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rockettothestars222 · 2 months

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Mama’s Boy

Summary : During a bonding activity at the hotel, parents get brought up. Everyone seemed okay with talking a little about their parentage, but Alastor was off put by the topic. He didn’t think anyone would notice the way his smile strained, or that anyone would care when he slipped away, but you did. You cared. And you wanted to help him, even if he didn’t want to accept it.

Tags : GenderNeutral!reader, reader is shorter than Al, soft!Alastor, sorta, fluff, hurt/comfort, Alastor misses his mom, Alastor needs a hug, Alastor is losing it

Notes : Lots of people seemed to enjoy my interpretation of soft Alastor in my last oneshot, so here’s another one! I heart Alastor sm. Enjoy!

Word Count : 2.3k

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“Well you know! When your dad is the king of Hell, it complicates things sometimes, and with as long as my mom has been gone—” Charlie’s voice grows distant as you lose focus. It’s not that you don’t care, you’ve all just been talking about your parents for a good hour and a half. It started with a bonding exercise Charlie had decided would be fun. It started with talking about who people who meant a lot to you, and when Husk mentioned his father, everyone began to add on.

You looked around at everyone’s faces, and everyone seemed content with the conversation. Charlie was droning on about her familial issues, Angel had talked about his mother beforehand, and even Pentious mentioned some fond memories of his parents. But Alastor had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole experience.

Your gaze finally falls on The Radio Demon himself, an uncomfortable and awkward posture taking its hold on him. He was standing straighter than usual, his grin that was as consistent as he was creepy was now fairly strained, as his eyes darted, trying to look at anything but the company he surrounded himself with. Your brows furrowed as you stared, though you tried to make it not so obvious. His shoulders sunk for a moment as you watched him suck in a breath, readjusting to his normal position and finally breaking his silence.

“You’ll all have to excuse me for a moment, I have some business to attend to!” His preppy voice cut through Charlie’s dialogue as the focus in the room catches on him. His eyes finally find someone to land on. You! Oh, he’s looking at you. You blink as his gaze narrows, turning on his heels as the rest of the room murmurs goodbyes. Your eyes followed his path, watching him disappear further into the hotel.

“I didn’t think we had anything else on the agenda today,” Vaggie glances to her girlfriend, looking for some sort of explanation for the overlord’s odd behavior. You cast a glance Charlie’s way as well, curious, but you were met with a shrug and an absentminded smile.

“Must be personal errands or something! We can keep going with the activity,” she motions to you with her hand, encouraging you to speak about your own experiences. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes drifted back to the spot where Alastor had once stood. You had an itching sensation in your brain that you had a hunch wouldn’t fade unless you figured out what was going on.

You and Alastor were close, to some extent. He spoke to you more openly than any of the others at the hotel. And you were the same with him. But one thing he would never talk about was his life before Hell. It was a mystery. Like a locked vault that’s code was long gone. But you longed to grow closer to him. You’d be lying if you said your feelings toward the demon hadn’t begun to bubble into something more, but now wasn’t the time to process that. You had more interesting things to think about.

After a long beat of silence, you stood up.

“Sorry Charlie, but I gotta use the bathroom, I’ll be back in a bit!” You assure with a toothy grin and a thumbs up. The princess could only giggle, nodding at you and ushering to go take care of your ‘business.’

You hurried off in the direction Alastor had gone, going through a list of places he’d likely be in your head. Kitchen? No, he’d gone the opposite direction. Radio tower? He only went up there to broadcast. Library? Hotel doesn’t have one of those. You frowned. He’d like one though, you were sure of it.

His room.

It was the only other logical place to check in the hotel. You picked up your pace, his room was on one of the higher floors of the hotel. Finally reaching the elevator, you hesitate. Alastor wasn’t a vulnerable person. If something was wrong, would he tell you? You pressed the button for the elevator, despite doubt eating at the inside of your stomach. Stepping onto the dinky machine, you pressed the button for the floor you needed, taking a breath in and out. You needed to know what was going on with him.

The elevator hummed to life as it hoisted you upwards, an awkward silence falling over you, despite there being no one else in the machine. It dinged as you hit your desired floor, and you sighed, happy to be off of the unreliable thing. You continued your journey to The Radio Demon’s room, you face beginning to sour as you realized how unrealistic you were being. Al would never admit to you what was wrong. You knew that. Why were you trying?

As you reached his door, you stared up at it. A deer skull was etched into the red wood, a golden knob flourishing in the flickering lights of the hotel. You couldn’t give up on him. You’d gone through a lot to try and get close with Alastor. You couldn’t throw that effort away because of doubt. How idiotic would that be?

Without much thought, you placed your hand on that beautiful golden knob, slowly turning it, trying to be as quiet as possible. The door slowly swung open, not so much as a creak coming from its hinges. You made a mental note to ask him how he got his door to be so quiet when all this was over, gently closing the door behind you. Sat on his bed, hunched over and face in his hands was The Radio Demon himself. Your eyes scanned the room as you tried your absolute best to not loudly question how he had a SWAMP in his room. Now wasn’t the time.

You walked into his room, approaching the deer-like demon in silence. You could hear muffled sniffles from under his hands, and he seemed far too lost in his own thoughts to pay your presence any mind. You, with slight hesitation, placed your hand on his shoulder. His body stiffened as his fingers parted slightly, his red eyes peering up at you through his lashes.

“Alastor, are you—”

A black tendril wrapping around your arm and pushing you back put a hold on your sentence. You stumbled backwards, barely catching yourself as you looked Alastor. He stood up, fast, tear stains brandishing his cheeks as his smile, that was somehow still there, strained into what was the closest thing to frowning he may be capable of. His neck bent wildly, his body growing larger in size as his eyes turned a shadowy black.

“GET OUT.” His voice was crackled with radio static, his teeth glued shut as his spoke through them like he was, well, a radio.

You’d never wanted to run away more than in that moment. This had gotten intense VERY quickly, and it was a bit frightening. But as your neck craned up and your eyes met his, and you’d never been met with such sadness.

“I can’t. Not until you talk to me, Alastor,” your words were firm, but your eyes were soft. Full of compassion. He shook his head, eyes squinting shut.

“You want me to talk to YOU? Why are you even trying to pretend to care?!” Alastor’s voice cracked as he slammed his fists onto the ground, the floor shuddering beneath him. You stepped closer, your eyes pleading silently that he’d hear you. Not just listen to your words, but comprehend them.

“I’m not trying to pretend anything. But I could tell you were upset earlier, and it’s obvious that you are now! I just want to be here for you! I want to understand!” Your voice rose in volume as you stood your ground, not faltering even this slightest bit. An almost animalistic growl left The Radio Demon’s throat as he moved closer to you.

“You truly want me to believe you’d ‘understand?!’ My mother was the ONLY person I had when I was alive, she was the only one that was there for me! The only one I’d ever DARE let myself be vulnerable around because she would NEVER hurt me,” Alastor’s hands clutched his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as his eye twitched. You listened with a solace look upon your face, narrowing your eyes at him with pity creasing your brow. “And NOW look at me. A demon. A MONSTER. I’ve ended countless lives, she was a saint among the living, and I am a HELLSPAWN. What would,” he collapsed to his knees, arms falling limp to his sides as he returned to his natural form, his voice falling quiet. “What would she think of me now? Her precious pride and joy. A murderer. She would be disgusted by me. Does it even matter? I’ll never see her again. She died long before I did. And now I’m here. Alone.”

Silence fell over the room as Alastor’s chest heaved, tears streaking his face once again. You waiting a moment before approaching him, kneeling down in front of the taller man. You gently, somewhat hesitantly, took his cheek in your hand, tilting his head to make him look at you. Your eyes scanned his face, eyeing that never ending smile. Your lips tugged upward as your thumb caressed his cheek, making a moment of contact with the corner of his lips.

“I bet your mom misses that smile,” his ears pinned down to the sides of his head, Alastor’s trembling hand covered your own, his smile tugging tighter as he leaned into your touch. “You’re not alone, Alastor.”

He fell into you, and your eyes widened in surprise. His head buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his tears coating your skin and shirt. His arms wrapped around your torso, his claws were surprisingly gentle. Almost like he was being cautious. You moved from your knees to your butt with a quiet thump, pulling his body closer to yours. One of your arms wrapped tightly around the lower half of his torso, the other around his shoulders, your hand combing through his soft hair.

Alastor’s face was warm against your skin, you could hear every sniffle, feel every shudder as soft sobs wracked his body. Sometimes, being in Hell made you forget, every person you met down here was once innocent. They were once alive, vulnerable, and just someone trying to find their place in the world. Big bad overlords like the on you were cradling in your arms were once human. They all were someone’s pride and joy, someone’s baby, someone’s entire reason to keep living. Despite what they’d become, they once were soft and pure, nothing is born evil. And times like this made you remember that.

After a good few minutes of The Radio Demon crying into your shoulder, he’d finally calmed, now just sitting in that same position, holding you close, a small sniffle every once in a while. You’d been lulling soft words into his ear, your best attempt to relax him. Slowly, Alastor picked his head up, straightening himself to sit sort-of-in-front-of-you, your legs were a little tangled due to the way you’d both been sitting for the past while. He looked into your eyes, his hands were gently fiddling with the fabric of your shirt as he averted his gaze.

“This was. A relieving experience,” he admits, his smile small but seemingly genuine. His face was tear stained, there were light bags under his eyes, but all and all, he seemed a lot lighter.

“Good. That’s,, that’s good. I’m glad,” you gave a lopsided grin, moving your hands to caress his arms. “Seemed like you might’ve needed that.”

“I suppose I did,” he returned the motion, his hands falling to your hips, though loosely.

This was the most physically affectionate you’d ever seen Alastor. He, generally speaking, didn’t like much contact. The most people would get from him is a simple handshake or pinch of the cheek, maybe an arm around the shoulder, but it was almost always in a condescending way. But this was very different. It was softer, more intimate. You felt almost privileged to see this side of him.

“I meant what I said,” you break the string of comfortable silence. Alastor tilted his head, expecting some elaboration. “About wanting to be here for you. Whenever you need it, I’m always there.”

“I know you did, my dear. I would like to. Hm,” a pause. “I’m sorry. For snapping at you. It’s hard to be open when we are quite literally in Hell. I should’ve known better than to think you’d ever try to use this against me. You’d never do that, would you?” His grip on your hips tightened slightly. A warning. But also, a plead.

“Of course not, I’d never even think of it,” you gave his arms a reassuring squeeze, and his grip on you loosened. You could only smile, pulling yourself closer to him and placing your forehead against his. Alastor rolled his eyes though when they fell back to you, his whole expression softened. This was a tender moment, and wasn’t one that you’d likely ever get again.

You admired him for a short moment, allowing silly thoughts of romance and companionship dance in your head. Alastor, The Radio Demon, with a lowlife sinner like you? It would be unprecedented. And yet, you couldn’t help but let the softness of this moment cloud your judgement. You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth Alastor tensed. As you pulled away, you could see a very obvious blush across his face.

“Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, pulling away completely, withdrawing all contact. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Before he could reply, you gave a gentle pat on his head, and then walked out of his room. The overlord could only blink, watching you disappear. His heart fluttered with excited jitters as he stood, dusting himself off. He may just have to come to you with his issues more often.

#fanfic #writing #hazbin hotel #rockettothestars222 #reqs open #requests #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #comfort #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin husk

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asaxophony · 2 years

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i keep getting my dermtographia hives specifically on my feet and it’s such like a weird pain

#hurty like walking on nails but like also itches at the same time? its such a weird uncomfortable feeling like #hurts but doesnt at the same time #i guess its from the swelling?? but like the itching cancels out the pain and the pain cancels out the itching so its like pins and needles #but just on my skin.

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soapisahimbo · 1 year

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NSFW ABC - Simon 'Ghost' Riley Edition

Here he is, finally! The man, the myth, the legend! I'll be honest, I actually had a bit of a hard time on this one, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Contains heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

warnings: senseless smut, detailed descriptions, ghost is a dirty lad but secretly a softie, hinted at female anatomy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Methodical, but not without warmth. He asks you genuinely if you're ok, if anything hurts, if you want to get in the shower or if you want him to go get a towel to clean you off so that you can lay down to rest, depending on how intense the session was - a little bit like damage control. He might take you to the shower anyways if he thinks it's the best option for you, but he'll do most of the work. He can be quite rough even when he tries to tone it down, so he wants to make sure he hasn't caused you any actual harm in the heat of the moment and he does that best by actually looking after you. He does love it if you wash him off as well, scrubbing over his chest and arms, but he won't really say much. He'll just let out a low, rumbling sigh and lean his cheek against the top of your head and honestly that alone tells you all you need to know. He lets you cup his face and plants all the kisses you want on his face and mouth, simply holding you in his arms and relishing in the moment.

Once you've started cleaning up and checking in on each other in this fashion, any extra rounds is pretty much out of the question. This is to wind down, to relax, to clean off, put on some comfortable clothes, settle back down into bed and hold each other close. Not that Simon can't go on for what feels like forever, but he greatly appreciates the peace and quiet he gets with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

As far as Simon's concerned, his body serves its' purpose well. He doesn't exactly lack confidence, but he's by no means vain, and rarely looks at himself in the mirror unless it's to get a better angle to check on wounds or to clean himself. He's found a certain pride in his arms though, mainly because he can wrap them around you like some sort of boa constrictor and there's little you can do to escape it. He finds a sort of hidden, perhaps slightly sadistic, glee in that you can't do much else but take what he gives you (he's not an asshole, though - should you give even the slightest hint that you were uncomfortable or didn't want it, he'd let you go in an instant and make sure you're ok).

As for you, he is quietly obsessed your hands and your hips. Feeling your hands roam over his body is addicting, because he's not quite used to being touched in the way that you touch him, and your hips fit perfectly in his own hands (and his own hips fit perfectly there, too). But all in all, no matter how much he loses himself in the crooks and curves of your body, it's your eyes that do him in every time. He doesn't want to admit it, but it's why he mostly buries his face in your neck or takes you from behind. Your eyes make him weak. If you look into his eyes and beg him for whatever (to slow down, to speed up, to let you come) or even worse, say his name, you'll send shivers through his entire body. He tries not to let it get to his head, but the effect that you have on him, the way something in him falls apart when your eyes meet... it almost scares him. If you get a chance to take control, even for a second, grab him by the hair and demand that he looks you in the eye when he fucks you. You'll render him not only speechless, but also absolutely feral.

He wants to be methodical about this too, but he loses himself far too easily in you, and cumming all over your lower stomach and hole scratches some sort of itch in him that he didn't quite know he had. He will keep your thighs spread just so he can watch it drip down between them, and will most likely push it into you either with his fingers or his cock, fucking you a bit more until you cum again. If he has it in him, he'll cum in you once more and spread your hole just so he can watch as it leaks back out (before fingering it back into you yet again). Won't say a word during it, but you'll feel his eyes practically burning into your skin.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

He will absolutely cum down your throat if you let him and you can take it, keeping a close eye on you so that you're not actually uncomfortable or struggling. Wants you to show him that you've swallowed it all down though, or spit it back out on his cock so that he can fuck it into you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Before the two of you actually got together, you had a fling with another soldier at the base. Simon never commented on it, but he kept an eye on you in case he turned out to be an asshole or something. He tried not to give it too much thought; he just wanted to make sure you were all right. Totally not because he was jealous or anything, obviously.

He was actually looking for you when it happened, he just hadn't expected to find you in this... condition. Peering around the corner, he froze when found you pinned up against the wall in an empty hallway, with this fucker's tongue down your throat and his hand down your pants, panting and moaning into the kiss. He was suddenly struck by a strong urge to grab that dickhead and throw him out a helicopter at full speed and show you that he could give you something much better than whatever this was. He clenched his fists, thinking to himself that if he had you against the wall like this, he'd make sure you couldn't stay quiet. He'd have you crying out his name, shaking and quivering, gushing all over his fingers. That pipsqueak had nothing on him.

He considered stepping in and interrupting you, some dark voice in his mind telling him to take over, but he settled on simply slipping away quietly, not being able to stop the images in his head of pinning you against the wall, or against his bed and taking you the way you deserved to be taken.

He never told you about how he saw you with that dipshit, or how it made him jealous, or how he's fantasized about you since even before that. But once he'd simmered on it for too long and he got the chance to talk to you, he told you enough for you to know that he wanted you, that he'd wanted you for a while now, and that if you gave him the go, he'd take you then and there.

Safe to say, you gave it to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He does have a good amount of experience from when he was younger, but he hasn't really engaged in it in a good while. He has men and women offer themselves up to him at regular intervals, he just 1. never trusts a stranger enough to put himself in a vulnerable position like that and 2. isn't really into one-night-stands, even if it were with a close friend. Before you, he took it upon himself to find relief if he ever felt the need to. Now that he has you, he doesn't need anything else.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

He greatly enjoys holding you down in a mating press, caging you in and leaning in close to your face to kiss you or to growl something into your ears. But as mentioned before, he's a bit weaker to your eyes than he'd like to admit, so more often than not, he takes you from behind in some way, like if you're standing or you're on your knees and he keeps you upright by grabbing your arms and pulling you back into him. He prefers pressing his entire body into you though, deep and close, giving you that sense of not being able to escape him. Doesn't let you close your legs, doesn't let you shy away, doesn't let you touch yourself.

If you want to take control, and happen to get the chance, take it. As hardheaded as he is and dominant as he might seem, he molds himself by your hands like the softest clay you could ever imagine, and he wants you to use him even if he's "in charge". If you wrap your hand around his throat, it puts him almost in a daze; you can see his pupils dilate as you straddle him and grind him into you, you can hear a soft rumble in his chest as you pull his head back by his hair and trail kisses and bites along his neck. If you tell him to keep his hands off or you tie them to the headboard or behind his back, you'll see his muscles tense as he struggles against his restraints, be they physical or just in his mind.

He's also a surprisingly big fan of 69 - he likes the combination of the taste and heat of you on his face and your moans on his dick.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

He's no stranger to getting a chuckle out of you; you'll tease each other every now and then and he might huff out a breath in amusement at some point or other, but for the most part he's very serious. He's focused on you, how you feel, how you sound and regardless of if this is a session to rid tension and frustration, or if it's a warmer, more tender round, he doesn't want to waste any energy on anything other than fucking you.

He might chuckle when he sees your eyes roll back or when you can't quite form coherent words, and he'll grin when he fucks the living daylight out of you after you've laughed just a little too hard at him for any reason. Some sort of semi-sadistic humour is ever-present, but you'll never hear him laugh outright, and you'll be too far out of it to focus on anything anyway.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

He's not a very hairy man, but the hair that he has is mainly light and surprisingly soft, fairly thick and curly-ish. He might give it a trim every now and then for the sake of comfort, usually before heading out for deployment, but other than that he doesn't give it too much thought. He couldn't really care less about the presence or lack of body hair, be it on himself or on you. If you were to ask him nicely to trim it down because maybe you don't like the way it feels, then sure. But if you were to find it yucky for any reason, he'd tell you to grow up. There's nothing to be grossed out about - he's very clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He might not seem like it, and he surely doesn't say anything about it, but he greatly cherishes the moments where he gets to lay down with you and relax. There's no need to say anything, no need to do anything; you can just lay in his arms and listen to his steady heartbeat. As rough as he can be, he genuinely loves cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. He's not very vocal about his emotions, but he makes sure to show them to you in your most private moments.

He wants to hold you when he gets the chance to and having you lay on top of him helps ground him. He once told you that he enjoys the weight of you on him and you offered to get him a weighted blanket, but the only weighted blanket he wants is you (also he doesn't want one with him to base or to missions - it sends him into a far too deep of a sleep than what might be safe in a time where he needs to be ready spring to action at any moment).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He has convinced himself that he doesn't need to. Not that he doesn't get the urge to, because when time away from you has dragged on, he gets... restless. He's usually way more irritable in the last week or so on a mission, and the ever so observant Soap might joke that the lieutenant needs to "blow off some steam" before he blows off one of their heads - "if you need to sneak off for a minute or so, I won't tell the captain." ("Fuckin' shut up, Johnny.")

It's like he's come to the conclusion that he can hold out. He usually doesn't jack off on missions anyway, but it's gotten a bit more challenging now that he knows that you're waiting for him back home. He kind of scolds himself, tells himself that it was never a problem before, so why would it be a problem now? But he remembers you, he thinks of you and he misses you and so it adds a variable that wasn't there before. He tries to keep his thoughts at bay, but the longer he's away from you, the more salacious the thoughts become. He might get off once while back at base and in the privacy of his own room, depending on how much longer the mission is going to last, but if it's just a week or so left, he'll hold off and his teammates will just have to deal with his bad mood. Just be prepared for when he gets back to you, because he will definitely not use his own hand now that he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

He's not a fullblown sadist, but he does have a little vein of it running through him. Tying you down, blindfolding you and just generally forcing you to be at the mercy of him scratches some sort of itch in him. He's not doing it as a form of punishment though, and it's not meant to be just for his own pleasure; it's more like he needs to prove something to you almost. It's like he wants to give you everything he thinks you deserve, even if it's more than you can handle. If you listen closely (if you even have the ability to still hear him), you might hear him whispering for you to keep going, to keep cumming, to give him more. You will need to establish some safewords with him right out of the gate, because he overstimulates you like it's his only purpose in life.

Because of the great satisfaction he gets from feeling your weight on top of him though, having you ride him in pretty much anyway you can is greatly appreciated. Sitting on his face, on his dick, on his thigh - just any way that he can have you draped over him is top notch. He might actually have more of a masochistic side to him, because he likes it when you scratch him and pull his hair, and he loves feeling like he's practically drowning in you. Overstimulating him might not be an incredibly regular occurrence, but if you get the chance to, do it, and do it well.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Bed. He'll have you anywhere within the confines of your home if that's what you want, but he prefers the bed. That's where he can completely unravel you and it's where he feels it's safest. That's not to say he hasn't fucked you in the shower or on the dinner table, or that you haven't had your moments where you've barely made it in through the front door. You rile him up easily; almost too easily. If you were to undress right out on the street, he'd probably fuck you right there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

For anyone who doesn't know him, it's easy to think that he just never experiences emotions. The deadpan stare, the monotone voice, the way that he just seems generally disinterested in pretty much everything. But you know better. The way he tilts his head towards you, the way he discreetly takes a deep breath when you say or do something suggestive, the way his eyes follow your every move with a hooded gaze, or the way he reaches out to you but waits for you to close the last bit of distance between you. You know it well.

As established before, he has a weak spot for your eyes; when you look at him and tell him what you want or just that you love him, he feels something in him melt. Fluttering touches over his shoulders or chest, nuzzling your body in close to his and wrapping your arms around him are all ways to warm up that supposedly "cold" heart of his.

Keep in mind though, he's a man of action. If you tease him, make sure you're ready to face the consequences - especially if you're in an environment where he can't just have you right away.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

As rough as he might be, whether he has a sadistic hint to him or not, he would never want to do anything that would leave scars on you. Bruises, hickeys, scratches, sure. But never anything that would actually leave any sort of permanent mark. Also doesn't want to cause you any actual physical pain; he can overwhelm you, he can leave you feeling sore, he can make you feel like you've been run through a cycle in the washing machine, but he'll never hurt you.

If you tell him that something doesn't feel good or hurts or that there's something that you just don't like, rest assured he'll back off in an instant.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Sit. On. His. Face. Fucking sit on it and do it now. He will give you no chance to escape his grip or tongue, and he will keep you there until you're just shy of passing out. He loves rendering you nothing but a quivering mess, but he also finds it strangely grounding - the weight of you, your taste, your heat; it's like it heals something in him. He'll tell you to get on him whenever he's in a bad mood or stressed out, and you can never quite predict how long he'll go on for, but you often get to see a part of him that you think no one else has ever seen. He practically suffocates himself in you and you'd be more worried if you weren't so lost in your own pleasure. It's almost something masochistic in him that has him drive himself towards blacking out, because if you can manage to look at him the few times that he actually breaks away to breathe, you'll see his eyes roll and his eyelids flutter. He'll take a huge gulp of air and slur out something about how he wants, no, needs more before he dives back in with a rough moan. Doesn't let you pull away when you cum, because he wants you to cum right down his throat.

When you suck him off, he leans back and watches you, breathing deeply and heavily, and lets you take as much of him as you can in whatever pace you can. If you're struggling, he'll tell you that you're doing good and that he's proud of however much you can fit in your mouth. If you're not struggling at all, he'll chuckle and maybe call you a "dirty little one", but he loves it. As mentioned before, he wants to see you either swallow his cum down, or spit it back out on his cock to keep going, but he also loves shoving his tongue into your mouth, letting any residue of him left dribble out onto your chin.

He might not go for 69 every time, but he takes great enjoyment in knowing that you're trying your hardest not to stop sucking him off even if you're losing your mind at the whim of his tongue. Crosses off multiple things on his list, and so when you do indulge in it, he makes sure neither of you are rushing it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

He goes at very steady pace; it's not slow, but it's not fast either. He can speed up to drive you to the edge faster or slow down to draw it out, but no matter what the pace is, you can bet that it'll be deep and heavy. Somehow, it never gets predictable. You joked with him that not only is Simon 'Ghost' Riley an expert at sneaking up on enemies on the battlefield, but also at making you cum when you least expect it. It got a little chuckle out of him (and about four orgasms out of you), but it's true. You don't know how he does it, but somehow he brings you to climax even when you don't feel like you're that close to it. It's like he knows exactly where all your little buttons are - even the ones you didn't even know you had.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's disciplined and he's headstrong, but he doesn't have the patience or fortitude for quickies - once he's started, he'll be going for a good fucking while. Besides, you need a proper warmup before you can actually take him - he's far too thick otherwise. If you're feeling impatient and like you really can't wait, he'll give you his fingers, but just know that it is taking every single microscopic little grain of him to not just rip your clothes off and fuck you good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He won't do anything outright sexual in public - at least not that anyone sees or notices. He'll whisper into your ear and sneak a few touches here and there, he'll give you a heated gaze that is gone as quickly as it appeared, and for a while you'll think you're going insane; it's like he's using his tactics against you, to tease you.

Other than that, he wants to keep that stuff inside the safety of your own home for the most part. As far as experimenting goes, he'll give most things a whirl if you really want him to, as long as it's within some realm of reality.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He will practically never be the first to tap out, just so you know. While he might not be able to cum time and time again, he makes sure that when he does cum, he makes it count. You could swear that you've had like 5 rounds back to back, but honestly, it's usually 1-2 rounds that just feel like they last an eternity because he uses practically all of him to make you cum as many times as he can.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

Not for him, no. As for you though? More tools to make you cum, pretty much.

He doesn't think he needs them, and he doesn't actually care all that much for them; but every now and then, when he's feeling like a little shit, or he thinks you've had it coming, he'll have you close to passing out if given the chance.

He's not threatened by them. He knows that he can make you feel so much better than whatever toys you have. You're free to use them as much as you want when he's away, but if you use them while he's there, he'll either take over to "show you how it's done", or he'll take a seat and tell you to give him a good show.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

It's probably safe to say that Simon is not a very fair man. He'll drive you up the wall when he feels like it, acting like everything is right as rain while you feel like he's already fucked you just from looking at you.

He'll deliberately slow down or pause when he can tell that you're close and grin lazily at you when you complain, he'll whisper the absolute filthiest things to you while passing by before moving on like nothing happened, he'll sneak up on you just to snatch you up and kiss the breath out of you before he just walks away.

So if you can, give him a taste of his own medicine, will you? He deserves it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

Very quiet other than maybe a few sighs, grunts and whispers. Every now and then you might get a moan out of him, but he tends to hold them back. Not because he's ashamed or anything, but because he'd much rather hear you. He'll whisper endless praise and dirty nothings to you, but that's the most you'll get out of him, sound-wise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

This was actually insane, and very unlike him. Well, having you up against the wall and hanging in his arms by the crook of your knees wasn't entirely unlike him - but fucking you in someone else's bathroom definitely was. You had been invited to a little dinner party over at Mactavish's place, and the whole team and some of their older colleagues were there. You were having a good time, and you were sure that Simon was, too, but at one point during the evening, he told you he needed your help with something. You were none the wiser to his plans - he had some stitches on the back of his shoulder and you thought that maybe he just needed you to check on them.

He took you into the bathroom, closed and locked the door and before you could get a word out, he turned to you, unbuckled your belt and pressed you up against the wall as he shoved his hand down your underwear. He covered your mouth with his own, making sure to keep any suspicious sounds confined to this room.

You completely lost your sense of time, but at some point, after fingering you into oblivion, he'd tugged your pants halfway down your legs, hoisted you up and there you were; trying your absolute hardest to stay quiet while you hung helplessly in his arms as he fucked you without even a moment's pause. He didn't say a word, didn't utter the slightest sound, he just stared intently at you and rammed into you with a determination that you'd never seen in any other man before. You didn't know how you were going to explain the weakness in your legs and the sweat and flush of your face once the two of you went back out to the party, but at the moment, you were far from capable of forming any sort of coherent thought anyways, so you'd just give that job to Simon once he was done.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Sits somewhere between 6-6.5 inches, and he's quite a bit thicker than most others that would have the same length. As mentioned before, you need a proper and thorough warmup before you can take him and he's generous with it, so even though you always feel the stretch when he pushes into you, it's never a painful one. It just leaves you speechless, that's all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

While he always wants you near, it's not always sexual. He needs the calm and domestic moments just as much as he needs the more intimate and sexual ones. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen often though; it might not be an "every single day"-thing, but it's not far from it. He's clear to let you know when he wants you, but he likes it more when you initiate.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

He actually stays awake for a good while after that, taking the time to simply listen to you breathe and feel your heartbeat against his chest. He usually doesn't like complete and utter silence because his ears are most likely ringing from chronic tinnitus, but the sounds of your sleep are just enough to keep him distracted from it. He also takes this time to commit everything about you to memory (as if he hasn't already). He oh so carefully caresses your cheek, strokes your hair and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but you never notice, and he'll never tell you. Once he's satisfied and once he's finally convinced himself that you're not going anywhere, he'll finally settle and close his eyes to sleep.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut

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hanaonesflower · 1 year

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Iwaizumi finds himself looking at you, puzzled at the way you shy away from his touch. He doesn’t quite get it. But he doesn’t want to push. Hajime does what he knows how to do best; talks it out. Or he tries really hard to. Ever since he’s been more comfortable around you, his arms often swing behind your shoulders and his hands usually are intertwined with yours but he hasn’t stopped to notice that you don’t openly accept his touches.

“Honey, stop.” His tone far from harsh but it still manages to stop you dead in your tracks. You turn to see him, finding your lover standing a couple feet away from you, his arms unoccupied, flinching with the itch for wanting to hold you.

“Hi? Is something wrong?” Regardless of how it may seem, Hajime is not good with his words. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times only for hopeless croaks to escape his throat. He looks, sad. So, so sad. His arms are being brought up, holding out as if he is collecting a reward, well in this case the reward would be to hold you longer.

“Can you come here, please?” Oddly enough you don’t protest, you don’t try to question him. Instead you step towards him as if someone has possessed you, Hajime looks relieved, he doesn’t have to fight for it. Even though, we all know that he would. “Can you, can I — can you let me hold you, please?” Oh. Yeah. You think. It still doesn’t occur to you that Hajime caught onto the way you shorten every hug, halt every kiss before it gets too deep, shake your hand away from his grasp. Physical touch makes you feel queasy, and it is oh so unpleasant. The direct linkage of physical touch to sex makes you uncomfortable, feeling like each touch has to be accompanied by sexual intimacy. Why does it have to be like that?

Once the distance between you decreases he quickly pulls you close, wraps his arms around your torso tightly. Afraid of losing you.

“D-don’t pull away just yet, okay?” You stay, without saying a word. Hajime doesn’t say much either, it doesn’t take long for your breathing to sync with one another. It was peaceful, tranquil. His hand instinctively travels lower towards your waist, and just like clockwork, you pull away, resisting the strength of his arms. You should have known by now that Hajime can rage storms with his eyes but shut them down just as fast with the way his arms bring so much peace.

“Why?” He asks. This isn’t a normal look for Hajime, he looks like he is on the brink of tears. And you feel yours begin to pour. He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t get to treat him like this. Poor boy just wants to show you what genuine touch feels like and you refuse to give him a chance. “Why can’t I touch you? Why can’t I hold you?” He feels so bad. Hajime tries to rethink about all the things he might have done that led you to feeling unbearable being held by him.

Resolve crumbling at your feet. Physical touch is his way of expressing his love, it’s always something that has always bring him comfort, stability, it has grounded him in many situations. He wants to feel close to you, but he has never felt so far away. It feels like a part of himself is always missing, hiding within you. This is cruel. This is isolating.

Without saying much you crouch to reach him, arms wrapping his shoulders, snuggling your head in his neck, situating in its rightful place. You two don’t share much words in this moment, not much is needed to be said anyway. The way he’s breaking down, longing so badly for the touch of his beloved, so much it hurts. The way his neurons fire, sending chills down his back and the way his skin heats up at the moment you make contact. You hold him and you don’t let go. You stay until you both are spent from the tears you shed. “I’ll hold you like this forever if I could, Haji, I’m sorry.” You believe that you finally get it now. Physical touch doesn’t have to feel evil, it can feel just like this. His hands find your torso again, timid, but he’s willing to try. he sighs into your touch, so relieved to be reconnected with the part of himself he once relinquished to you.

#as someone who has a lot of trouble giving into physical touch #even tho I’m touch starved #this one is for the girlies that feel the same way as me #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi scenarios #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #hq shorts #iwaizumi fluff #Iwaizumi Hajime #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #⌑ 5 LL series ⌑#iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi headcanons #haikyu angst #angst to fluff kinda

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ghouljams · 8 months

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I love witch darling and Price they have my whole heart (and Liebling and Konig bc I'm a sucker for straight pairings where the woman could say "heel" and the big scary guy would listen)

I just love the idea of visible claims, beyond just the obvious sexy stuff of "marked, now you're mine." Bc the way you wrote it it's more a sign of how long they've been together, how familiar they are, how much they long to have something somewhat tangible as a reminder that they're there for each other. It's an intimacy of knowing one another

Price and Witch being so intertwined that Price meets up with the other Fae boys and is confused at why they're shuffling uncomfortably until he realises he has Witches magic all over him and not only did he not notice bc he's become so used to their presence that it's a comfort but the fact that it's there means they have become so used to his presence they automatically warded him a little bit, not intentionally or through any rituals but their intent of wanting to protect him and keep him safe (and maybe even mark him what? Who said that?) Wrapped around him like a loving embrace. For a couple who's interactions started off measured and contract-like its a real step up to the point that welcoming him is as easy as breathing. (Loving someone like breathing)

Witch goes about their day perfectly happy until they notice something in the corner of their eye and see Prices magic clinging to their doorway, a sign to ward off any unwelcome visitors. And they should be mad at him but... the last time he was here was days ago and if they confront him they have to admit to themselves and him that it took them that long to notice after days of walking past, just accepting it as normal.

Witch wrapping their hair and their thoughts aren't even on Price but somehow their ambient love of him worms it's way into the intentions (I love hair wrapping btw)

Price having a stressful day and when he gets home (does he have a home? He feels a little bit like a bum that just waits to annoy Witch) he feels himself relax. And he's confused bc yeah this is his territory so it's safe but he's never felt the tension leave his body so quickly, until he notices he conveniently sat on the floor, right near his cigar tray, at the perfect height to smell the ashes from one of Witch's cigars.

I'm going to write just little snippets for all of these.

Everything feels warmer after leaving you, lighter, safer. Price lights a cigar while his boys watch him carefully. He raises a brow at them through the fingering smoke. If one of them has something to say they'd be best advised to get it over with. Soap nudges Gaz, who shakes his head quickly and nudges Ghost, who promptly throws Gaz under the bus.

"Gaz wants to say something," Ghost announces.

"You've gotten worse," Gaz tells him with a glare, "Why do I hafta do it?"

"'Cause he won't be mad at you," Soap chimes in. Gaz groans and leans forward, his elbows on the table.

"You're toting around Witch wards," Gaz is flat out with it, Price'll give him that.

"Am I?" It's barely a question in tone, but is he? He hadn't noticed. Now that he thinks about it though, he can still feel where your hands settled on his chest, your lips on his cheek telling him to take care. Your magic wraps around him like a blanket, ambient and comforting. That explains the warmth. Cheeky little thing, he should've known you'd pull something like this. You can't help yourself.

The part that gets him though, is he hadn't noticed. He always notices foreign magic like an allergic reaction. It itches his skin, gives him headaches. Especially witch's magic, he should've felt that immediately. Oil and water, it should have done something to him, caused a reaction of some sort. Yet even his smoke seemed clingier, soft with you.

He tugs at the lingering magic, feels it purr like a particularly clingy kitten. Well, it's not hurting anyone. It can stay.

"You're as bad as Ghost, you know that?" Gaz shakes his head. Ghost glares at him.

"When did I become the fuckin' benchmark?" He asks angrily.

It's been sitting quietly at the edge of your magical perception for days before you actually notice it. Passing through your front door you have to stop at the unfamiliar ward. You cast your eyes about as if you could see it, but come up short. Something in the familiarity of it worms its way into your brain and directs you where to look. How silly that you hadn't noticed him put his own protections on you.

You press your hand to the worn wood of your door frame with a smile. You can feel the residual magic Price must have left, how did you miss it? It's so clear and foreign to your own wards, that you should have noticed immediately. Even the edges of your wards have grown around it like one tree absorbing another. Strange that your magic would notice before you did, but you suppose you've grown so used to Price's magic it's become almost second nature to you. You can almost feel his hand under yours, fond, affectionate, warning anything that might pass by.

You take your hand off the door frame to touch your fingers to your lips, kissing them before tapping them against Price's seal. For luck, you think.

You're half way through rubbing lotion onto your arms when you notice you're feeling very pink. Not just you, your magic, your being. You check the bottle you're using, it's not any spell you're not used to, weird. You finish up with your body lotion and when the pink feeling doesn't dispel you go to check your shower to make sure you didn't mix any strange ingredients into your usual scrubs. You can't have any strange magic working on you when you see Price tomorrow or you'll have to cancel your date.

Date. You probably shouldn't call it that when you see him daily, but it feels special every time. He kisses you like it's special every time, like he'll never get another chance for it. You press your fingers to your lips with a giddy smile, feel the pink magic bubble happily.

You pick through your products with a witch's unintentional intent. Rose, rosemary, lilac, iris, weaving your little love spell into your skin and bubbling over with your happy thoughts. You'll school your emotions later, for now you're enjoying this. Besides, you don't have any clients scheduled for tomorrow, who cares if your magic is a little messy?

"Y'smell good," Price tells you when you see him, his arms around you as he presses his lips to any skin he can find. You direct his lips back to yours and feel the pink tinge him as his tongue drags against yours. His magic bleeds against yours, pulls as eagerly as his hands do until you're shivering against his chest.

You tip your head back as he kisses your throat, breathes you in with heavy intent. His beard tickles, scratchy but soft in a way that makes you think he takes meticulous care of it. His tongue drags against your pulse, his teeth sharp when they nibble your jaw.

"Y'know you don't need love spells for me, Sweatheart," He whispers in your ear and you feel heat pop over your cheeks, more embarrassed than anything else. Gods, that's what that is, isn't it?

"Date cancelled," You tell him a little breathless with him still kissing your neck. You whack his shoulders with your hands to get him off, "Price I need to wash all this off of me, you are going to make it worse."

"Fine by me," He tells you calmly, making no move to stop. You think he does this on purpose sometimes. Bastard.

Price kicks the door shut behind him, barely remembers to turn the lights on before he's collapsed back against his couch. The soft moonlight through the windows is less comforting and more indicative of how over-fucking-worked he is. Gaz has to start coming to court with him, take some of this load before it breaks his fucking back.

He exhales deeply, feels the billow of smoke release from his lungs. Unspent magic. It hooks itself to the walls and ceiling, hanging like kudzu vines, threatening to strangle anything that challenges its path forwards. He breathes in, feels the ash of his morning cigar swirl and spark. Soft and familiar. Yours, he smiles to himself.

You've made a sweet habit of gifting him cigars. Simple tobacco in tobacco, it shouldn't make a spell like this, but you are a wonder. He can smell your hopes while you were making this, the residual magic of your intent. "Remember me" Your ashes whisper to him, "Let me bring you peace, happiness."

It shouldn't surprise him to feel his muscles unwind, dragged down by your gentle magic. He can almost feel your fingers on his jaw tipping his head back onto the arm of the couch, your lips against his forehead imploring him to relax. How could he ever refuse your ministrations.

#I do love the idea of witch wrapping her hair or putting it in curlers #but I also know I have short haired readers #so just some nightly routine stuff #john price x oc #cod x reader #x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price #oc: witch #They're so disgusting I wanna gag #Anyway do you wanna take over writing for them because you fucking get it

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kurosstuff · 1 month

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Some preening headcanons with any of the angel girls please?

Take this for now~ hope you like it!

I'm very busy this week BUT- here's my attempt

ALSO I KINDA DID MORE HEADCANONS THEN KIST PREENING- IM SORRY I KINEA- WENT OFF

Gonna do three girls with wings- sera vaggie and lute(surpise?/j) idk how to write Emily yet-

Warning(s): some angst? Insecurities(in lute and veggies parts), fluff, wing stuff, established relationships in each ones(lovers for vaggie reader is a female, drabbles(some nsfw) slighr nsfw stuff

Never wrote vaggie. Hope she's good

ALSO I DIDNR REALIZE. LUTES IS SO FUCKING LONF.

Preening headcanons(sera, vaggie, lute)

Sera

• I'm gonna say it. Out of all three ladies? She KNOWS how to preen her wings the best. Sure with six wings its more time-consuming and a pain but she knows how important it is.

Which also means she's the most willing to accept your help. Of course, only if it's you two, and she knows you enough- cause wing preening? Is a mate/very sensitive thing for angels

• and it doesn't matter if you have wings or not- shell sit patiently guiding you through how to handle her wings. Given having six is even more work. BUT also much more sensitive

"My love~ please be careful how you touch them" Sera hummed, wings flapping from your touch one eye popping out, watching you closely making you smile at it- humming in approval she closed the eye closing her main ones at the itching pain vanishing "it feels nice~" she purred out softly feeling your hands dipping between her feathers before jolting

"My love- please- you know how sensitive my wings are-" she huffed face flushed dark turning to you huffing at your knowing smirk "guess this.. will turn into something more huh sera ~?" You hummed kissing the wing closest to you

• not all the time but every now and then does it turn into a spicy preening. (Not when her wings genuinely bring her pain) cause as she does keep good track of her preening. Sometimes, she forgets. Or gets to distracted from work. So you step in to help.

To remind her of what she needs.

• she couldn't ask for a better mate to help her preening. To help her wings in general. She's a tall woman so even though it takes a much longer time given she has more then two wings.. she's lucky you stuck around, more to help.

Bonus points if you have wings.

Cause then she'll help preen you no questions asked. Hell shed even offer the help.

Vaggie

• ok first things first. Vaggie? Is very insecure about her wings. Before falling she kinda knew how to handle preening enough so it wouldn't like- cause issues? But. She'd miss some. She'd miss the cloest ones to her middle of her back-

Only time she allowed Adam to help. Given she couldn't do it herself. Didnt trust the others too.

• but now in hell? She regrew them or- whatever.. it hurt. Like hell. Them ripping through her scared back- bur now she needs to relearn how to live with wings like she learned how to live without.

"I got it- I got it" vaggie growled out, giving you a pointed look on instinct as her wings flapped around, hitting yet another plate, sending it flying off the counter shattering as she tried to relearn how to fold them. To relax them.

"I really think-"

"I fucking Got it" she yelped out

• stubborn. She's a good lover awkward given her upbringing. But she never once meant to upset you. Never meant to take her temper out on you. But, she just didn't know how to properly react to this annoying pain again after all these years of no wings. Now it's here and she needs to preen? Again?

Asking was just as uncomfortable for her. Knowing you always offered to help? Made her upset. For two reasons- her stubbornness from her past to ask for such help pinging in anger at the suggestion she needed help. And two. Because of her snapping at you. Her girlfriend. Yet here she is doing what she was uncomfortable with.

She knew deep down as much as you could turn her away- send her off. You won't. So she? Asked

And you of course. Agreed

"Come on love~" patting in front of you, she stared. Her one good eye glancing at the cushion in front of you on the bed silent. To uncomfortable- unnerving to speak. Stepping too put od her comfort zone to ask. To allow you to touch her and know she's safe. She cant help but be uncomfortable. "When your ready? Let me see your pretty wings?" You hummed as she finally sat down. Tense infront of you.

Finally releasing her wings she allowed you to do your job. The second your hands touched her wings- touched her? She relaxed against you. Feeling safe. Which even now after all these years is..

Odd

• every time you preened her- shed be a more cuddly mess- nuzzling into you hiding into your chest or neck wings flapping puffing up.

It wasn't until you read up on wings to help her that you learned why. How it was like an intimate courting thing to do.

• didn't really understand, but. If it made her happy? You were happy. And imagine your surpise when she handed you her feather

Lute

Lute? Is not insecure about her wings. No she's very prideful of them how strong they are how soft and all the stuff she'd do to court you(despite her not needing to) she is COMPLETELY prideful of them. Showing them off all the time to you- she didn't care for anyone else's opinon..

But she is insecure. About her lack of knowledge of how to properly care for them. All executioners have this issue. Their all taught to be fighters killers. Nothing else. She's still learning to be a good lover- a gentle lover with you. But the basic stuff she knows how to preen.. but it hurts still.

She almost asked Adam for help but. She's to prideful. She can't accept help. That'd mean defeat for her. Mean she can't do it. Mean she ISNT the best. Mean.. she's not the perfect mate. Mean she isn't right for you- asking for help on anything sends her into a freak out. Makes her panic cause what If you leave her?

She can't even cook nor make nests completely right. So why would you want a mate that CANT even preen? Something all angels know. Doesn't matter executioners are.. exempt from this. Doesn't matter to her.

Lute is like vaggie. Stubborn. Unwilling to accept help even from her mate- her lover. She'll throw a fit- if you oh so mention her needed to be preened. She's just way to prideful.

Youll know when she needs to preen. Its the only time youll see her more.. phycially emotional rather then just her words. Oh, she'll yell. It's already well known how.. angry. Lute generally is other than her more... stoic persona.

If it weren't for her wings flapping or her having them at all- you'd call her a rabbit. Given how she stomps her foot like what rabbits do when angry(I know birds do as well when upset/uncomfortable)

"...lute" you cautiously called out. Watching as she stormed around your shared room wings puffing stretching as she roughly plucked herself. Glaring at you she huffed watching you closely as you swallowed

"May i help-"

"no" she cut off, snarling loudly feet stomping in that familiar way when.. she got like this. "Think I can't fucking take care of MY wings? I'm fine. I got it."

"But i- I can-"

Snarling she stormed off slamming the door roughly

"-help-"

Lute? Will stomp her feet. Wings puffing flapping in an annoyed anger cause of her wings irrating her. And that- you know you can jump in- asking yet again- cause she'll break at some point.

She always did. Always broke. Hinting for you to ask. And shell.. "reluctantly" agree and accept your help. As if you pushed her too. God heaven forbid she asks for help herself.

Stopping, you glanced up, seeing Lute again in front of you showing off her wings how it needs to be preened. Humming you blinked in thought. This.. was the third time she did such a thing

"...lute?" Her head tilting to you slightly, almost uninterested. But you saw that look. The look of panic but.. hopefully "do you need..help?" You asked once more unsure how she'd take it.

"If you insist so much. Fine, " she grumbled out, not even waiting, moving to sit in front of you. Smiling, you sighed. Of course, she wouldn't have actually asked.

She may not understand exactly how to preen but- her wings as always are like super soft- comforting as she sighed in relief as you preened her.

But if you asked? Oh, shed reject. How would she be happy for this? She is not. Nope. Nuh uh. Not at all happy her mate helped her.

She does surpise you, though. Even though she does it each time. How she piles her feathers you preened of her feathers. How she won't let you touch a single one, sending a glare your way if you so much as do.

Going through each and every feathers inspecting them as if searching for something. Then, the most acceptable ones she'll put a smaller pile wings puffing as she looks for the single best feathers.

She accepts no less than perfection after all.

Then once she finds it? She'll go to you- presenting it to you- insisting you inspect it for yourself and wait. Wait for you to accept or reject her feather.

Of course you accept-

Then she's all pridful. For getting the best feather for her mate. How you approved of her choice.

Of course if you have wings? Shell insists on preening you herself. She knows it's an intimate thing. How sometimes it does lead.. to more but. She thinks it's more special if she herself does it for you... ironic since she hardly accepts your help but. She does her best

You do have to show her- tell her if she's being to rough. After all? She doesn't know how to be gentle with anything much less wings

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #lute x reader #hazbin hotel lute #sera seraphim #hazbin hotel sera #sera x reader #vaggie #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie

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cydanite · 6 months

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"You remember that you are a distinct being with a finite form and a mortal body."

!!SPOILERS for the ending of StP!!

Concept sketch for my interpretation of Slay the Princess’s protagonist. I like the canon vagueness of his design, but I came up with a concept I wanted to explore c:

He has 2 pairs of wings, one on his head and one on his back. The "Narrator", in trapping him, clipped his wings and disguised them as hair and a cloak. Best to not to give any reminder that flying out of the woods is even an option.

The smaller pair wrap around his head like hair, the few remaining primaries folding over each other as bangs. On the “thumb” of the wings are birds feel, decoratively chained together. Don’t be fooled into thinking that chain isn’t meant to hold, though.

The larger pair drapes limply off his shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened by an X shape. You know the one, when people are lazy with drawing medieval clothing (myself included) we use it as a closure, a formless cross drawstring. You don’t question it when you see it. You wouldn’t suspect it’s two massive metal staples puncturing his flesh.

He can’t see his wings for what they are, so he doesn't feel through them. Not until he can manage to remember...

(also i wrote a snippet hehe)

The Narrator: The pain is threefold.

First comes stiffness, an ancient ache creeping in from the edge of your perception.

Awareness of this newfound sensation latches on to your mind and pulls, quickly fracturing into a sprawling map of new body parts.

It’s your hair. It hurts, in ways hair shouldn't be able to hurt. Every fiber protests against you despite being just hair mere moments ago.

The fabric of your cloak betrays you as well. You're inescapably aware of the space you now take up. New, itching, uncomfortable, ugly sensations form all down your back.

Voice of the Hero: It's like we just regained blood circulation there. We're being stabbed a thousand times over.

The Narrator: It doesn't end there. Injuries that previously gone unnoticed now make themselves known. You recall running sharp fingers through your hair. Only now can you feel the dried blood. You would've taken better care of that cloak if you'd known it was made up of you.

Voice of the Hero: But what's happening to us?

The Narrator: The web of pain maps out its shape. Two pairs of feathered wings become part of your body once again.

Voice of the Hero: 'Once again'... having wings makes sense, I suppose. But how could we have forgotten this? It seems so inescapable now.

The Narrator: But as you go to reign motor over your limbs once again, the third pain rears it’s ugly head… cold, harsh metal digs into your flesh.

It pins your limbs in their poses. A tiny set of cuffs pull small wings taught around the circumference of your head.

The closure of your "cape" is two enormous staples, staked through your flesh and clamped down hard. There's no blood here, the wound long since healed.

...Who or whatever did this to you, it was never intended to be removed.

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should keep more vigilant in the future. If we can't trust our own body... I don't want to think about it more than we have to.

#im mushing this game and it's characters around in my hands like silly putty. Rotating in my head isnt enough #ask to tag. I feel like just maybe this deserves a content warning but idk what that would be #slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #stp spoilers #stp the hero #stp the protagonist #stp the long quiet #slay the princess fanart #black tabby games #blood #mutilation #body horror #tw body horror #non-consensual body modification #thank you worldbeyondtheworld for the tag suggestions!

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chernabogs · 2 months

Text

Threnody

Inc: Malleus x Reader, with a lil bit of Lilia parenting Warnings: Existential crisis, anxiety mentions, allusions to death, dabbling in insecurity, post-blot coping WC: 2.9k Summary: There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within. Part 1

The gasps of spring’s last moments found closure under summer’s blade as she sliced through the tolerable weather into that of stifling, uncomfortable heat. Despite the way it made his skin itch beneath his uniform, or the way it left an aroma of sweat and humidity on those he surrounded himself with, Malleus was apt to linger on the Isle of Sages for slightly longer than necessary this time. Of course, Housewardens were always the last to leave anyway—someone had to make sure the dorm rooms were cleared out and prepared for the coming fall.

Last to leave, first to arrive.

Even then, there was more motivation than the years before for him not to depart so hastily back to the cooler, darker halls of Black Scale Palace for all of three months. Motivation which was presently situated on one of the couches of the Diasomnia lounge, basking in the fresh air from the open windows as Malleus arranged the last of the disarrayed cushions to his liking.

Yours had come to be a strange relationship in the aftermath of his uncomfortable realization post-overblot. He had bit his tongue like a man cursed and ensured that you had not caught wind of the idle thoughts turning in his mind as he had observed you, so patient and so giving, sitting next to the cot he had been delegated to in that medical ward.

Your idle chatter had been efficient at keeping periods of silence from stretching for too long. Those periods of silence would have been the trigger to make him shoot off his mouth at you, ejecting his revelations like a psalm that no one was ever meant to read.

… He wanted you. He wanted you, so much so that it ached in his body …

Such thoughts were akin to ones that a man in torment would have, writhing between the battle of want and learned conservativeness.

He had admittedly avoided you for a week upon being released. His excuses were mainly that he wished to focus on the reparations duly owed to everyone that had been caught in the prison of his insecurities. Internationally, he had a script written for him by some of the more political of Briar Valley, apologizing for his actions and ensuring he was taking the steps to never fracture again. Privately, he fumbled over words in the dark to the three he had hurt the most, his voice breaking as fingers twisted the hems of his sleeves. He had been more nervous asking forgiveness from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia than he felt speaking to an international stage.

He had not asked for forgiveness from you, despite the fact that you and Grim had been on the forefront of this conflict, alongside the Shroud brothers and STYX. Your presence by his bedside had felt like absolution already granted, and so to plead for it would be a waste of fragile breath in the end.

“Have you marred the cushion enough?” A teasing tone snaps him sharply from his ruminations as he pauses, his mind sluggishly returning to the present. He holds the couch cushion in his hand, its form warped from the original due to his constant pushing and remodelling. Malleus clears his throat before dropping it unceremoniously and nudging it with his knee.

“It was due for some rearrangement.” His voice is less light as he assesses the rest of the dorm before his gaze drags itself back to you. The sunlight dapples across your skin as you watch him, the faint smirk on your lips doing little to hide the tiredness that rests in your eyes. Like him, you too have fought battles this year. It was selfish to bemoan his own hells when you have been in levels far deeper.

“Sometimes you seem more meticulous than Riddle. I should be thankful I don’t need to memorize a rule book for Diasomnia as well.” You still continue to poke fun even as you observe him with a sharp stare. This is a look he has grown familiar with since his overblot. Perhaps born of concern, or perhaps born of paranoia, but you have been dissecting every comment he’s made as of late in a more clinical fashion.

Malleus does not deign to give you a reply as he drifts around the lounge, readjusting candles or shifting books ever so slightly on the table. He wouldn’t say he’s overly anal about how things operate, but he does appreciate a sense of order. He has dealt with enough chaos this past year that the thought of more feels like a weight on his back. It’s when he enters his third lap of the room that you speak up again.

“Malleus.” His name slips from your lips like a lure, causing his attention to move from the lounge to your form once more. The smirk is absent from your lips as a sterner expression rest on your face. He still enjoys the sight of it. Smiling, stern, or despairing—he struggles to find flaws in your complexion. “Is there something on your mind? You seem quite restless.”

That terrible impulse to speak true rears its ugly head once more as deeper thoughts bubble up to his tongue. Want, want, want, want—

His upper lip curls into an expression he doesn’t mean to give—disgust—and he see’s the consequence of this by the hurt that flashes in your eyes. He turns to face away as an ugly feeling embraces his body.

... You cannot speak with them, or hold them, or tell them how much they mean to you ...

“Nothing, Prefect. I’m merely thinking about what still needs to be done.”

_______________________________________________

There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within. The skies above are a roiling mass of grey as the scent of rain perfumes the air. Malleus observes it with fraught silence as he taps painted nails along the windowsill. That ugly feeling is still wrapping its arms around his body. He has showered several times, scrubbing his skin until it was raw in an attempt to remove the heat and the unseen slickness that is holding him hostage. The failure to do so has set him in a foul mood—one that the entire world can now sense.

This can be easily written off as a last spring storm, intending to make the season’s death a performative one. At least, those who have not been alive for several hundred years would think so.

He can feel a gaze on the back of his neck for a while before he finally rolls his eyes and decides to address the elephant in the room.

Or, more accurately, the bat.

“If you intend to surprise me, you’re doing a poor job at it,” Malleus mutters wryly as he finally looks back to the shadowy corner. Red eyes glint in delight before being accompanied by a white smile as Lilia moves to stand by his side.

“I was trying to surmise if I would be allowed to approach, or if you’d try to fry me with a lightning bolt first.” Lilia clasps his hands behind his back as he leans forward to look at the skies above. His expression is quite relaxed for someone fully aware of the turmoil going on in the man next to him. Lilia’s brush with death in the recent months had caused him to be more open-minded to the possibility. “You’re going to make move out day a very unenjoyable experience if you keep this up.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Malleus’ voice is dry as he taps his nails again, his attention fixating on the skies. The ugly feeling churns alongside the clouds above and for a moment it makes him feel satisfied to see a physical reflection of his state.

“Malleus.” There’s a sharper, more paternalistic tone now behind Lilia’s words. Malleus can feel the disapproval rolling off of him the longer they stand here in a stubborn silence. In the aftermath of the blot, Malleus had agreed to be more communicative of his moods to his family, and so it’s with a reluctant grunt that he speaks again.

“I don’t feel good.” His words are just as sharp as Lilia’s as his expression darkens. “I don’t know why.”

“Have you visited the medical ward?” Lilia’s hand flits out to touch Malleus’ forehead, as though checking to see if he’s feverish. The gesture causes the prince to scowl and move his head back. “Oh, come now, don’t get moody with me. I’m concerned.”

“Is it concern, or do you just wish to fuss over me?” He grumbles back as he bats his guardian’s hand away. “I haven’t visited the medical ward, no. I’m not too sure if there’s cause to do so.”

“Then at least tell me what you’re experiencing. Perhaps I can provide some insight.”

Lilia would be the most probable to give some sort of answer. Malleus knew the cause already, but his denial of the fact makes him speak up regardless. “I feel... unclean. Hot. Restless. There is a twisting sense of anxiety in my stomach that has made sleep quite evasive as of late, and it only is growing with each passing day. It’s as though I’m afraid of something—but I have yet to discover what.”

Lilia frowns as he looks from the window to Malleus. There’s a seriousness to him that comes from those many, many years of experience. “Is that so? And is there something you think of that seems to make this feeling grow?”

Malleus’ jaw clenches at the question as memories briefly flash in his mind. Sunlight dappling on skin, lips curled in a faint smirk, and idle chatter at a hospital bedside.

“Malleus?” Lilia’s voice is softer this time. Malleus knows that in this moment, he is playing traitor to his own thoughts. He looks to his guardian, and his silence is all the answer the other man needs.

“Am I ill?” He asks, and it’s when Lilia’s expression becomes one of faint sympathy that the ugly feeling becomes clearer.

“... no, not ill.”

Lilia’s repetition of the same answer he gave Malleus so long ago feels like cruel irony in this moment. Malleus barks out a laugh before waving dismissively at the other, who takes his cue to vanish away.

Not ill, no. But foolish, most certainly.

_______________________________________________

Ramshackle is no longer a dorm of ruins. The school year and your tender care has given it new life, something that many may have thought would never occur. No longer can he hear floorboards rotting or cement cracking under the weight of time. Although he mourns the loss of such precious tribute to the end, the prospect of rebirth is invigorating all the same.

He draws to a stop by the iron gates and takes a deep breath, looking to the dorm in silence until he see’s a figure step out and stand on the porch, waiting for him.

He does not make you walk to him this time.

Malleus’ hand grasps that iron gate and forces it open so that he may step through. He walks with purpose towards the porch where you stand, a mug of something in your hand as you watch him in the dying light. Birds sing their last songs and grasshoppers begin their own chorus as he stops just at the edge of the steps and looks to you appraisingly.

“Are you ready to retire?” He asks.

“Depends. What brings you to my home tonight?” You counter, smirking wryly from over the rim of your mug. That expression makes his nails dig into his palm behind his back as he clears his throat. He feels more nervous standing before you now than he felt speaking to an international stage.

How funny.

“Walk with me.” The words come out more as a demand than a question, and for a moment he balks, thinking that the authority in his tone may have just cost him an opportunity. But then you take a sip of your drink before setting it down on the porch’s banister.

“Please?” You hum, and Malleus clenches his jaw, looking to you with an unwavering gaze.

“Please.”

_______________________________________________

The nights silence, often welcoming, now feels as though he’s standing on a stage before an audience held in rapt attention. The two of you walk silently down your usual route as his mind turns and tosses his thoughts like a restless sea. He wishes to know if you feel a similar turmoil to what he presently does—and yet you are moving in perfect ease by his side.

“... and I can tell you, he wanted to make another contract with Azul over this. He was making faces at the man the entire time we were in the Lounge and Floyd looked ready to drag him to the backrooms.” You’re chattering away about your two other friends as you walk. He finds the situation grimly humorous. He’s having a crisis, and you’re filling him in on how ridiculous the antics of your companions are.

“Is that so?” Malleus murmurs vaguely, if only to keep you speaking, if only to keep hearing your voice. The two of you continue on your route as he remains in a trance like state.

No, not ill.

Lilia’s words are an omen hanging over his head. His guardian knows, and although Lilia is very skilled at keeping secrets, the fact that another is involved in this only makes his anxiety grow. He looks to you briefly. There’s a time limit left on how long you will remain by his side, both for tonight and for the future. You may return home, or you may embark on some grand adventure around the world, drinking in all the sights that Twisted Wonderland has to offer while he’s forced to remain in a palace on his own.

Everyone misses the ones they love when they leave us.

His grandmother’s comment in the mausoleum also comes to the forefront of his mind as he ruminates on this. He will miss you, and that’s an uncomfortable fact. He will miss you, and he cannot place if this is because of genuine care or because he’s so goddamn terrified of ending up on his own, that he cannot come to terms with the loss of someone by his side.

He doesn’t even register the two of you coming to sit on a bench by the main street, doesn’t even register how empty it is. He doesn’t register anything at all until he feels the sensation of your warm hand on his and it pulls him so harshly from his thoughts that he fears he may have whiplash.

“Hey?” You’re looking at him, and it seems that at some point you had stopped talking about your friends, stopped talking about your day. There’s concern in your eyes and it’s such a warm feeling, to be worried about, but for some reason it makes Malleus want to shrink back into the shadows even more. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem like you’ve been in a whole different place this entire walk.”

No. He wants to say. No, actually. According to my guardian I am not ill, and yet the very prospect of watching your form grow smaller on the coast of this Isle as I return to the Valley is one that fills me with such abysmal fear that I cannot even comprehend it. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I do know that you are the centre of this all.

You will die. So will I, in the end, but yet it’s this childish fear of seeing you fade away while I still remain that I cannot seem to get past.

Please, show me how to get past. Let me know, so that I may know you.

The words that had fought so hard to escape him so far now shrivel on his tongue as he looks to you. Your gaze flickers around his face, focuses on his lips, and it’s that action that makes a bolt of heat shoot through him. But before that bolt can ignite to something more, the ugly feeling wraps its hand around his throat and wrenches his head back. He jerks his face away and stands from the bench, his body stiff as he clears his throat.

“No, I think I may be coming down with something. It would be best to head back.” Even his words feel fabricated—traitorous! —as he speaks them aloud. This is not what he wishes to do. He wishes to thread his fingers through your hair, to pull you in and to lose himself within you until he can no longer differentiate where he ends, and you may begin. He wants to taste your words before they leave and know your thoughts before they’re spoken. He wants you, so much so and it aches and—

“Malleus,” you begin again, moving to go to his side, but he raises a hand to you sharply.

“Now.” He chokes out before setting off down the path, uncaring to see if you’re truly following or not. His mind is in turmoil and his body feels as though he has no control over it any longer. All that lingers now is the way your gaze went to his lips and the silly, hopeful thoughts such an action provoked.

Please.

#twst x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #ok i promise i'll give u a nice conclusion but there is a BUILD UP #the man is like an onion we got layers we gotta pull #the beautiful crisis between what you were raised believing and what you desire #OUAGH #the tension of want and control #malleus has several crisis in my stories and i love it all

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ickadori · 4 months

Text

fluff. reader is wearing a dress but is otherwise gn.

You’re touches were too soft—too gentle, too fleeting, too careful.

You treated Wriothesley as if the softest touch from you could add to the barrage of scars littering his body. His skin was thick, hard, and calloused from years of a life that wasn’t all that kind to him, yet you ghosted your fingers along his skin as if it was wet paper, ready to tear and rip at the slightest bit of pressure.

It was new to him, a tad strange, too, but not unwelcome.

Not in the slightest.

A cotton ball soaked in antiseptic lightly dabs at the scrapes and cuts on the side of his neck, courtesy of one of the newer inmates that had gotten a bit squirrelly on the long elevator ride down and chose to lash out at the welcoming committee. Tch.

He had been anticipating the sting that often came when the cotton ball got its time to shine, but you had made sure to grab the bottle that housed the no-sting variety, which was typically used for the more whiny patients.

Your face is screwed up in concentration as you dab at his skin, and Wriothesley breathes in deep through his nose, your scent crawling up his nostrils and wrapping around him in a vice-like grip.

You’re close … so close that he can count your individual eyelashes, see the dark freckles that decorate the skin underneath your eyes, smell the tea on your breath (Earl Grey, a gift from him) along with the biscuit you must have had for breakfast along with it (also a gift from him).

He can feel the heat from you radiating off of you and warming him, and he can feel the weight of your dreas (a colorful, frilly thing gifted to you by Sigewinne. It was abominable on its own, but when you wore it, it seemed like everyone else paled in comparison) swishing against his tensed calves.

“You’re tense. Does it hurt?” You fingers smooth the bandage over his injuries, and then you’re lifting your head so you can meet his gaze. There’s a tightening in his chest, and his fingers itch to try and smooth the uncomfortable feeling away.

“No, it’s fine.” He cranes his neck from side to side, joints popping in response, and his eyebrows pull in at the stinging that results from the fresh cuts pulling.

“Are you sure? I can prescribe you a mild sedative - Ms. Sigwinne just mixed a new batch.” You go to, presumably, get the sedative, and Wriothesley moves before he thinks, hand darting out to gently grab ahold of your wrist. Your skin is warm underneath his, and there’s a tingle on his palm from where his skin meets yours. “Your Grace?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m fine, really.” He gives you a reassuring smile, a part of him touched that you care so much. “These are kitten scratches compared to the rest of me.” Your eyes flit about the deep scars littering his body, and a foreign stroke of insecurity starts simmering in his gut.

He had always been somewhat proud in all the scars etched into his skin, their presence showcasing all the fights he had made it alive out of, and had never once thought to cover them up out of shame. But now, with your gaze sweeping over him, he struggled not to slip on his discarded coat and button it up to his chin.

You would never judge him —Gods, never. You were the sweetest thing under and above the sea— but insecurity always had a way to riddle you with paranoia.

“Kitchen scratches..” You repeat, eyebrows burrowing, and he can’t help the way his hand lifts so he can smooth his thumb over them. “You’re a very strong man, Wriothesley.” The sound of his name had never warmed his heart until you began to say it. “But I really wish you wouldn’t brush off your injuries so easily.” You gently fuss, fingers moving to trace over an old scar that peeks out from his shirt collar. “But I guess I shouldn’t scold you too much, you did come to the infirmary this time, after all.”

“Of course I did, you threatened to throw me out into the sea the last time I got hurt and didn’t come to see you.” He chuckles at the memory of your threat, and you bashfully look away and begin fiddling with the tray of medical supplies on the side table.

“Y-You gave me no choice!” You defend. “It worries me when you get hurt and lock yourself away in your office.” Wriothesley tries and fails to subdue a smile. “Why’re you smiling?”

“No reason,” you worry. You huff out an ‘I’m serious!’, and he reaches out to place a steadying hand over your fidgeting ones. Your eyes snap up to his, your lips parting on a soft exhale, and there’s a heat at the tip of his ears. “I’m sorry for making you worry about me.”

“It’s fine… it is my job, after all.”

“Even so,” you don’t move to pull your hand from under his, and he holds onto it just a bit tighter. “I suppose I should be a gentleman and compensate you for all the worrying.”

“It’s my job—”

“The off the clock worrying.” He clarifies, and your mouth shuts when he gives a pointed glance to the empty infirmary.

“…I guess I could use a few coupons.”

“Oh please, I think I can do a bit better than a few measly coupons - we’ll have dinner together.” Your eyebrows nearly shoot up into your hairline. “If that’s alright with you.” He fumbles.

“Oh, uh, yes! It is, of course it is!” A wide smile spreads across your face before you quickly dim it down, gaze trialing off to the side before finally coming back to meet his. “I mean, sure, that’d be fine.” He covers up a laugh with a cough, a smile that would have nearly rivaled yours blooming on his face.

“Great. I can’t wait.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

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mariposa666haruka · 1 year

Text

"Awaken" (Harbingers X Fem!Reader) #00

This may mostly count as Dottore x reader...but I am thinking of making different routes for each character when the right time comes. I also wished to make the reader gender neutral but....to be honest I am afraid to do so. I do not want to make anyone uncomfortable with my unintentional mistakes and let's say I do not have a good experience with it. That is why I decided to go with a female reader (I identify myself as a female and it is much easier for me that way.)

Also this part is more of a prologue than a chapter so that is how I am marking it. It may even stay in my drafts for a while but we do not talk about that....heheh.

Warnings: Reader has long hair in this chapter cause she has been asleep for a long time and did not get a haircut in years. in this fic Pantalone has dark purple eyes.

Word count: 761

You open your eyes to a very bright light, facing the roof as you were lied down. Aside from the extreme brightness - that made your eyes shut tightly again - you could feel a quit cold liquid enter your body from your right arm....a serum?...You slowly sat up and rubbed your eyes with your free hand to ease the pain from looking at the bright light for too long.

Your body hurt....you were in pain, like you had not moved your limbs for a very long time; not to mention your brain was still hazy, furthermore you were not sure about what you were doing before getting inside this room that was very much like a medical lab filled with all sorts of big devices which most of them were connected to your feet and right arm.

Slowly looking down, you find yourself in a very delicate icy dress with long yet loose and see through sleeves.

Despite feeling pain in your arms, you carefully remove whatever is connected to your body. The cold liquid smelled strange, you could not put your hand on its name though.

Your legs felt weak as you stood up and held onto the wall. It hurt to just stand, you could not imagine how painful walking would be.

You soon dragged yourself out of the room and hissed at the sudden coldness. "Why is it... so cold?" Even talking hurt. Your throat itched and your vocal cores had a hard time making any sound. You decided not to talk until getting yourself a glass of water.

The temperature seemed to drop further as you walked closer to what looked like an exit door; it opened easily after pushing a random button and soon you were hit with even a colder air, as it was way chillier outside the room.

If one were to look from afar, They would see a female figure walking down the corridor, helplessly holding into the wall; which was exactly what the great Regrator was witnessing.

' A woman...coming out of The Doctor's lab.....? Is she perhaps a new test subject?" He thought, taking into account how unlikely it was to see a test subject of the infamous Doctor healthy enough to escape the laboratory. They were not even left alive most of them times. Pantalone was already used to hearing screams and cries of help outside of that cursed lab; but a woman - in a really decent and nice dress - making it out without in any blood on her? That sure was a rare sight to see and he possibly could not contain his curiosity; Therefore his legs led him towards you.

Your legs had given up carrying your weight any further, that is why all you managed to do was to sit down where you were, the wall behind you supporting your back.

"Well well, what do we have here? What are you doing here little darling?~ in such light clothes too; you'll catch a cold if not careful." Said the dark haired man, who seemed to be wearing glasses or shall I say that was what your weak eyes were seeing? You barely could see how his facial features looked like.

On the other hand, The Ninth Harbinger took a good look at your face and how your long hair covered your shoulders down to your belly; as if it had not been cut for centuries, despite that, your hair was completely clean and your body seemed to be freshly washed.....you felt like you had taken a bath the night before, as you felt a certain freshness lingering to your skin.

Back to the jet black haired man, he was talking to you but all you heard were uncoherent words, so you began mumbling words of your own.

"Zandik....where is..Zandik....cold...I must....find..him."

Pantalone's eyes widened at the name you just whispered. You knew of of The Doctor's true name?.....unexpected yet impressive.

"Zandik.."

"Oh little darling~ I'll take you to Zandik" He chuckled and wrapped his big warm coat around you. He then picked you up carefully and almost laughed at how you pressed your cold face to his warm chest.

It has been a very long time since the last time he was this much amused by someone....and you weren't even conscious yet. He wondered how entertaining you would be once you were fully awake.

The Regrator walked towards the harbingers' meeting room, where every single harbinger would have been gathered there by now.

Oh how impatient he was to witness their expressions once they saw the woman in his arms.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #pierro x reader #capitano x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #signora x reader #alrecciono x reader #wanderer x reader #balladeer x reader

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magnusbae · 3 months

Note

If you're interested, here's a prompt from the ones who just shared:

"Then why did you do it?" "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

No rush hehe I hope you get rest and have fun writing this!

Now, see, I could have taken this as an open prompt and went with something else, but I know you like dreamling and so I was good.

Thanks for the prompt dear! 💖 Also special thanks goes to @cuubism for actually going through it 🌻🌻🌻 any mistakes are me ignoring her wisdom or straight up forgetting to edit it. one of the two.

Dreamling - some flavor of hurt/comfort(?) 'you dare?' kind of situation going on there, 1,394w

▾▾▾

“I cannot fathom why—”

Dream halts mid-sentence, his outrage rendering him speechless for a precious moment in which Hob tries, fruitlessly, to come up with a way to placate him, to explain in a way that will somehow pass as acceptable to Dream. The betrayal is tangible in the air, so charged that Hob’s hair actually stands on end as if from static. It feels like standing at your front door, still safe but seeing the hurricane on the horizon, knowing that this false safety can and will change in moments. Hob cannot think of a single thing.

“You.” Dream grits his teeth so tightly that they scrape loudly, the sound of it making Hob’s own teeth ache uncomfortably. “Know.” Dream says each word as if it takes a great burden to even use human speech and not simply burn a hole in Hob’s mind. Given Dream’s past record, which Hob had recently learnt of, perhaps it does. “You know I do not ask.”

“I know.” Hob winces.

There’s no denying that he knew. Knew full well that asking Dream’s sibling for help was a guaranteed way to not only outrage him, but also land Hob a very creative punishment and the end of their long friendship.

He knew that, and did it anyway.

Would again, if he had to.

He will not apologize for that.

Dream seems to come to the same conclusion, cheeks reddening in a surprising display of humanity, of lack of control over his appearance. The darkness that creeps into his eyes is distinctly not human. Hob shudders but fixes his eyes on Dream’s, refusing to avert his eyes like a reprimanded youth. He did what he did, and he’s not sorry.

''Then.” To Hob’s surprise, Dream seems to level himself, to school the darkness out of his eyes and ask with a calm that is somehow more unnerving than his rage. “Why did you do it?" There is a finality to this question, like a judge asking for one last confession to tip the scale one way or another. There will be judgment at the end of it, Hob knows.

“Because…” he sucks in a breath, there’s a ball of nerves in his stomach and frustration, surprising him with its intensity, it feels almost like anger.

Why is he here, searching for excuses for something he believes in wholeheartedly? He doesn’t want to learn firsthand of Dream’s notorious pettiness but he’s not here to play these sort of games.

The outraged huff is stuck in his throat— he didn’t even realize he had raised his voice this much, not until the ring of it strains his ears. He is practically shouting. And he doesn’t care.

''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.''

There’s anger in it, frustration, a measure of desperation.

“I bloody love you more than I fear you, that’s why.” His own cheeks burn, itch, tingle with the indignation of it all. “Because I’m a besotted fool who would make a pact with the devil if I had to, if it meant helping you.” He gestures curtly at Dream, then spreads his arm in an exaggerated motion of question. “Why else? Seriously, why else?!” He stops at that, breathing harshly. This is not how he had imagined, not even close. Fuck it. And fuck Lucifer, too. And Dream’s all too pleased sibling, on top.

Through his outburst Hob had stopped paying attention to Dream’s face, only his eyes, latching onto them as if they were his anchor in this universe, the only constant thing, in life, in this.

When he finally looks, really looks, he realizes with a start that Dream’s cheeks are no longer red with anger, that his eyebrows are not as tightly knitted, that his pale lips form a small and lax ‘o’.

His friend looks taken aback, pacified and…surprised.

Like he couldn’t fathom this being the reason for Hob’s supposed betrayal of trust. Like this was the last rationale he had expected to hear, like he, an Endless being of incomprehensible wisdom, is unable to conceive this simple truth. Like he’s at a loss now.

Like he’s a bloody idiot. Hob shakes his head in amazement, his own anger evaporating as quickly as it came. Yet again he wonders how it is possible to be all knowing and yet so blind, so oblivious to such a simple truth, one Hob didn’t even try too hard to hide, really.

“I know you didn’t want me to,” he softens his voice, speaking more quietly “but I really didn’t have a choice. If I could do this on my own, you know I would have, I’d do worse for you.” He smiles at Dream, he doesn’t even try to sound self-deprecating, it’s the honest truth. He would.

His hand drops by his side and he awaits then, for his judgment.

“You love, me?”

Hob doesn't know how to respond to such a simple question other than–

“I do.”

There’s nothing else to add to that, he said it all, he did it all, even Dream must understand this is no passing fancy. One does not risk their immortal soul for something insignificant. Especially not Hob. One does it when it means everything. And in this case, it did. Dream did.

Dream seems to again, come to the same conclusion.

He wilts, shoulders sagging. He looks both much older and much younger at the same time, like this knowledge has stricken him, hurt him.

“You shouldn’t” is all he says.

“But I do.” Hob answers in return.

“I see that.” Dream’s voice is a whisper carried by the breeze, gentle, endless, aching. He looks torn in that moment, the judge whose scales no longer measure in any understandable manner. He casts his gaze down.

“Just let me,” Hob says. He did not come here demanding boons, nor love, only to help Dream. “Forgive my impudent human inclinations to save what I love, and let us continue as we were. Friends. “

“Friends…” Dream repeats after him, as if in disbelief.

Dream opens his mouth to say more—to accept or refuse, Hob doesn’t know—but in that exact moment Matthew half-crashes, half-lands on Dream’s shoulder, a flutter of black feathers and barely muffled curses.

“Boss! Oh for fuck’s sake— I mean cracker’s sake— I mean what the hell— I mean you’re fine—you’re actually okay, I was sure that this time you’re like legit—” he notices Hob then, and cawing loudly he curses again “You actually did it you son of a bitch— you really did!” His wings open excitedly, brushing against Dream’s face, covering it up.

“Matthew.”

“Uh-” Matthew folds his wings immediately.

Hob looks at Dream then, the moment is decidedly broken but he has to know if he’d see him again, he can’t just go on not knowing, it’ll drive him insane. “Dream—” he starts, but Dream speaks over him.

“We will discuss this—” Dream’s lips tighten, eyes flicking to Matthew and then back at Hob. “At a later time.” He concludes rather curtly, seemingly deciding that addressing exactly what they will be discussing is not something he wants his Raven to be privy to.

“Right…” Hob murmurs, not speaking further of the topic either. It’s one thing to break Dream’s boundaries over life and death, another entirely over his own impatience and need to know. Dream wanting to see him again at all is already a damn good sign, and Hob will take it, gladly.

“I’ll see you later then, Dream” He uses the name even while not being sure he is still permitted to, that he did not lose the privilege. Dream tilts his head but doesn’t object, instead he nods once and disappears in a swirl of golden sand.

“Show off…” Hob murmurs into the empty air, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a good feeling in his gut, he should probably be worried but he has a feeling that things will work out, that it all will be just fine. He can’t explain it, but he has learnt to trust his gut over the years. After all, it once led him to believe that he would never die.

It was right then, and it’ll be right now too. He and Dream will figure it out and will be better for it. Just like the other time, just like always.

#Dreamling #Dreamling fic #The sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream #hob #buns.w #buns.all #carnelianmeluha #msg #It probably could have been rewritten but given the fact that it was meant to be only 20 minutes long writing and ended up being hours #i think this is as far as it goes :')#Something within me perished typing out in caplocks but i wished to stay true to the original prompt SO.#I only saw that you did specify the ship in a later message now lmao see I had forbidden myself from looking through the prompts #so I don't start picking and choosing what I felt more like #So I only read them as I actually did them--- and still chosen to be good xD

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nyctophiliq · 3 months

Note

ur so funny 😭😭 i’ve been stalking ur blog for like 49 mins now… PLEASEEE do sum valeria x reader like

…

reader is part of the anti society or wtv and breaks into reckless railways bc they want the medallion or they js wanna talk sum sense into valeria

maybe angst or smut? 🗣️🗣️🗣️

anywho… ur so funny hope u see this! 🤭

✮ ┆ ” I CAN’T, YOU KNOW I CAN’T. ” valeria (fortnite)

based on the requests above. CONTENT WARNING. 18+ only, minors dni. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, age-gap, kissing, making out, reader is tied up, angst, pet names, reader begs valeria to run away with her | ~0.9k word

A/N. I’M SORRY HAHA, but i was leaning on more of the angst and putting some suggestive stuff in it because never can leave the smut out of it. enjoy !!!

to convince a woman with ambitions like valeria to drop everything that the society had to offer and leave the island. it was truly something out of a fairy tale, you thinking that talking would be enough to convince her.

“she will never give up her money, her medallion, or the society.” hope said to you, countless times.

the one little detail that you forgot to mention was that you were gonna leave with valeria if she agreed.

you didn't want to wait, in your eyes if the other shoe was gonna drop and valeria would be killed the underground was gonna become just like the society. power-hungry people, with bloodshot eyes, and out for revenge rather than seeking justice.

you sighed, eyes fixated on the woman in front of you, adjusting her sunglasses as she murmured something to her guards before all of them exited the room. valeria finally turns around, her eyes fully on you rather than just running over your features. you could feel the heat rising to your face, suddenly feeling very exposed as you tried to gather up your thoughts, words failing you as you fumbled with what to say.

valeria hums softly, an amused smile spreading across her lips. "it's been a while," she starts, eyes scanning over the rest of you quickly.

"i know." you reply softly, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt behind your back nervously, waiting to see if she'd continue. valeria sighs, leaning back against the wall behind her and crossing her legs. "what are you doing here?" she asks, voice low, almost like a purr. it was no mystery to either of you, your differences were too obvious and that's what kept the two of you far away from each other, but sometimes you found a way back to each other.

"a lot of things." you shrug, biting down on your bottom lip nervously. "and some that don't matter." you add quickly, glancing back at valeria who was smirking, watching you. she didn't even have the decency to be embarrassed about what you said, instead finding amusement at your awkwardness.

"yeah?" she replies, her voice laced with mischief as she pushes herself away from the wall and takes a close step to you, arms folded casually. her gaze was burning into your soul as she spoke, and you couldn't help but look away, heat creeping onto your cheeks again as you stared off into space, wondering how you could possibly make this conversation less uncomfortable.

"i came because i wanted to see you." you said, trying to ignore the way she slowly started to circle you like a predator its prey. her coat slowly slipping off her shoulders before she tosses it on the desk behind you, now completely out of your eyesight. "and I want to get out of here, with you." you mumble, shifting uneasily as her hand comes to rest on the small of your back, fingers digging slightly into your flesh. the ties on your wrists feel tighter than when they were first forced on you, now hurting and itching as they dug into your skin.

"you expect me to go with you, cariño?" she laughed, her breath tickling your ear as she spoke. you bit your lip anxiously again, turning slightly to face valeria. her hands still resting firmly on your back, making you unable to look anywhere else but her face. she smiled warmly at you, eyes flitting from your eyes to your mouth before she leaned forward slowly, pressing her lips softly to yours.

oh how you missed kissing her, the warmth of her parting lips and the burning sensation of lust that tinted her kisses. it was all too addicting, all too filled with emotions that it was far easy for you to understand that she was rejecting your proposal of running away together. valeria had always been stubborn like that, refusing to change her mind no matter what happened or how much it pained you.

"please..." you both know not what you're pleading for when you push against her lips. Is it that she should come and flee with you, find a place where you two can live happily ever after free from the burden of resentment that the remnants of this life may harbor against you? was it so that she could offer you her undivided devotion one last time before you gave up on the notion of the ideal life you had told her about?

the binds around your wrists loosen, falling to the ground with a small thud and she appears in front of you. valeria presses her forehead against yours, her soft lips ghosting against yours softly until you pull her closer, deepening the kiss slowly. she pulls you up from the chair, her hand catching yours and wrapping them around her neck before wrapping her arms around your waist.

"come with me, run away with me..." you sob against her lips, trying to keep up with her pace as she backs you up against the desk, pushing you up on it.

you could barely hear anything beyond the pounding of your heart and the frantic beating of your pulse, a piece of her telling you no followed by some idiotic excuse. it was getting hard to breathe though, and you knew she could tell as she stopped moving, holding your face between her palms to stare at you. you felt your head spinning as you watched her eyes dart to your lips, and then up to your eyes again.

"i can't, you know i can't."

#📗 — written by moss !#fortnite x reader #fornite valeria x reader #valeria x reader #fortnite valeria #valeria fortnite x reader #fortnite valeria x female reader #fortnite valeria x you

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miioouu · 2 years

Text

4- Somnophilia: Dabi/Todoroki Touya

He hadn't had a good sleep for a while now. He tossed and turned for hours and hours and yet he couldn't shut his mind down. He doesn't know what pushed him to get out of his awful bed, put his shoes on and make his way to your house. Could be the exhaustion, could be that he missed you, honestly he doesn't care right now, all he could think of is the comfort of your bed and the warmth of your body pressed against his. He carefully slipped into your house, and even more delicately slipped into your sheets. That was the solution to his problems, in a second he was off to dreamland.

You wake up in the middle of the night with the need to drink some water, and yet something was preventing you from getting up. You felt his arm wrapped around your waist, the faint smell of ashes tickling your nose; a smile carved its way to your lips. You carefully turned to face him, you were met with a peaceful sight. Nothing about Touya is peaceful, and yet, when he's sleeping he just looks so serene, so calm, you feel your heart just skip a beat. Although you loved seeing him like that, it's only when he groaned in his sleep, pulling you closer to him, you felt his naked chest pressed to yours. Suddenly your thirst for water turned into something else.

He's done it to you before, you knew he was ok with it. You peeled the blanket off of his body, his burned chest steadily heaving, his shorts hanging low on his hips, and riding up his thighs; he moves a lot in his sleep. Your mouth watered at the sight, your fingers itching to touch him, and so you did. Light brushes sliding down his body, from his neck, down his collarbones and brushing along his toned arms; fortunately, he's a heavy sleeper. You'd tease him if you could, but it's been a while since you've seen your lover, you needed him badly. You slowly took off his shorts, butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him. You were careful to not wake him up as you straddle him, your clothed core rubbing against him, making him visibly hard, and you even wetter. Your nails scratching at his shoulder, digging into his skin, not enough to hurt him, but enough to keep your grasp at reality. The feeling of your wet panties starting to get uncomfortable, your needs skyrocketing, at this point you're only torturing yourself. Quickly you pushed the fabric to the side, rubbing yourself up and down his member, feeling his tip and veins brushing against your clit, so heavenly. And when you grew frustrated, you finally decided to lift yourself up slightly, only to sink back on his dick; a soft sigh escaped your lips.

Your head was thrown back, your nails scratching down his chest as you bounced up and down his dick; the pleasure too good to care about waking him up, and in all honesty you hope he wakes up soon. You're not used to taking control, he always liked to be the one in charge. "Sit back, let me help you feel good, kitten." his signature phrase that he'd always whispered, carved into your mind at this point. But you wanted to return the favor, be the one to help him feel good this time, so you pushed through the ache in your knees, the tiredness in your arms, and you mainly focused on the ecstasy. The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter, though never enough to break, and you're really irritated now. Your pace is getting faster, erratic, you fell forward slightly, your face inches away from his, and that's when you saw it, the smirk on his lips and the sleepiness still in his eyes, mixed with malice. You shouldn't have been embarrassed, it shouldn't have phased you, and yet here you are, stopping all movement, your cheeks getting hot, and when you tried to pull away slightly, he stopped you. His hands find your hips, keeping you close. Using his grip on you, he began to move you, making his tip rub just so perfectly against that sweet spot, you melted. You couldn't keep yourself up anymore, you couldn't keep your voice down; a choked out moan of his name echoing in the room, followed by a low chuckle "I would ask you where you'd get that naughty idea from, but I think I know."

He kept the teasing low, he's too tired to play tough right now, he's too tired to not just give into the pleasure. He was quick to take the reign though; sat up, he wrapped his arms around you, his feet dug into the mattress as he started to thrust up into you. Each one making you jump on top of him, with your head falling back, your whole body exposed to him like that, he couldn't help but sink his teeth into your flesh and decorate you with purples and blues. You were already close, just missing one thing for you to reach your high, and when you finally got it, finally got all the attention you wanted, you couldn't hold it in, no matter how hard you tried. Your back creating the perfect arch, your mouth opening in a silent moan, you came. A few thrusts later, Touya stilled in you, his head resting on your chest as he reached his high. He pulled away a few moments later and looked at you with a smile "I really like sleeping over, kitten."

#dabi x reader #touya x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya x reader smut #bnha x reader #smut #bnha #bnha smut #kinktober #female reader

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stargirlfics · 2 years

Text

Pretty When You Cry

Lloyd Hansen x Black Reader

Summary: He’s sick, he’s mean, he’s cruel and he’s all yours too

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, daddy kink, degradation and mocking, lloyd is a bit mean in this, smut: doggystyle, rough sex, fishhooking, dacryphilia, dirty talk, use of “daddy”, brief creampie mention, general filthiness

Word Count: 1.7k

Note: Dedicated to @hansensgirl!!! A bit of a belated birthday gift for you Sab angel! Your works and love for Lloyd helped inspire me to write this so thank you! Lub you! 🖤

Lloyd Hansen had you wrapped around his pinkie a little more than you wanted to admit but god did you love it.

He was a bad man, as sick and twisted as they come and none of his mean nature was tempered for you, especially not when he knew just how wet you got for his harsh hands and even harsher tongue.

Your body yielded to him so much faster now than it did at the start when you held more annoyance and contempt towards him than the molten desire causing the slick between your thighs now. The best part was that you were his, his pretty little star.

It’s precisely what he loved about you, that despite the bambi eyes and tear stained cheeks, you wanted him, craved him, by all accounts needed him.

That’s how your current circumstances came to be; your face flush against the silky gray sheets, your ass high in the air, and Lloyd thrusting into you from behind. There was no mistaking your high whines and moans, how they all sounded like incoherent babbles but Lloyd knew you best, good enough to make out the pleas for more, for “harder” and “please” and his personal favorite…”daddy” amongst the tangle of sounds.

“Ah, but I’m already in your tummy, sunshine. I don’t know if you can take my hardest, I don’t think you’re up to it.”

It was precisely his mocking that got you here in the first place.

Earlier, the pout on your face when Lloyd had teased you about being “such a goddamn slut” for when he was being mean, effectively calling you out and making your cheeks burn. You refused to admit he was right, denying his accusation up and down.

Oh, how you should have known it would only fuel his antics. The devilish smirk that graced his features as he chuckled and steadily backed you into a corner made the heat swirl in your core, protests to his continued teasing harder to come up with.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart, I don’t like little girls who lie.”

You tried so very hard to stop the needy whimper from tumbling past your lips but he heard it, Lloyd never missed a thing and you realized you had nowhere to run, your back pressed uncomfortably against the wall and his broad shoulders the only thing you could see in front of you.

It made you feel so helpless, heat prickling your thighs at the anticipation of it all. How easy it was for him to bring it out in you, the itch that made you so desperate for him and whatever he was gracious enough to give you.

In the end, you always let him pull you under, always surrendering to the fact that yes, your man, sick and cruel and mean, knew best.

“N-no, please, daddy. I can take it, I can! Please give me more,” you whined, turning your head a little more to look back at him.

It was a sight that made you flutter around him, Lloyd and his toned arms on display. His forearms tense with the way he held onto your hips firm enough to hurt just the way you liked.

But just to toy with you, he slowed his pace down, still pushing in deep to nudge against the deepest parts of you only agonizingly slow, pinching your skin when you start to push back against him.

“Those are big words for you, cupcake. Does your stupid little slut brain really understand what you’re asking for?” his grip loosened from your hip to slide up your back, finding its place at the back of your neck where he tugged you up onto your hands.

You whined at his words, your center pulsing at the way he dumbed you down, how easy it was for him and then you, left scrambling to answer, trying to think while every thick inch of him was buried inside you.

All you managed to get out were breathy pleases, your brain cloudy with utter need, all your energy spent trying to keep from fucking yourself back on his length.

Lloyd’s dark, amused chuckle made your spine tingle, “Oh, I love it when you get this desperate to be fucked, it’s so cute seeing you forget that your pussy just can’t handle that. But if that’s what you want so bad…”

There were all but a few seconds to register his words before he was pulling back and pushing back in roughly, your back arching with the force, hands fisting the sheets below you.

He felt incredible, every thrust sent searing heat throughout your body, your limbs turning boneless by the second as he handled you how he wanted, pounding into your pussy at that angle that made you breathless and pliant to his whim.

“Oh my god, thank you, daddy, thank you,” your moans collided with the harsh slap of his hips meeting your ass.

“And she still knows her manners, I trained you well, huh? Good girl.” Lloyd’s voice startled you now that it was at the shell of your ear, his pace unwavering even as he was leaning over you now.

The reward for your good manners had you reeling, two of his skilled fingers hooked against the inside of your cheek, pulling your head to the side so you could watch how he was taking you apart, your position from head to toe, exactly where he wanted it to be.

It was exactly what you had wanted, filled up, fucked rough, made to cum as many times as Lloyd wanted or allowed, a complete mess by the end of it all.

Your moans only seemed to climb higher, tears starting to well under your fluttering lashes at the flood of pleasure, almost too much, almost bordering on the edge of pain. The fact that your arms had finally given out underneath you wasn’t the least bit an issue for Lloyd, his free hand returning to grip the back of your neck, keeping you upright, using the hold as leverage to rut into you just a little harder.

“Mm, that’s it, there she is,” he grunted lowly when he felt your body sink into his grip, impressed with how well you were doing so far but not mistaking the signs of your exhaustion and impending climax.

He knew your body like the back of his hand, always paying special attention to all those little details, the shifts in your breathing, the pitch to your moans that always told him when you were getting close, the tension in your limbs, and most importantly, the look in your eyes the longer he pounded into your soaked hole.

How doe-like they were, especially when the tears started, exactly as they were now.

“Fuck! It’s t-too much, daddy, oh god,” you brokenly sob out against his fingers still in your mouth, the words thick, slow as they make their way out.

Lloyd tsks at you, forcing your body back, bottoming out deep with every thrust.

“Aww poor thing. But that’s what you wanted isn’t it, sunshine, wanted daddy to fuck your guts out, right? Are you asking me to stop?” his tone was as condescendingly sweet as it gets, his words making your vision a touch bleary with unshed tears.

If he stopped right now it would shatter you, that much you were sure of. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to keep going because that perfect release was almost within reach.

“No, no please don’t stop! Just feels so good, I-” whatever words you were going to say died in your throat once Lloyd propped a foot up on the bed, the new angle allowing him more leverage, and your back deepened to an even meaner arch.

Obscene moans and whines turned into near screams as he fucked you good, his thrusts controlled and steady, keeping himself deep with every drag against your walls, cursing under his breath at how you clenched around him, how drippy and soft your walls felt, and the sight of you too, your puffy lips swallowing his length again and again. It made him throb.

The white hot edges of your orgasm began to creep up your spine, the tears welled in your eyes now fallen past your lashes, streaked across your cheeks that were smeared with your spit as Lloyd took his fingers from your mouth to snake around your front, finding your sensitive clit with ease.

“Fuckin look at you, such a mess, so goddamn pretty crying on my dick. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away from him as hard as maintaining eye contact was, you knew how much he liked seeing you this wrecked for him and the intensity of his gaze, of his body language was what kept you focused, a lifeline as you began to fall apart around him.

“Daddy!” you sobbed, and more tears cascade down your cheeks, dripping onto the sheets below you.

Sharp gasps filled in the gaps of your loud cries as you felt his heavy balls slap against your core, his fingers still rubbing your clit, the combination making you shudder and squirm.

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel you coming, yeah that’s it, cry harder,” Lloyd encouraged you, cooing in your ear, that mean edge still in his voice, the very thing that made you obey, more sobs leeched from you as you creamed on his length.

You were shaky and fucked out of your mind by the time your orgasm subsided but that didn’t mean any of this was over, no by all means it had just begun, his pace slowing for a moment as he decided what position to place you in next.

It was both a blessing and a curse to be with a man who had such stamina and control, that was meticulous and insane enough to spend hours teasing you, fucking you senseless, pumped full of his cum and your limbs sore and screaming by the time he decided you had enough.

Who could blame him though? You were just so utterly gorgeous when he made a mess of you and it only made him hard to see you crying those pretty little tears.

You craved him, wanted him to surround you, crawl into your skin and never leave, fill you full of pleasure every hour of the day, even when he was being the cruel man he was through and through.

Lloyd Hansen was a bad man, the kind of bad that made for a deliciously sadistic lover, all yours to have, and as long as that was so, you’d shed all your tears for him.

_______________________________________________

A/N: I want him to do so many terrible things to me it’s not even funny, like if he’s so bad why is he so hot?! I hope this was a good read and hope that the way I wrote him feels and sounds like him!

Thanks for reading and please reblog and comment, I wanna hear what you thought!

Some tags: @jannqt @ozarkthedog @maroonsunrise83 @onsunnyside @sweetlilbambi @afriendlyblackhottie @honeystevie @comfortcap @geniedetails @superhoeva @evanstache @falconssweetgirl @squidlywiddly87

#amalia writes #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x black reader #lloyd hansen x black!reader #lloyd hansen x woc #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fics #l

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