#“oh but he tried to kill you and said all of those mean things” I DONT CARE HE WAS FORCED INTO A POSITION WHERE HE WAS SEVERELY OUT OF HIS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

digitald0rk · 4 months ago

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TEAR YOU APART

pairing : sinister! mark grayson x afab! florist reader.

synopsis : in which mark discovers your dirty little secret and decides to help you recreate it in real time.

(18+) warnings : kidnapping. nasty petty perv mark. allusions to cannibalism. mention of kinda gory violence. hair pulling. biting. mean name calling duh. giving each other head. p in v unprotected sex. creampies. marathon sex as in multiple orgasms. squirting. overstimulation . . . ++ just really nasty smut lol [ all consentual though! you two are freaks like in capital FREAKS ]

w.c : 5.5k.

notes : erm. yeah idk what possessed me to write this but lemme know what you think ! it's my first time writing smut this long and detailed [ my search history is crazy rn lol ]. let's just say this takes place in sinister mark's universe before he starts acting like a murder machine and all, so yeah :] again interactions are always appreciated, also do let me know if you think there's any warning i should add!

taglist : @vm4879bb-blog [ for the others, i wasn't sure if you guys would be okay being tagged in a fic like this so i didn't, let me know if you wanna be added tho :p ]

now on ao3 too!

he's going to kill something, or someone.

“oh yeah this? my boyfriend got it for me!”

he hears you talk about him, your lover, everyday and it annoys him deeply, the subtle furrow of his eyebrows barely noticeable but definitely there — sometimes a twitch of his eye, clear cracks in his carefully constructed facade give away his irritation if you choose to look closely.

“that reminds me, this one time he-”

he loves that pretty voice of yours — dare he say, he's grown fond of it, but he wants to shut you up forever whenever your boyfriend's name leaves your lips.

mark wants his name to be on your tongue — to be said with the same love and fondness that accompanies the name of your lover.

he tried, he really did, to give you signs — a squeeze of your hand there, a stare that can practically undress you on its own. but it seems you're oblivious to it all, or you're playing hard to get, either way his patience is running thin.

he'll get what he wants. just you wait.

every time he visits your little shop, it smells like flowers mixed with your perfume, that sweet and sugary scent with just a hint of citrus — he had asked you about the perfume you wore during his third visit, bought it the same day so he could finally get off because his imagination wasn't enough at this point, that kept him somewhat satisfied for a bit, but it wasn't nearly enough.

so when he stopped by next time, not even buying flowers to play along with whatever this is, he asked you, “where do you buy your clothes?”

you blink a couple times, clearly taken aback back by the sudden question but nonetheless, answer him — although you're not quite sure what to make of his disheveled hair and blown out pupils.

here he is, acting like a feral dog in heat, buying anything and everything that he can at the shops you frequent that resembles your clothes. and when he's back at home, he's spraying them with the perfume you always wear, rutting like a madman into the mattress as he mouths at a pink shirt — the same one you own and the one you were wearing when he first saw you, his drool leaking and staining the shirt as he holds it close to his mouth and closing his eyes, your scent surrounding him as he suckles on the chest area of the shirt, imagining it's your chest instead which has him groaning and cumming in his pants. that keeps him going for another week or so.

next thing he knows, he's acting on pure instinct and his desires — snapping photos of your panties underneath your little skirts like a fucking pervert, looking them up online so he could order them and make a mess of them. and he does, he stains each and everyone of those panties with his hot, thick cum and sometimes his spit when he imagines eating your pretty pussy out. his desires however continue to only grow.

he visits your little shop, like he always does, mentally preparing himself to not grab your throat and shove you down to make you shut up if he hears about your stupid boyfriend again.

he's being nice, can't you see? you should be thankful.

mark sees a new ring on your finger, the small silver zircon on it shining underneath the sunlight, he wonders if it's another gift from your boyfriend.

the thought leaves a bitter taste behind, regardless, he maintains his usual aloof facade, waiting for you to finish wrapping up his bouquet that he's going to end up tossing away the next day — just like the other flowers he's bought from you, they don't compare to you or your beauty, he wants you, a flower that won't rot away once he's done playing with it.

surprisingly, you don't mention the name of a certain man who he wants dead and buried six feet deep but he doesn't comment on it, in fact, a small barely imperceptible smile tugs at his lips.

he's just about to leave your little flower heaven when he hears something that makes his heart, uncharacteristically skip a beat.

“yeah i heard, i’m so sorry,” a voice, which he recognizes as your friend speaks softly, sympathetically.

“yeah, i don't know what i was thinking,” you start, “the signs were there, i just never thought he'd cheat like that,” you blink away the forming tears, “i trusted him.”

he stops dead in his tracks. that bastard cheated on you? he'll make him pay for being the reason you cry, although your tears do make his cock twitch in his pants. he'll lick them off of your face if you let him, god he really wants to.

should he simply keep your boyfriend to torture? he's sure he could lure you in with it, after all you are way too sweet for your own good.

he'll slowly tear each of his limbs apart, making sure the man hears his bones cracking and skin ripping, he'll make that fucker bleed to death. hell, he'd even record those painful, agonizing sounds that your ex would cry out, he's sure you'd cry more if he lets you hear them, maybe he just wants to see you cry — though he's sure you'll do that when you choke on his cock.

he snaps out of his little fantasy when the bell rings, indicating the opening of the door — another customer in, he sighs. he's losing it, he's not sure how much he can withstand not having you with him. but he's trying, for you.

for the sweetest girl who he can't wait to devour.

with his restraint hanging on by a thread, he steps out of your shop, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists by his sides. he needs to have you.

and that restraint finally snaps the next day when he discovers that his favorite florist is a fucking freak.

as you're tending to customers — clearly overwhelmed by their number as valentine’s day is approaching and flowers are definitely a safe option for your partner, his eyes stay locked on your laptop's screen that you had put on one of the small tables, lid only half closed, his eyes frantically scan over some of the words as he fully opens the screen, trying to stay out of your vision.

he quickly decides to go somewhere where there aren't so many people so he could take a look inside his sweet girl's sick mind. and with that he skillfully slips outside — he feels awfully excited, sneaking into the small bathroom of some shop.

and with each click of the cursor and another tab opening, he learns your most depraved, disgusting fantasies — the kind of porn you're into, your kinks and fetishes, the smut you read, all of it.

he even stumbles upon a small blog you run, oh now we're talking. each lewd image or post you've reblogged, followed by some words of “wish that was me rn”, has him hard. and these date back before your break up, meaning your boyfriend was definitely not keeping you satisfied and that has him grinning like a maniac.

oh he'll give you what you want.

he shamelessly palms himself when he finds your dairy entry with his name, rambling about how you feel guilty fantasizing about him ruining you. he would've cum right then and there if it weren't for the knocking on the door, “hey man, you mind hurrying it up?”

oh right he's still in a bathroom and not in you, like he should be.

he manages to sneak your laptop back in, thanking the absurd amount of customers mentally which helped him go in and out without raising suspicion.

he can't take it anymore, it's only been a couple hours since he's discovered your filthy secret and also saw you tearing up earlier because of that asshole who broke your heart.

he knows he's a hypocrite — he doesn't care for your dumb feelings and your big heart, okay well maybe that's a lie.

it is a lie.

and there are definitely these feelings that he refuses to acknowledge but still, the only reason why you should be crying is because of him fucking your brains out.

and so he waits, like a predator waiting to pounce — he holds his breath, watching as the sun sets and you lock up your shop, ready to go home and get some sleep but your plans are interrupted as a hand sneaks up behind you with some sort of cloth, muffling your panicked noises and before you know it you're knocked out.

it takes you hours to gain your consciousness back, eyes all heavy and mind disoriented you blink, once. then twice, your eyes widen and your mouth suddenly feels too dry. you're all tied up to a cold hard metal chair, you're only in your bra and panties, the rope is too tight, it's constricting and will definitely leave behind angry marks on your skin.

standing before you is one of your regular customers, mark. you stare at him, dumbfounded — eyes darting around to look for an escape okay to see a single door, desk and some chairs, panic settles in your bones, the coldness of the room does nothing to soothe your nerves.

you mindlessly try to shift around, a desperate attempt that leaves you wincing in pain — the friction of the thick black rope burning against your skin.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out, only a small choked sob — looking at him with those wide eyes which are brimming with tears that are oh so close to spilling and staining your cheeks, you look utterly helpless. the sight alone makes him excited.

he takes a deep breath, he wants to take his time with you, savor you. but goddamnit, if you keep looking at him like that he's sure he'll end up doing the opposite of that.

“open your mouth,” he commands, leaving no room for argument and you hate the way it sends a shiver down your spine and a throb to your core.

you hesitantly open your mouth, with his back turned to you — doing god knows what, you try screaming for help, it is a weak attempt that makes him chuckle, “no one's going to hear you sweetheart,” he coos mockingly, “i suggest you play along if you wish to live.”

he's not joking, his voice makes it clear.

so you reluctantly keep your mouth opened, hot tears falling down — lucky for you, he's being nice, at least for now because he brings a glass of water, holding your jaw and pouring the water in your mouth, some of it spills, the coldness of it on your bare skin making you shiver — but you swallow all he gives hastily, hoping it really is just water.

you sputter a bit of the water out onto him in surprise when he licks a stream of you tears away, his tongue hot against your skin and his spit leaving a shiny trail on your cheek. scared, that he'll hurt you because of what you've just done, you close your eyes shut as if the mere action would actually rewind back time and do something for you.

he laughs, loudly.

god, you're adorable. he could just eat you up.

“are you scared of me?” he asks, knowing damn well it's a pointless question but the genuine fear in your eyes has him reeling with joy and a desire only you, his sweetheart, can fulfill.

he puts the now empty glass of water back on a small table, “you know, you look real pretty like this,” he starts, dragging a chair to sit across you, “but i bet you'd look real pretty without anything on.”

you don't answer, you don't know how to. your eyes are still looking around the big room for any exits, any openings — he smiles at your desperation, it's cute really.

“or maybe you'd look even prettier with some blood on you hm?” his tone although amused is firm enough to leave you unsure if he's being serious or not, he drags a finger across your belly, “what if i make a cut right here?”

you immediately shake your head, trying to speak but he shuts you up by pinching one of your hard nipples through your bra, your protests die down into a small whimper — the sound has him grinning from ear to ear.

his eyes glint with something sinister that has you both scared and turned on. “i know you want this slut,” he holds your jaw harshly.

shame settles in your bones as you realize he's right.

“don't play coy sweet girl i saw all of it,” when you give him a confused look, he continues, “that little blog of yours, that disgusting shit you're into.”

oh fuck.

he sees the look of absolute horror mixed with embarrassment on your face and he tuts like he's disappointed, “dirty girl,” like he isn't the one who literally kidnapped you here.

“i don't know what you're talking about,” you both know you're lying, but sure he'll play along if that's what you want — he's feeling good today.

he reaches for your bag and rips it open — a clear display of who's still in charge here and how he definitely could kill you in an instant.

mark opens your laptop and asks you the password. you don't tell him at first as if that would change anything.

“i asked you a simple question,” he walks closer to you, grips your shoulder hard enough to make you regret your words, “or do i need to rip something else for you to answer me hm?” his grip tightens and you know he's not playing around, your voice shakes as you give him the four number pin, breathing heavily when he lets go of his hard bruising grip on your shoulder.

“good girl,” fuck him, he's doing this on purpose now! and the smug look on his face only confirms your suspicions.

he shows you the deepest, filthiest fantasies of yours that you keep tucked in your laptop, away from the world.

“what's wrong? don't pretend you're not dripping wet right now.”

again, he's not wrong.

“why are you doing this?” you ask him, still struggling a bit against the ropes that bind you.

“i wanna give you what you want,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. he also wants to make you forget about your ex boyfriend, but he's not admitting that, jealousy is a weakness. and one that he suffers from immensely.

“you what-”

“drop the act,” he huffs, irritation visible in the way his eyebrows furrow. “just admit it already. you're a sick disgusting pervert who goes prancing around like she's not thinking of having her holes filled,” he tugs at your hair to keep your head up, his eyes dark with lust boring right into yours.

“are you crazy? you fucking kidnapped-”

he cuts you off again, “so you don't want this?”

silence.

“i’ll untie you right now and let you leave, just tell me you want to leave.”

silence, again.

you're not fooling anybody.

“yeah that's what i thought,” he let's go of your hair, “the safe word is-” he mutters your ex’s name and before you can even comment on the sheer absurdity of it all, he's ripping your panties away from your throbbing pussy, groaning at the sight of your glistening wet folds, all needy just for him.

he quickly pockets the ripped panties. pervert.

“look at this needy cunt, all for me hm?” he muses aloud, spreading your legs apart and breaking apart the ropes that tried to interfere with his ministrations. he shakily inhales when he sees your arousal slowly spill out — you're so fucking wet. his heated gaze leaving goosebumps on your skin.

he presses a chaste kiss to your folds, practically salivating as he breathes you in — he's gonna end up cumming in his pants, he's dreamt of this exact moment for so long.

he gathers a considerable amount of saliva in his mouth before spitting it onto your neglected cunt which twitches at the action, the sight is downright filthy and it makes you moan.

he wastes no time — getting on his knees, licking a strip up your slit before devouring your pussy like a man starved for days, shamelessly rutting into the chair you're sitting on at your taste. you taste so good, he wants to drown in it.

he's messy and loud, your hands are still tied behind your back so you can't push his head away and grip his hair when he attacks your clit with his tongue, sucking on it relentlessly. your hips lift up and buck into his face, your noises only getting louder as he fucks his tongue into your warm wet hole. he moans at the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head and nearly suffocating him — your walls clenching around his tongue as you cry out his name in utter pleasure.

he shoves two of his thick fingers in without any warning — a surprised small squeal leaving your lips, while his tongue works in torturous circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves and eagerly licking between your folds. your pretty whimpers are music to his ears.

clearly overwhelmed with pleasure, you make a pathetic attempt to squirm away from his touch, which earns you a harsh smack to your thigh followed by a bite — his teeth dig into your flesh, leaving behind bruising marks that will sting for days, the line between pain and pleasure blurring.

a familiar feeling settles in your belly, it only builds up as he continues to go down on you. “mark! mark! i'm i’m-” you try warning him, but his fingers only speed up, he sucks harshly on your clit, holding your hips down when you cum — your body shaking, crying out his name oh so sweetly, he wants to hear it again and again, until the only word you know is his name.

he doesn't pull away from your cunt though, drinking up every bit of your release and arousal that you offer — holding you down and forcing you to submit to the relentless pleasure he's giving you, moaning into your pussy like he's having the best meal of his life.

he doesn't let you rest, inserting another finger in — easily massaging that sweet spot that you can't reach as easily as he does.

“oh fuck!” you whine out loud, when he keeps overstimulating your poor pussy, the squelching wet noises only increasing as he eats you out. he loves the way your brain is turning to mush, mindlessly babbling his name along with your sweet noises.

and when you cum again, he still doesn't stop.

you've lost count of how many orgasms you've had at this point, body too sensitive and shaking almost like a leaf.

with eyes brimming with seemingly never ending tears, vision practically blurry from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, it doesn't take him long to bring you to the edge again — except this time you end up squirting all over his pretty face, a surprised noise leaves your mouth as your body jolts hardly.

he finally pulls away. a small moan leaves your lips as you take in the sight in front of you.

mark grayson, on his knees, face all wet and drenched in your juices and his spit, breathing heavily — looking at you like he's going to eat you alive.

he's breathing really heavily, your dazed state makes it hard for you to comprehend things but you can clearly see the big wet spot on his pants. he came — from just eating you out.

“messy fucking slut,” he spanks your already oversensitive pussy making you hiss and cry out, body still quivering and twitching from that intense release.

he pushes your legs apart again, spreading your pussy open for him to see, he mutters a curse under his breath as he sees remnants of your release clinging onto the sensitive skin. he needs to get up before he ends up eating you out — as much as he would love to do that, he can't wait much longer, he needs to be buried inside that sweet cunt of yours and make you see stars.

he gets up from his knees. grabbing your hair, mark makes you lick his face clean, you taste yourself on his face and feel yourself getting worked up again. “good fucking girl, gonna put that mouth to better use, just you wait,” his hand reaches down to pinch your clit, laughing when you let out a small pained noise.

he hastily tears away your bra, the fabric discarded somewhere on the cold floor. he pinches and lightly grazes his nails against the perked up sensitive buds, making you squirm and let out small whimpers — it stings, but it also gets you insanely wet.

“look at that, pretty pussy’s practically begging to be fucked,” he bites down on your shoulder, a pained groan escapes your mouth and he bites harder, pulling away to admire the mark his teeth left.

you barely have time to look at the new addition of marks he's left on your body so far, before he's untying your hands behind your back, taking your wrists into his and pulling you down. you stumble a bit at the harsh tug — legs practically jelly from all those orgasms.

he draws you closer by your arms, manhandling you easily so you're sitting in between his open legs — the cold floor against your warm body.

“take it off,” he commands, gesturing to his pants. you hesitantly take them off, his ruined boxers coming into vision.

he's an impatient man, he always gets what he wants.

mark grabs a fistful of your hair and forces your head down onto his clothed — aching cock, making his impatience very clear.

“dumb bitch, can't do anything herself,” his tone demeaning, shutting up your protests by shoving his thumb in your mouth. he lifts his hips up to finally free himself of his boxers, his cock standing up — bobbing and leaking with pre. you gulp, eyes flitting back over to his face.

he lets out a small moan as you gather some of your saliva to spit on his hard cock, licking teasingly up his length over one of his prominent veins.

“don't be a fucking tease,” he takes ahold of your jaw harshly, tugging your tongue out before you can close your mouth — that he can't wait to be in and spits on your tongue, making you swallow it, before shoving you back a bit.

he pushes your hair out of your face so he could watch you better, the gesture so sweet and gentle — it makes you almost forget how mean he's been.

you slowly start pushing his length into your mouth, “thaaat's right, take it like the good slut you are,” his words die down into a groan as he feels your tongue swirl around his sensitive tip.

he's being nice for once, letting you take your time, your head bobs up and down as you suck him off while your hands jerk the rest of his cock that you can't fit in your mouth, tongue working against his sensitive spots.

but your mouth feels so good, so warm, so wet — his hips jerk up involuntarily, making you gag and tear up at the burn you feel at the back of your throat.

you look so pretty like this, those pretty lips wrapped around his cock, eyes glassy — don't blame him for wanting to ruin you when you look like that.

he pulls himself out of your mouth slightly — just to make sure he doesn't end up cumming too soon, before shoving himself back in, moaning in pleasure at the sensations he feels. you keep sucking, forcing all of him in your mouth, almost choking on his cock, some drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, but it's worth it — worth those small whimpers and grunts he lets out, ones he can't hold back because of how good he feels right now, all because of you.

and when your hand reaches down to lightly toy with his balls, cupping them, he shivers and lets out a low moan of your name, without a proper warning his cock twitches in your mouth and he cums, hard — flooding your mouth with his thick salty release.

you try to swallow as much as you can but it's too much, however, mark being the fucking asshole he is, forces your head back down on his twitching cock and pinches your nose shut making it hard to breathe.

he breaks into a full blown laugh. oh how he loves the way your eyes water up — that panicked expression on your face as you struggle to breathe, some of his cum leaking out your pretty mouth, squirming and still trying to push him away. it only turns him on more, “it's rude to talk with your mouthful,” he quips, holding your gaze.

he lets you go finally and you pull him out of your mouth quickly, throat already feeling sore — you cough, wiping away his cum and your spit from your face with the back of your hand.

“you should've seen the look on your face,” he chuckles darkly — clearly pleased with himself, shifting closer to you to pin you down, wasting no time shoving his tongue in your mouth, messily kissing you. he lets you pull off his shirt, his hips buck a little when you start feeling him up.

he can taste himself on your tongue and god that only adds to his growing arousal.

he pulls away a little so he can start biting and sucking down your neck, his other hand sneaking down to tease your pussy — tracing circles onto your clit, he grinds against you, “gonna fucking ruin you for everyone else,” he bites your earlobe, tugging on it, his fingers moving to tease your other hole, “gonna make sure this fucking pussy is always full of me,” he slaps your pussy, making you cry out his name.

he quickly aligns himself with your wet entrance, taking a deep breath before nudging his tip in — shoving it all in one go, making you tremble in both pain and pleasure that'll build over time, “come on i know you can take it, isn't this what you wanted?” he coos mockingly, pressing sloppy wet kisses to your face, licking your face like some fucking dog, leaving your face covered in his spit.

as soon as your muscles relax the tiniest bit he's thrusting in and out of you like a madman — you yelp loudly, holding onto him for dear life, nails digging into his back.

“fuck- oh my god!”

the only sounds in the room are the fast wet sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy squelching loudly at the action and your combined moans and whines.

your gummy walls clench around him harder with each thrust, his cock hitting that sweet spot so well it has you seeing stars, all you can think about is him.

“oh fuck,” he grunts into your ear when he feels you tighten around him, gripping him like a vice, “think she needs to be filled all nice and warm with my cum, don't you agree baby?” he accentuates each word with a harsh thrust, relishing the way your body writhes under him.

you nod mindlessly, desperate for that sweet release more than anything.

“aww what's wrong?” he leans down to suck on one of your nipples, pinching and toying with the other one — a choked out sob leaves your lips, you feel tears pooling in your eyes, you clench around him even harder, desperate to milk him for all he's worth. he lets out a whine when he sees the outline of his cock in your belly going in and out, fuck he's going to cum.

the movement his hips falter at the feeling of your pussy gripping him tightly, “oh fuck,” he breathes heavily, muscles tensing up a bit. he pulls out, moving you on your stomach, giving your ass an appreciative spank when you arch your back for him.

“guess she answered for you hm?”, he muses — pumping himself a few times before settling back into your warm needy cunt, “fucked too dumb to answer but can still arch your back like a needy whore? you're so fucking pathetic,” he licks over the opening of your little hole, an arm coming around to hold you in a headlock that has your vision blurry — in the best way possible. getting impatient, you try to fuck yourself back onto his length but he doesn't let you.

“nasty girl, i can feel you clenching around me” spank “you like it when i’m being mean hm?” spank “oh right you can't answer,” spank “not a thought behind those pretty eyes hm?” spank “don't worry, you don't have to think at all, you wouldn't have to, when i’m done with you.”

he starts rutting into you again, his filthy mouth doesn't stop as he dicks you down like his life depends on it. his arm around your neck — squeezing, leaving you dizzy as he pounds into you from behind like he's in heat, you've given up on trying to control your noises. he sneaks a hand down to pinch and toy with your clit — making your walls clench and toes curl and you cum for the nth time with almost a scream of his name, your body shakes vigorously as a result of your intense orgasm.

it doesn't take long for him to cum as well, especially with you screaming his name like that. with a few more sloppy thrusts he fills you up with his warm sticky white release, head thrown back as a soft whimper of your name is uttered out of his mouth.

breathing heavily, he makes sure to not waste a single drop — once again buries himself as deep as he can, admiring all the various marks that he has littered your skin with.

he pulls out after awhile, keeping your thighs apart with his rough calloused hands so he can see the sight of his cum mixed with yours leak out of your hole, shit, he's getting hard again.

he's honestly not sure if you can keep up — he doesn't want to end up hurting you- well you're his toy, nothing more than that he doesn't care if he hurts you, he really doesn't.

he wants to break you, ruin you. yeah, that's it.

his eyes definitely do not soften the slightest bit as he takes in your disheveled state, back still arched prettily for him, your ass red from all his spanking, skin battered with various marks, a proof of the intense passionate sex you two had.

but when you crane your head back, looking at him, “I can take it,” you're still trying to catch your breath, wincing a bit as you shift your body around, “give it to me mark,” you sound so sweet — swaying your hips side to side to make him give in and fill you up again.

you want him to break you.

and he does just that.

again and again, until he's sure your cunt remembers each vein and curve of his cock, stuffing your hole full to the brim each time.

so when your body finally gives out — almost passing out after another orgasm that he pulls out from you, lying on top of the only desk in the room as he drills into your cunt, he stops. pulling out and painting your tits with his release with a loud groan, his hair is sticking up in all different directions from the way you've kept pulling on it, body coated in a sheen layer of sweat — shaking as his chest heaves unevenly with each breath he takes just like yours.

he watches as your eyes close shut and you drift into a light slumber after a few minutes. his heart beating weirdly in an erratic manner, he chalks it up to the sex, although he has to admit he finds your sleepy face quite adorable, he may or may not want to hear that giggle again — the one you let out when he ended up cumming a little too fast when you praised him.

but he'll think about that when his face is not buried between your thighs, tongue sinking back into your folds — he can't get enough of you.

and with the way you whimper loudly, tugging on his hair oh so eagerly.

it seems like you can't get enough of him either.

so he'll indulge you to your heart’s content — maybe he'll save that video of him torturing your ex boyfriend and leaving him to die in a ditch for some other day.

#ㅤㅤ✶ㅤ digitald0rk's library !#DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT /jk #look im not me on my period okay #also i was kinda going for the whole “he keeps contradicting himself with how he feels”#like i said i wrote this with like sinister mark in mind but before he goes full on murder machine mode if that makes sense?#basically he's always been a little fucked up so no shit he turns out doing all that once he does go full evil #AM I MAKING SENSE #because he's still mark grayson you know?#so he will lose his shit if you praise him #IT'S THE LAW GUYS #all mark graysons are munches #invincible smut #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson smut #sinister mark #sinister mark grayson #sinister mark x reader #sinister mark smut #sinister mark x you #invincible variants

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luvyeni · 10 months ago

Text

( reaction ) unintentionally riding them ! ୨୧ 一 엔시티드림 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ unintentionally riding nct dream on a rideヾ

boyfriend!엔시티드림・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ nudes , allusions to sex wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ click to library

request. hear me out…… what about nct dream going with yn to that ride disco pang pang and you end up on top of them (idk if you’ve seen a video that’s been going around where a girl is literally riding other girl😭)

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 those rides are scary as hell i couldn't imagine falling into a strangers lap like the video.

﹙ 𐙚 : mark﹚ .ᐟ

he knows you mean no harm; the ride was quite literally tossing you both around , and you just happened to land on him — but it didn't stop his cock from growing inside is jeans. he's stressed , he knows you feel it. “fu-fuck im so sorry.” he said , your face is hot , cheeks are rosy as you feel him beneath you , he's embarrassed , but so turned on , he was gonna cum . “but fuck you feel good , im sorry , im so sorry .” he's just wishing the damn ride would end.

“fuck im sorry but im about to cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : renjun﹚ .ᐟ

he's embarrassed as hell; but his ass is not about to let you know that. “re-renjun are you hard?” he scoffed , rolling his eyes. “you're straddling me , and this ride is bouncing you on my dick , of course I'm hard , wouldn't you be hard if you were in my position? i know you're probably turned on right now , don't make it seem like it's only me.” he stressed , he's about to cum in his pants and he wasn't about to give you leverage to further tease him. “oh fuck will this ride ever fucking end.”

“we're leaving this fucking amusement park arter this.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jeno﹚ .ᐟ

his hands immediately come to your waist to hold you from falling when the ride tossed you into his lap. “hi.” he tries to smile it off — even though the ride is practically bouncing you on his dick. you're actually the one profusely apologizing , but he pretends that it doesn't even bother him , even though he's hard a fucking rock and you're riding him unintentionally in front of all these people and he has to force himself not to moan. “i don't think i can get up after this.” he said. “it's already embarrassing with you on top of me.”

“i don't want these people to see my dick hard.”

﹙ 𐙚 : haechan﹚ .ᐟ

shameless motherfucker; you would've thought he was already hard before the ride tossed you into the boys lap. “haechan are you serious?” he smirking holding you close by your waist. “you're grinding on top of me and you're confused as to why im hard.” he scoffed , your eyes widened at his sudden brazen attitude , you knew he was a wild card but even this was too much for you. you only come back when he groans , he doesn't even care.

“fuck if this ride doesn't stop soon i’m gonna cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jaemin﹚ .ᐟ

with the smirk on his face , you would've thought he orgistrated the entire thing himself , his hands on your waist , meanwhile you're the one who's embarrassed as hell. “why are you so embarrassed?” he knew you could feel his hard on , he could feel you as well. “im-im glad you're having a good time.” you on the other hand , your body was on fire. “I am baby i am.” the ride still tossing you around but he made sure to hold you still.

“but i'm more excited about the time we're about to have when we get off this ride.”

﹙ 𐙚 : chenle﹚ .ᐟ

completely turns it on you; yeah he's the one thats hard , but you're the one on top of him and you're the one who caused it in his eyes , not the ride. “if you wanted to ride me you should've just asked , not force me on this nauseating ride so you can do it shamelessly.” you wanted to slap him so bad , but you were too busy grabbing the bar to keep yourself from flying off. “sh-shut up.” your face hot from embarrassment as you straddled him. “im not gonna cum in my pants like a teenager.”

“but all bets are off when we get off this ride.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jisung﹚ .ᐟ

he wants to kill himself to moment he feels you on top of him; his face is red , he wanted to die — but it felt good and that's what made him feel like a pervert , because it wasn't sexual , but his stupid cock didn't seem to get the message. he swore the person who managed the ride had something against him because the ride was never ending and no matter how many times you tried to get up , the ride was plopping you back into his lap. “ji-jisung.” your hands holding his shoulders , he stops you before you can finish.

“please don't say anything , im sorry , so fucking sorry.”

©LUVYENI

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petalborn · 24 days ago

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ur perv!steve gives me liiife i need sm more

18+ perv!steve is so special to me

“ugh, my back’s killing me,” you groan, twisting awkwardly on steve’s couch as you try and reach the sore spot just above your hips. “i think i tweaked something at the gym. or maybe i slept on it wrong. it’s like—ow, god—it’s so tight right there.”

you’re on your knees, facing the back cushions, arching in a stretch that pulls your shirt up over the swell of your ass. your tiny cotton shorts ride up with it, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. steve shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking. but his eyes are glued to the bare strip of skin above your waistband, the soft little dip of your spine, the way your thighs shift when you squirm.

“oh—“ he chokes out, just gawking at you. “that.. that sucks.”

“i’ll live,” you sigh, flopping forward dramatically. “unless you wanna be my knight in shining armor and fix it for me.”

steve blinks. “fix—like, your back?”

you glance over your shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “yeah. you said you give good massages, remember? or was that just you flirting?”

he chokes. “uh—no. i mean, yeah. i can do that. massage. your back.”

you smile sleepily and sink into the couch cushions. “god bless. you’re saving my life.”

he walks over slowly, blood already buzzing with something dangerous. you’re stretched out on your stomach now, completely relaxed, shirt hitched up over your hips, those tight little shorts barely covering anything. you don’t seem to notice. or maybe you do—and just trust him not to be weird about it.

joke’s on you.

steve kneels beside the couch and places his hands tentatively on your lower back. your skin is soft. warm. he can feel the edge of your waistband under his thumbs.

“okay?” he murmurs.

“mmhmm.” your voice is muffled in the cushions. “feels good already.”

he starts slow. smooth, firm strokes up your spine, gentle pressure as he works his way into the tightness near your ribs. you hum like it’s the best thing you’ve felt all day, and his chest swells with something hot and ugly.

he drags his palms lower. presses into the base of your spine, then circles his thumbs just above your ass. your breath catches, but you don’t pull away.

“that spot?” he asks, feigning nonchalance.

“right there,” you mumble. “keep going…”

your hips shift slightly into the couch, just a twitch, and steve’s hands stall for half a second.

shit.

his eyes flick down. the fabric of your shorts stretches tight over your ass, and he can see the faintest shadow of your panties through the material. lace. pink. his stomach flips.

he clears his throat, tries to focus. presses his thumbs in a little harder. you gasp—soft, bitten off—and exhale slow, like the tension’s draining out of you.

and then you wiggle. just a little. a lazy, sleepy roll of your hips, like you’re getting comfortable again.

steve’s cock twitches in his jeans.

he bites the inside of his cheek. don’t. don’t get hard. don’t fucking do this. she’s your friend. she trusts you. she asked for your help, and you’re going to sit here with a boner like a creep?

you sigh again, all soft and breathy and sweet, and that’s it.

he feels himself start to stiffen, thick and heavy behind his zipper, his skin prickling with heat. every innocent little sound you make goes straight to his balls. the skin tightening with need.

he grits his teeth and presses his palm flat over the small of your back, trying to ground himself. but your skin’s too warm. too soft. you make another tiny whine and grind your hips again, and he can’t stop it.

he’s hard.

fuck.

you groan, louder this time—drawn out and low, hips tipping into the cushions.

“mmph, god, right there,” you mumble, voice all thick and hazy. “feels so fucking good stevie…”

steve’s breath catches. you’ve never cursed in front of him like that. not about him. and your voice—it’s wrecked. wrecked from just a massage?

his cock throbs against the seam of his zipper.

you shift again, a full body stretch that pushes your ass back into his hands, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. your thighs part a little, loose and relaxed. the motion pulls your shorts higher—fabric bunched, lace peeking out, nearly riding up between your cheeks.

you’re panting now. softly, rhythmically. you don’t even realize. don’t hear the wet, shaky breath he lets out over your spine.

“stevie,” you whisper, and it’s so raw, so unconsciously needy that he nearly groans.

his hand flexes on your back, trembling slightly.

he knows you’re not doing it on purpose. knows you’re just so deep into it, so blissed out from his hands and the pressure and the warmth that you don’t even hear yourself moaning into his couch, gasping his name like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

his cock is hard. so fucking hard. already leaking. already aching.

and you’re still laying there, arching into him, thighs loose, breath catching every time his fingers dig a little deeper. completely unaware of what you’re doing to him.

completely unaware of what he’s about to do.

his palm drags slow over the curve of your back, watching how you melt under it. every time he presses down, your breath hitches. every time his thumbs sweep near the waistband of your shorts, your hips roll forward, like your body’s chasing friction without you even realizing.

you gasp again—louder this time, raw and sudden—and your thighs squeeze together. he watches it all. feels it under his hands.

god, his cock aches.

he moves his left hand to steady himself on the cushion by your ribs, hovering over you now, chest heaving. the other slips under his waistband—slow, deliberate. fingers wrap around the thick, slick length of himself, and he exhales through his teeth the second he makes contact.

fuck, he’s so hard it hurts. the ruddy tip of him already wet, smearing precum against his palm as he strokes.

you’re still moaning. little muffled whines into the couch, hips shifting in slow, needy motions. not even aware you’re doing it. not aware he’s got his cock out right behind you, jerking himself off like some depraved fuck while you squirm and sigh and whisper his name.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, eyes locked on the dip of your waist. “you don’t even know, do you? so fuckin’ sweet. so perfect. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your fingers curl into the cushion, and you let out this soft, choked whimper. he watches your thighs tense, watches you grind into the couch, hips moving with lazy, desperate rhythm.

he jerks himself faster. breath shallow, wrist slick. his cock’s flushed dark, twitching in his grip, every nerve ending lit up.

your breath hitches. your back arches. one of your legs drags up the couch, knee bent, like your body’s getting closer to something—like you’re gonna cum just from this. just from his hands. from the weight of his body and the heat of his voice and the slow, steady drag of the cushion between your thighs.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he breathes. “keep going. don’t stop.”

you don’t hear him. or if you do, you think he’s still just massaging you.

his hand pumps faster. you’re panting now, sweet little moans punched out of you with every slow rut of your hips. he can hear how wet you are, even through the fabric. the soaked drag of your panties against the couch. the soft slap of your thighs when they rock together.

“god, you sound so good,” he groans under his breath. “don’t even fuckin’ know how good you sound. how pretty you look like this. how long i’ve wanted—”

your breath catches. your body goes tense, thighs shaking—and then soft. boneless. your hips give one last lazy grind before settling, your mouth parted against your arm.

you’re quiet. and still.

you just came. you just fucking came.

he loses it.

he fucks into the sticky tight opening of his fist once, twice more before he’s spilling over his hand with a strangled, quiet groan, chest pressed to your back as he jerks himself through it. hot and messy and filthy, cum striping his fingers, dripping onto his waistband. he squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on a gasp, hips twitching as the last of it leaks out.

you don’t move. don’t look. you just breathe—slow, steady, completely dazed.

he stays there, hunched over you, hand still wet, cock still pulsing.

and you?

you don’t even know.

“you’re so good, stevie.” you hum, eyes closed as if you’re about to doze off. “made me feel so good.”

#casey writes #s.h.#perv!steve harrington #perv!steve #steve stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #steve x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut

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bitterreid · 2 months ago

Text

🍏 I mean camaraderie! 🍏

REQUEST summary: When Spencer suddenly gets scared he's too vanilla in bed and he (quite clumsily) tries his hand at being more dominant, you quickly assure him that you love his sweet and gentle ways. Cue cutesy sex <3

wordcount: 4k (I got carried away)

content warnings: smut! MDNI! dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, talking about feelings/sex, fem!reader gets called names containing 'girl', it's a build-up but the smut is worth it guys, promise, (((Also a little extra warning: doing the things or reading the books reader says she doesn't like is completely fine!! :) this is just lovey-dovey smut hihi)))

A/N: This is the first request I've ever gotten and I am STOKED. I had a lot of fun writing this because at times I genuinely felt like Spencer here, completely out of my depth hahahaha, i literally had to google "bad spicy booktok quotes" for this lolll :') great request, I hope you enjoy, my dear anon!! :) (everyone else, feel free to request!!)

🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏

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Spencer had just been… curious, okay? He had just seen one too many girls on the subway, on the train, in the park, in a café, everywhere, it seemed, reading that book. That stupid book. "Dark Fantasy" the back had read. Spencer hadn't known what to imagine. The Middle Ages? Anyway, the cover had stuck in his brain. Stupid eidetic memory.

So, the next time he found himself in a bookstore, it wasn't his fault he gravitated towards the familiar dark purple cover art. He had picked it up idly, innocently, just flipped through it absentmindedly. He swore. It's not his fault he reads faster than the average reader. It's not his fault he read the whole thing in ten minutes standing in that stupid Y/A section of that stupid store.

He hadn't know what to think of it. The thing these men (men? fairies? fae? whatever.) did to these women… did people actually like that? Did you like that?

Spencer had spent his entire life feeling as if there was an unwritten code the whole world just naturally knew by heart, except for him, so it suddenly seemed scarily plausible that this was the same thing all over again. That everyone knew these kinds of things were the things normal people did, said, thought, and he just didn't know it. So he turned to the only source that had never let him down: academia. And sure enough, 8.235 hits of articles, research, interviews, and other evidence detailing how women liked to be handled, talked to, treated like they did in those books.

The next few days, Spencer just couldn't shake the feeling. The feeling that he had been doing it all wrong, that he had been making a fool of himself. And that wouldn't have bothered him so much in the past, the few girls here and there that he built up his measly amount of experience with, but you, oh, there was nothing in the world that he wanted to do right more than making you feel good. The thought that you had been feeling unsatisfied after your lovemaking made him nauseous on the spot, especially because he enjoyed it so thoroughly. And you were so nice to him, so understanding of his inexperience and taking it slow, just for him. He knew you would never want to hurt him, so he assumed what was the most logical conclusion: you had been disappointed with him, but too shy to say what you wanted. Yup. That was it. (To Spencer's overthinking brain, at least.)

And so, the next time you were over at his apartment, he vowed to make it right. Only there you were, sitting on his couch, smiling at him sweetly as he brought over your matching cups of tea. He didn't know whether he could ever be a man like those ones he read about. He was made for crossword puzzles and mismatched socks, old black and white movies and cozy evenings under a blanket, not brute force or coarse language. But he was going to try tonight. It killed him to think that he was selling you short of something you deserved just because he was too inexperienced to know about it.

And he knew, vaguely, that he should just ask you what you would like, but the insecurity of the last oh-so-many years of his life gnawed at him, propelling him into rash decisions. He should just ask you what you wanted, but those guys never did, and he could be smooth. Right? He could "smirk smugly," whatever that might mean. He could just go with the flow, be chill, relax. Right?? He would just, do the things, say the words, and you would like it. You would be pleasantly surprised. Right??? He was going insane.

And of course, you noticed. "Everything okay, Spence?"

"Y- yeah!" (Could he sound any less convincing?) "Yeah, just, um, tired?" He smiled apologetically.

"Aw," your smile in comparison was broad and lovely, the picture of fondness, "you should get a good night's sleep tonight then."

Yeah, great. Very sexy, Spencer. He didn't know how he would ever stop being so damn soft and just man up. For you.

"You should tell me if I should get out of your hair, okay?" You set your teacup down on the coffee table, "you probably have to get up early tomorrow, so…"

"No!" he blurted out before he even caught himself. Your eyebrows shot up in response, an amused albeit confused quirk playing on your lips. "I, um, I thought we could…" god, what was wrong with him? He should just, ummm, kiss you? He didn't even know.

He breathed out, hands flexing against the soft fabric of his couch, looking you in the eyes. Your expression was warm and kind, which only made him more nervous.

You let your head fall to the side, looking at him inquisitively. Spencer's heart soared at the little genture, his eyes no doubt betraying his nerves, or his impending insanity. To his utter surprise, you shuffled closer to him on the couch, lacing your fingers through his, which were (to his own surprise) still flexing and relaxing in a steady rhythm. You didn't say anything, just looked at him with your round, shiny eyes, but it was enough to turn Spencer into a puddle.

He decided to test the water, still never entirely sure of whether he understood your context clues, even after having been intimate with you multiple times by now. Still, he ventured into a slow kiss, his lips brushing yours while you stroked the top of his hand with your thumb. You kissed him back immediately, to his relief.

Spencer was fighting off the butterflies, but no amount of willpower could withstand the plush softness of your lips. His instinct was to go pliable under your touch, let you kiss him stupid here on his couch, but he had an agenda tonight. So he willed his hands to take a careful hold of your face, gaining control of the kiss. You betrayed no surprise, no particular reaction, you just went along with him. So Spencer upped his antics. His kisses became deeper, his brows furrowing in concentration.

Your response was just as lovely as always. You moothed his hair out of his face and went along with the deep lull of his kisses, moving in tandem with his body. Spencer had to fight not to just give in to the sweetness of your kisses, of your careful touches to his neck and chest. Still he tried to be more dominant, in his own clumsy ways. He wanted to push you into a horizontal position and crawl over you, but what happened was that he gave a light nudge to your shoulder and you fell backwards voluntarily, smiling up at him and softly weaving your fingers through his hair.

You made it very difficult to give you what you wanted, Spencer thought vaguely. So he continued on with his quest. He traded your lips in for your neck, trailing kisses from your collarbone up to your neck. You made a small, sweet noise when he placed his lips over your pulse point, and Spencer scrambled for words to reply to you. "You like that, huh?" was what came out. The words tasted foreign on his tongue.

You giggled in response, twirling the hair at the nape of Spencer's neck around your fingers. Not what he expected. He continued his kisses, reaching the opening of your blouse. He looked up at you as a form of asking for permission to unbutton it further, and you nodded with a shy smile. A surge of affection bloomed in his chest at the way you blushed when he started undoing the buttons, still bashful each time, he smiled to himself. He pushed the wave under, though, hiding his own reddening cheeks behind his hair while he worked to get the fabric off of you.

Once your blouse was discarded somewhere on the floor of his apartment, he took in the sight before him. Your skin looked smooth and soft in the dim evening light that flickered through the curtains, your glittering eyes tracking Spencer's every move. Sickeningly sweet compliments threatened to spill over his lips, but he was unsure they would fit his performance tonight. So he gathered his courage and instead commanded you to "open your legs for me." You obeyed swiftly, albeit with that confused glint back in your eyes. Spencer positioned himself between your legs, leaning his hands next to your head. Everything in him wanted to oppose his brain when it made him say "good girl," but he pushed through. The words leaving his lips and settling into the air felt odd. He immediately went in for a kiss, as part of the plan, or to hide from you, he wasn't sure, cutting off your confused stare.

Your hands didn't quite know what to do, he registered, but eventually they found their place on his neck. Your kisses didn't betray any more enthusiasm than usual, he noted disappointedly. He must have been doing it wrong. What did those guys in the books do? Snarl? He could not, in good faith, bring himself to do that. He mentally flipped through the pages, unsure of where to go next.

He let his hand drop down to the button on your jeans, opening it swiftly (at least one thing that went right) and zipped the zipper down. You lifted your hips up while not breaking the kisses, so that Spencer could shimmy you out of them and throw them with your blouse. The kisses had grown passionate and deep, your pupils blown wide when Spencer eventually pulled back. You looked angelic. Your hair splayed out on the couch cushions, your lips kissed red and puffy, and your lidded eyes intently focussed on him. All he wanted to do was kiss you for ages, until the sun set and you would fall asleep in his arms, but alas, he swallowed his lovesick daydreams down. Instead he took a hold of your hips, squeezing the soft flesh before pulling you forward by them so that you came to lie flat on your back. You let out a startled gasp, blinking your eyes cartoonishly up at him. Spencer took this as a good sign, giving your plush thigh another experimental squeeze, but your hand resting on his wrist halted his movements.

"Okay Spence, what's going on?" your voice was not angry, rather, slightly bewildered, emphasised by the way your one brow was raised higher than the other. Spencer immediately felt the heat rush to his face, feeling like he just got caught red-handed. His big baby deer eyes wide like he was frozen in front of nearing headlights.

"Nothing…" was his - very convincing - response.

"Spence," you were smiling now, the corners of your mouth quirking up as you shuffled yourself to sit upright opposite Spencer.

"You didn't… like it?" Spencer cringed at the insecure tone in his voice but didn't know where to hide it.

You blinked at him for a second. "I didn't, um, expect it?" you offered, your smile seeping into your tone.

"But you… want… that? Stuff like that, right?" he fidgeted with his hands in his lap, looking unsure of his very own claims now that he said it out loud. "R- rougher?"

You let out a confused little laugh, "what would make you think that, Spence?" Your tone was affectionate, the crinkles next to your eyes betraying your fondness for your clueless boyfriend.

His cheeks must have been quite literally on fire by this point, as he scrambled for answers he suddenly couldn't seem to find.

You reached out, caressing his cheek with your hand, "It's okay, we can talk about this," you tried to reassure him.

Spencer was wiggling in his seat, annoyed with himself on all fronts, and unable to stop himself from blurting everything out all at once: "I just, okay, um I stumbled upon this book and," he raked his fingers through his hair, realising how stupid his explanation was about to sound, "and all girls around were suddenly reading it, so i thought it must be, good, then, so I found it in the book store and read it and it was, um, spicy? Is that what they call it?" If the floor had decided to swallow him whole at that point, Spencer would have been thankful. "So I thought, since everyone seemed to like that sort of thing I would research it, and I found all these papers on dirty talk and rough sex and dominance, so I thought, I assumed…" he trailed off when seeing the look of equal parts confusion and amusement on your face.

You couldn't hold back your laughter anymore, breaking into a fit of giggles at the huge dismay of Spencer's burning cheeks. He felt his eyes grow impossibly wider, afraid he had messed up forever.

"You?? Reading smut?? Spencer, oh my god, that is both adorable and so so so stupid, babe," you said through all the giggles. Spencer joined in with a hesitant giggle of his own, starting to see his ridiculous thought process in perspective. "Why didn't you just ask me about it?"

To his relief, you didn't sound accusatory, just soft and sincere, supported by your bright smile. "Yeah, huh," he chuckled, "hindsight sure is 20/20, huh?" he felt his nervous energy slowly flow out of him at your gentle stare. "I know I should have, I just wanted to 'fix' everything on my own, without," he looked away, "without disappointing you further…"

"Disappointing me?" you exclaimed, genuine worry in your expression, "Spencer, you haven't disappointed me once. I'm perfectly satisfied, baby, did I not show that enough? I never, ever, wanted to make you feel like you were lacking, in any regard."

"No! No," he was quick to defend, "you did nothing wrong, at all. I think I'm just, I don't know, you're more experienced than me and I thought I was just missing the mark? I thought maybe you just didn't dare to ask for what you really wanted." He smoothed his palm over his face, spilling all of his inner thoughts taking a toll on him.

"Spencer," his name on your lips sounded sweet, like it had gotten drenched in syrup, it was Spencer's favourite sound. "Please believe me when I say that you give me everything I want and more." your hand came up to cup his cheek and Spencer immediately leaned into your touch, embarrassingly aware of his own neediness. "I wish you would have just asked me about it, because then I could have told you that I love your sweet and gentle ways. I love the way you make me feel cherished."

You were looking up at him with big, honest eyes, and Spencer started to wonder how or why his brain would ever lead him away from this soft, quiet intimacy between the two of you. "I'm sorry," he offered, a weak rebuttal, as he kissed the inside of your wrist.

"Don't apologise, silly," you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. He kissed back immediately, soft, slow, as tenderly as his need for you would allow him.

You crawled over him, still only in your underwear, and positioned yourself in his lap. Spencer's hands immediately fell to your waist, addicted to the feeling of your soft skin. Your kisses grew deeper, impossibly more intimate, as you pushed your chest into his, craving closeness.

When Spencer pulled away, eyelids heavy with want, he groaned softly at the sight of your red, puffy lips, shiny with his spit. "You mean it? everything? " He had to ask, he had to.

"I mean it. Everything." Your response was easy and immediate. Spencer detected no doubt in your voice, and he would know. So he kissed you again, with an almost shaking feeling, pouring himself into you. The way you gasped into his mouth sent shivers down his spine.

When you pulled back, both breathing heavily, your lips immediately found his neck, kissing a stripe up to his ear, where you started whispering sweet nothings that sent heat straight through his body. "I like your hands, so strong and big, but so gentle," "and I love the sounds you make," "and how you touch me like i'm delicate, makes me feel so special, Spence," each one of your compliments was punctuated with more kisses to his neck.

Spencer didn't know what to do with himself, lost in your voice and your praise. He wondered what he must have done in a previous life to deserve the most gorgeous girl ever, in his lap, almost naked, telling him how good he made her feel. His hands squeezed your hips, softly this time, and the small moan that left your lips afterwards made him dizzy.

"And I love the way you talk to me," your compliments just kept coming, "all sweet and loving, makes me feel really pretty."

"You are," he answered immediately, his voice hoarse to his own ears, "you are very pretty, gorgeous even, I- just look at you," his hands smoothed up and down your back. "Look at you…" he was almost whispering now, completely lost in you.

You giggled into his neck, "so are you, my pretty boy."

Spencer didn't know whether he would survive. His head fell back, giving you even more access to his neck, while he felt your hips softly grind on his erection through his dress pants. He thought faintly that he might have died and gone to heaven.

His fingers trailed up your back to the clasp of your bra, though he waited for your nod against his skin to undo it. He threw it with the rest of your clothes, into oblivion, and snaked a hand between your bodies to palm your breasts. The moan he got after grazing your nipple had him salivating, wanting to hear you fall apart entirely.

"Baby," his voice sounded breathy, "can I take care of you, please?"

"Of course," you withdrew from his neck, cheeks hot and eyes dark.

"Need to taste you," he mused while carefully laying you down on his couch, making sure you were comfortable. Kissing down your body until he reached the hem of your panties.

"Fuck," he groaned when he saw the small wet patch that had formed.

You smiled bashfully, giving permission for Spencer to pull the fabric down your legs and throw it god knows where.

Spencer was, once again, completely enamoured by you. He let his fingers slide through your folds, collecting the slick and bringing it up to your clit to circle it slowly. He watched your face intently, pride blooming in his chest with every moan and eyeroll he got out of you. He positioned himself between your thighs, fully intent on worshipping you for as long as he could hold out.

He started by kissing your plush thighs, the soft skin feeling heavenly under his lips. As he started to get closer and closer to where you needed him most, you grew more desperate, whining his name and making Spencer almost delirious with your voice. "I know, baby, I know," he shushed you, finally planting a kiss in your needy clit.

You involuntarily bucked your hips up, finally getting some release, and Spencer watched in awe as your eyes screwed shut when he licked a broad stripe over your pussy. "Feels so good, Spence," you whined, just as Spencer thought it would be impossible to turn him on even more.

He continued licking and sucking just as you liked, your hands eventually finding a home in his curly hair, softly running your fingers through it. Spencer thought he could spend eternity there, between your thighs.

He carefully introduced a finger, revelling in the reaction he got, and started pumping in and out of your slick opening. It didn't take long before you could take two, as Spencer's gaze remained transfixed on the way you were swallowing his digits. "You're doing so well, baby."

"I'm- I'm getting close," you gasped, and Spencer could feel it. He could feel you squeezing his fingers. The thought alone made him crazy, making him go faster, chasing your sweet release.

You fell apart on his fingers with a last, high-pitched moan, arching your back beautifully for him. He worked you through your hugh, being careful not to overstimulate you.

"Was that good?" the words had left his mouth before he could register them, betraying his insistent insecurity.

You were looking satisfied and dazed from your spot between his throw pillows, smiling up at him through your lashes. "Good? Spence, that is the understatement of the year. I think I saw stars."

Your bright giggle calmed his nerves as he joined in, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

"But now," you started as you pushed yourself upright, "it's time to take care of you, pretty boy."

Spencer revelled in your attention, willingly going along with your motions to undress him. He watched as you struggled with the buttons on his shirt, helping you with a broad smile, and once again mentally thanked whatever deity and deemed him worthy of you when you skillfully undid his belt and trousers. Freeing his aching dick out of his underwear, you couldn't help but stroke him a few times. Spencer hissed at the contact, already sensitive.

"Such a pretty boy," you mused. Spencer's dick twitched at your words, but he didn't have it in him anymore to feel embarrassed. Instead he eagerly helped you into his lap, your pussy hovering over his needy dick.

He positioned himself at your opening, dragging his tip though your folds a few times to gather your wetness, enjoying the little hitch in your breath when he brushed against your sensitive clit. You started to sink down on him, exhaling harshly once you felt the stretch of his tip at your opening, "take it easy, baby, no rush," Spencer reassured you, marvelling at how good you looked on top of him. You sank down on him slowly, taking all of him and letting out a content sound that matched Spencer's low moan.

You started riding him slowly, guided by his large hands on your hips, and Spencer could hardly hold it together. He drew you in for a passionate kiss, but he soo had to halt those efforts because he could do little else but moan and sigh against your lips. You were in equal levels of disarray, loving the way he felt buried deep inside you just as much as he loved it.

"Fuck, baby, oh, god I'm- I'm so close already," Spencer managed between breathy gasps.

"That's alright, Spence, ah- me too."

Spencer saw this as his perfect chance, taking a stronger hold of your hips and driving his dick into you at the exact angle that made you a whining hot mess on top of him. Thank god for his eidetic memory, and the way you felt clenching around him. He made sure your orgasm came first, feeling your pussy squeeze his dick deliciously as your nails dug into his skin with a raw, drawn-out moan. Spencer followed seconds behind you, completely overwhelmed by how good you felt pulsing around him, spilling his load into you while holding your body impossibly close to his, babbling your name and sweet nothings as he reached his high.

You rode out your pleasure together, eventually stilling in each other's arms and catching your breaths.

"Spencer, oh my god…" that was all you could muster to say to your boyfriend in your current state, but Spencer understood. He gleamed with pride, planting a kiss on your shoulder and slowly taking your face in his hands to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Let me get you cleaned up, pretty girl," he said after a while of basking in your collective post orgasm glow.

You were pouting as you languidly willed yourself to get off of him, but with another kiss and a promise of cuddling later, you agreed for Spencer to fetch you a towel. As he walked into his bathroom, he couldn't help but notice all the small marks you had left on his neck and chest, smiling to himself in the dim evening light, completely satisfied.

🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏🍏

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader smut #down bad for this nerd once again #bitterwrites

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inkedinshadows · 7 months ago

Note

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel fic #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #fanfiction #fluff #one shot #requested

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bunny-1111 · 2 months ago

Text

Just breathe - Theo Nott x reader.

Word count: 2k

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Description: The castle was in pieces. The war ended only moments ago, but for Theodore, nothing matters except finding you in the wreckage. You were supposed to make it. You had to make it.

Warnings: War trauma, blood, near-death experience, swearing, emotional distress, depictions of death (non-graphic), mild dark themes, swearing, unedited

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated. <3

...

The castle was still burning.

The air was so warm.

Though all Theodore felt was the cold cement below him.

He tasted the thick metallic blood that was slowly reaching the back of his throat, desperately trying to rack his mind over what had just happened.

He smelled smoke so close it was as if he was inhaling it just as he would his cigarette.

'oh fuck, I'm absolutely dying' he thought to himself, or had he said it out loud?

His closed eyes winced, remembering the flashes of green, had someone killed him, or even tried to? Was he dead? At the hand of someone he knew, or maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t even meant for him. That's the thing with war, it didn’t have to mean anything to kill you, it just does.

Most of his body stiffened numb. His mind racing, where was his wand? He couldn't feel it between his fingers; he could hardly feel anything.

Where was he? Holy shit. Where are you.

With that, he jolted up, like a force against nature. As he sat up he took a gasp of air so heavy like a newborn's first breath, his hands wild from the rocking floor to his hair.

His first instinct was to get on his feet. His unsteady balance rocked as he paced to find you.

'where are you, no seriously where the fuck are you' he thought as he searched the faces of those around him

"You better be fucking alive" he said out loud, Theodore became so determined to reach you he paid no attention to the wreck around him, not to the blood stains that painted over every second step he took nor the cries he heard from what was once the great hall.

He looked up for a brief moment, he saw the mother and fathers, friends and peers weep over their losses. Bodies laying cold so close together, so many. So he only allowed himself a brief moment, he wouldn't go in, why would he, you aren't in there waiting to be mourned. Keep walking, he told himself as he walked past, not through the great hall.

His stride turned manic.

The constant ringing in his ear became a stopwatch, as if he was running out of time before he would find you.

Until he stopped in his tracks.

All that blood he tasted in his mouth, he was about to throw it up.

There you were.

His heart didn’t stop; it slammed.

“No—no, no—” he roared

He fell to his knees when he reached you, if you could even call it that, it was a pathetic attempt get to you, to grip your shoulders, to shake you up, he has fallen his chest colliding with ground next to you, the ground giving way like it wants to swallow him whole.

When his hand gripped your cold hand, he dipped his head into your chest, desperate to feel the rise and fall of breath.

“Don’t do this,” he rasps, his voice barely there. “Don’t fucking do this to me.”

He presses harder against your chest with the flat of his hand, then curls it into a fist and lets it hover, useless. Like he could beat your heart back to life. Like he would, if that’s what it took.

“I’m right here,” he chokes, his forehead pressed to yours now, the dirt between you be damned. “You hear me? I’m right fucking here.”

He couldn't feel anything, maybe that was because he was losing all control of his senses at the sight of you like this.

You don’t react. You don’t move. You don’t even twitch.

And that’s what makes the panic crawl up his throat, because if you were hurting, you’d scream. If you were okay, you’d speak.

But you don’t do either.

You just lie there. Limp. Quiet. Unbreathing.

He dragged you onto his lap, he cradled your face with his dirty hands.

“Wake up. Please. Just get up.”

“I swear to Merlin, I’ll never smoke again. I-I won’t steal your pumpkin juice without asking, I swear—”

His hand skated from your cheek, to your neck, to your chest.

Why weren’t you breathing?

“Breathe,” he begged. “The fuck, breathe—”

He shook you. Gentle at first. Then harder.

“Breathe for me”

He clutched your shoulders and hauled you upright, holding you tight against his chest like his ribs could do what your lungs wouldn’t.

“Breathe in me, breathe with me, just fucking breathe.”

It came out like a sob. He didn’t care, he was angry at you now, get up.

...

Somewhere far off, there was a sound. Ash. Stone. Burnt magic. Blood. You couldn’t tell if it was yours. Couldn’t tell if it mattered.

Everything felt heavy. Your ears rang. Your knees were scraped raw. Something was pressing down on you. Or maybe your body was caving in from the inside.

It’s over. That’s what it's saying.

But it doesn’t feel over. Not when your ears are ringing again. Not when your knees are scraped raw. Not when the only thing you can feel is the ache in your lungs.

Focus.

You could hear someone.

There it was again.

Saying your name like a prayer.

You knew that voice.

Theo.

“Please. Look at me.”

You tried.

You really tried.

Your limbs wouldn’t move.

“No—no, come on,” he sobbed. “Breathe. Please. Please”

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything.

But your chest wouldn’t lift.

You were so fucking tired.

And he’s sobbing now, arms pulling you up into him, holding you against his heartbeat like he’s trying to give it to you. Like he’ll give you anything if you’ll just stay.

“I don’t care. Breathe for me. Breathe in me. Breathe with me. Just fucking breathe.”

You feel it. That crackle, like lightning in your ribs. The sharp sting of return.

And then air.

A gasp.

Yours.

...

The feeling was so faint, he thought he imagined it. But then again, there it was. A breath. A real one. A shallow, wheezing drag of air against his collarbone.

He jerks back, his face flinches. Stares. His eyes are wide, wild. Red.

And there you finally were, eyes opening, he felt your chest inhale and exhale.

“You stupid, stubborn girl. You scared the shit out of me.”

You tried to smile. It barely reached your lips, but he could tell

You felt so exhausted you closed your eyes again, Theo felt panic surge in his chest.

“Baby, look at me, eyes open, OK?”

“I’m tired.”

“I don’t care. You’re not dying in my arms, alright? You’re not doing that to me,” he began to shake you, to keep you awake, to keep you alive

You nod so gently that Theo lets out a groan.

He watched you nod, it was so polite, it shattered him.

Your eyes opened a little wider with each blink. You shifted, just enough to pull back slightly, glancing around in a daze.

Theo’s hand went to your heart. He had to check again. Just to make sure.

Still beating. Still real.

When your breathing evened out, slow and full, Theodore let himself fall back, his body collapsing next to you.

He let out a scream of agony at the idea of you dying, at the sight of finding your unmoving body just moments ago, each time he blinked, exhaustion, everything

“You scared the shit out of me,” he panted, rubbing his face.

You turned your head toward him.

“You scream like a girl.” Your sympathetic eyes meet his

He barked a what he could make of a laugh. It wasn’t pretty, but it was real. A sound that shouldn’t exist in a place like this, and yet here it was.

He wiped a hand down his face, smearing blood, trying to get a grip on himself, on you, on the fact that you were still here.

“I hate you,” he breathed, the kind of thing you only say to someone you love so much.

You think you laughed, too, or maybe it was just an exhale.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged weakly. “You weren’t fucking breathing.”

“I am now,” you whispered.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. The ruins of the battle echoed around you in silence.

And then

“Are they okay?” you asked. “The others — Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo...?

He blinked. Looked around. “We all got separated. But I think I- I hope”

“Theo?”

It was Draco’s voice, his footsteps crunching under rubble.

Then Blaise.

Then Lorenzo’s wild laugh of relief.

Then Pansy sobbed. Mattheo’s yelling.

It was like fate was finally on your side there you all were, bloody, bruised, broken but fucking alive.

Everyone was talking at once, some yelling, some crying. You grabbed Pansy. Mattheo grabbed Theo. Blaise was hugging you even before you could protest.

Theo pulled you back into him, arms around your waist again. “We’re going home,” he murmured into your hair.

You blinked up

“We are home.”

“Look around, not anymore.”

You turned. “Then where?”

“My place,” he interrupted. “Ours, if you want.”

There was a long pause. Then he looked at the others.

"All of us" Theo stated. Pansy gave a low, agreeing nod

Draco scoffed, trying to mask the trembling in his hands. “Everyone will think we’re cowards for leaving.”

Mattheo spun on him. “We’re not running,” he snapped. “We’re surviving. Do you realise most of these people hate us? Hate our families?”

Silence.

No one argues.

They all know he’s right.

"They’ll look at our faces and see everything they lost. Everything they'll blame. You think they’ll thank us for bleeding beside them?” he continues

No one speaks.

“They’ll tolerate us. At best. And at worst?” Mattheo swallows hard. “They’ll destroy us, just like they wanted to destroy them.”

"We'll Apparate now, the house is hidden, it's not on records, it's perfect" Theo suggests

You all nod in agreement, holding out your hands, taking a deep breath, the air you could finally breathe was once again yours.

..........

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated. <3

ALSO THIS IS UNEDITED AND NOT REREAD SO IM TAKING A LEAP OF FAITH THAT IS MAKES SENSE ITS PAST 3AM AND I DONT HAVE THE ENEGRY TO READ IT BACK

all my love xx

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isasweetie · 3 months ago

Note

wait bc a angst fic abt kie telling prissy that rafe killed sheriff peterkin

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ in which prissy!reader finds out what rafe did. (angst)

rafe had always told you to stay far away from the pogues. he said they were no good, that they were animals and liars. they were going to manipilate you, turn you against him. he didn’t trust them around you, that’s for sure.

it was a cloudy day when you ran into kiara carrera. you were shopping by yourself while rafe was at work, and stumbled into her by the pharmacy, where you were going to pick up rafe’s anti-depressants.

“hey, wait, wait,” she stops you, grabbing your arm. you flinch, but comply and stop. “you’re cameron’s girl, right?” she asks, saying your name as well so she can check.

you nod, setting your shopping bags down on the sidewalk, getting a sense this is going to be a full on conversation. “hi, yeah, i am. you’re kiara?” you check, and she nods as well. once that’s confirmed, you ask, “do you need something?”

you’re nice enough but kiara can see your confliction. you keep glancing around as if you’re looking for an out of this conversation, or as if you’re worried about rafe seeing this. she’s seen you all chatty at parties, and now suddenly you’re a bit quiet, keeping your sentences short. it’s the least you could do while you were actively ignoring your boyfriends only rule for you — no talking to pogues.

of course, you’d have to tell rafe you spoke to this girl as well. you had a hard time keeping anything from him. rafe would lose it, god, you could already picture it. he would lecture you until you got it through your head to never speak to a pogue again. he would sternly tell you not to be nice to pogues anymore, to just walk away. you then wonder if you could just walk away. avoid a scary conversation with rafe, get rewarded instead when you tell him you ignored a pogue. but kiara seems decently kind, though she is intense, and she seems as though she has something important to say. why else would she stop you on the street? it’s not like you’re friends.

god, your mind is running wild.

“hello?” kie snaps her fingers in your face. you hadn’t realized you’d been zoning out. you stop nervously biting your lower lip (which you hadn’t realized until now you’d been doing), and you focus back on her.

“hm?” you blink, then remember why you were freaking out. you try to focus once more. “oh— i’m so sorry. it’s just, i shouldn’t be talking to you—“ you stumble on your words a bit, unsure how to explain yet still be kind about it. “maybe i should go, rafe’s gonna kill me—“

“like he killed peterkin?”

silence. a furrow in your brows. your lips part. a fuzzy sort of ringing in your ears that wasn’t there before. how could she say that? she seriously believes that idiotic rumour? your rafe couldn’t kill anyone. he may be scary and angry a lot, but never to the point of murder. rafe was right, the pogues were assholes. they were spreading bullshit about your boyfriend, and they had the audacity to talk about it so casually? as if that didn’t mean anything at all? as if their words couldn’t get rafe into jail if they tried hard enough? this was crazy.

but as you stare into her eyes with your offended and confused expression, she remains stoic. her brown eyes are almost speaking to you on your own, as if they’re saying “come on, you really believe that rafe is telling the truth? you can’t be that stupid.” you want to tell kie’s eyes that you’re not stupid, that you know rafe and you know he wouldn’t do such a thing. but then again, wouldn’t she have broken by then? wouldn’t she of walked away because of your sudden silence? she looks serious, that’s for sure. she looks as if she’s telling the complete truth.

you begin to wonder. rafe hasn’t brought you along to barry’s recently, like he used to. they always discussed illegal business, like their cocaine deals, but he’d even bring you along for those. is he hiding something with barry? rafe has also stayed home quite a lot. you even called him today to ask if he wanted to shop with you, and he said he had some “family business” to attend to, hence why you’re now shopping alone. what other family business does he have that wouldn’t involve a murder? nothing makes sense anymore.

you part your lips, almost about to ask a simple, “really?” you don’t though. because before you can, kie’s expression shifts to one of slight uncomfortableness itself. her body language screamed, “shit, stupid kie, she didn’t know.” she was the one who had told you, who had make you believe the rumours. all she does is nod at you. she has the audacity to know what you’re silently asking her, then respond with a simple nod. is she crazy?

“…no he didn’t,” you have the audacity to say, as if you’re brainwashed to defend him like that. as if you’ve signed an NDA, or were threatened into denying it — but maybe you’re just stupid enough to believe that what you’re saying is true.

but here’s the thing: you’re not stupid. people believe you are, because they always spot you smiling and hanging off a mans arm (rafe, no less), or wearing a top so low-cut that you can see the lace of your bra. but you’re a smart girl, not a bimbo like they believe you to be. you were also intuitive, in touch with emotions that weren’t your own. you could always tell when rafe was hiding something, or when your friend was mad at you without directly stating it. so that’s why you’re stuck here, staring at kie. you’re smart and intuitive, not stupid and shallow, so you can tell by her face and body language that she’s not just playing a sick joke. she’s dead serious.

so when a sudden sob escapes your lips, you’re not shocked. the pogue girl is, but you’re not. kiara carerra is being serious. she’s not spreading propaganda like rafe has sworn to you countless times. your boyfriend is a murderer, and all of it was confirmed by a casual snarky comment and some harsh eye contact.

kiara stands there awkwardly, watching as you start to cry more on the sidewalk, as if no one could hear you. you stomp your heeled foot as if you’re a toddler having a tantrum, and your manicured hands rub at your eyes, causing mascara to smudge. then, she lives up to what rafe says about her, and just leaves. she leaves as if she hasn’t done anything, as if she wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

you sit on a bench for a while and try desperately to settle down. rafe could always get you to settle down quickly. but he’s not here now, and frankly, you’re not sure what to do. your sobs reduce to sniffles after ten minutes. an old lady comes up to you and says, “my dear, are you okay?” and you nod. you want to tell her you just found out your boyfriend killed the sheriff, but that wouldn’t be a very good idea. rafe would get put into jail, and you don’t want that. you should want that, but shockingly, you don’t.

after you’re done on the bench, you walk across the street to treat yourself to an ice cream cone. you stand there for a while as you lick it, contemplating what to do. you feel like a wreck. unfortunately, when you’re a wreck, there tends to be only one person you call — rafe.

“hey, baby,” rafe greets when he answers on the fourth ring. “what’s up? i’m kinda talkin’ to my dad right now,”

“…will you please come pick me up?” your voice is still trembling, though you try to hide it for the sake of not worrying rafe. news flash: it doesn’t work.

“now?” he asks.

“yes.”

“what’s up?”

“please come pick me up.” you repeat again, trying to make your upset voice sound more assertive.

“on my way.” he hangs up after that.

he checks your location and pulls his benz up ten minutes later. in front of the ice cream shop you’re standing in front of. he has a bad feeling in his stomach, bracing himself for the worst. he barely ever gets a bad feeling about you, but today, something feels different. the air feels weird.

the sound of your shaky heels click-clack on the concrete as you hop into rafe’s car with your ice cream cone in hand, buckling yourself in. “…hi—“ you start quietly, nervously, but he interrupts.

“how many times do i gotta tell you, huh?” he grumbles. “no food in the car. throw the cone out, c’mon.”

“but i bought it, i wanna eat it.” your eyes gaze up at him, glassy and upset over this.

“no food.” he repeats, grabbing the cone and tossing it out of the drivers seat window before driving off.

“no, i—“ you stutter, heart thumping in your chest as you glance back and out of the window to where the cone was. “i wanted it—“ your face heats up, and before you know it, you’re crying again.

rafe’s eyebrows furrow in confusion when he looks over and your head is in your hands and you’re crying over ice cream. what the fuck? is all he can think. something is up, he knows you. you’re freaking out over some ice cream, that’s not like you. “hey, fucks going on?” he asks, never good at softening, even when his girl is crying. he’s trying.

“i know you did it!” you end up squeaking out through tears.

his eyes widen. you don’t mean what he thinks you do, right? “what? that i threw the ice cream?” he asks, playing dumb, hoping that’s all you mean.

“you killed her— peterkin, you killed her— kiara told me everything—“ you stutter out through gasps and cries. you don’t give him time to answer before you’re freaking out more. “i can’t do it— i can’t do this, i can’t do this!”

the car swerves a bit when he grabs your forearm with one hand, shaking you as he drives with the other. “hey! i’m gonna need you to chill the fuck out.” he growls, squeezing your arm tighter.

“i can’t— i can’t calm down— can’t date a killer—“ you cry, not listening.

his hand finds your pretty neck, squeezing it and using it to pull your body closer to the middle console of the car. “listen to me!” he demands, voice raised to scary heights as he squeezes down on your throat.

you cough out a sob, taking a few minutes to find your breath. “don’t kill me,” your shaky voice begs, sniffling.

“kill you?—“ he all but scoffs, sighing and loosening his hand. “get a grip. aight? not gonna kill you, jesus, y’sound dumb…” he mutters.

“you killed her,” you murmur an argument. “you’ll do it to me too— that’s why you held my— my neck?—“ the statement is more of a question in the way you phrase it.

“hey, hey, wait,” he softens a bit when he noticed your genuine fear. “gonna need you to find some patience, and give me some time to explain myself before you start accusing me of a second murder. christ,”

you sniffle and nod, taking a few more breaths. he removes his hand from your neck when he knows you’re going to behave. “look,” he starts, rubbing his temple with the hand that’s not steering, no doubt experiencing a headache. “she was gonna kill my dad, alright?” he mutters, as if he’s convincing himself. “all because of the pogues, and john b, and your new best friend kiara, she was going to kill my dad. so i protected him. now tell me if that makes me a bad guy.”

“thought he was just getting arrested,” you murmur, unsure if you believe him.

“no, she was going to murder him.” he repeats, firmer. “so thank god i had a gun, or else my dad would be dead.”

“…but she was so nice—“

he cuts you off, sick of this constant denial from you, upset that you won’t listen to him. “hey! watch it. no she fuckin’ wasn’t, or she’d be alive. i’m not gonna kill an innocent woman, who the fuck do you think i am, huh?”

he’s getting impatient so you shut up your denials, trying to rewire your brain to believe him. why would he lie to you, anyway? “…so you were just protecting him?”

“‘course i was,” it’s kind of intimidating how much his voice calms down the minute you begin to listen. but you suppose he just has nothing to be mad about anymore. “i’d do the same for you. wouldn’t you rather that than to die?”

“…guess so,” you sigh an agreement, your headache kicking in over all of this shit.

“good.”

silence stretches in the car for a while, both of you deep in thought. you’re fiddling with the hem of your skirt, eyebrows furrowed as you recall the conversation with kiara. she seemed to serious, as if what rafe did couldn’t be defended, which makes you wonder if he’s lying. but as mentioned earlier, you know him. he didn’t seem like he was lying at all, he believed every word he said. you should probably believe him over a pogue, you decide.

rafe, meanwhile, has this churning in his stomach that he can’t seem to get rid of. he thinks he’s telling the truth — he knows he is. his father was going to die, he repeats quietly in his mind over and over again. rafe did the right thing. he didn’t shoot peterkin because he had done some lines, or because he needed to prove himself to his dad. this wasn’t some manipilative act to get his father to love him more, and see how great a son rafe can be… right? yeah. right. peterkin was going to kill ward cameron, he chants in his mind again. if he believes that himself, so will you.

maybe the churning in rafe’s stomach is because he’s depressed, because he ran out of the antidepressants you insisted he’d go on so he would feel better. speaking of, weren’t you supposed to get those?

“hey, uh, you get my shit?” he asks after a bit.

knowing he’s referring to his pills (you know him, you assure yourself again), you take them out and put one in the palm of his hand, which is extended to you. “mhm, here.”

he pops it, then asks, “you think you can do this?”

you know what he’s referring to again. your meltdown from a mere fifteen minutes ago, you sobbing that you can’t date a killer. so you think to yourself, can you? rafe is a murderer, good intentions or not. he does cocaine, and he jumps broke people because he thinks he’s better. but you know him. his favourite colour is blue, he loves hardwood floors and working out, he sometimes feels as though no one cares for him, he has a collection of polo shirts, you have to massage his shoulders every week, after he goes golfing, or else he’s gonna be in pain. and frankly, he adores you. shouldn’t that be enough?

so, you answer.

“yes.”

he just scoffs and smiles, as if he’s known all along. “let’s go get you another ice cream, yeah?”

just like that, all is forgotten — for now, anyway.

taglist (comment to be added/removed) ❤︎ -> @dearapril @popou61 @suncove @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @dollyfiles @wtfdudesblog @yktayy9669 @nixcyrr @st6ined @girlwhorizzed

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deadsetobsessions · 6 months ago

Text

“Did you know that shrimps…”

Tim leaned in, poorly hidden eagerness splayed across his face. A clue that Danny and Phantom were dating?

“Are super delicious?” Danny mumbled, ducking his head to hide his impish grin. Tim exhaled, disappointed, and leaned back to observe. Danny currently had his arm elbow deep in Jason’s chest, the older man grimacing at the weird feeling of being phased through.

“You done?”

“Almost. This is a multiple session kind of thing though, since the corrupted ectoplasm's not only in your body, it's actively trying to fuse with your DNA. Like, a really fucked up virus with virtually no cure."

"No cure?!" Dick's panic was only barely suppressed. "But I thought you said you could help with that?"

"Yeah, I mean, how do you cure death? Everything has to end eventually." Danny said practically, before drawing a bit more tainted ectoplasm out. He stealthily replaced it with a cleaner source, a shot of ecto-dejecto he had absorbed as Phantom but didn't assimilate. "But don't worry, you're not dying again yet. You'll just become even more liminal."

"More?"

"Yeah. You were, by definition, a liminal. Now you'll just have more access to the traits- more in tune with your emotions, night vision, and a minor ability to manipulate ecto."

"I'm sorry, can we circle back on the fact that pit water is trying to fuse with my DNA?" Jason stressed. Danny took his hand out, treatment complete, and dusted them off.

"You don't have to worry about that either, since you've got a magic immune system in the form of... swords?" Danny’s brows furrowed, his senses making sense of the shape of magic.

"The All-Blades are cutting off pit water access." Jason sounded done. Exasperated at where he was in life... but really not all too surprised.

"...Sure?" Danny shrugged. The halfa has seen weirder shit than magic swords.

"Wait, you have magic?!" Dick reached over to grasp Jason's shoulder to shake him. Jason knocked his hands off, scowl becoming more prominent.

"Yeah, picked it up a while ago."

"And you didn't tell us?!"

In lieu of an answer, Jason summoned the All Blades and stabbed Dick, who yelped before realizing they just phased through him.

"Oh, you should use those more. They're purifying the ecto at a smaller quantity, but some is still better than none, right?" Danny said, pleasantly surprised. He ignored Dick’s outraged spluttering. “How interesting.”

Tim gathered his open jaw just to cheekily ask, "So, Jason's a magical girl? Usagi?"

Jason raised the one of the blades threateningly at Tim, who remained unfazed after watching them slide through Dick’s shoulder without leaving a trace of damage.

Danny laughed, "Hah! Nah, more like Madoka? If those are All-Blades, he’s supposed to kill evil with them…”

"Fuck off." Jason grumbled. Dick poked at the sword going through his shoulder in fascination. "Stop that."

"My baby brother is magical and he didn't tell meeeeeee!" Wailed Dick, flopping over Jason’s back like dead weight, hand clutched to his imaginary pearls as he swooned. Jason groaned, dismissing the blades to shove Dick off of him.

"Oh my god, this is why."

“Wait, have you tried stabbing Joker with them? If anyone’s pure evil, it’ll be that guy, right? No, but you’re a civilian… so you might get hurt,” Danny mumbled, huffing a grin as Jason gained a thoughtful look. Guess Danny knows what Red Hood’s gonna try next.

Tim ignored his dumbass brothers, finally done with the subtle tactics. Plus, he has to cut Danny off before he gives Jason any more bright ideas.

“You know, there’s been a rumor going around,” he started, only to get cut off by team Phantom’s impeccable timing. Danny’s open laptop rang with the blaring tones of a group call. The two idiots in the back stopped squabbling with each other, quieting down with interest.

“Oops, gimme a second.” Danny hurried to click the join call button, connecting to the video call. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” Tucker said brightly. In the background, Tucker could see Jason mouthing “babe?” to Tim, who shrugged. Dick’s face flashed into something intense before slipping back to its normal harmless facade.

“Sup, loverboy?” Sam chimed in, looking smug. “How’s my favorite boyfriend doing?”

Danny, leader of the gaslight gatekeep girlboss brainwave, naturally slipped into the banter. “Are you saying that ‘cause Tucker ate beef jerky in front of you?”

“Worse. He snuck a tourist t-shirt into my closet. My parents had a fit when they came to visit.”

“I said I was sorry, babe!” Tucker continued, looking actually regretful. Ah, this was something he actually did, as a prank.

“Whatever. Who’s the peanut gallery behind you, loverboy?” Sam buffed her nails, clearly in the middle of reapplying her signature nail polish.

Danny grinned. “Aweeee, is that the color shifting polish I got you? So you do love me!”

“We’re dating.”

If they hadn’t gotten the hint now, Danny would have to rescind their whole world’s best detectives titles.

“That’s our Sam, Danny. Prickly like a hedgehog but allll squishy on the inside.” Tucker snickered. “Seriously though, introduce us.”

Danny backed away from the camera. “This is Jason, Tim, and Dick. Guys, meet my wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend, Tucker and Sam.”

“Hi,” the three vigilantes chorused, looking awkward. Dick broke out of the atmosphere pretty quickly, used to controlling the mood.

“I’m Dick!”

“I’m sure,” drawled Sam. “Nice to meet you, even if we’ve met before.”

“You have?” Tucker and Danny asked.

“Yeah, at the galas. I doubt you’ll remember me.” Sam grimaced. “I was the miserable one in the pink frills.”

“Sam Mason?” Tim asked.

“Yep.”

The boys winced. “Rough.” Jason sympathized.

“Oh, yeah. Danny, how goes wooing Phantom?” Sam asked loudly, looking like she'd rather be discussing anything but the frilled monstrosity that haunted her nightmares.

“Oh, good! I think he’s warming up to me!”

“Ugh, babe, you fabulous fuck, why are you so charming? Why Phantom?” Tucker complained. Danny grinned.

“Come on, nerd, even you have to admit he’s hot.” Sam drawled, looking entertained.

“And majorly cool,” Danny chimed in, with a grin. Wow, Sam must really want Dr. Isley’s number. That, or she’s having a blast fucking with the peanut gallery. Their eyes were bouncing back and forth between Danny and the screen like they were at a tennis match. Or both. It's probably both.

“It’s so not cool to date one of my exes.” Tucker whined. “Plus, you know what he’s like.”

“What’s he like?” Dick asked, leaning in.

“Yeah, Danny won’t tell us anything,” Tim followed up seamlessly.

“Phantom? Hot. So. Hot. Super romantic too.”

"And an emotional mess. You'd never believe what-"

"Okay, seriously, it was one time!" He broke Tucker's system once, and he never let it go. Danny never got a break around here.

"Wait, if you liked him so much, why'd you break up with him?" Jason asked Sam. In Danny's peripherals, he could see Dick updating a group chat. It was going, as they say, swimmingly.

"Obviously I liked Danny more. But having all of them isn't too bad of an idea." Sam leaned back, looking as powerful as she normally does.

"But did it have to be Phantom?" Tucker sulked impressively. Then his eyes finally wandered to Tim. "Oh my god, Tim Drake. Danny, why don't you woo him?! Hey, Mr. Drake, are you interested in dating Danny? He brings terrible puns, smoking looks, and makes killer dinners. All you have to do in exchange is let me pick your brains."

Damn it, Danny knew Tucker was going to pull something like this.

"Uh-huh?" Tim flushed as his brothers cackled at his expense. "Sure..? Wait, what- I mean-"

"Sorry, Timsy. You're gonna have to fight Phantom for my hand. Considering you have no combat experience and Phantom's undead... rough, man."

"Danny, if you don't date him, I will," Tucker solemnly swore.

"Hey, get your grubby paws away from my little brother!" Dick tried to sternly warn them, effect broken by his own intermittent giggles.

"Yeah, you want to date him, you gotta go through the gauntlet." Jason said, muffling Tim's flustered protests with an arm.

"Challenge accepted." Danny paused. "Wait, did I just sign up to be Tim's boyfriend? Shit, Phantom's gonna kill me."

——

Danny texted a series of numbers to Sam. She left him on read.

Ah, maybe he shouldn't have introduced a budding ecoterrorist to a veteran one, but too late now!

——

If you notice any inconsistencies, no u don’t.

It’s been a while since I’ve written for this series though so… yk. Danny, verbally sealing himself into the trap while being chaotic. In character, me thinks.

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sqgeism · 2 months ago

Note

WAIT HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE ONES WHERE LIKE THE CHILD(REN) LIKE DISRESPECT (?) THE MOTHER (READER) IN FRONT OF THE FATHER ???? LIKE JUST TO SEE THE REACTION

THAT WITH PHAINON!!!!! (and whoever else you like)

(I'm so sorry for spamming phainon reqs 💀)

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ this crashed mid posting and i had to re edit EVERYTHING. dont pmo.. just a collection of blurbs for phainon in my inbox so they're all done LOL hi if youre the person/people who requested this i was too lazy to make individual posts im saurrey o(T◇T o)

(fem reader)

if you and phainon had a child—and they disrespected you—he probably wouldn't take it all that seriously. especially if he can tell if it's just to get a reaction out of him.

aits the little one down, one to one talk. tries to act tough but is so gentle with his scolding that it's funny, "don't ever say that stuff to your mama, alright?" while ruffling their hair. "if you do, i'll have no choice but to take away your cereal. yep, AND the building blocks too. no one talks to my wife that way, not even you."

although in a hypothetical situation where his child genuinely DOES respect angel, he's much firmer, strict. his sweet tone is gone and is playing NO games. ❌️ "you think cause you're big now, means you have the right to treat your mom like that? no way. absolutely not. better sort yourself out before i have to do it myself." he will NEVER have a child that holds any disrespect for their parents. he's locked in

phainon would LOVE it if you were gentle. like on everybodys soul. he'd kill to just be able to fall into your arms and be cared for and pampered for the rest of thw day. his killer combo is the "you okay, baby?", while resting on your lap, and your hands in his hair. BOOM. he's dead.

the next 6 hours are for you and phainon ONLY, mainly with him whining about how even if he's literally pressed up against you that he can never truly be close enough. he wants all of you, every inch and every part. he just wants to be all over you i fear </3

and shy? oh he loves it. totally a tease, going back to what i said earlier, he wants to be aaalll over you. probably likes to squeeze your waist just to feel you jump against him, it's his favorite reaction. and he doesn't mind the fact that he probably leads most of the conversation, but he loves to hear you speak. there's this air of grace yet humility to it that he can't get enough of.

absolutely smitten, i say. every and any version of his angel.

clumsy in the more hurtful type, phainon's probably the same. he likes to joke that it makes you two interlinked, 'sharing the pain' he says. but he also makes a great effort to stop you from bumping into things, keeping his hand on your head when you go underneath tables, pulling you away if you're about to run into something, all of that. he's probably just more cautious, and definitely makes sure to leave the big *sword he carries around at home when he's visiting.

'healing kisses' are also a pretty big thing he does, but it's really just an excuse to kiss you. he'll bandage you up and kiss the wounded area a couple of times to 'heal' you, and you play along with his little antics because you love him and it's cute. and what other reasons do you need when it comes to phainon?

(the wording kind of confused me 💔? sorry anon!)

he laughs, but not mockingly, as it's mostly in awe. he thinks you look great! not much of a difference, so he wonders why you make your life intentionally harder by not wearing them. makes sure to reassure you that you look perfect no matter what you choose to wear, but definitely suggests going back to using your glasses. he doesn't really care either way LMAO but please wear your glasses 💔

yeah, he probably would. flops ontop of you when hes exhausted and falls asleep a lot. probably wouldnt flirt with a blahaj, even if it was you, but he isn't leaving you to fend for yourself so i guess that's something!

i could see phainon being a kid with horrible acne, just the worst when he was a teenager. so if you're insecure about yours, he totally understands that. he offers a skincare routine that will hopefully help, ease the pain, stuff like that. but also he just thinks you're beautiful regardless to how your skin makes you feel. and when you don't love yourself, that just means phainon has to love you harder. which he reaaaally doesn't struggle in doing.

he is also very careful with touch! making sure to always have clean hands to hopefully not worsen the acne or anything like that, always trying to help you feel confident.

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #sigh #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #phainon hsr x reader #phainon x reader #phainon x you

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dyns33 · 10 months ago

Text

Flufftober 2024 - 29 Eddie Brock / Venom

Y/N had met Vee during a Halloween party.

A little intimidated by the crowd and not knowing anyone, she had stayed in her corner for a good part of it, until this giant with his incredible costume came to talk to her.

It would be a lie to say that she had not found him adorably charming, and she would have liked them to be more than friends, if he had not spent most of the time talking to her about his Eddie.

It was obvious that there was something strong and unique between Vee and this Eddie, even if he did not seem to appreciate him at his true value.

"He never agrees with me… He wants to control everything !" he had sobbed against her shoulder. "He says that I won't even be good at cleaning toilets."

"That's not nice. Maybe this relationship is not very healthy."

"But I love Eddie. He takes care of me and even though he's a stupid loser, he tries a lot. Maybe… Maybe I'm too hard on him."

"It's normal to have expectations from your partner. You need to sit down and communicate, to see what's wrong and find solutions."

"You're right, little morsel ! You're a good friend !"

Obviously very busy, Vee kept in touch with her by calling her almost every night and sending her messages, but never having time to see her.

He used Eddie's phone, while he slept. Before meeting her, Vee had never seen the point of having one, and he contacted her secretly because he found it funny to have a secret all to himself.

"But I'll tell him at some point, because we share everything. We're in symbiosis, we're one."

"That's cute. Do you think he'll be angry ?"

"No. Scared maybe."

"Oh." she wondered. "Is he the jealous type ? He'll be afraid that I'll steal you from him ?"

"I'd rather be afraid that he'll steal you from me, I think he'll love you a lot. And that's why he'll be afraid for you. He'll think I want to eat your brain."

Sometimes she didn't understand everything he said, but she found him funny and considered that he simply had a particular sense of humor.

But after several months of talking to him, he finally ended up running into him while a guy was trying to take her purse in an alley.

Vee jumped from a rooftop, growled at the thief, grabbing him with one hand, before biting his head off. Then he turned to Y/N, smiling.

"Eddie, she's my friend."

"Y/N ?" a voice that seemed to come from inside him asked. "Great, Vee, she's not going to freak out at all because you just killed someone. I already told you to go get some chickens if you were hungry."

"You never let me do anything ! He was mean ! He was attacking my Y/N !"

"Let me talk to her, okay ? So I don't traumatize her more than necessary."

In the end, Venom was an alien, and Eddie his host, a man not as horrible as she had imagined, simply trying to keep his symbiote from doing too much mischief so that they wouldn't be spotted by the government.

They fought often but they couldn't live without each other. Literally for Venom, even if they also loved each other too much to want to be apart.

As he had expected, the human had panicked a bit when he learned that he had a friend, that she didn't really know what he was, and that they were therefore putting her in danger just by talking to her. But Eddie had understood that she was important. He had felt it.

When Vee said that they shared everything, he was dead serious.

"I showed him a picture of you. He got an erection."

"Vee !" Eddie shouted, trying to silence the head floating next to his shoulder. "Shut up ! Those are not things to say ! Excuse him."

"Why ? I like Y/N, and you like her too, and she likes us. Her pheromones don't lie."

"Vee ! You're making everyone uncomfortable, stop."

"See ? He never agrees, he controls everything."

Y/N saw clearly, now understanding many things that had seemed a bit strange to her. She could have run away, but despite this surprising discovery, she really liked Vee, and Eddie seemed as charming as he was.

So she suggested that they spend the next Halloween, all together this time.

#flufftober 2024 #venom #venom x reader #eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x reader x venom

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frostyyyroyalmilktea · 18 days ago

Text

Morpheus x Reader pt.2

This is part 2 of my morpheus x reader story where reader is a vaguely divine being who has urequited love for The Dream King.

You can find pt 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

I opened a taglist for this story so you're welcome to join.

***

Everything hurt.

The senses were coming back slowly, and they brought nothing but pain. You managed to open your eyes, but everything was blurry. You couldn’t make left or right of your surroundings. The only thing you were more or less sure about was that you were lying down, and whatever you were lying on was too soft to be the ground.

There were a few points in your long and winding life where you’d broken nearly every bone in your body, so you were certainly no stranger to physical pain. Emotional pain, too — but you preferred to compartmentalise it into tiny, tiny boxes and bury them somewhere deep inside your soul until they blew up and made you do something catastrophically impulsive. Like the thing that got you here.

Right now, though, it felt worse than any singular experience in all your years. Both physically and emotionally.

You tried to move, and boy, was that a mistake.

A groan ripped from your throat as your entire body seared in pain. An odd kind, too. Not fresh, but not healed. Like you’d been thoroughly beaten up a few days ago, and now everything just felt sore and miserable.

“Oof, I wouldn’t recommend that,” said someone. You didn’t recognise the voice. “Moving, I mean. You look to be in a grizzly shape.”

You tried to focus your vision, and felt a headache creep in from the effort, but you managed to get a general idea of where you were. A room, so not terribly much information there. You did manage to concentrate enough to make out the owner of the voice.

He was perched in a plush chair not far from the bed. And he was, unmistakably, a bird.

A crow, or maybe a magpie. Definitely feathered.

“You know,” you said hoarsely, “when mortals wake up in a state like this, delirious from pain, the first thing they usually ask is whether they’re dead and if it’s God speaking to them. But if you were God, you’d be yelling at me right now. Telling me I’m grounded for eight hundred years and that you’re confiscating my iPad or something. So I’m guessing you’re not God, which means I’m not dead. And I’m honestly not sure how I feel about that right now. Usually, I’m quite happy about not being dead.”

The crow whistled. “That was… an impressively convoluted way of saying something, yet I’m still not sure what the something was. You should write for Grey’s Anatomy. Truly, it’s a gift.”

You laughed, which hurt. Tremendously.

“Asshole,” you coughed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“You probably have a nice laugh when you’re not trying to cough up your insides,” he quipped, good-naturedly.

“I’m begging you to stop. Your humour is slaying too hard. Like, literally. It’s killing me.”

“Sure, chief,” he graciously agreeed, amused with your antics. “For real though. How are you feeling?”

“If I had to wager? Worse than I look.”

“Oh, man.”

Sidestepping the further questioning, you said, “I’m not sure how I imagined you before I saw you, but for some reason I thought you’d be wearing one of those Florence Nightingale headpieces.”

“Well, you probably imagined some handsome chap. Not me.”

“I did, in fact, imagine a handsome chap,” you assured him, “and I was not wrong, was I?” You winked playfully, which also, somehow, managed to hurt.

He burst out laughing. “You are such a shameless flirt. You’re literally half-dead and you still have it in you.”

“One of my many talents,” you smiled, before asking more seriously, “Where am I, exactly?”

He sensed the shift and answered calmly.

“You’re in the Dreaming.”

“Really?” you scoffed. “Then I’m surprised I’m in a guest chamber with entertainment provided and not locked in a prison cell in some dungeon.”

He tilted his head, which seemed to indicate your words had upset him somewhat.

“Boss wouldn’t do that,” he tried, but it lacked conviction even to his own ears. Or whatever birds used to hear.

You decided not to comment on that.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, carefully changing the subject.

“I remember the gist of it, yeah.”

He hesitated.

“Listen, I know Boss is very pissed at you at the moment, and I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there’s not a soul in this kingdom that isn’t grateful to you for what you did,” he rushed out one breath, urgently, like he was scared someone would overhear it. “I know it might seem counterintuitive to believe right now, but you are safe here. We will take good care of you.”

Oh, how preciously young he was.

You smiled gently. Hoping your teeth were still intact.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, my friend. And I truly appreciate it. But we’re in Morpheus’ domain. And everything here bends to his will. He hates my guts with even more vigour now, so I’m not sure if there even is a safe place for me anymore.”

Well, there was always one. But the situation wasn’t quite so dire as to go crying to your mum just yet. Right?

“Still. I meant what I said,” he insisted. “And I’m Matthew, by the way.”

“Thank you, Matthew. I’m—”

A brutal fit of coughing overtook you. This time you coughed up some blood, but in good news, there were no teeth or pieces of them mixed in with it.

“I know who you are,” Matthew said gently. “And yeah. It’s nice to meet you. Sorry about the circumstances, though.”

“You’re sweet.” You looked at him more closely. “What are you, exactly? A shifter? You sound like someone who’s been human at some point in recent years.”

“I died of COVID complications around the end of 2020. In my sleep, so it wasn’t painful or anything.” He shrugged a wing. So now I’m here. Part of the Dreaming.”

“Not to be, like, culturally insensitive or something,” you said, “but why are you a crow?”

“My mind was fragmented when I died,” Matthew explained patiently. “I was burning up with fever for days before it happened. And Lucienne offered to turn me into a crow because there was no guarantee that I would retain my wits about me if I was to be made human again.”

You studied him thoughtfully. You imagined it wasn’t easy to live your life as one thing, then die and continue living as something completely different in nature — with a different thought pattern, comprehension, and even vision.

“Do you miss it? Being human?”

He paused.

“Yes and no. I don’t feel like a human trapped in a crow’s body, if that’s what you’re asking.I feel like a very dashing and intelligent gentleman crow.” He flicked his wing sassily.

You laughed again, which hurt like a bitch but was totally worth it.

“Some aspects are different,” he added. “Human touch. I miss that. That sense of emotional connection that came with it.”

He paused again, not sure if he wanted to say more, and you patiently waited.

“Lucienne says I have the capability to turn human again. To be, like you said, sort of a shifter. But it takes time, and inner strength, and a hell of a good reason to want it. Right now, I don’t think I’m even ready to think about it. It scares me, honestly. I’ve barely had time to get used to how I am, and another change, another realignment in my mind... it terrifies me.”

You nodded.

“These things tend to sort themselves out when the time is right,” you assured him. “Don’t worry about it before its time.”

You finally gathered enough strength to reach for the glass of apple juice sitting on the nightstand beside you.

You took a few slow sips, letting the sweetness wash away the coppery taste of blood still clinging to your tongue.

That’s when you noticed it. On your left wrist.

You’d been tattooed from time to time, in your various lives. The ink never lasted, of course, because you got a new body with every reincarnation. But still, it was fun. You liked seeing pieces of art on yourself.

But this wasn’t art. This was a brand.

Morpheus’ sigil.

And there was no way in hell he’d put it there himself.

It was for the Endless, his family, to connect with him. There was no universe in which he would willingly give it to you.

The dread at the implication flooded you.

This was the punishment. For both of you.

For escaping the will of the Fates.

Oh, those lying old bitches.

It was the cruelest thing they could have done to you. And it was the most humiliating punishment they could have devised for a prideful Lord of Dreams.

“Matthew?”

You spoke quietly. Defeated.

“Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.” you asked, voice cracking with a last, desperate effort to push back the despair closing in on you like a tide.

The tears welled up before you could stop them. You didn’t even try. They slid down your face in hot streaks.

“Oh. Yeah, I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Matthew said softly. “I… I hoped I’d have a little more time to prepare you.”

You looked up at him, smiling manically through the tears. You felt nothing. You felt everything. Numb and cracked open at once.

“Hit me.”

Matthew hesitated, then relented with quiet gravity. “The Fates connected you two through your very essence. I’m guessing you already figured it out, seeing the—”

He cut himself off.

He’d almost said it. The marital sigil.

“The sigil.” Matthew phrased diplomatically.

It was a sacred symbol, typically invoked in rites of union. A binding symbol placed when a couple would pray to Ananke, the mother of the Fates, to intertwine their souls. To share joy. To share pain. To become one in all things.

Applied to you and Morpheus, though, it was no answered prayer. It was a punishment. Revenge etched into skin and spirit alike.

After all the grief Atropos had given you for running to your mother when things got messy, she hadn’t hesitated to run to hers the moment you stepped on her toes. She asked for a favour and received cosmic intervention on demand.

Matthew looked like he was ready to bolt for the window. You could only imagine what Morpheus’ reaction to all this had been. It was fair to expect a spectacular crash-out from you, too. But you just didn’t have it in you. Neither physically nor emotionally.

“I’m very tired,” you whispered. “So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

Matthew nodded, hopping onto the windowsill, wings twitching.

“Sure, chief. Sleep well, yeah?”

He took off into the night.

You hadn’t noticed when it got dark outside, though you welcomed it nonetheless. Night has always been your favorite part of the day. It brought you comfort, without ever asking why you needed it.

You lay there, soundlessly crying for hours, until exhaustion finally pulled you under.

***

a/n: reader is going through it at the moment but just you wait untill she heals some bones and gets a redbull. she's gonna fuck shit up like never before. *rubbing my hands together like a little villain and looking at morpheus* hehe this is your problem now

taglist: @blackthorngirl

#morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #the sandman #the sandman netflix #the sandman s2 #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless #reader insert #the sandman season 2 #lord morpheus #morpheus

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auroralwriting · 1 year ago

Text

clean 1

tfatws! bucky barnes x stark! reader (no use of y/n)

after the fight with john walker, you can tell bucky's arm was bothering him. so, you make a trip to see him.

word count: 1.6k | warnings: strong language, multiple parts, part two

Your suit was practically scarp metal after the fight with John Walker. He had tried his hardest to absolutely obliterate your suit. Thankfully, Tony had done a great job of designing it. With a few hours of repairs, it would be good as new.

The one thing you worried about was Bucky's arm, specifically the metal one. You saw how Walker had thrown Bucky across the room into wiring, causing it to shock Bucky's whole body. It made you uneasy to think about wether or wether not the arm was in tact, that and the fact that if it wasn't, it could very well lead to a lot of pain for Bucky.

So, using Friday, you found Bucky's new address. He'd taken residence in a small apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully, not too far from where you were reclaiming the Stark Tower. One car ride later, and you stood outside Bucky's apartment feeling more nervous than you thought you would be.

While Bucky and you weren't on bad terms, it was fair to say he was still uneasy around you. I mean, he had killed your parents, and your only living relative (minus the small Morgan) was also dead. You'd been a baby when The Winter Soldier killed Howard and Maria, so how could there be any bad blood between you and Bucky? You didn't even know what you had lost. That and you were more down-to-earth than Tony, realizing quickly the guilt and shame Bucky felt for his mind-controlled actions.

Using up the last bit of confidence you had, you knocked on Bucky's door. It took less than a minute, and Bucky's surprised face was staring back at you.

"Uhm, hi," You said awkwardly.

"How'd you know where I live?" Bucky asked, confused.

You held up your phone, Friday's screen appearing. "Just a quick scan of all James Buchanan Barnes in the area. Not very many," Your joke fell flat as you stood awkwardly while Bucky processed what was happening.

"Why're you here?" He asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay after the fight with Walker." You replied. "I saw you get thrown into all those wires, I saw all the sparks."

Bucky gave a small shrug, "I'm alright."

You eyed his arm suspiciously, "That arm causing you any pain?"

Both eyes now fell on Bucky's arm. You looked back up to Bucky to see him staring at it still. "It's been better," He sighed, his reply honest.

"I can fix it if you'd like?" You suggested. Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head at your words, "Or not!" You quickly added. "I, uh, don't want to make you feel weird..er than you probably already do."

Bucky went to move his arm, and you saw the traces of pain etched into his features. "It'll be alright."

"Our fight isn't over yet, Bucky." You argued. "You should be at your best." You took a deep breath in, finding more confidence from deep within, "I promise I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about. I mean, Tony literally had a hunk of metal plunged in his chest, and he made me clean it out all the time, it was really gross and-"

"Alright, alright," Bucky held his hands up. "I don't wanna hear about Tony's gross chest-hole. Just, come on in." The door opened all the way as Bucky walked inside. You trailed behind, slowly shutting the door behind you as you observed the apartment. It was really empty, just a small couch and a coffee table in front of it. The kitchen looked rather bare, too.

You took a seat on the couch, Bucky sitting next to you. You set your toolbox down in between the both of you, putting some space between your bodies.

"I need to see the connection point, if you don't mind?" You said softly, looking to Bucky's covered shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," He muttered as he hesitantly slipped off his shirt. You quickly noticed the healing scars on his shoulder, all around the joint, but you made sure to pay no attention to them as you hovered your hand over his arm. "It's fine," He said, watching your hesitantcy.

The metal was cool on your hands as you felt around it, looking for the weak point. Once you found it, you grabbed your tools and began to work at it. You weren't used to working in silence, so you tried to make some conversation.

"Steve, uh, used to tell me a lot about you." You said. Bucky raised a brow at you as you continued. "You were his knight in shining armor, or something of the sorts."

"I guess I was," Bucky gave the smallest hint of a smile. "How'd you learn how to do this anyways?"

You shrugged as you grabbed a new tool, "Tony taught me everything I know. Engineering, chemistry, physics, you name it."

"It must've been hard, just you two." Bucky said softly.

Looking up, you shook your head, "Don't start that," You said.

"But it's my fault-"

"For the last time, Bucky, that was the Winter Soldier, not you. I do not blame you, there's no reason to keep hurting yourself over this." You cut Buck off, voice slightly sharp with intention. Bucky's eyes fell on the other side of the room as you sighed, "Tony would have forgiven you, too. He just needed time."

Bucky scoffed, "He had five years."

"Of which we were gone," You countered. "I forgive you for him and myself, okay?"

“Don’t say that,” Bucky shook his head. “Just.. don’t?”

You set down your tool, staring at him. “Do you want proof?”

This gained Bucky’s interest, “Proof?” He asked, voice laced with doubt. “What proof?”

“Who do you think protected your whereabouts in Wakanda?” You asked, “Steve and Sam were on the run. Of course Tony knew you were there. I remember when he got the call. He just sat there for a while, thinking. When we talked about it, he said he was glad you were getting help.”

“What else did he say?” Bucky said with a knowing look in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s Tony, Buck. He says anything and everything and means almost none of it.” Bucky didn’t expect you to use his nickname. He liked the sound of it coming from your voice.

“That doesn’t mean he forgave me.” Bucky said.

“Well I do, okay? So stop being such a grump. I’m trying to be your friend, just let me, would you?” You sighed as you began to work on his arm again.

The soldier gave a small sigh, “Stop wasting your time on me when you have a company to run.”

“Stop trying to push me away. Also, Pepper’s helping me run it, so I have all the time in the world.” You argued.

After a brief moment of silence, Bucky spoke again. “I’m still not sure I’m safe to be around,”

The honesty surprised you, making you glance up at him to observe his face. “I’m literally face to face with your arm, tool inside it, and you wanna say you aren’t safe?”

Your comment made Bucky give a small chuckle, “That’s not really what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” You asked.

Bucky gave a shaky breath, “In Madripoor, when I had to take down those guys when I was pretending to be.. him,” Bucky explained, “It’s like I could still feel him trying to break free.”

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, making sure to avoid his scars. “Bucky, Wankanda said you’re a free man. The Winter Soldier’s gone.”

“Maybe I’m just so used to violence now.” Bucky offered, “Maybe it’s who I am.”

“No,” You replied quickly. “You are Bucky Barnes. You’re Steve’s best friend, Sergeant Barnes. You’re Sam’s friend, my friend, and you’re a survivor. You’re one hell of a fighter, you’re a victim who pushed through all his pain and suffering to become a better man, and that’s exactly who you are.” Your words left Bucky feeling like he could cry, but he just looked away. You didn’t know whether what you said was right or wrong.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered as you began to work on his arm again.

“It’s no problem, Bucky.” You responded. You silently worked, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Bucky’s eyes poring holes into your head.

"This world doesn't deserve you," Bucky muttered as you worked. You simply hummed in reply, making Bucky's forehead crease. "I mean it, Stark. You're one of the best people in this world."

Rolling your eyes, you put away the last of your tools. "Bucky, I'm just being a decent person."

Bucky's eyes burned with a new passion, "No decent person would do all you've done for everyone you've ever come across." Before you could protest, Bucky's metal hand grabbed your chin softly. "Don't even try to argue, I know it can be hard for a Stark but can you hold your tongue?" When you didn't reply, Bucky continued. "You're so humble, so fuckin' sweet. I mean, you came all this way just to fix my arm."

"And to check on you," Your voice came out babbled as Bucky's hold on your chin was still present.

"I don't deserve your kindness," Bucky admitted, "But here you are, giving me all of it." His eyes bore into your own, his own actions betraying his mind as he slammed his lips tightly onto your own. It took you by surprise, but you happily returned the heated kiss as Bucky's hand slithered behind your neck.

"You deserve all of it, the whole world," You mumbled as you pulled away breathlessly. "The world did you dirty, and I'll be the one to wash you of it." With your words, Bucky felt his eyes water as he kissed you passionately again.

Once you pulled apart, Bucky wiped your lips with his thumb, a small smile on his lips. "Does that mean you're gonna stick around?"

"Yeah," you giggled, "I think it does."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #bucky x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader

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