#with the doors it makes sense right. it only happens with heavy doors. that resistance is COOL

[devotedlystrangewizard]

ok got the chocobo im fine now

#ambrosia <3 #although i must say #unlike the doors #making the button for galloping difficult to use. is extremely annoying #with the doors it makes sense right. it only happens with heavy doors. that resistance is COOL #but with the chocobo???? cmon man ur killing my hands

[dolldefiler]

[I posted this on Reddit initially. I figured Tumblr would enjoy it as well.]

“Dr Raj will see you now.”

The smooth, pleasant voice of the receptionist put a stop to Lucy’s descent into that realm of dark thoughts. She looked up to see her warm, polite smile. Her fake smile. Doubtless, this innocent-looking secretary knew exactly what Dr Raj was making her feel. And yet she did nothing to stop it.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, slowly getting up, shuffling towards the office, her breath losing its evenness with each small step. By the time she’d made her way to the door, her breath was ragged in anticipation of what lay beyond. Turning her head back, she saw the receptionist’s face plastered with the same polite, unfeeling smile back at her. She entered the office.

The office was small. Very small. A desk, a chair, and a sofa large enough to fit two people, barely. There were no windows here, the only light being a single unshaded bulb casting a flickering warmth into the room. Neither walls nor the desk were particularly decorated, dull and neutral. The room was hot, almost like a sauna, and in the background, a low buzzing sound could be heard. This was closer to a closet than a room. Moreso a torture chamber than a therapist’s office.

And sat upon that chair was the man she’d been dreading to meet. Dr Raj. He was ageless and plain-faced, not a person that would be easily noticed. He seemed unconcerned by the heat and claustrophobic room, beckoning her to sit down on the sofa.

She sunk into the sofa, her heart thumping.

“Hello, Lucy, how have you been?” Dr Raj smiled broadly, as if last week had been a dream. A nightmare. He always did this. He’d start with a flawless sense of professionalism and charisma that’d ease you in, and tempt you into lowering your guard. And then when the moment came, he’d turn on you. Tear at those insecurities you’d exposed to him. She endured the small talk, drawing out each answer, knowing how futile it all was. The moment came.

“Now, shall we get started?” Dr Raj asked, his smile never faltering. Sensing her hesitation, he squinted. “What’s wrong, Lucy?”

Lucy panicked. All thoughts of pushing back, resisting, fleeing her. “W-well, it’s just that… Do we have to do it like this? Telling you every detail of… everything.” Even she could tell how much her voice trembled. She couldn’t help it. Fear and anxiety gnawed at her.

Dr Raj peered at her over the rim of his glasses. Perhaps it was her imagination but a streak of annoyance flashed across his face. And then his face relaxed into one a little more comforting. Relaxing. Kind. Gentle. “Lucy, we’ve spoken about this, haven’t we? You need to get this out of your system. You need to be brave again, for me.”

Lucy nodded, knowing if she spoke, they’d both know how terrified she was. Dr Raj smiled his pleasant smile at her. “Now I believe you were going to tell me what happened after your evening at the nightclub.”

Lucy’s gut sank as she recalled that dreadful night. The heat of the room felt heavy on her as her breath faltered slightly. Dr Raj sat patiently, his smile unceasing. “Right… I left the club at around midnight. My house is about fifteen minutes away, so I thought it would be fine. There’s this dark alleyway near the club which cuts off about five minutes, so I thought I’d be fine taking that but-... But…”

The humiliation rushed back to her. The memory of it all. The masked man appearing from the shadows pinning her down and clamping a sweaty hand over her mouth. The nasty words that had been whispered furiously into her ears, the-.

She sensed the therapist get out of his chair and sit next to her. There wasn’t nearly enough room for the both of them, so their legs were pressed against each other’s. She felt a hand touch her shoulder, patting her worries away. She hated it.

“There, there, Lucy. What happened next?” Dr Raj’s voice cut off her thoughts. His voice was smooth and even, contrasting the low, constant buzz of the heater or generator or whatever it was. Lucy collected herself, pausing for a minute to regain her voice.

“But then a man appeared. I thought he’d just walk past me. He didn’t. I didn’t realise what was happening until there was a hand on my throat and another on my mouth. I couldn’t even scream.” Lucy could feel his hand patting away at her shoulder, almost rhythmically.

Her fists were balled up, her body tense. That night was the worst she’d felt in her entire life. The way some man had stolen her dignity from her. Ripped it away from her, as if she truly deserved no happiness to begin with. She’d never wish it upon her worst enemy… So then why was she so aware of Dr Raj right now? Every pat gave her a jolt of some unfamiliar, tingling energy… And she didn’t know what to do with that.

“He must have noticed how pretty you are. What were you wearing?”

He’d called her pretty… She felt so dirty, so alone, so utterly stained, yet here a man was calling her pretty! Some small part of her knew that he was a pig underneath that insincere smile. A monster that thrived off her suffering. But she chose to ignore it. Because it felt better this way. “I was wearing a crop top and a miniskirt,” she mumbled.

“You were wearing such provocative clothes. I know this might upset you, but did you consider you dressed like that to attract a man’s attention?”

Lucy could hear her heart beat louder and faster. Was this her fault? If she’d worn something less revealing, would she have been left unscathed? She didn’t want to be raped. Nobody did. Right?

“But perhaps it wasn’t the way you dressed. Could you show me how short they were?”

Lucy looked at him, confused. How was she to show him how short they were? And then she felt it. She looked down and saw his hand press against her thighs. She froze, unable to breathe for a moment. She could feel her eyes water up, as she looked down at his warm hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her thighs, his thumb almost caressing her. In the background she could hear him coaxing her, telling her to breathe.

When she finally managed to draw in a jagged breath, he looked at her, his warm smile ignoring the tears in her eyes, the heat of the room, and the constant, fucking buzzing. The room was far too small. There was hardly any room for a single person in this closet, let alone two. And yet she didn’t take his hand off her. She didn’t even resist it.

“Was it shorter than this?” Dr Raj asked. Lucy nodded her head, her eyes closed to hold back the tears. Why was it always her? Could they sense how weak she was? How frail and vulnerable she was? How easy to manipulate she was? She felt his hand draw further up her thigh, the tips of his fingers getting precariously closer to her groin. To her hot, wet pussy.

“About here?”

Lucy nodded. The patting stopped. She felt his arm wrap itself around her waist, his wandering hand making its way to her midriff, just underneath her chest. She shuddered. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stop this. Her body was putty in his hands, soft and relaxed on the comfortable sofa. She hated this so much. She hated Dr Raj, her rapist, and especially herself, she could almost throw up. So why was her needy cunt so fucking wet?

He knew exactly what he was doing when he asked her the same question about her crop top, his hand eventually grazing her boobs. There she was, sat in some stranger’s office with his hands all over her. She’d let this happen again. She truly was pathetic. Perhaps, this was always meant to be.

Dr Raj’s voice came in whispers, soft and teasing. “And then what happened? Did he touch you? Drive his penis into your vagina?”

Lucy couldn’t suppress the tears any longer. She nodded. “He called me an attention-seeking whore. A dumb rapeslut that was going to get what she deserved. I felt a hand under my top, fondling my chest… My tits… And then something pressed against my pussy.”

Before she knew it, she was inching her way into his hands, her desperate cunt craving for the touch of a man that wasn’t disgusted with her. It was hard to care about her dignity anymore. Hadn’t it been raped away that night anyway?

“Oh? Did he touch you like this?” His hand rose from her midriff, and with practised ease, slipped under her top, sliding directly onto her tits. “You’ve not worn a bra. Perhaps you really are an attention-seeking cockslut.”

Lucy’s body wracked with silent, heavy sobs, as she looked down at his groping, lecherous hand under her top, violating her as she’d been violated that night. His hand was hot on her skin. Her head spun, light-hearted from his touch. She looked up at him. His kind smile had never left his face. This was the face of the devil himself. She nodded her head.

“He… Didn’t last long. I can’t remember it. Not really. Just a few thrusts… and it was over.”

But it was enough to make her question her own humanity. She felt his hand slide up her thigh and slip under her jeans. She couldn’t hold back her moan as his fingers met her aching cunt. A hole, she now knew, was made for dick. She heard his voice again.

“But that’s all that mattered, isn’t it? That he came in the end. It doesn’t matter how short it was. All that mattered is that he was satisfied and drained.”

She sobbed and nodded. Again. She couldn’t deny this man. Even if she hated him.

“Look at my lap, Lucy.”

His throbbing tent was hard to miss.

“Take it out.”

She didn’t struggle or argue or resist. This is the best she could hope for. At least he was telling her what he wanted her to do. Her trembling hand reached his zipper, slowly pulling it down before fishing his thick, brown cock out. Like his hands, it felt so warm, so alive in her hand. She hated it. She wanted to yank it off and eat it. She wanted this to end.

“Jerk it, you little rapetoy. We both know you need this.”

She wanted this to end. But she stroked his dick anyway. Some twisted satisfaction rose within her as he groped and molested her body. As she let her hand slide up and down his erect cock.

“Faster, you whore. You should always strive to help a man cum. Grip my cock and fucking jerk me off like the nasty slut I know you really are.” She could no longer cry. Perhaps she’d run out of tears. Perhaps she didn’t care. Perhaps she couldn’t care anymore. They sat there for a few minutes, silently fingering and stroking each other. Acting as lovers, when in reality there was only a monster and its prey.

She could hardly feel his fingers, the blood rushing from her head. She could only focus on his twitching cock. The warmth between her fingers. Her painfully hot body. And then with a slight groan, thick, warm cum spilled out from his cock, coating her fingers. She sat there, his dick in his hands still. Her eyes were probably vacant. Lucy was no longer there, not really. Only the empty shell of a human being remained. Only a piece of meat made for rape and abuse remained.

She felt him push her hand to her mouth, telling her to clean it up. She complied. He tasted salty. Disgusting. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered.

“You can pay at the reception. I’ll see you next week.”

Dr Raj had seen her.

And he’d destroyed her without losing that sickly smile.

#cnc k!nk #free use slvt #degradation k1nk #r@pe fantasy #r@pe k!nk #r@pe kink #degrading k1nk #corruption kink #rough cnc #rough kink #rapekink #rapetoy #dark kinks #cnc free use

[eezeybreezy]

Hobie x Reader where one or the other gets hit by an aphrodisiac? Pretty please? A F*ck or Die sorta situation.

teehee, i might've gotten a little carried away 🤭

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Content: NSFW, smut, drugged? unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, cunnilingus

Hobie felt hot, and despite the cool mist of Old York at night, he couldn’t help but burn up. He’d lost focus in a scuffle against a villian, deciding to call it a night after forgetting to pull his last punch. Something called him home, and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything after being hit with an attack of… pink smoke? It didn’t matter now, the canal he’d parked his home at was fast approaching. 

It was just another night for you, reading alongside the waves that rocked you into a tranquil spirit, the water provided a good backdrop to the city's silence — a silence that would be broken by the sound of heavy boots hitting the deck, and a sense of urgency in Hobie’s step that would make you anxious if not for the absolute trust shared between you two. His urgency is confirmed by the swing of the door, snapping you out of your unwinding and set on alert. You look at his face in search of answers, but his pupils are blown wide, eyes frantically searching your face, your body. He looked starved. 

Hobie’s hands itched for you, and he’d finally placed the feeling in his gut upon seeing your unraveled form, lust. Pure, and more intense than anything he’d felt in his life. His spidey sense was going crazy, an alertness and instinct thought to be figured out now replaced with a stronger more pleasant sensation — and he reveled in it. His long strides left no time wasted as he approached your shared bed and he suddenly felt too far away from his lover. 

“Hobie-” you address him, fully intending to carry on, before you notice the way his breath hitches at the sound of his name. It sent a wave of overwhelming, unbearable arousal down his body, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer. His hand against your skin was searing, even through his suit, and it took everything in him not to tear every stitch of fabric between you two. He blinks and shakes his head, searching for some kind of clarity but to no aveil. He looks back up at you, and knows he’s not going to be able to resist this urge much longer. The feeling is overwhelming and embarrassing, he isn't sure how to handle it anymore. 

“Baby what’s wrong?” You ask gently, tabbing your book and setting it down on the bed beside you. Hobie's eyes dart around the room nervously before settling on you. His cheeks are still warm, and he can't hide the desire in his eyes. He's never felt like this before, and it's eating him up. Your presence was always calming for him, but now he feels nervous in this unfamiliar state.

"I... I don't know," he mutters, his voice trembling slightly. "I don't feel right."

You search his eyes hastily, then scan his body for injury, but he’s not hurt — besides the usual scrapes and scars. After doing a once over him, you look at the clock.

“You’re home early.” You say looking back to meet his gaze.

"I know," Hobie answers quietly, looking away from you. His breath is still ragged and he's staring down at the floor. "Work was... weird today," he murmurs.

This wasn't like Hobie at all. He's usually confident and in command, but right now he looks and feels so vulnerable, rubbing his hands together nervously as he tries to collect his thoughts. You reach out to caress his face, only to have him flinch at your touch. Your eyebrows furrow harder. 

“Hobie, what happened?”

He couldn’t bear the look on your face, shattered that he’d cower at your touch. Hobie stammers, trying to find the words to explain what he's feeling right now. He's never felt so out of control before.

"I don't know, I just feel this... the strongest urge." He looks up at you, face hot and eyes filled with desire. "I want you, but… I don't know. I don’t want to hurt  you..." His cheeks are still warm and his breathing is still ragged. He wants to touch you, and god does he want to be touched. The desire was starting to physically hurt, what was once a dull ache morphing into a searing burn.

You can see the anguish in his face, “Hobie, you're not going to hurt me, let me help you. What happened out there, don't lie to me.”

You look down at his hands, he’s trembling to the point of shaking. You take his hands and place them on your hips, a silent gesture to show where you stand.

“Bee it’s ok, just tell me what you need.”

Hobie swallows hard and looks away from you. He's scared of what he might do if he lets himself give in to his desires. He doesn't seem like himself right now and he's clearly feeling confused, anxious even.

"I... I was attacked by some villain who uses aphrodisiacs... I don't even know how it happened, but I'm feelin off now..." he says, his voice trembling.

Hobie looks back up at you with pleading eyes. The touch of your skin causes his heart to race and his body to flare with desire. He tries to regain control of himself but he finds it hard to resist the pull of the aphrodisiac.

"I want... I need you..." he stammers, his voice trembling. His eyes are filled with both terror and desire as he leans down, feeling out of control and overwhelmed by the feelings flooding his body, but god do your lips look delicious.

He leans down to kiss you, and the desire in his kiss can’t be denied. Hobie's desperate and hungry, his lips pressing urgently against yours. The feeling of your soft lips on his has his heart pounding and his body trembling. He presses himself impossibly further against you, desperate to feel your touch.

Hobie wraps his arms around you tightly, his fingers digging into your hips. He wants to be as close to you as possible, never wanting this moment to end, so he grabs at your ass, earning a gasp from you. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, and hoists you up with the superhuman strength you often forget he possessed. You wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, scared but sure he won’t drop you, his strength further fueled by his desire. He pins you against the wall, holding you with one of his arms and holding your face with the other hand. His tongue danced playfully with yours, his lips hungry and desperate.

You can feel his arousal growing, and your own desire is building as his touch drives you wild. With you in his arms, he moves you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours as he lowers you down to the mattress. He pulls away and looks at you lovingly, his eyes sparkling with love and lust. Hobie knows he isn't himself right now. He's being driven by a primitive desire and he's been waiting for this moment for so long.

Feeling your body against his, he uses his free hand to explore every inch of your body, wanting to devour you whole. “Hobie— baby-  you’re wearing too much.” He’d ripped his mask off upon entering, but he still has his suit on, layers upon layers getting in the way.

"I don't care. I want you now. I can't think straight." Hobie murmurs, his body trembling with desire. Hobie rips your night shirt off, exposing your bare chest. He can't get enough of you, and he's desperate to feel your body against his. He runs his fingers along your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His touch is gentle and caring, but his body is tense with desire. 

“You don’t have to hold back, I just want you to feel better baby..” You say trailing off as you finally get his top off. Hobie throws his shirt to the side and sinks to his knees in front of you, his eyes hungrily taking you in. He takes one of your hands in his and brushes his lips against your knuckles, slowly and seductively. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing your hand, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers softly trace along the lines of your hips. Hobie grins devilishly, his breaths are coming faster and heavier, and he's slowly moving his touch further down your body.

"You taste so good," he whispers seductively, planting soft kisses along your stomach, leaving tiny bites along your bare skin. He begins to kiss down your thighs, inching his way closer to your most sensitive area. His hot breath against you is only separated by the thin fabric of your panties, something you’re sure won’t last long. 

His warm tongue trails along the fabric, and before the gasp can leave your lips, he’s ripped the fabric off, shreds fall to the floor as he licks a long strip from your entrance to your clit, placing a wet kiss to emphasize his hunger. 

He presses his tongue flat against your core and properly tastes you and a desperate groan rumbles in his chest, reverberating on your core as he fervently licks at your entrance, occasionally sucking on your clit. One hand continues to grip the sheets but your other hand moves to his hair, tugging at it trying to pull him even closer into you. Your thighs shook, muscles tensing when the tip of his tongue pushed past your entrance to fuck you, his nose brushing against your clit.

“You taste divine,” his voice was muffled and breathy from between your legs. “I can’t get enough of you doll.”

The lewd sounds as he fucked you with his tongue and lapped at you like a man starved should’ve embarrassed you, but you were too far gone to care about anything but reaching your climax. Soon, your walls fluttered around his tongue, back arching as the tension in your stomach snapped, sending a tidal wave of pleasure across your body. You shivered in his arms and he groaned at your release, lapping up everything you had to offer him until the shaking in your muscles subsided.

He moved his face from your cunt, giving a couple final kisses on your inner thighs before speaking huskily, “How bout’ I blow your back out right here, yeah? Imma fuck you straight through this bed…” He hissed in your ear as he closed the gap between the two of you, pulling himself from his pants. 

He groans, grasping the base and holding in a frustrated sigh. Using his knees, he spreads your legs wide and drops his hips, the tip of his cock dragging through your wetness.

“Please,” you beg, your own hips lifting, chasing him, trying to notch his cock at your entrance. He teases you a moment longer, waits for the angle to be just right, and then he pushes into you. Your fingers flex against the bedsheets, mouth dropping open with a moan as his hips press into yours. Your legs twitch, quickly wrapping around his thigh. “Hobie, fuck, oh my gods-”

He laces your fingers together and pushes into you slowly, studying your face for your reaction. You let out a small gasp, struggling to keep your eyes locked with his as he begins to thrust in and out of you. He pins your hand above your hand, keeping intertwined with yours while he picks up the pace, driving his length deeper into you. He throws your legs over his shoulders and drives deeper and deeper, hitting that perfect angle inside you. You look up at him as he continues fucking you, chest slick with sweat and eyes crazed with each slam of his hips.

“Tell– Tell me how good it feels, baby,” he stutters out.

“It’s so good, Bee. So big.”

“God, you're so wet." He groans plows into you, desperate to fill you up "Yur makin’ me crazy.." His words are intoxicating and his voice is sensual as he inhales sharply, staring down at the way your union makes a cream ring.

The aphrodisiac is driving Hobie wild, every touch sends a bolt of pleasure, but every second that passes without release physically hurts. His skin is hot and sensitive, his breath ragged and his body trembling. He can't think straight, his thoughts a jumbled mess of fantasies, desires and emotions, all for you. 

You pushed Hobie away, a movement he wasn’t anticipating, and he groans at the pain, the itch only you can scratch returning. You already missed the feeling of fullness, but you wanted more. You flip to sit on your knees, back turned to Hobie as you fall to your forearms, ass up face down, and on perfect display for the man now standing at full attention behind you. 

The curve of your ass as you arched your back has him drooling, and his patience runs out, nails digging into your hips and meeting you halfway, burying himself with no time wasted. You writhed beneath his touch, his body heat was abnormally high, and with the mixing of yours, the room resembled a sauna.

Hobie’s big, there’s no doubt about that, but something about taking him from the back makes him feel impossibly bigger. He kisses your cervix with no effort and there's so much happening, so much of Hobie filling you up and flooding your senses. You swallowed your moans as you tried to focus on staying up on your knees before he pressed a kiss just under your kitchen. You feel his hands before he yanks your hair back, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Are you holding back?” he teases. You whimper pathetically as he lets go of your hair . “Don’t,” he ordered. Your thighs were quivering on either side of his body, stilling only for a moment when he gripped them tightly, his fingertips digging in harshly. His pace picked up and you couldn’t stop your body from letting out a cry in response.

You were sure that you were dripping onto the sheets but Hobie couldn’t  seem to care. He reached between you two to feel where you were stretched open around him, rubbing your clit to match the pace of his thrusts. His cock twitched inside you as his rhythm stuttered.

“Please,” you hiccupped as his pace became sloppy. He was so close, you could tell by the way he started spewing nonsense and thrusting with no inhibition. He grips the headboard for leverage, and you hear the cracking of wood as he drills into you, your mouth dropping open at the feeling, but no noise escaping. 

“Hobie,” you sobbed, your hips attempting to meet his movements as you finally tip over the edge, and he drove home once more before spilling inside you.

A ragged breath was ripped from him as he fell forward, his hand slapping against the wall of the boat. You writhed against him, your body wracked with so much overwhelming pleasure you found it hard to breathe. Everything ached. 

“Fuck, doll,” he whispers looking between your bodies, whimpering as he pulls out. He’s never felt this exhausted, body collapsing next to you as the heat in his stomach subsided. Who knew he just had to fuck it out of his system?

He hadn’t noticed his eyes had drifted shut until he heard a giggle at his side, and he fell in love a little harder. He turned his head to look at you snickering at him, “Whatchu laughin’ at doll?” 

God he sounded tired. 

You turn on your side and place a kiss on his sweaty forehead, evidence of the work he put in. A goofy grin makes its way to your face. “You feelin better now baby?”

#hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #spider punk #hobie brown smut #reqs open

[smokersbaby]

Hi, if you're comfortable with writing this, can I request some angst to fluff where Zoro & Sanji ( separately ) reacting to ( gender neutral ) reader sleeping on the couch after an argument? Only if you're comfy ofc, no pressure ^^

Hi! Thank you so much for your request and I apologize if I took some time before answering but I haven't written angst fics before so this is my very first try! I hope you like it, tough! Characters: Zoro, Sanji TW: angst, fluff (there's no real TW tough) Author's note: the arguments are not that serious oc, this is also my first writing with gender neutral reader, it was kinda easy, probably just because it's SFW fanfic but I'd love to try it even with others genres :)

Zoro

You almost hate him when he answers like that. "You shouldn't do that, you're going to hurt yourself," Zoro says as he sees you picking up a very heavy weight of his. Probably it was a little too much for your training, but as soon as he said that, you wanted to prove him wrong. Useless to say that in less than a second the weight fell on your toes, making you swear in pain. "I told you so" Zoro says watching you hurt yourself and coming towards you to land a hand. "Leave me alone!" you shout at him, leaving him speechless. It wasn't your real intention to send him away like that, but at that exact moment, you felt so irritated hearing his know-it-all way to speak. Zoro glanced at you without saying a word and went away, leaving you alone in the room. As the time of going to sleep arrives, your anger dissipates, but yet you are not in the mood to say sorry to him or even to sleep in the same bed, so you decide to rest on the couch for tonight. As you pass in front of your shared bedroom, you see the door slightly open and Zoro in bed, probably already sleeping as if nothing happened. You get some blankets and a pillow as you try to make yourself comfortable on the couch even though the material wasn't enough soft to sleep on with ease. You had a hard time trying to fall asleep, the sound of the things you shouted at Zoro before echoes in your mind, probably you overreacted, but why didn't he try to resolve things as soon as it happened? Tears start falling down your cheeks, overthinking isn't the greatest way to catch some sleep, but in one way or another your eyelids become heavy and you manage to fall asleep on the hard fabric. You didn't sense him approaching you on the couch, but as soon as you feel his arms hugging you tight over the blankets you can't help but hug him back, a soft grunt slips out of his mouth. "Y/N, you don't have to sleep here" you can hear the softness in his voice even though his words seem quite rough. Zoro lets out a sigh as he holds you tighter through the fabric of the blankets. "I didn't want to upset you, I'm sorry" he whispers, you can't resist him when he opens up to you, so you put your arms around his neck to feel him closer. "I'm sorry too, I overreacted" you feel tears running down your face. "No need to apologize" he picks you up from the uncomfortable couch and brings you to your shared bedroom, he places a kiss on your forehead as soon as he holds you in his strong arms. It feels so relaxing to be held like that, you can sense his protectiveness towards you. He places you on the comfy bed and tucks you under the cosy blankets. You probably look like a burrito right now, all rolled up in the sheets, and your eyes are still reddish from the tears and tiredness since it's quite late. Zoro puts himself under the blankets too, hugging you tight and making your head rest on his chest, his hands play with your hair as he helps you fall asleep, his soft touch relaxes you and you start to forget even the reason why you argued with him. "My little stubborn baby" he whispers as he senses you already dreaming between his arms with a soft smile, knowing everything is okay as long as you are with him.

Sanji

Sanji can't be upset with you, even if you get on his nerves with some serious arguing. He keeps calling you "baby or love" all the time and probably this was the main reason that made you lose your temper in that situation.

He couldn't understand all your concern when you told him that he was being too uncautious when fighting. He replied superficially to your statement, even though he got a scar on his chest from the previous battle. "Let me bandage your wound Sanji" you said in a quite angry tone, preventing yourself to tell him -I told you so-, even though it's what you would have liked to say most to him. "No, it's nothing love…" he replied, hiding the pain and trying to look confident even in a moment like that. He continues: "it's not that serious". You gave him a deadly look, how could he answer you that way when his fresh wound was bleeding? Why did he have to act like that? There's nothing wrong in asking for help, furthermore, you are his s/o, and he should know how much you care about him. In that exact moment, you've let your emotions take the lead, as you said to him in such an irritating tone the simple words "Fine, do that by yourself then", making appear a blown away look on Sanji's face. He couldn't understand why you were being so rude to him, just because he didn't need your help with that wound (or probably because he didn't want to appear weak to your eyes). Now you were in the guest room of your shared house, refusing to sleep in the same bed as Sanji and trying to make yourself comfortable on the guest's bed that nobody has ever really used. You could feel the hard mattress springs underneath your body, probably rusty due to using it only a few times. You covered yourself with the blankets trying not to think about the previous argument with Sanji, but how could you not think about it? Tears started running down your cheeks, the tiredness of the day was mixing the thoughts inside your head, making you get up from the uncomfy bed after a few minutes. You went to your shared bedroom and you peeked at the door, seeing Sanji sitting down on the bed trying to bandage himself clumsily. You couldn't help but chuckle a bit seeing him trying to do his best but still not succeeding. You entered the room, Sanji turned his head suddenly hearing your footsteps on the floor. You grabbed the bandages and started wrapping up his wound, without letting him say a word. After you were done, he whispered a soft "Thank you", making you smile slightly. He wrapped his arms around your body, keeping you tight against him. "Let me help you right away next time, there's no shame in asking for help," you said to him, staring into his eyes with a look full of love. He nodded his head while he was still holding you tight, Sanji placed a soft kiss on your cheek, making you smile more. "Where would I be without you, Y/N?" he whispers to you caressing your hair. Your heart starts pounding faster as he tells you these words, making you feel loved and forget why you were angry with him. You're too in love with Sanji that there's no way you could hold a grudge when you are with this lovely man.

#sanji x reader #straw hat sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #roanoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro #roronoa zoro #ronoroa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction #one piece angst #angst #fluff

[powerfultenderness]

hey I reread some neighbor könig because it's so so so good and I finally had an idea!! no worries if it's not your jam or if you have other writing to do or you're not feeling the writing spirit or literally anything else, I'll be just fine!! anyways anyways the idea is that reader comes home late one night wasted and könig takes care of her. and perhaps if you're so inclined she keeps asking him for saucy stuff and I mean he's not a creeper so of course he's not gonna do that stuff while she's drunk!! but he sure does want to. again again I love anything you write and I will drink any scraps of könig/any others up!! may the gods of writer's spirit bless you🙏🙏🙏

Yes! Gentleman König is an hc no one can take from me! This turned out a little softer than I intended, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

(Rated Mature 18+ for some suggestive conversation and drinking)

König’s body jolted, the sound of his phone waking him from the pleasant haze of dreams, and slapped a heavy hand around his nightstand. 

“This better be good,” he growled into the phone, not having even bothered to check who called.  

“Kö” hiccup, “nig?” 

He shot up, already jumping out of bed and rushing around the room to pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

He had run into you earlier in the night, dressed so prettily and smiling as you told him you were going out with friends. He knew he should have followed you. But he took one look at you in that revealing dress and all common sense left his brain.  

His stomach sank, nervous adrenaline rushing through his veins, as you sobbed out a weak, “help.” 

He quickly stuffed his feet in his shoes as hastily threw his hood on as he spoke to you and rushed out of his flat. “Where are you?” He could get the details later, find out who he had to kill later, after he made sure you were-

He froze, only for half a second, as he found you slumped on the floor outside of your door. He hung up and slid his phone in his pocket as he rushed over to you with a shout of your name.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wet with unshed tears and slurred out his name. “König!” 

The stench of alcohol washed over him like a wave as he knelt down next to you. “What happened? Are you ok?” He asked as he held your shoulders and dragged his eyes down your body to make sure you weren’t hurt. 

“My key stopped working!” You cried out, throwing your hand behind you at the door and hitting it a little too hard. “Ow!” 

He winced and took your hand in his, gently rubbing where you hurt yourself.

“I swear I paid my bills!” You cried again and threw your head back, he was quick enough to cradle your head before it hit the door. 

“Ok, darling. Let’s get you up.” 

You groaned and flopped your head to the side, leaning even more on the door. So he picked you up and set you on your feet, a little blush warming his face when you giggled out a surprised “so strong!” and then leaned against him, nuzzling your face against his chest.

With one hand planted in the middle of your back so you didn’t fall over, he checked the key hanging from the door. Sure enough it was stuck. It gave a bit of resistance but he managed to pull it out and chuckled when he saw it. 

“This is your mailbox key.” 

“Huh?”

He unlocked the door with the proper key and gave you a gentle nudge, trying to get you to walk inside. You groaned again and slumped even further against him.

“König,” you mumbled into his shirt, “can you carry me? Like a princess?” 

“Alright. Come on, princess.” He picked you up with an amused huff, being careful not to hit your feet on the doorjamb as he walked through. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and giggled when he picked you up. You attempted to repeat the cognate, and drunkenly failed (far too many ‘s’), but he nodded and closed the door with his foot. 

“That’s,” you mumbled as he gently set you down on the couch. “I’m. I’m your princess, right, König?” 

The alcohol once again had you miserably mispronouncing the word. It still had him chuckling and blushing beneath his mask, though. He nodded as he kneeled down in front of you. “Yes. You are my princess.” 

Gently he took one of your ankles in hand, another smile tugging at his lips as you started to laugh again, he was unsure if you were laughing at his words or because his gentle touch had tickled you. His own ankles protested as he looked at the strappy heels you were wearing. Sexy, certainly, but it’s no wonder you ended up on the floor. He removed your shoes and set them to the side of the couch. “Stay here, you need to drink some water.”

You were half laying down when he came back with a glass of water. He set the glass down and maneuvered you so you were sitting up again. 

“Drink.” He held the glass up to your lips, glad that you didn’t try to find him. “How did this happen?” He asked once you swallowed a few sips.

You shrugged. “Got ditched.” 

He stiffened next to you, a growl stuck in his throat as he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything bad about your so called friends. 

You sighed and dropped your head back on the couch. “My friend met a guy. I hope he actually eats pussy, for her.” 

König’s head snapped to you, “what?”

You let out a lethargic laugh and turned your head, still leaning against the back of the couch, and raised your hands in frustration. “They’re so hard to find! Adrian is the only guy I’ve ever met that actually likes doing it!” You whined and slapped your hands over your face. “Why did I break up with him?”

He coughed, tried to sputter out something that honestly neither of you understood, and you mistook it for a laugh.

“It’s not funny! I’m never gonna find a guy to eat me out again.” 

You finally dropped your hands from your face and looked at him. “Oh! Shit! I’m sorry!” It was only now that you realized how uncomfortable your comments had made him. His knee was bouncing up and down nervously and his hands had an iron grip on his shorts. “I didn’t mean to- It’s okay if you don’t like to eat pussy, König!”

“What!” 

“You don’t have to do it! I’m sure you-”

“But I want to!” 

You paused your ramble and narrowed your eyes at him, he was refusing to look at you. “You want to…”

He nodded and still refused to look at you as he answered, “yes.” 

You gasped and straightened up, one of your hands landing on his thigh. “König-”

He cut off your next question by gently slapping a hand over your mouth, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “Don’t ask me that. Please, ask me when you’re sober.” 

You stared into his eyes, wide and dilated, and slowly raised a hand to tap his hand over your mouth. Slowly he dropped his hand and once again looked away from you.

“I was gonna ask,” he stiffened where he sat, “if you could stay and cuddle with me.”

“What?”

This time, you were the one shyly looking away from him. “I like when we cuddle. You make me feel safe.” 

“Oh.” König’s heart thumped in his chest. You were completely wasted, and still everything you said only made him like you even more. He nodded and stood up. You giggled as he gently scooped you up in his arms again and carried you to your room. 

“Yes. I will keep you safe, princess.” 

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16 @wybwtjmiadz @ghonigsloverbabe @thatmusedhatter @grassclippers @skystreamchan 

#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #neighbor!könig #crisped-jello #blurb #short #idk what it is but everything i've written for könig lately is just turning out so fluffy #unfortunately for Reader here. She does not remember the next morning that König said he likes to go down 😆 #also tysm! i'm so happy to hear that you like the series so much!! ❤

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐫

War thrummed through the blood of a Viking warrior, it was a known phenomenon, and it wasn’t to be questioned nor tested. But what lay beneath the surface of your Viking was far more than that, and his wrath would be a testament to Tyr in his vengeance.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ⇁ Viking!Bucky Barnes x Fae!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ⇁ 1.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ⇁ Heavy angst, whump, dark themes, graphic injuries + gore and violence, touch her and you die to the extreme, fluff, a certain someone makes an appearance

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ⇁ This is my first attempt at dark themes, and I wrote this to help funnel my pain into something. ⇁ SC, if it weren’t for your song rec, this wouldn’t have happened. Thank you for taking my pain and helping me turn it into something that I can be proud of. I love you.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ⇁ Tyr by Wadruna ⇁ Taina by Schepetkov, 2WEI

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ⇁ @smutconnoisseur

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐨𝐠𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dark shadows extended over the path before you, and you whimpered quietly. The pain of movement, the sheer excruciating labour of moving each limb one by one, had become far too much to bear, and by the Gods, you were knocking on the Aesir’s door. 

Blood pooled and dripped in your wake from the open wound on your side, and the scrapes and slashes to your legs and arms stung viciously. 

Cloudiness had seeped from the inky sky to your vision, creeping in tendrils from the edges of your consciousness, and had started to consume you from the inside out. 

Bucky – where was Bucky? You scanned the trees around you, desperation welling up from the depths of your being at the lack of a proud snorting steed, or the lack of Bucky’s rasped voice after hours and hours of searching for you. 

You hadn’t meant to venture so far in your determination to find a gift for your Bear, a price you would pay right there on the forest floor – succumb to the loss of life essence and be taken by the Valkyrie. 

And there was nothing you could do to prevent it. 

Time dragged as you pushed on, each breath more painful than the last. You had no idea who the men that attacked you were – no idea as to why they hunted you for sport. Maybe that was a lie – you knew deep down precisely the reason, but you had been claimed by one of the fiercest Hersir known to the sagas.

How could this have happened? 

“Mouse!” a voice bellowed, and you shrunk back, cowering in fear – blood loss and hysteria had long taken your senses and interpretation of reality. “Mouse! Mouse, fuck–can you hear me, little one?”

You blinked and glanced up. The snow white fur of Bucky’s steed, Ragnar, filled your vision – but that was not possible. The God’s were offering you one last favour, one last chance to see him before you perished, surely. 

Unbidden, your hand reached out to touch the soft, scratchy fur of Ragnar’s shoulder, only you met with resistance. The strong muscle and bone of a mount from Hel was under your touch, tough and resistant to even Death’s own hands. “Rag-”

“Mouse, darling,” the voice continued a little louder. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, you looked up to meet the gaze of the spectre, but it was Bucky. You blinked hard, and your hand touched his chest – the solid bulk unmoving under your gentle hand. “Bear?”

“It is me,” Bucky rushed, and you felt his hands on your elbows. “What in Thor’s name happened?!”

Pain laced through your side, and you crumpled to the floor, the impact only lessened by Bucky’s grip. “Hurts…”

“Darling, please–God’s please, I need you to get up. Get up,” Bucky pleaded, the crack in his usual stoic tone siphoned alarm down your spine and through your being. “Up–Ragnar, here,” he continued, and the stallion snorted and stomped his hoof as he stepped closer. “He will keep you safe.”

A low nicker was the last thing you registered before Bucky lifted you bodily up off the moss-strewn ground of the trail and into Ragnar’s saddle. “Stay. Protect her, boy,” he ordered, pulling free his axe. It was then you heard more heavy footsteps and war cries in the distance. 

“Bear,” you whimpered, reaching for him, but Ragnar turned, stepping back with his ears flat. “Please.”

“Stay.” The sharp, decorated axe gleamed in the dying light of the moon. Bucky advanced forward alone and unprotected, with no hesitance or qualm of facing the possible army. 

Figures appeared on the trail ahead of Bucky, and they stopped. A scream had lodged itself in your throat at the sight of them, and Ragnar growled, his sides heaving with angry breaths.

The advancing war party hollered and called upon the sight of the lone Hersir; and you managed a glance at their battered shields – they were from an unknown clan of unknown origin, and it was plain as day that they had only hate in their hearts. 

“You touched what was mine!” Bucky called, his voice filled with vitriol and fury. “And by the God’s, if you do not turn around and go back to whatever Hel you crawled from…” The axe glinted with bloodthirsty intent, and you watched Bucky square his broad shoulders – a stance of a bear preparing for battle. “You will find yourself in the pits where no hope for Valhalla will come.”

Ragnar pawed the ground and breathed heavily, the feel of his muscled back tensing and preparing to battle unmistakable. 

Silence filled the trail – a tangible thing you could taste like the blood on your tongue. 

“We will take what we claimed,” one of the men rallied, his sword handle banging against the worn wood of his battered shield. “And you cannot stop us!”

You watched Bucky stand stock still as the men closed in one by one until he tilted his head. “Well…” Something changed in the air – thick with poison and the stench of rotting flesh. “May the God’s cast you from Valhalla for having the gall to touch what is mine.”

War cries and shouts filled the air, and Bucky launched forward into the battlement of men, roaring his fury – blades flew and clashed in a hail of sparks as the war party surrounded him, but each blow glanced off his back as though he was made of iron. 

“Bear!” you screamed as they overwhelmed him, and Ragnar bellowed, a sound that should never leave such a creature so kind. 

It was like you were melded to his back as Ragnar ploughed forward, headstrong into the clashing men. Leaving you to watch in awestruck horror as Ragnar’s teeth clamped onto the back of one man’s neck and pulled him back – the once fierce warrior now slumped to the ground with his head stuck in a jaunted angle. 

“Ragnar! Hlaup!” Bucky growled, and Ragnar backed away, mouth stained with blood and his sides still heaving. “Go, take her!”

Hooves stomped the forest floor as Ragnar reared and bellowed back, staying steadfast. 

The sound of even more hooves on the trail caught your attention amongst the warring battle. You turned to see a black steed carrying a man – blond hair flying behind him, and you gasped as the black steed skidded to a halt beside Ragnar. 

“Buck!” the man yelled, dismounting. 

“Get back!” Bucky replied – still swinging his axe. “Protect her!”

The blond man looked at you and baulked. “By the Gods,” he rushed, coming closer. “You are paler than death, sweet one,” he continued, his hand on your thigh. 

A roar from the battle made you both look up to find Bucky in the throes of bloodlust, his teeth grit and face painted crimson. The axe in his hand swung and swiped a man over the throat, downing him in a gurgling heap – another was hit in the flank, the iron meeting tissue and sinew with a squelch. 

“You will not,” Bucky shouted, pulling the axe free and turning to meet the last four men head on. “Touch what is mine!” Each word was followed by a swing of his axe – now wet and slick with blood. 

All of the war party had fallen at Bucky’s feet – a perfect circle of bloodied corpses that painted the earth with rivers and pools of blood.

Silence reigned, and you started to sob with relief at the sight of Bucky standing victorious over the hunting party. You watched Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall with a laborious effort – the bloodlust clearly starting to fade with the loss of adversaries. 

“Bucky,” the blond man cautiously said, his tone still firm. “Come back, you’re not there. You protected her.”

Before you could think better of it, you slid from Ragnar’s saddle – the spell long gone, and you limped as fast as you could to the towering Viking, still sobbing heartily with relief. “Bear–Bear, please!”

“Mouse,” he breathed, falling to his knees on the soaked ground. You collided with his chest with a wet slap, and you gripped at his shoulders, his back – anywhere you could find purchase as you wept from the fear, pain, and the relief. “You are safe, I have you.”

You looked up from Bucky’s neck to see a shadow down the path – a wolf, grey in colour, with white, glowing eyes. The creature watched you for a moment before it turned and evaporated into wisps of smoke. 

Footsteps on the sodden ground behind you brought you back to reality. 

“Let us get her home–our home,” the blond man said softly, his hand on Bucky’s other shoulder. “Her wounds will need tending to.”

Bucky nodded, and as he stood, you were swept up from the ground in one fluid motion. Hoofbeats splashed on the blood soaked ground, and you blinked hazily as Ragnar nosed at your thigh. “Good boy,” Bucky whispered. “Thank you.”

Ragnar blinked at Bucky and turned, offering his side. “Let us go home.”

hlaupa = run

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #rookthorne's works

[heich0e]

yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 4: the prequel(ish) continued..., tw alcohol, reader goes by a stated pseudonym for her work (Yua) but is otherwise unnamed, this part immediately follows PART 3 and here are PART 1 + PART 2 icymi!! series masterlist

“You.”

The sound of the man’s voice—low, smooth, and unmistakably pointed—makes you freeze.

The room goes terribly quiet in the wake, like no one is quite sure how to respond.

Kaito’s eyes snap towards you, a flash of something close to panic momentarily slipping through the facade of his gregariousness. He composes himself quickly and looks back to this new guest, his brows lifted in surprise as his eyes narrow into crescents thanks to how his mouth lifts in an easy smile. “Who, sir?”

“Her.”

All eyes in the lounge turn to you, but somehow you only manage to meet one pair.

Your grip on the champagne flute in your grasp is so tight you worry that the thin stem might snap between your fingers.

Kaito laughs a bit, but the sound is stiff and doesn’t fit his usual tone. He reaches up and places a friendly hand on the man beside him’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a while to acquaint yourself with the girls, then you can—“

The man—Suna-san as he’d been introduced to you all just a few moments before—turns his face to look at him. You watch as his eyes flicker down to the hand resting on his arm with a look of disdain.

“Is there a reason you’d question my choice?” he asks flatly, a chill in his tone that makes your stomach feel uneasy. “I was told these girls are your best.”

“Of course,” Kaito assures him with an easy, obliging smile. You can’t help but notice how he quickly drops his hand. “You’ve made an excellent decision.”

The other girls and Kaito quietly leave, once the manager waves them out following a terse snap of his fingers. There’s a sense of disappointment that you detect from some of the girls as they bid the guest goodnight as they step past him, having scarcely had the opportunity to spend time in his company at all. Yuki meets your eyes as she glides past you towards the door, a curious—if not concerned—look passing between the two of you.

The door to the lounge closes behind Kaito once the last girl has filed out, and then it’s just the two of you.

You watch as Suna walks to the chair on the opposite side of the room, directly across from you, sticking close to the very edge of the wall and giving you a rather wide berth. It’s strange. Most men in these situations make their way right for you, or at least beckon you to come to them— especially ones as forthright as he’d been. Instead, he gestures for you to take your seat, nodding towards the chair you’re still standing beside. In spite of your relative confusion, you oblige him. On the other side of the room he does the same, slumping down into his seat with his legs spread wide.

You sit at the edge of the upholstered chair with your hands crossed primly atop your lap.

He watches you for a while, and under his heavy stare you find yourself resisting the urge to fidget. 

“What’s your name?” he asks you after a while.

You blink slowly, as though you’re processing the question he’s asked—though it’s anything but a difficult one.

“Yua.”

It’s not your name, of course. You’re sure he knows that too. It’s not even one that you’d chosen for yourself, in truth. There had been a girl working at the club before you started who’d used it as her pseudonym, and when she left and you arrived to take her place, it was easier just to inherit it than come up with a name of your own.

The kanji used spell out binding love.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

It doesn’t seem to be something Suna-san misses either, because there’s a little pull at the corner of his mouth that indicates a sort of wry recognition of the fact.

It goes quiet again.

You being to worry things are getting awkward. You can’t let that happen.

“Would you like something to drink?” you finally ask him, shooting him a warm smile before looking towards the mini bar.

His eyes flitter to the empty glass in your hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Champagne.” You stand and approach the bar, running your finger along the bucket where the half-empty bottle sits in ice. “But there’s plenty to choose from, no matter your taste.”

“What do you like to drink?” It’s the same question as before, more or less, but this time he poses it differently.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and find he’s watching you intently—still torpidly reclined back in his seat.

“I’m not very picky,” you answer with a little laugh. You reach for a bottle of whiskey off the bar. It’s a nice one. Expensive. You hold it up so he can see it, turning around to face him. “Would you like a highball?”

He cocks a brow. “Will you join me?”

“Of course,” you agree with a smile, and then you set to work.

Highballs are easy cocktails to make. Calling it a cocktail seems undeserved, sometimes, but the quality is in the ritual. 

First the ice goes in, and you stir it for 30 seconds using a long barspoon to chill the polished glass. The ice clinks against the edge in a delicate little noise as you go.

The room is weirdly quiet. Unnaturally so. 

The private lounges are mostly soundproof, for many reasons, but it means that none of the usual thrum of activity or music from the rest of the club seeps into the little space you occupy. It leaves a stagnant, almost uncomfortable silence stretching in between you while you work.

You drain the water from the bottom of the glasses carefully. 

Next you add the whiskey.

You’re partial to a stronger highball—somewhere closer to a 2:1 ratio of soda to spirit, but you know not everyone enjoys their drinks so potent. You opt instead for a 3:1 ratio for the evening, letting the whiskey spill down into the waiting glasses below. You stir it precisely 13 and a half times clockwise in each glass.

Last is the soda, which you allow to trickle down the rivulets of the bar spoon so it doesn’t lose its effervescence. Each drink is then garnished with a delicate twist of lemon.

You swallow, steeling your nerve before you turn to face your patron once more.

“Would you like to listen to music?” you ask cheerfully as you bring his drink towards him. 

There’s a sound system throughout the room controlled by a tablet, you’re trained to make the offer just as you had been to prepare the drinks.

“Not really,” he replies from below you once you arrive next to his chair. He reaches up to take the glass you offer him from your hand, and your fingers brush as the drink passes from your grip into his own.

His touch is warm.

Most men would pull you down into their lap at this point in the exchange, or otherwise grope you in some way, but save for that gentle pass of his fingertips along your own, he doesn’t make any attempt to touch you. 

You perch on the couch beside him, a little bit perplexed.

This man is not what you’d expected. 

He’s young, handsome, and above all strange.

Especially how he watches you—his gaze heavy-lidded but surprisingly impassive. You’re fully dressed but the way he watches you makes you feel terribly bare.

He lifts the drink to his mouth and takes a sip.

“Is it to your liking?” you ask him coyly.

He nods.

Since he’s taken his first sip, you’re now free to do the same. This drink is far sharper and stronger than the watered-down champagne you’d been sipping earlier. You savour how the heat of the whiskey sears its way down to your stomach. Part of you is relieved to finally have a proper drink in your hands.

Beside you, Suna sighs. He leans forward and sets his glass on the low table in front of him, and you watch as a bead of condensation drips down the edge of the polished glass.

Your eyes flicker over to him curiously. He meets your gaze.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” he admits with a little shrug.

“If you don’t drink and you don’t like music,”—you prop your elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rest your cheek in your hand, batting your eyelashes demurely—“this seems like a strange place you’d choose to spend an evening.”

Suna’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans towards you.

“I don’t think anyone is coming here for the atmosphere.”

There’s a flutter in the pit of your stomach that erupts in the same place the whiskey had just warmed. For a few petrifying moments, only the span of a few heartbeats, you wonder if he’s going to kiss you.

As a general rule, you prefer not to kiss newcomers. It might seem an arbitrary place to draw the line, but some forms of intimacy just feel unnatural with a stranger, even in your line of work. Some of your regulars don’t even get to do that. 

For a confusing, startling moment, you can’t help but think you’ll let him if he tries.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he leans back in his seat once more, his long legs still spread before him.

“It wasn’t my choice, anyway,” he says.

You make a little sound of confusion from the back of your throat, quenching your sudden thirst with another long sip of your drink. You’re not quite sure what he means.

“Coming here tonight,” he explains, sensing your uncertainty. “I just got into a bit of a… scrape at work. My boss sent me to blow off some steam.”

He wouldn’t be the first man who used this place as a means of stress relief. Though you wonder who his boss might be to have had Kaito scrambling the way he was.

“I see,” you reply quietly. Slowly, you reach forward and set your glass atop the table next to his own, the difference in how much you’ve each consumed more stark when your glasses rest side by side. You pull yourself upright again, and turn to face him with your lip caught gently between your teeth. You let it slip out to quietly murmur, “I’m happy to help with that, if you’d like.”

Suna’s head tips back against his seat as his eyes close, and he lets out a breathy little laugh towards the ceiling.

Just above the neckline of his high-necked sweater, along the column of his pale throat, you see the faintest edge of a mark. 

A tattoo.

Without thinking, you reach out for it. Just before your fingertip can touch the enticing tendril of ink, his hand catches yours in a tight grip.

You jump slightly at the unexpected contact, and your eyes flash up to his face, only to find that he’s watching you again—more alert now than you’ve seen him since he arrived.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize meekly, your entire face suddenly feeling hot. You're not sure what possibly possessed you to think touching him like that was okay.

He’s still clutching your hand, but after a moment his grip eases—his touch slipping down to your wrist. His long fingers circle it easily, and something about the sight makes you feel strangely small. Breakable even. 

His hold is different now, gentler. More delicate.

Slowly, he takes your hand and guides it to his cheek.

“Your hands are cold,” he remarks as his eyes slowly close again, and you realize the chill of your touch must feel nice against his injury. His cheek is radiating heat as he holds your hand to it.

You cup your hand to cradle his face in your palm, but he still holds fast to your wrist.

“It’s from making the drinks,” you reply quietly to his comment, your thumb reaching out and ghosting over the cut on his mouth without thinking. Other than the wound, his lips are incredibly soft under the pad of your finger.

He hums, leaning into your touch. After a few moments his eyes flutter open and meet yours, but they’re heavy lidded again. His gaze hazier now. More disarming, somehow. Your thumb is still pressed to the swell of his bottom lip.

“You’re good at this,” he whispers softly, like you’re not supposed to hear it at all, and you’re confused by what he means. He tilts his face and presses his lips to the heel of your palm in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Next his lips slide down to your wrist, mouthing at you there too.

“Pardon?” when you finally manage to speak, you find your voice is fluttery and unlike yourself.

“I really had no intention of fucking you,” he murmurs into your skin. “You just looked so miserable when I walked in that I thought it might be fun to bother you a little bit.”

Your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest, and you wonder if he can tell as his tongue sweeps out against your pulse point.

He smirks against your skin, his unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as he peeks over at you once more—his stare is just as electrifying as it had been the first time he turned it on you.

“I underestimated you,” he says, and his words sound like commendation.

Your head tilts to the side, not quite knowing what he means, but your confusion only heightens as Suna takes your hand and guides it to his throat. He holds it there the same way he holds you in his gaze—firm and unwavering.

“I didn't think you’d be so good at seducing me.”

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #yakuza!suna #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙛𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙯𝙖𝙬𝙖 + 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙩𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩

featuring ⨳ fukuzawa yukichi x fem!reader

contents ⨳ smut, dubcon, age gap (fukuzawa; 45, reader; early 20s), office sex, unprotected sex

notes ⨳ this is dedicated to my daddy, hyuck anon 😘

“President...”

You mewl as your fists clench on his yukata. Every movement you do just make him shudder in pleasure. His thighs are tense when you are clenching him hard.

“Just... five more minutes...” Fukuzawa sighs, his head thrown back as his calloused large hands guide your hips up and down on his cock. You whine, eyes teary as you try to bounce on him. You are getting tired, after all. He has drawn orgasms from you and he still has not finished.

“P-Please, president..! You said 'just the tip' ten minutes ago...” you whimper. But the tip of his cock is already nudging your sweet spot every time you bury his cock deep in your cunt. Sloppy noises are echoing in the room, accompanied by his heavy groans and your sweet moans.

“I-I did, yes... But really, just five more minutes.” he swipes the strands of your hair, whispering to you before he gives you soft kisses. He could feel your tits brushing against his yukata, so he gently pushes up your shirt, unclasping your bra. It comes loose but he just pushes it up to reveal your tits to him.

“President..! Please...!” you shriek in surprise, trying to cover your boobs but he grabs your hand, pinning them to your back. You moan when he brushes his lips teasingly on your perky nipples, making your cunt twitch with his cock still in you.

Your brain goes dizzy at the amount of pleasure he gives you. He starts thrusting and kissing your skin, twirling his tongue on your nipple as his other unattended hand slip to your pussy, reaching your clit.

You are lost in the haze. The man you swear to respect and protect for the good of the Agency is balls deep in you — you should have run when he told you shyly that he wanted to see you.

“I'm sorry, I got too carried away.”

“I'm sorry, I promise I won't hurt you.”

“I'm sorry, just... just the tip. Only five minutes and you can leave.”

But it's been fifteen minutes. And he is still going, pumping his dick in your young cunt. You are giving up to tell him to stop. Your eyes are teary and hooded, his girth is rubbing your inner walls so closely that you feel wetter for each thrust he gives.

“I'm... almost—” you hold his face. With your fingertip, you could feel slight wrinkles on him. He bites his lips as his hands grope your ass harder. He looks guilty, but his thrusts are getting sloppier yet harder.

You mewl against his neck, your sweet scent lingers in his sense. His dick drives deeper before it stills right on your sweet spot. Your eyes are almost closed as you feel a rush coursing down to your cunt.

“A-Ah— Mmh!” Fukuzawa quickly covers your mouth and then you could hear Kunikida's faint voice from the outside of his office.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry... It's okay, you can relax now...” he says but your pussy is still squeezing as you are cumming on his cock. The squeeze makes it hard for Fukuzawa to focus entirely on Kunikida's voice and he shamefully cums in your cunt.

Your eyes widen and you try to get up from his cock but he wraps his arm around you, holding you close. “I'm sorry, I can't hold it... It's okay, nothing bad will happen... Just stay quiet, for me.” he says — almost like a command.

He coughs once. “Kunikida.” his stern voice is back, aimed at the person behind the door.

“President, I would like to hand in the report for the case last week,” Kunikida replies.

“I'm busy at the moment.” he holds you even tighter when you are trying to shift away. But with his cock deep in you, all you could feel is that poke in your sensitive cunt.

“I will come to you later,” he adds. You hear Kunikida says something but you couldn't fathom his words. Fukuzawa keeps you on his lap for a while until you are too tired to resist him. When your head is laying on his shoulder, he finally loosens his arms around you.

You whimper softly, clenching his yukata.

“Y-You're a disgusting old man... This is... so wrong, so unethical...”

“I'm sorry...” he whispers. He looks at you with a frown and shame, but his hand is rubbing your belly, his finger is teasing your clit and it makes you jolt in surprise. But you cannot help a moan to escape your lips.

“You're... d-disgusting...”

“I apologize, my dear. This won't happen again. This shouldn't happen. But I...” he sighs. “I promise, it won't happen again, and I will help you if something does happen. I am very sorry.”

But his unfocused eyes staring at your exposed body do tell otherwise.

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#道化師-jest❃ུ۪ #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #fukuzawa x reader #fukuzawa smut #bsd fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs smut

[goat-boy-sounds]

nothingness

cw // drugging, captivity, fainting, non-con touch, implied past nudity

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

rMmhrr…

Whumpee wakes with an involuntary, cat-like chirp and the urge to indulge in some equally cat-like stretching…

The world is pitch black. Whumpee can tell from their internal equilibrium that they’re lying on their side, but they can also sense from that internal equilibrium that the entire room around them is spinning… and their head is heavy. The floor’s on top of them, and then to the right, to the left, above again, right again– Everything’s all over, and Whumpee feverishly hooks their fingers into the bedsheets in fear that the bed itself will tilt upside-down and drop them into nothingness.

Whumpee’s breathing gets quicker and quicker and shallower and shallower– each open-mouthed exhale letting out a barely perceptible whine- quicker and shallower- oxygen depleting, until, as if punched by a defibrillator, Whumpee jerks upright.

There must be some kind of invisible tether keeping Whumpee grounded, because despite the sudden movement and the room still turning, Whumpee’s still attached to the bed. The realization is a temporary relief, but it’s quickly overtaken by the concerning feeling of their heavy head swaying in time with the walls and their eyes watering for seemingly no reason at all.

Another involuntary whine crawls out of the back of Whumpee’s throat, followed by a yawn… That’s why their eyes were watering. They’d yawned a few seconds ago and didn’t even realize it… It’s incredibly tempting to lay back down. Whumpee resists.

A few minutes pass. Whumpee’s sight adjusts the darkness slowly until they can make out those four, spinning walls and a door.

This isn’t Whumpee’s room– Not even close– This is some kind of– it’s something… It’s spinning.

The shallow breathing comes right back.

Whumpee uses the leverage of their invisible tether to the mattress to shuffle to the side– “Woah…” Their head swaying threatens to hurl them off the edge head first. Whumpee waits a few seconds, then tries again– planting one bare foot onto the carpet and then the other. Knowing better than to try to stand, Whumpee slides their butt onto the floor.

Yeah. Great idea. Unconsciousness comes on like a phantom– the only evidence in Whumpee’s perception that it even happens is the fact that one second Whumpee’s head is resting against the edge of the mattress, and the next it’s smashed against the carpet, a textured imprint left on their cheek. The overhead lights are on.

A hand– the sudden warmth of a few fingers is enough to make Whumpee flinch– well, maybe their body doesn’t flinch– but their insides- their brain jumps ten feet like– like a…

The hand works their way under Whumpee’s head, under their imprinted cheek, and then the hand worms around until the length of a prickly forearm’s wrapped behind Whumpee’s shoulders. Whumpee’s head flops back, eyes half-open.

Whumper makes a disgruntled noise before pulling Whumpee’s head a bit closer.

“Hey…” Whumpee groans into Whumper’s shirt.

Whumper freezes, grip loosening on instinct.

Whumpee pushes their hand into Whumper’s gut, getting ready to sit up. Whumpee groans some more, skull pounding… “Hey…”

Those same worming hands take hold of Whumpee’s head, twisting Whumpee upwards until they’re looking Whumper head on. Whumpee’s breathe catches— some kind of spasming in their diaphragm– quick and shallow.

Whumpee’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. Not their shirt. Not their boxers…

And Whumper’s face is… Whumpee’s never seen this person before. Whumpee’s never seen this person before.

A thumb and forefinger stretch Whumpee’s right eye wide open. Whumpee’s body responds for them, trying to blink, but they can do nothing but stare straight into the boring (as in drilling) eyes of Whumper. Whumpee’s arms have taken on their own weight, straining to keep themselves upright.

Without warning, Whumper drops Whumpee. The room starts spinning again, as if Whumper personally threw it down like a top.

“AHggh…” Whumpee seethes at the jolt of pressure in their head, “Mmmmmmmm…”

“You’re okay.”

Whumpee looks up. The dancing overhead lights obscure Whumper’s head as they walk away.

“You should go back to bed,” Whumper says-- a very calm suggestion.

The bedroom door opens.

"Wait... Wait-"

"What?" Whumper turns.

"I don't... wanna... be... alone... here," Whumpee's short breathing stops them between every word.

Whumper frowns-- Whumpee catches it-- a split second before Whumper's finger flips the light-switch.

The door shuts. The lock clicks.

And once again, Whumpee’s in pitch darkness, head swimming in nothingness, with no tether at all.

#my writing #whump drabble #whump #captivity whump #drug whump #fainting whump

[gurlbesimpin]

In the Beast's Den

{K. Heisenberg x GN! reader}

Chapter one: a different kind of introduction

{in an AU where the Winter's family never existed; the events of REVillage never happened... the reader stumbles across a beast}

__

Cold and afraid, those were the two perfect words to describe your current predicament. The cold winds of romania add to the major discomfort that the cold provides; thus only further pushing you to find any form of shelter. 

A barn, an abandoned house, even a tent would be perfect right now. 

Anything beats freezing to death in the middle of nowhere; surrounded by endless trees, snow and fog.

You take slow, careful steps through the snow; skin freezing and lips trembling with the desire for warmth. Trying to wrap yourself tighter in the thin coat, barely assists in increasing your low body temperature. 

The distant smell of gasoline fills your nostrils, filling you with a small sense of hope for warmth and survival; encouraging you to take quicker steps towards possible shelter.

As you approach closer to this smell, a large building reveals itself within the thick fog. 

Joy, joy was what you felt as you all but ran towards this unknown building; the dark and fog making it difficult to make out any details from the outside. 

Doors were locked or blocked off; but windows were an option for entry, as you found an open window within the wooden wall.

Not meaning to make a loud thud as you not-so-gracefully ‘plop’ on the ground; you look around for any signs of life. But there’s nothing. From the inside; this place seemed like a barn maybe? There were haystacks, piles and piles of boxes, and many more doors. 

After getting back on literal cold feet, you start moving towards the large open door in this dull room. 

Slow and quiet steps lead you to another door down a short flight of stairs. 

This door however, seemed heavy and gave you the impression that whatever lies behind this door, could be- or rather is dangerous. However, it seems so oddly inviting? 

With your curiosity peaked, the door wasn’t left unopened for long; shivering hands pushing hard against the heavy and rusty metal door. 

At first it proved to be a great difficulty, however after a few more pushes; the metal door held little resistance, allowing you to enter this mysterious room within this even more mysterious building. The door opens with a loud squeak, granting you access to a large seeming room. 

Upon entry the first thing to hit your senses is the feeling of dread; as if you weren’t supposed to be here. But do you have any better option? You’d freeze to death outside, so staying here seemed like the smartest option at the moment.

Progressing through the entry; there are rows and rows of shelves containing various types of boxes, bottles, and gasoline tanks. The floor is made of old red titles covered in decades worth of dust and dirt. 

There’s a small abundance of metal folding-chairs next to a large latch in the ground. A few feet away; a wooden desk containing some random objects. This in itself, isn’t unusual; the wall said desk is stood against however- is hidden behind old rags. 

It seems obvious that whoever set this up, wanted to hide whatever is behind these rags. This only increases your curiosity about the place and its history. And soon, you find yourself gently lifting the large stained rags to peek at whatever is behind them. 

“What the-”

You whisper quietly as your eyes glance at several pictures of unfamiliar seeming people. One of them; a pale lady with vibrant red lips and a large black sun-hat; another a weird seeming horrific creature; the next, seemingly a woman in a black veil covering her face, a white doll in hand. 

And finally, the largest picture of them all is another woman with a golden halo-looking crest behind her head, face hidden behind a golden mask that resembles a crow skull. 

All this, to your tired mind, was absolute nonsense and confusion. 

Who are these people? They look like something out of a horror/thriller novel or movie. 

You gently let the rag go; trying your best to forget everything you just saw, instead focussing on the desk and its contents. 

A few loose knives, many large stacks of paper, a half-empty bottle of Bourbon, more paper and letters, a zippo lighter and an empty pack of cuban cigars-

All these things aren’t out of the ordinary, the amount of knife marks and punctures on the thick wooden surface however, are indeed a bit questionable.

The feeling of dread fills your nervous gut again; a shiver running down your spine whilst your hands grow sweaty, you need to leave. If it weren’t for curiosity that is; your sweaty palm reaches out for one of the presumably hundreds of papers on this desk.

It seems to be a design for some sort of weapon, a very intricate and detailed design at that.

“What the… -fucking weird-”

Those are mere hushed words leaving your lips; all of this is proving difficult to comprehend. Still observing this blueprint, your heart sinks at the sudden sound of a gruff voice.

“I’ll take that as a compliment towards my work, yes?” 

In one second, you feel cold steel against your upper thighs, the next you stumble back into a cold chair with a quiet gasp. The chair, without being touched by anyone, makes a full turn, forcing you to face an older seeming man.

He’s tall with a slightly larger than average build; dark, greying hair and a full-beard, a pair of round sunglasses that hinder anyone from seeing his piercing gaze. 

He wears an old duster-jacket; brown pants with two straps, each having something attached to them. He seems to be wearing multiple layers of shirts accompanied with three necklaces-

An old military dog tag; a compass and an old rusty hook.

On his head rests a leather fedora, casting a shadow over his face when he tilts his head downward. However said shadow isn’t capable of hiding his wolfish grin OR the cigar hanging from his scarred lips. 

“What? Cat got ‘ya tongue?”

He takes a step forward, the chair being pulled forward without him needing to lay a finger upon the cold steel- It seemed like magic, like a dream, or rather- a nightmare.

“Mmm, well let’s make things easy for the both of us, hm?”

The chair skids over the ground towards him as he stares down at you with an almost predatory grin. He takes a long drag from his cigar, before blowing the cherry-scented smoke directly in your face with a low chuckle.

“Why the hell… are you ‘ere? Did you want to see the ‘big bad metal man’s factory’?”

You gulp, not understanding a word he says; the best you can do is shake your head.

He nods, seeming in thought for a beat, before leaning down; his gloved hands reaching for his sunglasses as he removes them, revealing a pair of hazel eyes.

The eyes are like the window to the soul, his seem deranged, evil but also tired and sorrowful-

“Hmmm… is it the weather? Came here for shelter did’chya?”

His eyes are fixed on yours, observing you, analysing you as your response is a slight nod.

Scarred lips part as he smiles, his canines sharper than anyone’s you’ve met before.

“Ahh- scared little lamb stumbles into my factory for shelter… What a treat!”

He leans in further, his larger frame towering over your sitting form-

“Give me one reason… to spare you…”

Panic settles in; your brain running miles per second as you try to come up with the best reason, excuse, explanation… anything to convince him to spare your life. The man Raises his hand to move some hair out of your face; instinctively you move an arm to block his hand, not even thinking. You silently curse to yourself as his eyes widen and his smirk grows. 

“Feisty one aren’t you? What’s your name ‘kid?”

Stumbling over your words, you manage to tell the man your name; he nods whilst quietly repeating your name, then ponders for a moment before rising to his full height, no longer looming over you.

“Y’got potential kid… Name’s Lord Heisenberg, but let’s cut the chatter bullshit-”

He places his glasses on again, his hazel eyes once again hidden from sight.

“I have a proposition for you…”

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil #neil newbon #karl heisenberg

[formulas-bitch]

THE DARK LORD charles leclerc x reader

part 3

surprise another part for you loves and I tried to make it as long as I can

I woke up with a gasp, disoriented, in a cold, dark room. My limbs felt heavy as if they were made of lead. My head throbbed incessantly. I tried to remember how I got here, but the fog in my mind refused to clear. The last thing I could recall was… no, that wasn't right. There was something before that. Something important. Something about… a dark lord? was it all a dream? was it even real? why can't I remember anything? it felt as if I was dreaming before.

As I struggled to collect my thoughts, I realized that my clothes had been exchanged for a plain white nightgown. I sat up, feeling a pang of fear in my chest. This wasn't right. Where was I? And more importantly, who had put me here?

I tried to stand, but my legs were weak and wobbly. I made my way over to the door, feeling my way along the wall until I found the doorknob. With a shaking hand, I turned it and pushed the door open.

The room beyond was dimly lit, the walls lined with bookshelves and adorned with strange symbols I didn't recognize. A large, ornate throne sat at the far end, its cushion empty. I felt a chill run down my spine as I took a step forward, a sense of foreboding settling heavily in my stomach.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice shaking. "Is anyone here?" There was no answer, only the soft rustling of pages from the books on the shelves. "Hello? I'm not whoever you think I am. I don't belong here. Please, just tell me what's going on. I don't belong here, I need to get back to the queen, she must be worried about me" I cried out.

I walked a few more steps, my heart pounding in my ears. As I neared the throne, I noticed a piece of parchment lying on the floor nearby. Curiosity getting the better of me, I stooped to pick it up. As I unfolded it, my eyes widened in horror. It was a map, with a single, burning red X marking a location in the center. the queen's castles. Written beneath it were the words, "The ritual begins tonight."

"No," I whispered. "No, this can't be happening." Frantically, I searched the room for anything that might help me, but found nothing. The only exit was the door I had come through. I had to find a way out, had to stop whatever it was that was about to happen. I had to save myself.

Ignoring the protests of my aching body, I forced myself to my feet and stumbled toward the door. As I made my way down the hallway, I found myself in a larger chamber filled with candles and the flickering light of countless fireplaces. A dark figure stood at the center of the room, their back turned to me.

"Wait!" I cried out, my voice cracking. "Please, you don't understand! I'm not who you think I am!" The figure turned slowly, revealing the face of the dark lord from my dreams. He smiled coldly.

"Oh, love?" he said, his voice smooth and seductive. "You're exactly who I think you are."

My heart skipped a beat as he stepped closer, his eyes boring into mine. There was something about him, something dangerous and alluring all at once. "You are the one," he continued, "the chosen one. You have been brought here for a reason."

I tried to back away, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot. "No," I managed to choke out. "I don't want this. I don't want to be part of whatever you're planning."

He stepped even closer, so close that I could feel his breath on my skin. "Ah, love," he purred, "you are already a part of it. You always have been." His hand reached up, tracing a finger along my jawline. something about his touch felt familiar "You are the key to my victory, the missing piece of the puzzle. Embrace it, my dear."

As his words sank in, I felt a strange sensation wash over me. Part of me wanted to resist, to fight against the inevitable, but another part found myself drawn to him, to the power and certainty in his voice. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine, and for a moment, I forgot everything else. that was going around me. All of this felt like deja vu as if I had seen something like this happen before, which was causing me a head ache the more I think about it.

When he pulled away, his eyes were glowing with an inner light. "Tonight," he whispered, "tonight we shall change the world." His hand reached down, cupping my face gently, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "You will be my queen, my equal, my partner in this great work. Together, we will bring about a new age."

I couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement run down my spine. His words resonated with something deep within me, some primal part of my soul that had always yearned for purpose and meaning. I nodded, my eyes never leaving him, my heart racing with anticipation as if this was meant to happen, as if destiny had planned for me to end up with the dark lord.

As we stood there in the flickering light, the candles casting long, dancing shadows across the chamber, I felt a sense of belonging, of purpose, wash over me. I knew, without a doubt, that I was meant to be by his side.

We spent the rest of the evening planning, and discussing strategies and tactics, our minds working in perfect harmony. He told me of his vision for a world where darkness and light existed in balance, where order was maintained not through tyranny but through the harmonious coexistence of all creatures, great and small. It was a beautiful vision, one that I found myself unable to resist. everything that I was told as a little girl was all lies, of how all creatures were evil and wanted to take over the kingdom, how they wanted to enslave all humans and use us as their salves,

As the night wore on, I felt my body begin to change, to adapt to the new role I was to play. My senses sharpened, my strength increased, and I felt a newfound confidence flow through my veins. He watched me, his eyes full of pride and admiration, as if he had created something truly wondrous. And in a way, he had. he has shown me what true love is like, what a real ruler looks like, someone who cares about all creatures of all kinds. how passionate he is when it comes to war planning and strategies. and more importantly how he truly cares about me and my well-being.

We stepped out into the night, the cool air rushing past us as we made our way through the darkened gardens. The stars twinkled above us, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the sky. I could feel the power coursing through my veins, the knowledge that I was truly unstoppable. We came to a clearing, where a massive stone altar stood, its surface etched with ancient symbols.

"Here," he said, gesturing toward the altar. "It is time."

As I stepped forward, my heart racing with anticipation and fear, I reached out and touched the ancient symbols etched into the stone. They pulsed with an unearthly energy, like the beating heart of the world itself. The power flowed through me, filling every cell of my being, and for a moment, I felt like I was one with everything.

"Are you ready my love? to tie yourself with me for eternity. for standing by my side, in sickness and health, following me in war and ruling the kingdom with me til death do us apart?" Charles asks me/

" Are you asking me to marry you charles cuz it seems like you are?" I ask as a smile makes it way on my face

"I sure as hell am ma cheri, so what do you say will u take my hand and marry me?" Charles asks me

" yes, yes a thousand times yes" I cried out

He placed his hand on top of mine, their energies intertwining, and together we began to chant an ancient language I had never heard before. The words tumbled from our lips like liquid fire, their power resonating throughout the night. As we continued, the air around us began to shimmer and warp, distorting reality itself.

The altar shuddered beneath our touch, its surface glowing with an intense light that seemed to come from within. I felt as if the very fabric of existence was unraveling, as if the world were giving birth to something new and terrifyingly beautiful. My body tingled with power, my senses on edge, anticipating what would come next.

As we continued to chant, the shimmering distortion around us grew more intense, becoming a whirling vortex of energy. The air seemed to hum with anticipation, the sound of it vibrating through my very bones. It was as if the universe itself were holding its breath, waiting for what we would create.

Suddenly, with a blinding flash of light, the vortex collapsed in on itself. The world tilted, spinning dizzyingly, and when my vision cleared, everything was different. The familiar gardens were gone, replaced by a vast, endless plain of shimmering gold. The sky was no longer the deep, starry void I had known, but a vast expanse of swirling colors, like a living, breathing painting.

"It is done," he said, his voice echoing across the new world. "The veil between the mortal realm and the realm of the gods has been pierced. The old world is gone, and a new one has been born. We are its creators, its rulers, its gods. and it is time we take back what truly belongs to us ."

As I stepped back from the altar, I looked around in awe at the breathtaking landscape that stretched out before us. The endless plain of gold shimmered in the light, the soft, undulating hills seeming to dance with life. In the distance, a massive mountain range rose like a sleeping giant, its snow-capped peaks sparkling in the sunlight. The sky above us was a living canvas, a swirling masterpiece of color and light.

He turned to me, his eyes alight with the same wonder that I felt. "This is our world now," he said, his voice full of reverence. "Our creation. We can shape it as we see fit, and rule over it as we desire. We are the gods of this realm, and our power is limitless. with you by my side my love we can concur about anything together" Charles says as he lays a kiss on my forehead as we hold ourself together, soaking the moment in.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the awe and responsibility I felt. The world spread out before us, a blank canvas on which we could paint our dreams and desires. It was a terrifying thought, but also the most exhilarating one I had ever experienced.

Together, we wandered through our new realm, exploring the endless expanse of golden fields and the towering mountain ranges that seemed to touch the very heavens. The air was alive with energy, a palpable sense of possibility that made my heart race with anticipation. Every step we took, every breath we took, was a testament to our power, to the incredible gift we had been given.

As the days turned into weeks, we began to establish our rule over the world. We created new lands and seas, populated them with creatures both familiar and fantastic. We watched as civilizations rose and fell, as empires were built and destroyed. We guided our subjects with the gentle touch of our hands, shaping their lives and destinies as if they were clay in our grasp.

But even as we reveled in our power, we were reminded of the fragility of our world. The balance we had so carefully maintained could be easily upset, and the consequences could be disastrous. There were forces at work in the cosmos, ancient and terrible, that sought to destroy what we had created. We knew that we would have to be vigilant, to use our power wisely, if we were to protect our new world from the darkness that threatened to engulf it.

And so, we continued on our journey, forever bound by our shared destiny. Side by side, we faced the challenges and triumphs that came with our godhood, our fingers forever entwined in the tapestry of fate. For we were the creators, the rulers, the gods of this world, and it was our responsibility to ensure its survival.

As the years passed, we watched as our creation grew and changed, evolving into something far greater than we could have ever imagined. We saw empires rise and fall, wars waged and peace brokered. We witnessed the birth of new species and the extinction of others. We guided our people through times of plenty and times of famine, through wars and plagues and other trials that tested their mettle.

But with each passing century, the threat of the ancient forces that sought to destroy our world grew stronger. We could feel their malevolent presence like a dark shadow looming on the horizon, ready to strike at any moment. We knew that we would have to take action to protect what we had created, to safeguard our world from the encroaching darkness. I could feel it within me, I could sense it something was coming something from the past, something evil is coming/

We gathered our most trusted advisors and generals, our wisest sages and bravest warriors, and together we devised a plan. We would summon an army of legendary heroes, beings of immense power and courage, to stand beside us in the coming battle. We would forge alliances with other gods, both powerful and benevolent, and together we would face the darkness head-on.

As the day of the final battle drew near, we prepared ourselves for the ultimate sacrifice. We knew that we might not survive the onslaught of the ancient forces, but we were determined to give our all to protect our world. We stood side by side, our fingers intertwined, our power flowing through us like a living force. We felt the weight of the world upon our shoulders, and we accepted it as our burden to bear.

Our allies, gods and heroes from far-flung realms, gathered around us. Each one brought with them a unique strength, a special gift that would aid us in the coming conflict. We exchanged words of encouragement and promises of victory, our voices carrying across the battlefield like a symphony of hope.

As the forces of darkness closed in, we raised our hands toward the sky, channeling our power into a single, unstoppable force. A blinding light filled the air, casting long shadows across the land. The earth trembled beneath our feet as we prepared to meet the enemy head-on. As I and Charles held hands looking into each other's eyes as if saying everything will be fine and I love you before turning to everyone around us.

Our allies formed a circle around us, their weapons at the ready. The air was thick with tension, the anticipation of battle palpable. The enemy forces, an army of twisted and monstrous creatures, howled in fury as they charged toward us, their dark energies swirling about them like a malevolent storm. and standing amongst them the queen I had a long time ago served once looking at me and Charles interwind hands and the power that emitted from us with a look of rage and revenge in her eyes.

As the first ranks of the enemy closed in, we met them with a furious counterattack. Our power surged through us, amplified by the strength of our allies. Swords clashed, spells were cast, and arrows flew in every direction. The ground shook beneath the weight of the battle, and the skies filled with the cries of the wounded and the dying.

Our most trusted heroes, imbued with our power, led the charge against the enemy general, the queen. A towering figure, clad in armor forged from the darkness itself, stood atop a hill, its eyes glowing with hatred. It raised its massive sword, preparing to deliver a death blow to our forces.

The heroes fought their way through ranks of lesser creatures, their blades flashing like meteors through the night. As they neared the queen, the darkness seemed to swirl around it, feeding off the fear and despair of the battlefield. Our heroes knew that they would have to act swiftly, for the queens 's power grew with each passing moment.

The battle raged on, with neither side willing to give an inch. The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, as our forces struggled against the relentless onslaught of the enemy. Our power, channeled through the heroes, was the only thing that kept us from being overwhelmed.

As the heroes closed in on the queen, they could feel the weight of its presence bearing down upon them. The darkness seemed to coalesce around it, feeding off the fear and despair that filled the air. They knew that they had to act swiftly, or the queen would grow too powerful to defeat.

With a final surge of determination, they hurled themselves at the queen, their weapons flashing in the night. The air crackled with the force of their attacks, as they sought to break through the queen's defenses. The ground shook beneath their feet, and the clash of steel on steel echoed across the battlefield.

As they fought, they could feel the queen's power pressing down upon them, threatening to overwhelm them. The darkness swirled around them, seeking to consume their very souls. But they refused to give in, for they knew that the fate of their world hung in the balance.

With a final, desperate thrust, their blades found purchase in the queen's armor. With a cry of triumph, they pushed forward, driving their weapons deeper into her vulnerable flesh. The darkness writhed and twisted, trying to tear them apart, but their determination was unyielding.

As the queen's strength waned, the tide of battle began to turn. Our forces, emboldened by their heroes' victory, surged forward, pushing back the ranks of the enemy. Slowly, but surely, they were driven back, their dark energies fading as the light of hope began to pierce the gloom.

The air grew clearer as the last of the enemy fled before us, their tails between their legs. Our allies, gods and heroes alike, congratulated one another on a hard-fought battle. They looked to us, the two who had given them their power, and bowed their heads in gratitude. We returned their gestures with solemn smiles, knowing the weight of the responsibility that now lay upon our shoulders.

The bodies of the slain littered the field, a grim reminder of the cost of victory. Our heroes, bloodied and weary, helped one another to their feet, their armor dented and their weapons nicked. They surveyed the carnage around them, their expressions a mix of determination and sadness.

Our allies, gods and mortals alike, began the arduous task of tending to the wounded and burying the dead. They spoke in hushed tones of the sacrifice that had been made, and the fragile peace that now hung in the balance. We, too, felt the weight of responsibility settling upon our shoulders as we considered the road that lay ahead.

The queen's body, now lifeless and twisted, was left where it had fallen. her armor, once a symbol of fear and oppression, was taken as a trophy of our victory. The darkness that had once been its ally now fled from it, seeking new hosts to inhabit.

Our heroes, weary but proud, returned to our camp, their minds filled with thoughts of the battle they had just fought and the challenges that still lay ahead. They spoke of the bravery of their allies and the skill of their own hands, each one trying to downplay their own role in the victory while exaggerating that of the others.

We, as their leaders, listened carefully to their words, knowing that the strength of their bonds would be tested in the days to come. We considered the path that lay before us, and the choices we would have to make. To pursue the remaining forces of the enemy, to try and root out the source of their power and end this conflict once and for all, or to consolidate our gains and focus on rebuilding our shattered world.

As the night wore on, the camp slowly began to settle. The fireflies danced through the air, their flickering lights casting a warm, golden glow upon the faces of our heroes as they sat together, swapping stories of their past victories and commiserating over their losses. The sounds of laughter and music drifted through the air, a welcome relief from the tension of battle.

The two heroes, weary from their ordeal, retired to their tent, the flaps drawn closed behind them. They lay on their makeshift bed, staring up at the canvas ceiling, their minds replaying the events of the day. They talked in low voices, debating the best course of action for the future.

"I'm so glad everything went to plan my love" Charles spoke as he turned his body to face me.

" as long as I'm with you everything will be alright my love," I say as I turn and look into Charles's eyes with love in them.

" thank you, Charles," I say

" for what ma cheri?" he asks me pulling my body towards him as he places my head on his chest and places a gently kiss to my head.

" for saving me from the queen. for showing me what true love is. and showing me a whole new world in a new prospective" I whispered to him as I looked up into his eyes.

"I should be thanking you darling as you have saved me from spiraling into a dark hole and for loving me as I am and agreeing to be my wife, my queen," Charles says as his eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips.

slowly he closes the gap between us and kisses me with love and passion while holding onto me.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric or the murmur of a guard's voice outside. The stars twinkled brightly in the velvet sky, their light casting a soft, ethereal glow over the camp. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of smoke and the earthy aroma of newly turned soil.

Our heroes, their minds still reeling from the events of the day, found it difficult to sleep even as they lay together. They tossed and turned, their thoughts spiraling around the weighty decisions that lay ahead. They knew that the choice they made would have far-reaching consequences, not just for their people, but for the entire world.

The stars continued to twinkle in the night sky, seemingly unconcerned with the fate of mortals. A soft breeze rustled the canvas walls of the tent, bringing with it the scent of the nearby river. The sounds of the camp outside were a constant background hum, like the steady beat of a heart.

Our heroes, their eyes fixed on the canvas ceiling, continued to debate the merits of their options. They considered the advice of their trusted advisors, the pleas of their people, and the consequences of their decisions. The weight of responsibility was palpable, pressing down on their chests like an anchor.

Outside the tent, the camp slowly began to stir. The guards changed shifts, their boots thudding against the soft earth. A cookfire flared up, the aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. The sounds of conversation and movement grew louder, a testament to the life and activity that still persisted despite the day's events.

Our heroes, their minds made up, sat up in their beds, their faces set in determined expressions. They glanced at each other, nodding slightly in agreement. The choice had been made. They would pursue the remaining forces of the enemy, to root out the source of their power and end this conflict once and for all.

for as long as they have each other, nothing can stop them.

well, one thing that may change everything and cause Charles to be extremely more protective of y/n was not knowing she was pregnant with his child.

taglist:

barcelonaloverf1life

so how do we like it so far? this might be the last part unless u guys want another one let me know

#f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #ferrari f1 #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc angst #cl16 x y/n #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #charles leclerc dark lord #dark lord charles leclerc

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time: Chapter 3 [Five Hargreeves/ F Reader]

(Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? Chapter 4 >> << Back to Chapter 2

A panicked Five calls for help.

Author dicking around with tense to come. Proceed at your own risk.

Chapter 3: Déjà vu

Five’s shout and forward lurch barely registered to Aoife, far too busy staring at the place her mother vanished.

“Mom! Mom?”

Her head turned uselessly, looking to her father with eyes begging him to make it all okay.

“Dad! I didn’t…I didn’t mean.”

But Five ignored her, already feeling around in the air at the point where his wife was only a moment previously.

“Dad, I’m s-”

“Quiet, kid.” he murmured, face screwing up in concentration. Something was wrong…and he couldn’t get a read on it; couldn’t sense its logic. It wasn’t like the nonsense portals she produced when she was in her mother’s womb: the electrical signatures of those were alive with dissonant, illogical calculations: all correct in their constituent parts, but gibberish as part of the whole. This? All he got was resounding silence.

Ok: it was time for plan B. He marched over to Aoife and reached for her, making her flinch, but he only grabbed her upper arm in one hand.

“D-dad?”

He clenched his other fist and summoned the power necessary to turn back the seconds…but nothing happened. There’s no contraction to step into : no thickening of the atmosphere allowing time itself to become pliable. He’d only experienced this once before: when he’d arrived in his father’s custom-made universe and found himself without his powers. 

“Come on,” he murmured, trying again and finding himself unsuccessful again. Aoife, realizing what he was trying and failing to do, began to panic, crying in high pitched little squeaks. No doubt she would bruise from Five’s fingers, cutting painfully into her upper arm in his own fear.

“Hey, are you guys okay up there?” came Diego’s voice.

Aoife started to cry fully now, sniffling and sobbing. Five released her, brain racing a mile a minute. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He breathed hard a few times though his nose, trying to ground himself and not give in to the feeling of his heart thudding in his head.

“No!” he yelled in the direction of the door, “It’s not good. I need help!” 

At the sound of heavy footballs as Lila, Diego and Luther approached at speed, Five finally made eye contact with his daughter. The abject fear in them pulled at his heart, even as his anger towards her grew… but he knew yelling would do no good. He had to keep his mind on the top priority.

Experimentally, Five made a short blink to the other side of the room as Diego opened the door.

“What’s going on?” his brother asked, entering the room with his wife and Luther. When he spotted Aoife’s red, tear-streaked face, he went to her immediately, “you ok, mija ?”

The tears came thick and fast then as Aoife laid her head on her Uncle’s chest. It wasn’t as comforting as if it was Dad, but Dad might not want to comfort her right now.

“Something’s seriously fucked up here,” Five rumbled, staring past the men and straight at Lila: probably his only hope. 

“What’s going on?” she said, business-like.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, Lila. My daughter’s been playing around with time-travel. She pushed her mother into a portal and I can’t undo it. My time travel capacity is kaput. Nil. Fucked. All I can do is blink.”

His arm spasmed towards his face, slapping himself in the forehead in frustration. He did it slightly harder than seemed appropriate in instinctive self-punishment. 

“Woah there, Five,” said Luther. His voice was kind; quiet. It was understanding in a way that Five would have resisted were his brain not racing on other matter. 

In a flash of inspiration, he looked between Aoife and Lila, “both of you: tell me what you feel. Does something feel wrong to you? Time-wise, I mean?”

“You know I don’t touch the time stuff, old man,” said Lila, hands held up in surrender, “I wouldn’t know what I was feeling for.”

Aoife let go of Diego and took several deep breaths to calm herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated as if she was under her covers practicing short temporal jumps…but there was nothing there.

Trembling, she looked up at Five, “It feels wrong.”

He breathed out through his nose: it confirmed his own feeling. He bagan to pace, sweeping now-sweaty hair out of his eye. For the moment, he continued to ignore Aoife’s sniffles. He was running out of options; running out of opportunities…and he was starting to feel it again: he was backed into a corner, fighting against walls closing inexorably inwards. An icy hand gripped his heart. 

“I’ll be two minutes,” he snapped, blinking out of the room.

When he vanished, Aoife sobbed loudly and fell back into Diego’s arms. He rubbed her hair gently, like he did when she was a baby, looking between Lila and Luther for help. Luther shrugged with wide eyes and Lila looked irritated at the implied question: I know as much as you, shit-for-brains.

“So what happened?” asked Luther, gently but uncertainly.

“I did something to Mom!”

Her shaky breaths overtook speech momentarily and Diego soothed her gently. Lila approached and placed a hand on her arm. When she caught her breath again, it all came tumbling out.

“I’ve been practicing time jumps at night and I got pretty good. But then, today, Mom and Dad were yelling at me about it and I pushed Mom off me and…and I just…I don’t know what I did but she’s gone. She got…swallowed up! And I think I…I think I broke something.”

“You broke something?” Luther’s face darkened further with concern, leaning towards her in an attempt to identify a fractured extremity.

“She doesn’t mean a bone, moron,” said Lila.

 “Right, you,” she continued, turning to Aoife with raised, imperious eyebrows that commanded her attention, “you've got to pull yourself together: nobody ever saved their mum by whining.”

“Lila,” muttered Diego, still keeping one arm around his niece, “give the kid a break.”

Though Aoife was the same height as Lila, the size of the latter’s presence was always twice her stature.She grabbed one of Aoife’s hands and looked her straight in the eye.

“We’ll get her back, okay?”

Five wanted to pace around the study, (he wanted to kick the shit out of something actually), but he didn't have time. Every second might  be putting him further beyond solving this mess, might separate you from him irrevocably. He needed to work out what the hell was going on, fix it, grab you and get you home. You had to be somewhere. You had to be. 

He picked up a pen and scrawled a quick SOS. He was only surprised that Herb hadn't come already. What did it mean? Herb had promised to exhaust every available avenue before putting out another kill order on his family but Five had hoped to keep both of you squarely out of the firing line. Aoife would always be protected here, (he knew his brothers and Lila would fight tooth and nail to keep her safe), but you were in the wrong time or the wrong place or whatever. Even as he considered this, temporal assassins might be being mobilized. And that was honestly the best case scenario: what if you were nowhere? What if you were dead?

Hands shaking, he rolled the note into a scroll and wrenched open the panel concealed in the side of the mantel. Inside, the pneumatic pipeline waited for his communication, a store of canisters below. He seized one, unscrewed it deftly and shoved the paper haphazardly inside. Screwing the lid back on took far too long but he managed it and shoved the canister into place, slamming the seal onto the pipeline with more violence than haste.

But there was no answering suck to take the tube away to the Commission’s HQ. The canister stayed precisely where it was: uselessly in his pipeline. Disbelieving, Five removed the seal and slammed it home again: nothing. Removed it, slammed it, nothing.

“SHIT!”

He slammed the seal onto the pipeline again, again and again, getting more agitated each time it didn’t work. He could feel his teeth grinding, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“No. No! NO! LILA!?”

In under a second, Lila. Diego and Luther blinked into the room, dragged along by Aoife. Diego staggered away from the group, as usual looking as if he was about to barf.

“THE FUCKING STUPID FUCKING PIPELINE, LILA!”

“Calm down! Jesus, Five.”

She took the canister from him and pushed him a few steps away from the pipeline’s hidden cabinet. Five tried to slow his rage-panicked breathing as Lila tinkered with it, trying to get the canister to go. Recovered, Diego again held Aoife tightly to his side. All of them watched Lila, Aoife with pure terror.

Just as Luther approached to place a comforting hand on Five’s upper arm, he shrugged him off and began to pace, finally giving in to the urge. He’d been cut off once before, when the fetal Aoife’s nonsense portals had got her mother on the Commission’s hit list…but this wasn’t like that. The pipeline had been completely gone that time and Herb had sent him a final message to apologize. This…this wasn’t right.

“Yeah,” said Lila, even more worried now, “this pipeline is well and truly fucked.”

Even more dread filled Five as he caught Aoife’s eyes. He knew what this meant. Not again…it couldn't be happening again; he didn’t have it in him anymore. He was too old, too tired of staying one step ahead of impending doom. He’d had over a decade of rest but it just wasn’t enough and it never would be.

“What does it mean?” Luther asked, all of them looking to Five. He didn’t respond:  a  dull certainty flooding through him: he had to whether he wanted to or not. For Aoife and for you, he had to fight it whatever it takes.

To confirm his own dark conviction, he reached for the lower drawer in what was once his father’s desk and took out the Temporal Ambimeter he’s shown Aoife the previous week. He placed it on the desk and, sure enough, the needle representing absolute temporal polarity rolled loose on the dial measuring relative time.  

He was right: they’re screwed. And, again, it’s his fault.

He lifted his impossibly heavy hand to his face, squeezing his eyes closed behind the fingers he pressed hard into them.

“Dad?”

Her voice was small and, like a fine diamond-tipped knife, punctured his despair. He took a couple of deep, centring breaths before spreading his arms wide.

“ Vieni da me .”

She didn’t need to be told twice, blinking from Diego’s side and into his tight hug. He rested his chin gently on the top of her head and spoke comfort into the crown of her head.

“Dad, I’m so sorry !”

“I know, I know. Va bene, bambina. Va bene.”

“I want my Mom!” her tears soaked through his dress shirt as she said it. He rocked her gently and kissed her again. Just a kid. Not her fault.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

Diego, confused and worried by Five’s lightning-fast change from rage to tenderness, spoke up now:

“Five, what the hell is happening here?”

He looked at his brothers and sister-in-law over the top of Aoife’s head. 

“Short answer: we’re on timeline-break highway heading to apocalypse-city.”

“Fuuuck,” Lila moaned.

“If you want the long answer, then Aoife accidentally knocked time itself off-kilter .” 

He continued to rock and caress his crying daughter, reassuring her without words. He liked to think that nothing would shake her security in how much he and her mom loved her but something like this, that was technically her fault, (even if it was his fault, really)? Anybody would beat themselves up over it. 

“I don’t know how,” he continued, “but it’s become...uncoupled from whatever keeps it on a level...mathematically sound, I mean.”

Lila looked grave.

“And what does that actually mean, grandpa? What's going to happen?” snapped Diego, as usual having little time for ideas that aren’t cut, dry and concrete.

“I don’t know,” Five snapped right back, “it’s unprecedented; absolutely illogical. I didn’t think it was possible. It means that my power won’t work properly, even to wind back a couple of seconds. It means the Commission’s instruments aren’t working because they’re all calibrated based on the idea of time having a logical polarity. That’s why the pipeline isn’t working- Herb will be going into total meltdown.”

Lila, understanding him first, finished for him.

“So…we’re living on borrowed time, right? Until someone cocks up the timeline so badly that they blow us all up or kugelblitz us into oblivion.”

Five pointed at her in a ‘ you got it’ gesture, “Bingo.”

“Shit.” muttered Luther

“But what about Mom?” 

Five’s chest hurt as she spoke the words.

He couldn't tell her what he knew: Aoife producing the exact same portal was the only hope to get you back and the only hope to fix this. There were no calculations he could do any more: no way to replicate what she did unless she did it herself. If she couldn’t do it then you’re lost for good…and the clock was ticking on the entire world (or it would be if the clocks could tick properly). It’s an option he didn’t allow himself to fully grasp. He couldn’t let it in

“I’m going to go get her.”

“Why not fix it and then go get her?” asked Diego, with uncharacteristic shrewdness.

“Because once we’ve fixed it, he won’t have a chance of finding out where she is,” LIla said, “Can’t replicate the maths on a portal with no maths. Am I right, Archimedes?”

Five nodded, ”Maybe…but I’m pretty sure that we’ll need a chronokineticist on either side of this mess to fix it.”

He stared down at the desk top for a few moments before grabbing pen and paper. 

“Give me ten minutes. I got an idea I might be able to turn into a theory.”

You land sprawled in a cobblestoned alleyway, a crack of static above your head signaling the disappearance of the portal. There’s the smell of smoke and what seems like manure. You push yourself to your feet,  the cold, uneven ground leaving sharp stones in your palms.

Staggering slightly, you look back up to where you fell and call, hands cupped over your mouth.

“Aoife? Five?”

Leaning against the alley wall, you can see only gray sky: not a hint of electricity: no self-contained storm of a way home. You jog down the alleyway and into the street, jostling indignant pedestrians and nearly falling down again as you run haphazardly into a horse…a horse pulling a coach along with three others. You fall onto the sidewalk in a sitting position, attracting stares from passers by and a “watch it, you damn lunatic!” from the irate coachman, trying to get his worried horses back under control.

You scramble up again, backing onto the sidewalk. It’s disorientating: bells, hoofbeats, the clack clack of wooden wheels on cobbles, the chatter of pedestrians, especially those staring at the frantic woman having fallen into the street. Desperate now, you look wildly around.

“Five?”

A man wearing a long coat ushers a group of gawking women away from you, forcing them to give you a wide berth as they pass. They’re all wearing long dresses, voluminous sleeves and bonnets.

Shit. This is a long time ago…they’re dressed like the women on the front of Five’s copy of Vanity Fair.

“Excuse me?” you spit out, desperately, “I’m sorry- what year is it?” 

One of the younger women giggles as the man chaperoning them scowls and puts his body in between you and her.

“Please?” you ask, looking the man straight in the face, “please help me!”

He averts his eyes and hurries the women away, “Never mind Louisa. It’s just some madwoman..”

You look down at yourself, wearing nightwear and a robe…this doesn’t look good for wherever you’ve landed. Backing up against a building lining the street, you look feverishly around for a clue. There’s a pawn shop, a bookstore, and a church. The street is lined with gas streetlights. Gigs, coaches and carriages pass by, all drawn by horses. Dogs and ragged children run free to wander the streets.

Another man walks towards you, wearing a top hat and long coat like the one who’d pulled those women away from you. He’s carrying a newspaper.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir! Can I see that newspaper, just for a second?”

More out of shock than a desire to help, he hands it over. You only need to read the date to confirm what you already know.

It's the New York Evening Post. Above all of the advertisements for ladies' corset warehouses, tutors specialising in the harp and pianoforte, and information on when the Napoleon and York ships would arrive from Liverpool, it reads:

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24TH, 1830.

Having filled the piece of paper front and back with theoretical scribblings, Five sat back in the chair, the fear flooding back into him now he couldn’t keep his mind on something methodical. 

“Okay.” he said, hiding his panic and stroking his chin. “This looks like it has legs…”

He looked up: Aoife, Lila and Diego stood, watching him expectantly. As always, when shit hits the fan, it was still Five they turned to to fix it. He was scared to show them how much he’s improvising: how little he knew for sure. Trying to project confidence he didn’t feel, he told them:

“We’re sitting on a rip in time here and we gotta fix it from either end…or maybe kinda teach it how to fix itself. Here’s the plan: Lila, you and I are going to work together from either side of the portal, Aoife, it will be your job to send me through the rip you sent Mom through and then you can just leave the rest to us.”

He picked up his paper and waved it in Lila’s direction, 

“This is going to be a matter of  rebalancing. Time wants logic: we just gotta give it something to latch onto…it’s gotta relearn the balance.”

He clapped his hands together once as he stood to resume his pacing. 

“So, we got one thing going for us: because time is a giant ball of crazy right now, when I’m on the other side, a year to me wouldn’t register to you. That means, as long as I do it at some point , you’ll feel it happening the moment I step through, right?”

Lila and Aoife nodded, though Aoife did so uncertainly. Diego and Luther still looked confused but Five carried on regardless.

“The good news is, that gives me as much time as I need to find your Mom before I assess the situation from the other side. Then, I sit down and I work it out.”

“But didn’t you just work it out?” sputtered Diego, gesturing to Five’s sheet of paper with irritation.

Five sighed impatiently, “I worked out the THEORY. I didn’t work out how to put it into practice. I’m going to need to be there to do that. What part of ‘ it needs one of us on either side’ aren’t you getting?”

“Pretty much all of it.”

“Well,” Five said, losing patience very quickly, “I just thank the sweet Lord that this plan doesn’t include your dumb ass.”

“Five.” chastised Luther

Diego looked as if he wanted to snap back, but Lila spoke over him, sidling over and placing a hand on his chest.

“Ignore him sweetie. He's just antsy because his carer’s not around.”

Diego mumbled something about kicking Five’s ass but held his peace when Luther gave him a pained look that begged him to be patient with him. Five continued,

“Lila, all you need to do is stand near where I vanish and mimic me. Plug into my frequency and just spit it back towards me.”

“Roger that,” she barked, giving a sarcastic salute.

Five looked steadily at Aoife. 

“Aoife, when the time comes, you just gotta do the exact same thing to me as you did to your Mom. Just shove me through, don’t think about it too hard. Sound okay?”

She nodded slowly and then immediately shook her head.

“W-what if I can’t?”

“You can.” he said, simply, flashing her a bracing smile. He couldn’t let any seed of doubt sprout in her head….or in his own.

“Right.” he said, keeping the smile hoisted on his face, “I’m going to need a gun, some of Dad’s tackiest antiques and a warm coat.”

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88

On to Chapter 4 >> Masterpost

#the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy #umbrella academy smut #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x oc #number five imagine #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves imagine #number five smut #number 5 imagine #number 5 #fanfic #ao3 writer #tua fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #five hargreaves x oc #number 5 x oc #hard feelings #Arrow of time

[witchofhimring]

A name of your own

I was originally going to make some fics for mothers day but was really busy so I couldn't get them done in time. Since this the only one I finished I will be posting, just belatedly.

Hope yall enjoy!😘

Summary: You would make a name for yourself outside of your fathers prophecies.

Relationships: Elia Martell + daughter reader (platonic)

She sat across from him. The man she had once loved. But right now she felt nothing. 

Elia Nymeros of House Martell known that to be a Queen took strength. She had seen her own mother bend, but never break under the weight of her obligations. The obligations of a Queen were to support her husband, and have an heir. And yet, how does one uphold her husband's demands when they harmed her child? 

“You have to understand.” Rhaegar pleaded. His purple eyes were shining. But it did not move her as they once did. Once she might have melted under the sight. Now the only thing she could think about was her children, and how this man had endangered their lives.

 And for what?

Oh that's right .Because Rhaegar was so in love he just had to make off with Lyanna Stark, starting a war. Mad King Aerys might be dead, stabbed through the chest. But many good men and women had died. 

Lewin Martell. Dead, killed at the Battle of the Trident. 

Lord Stark and his son Benjin. Executed for tying to seek justice. 

Rhaella Targareyn. Died in childbirth on Dragonstone. 

Thousands of poor souls. Dead. 

“You have no right.” Her voice was oddly leveled. Elia did not need to raise it. He only had to look into her dark brown eyes to see the anger set in them. She would never forget, or forgive Rhaegar for all the lives lost. But most of all, it was the fact that he put her children in danger. Raeneys no longer slept well. These days she was up half the night in terror. Though Aegon did not truly know what had happened, the baby now had an anxious disposition. Whenever someone other than Elia held him, he cried. When the door opened, Aegon turned his head as if expecting to be attacked. No words could express an angry mothers rage that was strong enough. 

The door opened. It was as if time itself had stopped. 

So this was Lyanna Stark. 

“Aegon’s been-” She stopped, because it was at that moment Lyanna saw Elia. It was the world's most uncomfortable tableau. 

Slowly, Elia got up. Elia was rather taller than she looked. Her slender form and dress often gave Elia the look of a graceful willow. But to Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen thought they were seeing something else. Her dress was like a sea of red. Black hair cascading down in waves. The last time they had seen each other face to face, Lyanna was wearing a flower crown and Elia, heavy with her third child. It made Lyanna feel small. Less than. 

“Aegon?” Elia’s attention was turned to the baby in Lyanna’s arms. So this was the baby. 

Suddenly it clicked. 

“You named him Aegon!” Her voice tore the throat. Rhaegar seemed to shrink. Many times Elia had to resist the urge to smack some sense into Rhaegar. But never had she wanted to actually hit him. At least until he had left her to die. 

“You intend to replace our children.” She was no longer yelling. But it would have been better if she had. Instead it was the cold, angry voice she used when her rage was just brimming. The only time Rhaegar had even heard it was the time he crowned Lyanna Queen of love and beauty. It made Rhaegar shrink in his chair. 

Elia then bent down, almost nose to nose with her husband. 

“And let me tell you this. Any child you father with her, will never replace mine. I promise you that.” 

Y/n Targaryen was the firstborn to Rhaegar Targareyen and Elia Martell. It had rained on the day of your birth. That year had been unbearably dry. So the rain was a great relief. For the first time in months, the ground would be able to bear seed. With a clap of thunder you were born, crying overtaking the noise outside. Elia had always wanted an identity for her children. So when it was time to name you, your mother fought to have a name that was not tied to some prophecy. 

Y/n. No Princess or Queen had ever borne the name. It was all yours. Unfortunately, by the time Rhaeneys was born Elia had lost influence at court and so Rhaegar was allowed to name her whatever he wanted. As a little girl you had never understood why it mattered. All you knew was that Rhaegar’s attention was all for Rhaeneys and Aegon, leaving you and Jon behind. For you two fell outside the prophecy. 

But you would always have your mother. On the nights that monsters reigned your dreams, you ran to your mother. It was always her who caught you when you fell. Most of your days were spent indoors with Jon and Daenerys, your aunt. Unlike the conquering Queens, you could wield no sword. That was a severe disappointment to your father. Every time he would see you sewing in the corner, Rhaegar simply looked away. Rhaeneys was a true warrior, like her namesake. Elia had frowned when Rhaegar had boasted about this. She then reminded him that Rhaeneys was great in her own right, not just because she had a likeness of a long dead Queen. 

You were jealous of Rhaeneys and Aegon. Not that you didn’t have a good relationship with them. As siblings you loved one another. But it was hard when he would pass you by and only have eyes for the children who meet his standards. 

Rhaenys and Aegon didn’t love their father any more than you. Ever since they found out how he had tried to bastardize them, he was not truly their father. It was only because the idea was so popular, and your mother threatening to bring the Dornish down on him, that he relented.

It seemed that not even his secret wedding to Lyanna had panned out as planned. She was not his Queen. Only the consort. And he had no daughter. Another child by Elia would kill her and Lyanna had no luck with pregnancies since Jon. You could tell it frustrated him to no end. Consort Lyanna was in hiding these days. Barely seen by the public. You only saw her during state occasions. In their youth, Rhaegar and Lyanna had run away and married, sparking a war. Now, they hardly spoke.     

Destiny is never laid out in the stories of the past, but in the actions of the future. That much you knew. And you grew to be grateful for it. You would be known as Y/n, not some other distant figure that you must live up to. And as you lay your head down at night, you knew your mother loved you for who you were. 

You would follow Daenerys and Jon to Essos. It had always been your dream to discover far off countries. Elia had cried, but knew you were a grown woman. Rhaegar hardly noticed. From the docs Rhaeneys and Aegon gave tearful farewells. And so you were on your journey.

Three years later, a Prince and two Princesses arrived in King's Landing. Daenerys the Unburnt, Jon the Undead, and Y/n the merciful. During your time, you had helped spread medicine across many places. Together with other knowledgeable forces, you had learned and taught much. Now and forever you would be known as a great healer. As your feet landed on the docs, your family and Rhaegar were waiting. At its head was your mother. With tears in your eyes you ran towards her. She swept you up in her arms. 

“Welcome home, Y/n.”   

#Elia Martell #elia martell #elia martell x reader #daughter reader #elia x reader #jon snow #daenerys targeryan #aegon targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #elia of dorne #house martell #house targaryen #elia+martell #game of thrones

[zesty-alt]

I am loving the dragon knight order requiring a decades long pregnancy. Question, how big do the knights bellies get, and do they get larger with each pregnancy?

Ha, I'm not good at sizes, but I'd say typically they carry 2-3 dragons, and that you're noticeably bigger than someone carrying quads; so huge that it's definitely freakish, but not so ridiculous that you can't understand how they move around, though you wonder how they bear all the movement you can see, and the sheer length of time they stay that size.

...The first time around, anyway.

Most knights don't attempt more than one dragon pregnancy, mostly because of the time scale. You're expected to be seasoned before ever approaching a dragon; you'll be rejected if you haven't proven your worth. It's also an arduous process, and it's really only expected for a knight to be pregnant once; especially for those poor souls that can end up several years overdue. And a second pregnancy doesn't really carry the magical benefits of the first. But for those rare prodigies that managed to get their foot in the door early, it can happen.

Or, if after birth, the knights are still just fertile enough, body still large and warped and looking like it was made for this and nothing else, hips wide and breasts heavy with milk, giving their beloved dragon a look that's practically screaming for them to be bred again...

Well, no dragon will resist that. And given how long the pregnancies are, it only makes sense to conceive again as quickly as possible, right? Say, the moment the last baby dragon makes its way out of your hole, you find yourself plugged with the dragon's cock once again?

Amongst dragon knights, it's considered a true blessing and a show of valor and skill to be able to conceive a second time - many others consider such a thing dangerous and absurd, but what do they know.

The good news - or disappointing news for some - is that a second dragon pregnancy is typically shorter, lasting 6-8 years, as their bodies are already primed and adapted for carrying them. They start to show much, much earlier however - they'll start looking like they're pregnant with a single human child within the year. Their tits, of course, never dry up, and may begin to balloon up even more.

By the end of their second pregnancy, they're so big as to be almost completely immobile, their bellies so large they look like giant blobs attached to a body; you'd have to rest it on a cart and wheel it around to get anywhere, though with how obstructed your view is, such an endeavor may be pointless. Your dragon will provide for you at this point, and indeed may encourage you not to move, preferring to keep the glorious sight of you all to itself. Your legs are always forced to be parted by the sheer mass, so you're likely to spend a full year as the helpless plaything of your dragon, though no one who's gotten this for has ever complained.

Once the second pregnancy is over with, well, it would be a truly mad endeavor to try again wouldn't it? Your tits are the size of watermelons and just as heavy, your belly is littered with stretch marks, your hips so wide you have trouble fitting through doors, and you spent the last 2 years nearly immobile and at the mercy of your dragon...

but the pregnancy wasn't as long, so you have plenty of time for another, and at this point you scarcely remember what it's like to be empty. You're body is so primed and ready and...almost hungry, aching to be filled again.

Even as you're giving birth, pinned beneath the weight of your pregnancy, hardly able to see anything around you but the ridiculous mountain of your belly tits, the pain of labor excruciating, the contractions so hard it forces you to move more than you have in months...you manage to give your dragon a look that screams, again.

And just as before, as soon as your last baby has torn its way through your hole, the dragon immediately mounts its needy mate, putting your body to use for the only thing it's good for now.

#I have another follow up to this about royals bearing dragons that I may write later #preg kink #mine #preg dragon knights #haha

[deputy-buck]

Well now you gotta let us know your thoughts on Hawk/Tim puppyplay

!!! love you anon, so much !!! here's Tim's lamb + some other items and photos

Is it a way for Hawk to take more control? yeah, a bit. But is it more so about Tim letting go and being more comfortable with himself? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

I project a little onto Tim, and I HC him being very unsure and over-conscious of his movements, like his physical bodily movements, he's over-aware of anyone's eyes on him to the point he thinks "Am I walking normal? what do I do with my hands? is this a weird way to stand?" It's super fun- I've settled on "Skip" being Tim's pup name :3

Also I'd like to say a super special THANK YOU to @lispenard-street for beta-reading this fic for me!!! Literally every piece of input you had was gold and the absolute correct thing to do, not to mention all the super kind words you had for me even though the draft was in shambles when you first saw it lmfao- So thank you, Gem💚

-

Fetch

Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way. With a beat of hesitance, Hawk let him in, slightly worried no work would get done. Hawk really has no clue how telling a bunch of grown men and women to essentially stand down will do any good for the department, but he'd rather chop off his own hand than go against Senator Smith. 

Tim’s head feels light and full of syrup-damp cotton. He’s quite familiar with this feeling, having been experiencing it for some years; the swirling, strangling, suffocating need to serve and submit. But it’s all different now, knowing that he has someone he can relinquish himself to. Knowing he can let his mind float away and still be safe regardless of whatever may happen around him.

His tongue is wet and heavy behind his teeth, forcing him to swallow the excess spit before it drips past his stress-chewed lips. A warm buzz tingles across every inch of his skin and radiates through his insides; the feeling settles somewhere in his hips and weakens his knees, joints threatening to buckle beneath his weight. The urge to sink to the floor right on Hawk’s doorstep nearly wins but he has just enough sense left in him to know that it would get the door shut in his face.

Instead, he takes a couple wobbly steps across the threshold and into the foyer before giving in to the downward pull and sinking to his knees on the hearth rug that poses as a welcome mat. Tim struggles with bumbling, pawing hands to strip himself of his clothes, only managing to shake out of his coat and claw at the already loose knot of his tie before he lets his hands drop to his lap in defeat. Head swimming, lungs unable to draw in enough air, he looks up to the man standing in front of him, asking —begging— for help with watery eyes, throat resistant to form any sound other than a pitiful whine. 

Hawk smiles and gently peels away the layers of Tim’s human facade: tweed, cotton, tortoiseshell, and gold all in turn. Replacing it with leather and brass, unbinding his pup from responsibility and expectation, letting him be raw and sensitive here where Hawk can protect him—can be the soothing balm to all his scrapes and burns caused by the world.

With a finger hooked in the D-ring of Tim’s collar, Hawk leads his pup into the living room. A little bit of fussing over Tim’s blanket, a brief pitstop at his desk to fetch Tim’s little white lamb, and a soft yet firm command of “Down. Settle, Skip,” later; Hawk redirects his attention back to his speech —leaving his little pup to play at his feet—  intent on making good progress tonight. So he's got a pencil in his hand and three sheets of paper —two already full of his scrawling, thankfully— on an old book in his lap. He's not sitting at his desk for this —his back hurts too damn much— but instead is reclining on the low couch on the opposite wall. 

                                                          ===

Tim nudges his little white lamb into Hawk's lap, propping his chin on the older man's robe-covered knee, huffing and whining when his handler doesn't immediately look at him. The sweet noise catches Hawk's attention immediately, quickly switching his focus to Tim's pouting lips and glimmering eyes instead of the stark white pages.

Those big doe eyes shine with a playfulness that has Hawk's heart seized with warmth and affection for the young man. 

He’s just a boy, Hawk marvels.

Tim had been quietly playing by himself on his rust orange tartan blanket at his handler's socked feet, manipulating the soft toy with his hands and rubbing his cheek against the fluff of its fur, nipping at the tiny ears and tail. But that gets boring after a while, and Hawk hasn’t so much as reached down to pet him in the last twenty minutes. 

A break might do Hawk some good— his eyes are starting to sting anyway.

"Wanna play, huh?" Hawk sets the pencil and makeshift writing pad aside, picking up the small plush and shaking it in front of Tim's face. A laugh bubbles up from his chest as Tim presses his chest forward against Hawk's shin and snaps at the toy, teeth clacking together when a soft, felt hoof gets close to his nose. Maybe he'll catch it one day but today isn't that day.

"Get it, boy." With one last flick of the toy in Tim's face, Hawk tosses the cotton-stuffed lamb across the living room and into the kitchen hall; he had moved the chair that usually sits in the center of the room over, giving his pup room to play while he worked. Hawk is thinking of making this furniture configuration permanent, always allowing Tim to slip down to the floor and be 'Skip' with nothing in his way when his boy’s mind starts to shift and slide to one more canid.

This is a fairly new addition to their play, fetch. It still feels odd to crawl on the floor in nothing but his briefs and collar; bright sconces of the kitchen hall leaving him nowhere to hide. Tim feels a bit exposed, as though his most vulnerable parts are bared for Hawk to scrutinize from his comfortable perch. The skin of his face, chest, and back flush a rosy shade of pink knowing Hawk is watching him.

Hawk rakes his eyes down Tim's body, a ball of heat beginning to wind and coil low in his belly. With a slight readjustment of his robe and briefs, Hawk makes sure to conceal his growing erection, knowing that's not what his puppy needs right now.

Tim clambers his way across the living room, palms and knees softly thumping on the hardwood floor as he chases his lamb. The nickel tag clipped to his collar jingles with each plodding step. He's not going to humiliate himself by trying to trot after it —he knows he'll fall flat on his face— but he's learned that Hawk wants him to crawl instead of get up and walk. Dogs don't walk upright, Skip. Down, boy. 

Once Tim reaches his beloved lamb, he dips down to grab it between blunt teeth. Jaws clamped down on the soft fabric, Tim shakes it side to side like a terrier with a rat or a Beagle with a rabbit: mauling it before bringing it back to his owner for a reward. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, obscuring his glasses-less vision even more when he turns his attention to Hawk, panting softly, searching for that warm smile he's always trying to draw out of his handler. The one that lets Tim know he's doing good.

He gets it, a sharp show of teeth, the highest value reward Hawk could ever give.

"Bring it here, Skip. Come on." Hawk encourages, patting the top of his thigh to beckon his pup back to him. He loves when his boy turns into his pup, the thorns of defiance and questioning stripped away to sweet, silent submission. Hawk wouldn't change Tim's inquisitive mind and crashing emotions for anything, but it's nice not having to be on his toes, waiting to be thrown off-kilter by a question he hasn't allowed himself to think about. 

Tim ducks his head as he crawls back to Hawk, still a bit too aware of the position his body is in. Hawk had said he likes the way Tim's shoulders flex and strain as he lumbers across the floor on all fours. The memory of Hawk growling those words in his ear while the older man's hands squeezed and kneaded the muscle in Tim's arms prompts Tim to pause once his hands hit the scratchy circular rug. He slides them forward to stretch out in front of himself, chest nearly brushing the floor, fingers clawing at the rug, intentionally tensing his shoulders to make the muscles ripple and cord beneath his skin. Arching his back like a dog who just woke up. His collar tightens around his throat as he does so, biting into his skin, leaving the faintest mark for later.

Satisfied with the shaky sigh and chuckle Hawk lets out, Tim straightens back up to finally bring the toy back to his handler, a little more confidence in his stride. His tag jingles a little louder now. Depositing the lamb in Hawk's open palm, Tim sits back on his haunches, ready to chase and retrieve the toy again, willing to bare himself for as long as Hawk will grant.

"Good boy, Skip." Hawk praises, free hand ruffling through Tim's hair, pausing to gently scratch behind his pup's ear the way Tim loves. "Always such a good puppy for me." 

-

Again thank you so SO much for beta-reading this for me, Gem, you're the best!!

#pup tim #pup skip #tim laughlin #hawkins fuller #hawk x tim #fellow travelers #puppyplay #buck builds #buck backtalks #again sorry mobile users that the time break is off center I do almost everything on desktop-

[kirasgirl]

UNIVERSE

Geto Suguru x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

It was like a cycle. A cycle with no end in sight, just looping back and forth to the same outcome over and over again. It was terrifying.

It was almost like chaos theory, the only difference being that it would repeat countless times, leaving her exhausted from so many times tempted, so many chances lost to start over.

It was painful, too.

An emotional pain that over time turned into physical pain.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the bedroom floor. Her heart still heavy from the argument she had with Suguru. Sunlight filtered through the partly opened curtains, casting golden patterns on the wooden floor. The silence in the room was deafening, only broken by the gentle sound of the wind against the window.

She could still smell his cologne lingering in the air, a blend of woody and citrusy notes that always calmed her. However, this time, the scent carried with it a sense of sadness and regret.

Tears she had been holding back began to trickle down her face, leaving a moist trail on her pale skin. She clutched the pillow tightly to her chest, wishing Suguru's embrace were there to comfort her.

Then, a faint sound of knocking on the door broke the silence. She looked up, surprised.

And as if on cue, he entered the room with careful steps, trying not to make a noise. His eyes scanned the space, finally landing on the hunched figure of his beloved against the huge bed they used to share. He felt a tightness in his chest at seeing her like this, vulnerable and hurt because of him.

With a heavy sigh, he took a few hesitant steps towards her, his shoes making a slight creak on the wooden floor. He wanted to apologize, but the words seemed to elude him at that moment. Instead, he approached slowly, sitting beside her on the bed.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence was palpable, laden with all the unresolved tension from the previous argument. Suguru could feel the weight of regret bearing down on him, like an anchor holding him to the ground.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft and laden with emotion. "Y/n... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And then she looked at him, her eyes red and swollen from the recent tears. She wanted to resist, but she couldn't ignore the genuine pain in Suguru's eyes. Slowly, she reached out, seeking his in a silent gesture of forgiveness.

The young woman's gaze was a tumultuous mix of emotions, a storm of anger and vulnerability that shone in her eyes. The anger still burned within her, a blazing flame fueled by the painful words exchanged in that argument. She felt betrayed and hurt, and this anger pulsed through every fiber of her being.

However, beneath the surface of her fury, there was a palpable vulnerability. It was as if a part of her wanted to surrender to the sadness and pain, but the other part refused to yield, standing firm in her indignation. Her eyes reflected this internal battle, shining with an intensity that was both frightening and captivating.

Suguru felt a shiver run down his spine as he met the young woman's gaze. He could see the storm within her, and he knew he had been the cause of that turmoil. He desperately wanted to fix things, but he knew it wouldn't be easy.

Carefully, he held Y/n's hand in his, feeling the tension between them. Suguru knew it would be a long road until they could overcome that fight, but he was determined to do whatever it took to regain her trust and love.

She looked into Suguru's eyes, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness.

"Suguru... I love you, but I can't accept this. I can't accept that you plan to cause so much suffering and destruction, even if it's to achieve your goals. It's not right. No matter what happened, we can't justify genocide. We can't sacrifice innocent lives for a cause, no matter how noble it may seem."

Her words echoed in the room, weighted with all the gravity of what was at stake. She could see the pain in Suguru's eyes, the internal struggle he faced between his desire for change and the morality of his methods.

Suguru lowered his head, unable to meet Y/n's gaze. He knew she was right, but he also knew that giving up his plan would mean abandoning everything he had fought for. He felt trapped between duty and love, and he knew that whatever choice he made would have devastating consequences.

"I understand that you're worried," he said, struggling to keep calm in the face of the anguish gripping them both. "But you need to trust me. This is the only way. We can't turn back now."

She let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She knew she wouldn't be able to make him give up, no matter how much she pleaded. The distance between them grew with every word spoken, with every moment of tense silence.

Suguru found himself torn between his love for Y/n and his mission. He wanted more than anything to maintain their relationship, but his conviction was unwavering. In the end, he knew he would have to face the possibility of losing her forever, if it meant achieving his goals.

And she could feel it, she felt a wave of betrayal wash over her, as if she had been sidelined for a plan she considered futile and unnecessary. The feeling of being put second, behind something she couldn't fully comprehend, left her with a overwhelming mix of emotions.

She looked at Suguru, her eyes reflecting a mix of pain and disappointment. She had trusted him, given him her heart and soul, only to be cast aside in favor of a purpose she couldn't fully understand.

Try as she might, the young woman couldn't ignore the feeling of betrayal, of being relegated to a secondary role in his life. It was a deep wound, a scar that she knew would take time to heal, if it ever would.

And as she watched Suguru continue to apologize, his words sounding hollow to her ears, Y/n wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him for putting his plan above everything, even their love.

She finally nodded, her tumultuous emotions making her feel like she was falling into an endless abyss. But before she could fully plunge into the darkness, Suguru's arms enveloped her, pulling her into a deep embrace. His warm breath echoed in her ear as he whispered comforting words.

"As important as my plan is, you should never run away from me, just be mine," he said with conviction, his words penetrating deep into his beloved's soul.

She clung to him tightly, her tears finally yielding to the comfort of his arms. As confused and hurt as she was, there was something comforting in the way he held her, as if nothing else mattered except that moment of unity.

Even though her trust in him was shaken, the girl found some solace in Suguru's promise. She knew the road ahead would be difficult and uncertain, but as long as she was in his arms, she would allow herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for their future.

Even if it's an uncertain future.

He gently wiped away Y/n's tears, his soft touch contrasting with his words echoing possessiveness.

"I love when you cry, when you show your vulnerability only to me," he said, his voice filled with possession.

She felt a shiver run down her spine, a feeling of discomfort mixed with a strange form of affection. She found herself lost between the love she felt for Suguru and the unease his words caused her.

For a moment, she allowed herself to succumb to his comforting embrace, but deep down in her heart, she knew something wasn't right. Suguru's words echoed in her mind, leaving her questioning how far she was willing to go for love.

"You are mine, Y/n," he said, his eyes locked on hers with intensity. "No one else can have you like I do. Your vulnerability is only for me, and your heart belongs to me."

The young woman felt trapped between the desire to surrender completely to him and the need to maintain her independence and self-respect. She struggled to find the right words, her emotions in turmoil at Suguru's declarations.

As he continued to speak, his possessive words echoing in the room, she found herself faced with a difficult choice. She needed to decide whether the love she felt for Suguru was strong enough to accept this possessiveness or if it was time to claim her own autonomy and freedom.

With a determined touch, Suguru found the girl's lips, conveying an unwavering certainty of his possession over her. Each movement of his lips was charged with the intensity of his devotion, a silent declaration that she was unique, belonging only to him.

He wanted her to feel his firmness, to know that there was no room for doubts or uncertainties in his heart. That kiss was more than just a gesture of desire; it was an affirmation of his love, a promise of eternal protection and loyalty.

And as they surrendered to the passion of the moment, Y/n felt enveloped by a sense of belonging, knowing that in Suguru's arms, she was truly loved and cared for.

Or so she thought.

As they parted, Suguru kept his eyes fixed on his beloved's flushed face, closely watching every expression that danced on her features. The brief, firm touch on her neck was a subtle reminder of his dominant presence, but it also carried a trace of tenderness, as if he were marking her as his in an intimate and personal way.

He appreciated the sight of the blush on her cheeks, knowing that he had provoked that passionate reaction. It was as if the world around them had disappeared, leaving only the two of them, connected by a burning and undeniable bond.

And as they gazed at each other intensely, Y/n felt captivated by the depth of Suguru's gaze, losing herself in it as if it were the only place where she belonged.

And perhaps he really was the only place where this young woman completely lost herself for his form.

She couldn't explain or even describe how her whole body and being turned to dust just with the gentle touch of the man's cold and gentle fingers.

The way he slipped the thin nightgown she wore off her shoulders, his gaze never leaving the eyes of the girl in front of him, as if he wanted to capture any reaction she had. As if he enjoyed being the only one to provide that.

And he was.

The only one who made her skin tingle completely against his touch. His lips lingering softly on her neck, with a simple chaste and cold kiss making the girl murmur something indescribable. It was lovely to Suguru.

That feeling of power that she made him have, the way she was all for him, the way that whole body was totally and only claimed for him.

Suguru loved her. Or rather. Geto Suguru was obsessed with Y/n.

He was madly and faithfully in love with the girl. Being able to kill anyone who could be a problem for both of them. Even if it meant going after someone who once, in the past, had been his best friend.

Suguru was a peculiar and somewhat problematic man. He knew that.

He was a unbalanced man, but, alongside Y/n he felt totally balanced. Even though sometimes the young woman was stubborn, disagreeing with his ideas, and making the man wish to shatter every piece of that body. He still loved her.

A moan escaping through the lips of that man, the smile so sinful on his lips. The evident excitement as he watched every detail about the flushed face of that young woman, knowing how to satisfy all her desires, from the most innocent to the most sinful.

The way her lips trembled just to feel the beginnings of his thick length through her wet hole, how he hadn't even put half of it in and she was already a mess.

He smiled.

The dusk light brightly illuminating the mess the girl was in, an impulse made. A moan so loud that for sure some of the servants who were in the corridors could hear, assuming exactly what was happening in that room. His length fully inserted into that beautiful entrance, not caring about the pain she would be feeling, his movements so fast and needy, longing for how she would look giving him all her love.

A ludicrous thought crossed his mind.

Wondering how she would feel knowing that all the semen he ejaculated, painting her walls white, might one day flourish and perhaps, just perhaps, some kind of life would be created in her womb. Just the idea of that woman carrying his child, his own offspring, would be like a blessing. A bond that would join them for the rest of their lives.

It was exciting.

Suguru tightened his grip on her neck, his expression almost serious and intense as he gazed deeply into her eyes, his movements as strong as before. His tone of voice was firm, laden with possessiveness and determination.

"Y/n," he began, his deep voice echoing in the silent room almost like a whisper, "you are mine. There is nothing and no one that can take you away from me. In this world or any other."

He thrust even faster, each moan echoing like a promise of protection and possession. His eyes burned with desire and fierce determination as he continued, "I would kill anyone who tried to separate you from me. No one can challenge what is mine. You are mine, Y/n, and that will never change."

The girl felt a shiver run down her spine as she looked at him, unable to look away from the intensity of his presence. In his words, she found comfort and security, but also a passion so deep that it was almost frightening.

She knew, deep in her heart, that she was completely in his hands. And somehow, that excited her even more.

He then fiercely tightened his grip on her neck, her breath being taken away as he tightened his hold.

His final thrust caused the wet lips of the young woman to release a scream. The tip of his throbbing length in her womb, ejaculating the hot liquid inside her, her breath panting as she maintained her grip.

"You are mine, damn it

#gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru #yandere gojo #geto suguru x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu geto #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk geto