl! First of all I wanted to tell you how much I ABSOLUTELY ADORED your kaz x reader series (exactly as you are)! The way you treated kaz character, how he actually cares (even if he tries to mask it) about the reader and his crows, how he wants to be better for reader, and how he consideres himself weak when he fails at a simple thing like touching his loved one or expressing his feelings... Besides, I hate it when people just ignore kaz haphephobia and trauma but, again, your work was amazing.

Now that you're taking requests, could you maybe do a one-shot/two-shot about him and non grisha crow!fem!reader? Maybe a flangst/fluff, something to do with him trying to overcome his touch aversion brick by brick for her, or with a sunshine reader who's been through so much trauma but she's a sunshine (not naive) with everyone to try and lighten their moods and hide her trauma... or idk literally about anything you can think of (I just want some kazzle dazzle content tbh hehe)

Thank you so much, you're great <33

Your girl is rusty when it comes to Kaz but boy do I miss him. So, I hope you will enjoy this!🫧

warnings: abuse, blood and implied violence.

Petal

On nights when Kaz felt like sabotaging himself, and that was most nights, he forced himself to watch your restless form as nightmare after nightmare ripped through your mind, making you claw at the plush blanket beneath you, drenching you in cold sweat. Kaz forced himself to watch because it’s his fault. His fault that he didn’t see it. How could he sit here and claim that he knew it all? Knew even the exact time a leaf was going to fall from a tree when he missed something so important right in front of his nose.

Kaz remembers the time you had first stepped into the club. Hair windswept. The cloak way too thin for the winds outside. You had barely given yourself a chance to look around before your whole body grew stiff as you prepared yourself for the worst. See, Kaz had been forced by Nina to hand out leaflets about the club hiring new staff. “You can be wiping your ass with the coins you have and I’m there alone with cracked skin on my hands”.

But everything had screamed at Kaz to say no from the moment he saw you. Too sweet. Too pure. Too innocent. Who even wears flowers in their hair in the dead of autumn? Yet he couldn’t look away. “We don’t sell cakes here, move along”, his cold voice cut through the silence, as he motioned you back to the door with his cane. One more beat of surprise and fear. And yet another beat came out clean and steady. “I can sell beer too or whatever that you sell here”, your hands had been clenched in fists as you spoke. A slight tremble. But even the dismissive silence hadn’t chased you away. “I can mop the floor, I can do it all. Can even sing if guests need entertainment. I just…”, that whole time you had been talking to the darkness. Since the club was empty still Kaz was a fan of hiding in its corners. “You don’t even have to pay much just so I could buy some food”, that had stirred something deep in Kaz. Imagines of Jordie flashed by. Empty stomachs. Cold streets. But then if you were suffering from the same fate he had you wouldn’t be standing there shining like the sun in the spring sky.

But Kaz hadn’t even been close to imagining what you were going through. Nina had fallen in love with you almost immediately so the hustle of you two twirling through the club had become a regular sight. It was the difference in your stance that the first monthly pay had made. You had been late to work the first day after. Your movements were slower. Eyes hollow and tired. “Well one of us celebrated nicely huh”, Nina had nudged you, “Up all night spending that earned coin”, you had returned her smile with a somewhat made-up smile of your own but that had been the first time Kaz had an inkling that something was happening behind close doors.

“You can eat food in the club, you know”, Kaz had managed to find you alone in the storage room, organizing the boxes. Your hair was falling out of the loosely done bun, draping across your face in such an enchanting way that Kaz had to make sure to not let his jaw hang low. You had swept some of it away with the back of your hand, “there’s no need, plenty of food at home”, you said. It was a slight jab and your eyes instantly had grown wide at the realization so you added, “Thanks to you, of course”.

Kaz had humbled, letting his gaze linger. “You can also, as an employee, stay here for the night if there’s a need”, and there it was that sharp bob of your throat. But you shook your head, “I appreciate it but”, you shrugged, “I’m fine in my own home”. You wondered if he was going to push or order you to do so but Kaz had simply turned around and walked away but his mind was already set. Just things had been set into motion even sooner than he expected because a couple of days later you had once again barely been walking at the end of the week.

“You’re stalling orders, man don’t like waiting”, Kaz said firmly, for the first time making you flinch slightly. “I’ll pick it up, I’m sorry”, you said bluntly, reaching for two more pines when Kaz’s eyes drifted to your exposed wrist.

The end of his cane pressed against the purple mark, “What is this?”, his tone was cold, dripping ice. You knew how he was with his investments. No flaws. Always useful. “I… A barrel fell…”, you mustered, making Kaz raise a brow, “A barrel?”. You nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly. “And left fingerprints on your skin? Do you think I’m stupid?”, Kaz’s tone had turned sour. You quickly shook your head, “Of course no, you are the best…”, “Who did this to you, YN?”, Kaz cut you off making you look up at him instantly.

You couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t know. “It’s nothing…”, you whined right as Kaz stepped right in front of you his gloved hand now the one wrapped around your aching wrist. That not only was purple and blue but also broken. “Looks like something to me. Who?”, Kaz demanded. His electric blue eyes pierce your soul. You let out yet another whimper as your eyes started burning with tears. You had a feeling what end the person would meet and her and now you were the one vowing the thread of life. “My father”, your voice had been barely a whisper but Kaz’s face had turned ashen. And then he turned around. As if haven’t just given him your biggest secret.

“Kaz”, you called after him. Wanted to reach for him yet more than aware that he hated touch. “Go to the office in the back of the club”, he turned back, white medical wrap in his hands, “You are staying in the house from tonight”. Taken back all you could was watch him. As his trembling hands reached for your wrist, wrapping it up for support.

“But…”, you muttered. “Nina will bring you food and then walk you to your new place”, he was speaking as if all of this had been set for months. “Kaz…”, you tried to cut in but it’s like your words didn’t reach him. “You won’t be working for the rest of the week”, he grumbled and you failed to understand if that annoyed him or not. “Kaz, please”, you muttered but once his eyes met yours his expression was like nothing you had seen before, “Any stuff you want for yourself from that place?” You blinked a couple of times before shaking your head. Kaz’s fingers lingered on your skin before he dropped your hand, “Good”, he said as if you had signed your life away to him fully and stepped out of the back room.

Now weeks down the line here he is. With your father’s blood on his hands. Still lingering. It didn’t give him the closure Kaz wanted. The old fuck died too quickly for his liking. Not to mention that Kaz hated the man even more now because even if physical he wasn’t here. His actions still haunted you. “Please”, you cried, head turning to the side as you tried to flee from the horror, “Don’t lock at the door, no, papa”. Kaz pulled back from the wall he had been leaning against, crossing the room in a couple of strong steps. Then there was the choice that he had to make. He doubted that seeing him first thing out of a nightmare would make you happy. So he slowly, through gritted teeth made himself lay on the side of your bed. Now his own frightened eyes watched you because Kaz could feel the heat from your body.

Your head turned to the side with another plea, this time hitting Kaz’s arm. His whole body got ridged. The salty smell of the sea filled his senses. But then a content sigh leaves your lips and Kaz sees the tension in your body fading. The content was minimal. Your forehead was resting against his upper arm, fingers grazing his palm. Kaz took a sharp breath in. Making himself turn to look at you fully. His heart practically clawing at the chest at the sight of your clam features. All because of… but he didn’t let himself entertain that thought. Not now. Not tonight, “I’ll always protect you, petal”.

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #kaz x reader #kaz x you #the six of crows x reader #the six of crows imagine #the six of crows #the six of crows x you

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burntheedges · 3 months

Text

Notes on inclusivity in x reader fic

I’ve seen a lot of posts about this this week so I wanted to share the things I think about when I write and how I try to be more inclusive. I’m not saying I invented these – I definitely did not. This is also not an exhaustive list. I’m just good at organizing information (thanks, grad school) so I thought it might be helpful for others to list out what I'm thinking about while writing. I’m completely open to feedback on these! And I’ll add to the list as I learn and think of more.

Notes on hair, skin tone, body type/size (and clothes), language, and gender below the cut.

Hair

The main thing to avoid here is having fingers run through reader’s hair. That’s not possible or desirable for a variety of hair types. Things I like to do instead:

Hand on the back of the neck

Hand on jaw, side of neck, or cheek (especially hand on side of neck with thumb caressing cheek)

Fingers tracing face, cheekbones, lips

Kisses at the hairline

Skin tone

I think we all know about avoiding blushing at this point. I like to use:

Cheeks heated

Felt heat rise in your cheeks

Face felt hot

Your cheeks were warm to the touch

You could feel the heat in your cheeks

But there’s also other considerations, like wind chafing (which can cause redness, but only on some skin) and effects of actions like clenching your fists or what happens when you’re feeling faint:

Windburn, raw skin, dryness, chafing, peeling instead of redness

Not using “white knuckles” to emphasize clenched fists or a tight grip on something

Not having the reader “turn white” or pale when they’re shocked, feeling faint, sick, etc.

Instead, try: looks sick, ill, shaky, weak, trembling

Body type & size

Clothing

I try to only specify clothing, footwear, and/or makeup when plot relevant:

Going out on a date? Try “your favorite outfit” or “the new outfit you bought” which allows the reader to fill in something they would want to wear in that situation.

If I need reader to have a pocket, I might specify jeans, but not what type.

If I need reader to be comfortable, I might say they’re wearing their most comfortable clothes, but not what they are.

If I need reader to be wearing a top and pants, I’ll just say that without adding details.

Another note here - it’s possible to add descriptors that can be relatable and add to the vibe without adding specifics. For example:

“You were wearing your favorite jeans that fit you just the way you liked.”

"You were already uncomfortable because your only clean pants were the ones you hated, with the broken fly."

“You slipped on your most comfortable clothes that you liked to wear around the house.”

“You found a top in your closet that you hadn’t worn in ages, and felt perfect for the moment.”

If needed, specify without over specifying:

In Maintenance Request, there’s an important, plot-relevant scene where reader spills coffee on her white blouse. So I said she was wearing a white blouse, but nothing else about her outfit. That allows you to picture whatever you want (and whatever type of blouse) with just that one detail.

You can say, for example, that reader is wearing lingerie and it has lace, without adding so much information that the reader can't picture themselves in it.

Body size and weight

In terms of reader’s size, one thing to think about is writing that the other person lifts the reader or carries them anywhere. That’s not inclusive of plus-size bodies (like mine). But it’s possible to include similar physicality without that particular detail:

Throwing a leg over a shoulder

Tugging on hips (on the bed)

Pushing into a wall and crowding in

Pulling someone down on top of you

Height

Not everyone is shorter than these love interests we’re writing about. Try:

Leaned in for a kiss (instead of up)

Brought your lips to theirs

Angled your head for a kiss

Reached for them (instead of reached up)

Language

You don’t have to speak a language to imagine that your reader might. Instead of implying that dialogue in another language is “incomprehensible” or saying reader doesn’t understand, try:

You didn’t hear what he said (let’s the reader decide if they understood)

Include the dialogue but mark it as being in the other language (possibly in italics?)

Talk to one of the many fans on here who speak that language!

Check out and bookmark helpful posts like this one about sexy talk in Spanish from ali @urmomsgnocchi

Gender

Label whether it’s f!reader, gn!reader, m!reader, nb!reader, etc.

Note about tagging

But like anything else, the most important thing to do is tag! If you want to have someone lift the reader, for example, you can do that – just tag for it, or specify that you’re not tagging for everything. That allows people to choose how to engage. ETA: It’s not possible to be inclusive of every reader’s experience in every fic, but tagging allows everyone to know what’s going on.

I like to add a note on the main fic post about any details I’ve added to reader’s backstory, see this one as an example.

Note about learning

Like anything else, we do better when we learn more. I learned a lot of this from reading fic and reading others’ helpful guidance and suggestions way before I ever started writing. But I also learned some from editing myself, which gets easier the more I practice. For example, I originally had a detail in to know the light about reader's skin turning red and irritated from cold wind – but I caught it, and changed it to be more inclusive. I caught it because I’ve been purposefully editing and monitoring my own writing for inclusivity. It gets easier with practice.

I hope this is helpful and I’m also happy to add any other suggestions or link to anyone’s posts. Also happy to have feedback. <3

Here are some posts that helped me learn and do better: About inclusivity and language from @flightlessangelwings

#writing #x reader fic #inclusivity #inclusivity in x reader fic #x reader inclusion #x reader #writing x reader #i don't know what tags to use #about writing #writing resource

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lupinmoonlight · 5 months

Text

Mine

Masterlist AO3

Summary - Some Slytherin boy distracts you during class. Professor Lupin catches him passing you a note. He gets very jealous and gives you detention. Smut ensues, obviously (3,650 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, rough sex, smut, jealousy, implied reader masturbation, no safeword, dom/sub dynamic, marking, biting, possessiveness, not proof-read, my grammar.

Notes - I decided to merge these two requests because I found them quite similar I hope it is okay!! Thank you for being patient. Also, please always use a safeword if you are to engage in such activities, this is just fantasy :)

You sat at your usual spot in the DADA classroom, eyes never straying from Professor Lupin as he lectured. Your attention, however, was not entirely academic. In fact, it was not academic at all.

Unknown to many, you held a special place in Professor Lupin's heart and for this, he was convinced that Hell had a special place for him. He didn't care, though. Your relationship was secret, concealed, forbidden. But it was strong and intense, bordering on something closer to a possessive obsession. You were his, and his only. And you loved it.

So you sat there, intently focused on the "lecture", at least you tried, because your concentration today was being constantly disrupted.

Sat next to you, a boy, noticeably smitten with you, kept stealing glances at you and giggling like a pompous little shit with his friends. Of course, he was a Slytherin. And of course, he was blonde.

The boy scribbled something on a piece of parchment and stealthily passed it to you. Snapping out of your trance-like focus, you looked at him, slightly confused and, unaware of its romantic implications, took the note and tucked it under your textbook with a polite smile, your gaze immediately returning to Professor Lupin.

Lupin's keen eyes, which often lingered a moment too long on you during class, caught the exchange. The thought of anyone else, especially a boy, showing interest in you stirred a primal, protective feeling within him. He couldn't help but feel territorial, believing that no one could cherish and care for you as he did.

He tried to refocus on his lecture about the properties of moonstones in werewolf lore, but his words faltered slightly, his thoughts clouded with an uncharacteristic yet potent jealousy. "That will be all for today," he announced abruptly, ending the class earlier than usual.

Taken aback, students around you started gathering their things and filing out, but the Slytherin boy and his friends lingered, approaching you with grins plastered on their faces. "Hey, L/N", the boy started, leaning casually against your desk. "About that note..."

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling cornered yet still oblivious of his intentions. "Um, yes? I haven't read it yet..."

"You should. It's important," the boy pressed, encouraged by his friends snickering behind him.

Feeling the pressure, you glanced towards Lupin for a fleeting moment before unfolding the piece of parchment the boy had given you earlier.

Lupin, pretending to organize his papers, watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. His hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to intervene. He was not fighting it very hard because the next second, he cleared his throat loudly.

"Miss L/N, could I have a word?" he called out, his voice unusually stern.

You looked up, surprised at being addressed by your last name. He never addressed you by your last name. In fact, he never addressed any of his students by their last names.

"Of course, Professor," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

The boys hesitated, exchanging looks of confusion and annoyance, like they were worth your attention more than Lupin.

Lupin's gaze turned icy as he addressed them. "Gentlemen, I believe your presence is no longer required here. Please, see yourselves out."

Reluctantly, the group shuffled out of the classroom, throwing glances with an air of superiority over their shoulders.

With the classroom now empty, the air felt heavier. Lupin's expression was stern, a stark contrast to the usual warmth he reserved for you. His gaze was fixed on some papers on his desk, avoiding direct eye contact. "Miss L/N," he began, emphasizing your last name again as if to stab you with his words.

"I need to speak with you about your conduct in class today."

"Remus, what's wrong?" you responded softly, taken aback by his formality even when you were now both alone.

His eyes finally met yours, sharp and unyielding. "It's Professor Lupin," he corrected you firmly. "In this classroom, I expect you to address me appropriately."

Confused and slightly hurt, you corrected yourself, "Yes, Professor Lupin. I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

Lupin sat and folded his hands on the desk, his voice laced with a restraint that bordered on frustration. "Your focus in class today was...lacking. You were distracted, and frankly, it was distracting to me as well."

Your brow furrowed in disbelief. "Distracted? But I-"

"I am not finished," he interrupted. "Such behaviour is unacceptable, and as a result, you will serve detention."

Your mouth fell often, but no words came out. This was a side of Remus you had never seen- so cold, so distant. Of course, you were accustomed to his occasional possessiveness, his dominance behind closed doors, but this was entirely different and you couldn't tell if he was serious or not.

"But, Remus, I don't understand. This isn't like you," you managed to stammer, your voice tinged with hurt and confusion.

His expression did not soften. "I said, it is Professor, and what is or isn't 'like me' is not for you to decide. What matters is maintaining a proper student-teacher relationship in this classroom. You will serve detention tonight after your last class of the day, and I expect you to not be late. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," you replied quietly, your mind racing with a growing sense of unease.

"Good. Dismissed."

You turned to leave, your mind a wild mess of unanswered questions. You glances back at your Professor, hoping for any sign of the warmth and gentleness that you were so used to, but found none.

If Lupin had found you distracted in his class, it was nothing compared to the rest of the day. Not only did you have to deal with a semi-heartbreak and try to focus on your other classes, but that blonde idiot kept pestering you about going to Hogsmeade with him over the weekend. First, you were not into blondes. Second, you were most definitely not into boys. You were into men. Men old enough to be your dad. Men with scars. Men with gentle eyes. Men with nice hands. Men with a mustache. Men who wore cardigans. Men with voices that sounded like liquid gold and made you fold. Men like...Remus.

You felt a twinge in your heart at the thought of his name. His name he had forbidden you to say earlier. It was not abnormal though. He often made you call him Sir or Professor when you were alone in his quarters, when you were on your knees before him. But this time it felt different. It felt cold. Distant. Uncharacteristic.

Your steps echoed in the empty hallways as you made your way to the DADA classroom for your detention. Your head was just as empty. No thoughts. Just Remus.

Professor Lupin was already there, seated at his desk, when you entered the room. Without a word, he flicked his wand, and the door closed sharply behind you. You noticed another subtle movement of his wand, casting wards around the room. Clearly, what was about to unfold was meant to remain private.

Lupin didn't rise from his seat, his expression stern and unreadable. "Come here, Miss L/N," he said, his voice strict, almost commanding.

You walked over, your steps hesitant. He pointed to the space between his parted legs, silently indicating for you to stand there. You did, looking down, unable to meet his gaze directly.

His voice broke the silence again. "Do you know why you're here, Miss L/N?"

"For detention, Professor," you replied quietly, still looking downwards, although you were starting to understand that you were not here for detention at all.

"Look at me," he commanded in a tone you didn't hear very often. Usually, this tone was reserved in moments that required you to have a safeword. But right now, your mind was blank. Empty. Useless. And you didn't remember your safeword. And you panicked, silently.

Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. There was a possessive hunger in his gaze that made you shiver. You gasped softly when his wand came into view, slowly tracing the hem of your skirt. The tip gently lifted the fabric, revealing a mark on your thigh - a mark you knew all too well. His creation.

"Who did this to you?" he asked in a tone that was a strange mix of sternness and curiosity.

"You did," you replied.

"No. Who did this to you?" he corrected.

Your heart was basically in your throat and you were about to combust, but you gathered your courage and let out a quiet "You did, Sir."

"That's better. And why did I do this?" he continued, watching you intently.

You hesitated, searching for the right answer. You knew the wrong one could change the course of your interaction. He watched you, a slight smile playing on his lips as he saw your thought process unfold in your eyes.

"Because I... I wanted you to?" you ventured tentatively.

"No, try again," he urged, a hint of satisfaction in his voice at your struggle to find the right words. He was peeling you apart right there, between his legs, with the mere touch of his wand and a few simple words and he loved every second of it.

Your heart pounded as the realization dawned on you. He had been jealous. And he was claiming his territory, right where that stupid boy had tried to lure you in.

"Because I am yours," you said with a little more confidence.

"That's right," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. "What a good girl you are, understanding your place."

Your cheeks burnt with a mix of embarrassment and thrill. You tried to look away, to escape the intensity of the moment, but he wouldn't allow it. He reached out, firmly directing your face back towards his. "Eyes on me," he commanded.

"It will do you good to remember this feeling, Miss L/N. Remember it when another little boy tries to distract you again, especially in front of me."

His wand traveled up, pausing briefly over another mark of his on your neck, and continuing its path to your lips, lightly brushing against them. Your breath hitched at the touch, your eyes still locked with his.

"Whose are these?" he asked.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were overwhelmed, momentarily speechless.

His eyes held yours, patient but expectant. "Y/N," he prompted again, this time using your first name. He was not playing anymore, and you didn't know if you should feel relieved or worried.

Swallowing hard, you found your voice, albeit a whisper, "Yours, Sir."

"Very good," he praised.

He then moved his wand again, this time directing it downwards. He paused for a moment at your waist before sliding it further down, under your skirt. The tip of the wand hovered over your core, gently grazing you through your panties.

"And what about this? Whose is it?" he asked again, increasing the pressure slightly.

"Y...Yours, S-Sir," you stuttered.

"Good girl, you're learning."

Your gaze dropped down, landing on the bulge in his trousers, evidently straining against the fabric. He abruptly removed his wand and grabbed your chin firmly. "Eyes on me, I said."

"Yes, Sir," you murmured, your gaze finding his again.

"Do you want to continue with this?" he asked, and this time his tone was not hard, not stern, not cold. It was just his tone. Just Remus.

"Y-Yes, Sir," you replied almost instantly.

"Do you want your safeword?" he asked seriously. He knew that sometimes, you didn't want it. You wanted him to be fully in charge. You wanted him to decide what you could handle and couldn't. It was dangerous, but you trusted him implicitly, sometimes more than yourself.

"No, Sir," you answered a bit too confidently because truthfully, your mind was too blank to formulate any logical thought, let alone remember a safeword you never used.

"Do you want to please me?" he asked, his gaze insistent and penetrating.

"Yes, Sir," you breathed.

His eyes traveled over your body, taking in every curve and contour. "Then show me how much you want to please me," he commanded. "Touch yourself."

You bit your lip, almost frozen on the spot, before letting your shaky hands move over your body, teasingly caressing your skin through your uniform. Your hands reached the hem of your skirt, and you looked at him, seeking permission to continue. He nodded, urging you on, and you did. You let your fingers travel over your panties, feeling the damp patch there, and gasped as you reached the sensitive bundle of nerves slightly prominent through the fabric of your underwear.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Make yourself feel good for me."

Your breath caught in your throat as you continued to touch yourself, imagining his hands on you instead. You could feel your arousal growing, and you moaned softly, unable to contain your pleasure.

Lupin's eyes darkened, and he reached out, grasping your wrist. "Enough," he said, his voice low and gritty.

He slowly pulled you closer, the space between you diminishing until you were mere inches apart. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath as your faces drew near. Just as your lips were about to meet, he stopped, hovering there, so close but not touching.

"Do you think you deserve this, Y/N?" he asked, his voice a whisper against your lips.

A breathless "No, Sir," was all you could manage.

"That's right, you don't," he affirmed.

A pathetic whine escaped you, a mixture of frustration and desire.

Lupin let out a low, almost mocking chuckle at your reaction. "Aw, you poor little girl."

Your response was a mix of a sigh and a whispered plea, unable to contain your arousal.

"But you know," he murmured softly, "I feel rather lenient today."

Without warning, he pulled you abruptly close, closing the gap between you. Your lips met in a kiss that felt more like a claim, a statement, a declaration. His. His. His.

His hands traveled to the back of your thighs, pulling you against his arousal. His face buried in your neck, he grazed his teeth against your soft skin before sinking them into it, creating another mark. "Mine," he growled against your neck.

His hands suddenly left you and the sound of a zipper getting undone filled the room. You dared looking down as he let his erection spring free.

"Eyes. On. Me." he said again sternly.

"S-Sorry, Sir," you whimpered as you forced your eyes back up.

"Take these off for me," he commanded, his finger tugging gently at your panties.

You obeyed, slowly sliding them off until they pooled at your feet. You stepped out of them before picking them up and placing them onto his desk.

"Very good. What a good girl," he praised. "Now, come here," he said softly, pulling you into his lap.

You found yourself straddling him, a position that caught you off guard, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from your lips.

You were acutely aware of him, of your proximity, of how exposed you were in the middle of the classroom, at his desk, feeling both vulnerable and...strangely cherished. His hands moved to your face, holding you gently. His eyes, now soft and filled with the familiar warmth you knew so well, silently searched yours. It was a silent question, a non-verbal communication asking if you were alright, if you wanted to continue.

You met his gaze and nodded, trying to hide how desperate you actually were.

He shifted his hips slightly, the tip of his length teasing your entrance. "Relax for me," he whispered.

You nodded again and fought yourself with all your might not to simply sink yourself down on him. You were practically shaking and it was pathetic. Almost sensing your lack of self-control, his hands found your hips, gripping them with a force that would certainly leave marks.

"Someone's impatient," he remarked. "Go on, then. Tell me what you want."

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Sir," you begged, doing your best to keep your eyes locked onto his.

"Tell me. What do you need?" he teased and god it was too much. You tried to lower your hips, to even get just the tip inside of you but he wouldn't allow it.

"I...I need you...inside me, Sir. Please."

"There's my good girl," he cooed and with that, he thrust his hips up just enough so that the tip of his length breached your entrance. "Now, show me just how much you want me."

You didn't need to be told twice. You responded by lowering yourself onto him fully, causing him to groan as your warmth surrounded him. You began moving your hips, slowly at first, because the hands on your hips controlled the pace, but then his grip loosened, one hand moving up to your hair, pulling your head back, the other landing around your neck.

You started increasing the pace, finding a rhythm that matched his as you began moving together.

"That's it," he praised. "Take what you want from me."

You moaned softly, your breath catching in your throat as you felt him going deeper and deeper inside you.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice filled with lust.

"I-I want you, Sir," you panted, your words coming out in short gasps. "I want you to make me yours."

"Then take it," he commanded. "Take what you want. Take it."

You cried out in pleasure as you continued to bounce up and down in his lap, your movements becoming more urgent as the pressure in your core built and built. Your mind was a blank slate, filled with nothing but the intense sensation of having him inside you.

He could feel how close you were, and he tightened his grip around your neck, bringing you closer to him. "Let go for me," he whispered, his lips soft against the shell of your ear, and it was all it took for you to reach your peak.

He groaned at the sensation of you clenching on him, your muscle tightening around his hard length. It was his turn now. His turn to take what he wanted. What was his. With a growl, he hauled you up from his lap and stood before swiftly bending you over his desk, books and quills and ink pots falling to the ground with a clatter.

He hiked up your skirt around your waist and entered you from behind in one sharp thrust, your body jolting forward as you were forced to balance on your tiptoes. Barely recovered from your orgasm, your face was pressed onto the cold surface of the desk, and he started to pound into you with abandon.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he lifted your head up, forcing you to look at the empty classroom in front of you. "Next time you get distracted by some little boy in my class," he said, his voice filled with disdain, "remember this moment. Remember being bent over this desk. Remember the sensation of having me inside you. Remember how it feels when I take you. When I take what's mine," he growled. "Mine. Mine. Mine," he continued, each word punctuated by a hard thrust.

You cried out a pathetic "Yes, Sir," unsure if you were able to handle this, but he continued, indicating that you would handle it, even if you thought you couldn't.

His pace increased, each thrust pressing you further into the desk, his movements becoming jerky and losing rhythm. He was getting close. So close.

"Fuck..." he breathed as he leaned forward, his body covering yours. "I'm going to fill you up," he growled. "I want you to be full of me."

With that, he thrust into you one last time, his hips snapping against yours, groaning obscenely as he emptied himself inside you. His hips continued to pump into you with each wave of warmth, as if he was pouring his soul into you.

Finally, he stilled, and the room fell into a quiet stillness. Lupin, his energy completely expended, relaxed with a deep, contented sigh, his body lightly resting on top of yours. He began to plant gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulders, and the back of your head, each touch a soft echo of his love for you. There was a tenderness in his actions now, a shift that enveloped you in a sense of safety and warmth only he could provide.

Gently, Lupin slowly withdrew from you, and you whimpered quietly at the sudden emptiness. He waved his wand in a few discrete movements, adeptly cleaning you both with an effortless flick before carefully readjusting your uniform.

He pulled you close, and you nestled into his embrace, your body quivering slightly from what you had just been through.

"It's okay. You're okay, love," he whispered soothingly against your hair.

You whimpered softly against his chest, trying to ground yourself in the steady beat of his heart.

Gently cradling you, Remus sat down in his chair, his arms enveloping you in a protective cocoon. "You were such a good girl. You took me so well. I love you so much." Gradually, under the gentle cadence of his voice, your breathing began to steady.

Sensing you were in a more stable state, Lupin carefully shifted his position. He took your hand in his, guiding it with a deliberate tenderness until it rested over his heart. Through the fabric of his shirt, the steady thump of his heartbeat was strong and real under your palm.

"And whose is this?" he asked softly, his eyes meeting yours with a playful glint.

You let out a quiet giggle and simply said "Mine."

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor lupin #professor lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #hp smut #hp fanfic #d/s

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therainywriter · 1 year

Text

Protector 18+ (Angst/Smut)

Pairing: Dekvah (Yautja) x F!Reader Request: hi, i was wondering if still you take yautja X reader requests. If so what do you think about protective!predator with shy!human!reader where he saves her and maybe some smut at the end? Sorry if it's stupid

Dekvah was out hunting, he'd left you alone in your hut and told you to stay put, as he does every time he leaves. You'd fully intended on listening, occupying yourself with organizing the various bones he's collected for you over the few years you've been with him.

You now admire them, no longer disturbed by pieces of skeleton. Each skull and vertebra was a symbol of his devoted love, his never-ending adoration for you. You understood that now.

A feeling of longing pulled at your chest, you missed him. He hadn't been gone for more than a few hours and you already missed the overprotective male.

You sighed and stood up, stretching your limbs with a slight wince, muscles sore from sitting crouched for so long.

You paused for a moment, thinking of something else to do before your thoughts were interrupted by the muffled grumble of your stomach.

"Snack break," you mumbled quietly to yourself, looking over at the dried meat hanging along the wall. You tilted your head and decided you wanted fruit instead, but you guys didn't have any fruit.

You glanced at the door and stared at it for a moment, conflicted on what to do, though your internal debate didn't last long.

With a basket in hand, you ventured out. Most Yautja paid no mind to your smaller human form walking among them, but you could feel some staring in disapproval, judging you.

You carried on, smiling when you saw Nak'ii, an elder you and Dekvah knew well. At first, the female disliked you greatly, she saw you as a disgrace to her kind. With time there comes acceptance and with acceptance, she's grown to care for you as she would her own.

You found a clearing in the forest and collected a couple of handfuls of berries from the bush nearest to you. As you turned around to head back home you bumped into something, or rather, someone.

A male you didn't know flared his mandibles wide, angrily, snarling before lunging towards you. You dropped your basket, falling back to the ground with a gasp as his teeth snapped together a mere inch from your face.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Dekvah had pinned the other Yautja down, hand wrapped around his neck as his jaws flared open. Dekvah spoke quickly, furiously to the male. His eyes were dark and his fist closed harder around the throat in his hand.

You were almost certain he was going to rip it out then and there. Your eyes were wide and watery when he looked at you, finished threatening the young male with death. He had fought against killing the fool, though it was so very tempting.

With a vexed grumble, he roughly pushed off the stranger and hurried to you, kneeling in front of you. He gently looked you over before pressing his head against yours. "I'm okay, promise," you whispered shakily.

He opened his eyes and gave you a stern look. "What were you thinking?" he asked, almost scoldingly as he began picking up spilled berries, placing them back in their container before helping you up.

"I didn't think anyone would attack me... I was just getting some fruit," you said quietly, motioning to the basket he held.

He clenched his jaw and pulled you to his side, turning to the other male who now stood with his head low. "Forgive me," he said in English, accent strong over the foreign words.

You simply nodded as Dekvah led you back to the village. "I could have gathered you berries," he stated firmly. "I know, I'm sorry..." you responded, unsure what else to say.

His anger simmered and he shook his head, "You should not apologize, it was not you who was in the wrong."

You cast your eyes down and leaned against him, silent the rest of the way home.

Large fur blankets were soft against your legs as you sat in bed eating a bowl of your problematic snack. Dekvah stood, taking his time peeling off his hunting gear.

You watched him, eyes lingering on his muscled back as he put up his weapons. "I missed you," you admitted, setting your empty bowl to the floor, suddenly feeling shy when he turned to you.

"Did you now, my little troublemaker?" he questioned, making his way to the bed. He sat beside you and pulled you atop his lap so your back was resting against his chest.

"Yes," you replied as you let your head rest on his shoulder. He hummed in response, clicking a few times to himself.

"I missed you too ank'te," he said lowly, his hands slipping under your shirt and over your abdomen.

Your breath caught in your throat as his warm fingers traced patterns along your skin. He caressed up your ribs, pulling you closer, safe against his chest.

He loved you more than you could ever imagine, it was deep, unwavering, and he'd do anything and everything for you. To see his vulnerable little mate in such a helpless position- it scared him.

He moved his hands down, tenderly massaging your thighs as he moved them to rest at either side of his. "You are dear to me, no harm will befall you mei'aki," he whispered against your ear.

You felt warm and fuzzy, skin tingling in the wake of his touch. "Dekvah," you said quietly, nearly pleading as he trailed a hand to your inner thigh, teasing the soft flesh.

His fingers trailed further inward, hiking up the dress he made especially for you. His legs widened, effectively opening yours for him, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

Your breaths grew shorter, quicker as his fingers grazed over your panties. His left hand held your hips down as you lifted them, desperate to feel him against you.

"Patience, ank'te," he purred, tracing circles against your clit over the thin fabric. You mewled against his shoulder, mind foggy, clouded with soft, growing pleasure.

His hand slipped under the delicate cotton, middle finger slipping between your slick folds before pushing slowly into your heat with a groan, "So wet and tight, you squeeze me as though your life depends on it, sweet one."

You moaned, hips pushing down against his hand, "Please.."

His ring finger joined the other, rubbing against that spongy spot inside of you with each thrust, palm hitting your swollen bud as he sped up his pace.

Dekvah drank in your whimpers and pleas, the pretty noises music to his ears. He encouraged you with words of praise, his native language mixing in with English.

"Mei'aki, so good for me. Sa'arut vehk i'na," he rasped and clicked against your ear, mandibles scraping against your neck.

You grabbed his strong forearms as you came on his fingers with a broken moan, blinding pleasure spreading throughout your body. Your walls fluttered around his digits, pulling them deeper as you went limp against him.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean before pulling your dress back down and pulling you up to cradle you against his chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, kissing his bare chest. He hummed, lowering his head to yours.

"This was merely a taste of what's to come little ooman, there will be plenty more thank you's to give," it was an unspoken promise he would happily fulfill.

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pearlywritings · 5 months

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Alive

synopsis: the fall of your homeland is a catastrophe as it is, however, it's not only the home you and your husband lost. It's just a miracle you didn't lose each other.

prompt: 21

requested by: a lovely anon

pairing: Pierro x fem!reader

tw: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, pre-Fatui Pierro (he is more open and emotional), topic of pregnancy and children, a couple of my personal headcannons about Khaenri'ah and how the curse affects the body. [...] - is used in places where Pierro and reader use their real names.

word count: 1.3k+ words in total

a/n: part of my Token of appreciation writing event! Closed now, still have 1 more requests to write. Also this fic is from the same AU my other fic is - Behind the wall of falling snow we love. You can check it if you'd like some more

Bright Sumeru sun is blinding and the evergreen forests are dizzying when you look long enough. And yet [...] forces his eyes to take in the life itself blooming in front of him, tired gaze mindlessly following the movement of a red butterfly, flying by. Red. Red, red, red, r e d╴

Khaenri’ahn stars hide behind the eyelids, fingers clenching in a fist unconsciously. So much blood, everything is dirtied by the curse. To this very second he can hardly endure it - two months later and it still haunts him as if he’s back there, at the beginning of the end. Screams, cries, loud screeching of machines, rumbling of collapsing buildings and deafening booming of explosions… It’s hard to forget, he believes he never will. There is blood on his hands yet he hasn’t killed anyone. He only tried to save, but he managed to save only one╴

The one he can’t imagine his life without.

The one the healer is examining behind his turned back. This old man was tolerable, he kept his mouth shut about two refugees from the fallen nation hiding here, above the surface and under the sun. The two previous ones had to go.

“Your wife’s condition is better,” the silver-haired man shivers, torn from his thoughts and finally lets go of the blindfold, dimming the natural light inside this small house you had luck buying. Your love for wearing jewelry and the rules that dictated adorning his mage’s robes in those helped you both survive so far.

“Be more specific,” he demands, returning to the bed, gaze immediately on your body, resting under the covers. Your eyes, equally as mysterious, momentarily dart from the healer to your husband. Before you could even lift a hand resting atop the duvet, he already leans in and slides his palm under yours, squeezing.

“The healing process is complete,” you see the way his breath shakes when your beloved exhales in relief. Fingers flex around yours in a comforting gesture. “I can’t get rid of this curse mark, but I succeeded in eliminating the harm it caused to her internal organs. But,” the wise man looks at you, no longer talking to the man at your side and his gaze turns sorrowful. Your heart stops in fear, knowing what he is about to confirm. “As I said before - I am afraid you won’t have children again. Ever. From what is known of the medicine right now - the closeness of your reproductive organs to the fetus most likely made them more exposed to the damage. On the bright side, I estimate that this factor won’t stop you from continuing living your life. I am still not sure how exactly this ‘disease’ got into your body, however from my observations over you I can state with all confidence - it’s a miracle you stayed alive, dear.”

It’s a miracle you stayed alive.

Big hand squeezes around yours. He doesn’t know yet, that the two of you were cursed with immortality, he doesn’t know yet, that sooner or later even the damage of the severely cursed part of your body would’ve naturally healed either way (not completely, but still). All he knows right now is that there was a possibility of him losing you.

When the healer leaves your humble abode - this one deserves to live - you ask your lover to help you sit, which he does and immediately takes a seat on the edge of your simple bed (it groans a little under his burly mass, but you both ignore it). He still hasn't let go of your hand.

A few moments are spent in silence. You are deep in your own unease, while he is wrecking his head over the way to start the conversation. Gently. He doesn’t want to bring those memories back - how the curse targeted the weakest spot in your body - your womb, how he had to save you, to make a life-changing decision of ridding your body off what was slowly killing you - *your own unborn child*... How he used his best knowledge in healing magic to keep you stable and get you out of the falling land. Everything else is a blur. But everything else doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that you are alive.

“My heart,” he starts slowly, but these two words are enough to gather your attention, “I am relieved to know you are alright. Forgive me my selfish desires, but I can’t fathom a thought of losing you, of spending the rest of my life without you. I ask a lot from you, but, please,” he covers the hand he is already holding with his other one, “I know it’s hard, but I beg you not to forget the happy days we spent together, the love we share,” your gaze falls to the wedding bracelets clasped around your wrists and your heart clenches when you hear desperation in his voice, “and above all, do not let go of your desire to live… For any reason, understood?”

“If you tell me this one more time, I will let go.”

Your abrupt response surprises you. You didn’t mean to lash out, but suddenly it just happened. Is it the brewing pain in your heart? The dull ache and emptiness in your stomach? The settling understanding of the loss and that life will never be the same? You don’t know. You feel too much.

He is taken aback and you notice. Eyes widen and anxiety settles in your heart - have you pushed him away?

"You know you are not guilty, [...]?" Your husband reaches to cup your cheek. You hopelessly cling to it with your free one, leaning into the warm palm, closing your eyes. "At that time nothing else could've been done."

"But if I was stronger, if my body was stronger-"

"But we were not, my heart. It's a cruel reality, but every time I see you I am so glad you were spared. Even if it happened like that."

He knows his words are cruel and he says them to your face now, raw and hurting, but that is the only truth he has. And he is not going to lie to the woman he vowed to treasure.

"Sorry for being rude, I didn’t mean it,” you swallow the lump in your throat, and the man beside you reassuringly caresses your cheek. He understands. “And sorry we have to have this conversation… I am not the only one hurt after all.”

"I am not mad, [...]. And you are the one who’s been hurt the most, so we will return to this topic as many times as you need. I will remind you that none of it is your fault,” his promise is soft and you make yourself believe it. He climbs next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist - gently, almost feather-lightly, - and brings you closer to his chest.

"I just really wish it wasn't our one and only chance to have a family," you snuggle into him, diving into the warmth of his body. "You don't hate me for it, right?"

"Of course I do not. There will never be a thing I'll hate you for."

"Thank you…"

"No, thank you for being alive."

He can feel your lips pulling in a small smile against his chest. He is aware that so little time is not enough to numb the mind and heart to the memories and that this pain is hard to heal - he is sure it never completely will, and even though he is pushing his own despair to the back of his head, he fully shares your hurt. He keeps reminding himself, that you got to stay alive and you are right here, he can see, touch, hold, love you…

And even in the frozen lands of your soon-to-be-destination he’ll continue doing so.

#pearly writing appreciation event #token of appreciation #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #pierro genshin #genshin impact angst

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bigfan-fanfic · 1 year

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Not a Hothead (Reader x Firelord Zuko)

Requested by anonymous for Hey hey! Can I request some Zuko (atla) headcanons (gn s/o, preferably).His usually quiet and peaceful s/o is having a bad day and needs to blow off steam, and then get cuddles from himUp to you if it takes place before or after he's Firelord Tysm in advance ♥️

Zuko tries not to complain so much about his duties as Firelord.

He's only just become an adult, but he's already facing the duties a much older ruler would have been trained for.

But he bears it all, because he has the responsibility, but also the privilege of helping form a better world.

And he has you by his side!

Although it's clear today that you are not in such a great mood.

He can practically sense the tension, noticing the way you pull your hands into the sleeves of your robes to conceal your clenched fists.

The gritting of your teeth

In between audiences with generals and representatives, he looks at you.

"Meet me in the private courtyard when we're free."

Your days aren't exactly stress-free, even as the consort of the Firelord. You need to help him with his work and, traditionally, keep the spiritual and physical wellbeing of the Royal Household all on the up-and-up.

Which means conducting traditional ceremonies with the Fire Sages, organizing the guard rotation for the palace, and working with officials in the Fire Nation capital to improve the lives of citizens.

And while you and Zuko definitely make time to spend with each other, restructuring an entire society that has spent the last one hundred years as the aggressors in a global war is certainly nowhere near a stress-free endeavor.

It's just a bad day today.

You're a little surprised at Zuko's words - he's not the greatest at being spontaneous.

But you still meet him in the private courtyard, and it's an interesting sign that he's shirtless.

You smirk. "So, am I going to be watching you train, like I did back when you were training Aang?"

Zuko suddenly looks surprised. "You watched that?"

You grin. "Oh, you think I fell for your sparkling personality?"

He laughs at the teasing before pointing to the training dummies he has set up. "Today, you're going to be training with me."

He blushes. "I just thought... well, nothing really helps me get rid of stress more than training, and then we could blow off steam, and..."

You chuckle. "And then we can take a bath and cuddle?"

He nods. "Sure. All night, if you want."

He takes you through some firebending martial art forms, which actually are surprisingly tough to learn, but feel really good when you start to get it right.

Zuko teaches you how to breathe properly, which really helps you feel so more energized and calm, even as you train.

Finally, after an hour or so of punches and breathing (which doesn't sound particularly fun, but Zuko actually does make it pretty fun to learn)

It helps to get out that aggression you had, and even more exciting is the promise of getting to take a bath and cuddle with him after.

After a beautiful luxurious bath with scented soaps and perfumed oils, you get to see Zuko in his loose robe and pants he wears for lounging around. He smiles as you lunge at him and tackle him onto a nest of cushions and bury your head in his chest to smell the clean scent of soap.

"I'm sorry I've been so out of it today." you whisper.

Zuko chuckles. "You do remember what I was like back during the war, right? Every day was a bad day. It's normal to feel stress, and... I want you to be able to count on me to help get you through it."

You give him a gentle kiss. "I love you, Zuko."

"I love you too."

#atla x male reader #zuko x male reader #zuko x reader #gender neutral reader #atla headcanons #headcanons

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14dyh · 4 months

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Sickness | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Hange takes care of Y/N during a terrible cold. Word count: 1.4k A/N: oh to be taken care of by hange… (btw hange x reader requests are highly encouraged, i love doing them)

The weather changes recently have been a challenge to Y/N's immune system, which may also partly be the reason for her often sickness. Y/N forgot what mornings without a stuffy nose felt like, or a clawing sore throat begging for relief from a distasteful cough syrup. Food barely tasted good, and every night, the dread of running out of tissues at her bedside creeps up on her. Sickness was incredibly mundane after what she had to go through during the war that both ended and began everything. The war demanded her to fight despite bleeding and injury. To think that a soldier trained to withstand any sickness was currently sick in bed was somehow ironic.

Y/N shifted groggily in the sheets, mind still clouded and her breathing quietly desperate for a better airway.

"Hello, love. Good morning," Hange would quietly say every morning accompanied by a tight hug around her chest, snuggling closer as their bodies dipped on the soft mattress.

Y/N would smile but quietly scold Hange for insisting on sleeping beside her despite her sickness.

"Pfft, I won't get sick," Hange would reason, even going as far as proving it with a few kisses. "See? Sickness itself is scared of me."

Hange's humorous attitude alleviated the discomfort within Y/N. The sickness often irritates her because of how much it restricts her actions around the house. After the war, the house she envisioned with Hange gradually became a reality and became where they settled. It has a wonderful view of a riverside and vast greenery. The neighbors are few and everyone has been kind, mostly because of Hange's charm and friendliness.

Hange insisted on tending to the house when Y/N got sick. They learned to clean up and organize the house in functions that would favor them both. It was a scene Y/N always envisioned as she gripped her sword to fight. This is the peace she fought for. A quiet, married life with her most beloved in a serene countryside.

"Hm, awake already? How'd you feel?" Hange approached the bed, carrying a tray of steaming food over the bed.

"Terrible, but not very much," Y/N muttered, sitting up before coughing on a fresh tissue. She would look at the food Hange prepared and smile, knowing that Hange had been exploring more cookbooks on their bookshelf. They have been fascinated by the outside world cuisine, always eager to try something new and pick the best ones for Y/N. Hange would usually sit by the bed as Y/N ate, flipping through the cookbooks and telling her the contents, what looked tasty, or what they would try next. Y/N could not help but give Hange a loving stare as they rambled on, appreciating how Hange used their curiosity as a love language.

Y/N cherished these days despite the sickness as it was nothing compared to their life before the war. She longed for this resolute peace, creating these halcyon memories to remember.

Y/N, consumed by her current happiness, is unaware that she is slowly deteriorating. Darkness slowly spreads underneath her once lively eyes. Her skin appears more sickly than ever, and a strange lack of reflection plagues the mirrorless house. The setting sun never fades into darkness, and the ticking clocks of life have paused.

The morning... or what she thought it was... was nothing like any before. She awoke shaking and panting violently, her fists clenched and unclenched the sheets as if trying to hold to reality and reality itself. She squeezed her eyes shut, pinching her nose as if to compress the horrors of the past. Was it another nightmare of the war? The same recurring dream of losing Hange? It was unbearable to watch like a memory violently forced into the forefront of her mind.

"It's just a dream..." She muttered to herself, holding onto the pillow.

No sooner, Hange entered the room carrying the breakfast they prepared for Y/N. A worried expression passed over their face as they saw the disheveled, panicked state of their sick wife on the bed. Hange sat beside Y/N, wrapping the blankets around her until they were intertwined in each other's arms.

"I dreamed about it again..." Y/N muttered, almost shakily. "I lost you... You died in that war..." Y/N sniffled, leaning closer to the warmth of her lover, letting her ears be filled with the sound of their heartbeat. Hange remained silent, slowly stroking her hair.

Then Hange broke the silence and whispered, "Why do you think so?"

"We can't pretend like this anymore," Hange whispered back in response, a morose sigh passing over their lips as they almost trembled holding her. Y/N felt her heart lodged in her throat, a deep pit in her stomach eating her away.

Y/N shrugged and shook her head lightly, her hand finding a way around Hange's. "I don't know, probably just my head messing with me," she muttered.

A long silence followed and it filled Y/N with discomfort as though there was something lurking beneath her terrible dreams.

"Hange, what do you mean...?" Y/N wanted to take it back, her words almost like a terrible mistake to trigger a ticking bomb.

Y/N was overcome with the gentle shudders from Hange as they sobbed on her shoulder. Their eyes watering with desperation and grief, they finally mustered the courage to face her, tracing a thumb over her cheeks. The lightness of her touch seemed insignificant against the deeper pallor of her face and the dark circles that enveloped her eyes, signs of her deep internal illness.

Y/N sniffled, partly because of the cold and partly because a dreadful truth began clawing on her insides, demanding to be let out. She could not meet the gaze of her spouse this time.

"I'm so sorry..." Hange whispered. "I wish things could be different."

Hange paused and brought their lips to her cold hands.

"That doesn't matter now, though." Hange's tears began to trickle down their lover's hand, a transitory warmth passing over. "You have to wake up now."

"What...?" It was weak, a persistent cry from her throat, wishing that her ears were fooling her this time.

"Wake up now, I'll always be here," Hange held her tight, their actions betraying their words. They don't want to let go. But holding on would only hurt her.

Y/N shook her head furiously, a string of no's spilling from her lips as she held on to Hange with her eyes closed.

"Please, sweetheart," Hange pleaded, their thumb wiping away the tears that fell on their lover's face. "You have to let me go."

"What are you saying...? Please don't leave me..." Y/N gripped Hange's arms, afraid to let them go again. Afraid that she would lose them again the way she did back then.

Was it all a dream? Y/N thought to herself. Then why does the sun feel so warm, why were Hange's heartbeats so real against her ear? Y/N broke into tears as the world began to shift back to reality once again. The warmth. Hange's heartbeats. They felt so strong yet so desperately hollow...

Unreal.

"I love you, I always will." Hange loosened the grip, letting Y/N return to the world they fought for.

Y/N woke up crying on the cold sheets of what their room should have been. A heavy storm pounded against the roofs and windows, the sound forming a euphonious symphony to be heard inside. Y/N let the obsidian sky cry with her, the emptiness of the house consuming her bit by bit. The same place Hange promised to build a life with her became nothing but a hungry space, waiting to consume her as well.

Y/N shook her head, refusing for things to end this way. She cried and cried, she showed this place that she wouldn't be consumed... she was meant to live. That's what Hange would have wanted.

Y/N fell asleep crying, peaceful at once as she drifted back to unconsciousness.

That morning, Y/N felt the balmy rays of the sun spilling warmth through her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, still puffy and weak from crying. She cried with the sky so much that night. So hard that her nose cleared up, regaining her airways once again.

She could breathe again, no longer suffocating, no longer a prey to be consumed by her grief... The empty grave of her lover felt so close yet so illusory in the backyard of the house they once dreamt of together.

"Thank you, Hange..." she mumbled as her eyes fluttered close once again. A tell-tale embrace enveloped her in warmth as she drifted back to a peaceful slumber.

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virgincels · 3 months

Text

BOILING POINT !

ft. kishibe x fem!reader

tags. he puts his cigarette out on ur tits, degradation, public sex, a little voyeurism, idk he uses you as furniture, painal duh, reader is a dummy ngl, cockwarming

note. COMM FOR @d10nyx LOVE U NYX MWAH!!! love u sm sorry I didn’t get to post this for ur bday and that I took so fucking long but omg I hope u like it and i didn’t go too far with it :3 ignore any mistakes :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated .. praying this gets put in the tags :3

The thing is, Kishibe is fond of women. All women are beautiful unless they come in the form of carnivorous beasts. He likes a classic red lip, soft thighs, nylon stockings and heels. He likes Quanxi because she’s strong and it’s as simple as that. She wouldn’t go dying on him. Kishibe dislikes girls who play pretend. For example, the intern, a sad pillowcase of a girl who lacks savoir-faire. What a joke, and to place her in his division, under his care— It’s just offensive.

You put on an act, put on that ugly suit - it drapes over your form as if you’re more of a clothing hanger than a human. Shapeless and inelegant like you’ve gone and dug out your father's suit. The Public Safety uniform does you no justice, a skirt would be better. One that violates the dress code by an inch, but you slip past the radar ‘cause you’re so plain.

You’re of no use to Kishibe, he has no qualms saying it to your face. To your credit, you beg real pretty, beg like you’re begging for your life. That you’ll do anything. Anything, sir! Anything to keep down this shitty job!

Women are sluts when you force them to be sluts, but you don’t even need the slightest push. He knows your type. Show a girl like you a nice dick and you’re all over it. Not cut out for work, not cut out for anything exerting, not Public Safety of all things in this piece-of-shit world. You’d make a nice footstool, or better yet, an ashtray.

So he makes you exactly that.

Aki deposits a pile of paperwork onto his desk, didn’t have the courtesy to knock, just entered. Politeness is null and void it seems.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks flatly.

“New intern.” Kishibe makes an abstract gesture to where you’re standing at his side trembling and draped in only his trench coat. Organic coat rack. Cute, right? “Thought I’d make use of her.”

“You’re messed up,” Aki says, expression-wise he's indifferent.

He stubs his cigarette out on your tit. Look at that. Built-in ashtray. You whimper, of course you whimper, it hurts. Skin charing off in flakes, blistering in grotesque bubbles when he tosses the butt into your awaiting palms. His mark is indelible, one of searing discomfort that settles in the depths of your being, it crawls beneath your rattling bones to wear your skin.

“Huh, that’s funny, I must be hearing things.” Kishibe lights another, the flame glows yellow like tiger eyes. “Even the walls talk in this place.”

Aki’s delicate distaste is thinly veiled, a shudder courses through his frame, starting with the jerk of his head and ending with his clenched fists. He turns swiftly, the door thudding behind him, absence suspending the room in a momentary vacuum. The silence is profound.

“Friendly guy.” Kishibe’s getting too old, talking to coat stands. He’s not much of a chain smoker, but today he is. No particular reason. Just felt like it.

The ember is rounded and tiny, the flame licks at the edges of your consciousness until you see black. It’s a uniquely insidious pain, one that consumes your body in a sweeping inferno, the ache will linger - a testament to your time with Kishibe. Lucky you. By the fourth, the floodgates of restraint collapse, you could only hold on for so long. Your body surrenders to gravity, stumbling forward as you clutch at the sturdiness of his mahogany desk. Crumpled neatly like you’ve been put through a waste compactor.

Kishibe sighs. “What a shame.” His gaze is vacant as he gives you a once-over. “I should kick your teeth in for that.”

It’s as if the sparks from his cigarettes have gone to your head. The whites of your eyes barely visible as they widen like two shiny buttons, struck with a sudden clearheadedness.

“You can do that, sir.” It’s not an offer to accept or deny, but an open-handed invitation signed off with an RSVP that reeks of desperation.

“You’d like it too much.” His hand passes over the back of his rumpled jacket, it slips from your shoulders and falls with a muted thud. Truly, you’re useless. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s nothing less than useless.

“No, sir, I wouldn’t.” You shake your head so fast his vision blurs. Starts seeing double. The prospect of more than one you has him reeling. What a nightmare.

“No?” Kishibe cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think you could handle it.” He waves his hand dismissively as if you’re a cloud of smoke or a hallucination, a bad dream he’d like to get rid of.

“I could, I can, sir, please.” Your hands are clasped together in a prayer. “I can take it, promise.”

“Either way, I don’t think you deserve it.” He eyes the rawness of your burns, otherwise smooth skin raised in nasty bumps. You reach out to touch him, fingers outstretched as you trace the column of his neck. He doesn’t know what you’re so enamoured by. “Down, girl.”

“Sorry, sir.” You’re not sorry, chapped lips pressed together to hide a giddy smile.

The paperwork is set to the side, desk cleared as he sits you down. It’s not urgent, but then again, neither are you. Pussy is always a nice treat though. Kishibe thumbs the seam of your cunt and your puffy lips part. You sure know how to make a guy feel special. God, you’ve got him feeling like Moses down here. Parting the Red Sea or some shit. He’s clinical about it. Inspecting your pussy like he’s getting paid for this.

A pleased sigh is let out from above, your jaw slackens as he brushes over your swollen clit. “I like you, sir—“ you say between stuttered breaths, “I think y-you’re real— really handsome.”

That’s a new one. Grizzled and weathered and scarred. Nothing handsome about that. It doesn’t exactly bother him. It’s just objective. “Right.”

“It’s true.” You gasp when he flicks your clit, toes curling in your black socks. “And you smell nice.” Indecent fingers wriggle and curl around his wrist, trying to get him to dig deeper. “I want you in me.” Then as if clarity hits you, a feeble Please, sir.

He snorts. “Fat chance.” Kishibe draws his hand back, your slick webbed between his fingers.

“Why?” You whine, trembling at the loss of his touch. “Sir, I’ll be quiet, I won’t say a word, I promise.” Your voice is grating on him. “Pinky promise.”

“Stop that.” Kishibe wipes his fingers on your pout. “Looks stupid.”

“Just my face.” Your frown deepens.

“Well, you should fix your face, kid. Why don’t you try smiling.” A command, not a question. “Much better,” Kishibe hums, “keep smiling and you might get something out of me.”

(You really won’t. Kishibe just gets off on this. It’s kinda funny how willing you are to bend to his every need, not quite needs but wants.)

More cigarettes. Circular intrusions left on the flesh of your thighs, he’d like to put one out on your clit. You’d feel hot-white, see hot-white, taste hot-white. Might meet God. Or a devil as he cauterises your weeping cunt. Maybe he’s going to meet both the Genital Mutilation Devil and his timely end.

Lunchtime rolls around, he empties a flask of whiskey into his coffee to beat the sluggish midday heat. You’re tucked beneath his desk now, pressing your nose between his thighs, sniffing around like a police dog on the right track. Kishibe lets you because it’s not much of a bother. “Might as well put that mouth to work.”

“Really, sir?” You ask, eyes like twin beacons.

“Yeah, go on then.” He pats your head. “No hands,” Kishibe adds, and they drop to your side instantly, teeth clasping onto his zipper and tugging it downwards in a jagged procession.

This is the most lackadaisical approach to cocksucking Kishibe has ever seen. And trust him, he has thirty-odd years of experience— This takes the cake for the worst. What you lack in technique you do not make up for in enthusiasm. It might just be ‘cause he’s soft, his mind detaches from the notion of anything inherently sexual. He’s thinking about what he should have for dinner tonight. If there’s anything in the fridge. That fat cat he has to feed.

There’s gagging, spluttering, a lewd pop! A sad and sorry end to a sloppy blowjob. You cough. A wet rattle deep in your chest.

“Not your strong suit,” he muses.

“I need your help, sir.” Your lips are swollen, spit-slicked. “Can’t do it on my own.” It begs the question, what are you good at? What can you do on your own?

He sighs for the nth time, takes his shaft in his hand and guides it past your parted lips, a messy ordeal, teeth scraping over the velvety skin of his cock, spit pooling in your mouth and dribbling down your chin when his cock rests weighty on your tongue.

It’s big, your cheek bulges when the tip nudges the inside of your mouth. Kishibe shifts course, pushes his cock so deep it hits the back of your throat, and your nails ziiip against the leather of his office chair.

“Is that too much?” He asks, making no move to ease up on the windpipe abuse. Your lips have stretched so far the corners of your mouth might split, you let out a noise of discomfort. Kishibe pays it no mind, his dick only gets heavier the moment it begins to harden. He places a hand on the back of your head, forces you to take his cock right to the base by pinning you into place. You swallow around him, and it’s the only good thing you’ve done since you got here.

There’s the garbled complaint of your jaw aching. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” Kishibe tells you, the derisive curl of his lip draws a soft whine from the back of your shredded throat. On his terms, you’ll last until the end of the workday. That’s what you’re here for, right? A job. He’s given you one and you’re not even doing it well. Sucking dick is second nature to women. Evidently not you.

You last till the end of his shift— Barely. Hanging on by a thread. Most of your lipstick has rubbed off on his dick, splotches of red deep in the creases of your dry lips. The fatigue of being cramped beneath his desk for so long weighs your body down, languidly shrugging on your jacket, your white shirt gaps when you button it up. He hadn’t noticed that before, but he does now.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” you promise.

“Alright,” he says, noncommittal.

“Not tomorrow— I’m not in tomorrow actually so on Wednesday. I’ll be better on Wednesday.” You take hold of his arm and for some reason, he lets you. Human connection is not something he values especially, but sometimes it’s nice.

“Sure.” Kishibe shrugs. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

The commute to and from work is endless. This time it’s particularly endless, the outside world blurring into monochromatic plains as the train follows its usual path.

Sometimes you wish for it to derail and throw your body into the atmosphere. Just for fun. Anything to break up the mundanity of slate-coloured metropolitan life.

The confined space in the carriage has Kishibe’s front curved into your back, his hands in his pockets. An attempt at small talk fails to bridge the gap between the two of you. He’s so disinterested. Aren’t old men meant to like young girls? Are you really that ordinary? That even men one orgasm away from a heart attack are totally unbothered by the swell of your ass pressing up against their clothed dicks? Like, um, hello!

“You’re pushing it, you know that?” His breath is hot on your skin, he’s tall enough to obscure you from the view of any onlookers as you grip the metal pole. A few briefcases click shut, patent leather dress shoes scuffing across the flat floors as the train nears the next station.

Empty seats outnumber occupants by this point, there’s no need for Kishibe to be so close, but he is and that makes you happy. Makes your pussy happy too. Throbs like crazy. If you’re going to work alongside him, you’ll need to bring a change of panties in your handbag. ‘Cause you’ve been wet since he first entered the room.

He’s more rugged than handsome, but that’s what makes him hot. You see the start of a pretty face under the thickness of his worn and torn skin, it’s undercut by his square jaw, the skin under his eyes seems to burrow back into his face with how deep those bags are. God, you need him. Stat. Now if you don’t mind, sir.

When you exit, you don’t expect to hear heavy footfall right behind you. For a moment you think it’s the echo of your shoes in the derelict station, it’s like a gaping cavern, but you’re light on your feet - learnt to make yourself scarce.

Taking a peek over your shoulder would ruin the surprise. If it’s not Kishibe you might throw a fit. Unless whoever’s following you is, like, Kimura Takuya. You wouldn’t mind that at all. What a dreamboat. Still, there’s not even a 0.001% chance it’s him (you don’t exactly remember seeing him on the commute). There is a 99.99% chance it’s Kishibe. So you’ll go with the latter.

You duck into a nearby alleyway and he does too. Well, it’s an assumed he. If it’s a she you hope it’s the busty chick with the eyepatch that made eyes at you in the hallway as you tried to match Miss Makima’s brisk pace.

“I told you not to push it.” It’s Kishibe.

Yay! You internally cheer as he pushes you into the crumbling brick wall, your handbag drops onto the ground as your fist unfurls. Palms flat on the burnt clay, your breath hitches when he makes quick work of your pants, thick fingers forcing their way beneath the tight waistband. They’re perfectly fitted so there’s not even an inch of space, no room for lunch when you’re wearing these. The button pops and you mourn the loss of your nicest piece of clothing. Nothing a big dick can’t fix.

(Dick can’t fix the pants though. Duh.)

“I should teach you how to keep your hands to yourself,” Kishibe says lowly. His apathy is unfortunately really fucking hot. And it has to be front. It has to be. Or he wouldn’t have gone through the effort of disrupting his usual route home. You must’ve gotten him hot and bothered. His dick is hard. So there’s that.

He spits on your ass, it trickles down your crack and does a shitty job at lubing anything up. Your pussy is so wet you could take two or three dicks with ease. Kishibe doesn’t have to waste precious, precious spit that should be dripped down your throat like ambrosia. He spreads you wide, big hands grabbing handfuls of your soft ass. When you close your eyes, you see his cock, it’s tattooed on your eyelids. Seriously. His shit is big, and you wouldn’t expect anything less from a man of his size. The tip is dark, uncut on the fat, his balls hang low— Oh, he’s putting it in your ass, you realise a moment too late.

Suppressing a soft cry, your head drops forward as the pain splinters through your body with each agonising inch of his fat cock in your tighter hole. “Daddy,” you whimper, nails fighting to stay on your nail beds as you scratch at the wall.

“Don’t call me that,” Kishibe says, and his dick gives one last punishing push as he sinks into you fully.

“Sorry, sir.” Your sniffling is cut short by him shoving his fingers into your warm mouth. His dick is mean. You’re all like uh, uh, unfff, uh! You sound pretty fucking stupid, but he is practically punching all those noises out of you. It feels nice to be split in half. When you ignore the sickening spark of raw pain in your gut that is. He’s whisking your guts into a mixture of acid and bloody chunks.

Kishibe’s fairly quiet, the occasional grunt when he draws his hips back so the tip is in your fluttering hole, only to slam back in and knock you forward ‘cause you’re a klutz and dick in your dry ass is sorta disorientating.

“I love it, sir,” you tell him anyway. You’ve always been a bit of a bootlicker. Relying on flattery to get you into people's good books. It’s worked up until now. Kishibe is a nut you can’t even crack with a nutcracker, or a paring knife, not even with a goddamn hammer. “I love it so much, I love—“ His fingers run over your gums, pulling on your tongue for only a second before he takes them out to wipe on the back of your white blouse.

When he cums, you smell the whiskey on his breath as he rests his head on your shoulder. “Thank you, sir, thank you so much—“ You turn your head in search of his lips, he taps your cheek sharply and zips his slacks up in typical Kishibe fashion. Unhurried, slow, doesn’t really care about being caught with his pants down. A cigarette is lit, the glow of the ember reflects in his charcoal eyes like liquid gold.

Put that out on my clit, sir. Obviously, you don’t say that in fear of your clit never ever working again, and you quite like your clit to be honest. She’s gotten you through a lot of stressful situations.

His load has started to leak out of you, drying on your skin. Thick and sticky and heavy like his dick. Your cunt still throbs when you hold your ruined pants in place, they’ll be slipping down for the remainder of the walk home. Kishibe didn’t let you cum. He hasn’t let you cum all day. How selfish. You’ll rub one out when you get to your place. Christ, you think you love him.

#csm smut #chainsaw man smut #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #kishibe x you #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader

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