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luverine · 2 months ago

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⊹₊Shy ⌞ ⌝

Yandere loser photographer x gn reader જ⁀➴

0.9k words // Nsfw (ish) // gets caught // takes pictures and videos without reader knowing // angsttt // crying // reader is flabbergasted // Yan just wants a hug // :‹

He’s shy.

God, he’s so shy.

He lurks in the shadows, always in the back, always tucked away somewhere dark where no one ever has to look at him.

Moping. Frowning. Whining.

Drowning in some pathetic pool of self-pity because he’s never strong enough to speak up, never brave enough to be seen.

The tears that fall at night, soaking into his pillow.

The red, angry marks on his palms from clenching his fists too hard all day just to stay silent.

The dark, heavy circles under his dulling eyes, carved there from hours and hours staring into camera lenses instead of facing the real world.

The sick, pale skin from hiding inside all the time, too scared to breathe the same air as everyone else.

The only time anyone notices him is through the college paper. His photos.

They always say he has a good eye for beauty.

Funny.

Because there’s only one thing he actually thinks is beautiful.

You.

You’re the only thing he’s ever had eyes for.

And thankfully, he’s good at hiding, because it lets him watch you all day.

Trailing behind you, camera always in hand like it’s his lifeline.

Snapping pictures of you when you smile, when you frown, when you just exist.

The things he does in secret

Sneaking into your dorm just to collapse on your bed, face buried in your pillow, greedy for the scent you leave behind.

Stealing your shirts when you’re not looking, clutching them to his chest and wearing them in the secret privacy of his own room- where every wall is completely covered in different pictures of you. He wants to be completely surrounded by you.

The tiny cameras he’s hidden in your pencil sharpener, your toothbrush charger, unnoticeable desperate pieces of himself clinging to you.

He sees everything.

Every soft moment when you think no one’s looking.

Every time you let your guard down.

Every inch of your beautiful, ethereal, breathtaking body.

And each time, it makes him ache. Makes him starve for you.

You are his sanctuary.

You are the only place that feels right.

You just don’t know it yet.

He wants so badly for you to look at him.

To want him.

To pull him into your arms and never, ever let go.

But you don’t see him.

You never do.

And he’s too much of a coward to step into the light.

He knows it.

He hates it.

Still, he wishes anyway.

Wishes on everything he can find. Full moons, four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, coins tossed into wishing wells, begging the universe for you to notice him.

To need him.

Until then, he’ll stay hidden.

Just him, his camera, and his stupid, pathetic, breaking heart.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Watching you.

“Please come to me, my light,” he whispers into your pillow, voice cracking as he sobs.

“Please.”

“What are you doing in my room?…”

He stiffens, heart dropping,“I-” His voice dies in his throat.

You’re staring at him like you don’t even recognize him.

Like he’s something wrong.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” your voice cracks with something between confusion and fear.

You take a step back, away from him.

And it cuts him deep.

He launches forward without thinking, still clutching your shirt, still smelling like you, desperation pouring off him in waves.

“Please- please don’t, don’t look at me like that,” he stammers, reaching out like he could pull you back to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I swear! I just- I just love you!” He cries.

You shake your head, overwhelmed, confused.

You feel sick.

You remember the missing clothes, the little things that had been moved, the uneasy feeling of being watched, followed…

The pieces click into place like a knife twisting in your gut.

“You…”

You can barely breathe.

“You’ve been stalking me?”

He whimpers at the word.

Like it physically hurt him.

“N-no not like that-” he pleads, voice breaking. “I was just- watching over you, I was not stalking you, I swear!”

You step back again, faster this time.

Your stomach turns.

You can’t think straight.

“I don’t even know you,” you choke out, anger sparking through your fear. “You- you’re sick!”

The words hit him hard.

He collapses to his knees, crawling after you without thinking, grabbing onto the hem of your pants with shaking hands.

“No, please, please don’t say that,” he sobs, tears pouring freely now. “I’m not sick, I know you! I’m yours- I’m yours, I’ll do anything!”

You try to pry him off, but he clings harder, wrapping his arms around your legs, burying his face against you like a terrified child.

He’s trembling so violently you can barely keep your balance.

“I need you,” he gasps out. “I need you. Please don’t push me away! Please don’t hate me! Please!-“

His fingers dig into you, like if he just holds tight enough, you won’t be able to fight him off.

You’re frozen. You don’t know what to do. You’re furious. You’re scared.

But he’s clinging to you like a lifeline.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he whimpers. “I just wanted to be close to you, I just wanted- I just wanted you to see me!”

His voice breaks into a raw, guttural sob.

“Please don’t push me away,” he cries. “Please. Please. I’ll die without you-“

You shove at him weaker than before, but he just clutches harder, like he’s trying to melt into you, like letting go would make you vanish.

“Let go of me!” you finally shout, voice hoarse and eyebrows pinched anger and confusion.

But he doesn’t.

He just cries harder.

Mumbling apologies into your tear-stained pants, swearing he’d be good, he’ll do better, he’ll fix this, he’ll do anything, anything, just don’t let go of him.

A/N: This is a lil different than my usual Yan I write. I wanted to try something from the horny violent obsession that I typically write for Yan’s. Hope you like it :D

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated! ❤︎

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luverine · 2 months ago

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Spores and Slushies 𓍊𓋼

sfw (lil spicy) 18+ // it’s ominous if you look closely // virgin adrenaline junkie plug x chill reader // crack fic?? // 2k words

He knew exactly what he wanted: to get laid. For real this time. Not in a dream. Not in a fantasy. Not with a pillow. Not thinking about-

Look, he’s not winning any awards. He’s kind of an idiot. A walking red flag with a Mohawk that looks like it lost a fight with a weed whacker. His mom barely tolerates him, and yeah- he sells shrooms out of his car. But like, the chill kind. He’s not Pablo Escobar, he’s more like… Pablo Mid.

Violent? Only if you steal his vape. Hot? In a “if you squint and maybe have a concussion” sort of way. He thinks he’s a sex god, but the truth? The guy’s freshly 21 and still hasn’t seen a boob in the wild.

But tonight? Oh, tonight’s the night. He’s at some rager his “client” invited him to because nothing says “ladies man” like showing up to a party with a fanny pack full of fungi. He’s ready. Horny. Slightly sweaty.

And if, by some divine miracle, someone decides to pity bang him? Well… they’d better be too drunk to notice he finishes faster than a microwave burrito.

It’s not like he doesn’t get hit on. Some of the girls he sells to have offered to screw him instead of paying, but he always tells them to fuck off- usually right before threatening to light their hairsprayed heads on fire.

He’s minding his own business at the party. Not that anyone’s dumb enough to bother him. The permanent scowl glued to his face does the heavy lifting. He’s leaning on the fence, stewing in his own awkwardness, already questioning this so-called “plan.”

Then he sees you.

He’s seen you many times before. Hell, you’ve bummed booze off him more than once. You’re quiet. Or maybe just nonchalant. Whatever it is, people call you a hard-ass. Intimidating? Definitely. Hot? Oh yeah. Hot-hot.

The kind of hot that makes him stand up straighter. Adjust his hoodie. Forget, briefly, that he hasn’t washed his hair in three days.

He watches you from across the yard, casually checking you out on the down-low. You’re wearing sweats and an oversized T-shirt- like, comically oversized.

“Can’t see shit,” he mutters, taking a long, dramatic hit off his vape like it’ll calm the injustice.

Who the hell shows up to a party in pajamas? Who does that? Like what?

And why does it still kinda work?

You catch him eyeballing you from across the yard, his stare not nearly as subtle as he thinks. You scowl, leaning toward one of your friends.

“Why is our drug dealer staring at me?” you mutter.

They shrug, already swaying back into the music, leaving you alone with your suspicion.

You sigh. “Better not think I owe him money.”

With a groan and a deep breath, you march toward him, each step louder in your head than it needs to be. He notices. Of course he does. His posture straightens immediately, like he just got called up in class. There’s a smirk threatening to crawl onto his face, and you want to punch it off already.

“Why are you staring at me?” you ask, arms crossed, voice clipped. “Last time I checked, I paid-”

He cuts you off, silently offering his vape, eyes holding that usual half-smirk, half-dumbass look.

“Chill.”

You roll your eyes, lean on the same section of fence he’s parked at, and take a hit.

“Ugh. Gross flavor,” you mutter, scrunching your face as you hand the vape back. He shrugs like he knew that already.

A pause settles between you as you both watch the chaos unfold, people grinding and stumbling across your friend’s backyard like drunk moths circling a bonfire. Music’s loud. Vibes are messy.

“You bored?” he asks, trying-and failing-to soften his usual scowl.

You shrug. “I hate parties,” you admit, voice low, almost tired. Then you glance at him, your expression more wide now, curious.

“Are you?”

He glances down at his shoes, scowling like they personally offended him. Then he looks back up at you, at your dull, tired eyes.

“Wanna go do something?” he asks, voice low and weirdly serious.

You raise an eyebrow, head tilted. “Like what?”

That smirk-slow and stupid-creeps across his face. “Get slushies?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is that slang for something? ’Cause if it is- no.”

“No, dipshit,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The gas station a couple blocks down. They’ve got a sick-ass slushie machine. You in or not?”

You stare at him for a second, like you’re waiting for the punchline. Then, you shrug. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

His grin spreads wider as he jerks his head toward his car. For a second, you swear he grows devil horns.

The second you slide into the passenger seat, he announces, “Seatbelt. I only drive fast.”

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

“That was fast?” you deadpan, stepping out of the car like you just survived a near-death experience. He’d blown through every stop sign like they were mere suggestions.

“Hah. You’re funny,” he mocks, hitting his vape before slamming his door shut.

You follow him inside. He makes a beeline for the machine like it’s sacred.

“Behold,” he says, flicking the glass like it owes him money. “Six flavors. One giant-ass machine.”

He watches the red slush swirl like he’s seeing art.

He grabs a big cup and starts filling it with the red slush, “what flavor you gonna get?”

You hum and flicker at the little menu sticker the machine has. “Cola. Never had it before.” You shrug and fill your cup.

He licks his lips and tilts his head toward you like you just said something profound. “Good choice,” he mutters.

You both fill your Frankenstein-sized cups and, of course, he sneaks you out without paying, casually flipping off the ceiling camera.

As you slide into the passenger seat, he grins and clinks his cup against yours.

“To crime,” he declares. “That dumb oaf at the counter never notices.”

You take a sip, letting the icy cola burn your throat a little. “What’s your name anyway? Everyone calls you Red or Plug.”

He barks out a laugh and shoots you a grin that’s 50% chaotic energy, 50% ‘I may or may not have set something on fire once.’

“They’re too scared to ask. I punched the last guy who did.”

You stare at him, deadpan, brain whispering oh no.

“Nahhh,” he waves it off, smirking like an absolute menace. “Just fuckin’ with you. It’s Jared.”

“Oh,” you reply, because what the hell else do you say after that?

He slurps obnoxiously from his cup. “But like… if you want to keep calling me Red, that’s cool too. Makes me sound dangerous.” He grins mischievously.

“Yeah, I own a pit bull. Kinda dangerous,” you mock, mimicking his tone with a smirk as you tilt your head back, eyes drifting up through the car’s dusty skylight.

There’s a pause. He’s still watching you, mouth agape, probably thinking of something dumb to say.

“You got any plans tonight?” you ask, casual but calculated.

He raises an eyebrow, slurping his drink like a gremlin.

You grin. “’Cause I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that huh?” His face turns sinister.

“Wanna get out of the parking lot and chill somewhere?”

His eyes widen for half a second. I know what “chill” means, he tells himself proudly, like he just passed a pop quiz. “Hell yeah, I know just the spot.”

Before you can ask what that means, he’s firing up the car like he’s in Fast & Furious: Dumbass Edition. It feels less like a casual drive and more like you’ve been strapped into a carnival ride operated by someone who definitely failed driver’s ed.

Anticipation practically buzzes off him as he pulls into a driveway and cuts the engine. Home sweet home- or rather, his parents’ house.

He practically drags you through the front door and down into the basement like he’s showing off a dragon hoard.

The space looks like a punk and a nerd got drunk and redecorated during a full moon. Band posters and tattered tapestries cover the walls. Black clothes are everywhere. The bed’s got plaid sheets and like, five hoodies crumpled on it. A pleather loveseat- held together with duct tape and denial sits across from a flat-screen hooked up to an ancient Xbox.

And in the corner? A little table cluttered with rolling papers, a dead lighter, and enough weed crumbs to season a burrito.

He’s pacing a little now, pretending he’s looking for something-his vape, maybe, or his self-control. Truth is, his brain’s screaming be cool, be cool, BE COOL, while his hands are clammy and he feels like he might explode from sheer horniness and panic.

You sit on the edge of the duct-taped loveseat, sipping the last of your slushie like it’s wine. You don’t say much, just watching him stumble around his own cave like he’s never been here before.

“Nice room,” you say finally, glancing at a crooked Rob Zombie poster held up with thumbtacks and hope.

He turns to you with a dumb grin. “Yeah, thanks. It’s, uh… lived-in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You good?”

He immediately, violently, nods his head. “Yeah. Pfft. Totally chill. Like, so chill I’m… freezing.”

You laugh-actually laugh-and pat the couch beside you. “Come sit down, Red.”

He sits down. It’s awkward. His knee bumps yours and he jolts like he touched a live wire.

You both go quiet for a second. The slushies sweat on the table. The room hums with punk posters and low, buzzing nerves.

“I like you,” you say, voice low but direct. “If more people saw this version of you… you’d probably be more popular.”

He groans like that’s the worst possible fate. “Nah, that shit’s boring. I just want cash.”

You lean in slightly, a sly smile curling on your lips. “Do you want my cash?”

He throws his head back against the couch with a grunt. “No,” he mutters. “You’re cool. And I like you too, so…”

You smirk, brushing your fingers lightly across his knee. “Got a soft side, huh?”

Your hand lingers, and for once, he doesn’t flinch. He turns his head toward you, your faces now just inches apart.

“I wanna kiss you,” he says, staring right at your lips, voice a little hoarse.

You raise a brow. “What’re you telling me for?”

Then no more waiting. He closes the gap and kisses you. It’s not neat or practiced. It’s messy, a little desperate, and somehow perfect.

He groans into the kiss, one hand finding the back of your neck, holding you there like he can’t believe this is real. His heart’s hammering. Your cheeks are flushed. The air feels different now, thick with something new, something real.

You break the kiss “So… you ever done this before?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “… this?” He cringes.

You stare. He stares back.

“You’re a virgin, huh?”

He dies inside. “…Technically.”

You don’t tease him. You just nod. “Me too, technically.”

He blinks. “Wait, what? So you’re not gonna like… laugh? Or call me Baby Boy, or something?”

You snort. “Do you want me to?”

“…Kinda?”

You roll your eyes, tug him in by the collar of his hoodie, and kiss him slow, surprisingly soft for how stupidly he carries himself. His hands hover like he’s not sure where they’re allowed to go. You guide them to your hips.

And just like that, the vibe shifts.

He stops thinking. He’s in it. With you. For real.

“Fuck your so hot-“

“Take your pants off, Red.”

And yeah, he fumbles and finishes faster than he wants to.

But you don’t laugh.

You just smirk, pull his hoodie off, and say, “Round two’s your redemption arc.”

And he thinks, Holy shit. I do love them.

…But he won’t say that until at least three more gas station slushies and a played off panic attack later…and maybe after he figures out if you’d kill someone for him too…maybe.

A/N: This was fun! Sorry I’ve been mia been kinda sick. Hoping to write more of this crazy guy! ❤︎ divider by bernardsbendystraws

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated 𓋼𓍊

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luverine · 3 months ago

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⊹ Sinister Mark x Fem!Reader ⊹ ⁀➴

blood // cannibalism // mdni // sfw // possessive and obsessive // violence? //

“You taste even better than before.”

The man before you hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out to lap up the streak of blood trailing down your temple- the result of a crash he caused.

The resemblance is uncanny. He looks just like Invincible, but something is off. The yellow and black costume, the unkempt scruff, the way his eyes seem darker, hungrier. Maybe you never noticed on TV, or maybe he wasn’t meant to be seen like this. Up close, he’s terrifying.

He tilts his head, studying the tremble in your gaze. “Why do you look so confused? It’s me, sweet.” His grip tightens. His voice is softer now, but not in a way that soothes. “Still sweet,” he murmurs, as if he’s reminding himself. Then, quieter, a murmur, “A little more savory than her, though.”

Your stomach turns.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You thrash, desperate to break free, but his fingers only sink deeper into your skin.

He just smiles.

“Very different, too. She was a quiet, weak little thing, cowering at every move I made.” His grip tightens as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “And here you are, fighting me.” He chuckles, low and amused. “Cute.”

Your teeth grind together as you suck in a sharp breath, ready to spit venom, to scream, to do something-

But he silences you with a bloodstained finger pressed against your lips.

“Shhh.” His voice is almost tender. Almost.

His gaze drags over your face, hungry, starved. “It’s been so long since I saw you. I couldn’t help myself, you know?” He exhales like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s remembering something intoxicating. “You were the best dessert I ever had.” His lips curve, eyes dark with something twisted.

“I couldn’t stop.” His thumb brushes your chin, smearing warmth across your skin. “Just thinking about you makes me feel starved.”

“That won’t happen again, though.” His smirk deepens, eyes glinting with something dark. “It was too quiet without you. And I have needs, y’know.”

“What the f-” Your voice shakes, but the fury in your chest burns hotter. “Let me go! You’re insane!” You shove at him with everything you have, but he barely moves, only letting out an amused huff.

Annoyed, he shifts, pressing closer, caging your body against his. The air around you thickens, suffocating.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his head tilting like he’s listening to something. “Your heart’s beating so fast.” A slow grin creeps across his face.

His fingers curl tight around your wrist, feeling the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

“What is it?” He leans in, voices a whisper against your ear.

“Are you scared of me too?”

He leans in, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhales deeply.

“You smell just like her.” His voice is almost a groan, laced with something sickeningly pleased.

Your mind rings in panic.

“I’m taking you with me,” he murmurs, his grip unrelenting. “You’ll learn to like it.” A careless shrug, like this is all so simple. So inevitable.

Then his eyes flick down, raking over the torn fabric of your shirt, lingering too long.

“Look at you… new and improved.” His lips curl, dark amusement dancing in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice thick with certainty.

“I like you more already.”

Doom fills you, heavy and suffocating, sinking into your bones like a death sentence.

Your breath shudders, shallow and uneven. Every nerve in your body screams for you to run, to fight, but his grip is iron, his presence is overwhelming.

He watches you, his smirk widening as if he feels the fear rolling off you.

“There it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “That feeling. I missed this.”

A shiver crawls down your spine.

You try to move, anything, but he only presses closer, his warmth suffocating, his strength inescapable.

“You can feel it too, can’t you?” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin. “That sinking, twisting, crushing feeling.”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow, deliberate, pressing just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. The heat of your blood, the fragile rhythm, it fascinates him.

“You’re mine, and I’m not letting go this time.”

He leans down again, his tongue dragging slowly along the side of your face, lapping up the fresh blood seeping from the gash. Another satisfied hum rumbles in his chest.

“You taste so good.”

His scruff scrapes against your skin, a cruel irritation that only adds to the violation.

“God damn it, stop-”

Before you can finish, his hand snaps around your throat, cutting off the rest of your words. Your eyes go wide as his grip tightens, his gaze sharpening into something cold and dangerous.

“Maybe I won’t appreciate that loud mouth after all,” he sighs, almost disappointed.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the way you struggle beneath him. Then his gaze flickers lower, settling on your bloodstained lips. A smirk tugs at his mouth. He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful- before crashing down, stealing the air from your lungs in a brutal, controlling kiss.

It hurts.

His teeth sink into your lips, claiming, devouring, you swear you can feel his jaw pressing into yours, an unrelenting force that demands everything. The taste of blood, coppery and warm, spreads between you.

When he finally pulls back, he lingers, his breath still ghosting over your skin. And then he sees it-

A beautiful sight.

Your lips, swollen and trembling, your chin slick with fresh blood. His work. His.

A slow and sharp shiver runs up his spine, like the edge of a blade dragging against bare flesh. Want. Hunger. Lust. It coils inside him, tightening, suffocating, consuming.

His thumb reaches out, smearing the crimson across your lips, his touch almost loving.

“You wear it so well,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and insatiable. He brings his finger to his mouth for a taste.

You tremble, your body instinctively curling in on itself, trying to shrink away, to disappear.

But he doesn’t let you.

“Uh uh uh,” he tuts, shaking his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t hide from me.”

His grin stretches wider, wicked and hungry.

“I’m going to savor you.”

His thumb drags along your bloody lips, his touch almost gentle, mockingly so. Then, he presses it into your mouth, testing, teasing.

“Every. Last. Piece”

A/N: Felt like writing for one of my favorite cannibals! I really wanted to lean into the whole “people eater Mark” thing •𐃷•

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated જ⁀➴ ♡

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luverine · 3 months ago

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Goodnight, Red ♥︎

sfw ‧₊˚

The sharp scrape of your window being pried open jolts you awake, followed by the muffled thud of it sliding shut.

“What the-” You mumble, blinking against the darkness as your heart pounds.

“It’s just me.” A gravelly voice cuts through the quiet, rough but familiar.

“Jason?” Your voice is raspy from sleep, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.” His rough touch is gentle as he brushes your hair out of your face.

A hum of satisfaction escapes your lips, and you flop back onto the mattress, already sinking back into the comfort of your pillow. The dim glow of the streetlights outside spills through the window, just enough to cast his shadow across your room. You watch as he moves with quiet efficiency, peeling off his gear, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The distant sound of the shower hums softly, lulling you further into the haze of sleep. You blink once, twice, and suddenly, his warmth is enveloping you. His body molds to yours, strong arms circling your waist, pulling you close as his thick legs tangle lazily with yours.

A sleepy yawn escapes as you press a soft kiss to the stubbled curve of his jaw, a soft grunt slipping from your lips as the roughness tickles your skin. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling a deep, contented sigh.

“Sleep good, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, his breath warm and soothing.

“You too, Red,” you murmur, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his back.

As your eyes flutter shut, your heart beats in quiet harmony with his.

A/N: been enjoying ooey gooey fluff and decided to make some!

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated 𓆩𓆪

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luverine · 3 months ago

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Sunburn ₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

Yearning // sfw // fluff/angst // gn!reader

The sun hangs high, its golden light spilling over your skin, making you glow as if it was made just for you. Your eyes shimmer, reflecting the glimmering water at your feet, a universe of stars hidden in their depths.

Your damp hair clings in loose waves, wild from the salt and humidity, a halo of frizz that only makes you more breathtaking. You don’t seem to mind. Your smile never falters, soft and effortless, as the waves kiss your feet, pulling back just to return- just like I do.

The sun paints you with warmth, brushing your cheeks with a blush that makes my breath hitch. Your lips-plump, God, your lips. I wonder how they’d feel against mine, how they’d taste.

I want to be the reason your face flushes. I want to steal the breath from your lungs the way you steal mine without even trying.

I wish you’d turn to me, gaze deep into my eyes, and tell me what I already know, that we are meant to be, tangled together by fate itself.

But instead, I sit beside you, my fingers curled into the sand-dusted towel, letting the sun burn into my skin- all for the chance to be close to you.

Just me and you.

Friends.

Likes, Reblogs, Comments appreciated ☀︎

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luverine · 3 months ago

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All is fun and games until I give Luan babies, I just want to cuddle the wrid furred babies while my hobby is overloaded by the picture.

If I were an anon, I'd be Luan's wife. Since I am not bc I embrace being horny on main, I still reclamo the title.

I literally love you ♡ Mrs. Luan makes my brain bleed with inspiration. Anyways I gotchu Luan and fluffy babies ﾟ⋆｡˚‧. suggestive // pregnancy // 18+ // sfw // fluff⋆｡˚‧ no proof read!

Being with Luan has its challenges, and those challenges developed into things you love about him.

Love grew stronger and the next thing you knew you were pregnant. You grew the love the both of you created. Eventually having three fuzzy little babies.

Luan couldn’t have been more proud of you and happy that this is what his life had come to.

It filled him with joy to see you grow his young, birth, and raise the love he gave you.

Seeing you nurse, cuddle, play anything with these cute little creatures. He couldn’t wish for another life. You are more beautiful than ever, beyond perfection.

As the little ones grew they became more cuddly. It made sense if I wasn’t hot out it was freezing for moths…

He still remembers leaving the nest for the first time after the littles were born. He came back to see you all sleeping in a dog pile. It melted his heart.

Tenderly he brushed some hair out of your face and gave you a light smooch on your forehead.

Grabbing the camera he snapped pictures of you all in a sleep pile. The light flashing from the camera woke up his young. They all whined crawling towards their dada missing him.

The pictures were spewed all over the floor and would later be through the house by Luan who was overwhelmed by such tender love.

Want more of Luan? (One) (Two) (Three) (four)

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated!

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luverine · 3 months ago

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Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader

MDNI // sfw // no proof read ‹𝟹

Leif, a gentle giant of pure orc blood, towers at over seven feet tall. His tannish-green skin glows warmly in the sunlight, he has a lean but soft physique. Despite his intimidating stature, his deep voice is a source of comfort to those around him, his presence calming, his nature well-known and trusted by all. Yet, there’s one undeniable issue that lingers, you.

You hate him, every interaction he’s exchanged with you has been sharper than a knife, colder than the snow. It saddens him with a frown etched into his face after every conversation.

He thinks you’re amazing, the way you handle a bow and arrow with ease, bringing the game back to the village you both reside in. Giving the town much food to eat, never having to worry about hunger.

He’s too big to use a bow Leif wishes he wasn’t, perhaps you would like him more if he wasn’t so big, if he could be more careful, he can’t help but run and bump into things.

He remembers how you grew to dislike him. He was relatively newer to the village, but he brought his talent of being a blacksmith with him, many of the townsfolk grew to enjoy his presence and his passion. Money grew as well causing even more townsfolk to welcome him.

You grew up as a hunter, your family passed doing just that, hunting. It was more than a pastime or sport for you. It was your livelihood, the bow your father gifted you before his great hunt was sacred to you.

Was… Leif the clutz he snapped it in pieces when he tripped over your crouched form that was hiding in a bush.

He nearly cried. He felt so bad and it didn’t help the situation when you threatened his life. From that day on you declared him as a foe and he wished nothing more than to make it up to you.

Once he made you a bow as a blacksmith he didn’t have a lot of experience with bow making but he put his best effort into creating it. You practically cursed his bloodline, and shoved the bow up his ass.

The worst of all that has happened between you, he loved you, Leif felt it deep within his heart when he laid his amber eyes on you. He sent prayer after prayer to you, devoting his mind, body, and soul to you.

Other women and some men in the town have tried to woo him but never succeeded, everyone could see clear as day how he felt, but they also saw how you felt. It was obvious he was going to have to work hard to win your love.

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ‹𝟹

Want more of Leif? Part 2 here, Part 3 , Part 4

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luverine · 3 months ago

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ᖭི༏ᖫྀ Luan (Mothman) x fem! reader

How Luan got his name. // nsfw // MDNI // scratching // breeding // cockwarming // no proof read // word count: 0.8k

“You like the moon?” you ask softly, pointing towards the glowing orb that casts a pale light, making the cold night air shimmer.

The creature beside you lets out a soft chirp, a high-pitched sound that seems to tell agreement.

You hum, taking in his ethereal form- tall, dark, and lean with sleek fur. His eyes, wide and the deepest shade of ruby, reflect the moonlight. He’s gorgeous.

“You’re kind of like the moon, ya know,” you murmur, your gaze trailing over him. “Lunar, dark, quiet… breathtaking.”

A shuddering breath escapes your lips as he steps closer, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you despite the chill in the air. He lowers his head so that it's above yours, warmth seeping into your skin.

He traces his clawed fingers along the curve of your neck to your cheek, it tickles making you giggle. Turning to face him fully, you rise on tiptoe and nuzzle into the soft, downy fur of his neck.

“You always feel so nice. You’re always so… magnificent.” You let out a quiet laugh. “just like the-.”

A sudden thought brightens your eyes. “Luna! That should be your name.”

He tilts his head, a deep, rumbling whine vibrating through his chest. He glances between you and the moon, a silent request for something that feels sincere.

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. “Something more personal, more… you.”

——

The next morning, you immerse yourself in your small, beloved library, pouring over historical texts and old-time lore. Mythology and folklore have always been a passion of yours. Page after page, book after book, until you stumble upon the literature “Luan Zhi”- beautiful, virtuous wings… also referred to the moon.

“Perfect!” you exclaim, feeling a rush of excitement. This name would suit him perfectly. You can’t wait to share it with him!

——

That evening, you find him perched in his usual spot. Your fingers brush over his wings, marveling at the blend of black and white fuzz that feels softer than silk.

“I found a name for you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s already watching you, those dark ruby eyes gleaming with curiosity.

He lets out a soft, encouraging chirp, urging you to continue. You can see the anticipation flicker in his gaze.

“Luan,” you say with a smile. “Wings of the moon… my Luan.”

His eyes widen, sparkling like diamonds as he absorbs the meaning. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His hold is tight, desperate, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

A deep, resonant purr emanates from his chest as he breathes you in, his mind clouded with need. He’s intoxicated by the warmth of your scent, memories of being inside you flaring up with an almost painful intensity. His claws sink into your sides, drawing a soft yelp from your lips.

Luan pauses, concern flitting across his face as he checks if you’re unharmed. You nod, fingers threading through the thick fur at his nape. Your cheeks burn with arousal, a slick heat pooling between your thighs.

“Luan,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I need you…”

His length, already hardening, presses insistently against you. Without hesitation, you peel away the fabric that separates your bodies, baring yourself to him. His fur spikes with arousal as he takes in the sight, his claws gently tracing over your wet folds, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips.

You’re grinding desperately against his touch, soaking his fingers with your slick. It’s too much for both of you; your desire has reached a high. With a trembling hand, you grasp his thick, curved shaft, guiding the pointed tip to your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him, the stretch of his girth drawing a moan from deep in your throat.

His claws dig into your hips, pulling you down onto his lap as he ruts up into you, the force making you gasp. Your chests are pressed flush together, your nails tangling in the plush fur at his neck. His thrusts are urgent, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come- oh, gods, please, Luan, come inside me!” Your words are muffled against his fur as you clench around him, your climax crashing over you in a wave of bliss. He groans, a guttural sound, as he spills deep within you, his grip never wavering, holding you in place to fill you completely.

Breathless, you collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I love you, Luan,” you murmur softly, glazed eyes fluttering shut. His arms remain wrapped around you, keeping his softening length buried in you, possessive and gentle, as if he could keep you safe from the world forever.

And in this moment, in the quiet of the night beneath the watchful glow of the moon, you know he will never let you go.

A/N: Welp that’s Luan idk what else to do for him… anyways likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

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luverine · 3 months ago

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Vampire Hunter x Bitten! Reader

He did everything right- he protected you, locked you in his home, the safest place. Yet there you stood, clinging to a vile creature as it drained the very life from your veins.

Word count: 3.1k

MDNI // NSFW // blood // death // crybaby men // cannibalism? // religious topics ⁽ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʷᵃʳⁿᵉᵈ⁾

“NO!” Dallon tightened his grip on the sickle, his knuckles white with fury as he charged forward. His piercing blue eyes locked on the creature that had you pinned, its pale, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. You were slumped against the monster, your body lifeless in its clutches.

Tears blurred Dallon’s vision as he swung the sickle with a savage cry, embedding it deep in the devil’s neck. With a sickening crunch, he wrenched the blade, severing its head in a single, desperate motion.

No blood spilled- not from the beast, at least. But yours… yours stained the earth.

Four puncture wounds marred your neck, teeth marks that spelled doom.

Dallon dropped to his knees, gathering your body into his trembling arms. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You aren’t leaving me. Not yet.” He pressed a kiss to your clammy forehead, his lips trembling. “I won’t let you go.”

Back home, the room was a chaos of rituals, desperation made manifest. Dallon worked tirelessly, his mind a tempest of hope and dread. Holy water ran in rivulets down your still form, pooling on the floor. Crosses adorned every surface, crucifixes hung from your wrists and neck, garlic encircled the room, its sharp scent mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

“Everything will be as it was,” Dallon muttered, his voice unsteady as he poured the beast’s blood down your throat. It was a final, unholy attempt to tether you to life.

For two days, he prayed without rest, his knees bruised, his voice hoarse. He clasped your cold hand, his silver-ringed fingers trembling as he whispered fervent pleas. “Please, Lord, take the devil’s mark from them and bring them back to me. I beg of You.”

But the heavens remained silent.

On the third night, exhaustion finally claimed him. Dallon lay beside you, his body curled protectively around yours. He clung to you even as your skin turned colder, even as your veins darkened to an unnatural hue. His tears soaked the crook of your neck, a silent vigil of despair.

It was nearly dawn when a bit movement jolted him awake.

A twitch.

His heart leaped into his throat as he shot upright, clutching your hand. “You moved!” he cried, his voice thick with conviction. “My love, stay with me. Stay.” His hands flew to your chest, rubbing life into your still form.

Your chest rose and fell in a shallow, ragged breath. Then, with a guttural sigh, you turned your head toward him, your golden-ringed eyes opening for the first time.

Dallon recoiled. “No…” he whispered, shaking his head as if to banish a nightmare. “No, darling, it’s me. You’re still here. We can fix this.” His trembling hands poured holy water on you, expecting a reaction.

Nothing.

He staggered back, his legs giving out as he crumpled to the floor. “Why is it not working?” he sobbed, clawing at his hair. “What am I doing wrong?”

But your hand found his, your voice- a whisper of what it had once been- calling his name.

“Dallon… it’s me.”

Weeks passed. Though you breathed, your body defied life. You did not eat, yet you lived. The hollow gold of your eyes became a constant reminder of what he had failed to prevent. The church must not know, Dallon concluded. No one must ever find you.

In the quiet of the night, Dallon watched as you sat by the fire, your fingers trailing along the worn pages of a book you had once loved. Your pale skin reflected the flickering flames, your darkened veins a stark contrast to the warmth of the light.

He stood in the doorway, his heart pounding. You were still you. Weren’t you?

Dallon stepped away, retreating to the hidden room where his collection of weapons and relics lay. He traced a trembling hand over the hilt of a blade, his thoughts clouded with anguish.

“I won’t let them take you,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “I won’t let them burn you.”

The church’s rules were clear- no abomination could be allowed to exist. But Dallon had no faith left in their mercy.

Behind him, a faint rustle drew his attention. He turned to find you standing there, your golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Dallon?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “What are you doing?”

He turned away, unable to meet your gaze, and began fiddling with a silver chain on the table. His hands shook as he spoke, his voice low and raw. “They’ll find out. Sooner or later, someone will come asking questions. I can’t let them take you, not after everything I’ve done to keep you here.”

You frowned, your head tilting slightly as you studied his hunched form. The weight he carried was palpable, but there was something else beneath his words- something darker, more desperate.

“Dallon,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at the contact, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved closer, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. “What have you done?”

He laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that filled the cramped room. “What haven’t I done?” His shoulders sagged as he finally turned to face you, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. “I’ve betrayed the church. Lied to the people I’ve served my entire life. Killed to protect you. I’ve prayed every night for forgiveness, but heaven’s silent. And now…” His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face. “Now, I don’t even know if you’re still you.”

The words struck you like a blow, and you recoiled slightly, your golden-ringed eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to answer, but no words came. His gaze dropped to your hands- hands that had once been warm and full of life, now pale and cold, veins like dark threads beneath the surface. His fingers brushed against your cheek, lingering on the faint discoloration that crept across your skin.

“You’ve changed,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can feel it. You don’t breathe like you used to. You don’t dream. You don’t eat. It’s like…” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “It’s like you’re caught between two worlds. Not dead, but not alive either.”

You stepped back, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said, your voice shaking. “I didn’t ask to come back. You made this choice for me.”

Dallon’s eyes widened, and he reached for you, but you backed away further, your arms wrapping around yourself. “You couldn’t let me go, could you?” you continued, your tone bitter. “You dragged me back from death, and now you’re afraid of what I’ve become. But I didn’t choose this, Dallon. You did.”

“I had to!” he snapped, his voice rising with desperation. “I couldn’t let you leave me. Not like that. I couldn’t live without you!”

His confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at him, searching his face for something- remorse, understanding, an apology, but all you saw was his overwhelming grief.

“Maybe,” you said quietly, your voice like a fragile whisper, “you should have let me go.”

The words broke something inside him. He staggered back, his hands falling limply to his sides. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Please, don’t say that. I can fix this. I just need more time.”

“You can’t fix this,” you replied, your golden-ringed eyes narrowing. “You don’t even know what you’ve done. Do you?”

Before he could answer, a sudden noise echoed from outside the house- a faint creak, like a footstep on the porch. Both of you froze, the air in the room growing tense.

Dallon’s hand darted to a blade on the table, gripping it tightly as he moved toward the door. “Stay here,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent.

But something stirred within you, something primal and foreign. The scent of whoever- or whatever- was outside drifted in on the cold night air, sharp and tantalizing. It set your nerves alight, your senses sharpening to a terrifying degree.

“Dallon,” you said, your voice shakier, hungrier. He paused, looking back at you, and his eyes widened at the sight of your expression.

Your pupils had dilated, the golden rings around your irises glowing faintly in the dim light. “Don’t go,” you warned, though your tone held an edge of something darker.

Dallon hesitated, his grip on the blade tightening. “What’s out there?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You licked your lips, your gaze fixed on the door as your pulse quickened. “I don’t know,” you said, a faint smile curling at the edges of your mouth. “But it smells… delicious.”

His eyes widen, and he freezes, unsure of what to do. He glances back at the door, then at you. “If it’s another hunter, we should answer. They’ll stay away for a while if we answer.”

But you’re not listening. The hunger gnaws at you, a sharp, all-consuming ache that drowns out all reason. Your focus is razor-sharp on the door, where the scent of dinner lingers just beyond. “I’m so hungry…” you whisper, your voice raw and trembling. You hunch over, clutching at your stomach, desperation pouring from every word. “Please don’t let me starve, honey.”

Dallon looks at the door again, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. His hand slips into his pocket, fingers clutching the rosary he keeps there. He presses it to his lips, murmuring a prayer for forgiveness. His voice breaks. “I’ll take care of you, always. Just like we promised at the altar.” A tear slips down his cheek as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you when he opens the door.

Your eyes lock on the old man standing outside- a traveler, a wanderer. You don’t see the worry etched on his face or the pack slung over his shoulder. You see prey.

You lunge.

There’s no hesitation, no thought, just the overwhelming need to feed. Your teeth sink into flesh, the man’s screams piercing the air before fading into a gurgling silence. Warmth floods your senses as his life drains away, his body crumpling beneath your hands. Blood coats your face, your hands, your clothes- so much blood.

Behind you, Dallon collapses to his knees, clutching his rosary like a lifeline. His whispered prayers blur with choked sobs, his tears staining the bloodied floor.

When the hunger finally subsides, clarity returns like a cruel slap. You look down at what remains of the man- torn, lifeless, unrecognizable. Shame and horror ripple through you, but they’re distant, muffled by the satiation humming through your veins. You chew the last bite mechanically, then rise and turn toward your husband.

Dallon is curled up on the floor, his shoulders shaking. He’s at war with himself- his faith, his promises, his love for you.

You kneel beside him, pulling him into your arms. He clings to you desperately, his grip so tight your back pops. His tears soak into your blood-caked skin, and the sound of his sobs breaks your heart all over again.

You rub his back, murmuring softly, “Shh, it’s okay, sweet. None of this is your fault. I’m so sorry.” You press a kiss to his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, rocking him as if you can soothe the storm raging inside him.

Eventually, his hold loosens. His red-rimmed eyes sweep over you- your tangled hair, the blood smeared across every inch of you. His gaze drifts to the doorway where the man had stood, and his frown deepens. The realization hits him like a blow: it wasn’t a hunter. It was just a traveler. An innocent soul.

The night fades into a fragile quiet.

The next morning is eerily still.

Dallon sleeps on the bloodstained floor where you held him. You rise before dawn, moving through the house in silence. Cleaning the mess is your burden to bear; he’s already carried enough. You bury the remains without ceremony, the weight of guilt pressing heavy on your chest.

By the time he stirs, the scent of breakfast wafts through the air. Bacon sizzles on the stove, its comforting aroma filling the kitchen.

He splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection in the mirror, willing himself to look presentable. When he finally steps into the kitchen, he’s met with a table set just for him: eggs, bacon, bread, and sliced tomatoes- his favorites.

A small, weary smile tugs at his lips.

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek before sitting across from him. He looks at you, his smile faltering as he takes in the lingering streaks of blood on your skin, the faint shadows in your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then, softly, he says, “Thank you.”

And you nod, your heart breaking all over again.

The following week drifts by in silence- two broken hearts, each pulling him apart from the inside.

Dallon feels hollow, consumed by the ache of your absence. He craves your touch, longs for the warmth you once brought to his world. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a coldness that somehow still feels so tender.

He’s stopped praying. The prayers went unanswered for so long that he began questioning if there was ever anything to pray to at all.

What remains is the yearning, the weight of unshed tears. Most nights, he sits before the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, his eyes shut tight as if he could- hoping for your love to be unvarying.

“Dallon?” Your voice breaks the quiet. “What are you doing? It’s late.”

His eyes snap open, wide and tearful. When he sees you, his breath catches.

“I miss you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling as the tears finally fall.

Your hand rises instinctively, cupping his face, your thumb gently brushing the streaks of wetness from his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice heavy with regret. “I never wanted things to end up like this.”

You lean in, pressing the softest, most tender kiss to his lips, as though trying to pour all your sorrow and love into that single moment.

He looks at you, lips parted, words failing him. Awe fills his cerulean eyes.

“Let me take care of you this time,” you say softly, your arms wrapping around him. You run your thumbs across his back, soothing him with slow, tender movements.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Dallon breathes again.

Dallon nods, his gaze softening as you slide closer to him on the divan. Your fingers trail lightly across his shoulders, your lips brushing tender kisses along the curve of his neck.

He exhales a quiet hum of satisfaction, tilting his head slightly to give you more access. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, as his hand slips to the nape of your neck. Firmly, he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a kiss that deepens with every passing second.

His weight shifts as he leans over you, his body pressing against yours. The heat between you grows, his touch igniting a fire in your skin.

“Dallon,” you whisper breathlessly, “I need you- I’ll make you feel goo-”

Your words are swallowed by another kiss, his lips demanding and consuming, silencing you in the most intoxicating way.

His desperation is unmistakable as you feel his arousal pressing firmly against you. With a tug, you lift your shirt, baring your chest to him. His reaction is immediate- his lips find your sensitive nipples, his mouth warm and eager as he sucks and teases, his hands kneading your soft skin. The sensation sends shivers through you, pulling moans from your lips as you melt beneath him.

Dallon pulls back just enough to smirk, his voice teasing. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He tugs his shirt over his head, his movements quick but deliberate, and sheds his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. His hardness stands proudly, already glistening with anticipation, twitching in time with his shallow breaths.

You match his pace, slipping out of your bottoms and meeting his gaze. The way he looks at you- full of adoration and desire- makes your heart flutter. “I love you too,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady as your eyes roam over him, silently asking for permission.

“You never have to ask,” he murmurs, his tone gentle yet commanding. “I’m yours.”

The words send a surge of confidence through you. Moving closer, you wrap your hand around his thick length, stroking him slowly, relishing the weight and warmth in your palm.

“Oh god- I need you,” Dallon groans, his head falling back, his hands gripping your shoulders to steady himself. “Please- more.”

You smirk at his plea, brushing a kiss to his hand as you murmur, “I’m all yours.”

Before you can react, he guides you both upright, pulling you into his lap. His hands settle firmly on your hips, his voice low and filled with longing. “Put it in?” he asks, the vulnerability in his tone making your heart ache in the best way.

With a nod, you oblige, aligning yourself with him. Slowly, you sink down, your body stretching to take him in. The moment he fills you, both of you let out deep, primal moans, the sensation overwhelming.

Dallon’s grip tightens as he begins to move, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that sends sparks dancing across your skin. Each thrust is deliberate, each movement a testament to how desperately he needs you, how deeply he adores you.

“I’m close- can I fill you?” Dallon whispers, his breath hot against your ear, his pace steady.

“Do it- come inside me, Dallon,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. As he lets go, a warmth spreads through you, his release filling you completely. A wave of relief washes over you both, a reminder of the deep, unbreakable love you share.

He exhales shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “I made you feel good, didn’t I?” he asks, one eyebrow playfully arched, though his eyes hold a hint of vulnerability as he waits for your answer.

You smile softly, brushing a kiss to his chin. “Like you’ve ever had a bad performance,” you tease, your voice laced with affection. “Of course, you made me feel amazing.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer as you settle against his chest, your ear pressed to the steady, drumming rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dallon looks down at you, his lips curving into a tender, tired smile. Softly, his arms tighten around you as the world fades.

“Anything for you.”

A/N: love y’all ‹𝟹 I got an idea in my head of a vampire/zombie thing where if you kill the vampire that turned you, you’d turn into a zombie kinda creature. Also put my religious trauma to its best use- a sad little horny vampire hunter (lol)

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ‹𝟹

Don’t steal my works!

Divider: kodaswrld

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luverine · 3 months ago

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✶ Rules -

Everyone is welcome as long as you are 17+. I’m extremely uncomfortable with the idea of youngsters reading my works or interacting with my page, even if the material is sfw my blog has mature content on it.

Hate of any kind won’t be tolerated. I will block harmful and hateful blogs.

This blog is a safe space for lgbtq+ if you don’t support that fuck off my blogs aren’t for you.

I will write for any reader (male, female, trans)

I won’t write underage, scat, piss, vomit.

I write sfw and nsfw material. It is labeled and has proper warnings, you are responsible for what you read.

✶ I write for -

Monster Fuckers ➹ Slashers ➹ Arcane ➹ COD ➹ DBD ➹ MHA ➹ Final Fantasy 7 ➹ Attack On Titan ➹ BG3 ➹ Killing Stalking ➹ Resident Evil (any game) ➹ Outlast (1 & 2) ➹ Silent Hill (any game) ➹ Harry Potter ➹ Supernatural ➹ Hellboy (1 & 2), Twilight ➹ D.C. ➹ AHS ➹ The Hunger Games ➹ Invincible

✦️️ And of course my original works/characters. (If not listed I probably won’t do it, sorry) ✦️️

✶ Info -

All the works are mine unless sated otherwise. Please do not steal my works.

I give credit on everything I use. If you don’t what your work on my blog message me it’ll be taken down.

♥︎ Please be patient with me I am one person and requests and some works take some time, as I do this when I want/can. I try to post every week! ♥︎

#luverine #blog rules #important info

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luverine · 3 months ago

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Sunburn ₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

Yearning // sfw // fluff/angst // gn!reader

The sun paints you with warmth, brushing your cheeks with a blush that makes my breath hitch. Your lips-plump, God, your lips. I wonder how they’d feel against mine, how they’d taste.

I want to be the reason your face flushes. I want to steal the breath from your lungs the way you steal mine without even trying.

I wish you’d turn to me, gaze deep into my eyes, and tell me what I already know, that we are meant to be, tangled together by fate itself.

But instead, I sit beside you, my fingers curled into the sand-dusted towel, letting the sun burn into my skin- all for the chance to be close to you.

Just me and you.

Friends.

Likes, Reblogs, Comments appreciated ☀︎

Divider by: enchanthings-a

#fromluverineslair #gn reader #tim drake x reader #mark grayson x reader #male reader #female reader #dc x reader #dc fanfic #fluff #light angst #dc imagine #invincible x reader #tim drake #mark grayson #tim drake x you #Tim and mark vibes

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luverine · 5 months ago

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Happy black history month and fuck trump

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luverine · 5 months ago

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Cat hybrid! Fav x gn! Reader

subby // crying // mommy kink // poor baby needed some help 🥺 // he’s kinda a brat

“Shit…”

He can feel the heat coming in waves, his mind begins to fill with a foggy daze.

What’s hidden in his soft pajama pants begins to awake aching and begging for stimulation.

Letting out a soft whine, he stumbles to his bed, collapsing into the pile of blankets scattered across it.

His skin grows damp with sweat, the moisture clinging to the soft fabric of his clothes as he shifts restlessly.

“Where are you?” he whispers, voice trembling. “Please…” His plea hangs in the air, fragile and desperate, as though hoping it will somehow reach you.

In this unbearable state all he wants is you. Holding him, rubbing his sensitive back, taking his rut-

His ears twitch, straining to pick up the faintest sound of where you might be in the apartment. His tail sways in frustration, unable to stay still.

A soft, broken whine escapes him, followed by another and another, until he’s practically a mess of muffled cries. Frustrated and overheated, he tugs off the damp fabric clinging to his skin, discarding it carelessly onto the floor.

He pulls a familiar blanket close, wrapping himself in its comforting embrace. It was yours- the one in your favorite color, the one still strong with your scent. He buried his face into it.

His lets out a frustrated rumble out, upset that he can’t come undone.

“Please!” He cries out tears covering his reddened cheeks- voice muffled, “I need you!” He whines out nasally.

The sound of hurried footsteps fills the silence, and the door bursts open. You stand there, eyes wide and frantic, scanning the room. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

Your eyes land on him, crumpled in a heap on the bed, his tear-streaked face turned toward you, pleading. The bare sight leaves you momentarily stunned, unsure of what to say.

You let out a breath of relief, “I bought you a toy for that y’know.” Taking your gaze away from him embarrassed at the sight you walked into.

“No! I need you,- please help!” He begs out holding out a clawed hand towards you, his tail flicking to you in a come here motion.

Tensing, you take a step back and shake your head, trying to maintain some composure. “Where’s your toy? Did you lose it?” you ask, sighing as you begin sifting through the clutter in his room in search of it.

He lets out a low, frustrated rumble, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, no,” he cries, his voice breaking as fresh tears stream down his face. “I don’t want that- I want you!”

Before you can respond, he pushes himself off the bed with shaky limbs and lunges toward you. Caught off guard, you stumble forward, barely catching yourself as he wraps his arms around you from behind, clinging desperately.

“Hey! What the hell!?” you exclaim, trying to steady yourself as his weight presses against you.

“No. I’m sorry- need you mommy!” He mewls shoving his face in your neck, breathing deeply.

“-smell so good~” he humps against your back the sensation pulling purrs out his throat. His tail coiling around one of your thighs in a tight grip. “Mommy feels so good- mmm,”

“Get off,” you say firmly, your voice tinged with warning as you attempt to pry him off. “You’re being a brat.”

“No! Just a little longer- please!” he protests, his grip tightening as he buries his face against you, refusing to let go. His desperation is palpable, his trembling form humping on you.

His tail jolts pressing against your crotch as he stiffs, releasing thick white ropes on the back of your shirt.

“You-” The words catch in your throat as his soft purring fills the air, cutting you off. His breathing slows, and before you can say anything else, he’s drifted off, completely asleep on top of you, leaving you pinned to the floor.

“Stupid pussy,” you mutter under your breath, glaring across the room. He lets out a soft chirp in response, unconsciously nuzzling closer and tucking his head into the curve of your neck. You sigh, as his peaceful purring continues.

A/N: Been enjoying hybrid fics on AO3 so I got a lil inspired :3

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated ‹3

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luverine · 6 months ago

Text

Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader /P.4

MDNI // 3.1k words // smuttt // meet mom and get boned in the woods?? // 18+ // Leif is a sweetheart // no proof read // Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

It is cold.

Winter came like a ravenous beast, its icy breath cutting through the air. Winds howled with relentless fury, and flurries of snow whipped around, making travel arduous and blinding. For you, it was a challenge to keep moving, for you-

Leif, massive and impervious to the cold, seemed hardly affected. Wrapped in nothing more than a loincloth and a fur-lined cape, he was sweating, of all things. Yet, his complaints filled the frosty air.

“My legs are killing me,” he groaned, trudging along with a scowl.

You shot him a look of disbelief, bundled head to toe in thick furs and linens. In your current state, you probably looked more like a beast. Crossing your arms, you raised an incredulous brow at him.

“Really?” you grunted. “We’re barely halfway through, and you’re whining about your legs?”

Leif pouted, his broad olive shoulders sagging. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t know we’d be walking this much.”

You rolled your eyes as his grumbling continued, though the sight of an inn up ahead brought relief. Warm light spilled from its windows, accompanied by the muffled cacophony of voices and music. Inside, the place was alive- rowdy patrons danced and sang, while others brawled or swayed drunkenly with half-empty mugs. A chaotic but welcome reprieve from the storm.

Leif hesitated, his hulking frame shifting uneasily. “Uh… we could keep going,” he muttered, his amber eyes darting toward the boisterous crowd.

“Not a chance,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m exhausted, and a drink sounds like exactly what I need.”

Before he could protest, you slipped into the throng, navigating the chaos toward the bar. Leif, meanwhile, hugged the wall near the entrance, his size drawing curious glances. You spotted him there, his brows knitted, his jaw tight as he scanned the room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked when you finally rejoined him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just want to get to the room,” he said, his voice low and strained. His eyes, usually steady, flitted nervously over the crowd before settling on yours. “I don’t… like this.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine. I just need to sleep,” he murmured, already moving toward the back of the inn where the check-in desk sat.

You followed, stepping up to a small troll who was engrossed in a tattered book. He barely glanced up before breaking into a toothy grin.

“Room for two?” you asked.

“Good timing,” the troll said, snapping the book shut. “All I’ve got left are twins.”

You and Leif exchanged a sigh before handing over three coins. With a jingle of keys, the troll waved you off toward the stairs.

The room was cramped, with two tiny beds that seemed more like oversized cushions. You dropped your sack and bow onto one of them, laughing as you tested its size. “If I can barely fit on this, you might as well call it a pillow.”

Leif scowled, his shoulders brushing the doorframe as he stepped inside. “It’s… small,” he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation.

“Small’s an understatement.” You kicked off your boots and flopped onto the bed, ignoring its protests under your weight. “But it’s warm, and it’s better than freezing out there.”

Leif sat on the edge of his bed, his broad frame making it creak ominously. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The tension hadn’t left his face.

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked, softer this time.

He nodded, though his voice wavered. “I’m good. Just… tired.”

Sleep was elusive. The beds were too small, the room felt suffocating, and the creeping cold made it worse. You shifted uncomfortably, letting out a frustrated groan before sitting up.

“Leif, get up,” you muttered, nudging him. “I’m pushing the beds together.”

He grunted, barely awake, but propped himself up to help. Together, you managed to slide the beds closer, the narrow gap between them disappearing.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You shrugged and lay back down. “Alright, let’s try this again. Sweet dreams, yeah?”

Leif paused for a moment, his voice soft and low. “You too, měsíční svit.”

The words lingered in the air, his hand hesitantly reaching for yours.

Without thinking, you took it.

A faint blush bloomed across his cheeks, his expression warm yet flustered. Little did you know, in his traditions, this simple gesture meant far more. To him, you were already something more than friends- closer to love, he could feel it.

As slumber finally took over the both of you dreams of your tender touch against his hard muscled skin played in his head.

•••

The morning was brisk, the air sharp as you hurriedly snatched a few small loaves of bread before stepping out into the cold desert of winter. The snow had grown deeper overnight, soft drifts crunching underfoot. It barely reached the calf of the towering orc beside you, yet for you, it climbed nearly to your knees, each step a small struggle.

Huffing against the biting chill, you glanced up at him- his imposing frame cloaked in the muted tones of the season. His olive-green skin darkened faintly as your eyes met, a hint of bashfulness betraying the admiration he’d been trying to play off.

“Feeling alright, big guy?” you teased, your breath fogging in the frosty air.

He chuckled, a deep and rumbling sound that warmed the cold around you. “Better than alright,” he said, his tusked grin widening. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my mother- she’ll adore you.”

His excitement was contagious as he embarked into tales of his childhood, his voice animated as he shared silly misadventures and endearing memories from years past. The frigid morning seemed to fade as his laughter echoed across the snow.

•••

As the journey drew to a close, you found yourself approaching a village called Solheimar. The crisp winter air carried the faint crackle of fire and the hum of celebration. People draped in thick furs and adorned with intricately braided hair bustled about, their laughter and shouts mingling with the melodies of a barmaid’s song. Flames leapt skyward from bonfires, casting flickering light over axe-bearing men and women who drank and danced in the frosty night.

“Vikings,” you murmured, glancing at Leif for confirmation. But his gaze was already fixed on you, a proud gleam in his eyes. He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the scene.

“This is my homeland!” he declared, his voice warm with emotion. “Isn’t it breathtaking? I missed the traditions here, there’s always something to celebrate.”

Looking around, you take in the tall wooden structures, their walls adorned with intricately carved designs that weave together like the threads of an old story.

“Your home is truly a sight,” you say, turning to Leif. “Why would you ever leave a place like this for the quiet little village we claimed?”

A sigh escaped his lips, a cloud of breath misting in the icy air. “I never really belonged,” he admitted, his voice heavy with a quiet ache. “Even with my mother, I was always… different, never truly kin to the others.”

His words settled over you like a familiar weight, stirring something deep within. You knew that feeling all too well, the ache of being out of place in your own land. But unlike him, you had refused to leave. Your home was yours, no matter how it tried to push you away.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. His face, his lips- dangerous and alluring with those tusk-like teeth. His skin, dark olive and rich, framed his features like a masterpiece. And those lips, full and plump- oh.

You tore your eyes away, but not before catching the faint sparkle in his, a flicker of something tender as he laid bare his memories and old wounds.

“Leif…”

His bourbon eyes pounce upon yours, “You belong anywhere you go you seem to make it better.” You look away, unable to hold contact to such an intense feeling.

A smile crosses his face, no trace of melancholy anymore. “Thank you můj měsíčku.” Tears glaze over his sight but are blinked away before they fall.

•••

The night was filled with rambling stories and bursts of laughter, ale loosening tongues as they learned more about each other.

“So, let me get this straight- you ate rocks as a child?”

“No, no! It wasn’t the rocks, it was the salt on them! They were salty!”

“Uh-huh,” you snorted, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re telling me you licked salty rocks for fun?”

“Not for fun- okay, maybe a little for fun.”

The both of you erupted in laughter again before the second leaned back smugly.

“Well, I used to hunt with my bare hands.”

“…You make me nervous.”

•••

You were woken by the warm sun creeping over the horizon and the murmur of townsfolk already busy with morning chores. Turning to your right, you spotted Leif sprawled on the cobblestones outside the pub, snoring softly.

“Damn it, Leif, get up. We’ve got to move,” you muttered, giving the brutish orc a firm tug on his arm.

With a low groan, he stirred, blinking groggily at his surroundings. It all came rushing back- the pub, the ale, and how thoroughly you both got swilled.

Leif sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as a grin crept across his face. Matka. His heart swelled at the thought. Soon, you’d meet her soon, you’d be family, if she approved… which she would.

“We should not have drank so much my head feels like it’s gonna pop!“

Leif laughed off your complaint and patted your head, “I forgot small humans can’t dunk as much- I’m surprised you kept up.”

You groan and pick yourself off the graveled ground.

…

The walk to Leif’s family home was quiet, the frost-laden village waking in slow ripples as sunlight kissed the rooftops. Leif carried himself with unusual tension, his broad shoulders straight, his stride purposeful. You could tell he was nervous, though he tried to mask it.

“So,” you began, breaking the silence. “What’s she like?”

“Matka?” Leif’s amber eyes softened, and a soft smile touched his lips. “She’s… strong. Wise. And terrifying when she wants to be.” He chuckled, but there’s a trace of pride in his voice was clear. “But she’s also kind. She’ll like you.”

“I hope you're right,” you murmured, the weight of his words settling over you. The idea of meeting the woman who had raised someone like Leif made your stomach twist with nervous anticipation.

As you approached the outskirts of the village, a sturdy longhouse came into view, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of wargs, moons, and fierce warriors. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the crisp winter air.

The door swung open before you even reached it, revealing a tall Vakyriecwoman with streaks of silver in her brown hair. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber like Leif’s, locked onto you with an assessing gaze. Despite the lines of age on her face, her presence was commanding, her posture regal.

“Matka,” Leif greeted, his voice warm but measured.

The woman’s gaze shifted to her son, softening immediately. “Leif,” she said, her voice rich and melodic. She stepped forward, pulling him into a firm embrace before holding him at arm’s length. “You’ve grown even more, my boy. And you’ve brought a guest.”

You offered a polite smile, bowing your head slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes flicked over you once more, sharp but not unkind. “You must have a name.”

You introduced yourself, and her expression softened further, recalling his letters. “Welcome to our home. Come inside, both of you.”

The interior of the longhouse was warm and inviting, the hearth crackling with life. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting battles, celebrations, and family lineage. A table was already set with bread, meat, and mugs of steaming broth.

Over the meal, Matka asked you endless questions about your journey, your skills, and your family. Her gaze never wavered, and her attention felt both flattering and slightly unnerving.

Leif, however, watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and quiet approval. When his mother finally leaned back, a satisfied smile spread across her face.

“You’re strong,” she declared. “And clever. You’ll need both to handle my son.”

Leif sputtered, his face flushing as you laughed softly.

Matka’s smile turned sly. “I like you.”

Leif felt as if his heart would burst, to him you became a part of the family, it couldn’t make him more content.

As the night went on with story’s of his childhood and tales of battles, Bodil, Leif’s Matka called it for the night and insisted on residing in the orcs old bedroom.

Unable to deny the offer, you and Leif agree but before you head to the bedroom to finally get a good night's rest.

“Come with me?” He asks looking fondly into your eyes, holding a hand out.

You let out a tired huff and take a hold on his larger olive hand, rough from his hard work.

The snow had stopped, leaving the world blanketed in a pristine sheet of white. You and Leif ventured out to explore the nearby woods. The quiet was soothing, the crunch of snow underfoot the only sound as you walked side by side.

Leif seemed more at ease now, the earlier tension replaced by a quiet contentment. “She likes you,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You smirk at what he obviously stated. “I noticed.”

“She’s never liked anyone I’ve brought home before,” he added, glancing at you.

You stopped, turning to face him. “How many people have you brought home?”

Leif hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Not… many,” he admitted. “But none of them ever were like you...”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking in. Your cheeks warmed, and you found yourself averting your gaze.

“Leif-”

He stepped closer, his broad hand gently tilting your chin so your eyes met his. The vulnerability in his expression was unexpected, his usual confidence replaced by something softer.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice rough but earnest. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

Before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours- tentative at first, then deepening as his hands settled on your waist. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and filled with unspoken promises.

When you finally broke apart, tusks brushing against lips, our breaths mingling in the cold air, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, if your mother approves…”

Leif laughed, the sound rich and warm. “You’re impossible,” he said, his forehead resting against yours.

“Would you have it any other way?”

“No, I like you just as you are,” Leif whispers against your cheek, his breath warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold surrounding you.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.” His hands cradle your face, rough but gentle. “You drive me mad.”

Leif leans closer, his whiskey-colored eyes locked with yours, the intensity leaving you breathless. Your voice is soft, trembling with vulnerability. “If you’ll have me… let me have you.”

Your smaller hand rests atop his, your touch like a promise. “Yes,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Please.”

Tears glisten in his amber eyes, the sight tugging at your heart. “Leif, what’s-” Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours in a kiss so eager that you stumble backward, landing softly in the snow.

Leif follows, his powerful frame kneeling over you, his arms caging you in a desperate embrace. The world disappears as he holds you close, his warmth chasing away the chill. His grip is unyielding, as if letting go would shatter the moment.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice deep with emotion. His gaze burns with admiration, a deep blush spreading across his sharp features.

You relax into his hold, a soft smile playing on your lips. “I trust you with my life, Leif,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your fingers weave into his dark, dreaded hair, tugging gently.

A strained whine escapes him as he deepens the kiss, pulling you onto his lap. His large hands settle on your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him, the friction igniting a fire between you.

“I need you,” he rasps, his voice breaking. His hands fumble with the buttons of your pants, trembling with urgency. The cold air bites at your exposed skin, but the heat between you burns hotter.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, his fingers slipping into your slick folds. His touch sends shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, goddess, you feel… incredible.”

You shudder, your breaths ragged as he pushes a thick finger inside you. His touch is careful, reverent, but it drives you wild. Your moans spill freely, your body arching into his.

“Leif,” you cry out, trembling as the pressure builds. “I’m going to- I need you, please-”

You come undone around his fingers, your climax washing over you in waves. The intensity leaves you reeling, your body quaking as you clutch onto him. He looks at you with awe, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

“I’m ready for you, my sunshine,” you whisper, your voice breathy but firm. Your hands wander beneath his shirt, caressing the hard planes of his chest, your fingers teasing his sensitive skin.

Leif whimpers, his resolve faltering. With shaking hands, he unbuttons his own pants, freeing his thick, blushed, aching length. “I’ll go slow,” he promises, his voice husky as he gazes down at you.

You nod, pulling him close and pressing butterfly kisses along his neck. His broad shoulders tremble as he lines himself up, sliding into you inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, and the wet sounds of your joining make heat bloom across your skin.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, his movements slow and deliberate. “I… I won’t last.”

His moans only spur you on, your bodies moving in perfect rhythm. Each thrust brings you closer, your cries mingling in the cold night air. The world fades, leaving only the two of you, your passion raw and all-consuming.

As you both reach the edge, your release crashes over you together, the tension snapping into a wave of pure ecstasy. Leif buries his face in your neck, tusks brushing against skin, his breaths ragged, his body trembling against yours.

When the night grows quieter, Leif tenderly dresses your spent body, his touches filled with care. He lifts you into his arms, carrying you through the snow toward the safety of home.

There, by the crackling fire, he holds you close, his hulking frame a fortress of warmth and love. As sleep claims him, a soft smile graces his lips, contentment etched into his features.

Leif knows he has won your heart, and hold you love, just like him.

You’re his měsíční svit.

A/N: Take this as an apology for not posting in over two weeks ‹𝟹 writers blog kicked my ass. Happy New Year!!

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ‹𝟹 ˳ ׄ ⟡ .

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