#first reader insert written

[running-with-kn1ves]

(if you still write plssss I just love your stories) What about a yandere omega male obsessed with the gentle alpha female reader from another clan...and alpha female reader was different..she's not demanding,always patient, gentle and respectful...and sometimes loves cool quiet places ....and he's even more obsessed that it's his mate...but the problem is...she doesn't want a mate cause it's terrifies her cause she doesn't want to be a horrible person cause she's an alpha female cause she might get misunderstood....so ....the yandere omega is very very manipulative and very knows how to guilt trip her to making her mind and take her to bed s3x.....

A/N: For some reason this spoke to me. Very little proof read so I apologize if the smut doesn't make much sense or I get common a/b/o knowledge wrong lmao.

CW: Drink spiking, alcohol, yandere omega, AFAB alpha reader, smut, sex from behind, physical violence.

Synopsis: An omega keeps harassing you, begging you to be his mate. It isn't until one night when you're off your game, does he "win you over."

"C'mon, won't you humor me a little bit," the omega's eyes widened in hopeful desperation, a small smile quirking up from the tip of his mouth. "Just one, please?"

"Will you bug off already? I already said no, I've got my own. Go find someone else to pester."

"But you're nearly finished, hm?" He taps on your glass, looking up at you from against the table. He just barely met your height, but from the way he crouched on the barstool, running a ring around your cup with his finger, he embraced his place from below.

"I promise, just a drink and I'll let you be."

Your migraine grows; whether it be in the office, from your windows, or here at your only safe space-- the bar outside your apartment, he's antagonizing you wherever you go. Just a drink, he pleads. Just some coffee or a short dinner-- anything to get you to agree to be "his." His alpha, the bearer of his children “who'll be well taken care of,” he promises.

You've grown tired and irritated, your usually calm and civil demeanor relenting after a couple drinks. But still, your instinct to be kind to those weaker than you, to protect the fly currently stopping you from enjoying your solitude, kicks in.

"Fine," you give up. "Just one. Then please, will you stop trying to convince me? I'm not looking for a mate, and the more you bug me the less willing I am to accept your offer."

To you, the offer was pretty much off the table. But he was so persistent, influencing the idea to cross your mind more than once.

He lit up, grabbing the bartenders attention with a snap and tap on the bar. Despite the harmless, awkward body language he gave off, he wasn’t as “puppy-like” as most omegas appeared. Sure, there was that cuteness he tried to use to appeal to you, but it wasn’t as helpless as he tried to play it to be. He was using his charms as best as he could, licking his lips and using the new line of pheromone-reacting cologne you had heard so much about from your coworkers. Sometimes, you smelled your fellow alphas using it, trying their best to attract a mate, as if they didn’t already have an overpopulation of omegas flocking to their side. 

“I’m Lane, by the way.” the flirty omega said, a new cocktail in his hand as he swirled its straw. It was awfully thick for some tequila and fruit juice, the color almost turing an off-white and red. 

“I know.” You sighed, wondering how he could’ve thought you forgot his name after so many advances. Maybe it was just another attempt at riling up your inner instincts to find an mate, to repeat his name in your mind. 

“And I know you, of course,” He slyly moves forward, pushing the drink closer to you. “You’ve been avoiding me lately, lovely. Why so? Have you found a different omega to share your time with?” 

You hated how he spoke so plainly, how you were an alpha, how he was an omega, how everyone else-- no matter their standing-- was a threat or an outsider. 

You take a sip of the drink to appease him, wordlessly hit with a taste you could smell from a mile away. 

You tried not to spit it out, to be polite, to avoid the anger bubbling in your liquor-swishing stomach. 

“No. I’ve been busy, working. You know, trying to make a living, to support myself. What is it that you’ve been doing besides harassing me?” 

You didn’t know what exactly it was-- with the amount of inventions created these days to induce heat, to heighten pheromones, to attract a mate-- you knew it was something extracted with his fragrance, the essence of his identity as an omega-- to bring out the inhumane, animalistic need inside of you to protect and keep him for yourself-- to choose him, like he had done you. Just as he wanted. 

You could avoid the constant, offputting stench he covered himself in to make your inner nature hungry-- but this, the drug, or the... Part of him, that you didn’t want to think about, that was inside of you now-- was enough to drive you mad. 

His cheeks were a bit red behind their tan tint, resting on his knuckles as he looke up at you, so enraptured in your presence. He liked hearing you talk even if it was at his expense. 

You wanted to choke him, shove him against the pool table in anger for spiking your drink with something so crude. Yet, you could do nothing but keep your mouth shut, suffocating on his smell, on the feeling between your thighs and the need to find an omega, quickly. 

But alphas didn't go home with omegas without there being strings attached-- one night stands with your own kind was fine enough, but it wasn’t as satisfying as you know it could be. 

You put your head in your hands, pushing away the drink. One sip was enough to take you to hell. You should’ve been meaner to him, less tolerant. 

“You know, I don’t know why you’re so hesitant to find a mate. With your mother pressuring you, your coworkers almost entirely paired up-- you think it’d be about time.”  Lane’s hand slides to your shoulder, rubbing it in a gentle back and forth. 

“How do you know about that?” You groan from behind your arms, hardly phased by how much he knows about your life. Well, after three months of harassing you, he was unlikely to stay at just a distance. 

“I hear around! They’re worried about you, you know. Wondering if you’ll keep suppressing yourself during rutting season, how you’ll handle this, season… its only weeks away; are you going to keep using blockers?”

“It’s none of your business,” You sigh through your teeth, grinding them together between words. “I don’t.. I can’t handle having an omega in my life. You don’t understand what it’s like-- to be me. I’ll hurt them, I can’t be around anyone.”

You put a palm over your eyes, breathing through your mouth. Maybe you can last it out, if you could just get out of here. 

Lane jumps at the sound of that-- he’s heard your fears, seen them written on your face and through your bedroom window. He’s practiced a million times in situations like this to convince you-- that you aren’t as scary as you think you are, that even if you were, he would handle it all. He would take care of you like no other mate. It was what he was made for. 

“My love, oh-- you don’t even understand. Even if you were too, well-- rough, I’d never leave your side. I’m not afraid of you-- i’m not like the other omegas that’ve tried to capture your attention. With their weak, doe eyes, you’d massacre them-- I know it. But me, I can handle all of you, I promise.”

Lane sounded so earnest, a hopeless romantic’s authenticity dripping from his voice. He didn’t care if he had to play into your fear-- it was unlikely he’d ever be able to completely alter your esteem anyway. Atleast now, he could make you believe that he could hold all of you. 

You looked to the corner of your eye, watching how confidently he believed in his words. You weren’t quite sure if he was right, if anyone was stable enough to take how needy and protective you’d be as their alpha. You’d seen those who nearly break their mate, yet stay with them in an attempt to cure their loneliness. You couldn’t handle being like that. 

Lane took your hand away from your face, bringing it up to his. 

“You call for me… I know it, just as my body and soul long for you.. Won’t you do whats right, won’t you let two soulmates be together?” 

He lets his tongue peak between his plump lips, licking at the salty ridges of your palm, closing his eyes in bliss. 

He’s never managed to get this close to you before, your guarded nature always so skittish, so alert and defensive.

“Lane,” You huff, stumbling out of the barstool. You didn’t have the capacity to argue with him, to throw his pheromone-ridden drink in his face. If you didn’t get home now, you’d be long gone. It would be a rough night, but you couldn’t let your instincts get the best of you, not when they could make you hurt someone. 

“I’m..leaving. Don’t follow me--you’ll regret it, please.” 

You grab your jacket and bag, thinking twice about slamming back the rest of your bourbon. But it was better to be as clear-headed as you could; you’ve never been hit this hard with such a need before, except when you had your first rut as a late teen.

This though-- this was targeted at a specific individual. The omega who wanted you, who played with your impulses by injecting his own into the mix. You had to get away, lest you succumb.

Your eyes were hazy and dark as you pushed through the chiming door, out into the wet street of musty asphalt. 

Two blocks, thats all you had to cross. Then, you’d be free to writhe in bed and do your best to suppress the reaction inside of you. 

“Wait!” You heard Lane stumble behind you, only making you walk faster. “You can’t leave yet, let’s just talk!”

He struggled to keep up with you, stamina and legs far shorter than your own. Outside of the bar, in the streetlights and misty fog he was taller, almost… ominous. You would be more on edge if he wasn’t just a pathetic omega searching for your attention. 

You felt better in the cool air, away from his smell filling up the bar, but now he came back to haunt you, stuffing up your nose and throat with such a sweet, suffocating musk. 

You bent over, almost ready to gag at how hard you were trying to swallow your drool. 

“Are you okay?” He hugs your side, a hand on your back for comfort.  

Resting your palms on your knees you watch as he comes forward to bend down, pulling hair away from your eyes. He was warm, warmer than you, covered in whiffs of that pheromone cologne, letting it blind you in waves as you try to not breathe. But it was growing inside of you, you couldn’t get away with both his hands coming down to wrap around your wrists. That bigger, hungrier part of you didn’t even want to; It was grander than your insecurity, growing larger than your rational humanity. 

If you had the strength to hold back anymore, you could launch him 10 feet away from you. But you didn’t want to. You had to, to get away, to spare him from what he didn’t know-- but you wouldn’t. 

You watch the breath come from Lane’s mouth, letting his glasses get covered in a foggy film. He was so stereotypical, so obviously desperate to be taken care of and needy for a big bad alpha to keep him safe, to raise her pups. 

You moved in, just an inch, just to inhale that scent from his tongue. It was enough for Lane-- enough to make his smile break wide. He couldn’t hide it; it was hard to keep his ecstasy at bay when you were wrapped around his finger. So much work, so many efforts to capture you, and it was finally coming to fruition. 

“Come on, I’ll take you home. Your apartment’s this way, right?”

Of course it was this way, was there any need to pretend anymore? But he couldn’t help it, he was so used to acting undercover for you, to get you off your guard. 

You’re too sickly, going green as he lets you wrap an arm around his shoulder, hardly able to move your jellified legs forward. You wanted to pounce so badly, to mark him in that alleyway--  but maybe, he’d do you a kindness, and leave you to your own devices in your apartment, keep himself away like you told him he should. 

“You’ve… got to go--” You hiccup back a gag, feeling that sweet burning turn into a twisted ache, the desire that was once sort of pleasurable, now a great pain. 

“I can’t do that, I won’t leave my alpha all alone on the street. You won’t even be able to make it home if it wasn’t for me. That stuff will render you paralized, you know.”

“The, drink..?”  You push back another wave of nausea, stopping for a second to collect your senses. But there was nothing left to collect, you were all over the place, and you wouldn’t be better until the thirst was quenched. 

He grinned a tad, having waited for you to bring it up. Lane was sure you’d realize it was tampered with as soon as he pushed it toward you. But really, he expected you to push back more, to be smarter and slide it away. But you were too polite, almost gullible in a sense. 

Lane avoided the question, lifting your chin with the hand that wasn't keeping you standing. 

“Ah look, home sweet home.”

The lamp in your apartment window dully illuminated its open blinds. You could see directly into your bedroom, sloppily made bedsheets and clothes strewn across the floor. How many times had a stranger seen you hunched over your computer, or changing after a shower?

You swallowed back the salivation on your tongue, desperately trying to ignore the hot hand Intertwining itself into yours. You didn't have to be psychic to know Lane must've peaked through this window a dozen times from the way he eyed it so familiarly. 

His awareness of where your apartment sat, down to the floor and door number, was nauseating.

You stumbled with labored breaths, turning instinctively to the elevator, down the end of the hall. Lane turned with you, practically leading the way with skips of anticipation. 

You were bombarded with “how are you doing's?” And “just a little longer, my sickly mate” as Lane tortured you with pet names and brushes of his knuckles against your forehead. You were sweating now, heaving as your clothes felt too tight and your skin too sweltering. 

He had forced you to choke on his scent, to make your belly sting and throb unbearably, with each soft, caring, omega-like touch, always making sure his neck or wrists were in tasting view. 

The door to your apartment swung open, despite your head too foggy and pounding for you to search for your keys. Lane held a pair of something jingling in his hand, and you wondered If it was your messy keyring, or his. 

“There we go…” he cooed, shushing your panting as you stumbled against the couch.  “It's late, don't want to upset your neighbors, baby.”

“I'm home..” you gasp to yourself, trying to shuffle to the back bedroom, thanking the heavens that Lane’s scent was drifting farther away. That five minute walk home was hell, a hell you didn't realize you were in until you were out. 

The light peeking from the outer hall diminished, apartment door clicking shut and deadbolt sliding in with a lock. 

Now, only Lane and your breathing filled the air, the AC unit quietly humming-- yet doing nothing to cool the prickling burn of your skin. Your body was wracked with waves of fire now, only calming when Lane was near. You thought the burning was worse when he stood close to you, but with the omega’s body heat begin to drift away, your knees began to buckle. 

A hand in the dark from out of nowhere pulled you to the back of your apartment, across the kitchen and past the bathroom, into your dimlit bedroom. Even without his hand, you could’ve followed Lane’s overpowering smell covering every surface of your home. 

“You don’t look so hot; come lie down, okay?” 

Just lying down, taking a breather, it sounded so harmless. But what kind of person drugs you with pheromone enhancers, only to bring you home and let you “lie down?”

You feel for your bed with numb fingers, your bedsheets adorned in yellow light from your second-hand lamp. Lane picks up your foot as you sink into the bedsheets, untangling your shoelaces and slipping the sneaker off. He does the same to the other, placing your legs onto the end of the bed. 

Your head was a disaster, a mix of spinning sights of your room and drifting thoughts. 

“Ugh.. make it stop--” You covered your mouth, preventing from gagging any harder. Maybe throwing up would be a good thing, you could get this bitter-sweet flavor out of your mouth, and the cause of your suffering to release you. 

“I can make it stop, my mate.. you know what we need to do,”

“No--” You choke back your drinks from tonight “Anything but that-- I already told you…” Lane pushes a sweat stricken piece of hair from your forehead. “M’not looking for a mate..” 

Your legs curl up instinctively as your stomach begins to tighten, beneath your jeans beginning to cramp painfully. 

“Mayhaps not… but, you need one, no? To end this? To take care of you right now?” Lane can’t help but watch you, rubbing your hip as you bury your head into a warm pillow. His whispers make the hairs on your neck go cold, standing straight. “Just tell me yes, and all this can go away. You’ll feel okay. Better, even.” 

You go quiet. How long can you endure this? You won’t be able to go into work tomorrow, and your weekend plans are likely ruined. This isn’t just some overnight, rut-mimicking elixir… you can feel it, it’s altering your ability to think and speak. The last time you avoided using suppressors alone, you were bedridden for a week. This is different; this is attacking your instincts, erasing what control you had over yourself left. You could already sense the frustration and anger rising. 

What if it didn’t go away after tonight? Could you... Stop yourself from attacking someone? From grabbing that omega two floors down, so vulnerable and alone in their one-bedroom, rickety apartment? The landlord won’t come for another week…

Lane, as if his gut didn’t already speak to him to obey an alpha, wouldn’t go against your desires despite how close he was to tying you to him forever. You were his mate, and he wouldn’t let your relationship start off so sourly. He watched your eyes go dark, heavy breathing grow animalistic as something inside you was no longer holding you back. He wanted your permission, needed it, craved it.

“Just nod your head… I’ll do the rest. I’ll make it end, and you won’t have to come to this empty house alone anymore. We’ll start our family--”

You nod your head, cutting off his meaningless rant. Its short at first, a mix between yes and no, before you furiously grip the mattress, drawing blood from your lip.

“Just do it,” You bite, trying not to focus on whatever he was spewing on about. You were stuck underwater, getting farther beyond reason the longer you stared at his forearms. His rolled sleeves exposed naked skin, the heat of his other hand and its back pressed to your cheek.“Before I rip you to pieces.”

Lane was swift to your backside, fingers grooving to get stuck at your hips. You didn't have the ability to see his gleaming eyes through your hazy ones. But an alpha didn't need to rely on their sight to sense prey in the dark. 

He was enthralled, hot breath against your muggy neck. He became quick to completely press up against you on his side, mimicking the direction of your body as the lump in his pants were ground further between your legs from behind. His crotch was forced against yours, bringing a pained bliss. But it wasn't enough to quell the burning inside of you. 

“Yes…yes,” he huffed, disbelief in his voice to accompany shaking fingers. 

It took him a solid three tries before Lane managed to pull your pant zipper down to its base, tugging your jeans to the floor unceremoniously. It wasn't sexy, but the lust perspiring in the room made your salivation drip to the pillow beneath your head. 

“Be patient love, please. I promise, you'll feel so good--”

You felt him slowly slide your undergarments, too slow. The growl you released was one you had never heard come from your mouth before-- or anyone, for that matter. Even other alphas during their ruts, pissed at every little inconvenience and willing to bark at you on the sidewalks, were far more composed. 

“Just take it off!”

You ripped the underwear in rage, exasperating through your teeth as you pushed your hips back against his crotch. Tugging Lane’s strained boxers to his ankles, his precum glossed and dribbled to your sheets.

He didn't need your biting words to tell him how eager you were to get this over with, to rid yourself of the panic in your chest and the fire in your loins. 

You were dripping, moreso than you had in years. The slick squelshed between your thighs-- a perfect habitat for Lane’s needy, pink-tipped cock. He slid between your legs like he was made to be there, precum and slick mixing as he lazily rubbed himself in, and out, getting closer to your pulsing cunt. 

You gripped behind you, claws and fangs bared in frustration. But Lane was smart, grabbing you by the hips and wetly burying himself inside. 

He hid himself in the back of your neck, your scent bringing a small comfort as he dealt with the wrathful beast taking over your body. 

Your hips moved in circles, air permeated with hot breath, sweat, and agonizing pheromones. You were sure your alpha neighbors could smell it through the walls, their senses far heightened and eagerly searching for their own omega; but this was the scent of one who was being claimed, one who was claiming you and holding you taut against him. 

Lane did his best to satisfy you, to cater to your anger and sexual frustration as your hand found his on your hip, interlinking your fingers with his own to dig your nails into his skin. You were drawing blood, an unecessary mix to the flurry of smells creating your crazed demeanor. 

“Hurting.. Me,” He gasped, engorged cock stuttering inside of you. 

You let go, only out of the desire to get that reeking blood away. You didn’t care how hurt he would become, if his body was crushed under your power and lust. Lane brought this upon himself, no matter how many times you warned, begging him to stay away and leave you be. Now, there was very little sympathy to be had. 

The pain, the burning touch of your skin, did nothing to dissuade him. 

“Faster..” You huffed, annoyance lathering your voice. “ Don’t make me take over and-- break you,” 

You cringed at the sound of your voice, trying to turn away to smush your face into a damp pillow. Sight was not getting easier, and the cock barreling in even thrusts-- pushing your arousal to the edge-- was not making you any more satisfied.

“Don’t look away, then;” Lane panted, moving the hand supporting your hip, to hold up your thigh. You were exposed to the room, legs spread as you laid on your side and Lane pumped into you from behind. You saw his fingers digging into the fat of your thigh, thicker and stronger than you expected. “Wanna see you… wanna kiss, my mate.”

He had easier, deeper access now that he raised your leg, spreading your cheeks and hole wider, letting him fill and feel you at an ecstatic angle. You could hear him moving in and out, feel the sweat dripping down your ankle, the thickness of his pre-cum in trickles. It was a different sensation compared to the thin, stickiness of your arousal. 

You turned to glare at him, biting down on your lip to prevent from marking him. 

But Lane kissed you anyway with the same wet, feverish, tongued attempt that he had always prayed for. It was no easy feat to stop him from sucking on your tongue, from jutting himself over and over inside of you, with wilted moans growing in volume at your taste.

Your orgasm was on the rise, Lane’s own having just passed as he came with ropes, coating the base of your cervix. And yet, he didn’t stop-- desperate to watch you come, to force you to be bonded with him. 

You ripped from his begging mouth, twisting as far behind you as you could to bite at his cheek, using him as your personal chew toy. Lane leaned against you, accepting it with a blissed-out gape. He could take this pain, could handle coming down from his ecstasy to service you. He would steal your kindness, your rage, your sadism-- and it would be his, and his alone to feel. 

Being inside of you was heaven enough, he could take being dragged into hell with you too. Even when you finished-- when he went limp and your mixed arousal began to dry, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pull out of you. He wanted to stay inside your warmth, to be intertwined and conjoined with you for as long as possible. You had marked him, had sealed your fate as soon as he thrusted himself in to the hilt.

You’d have to pry him away before he let you go tonight. And you’d never, be able to keep him farther than an arms distance, forever. 

[blakerights]

"all this to prove a point?" for the writing prompt

emily prentiss x reader

no warnings. no use of y/n or pronouns for reader.

sentence fic prompt

You rub your hands together, trying your best to generate some heat in your body. Emily’s car, while lovely, did not provide the warmth of an suv on a usual stakeout and you were seriously regretting your inability to tell this woman no. 

“All this to prove a point?” You mumble, the humour fading from your tone the longer you sit in the cold car, the September air biting away at your fingers and toes. 

Emily sits with her camera pointed at Morgan’s apartment, a determined glint in her eye. “Better personal life than me, my ass. He came straight home and hasn’t left the building since!”

You roll your eyes, wishing desperately you were home, “Yeah but he’s also not wasting his evening stalking his friend.”

Emily lowers the camera and turns to face you, brows drawn together. “He can’t make accusations like that and not expect me to find proof.” 

“Well maybe if you focused a little bit more on yourself and a little less on him then you wouldn’t need to prove it and you’d have a private life he couldn’t argue with.”  

She scoffs, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Always so clueless.

You shake your head, annoyed, embarrassed, and frustrated by the woman in front of you. “I’m right here.”

Emily’s frown only deepens and you blow out a breath, “I invited you out for dinner tonight and instead we’re stalking Morgan and have completely missed our reservations. Every time I try to move us forward you find a way to shut it down.”

“Reservations? I thought you wanted to get take-out and head back to one of ours, like usual.” She says with genuine confusion. 

“No, I booked that nice Indian place you like.” 

“Oh,” She responds, dropping the camera firmly in her lap. 

“Look,” you sigh, “I just need to know, okay? Because maybe I’m just failing to get the hint and you’re really not interested but I thought we were going somewhere. I like you Emily.” 

“You like me? Tonight was supposed to be a date and instead I blew you off and made us sit and stake out Morgan.” She says slowly, words strangled.

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell.” She blows out a breath. The car is silent for a moment as she comes to terms with the news and then her gaze focuses back on you. “I’m so sorry. I will make this up to you. I’m taking you for the best date night starting right now.”

Your eyes widen, “Wait so that’s a-?”

She smiles, wide and happy, “Yes, idiot, I like you too. God, why else would I ask you to sit here with me?”

You can’t help but smile too. Head in the clouds as Emily puts the camera away and the keys back in the ignition. 

“Ready to go?” She asks, a playful smirk on her lips that your eyes linger on. 

“There’s just one thing first.” Because you can’t wait a moment longer. You’ve waited years. 

You lean over the centre console, hand cupping her cheek and pulling her towards you to meet you in the middle. Emily’s eyes darken instantly, her gaze dropping to your lips before they fall close and her lips softly meet yours. 

Your body hums, alive as your lips move tenderly against hers. A gentle whine escapes your lips and your body heats up as you regretfully pull away. 

“Mmmhmm,” Emily hums, lips well kissed and eyes dark. “We can definitely do that again.”

“Food?” You ask, voice strangled. Avoiding the knowing look in her eyes, suddenly shy. 

“Oh, babes, I’ve got the perfect place.”

taglist: @ry-kills-jemily @sapphic-stress @xrainydazeteax @mckennamayfairgoode @enduringalexblake @augustvandyne @themoontaxi @prentissology @alexbllake @ssa-sapphic @storiesofsvu

[namariko]

A Silent Realization D x Reader

The fire crackled softly in the distance, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls of the abandoned outpost they had taken shelter in for the night. It was cold—too cold for a human to be comfortable—but Y/N hadn’t complained once.

Y/N sat with her knees drawn up, absently running her fingers along the edge of a worn map, studying it as if it held all the answers she needed. D was seated across from her, quiet as always, sharpening his blade with slow, practiced motions.

He shouldn’t have been watching her.

But he was.

Not directly—his eyes never lingered too long—but he was aware of the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell into her face, the way her brow furrowed in thought, the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek when something didn’t make sense.

She didn’t notice his gaze.

Or, at least, he thought she didn’t.

Then it happened.

Y/N shifted slightly, leaning closer to the map, and in doing so, her forehead lightly bumped the brim of his hat.

She froze.

He did too.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, as if the realization hit her all at once, she straightened so fast she nearly knocked over the map, her face turned away in a clear attempt to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“Sorry.”

It was a single word, mumbled more to herself than to him. But her reaction—that sudden, startled retreat—made something stir deep inside him.

D said nothing. He simply went back to his blade, running the sharpening stone along the edge with steady, controlled precision.

But the weight of the moment stayed with him.

Y/N had always been careful around him. Cautious, measured, like she didn’t want to overstep some invisible boundary. Yet for just a second, she had gotten too close. And the way she had reacted—the way her heart had jumped, just slightly—

His grip on the blade tightened.

His left hand snickered. “Well, well. That was interesting.”

D ignored it.

But as the fire continued to burn low, and Y/N kept her focus stubbornly on the map, he found himself glancing at her again.

[sleepysoldier]

any arcane X reader fanfic writers in the void I have a request 🙇‍♂️ (maybe I'll try my hand at fanfic writing one day lmao we'll see)

so we know jayce is a big strong lad ... what if reader has idk . maybe like, moved in near him and needs lots of help with furniture, and assembling stuff, maybe building some stuff in the apartment... maybe it's a modern AU idk.... and we get to see our big golden hunk get worked up and sweaty and stuff and get to know each other more as neighbours and it's cute and a little tense rAAAH I'm biting at the bars of my enclosure

[geesecanon]

Evidence in the Epistolary

read on ao3 Rating: Teen & Up Type: Multi-chapter Chapter: Quantumly Yours (1/9) Tags: Ford Pines/Reader; Strangers to Penpals; Strangers to Disgruntled Peers; Strangers to Vague Respect to Oh-No-They're-Hot; Gender Neutral Reader; No pronouns used (as any accurate descriptor); Inaccurate Technology for Sake of Plot; Additional Tags to be Added Summary: "The idea of thirty years' worth of mail is bothersome, and now it just feels like an overcast reminder of just how many bridges he has burned. But it feels obtusely preemptive to just be rid of them all on the spot. Maybe there are genuine pieces of correspondence in there. Peers. Professors. Professionals. People who wanted to engage in dialogue with him -- surely not all of them would be so egregiously casual in tone as the initial one. When he is alone again, Ford reaches down, pulls the letter from the bin, and rereads it." While taking a break, you ship yourself up to Gravity Falls for a few months, definitely for the fresh air and definitely not to coincidentally cross paths with your unintended penpal of the past few months. The universe grants your wish: you do meet him. Under perhaps the worst set of circumstances.

[stunie]

it’s so easy to forget that you can literally write whatever you want

[ms--lobotomy]

40k is really the size kink franchise huh

Have not written for Ferrus yet. This is a travesty I must remedy immediately. I know this isn't technically a request but I simply want him so bad

Summary: Ferrus gets a bit... handsy with his beloved after a nightmare

Word Count: 963

Content Warnings: OOPS! It's porn again, size kink of course, a bit of breath play, belly bulge, and you're getting the cream pie.

Image Credit: @squishyowl

Whatever it was in your head was starting to fade. Still, you tossed over and fumbled for him as your eyes fluttered open. You couldn't see anything, but you knew he was right next to you. Before a moment had passed, you'd grasped a segment of his loose fitting shirt. You weren't much next to him, but this sudden movement was enough to rouse him. A gruff "hmm?" escaped him as he turned his head down towards you.

"Ferrus--"

"You're shivering," he said, the metallic arm around you tightening.

Your grip loosened, and you realized that he was right. You were shivering. Before you could say anything, his lips grazed the top of your head. He was large, more than twice your size. You knew that he could break you in half if he so wanted, but you'd not gotten the impression that he'd wanted to.

"I am," you replied.

He ran a hand down your back. His hands were cold against your clothes, against you. You felt chills go down your spine. His hand engulfed you-- it took up maybe half of your back. The folds of your nightdress gathered at the small of your back under his hand. You looked up at him. From what little light entered the room, you could barely make out a clouded expression on his face.

"Is anything wrong?" you asked, snaking your way up the bed to press a kiss to his lips. They were much bigger than yours, but you were able to make it work.

Ferrus sighed. "Just..." he started. "I can't feel you with my hands. That's all," he said.

You frowned. "Oh..." you said. You ran a hand along his chest. "Surely..." you said, feeling a lump forming in your throat. "Surely you can't feel me with anything else?"

Both of you froze for a moment before Ferrus sat up in bed. He released you, and you fell to the bed with a thud. "Disrobe," he barked as he undid the buttons on his own shirt. You fiddled with your nightdress before it came off and you cast it aside, somewhere near you on the massive bed.

He grabbed your wrists, and laid you down underneath him. For a moment he remained there, eyes roving your body, before he leaned in for a kiss. He was far too large to kiss with tongue, but you felt butterflies regardless. His hands trailed down your body, stopping briefly to play with your nipples. You were thankful that you were in his chambers, far from prying ears, squeaking and moaning his name.

When his hands were at your thighs, he pried your legs open with no effort. You looked down at him as he lowered his head, his tongue licking your inner thighs.

"F... Ferrus..." you moaned, your legs pinned to your side by metallic hands.

"Let me feel you," he said, before his tongue trailed between your legs. You cried out as he found your apex, swirling it in his mouth before he entered you. You grabbed for his chopped hair, sinking your fingers into it. He chuckled. It didn't take long for you to climax the first time, crying out and trembling underneath him.

Right when you were working up to the next climax, he removed his mouth. "On your front," he said.

You flipped over, and almost instantly felt something poke at your entrance. You let out a pathetic whimper as you arched your back and looked over your shoulder at him. He was built like a truck; not only 13 feet tall, but wide. His steel gray eyes caught yours, and a smirk graced his face.

"Beg for it."

You felt yourself quivering under him. He pressed against your entrance; you wanted it, he wanted it.

"Ferrus... please," you choked out. "I need it. I need you in me. I need you to rearrange me. I..." you trailed off, your voice wavering. "I don't want to be able to walk tomorrow."

With that, you felt him enter you. You cried out, grasping at the bedsheets as he slid inside. You felt him in your belly, making a little bulge in your stomach. He held you down with one hand and grasped your throat with the other, lightly playing with your airways. You clenched over him, beginning to see stars. He could easily choke you to death, he had to be very careful with you. The one person he's loved, and they're delicate like every other baseline human.

He started to pull out, and he relented his hold on you, letting you catch your breath. "Ferrus..." you breathed, your head pressing against the bed.

"What is it?" he asked, as he entered you, faster this time.

You couldn't even grace him with a coherent response, instead moaning fragments of words and phrases. He pressed inside of you further, and you could feel him in your ribcage. He was gentle... until he wasn't, and you knew you were going to bruise in the morning.

He held you down with one hand as you climaxed again, with him following not long after. You felt him throb inside of you, bruising you, marking you as his own. He shot inside you for a long while before he finally pulled out, a sticky liquid trickling down your legs. You were still swelling a little bit from how much he'd shot inside of you as he turned you over, picking you up and placing you on his lap.

"You're gorgeous," he said, holding you close to him. He ran a hand up and down your back again, and you melted into his touch. You knew that you were going to be bedridden for the greater part of tomorrow, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[nellandvoid]

me: man i'm surprised there aren't more reader inserts for severance

the demon in my brain: :)

me: well fuck

[oracleofapollon]

you love a lot of things in life, but you love waking up next to steve harrington more than anything else.

especially when it's a hot summer morning, stuffy air in your bedroom, a delicate wind making your curtains dance and sway.

and a golden light shining through the window straight on your boy laying next to you, still asleep, facing away from you.

he sleeps shirtless on days like these. the white covers are thrown on his legs, exposing the glowing skin of his back to you. it's tanned and looks so soft that you believe it could be pure velvet. tiny moles are splattered on his sun-kissed body, making him look like a canvas painted by a great artist, or like a sky at dusk, adorned by little stars shining through the clouds.

and his scars, reminders of one of the many fights he had to survive in the upside down. they're pink and healed, shiny on his sides, disappearing into the white of your sheets.

the sun makes him look like an angel. it suits him, you think. it melts between the strands of his chocolate hair, lighting up its strands, painting them golden blonde.

you can't help but brush your fingertips against him and you immediately feel a warmth radiating from him. his back is like if apollo himself shaped it and kissed it - warm, golden, delicate.

he stirs at your tickling, mumbles under his breath, but doesn't open his eyes. you think you may not have earned the right to see his honey eyes just yet.

and so you lean in to give his moles a kiss. one on his shoulder blade, another on this side, just above the pink scratch. one on his arm. one on his shoulder. and one on his hair...

he's all dreamy, he's what summer would be like as a person. he's daylight. he's the sun. he's honey and chocolate and sweetness, stars and scars and silk, he's laugh and desire and passion. and he's all yours.

[loverboyfang]

also selfshipping with a character i really like specifically makes it so im more inclined to write any idea i have for them instead of actively using it as daydream material which is annoying and does not facilitate selfship even for fun

[always-a-joyful-note]

You don't know how much I can Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint code Enstars because I could. Because you have a set up where you are basically taking the place of Anzu--a person created simply to be the reader's/player's self-insert. Because the characters all exist to love Anzu while they're going through their own arcs. Because Anzu also exists to love and support the characters by the game's own coding. She is their world and their hope, and the enstars characters are her idols (and I don't just mean that as singers and dancers).

But slowly, I've seen posts and even small summaries of how Anzu starts becoming her own person, small ways apart from the characters. Yes, she's still quiet. Yes, she is almost always a Viewer. Except for the fact that this is a game story, not just a book or novel story. And games are meant to be played...not by the characters but by someone who is watching them but has not created them.

This is how Anzu has more power than a normal reader. This is also how she has less power than a normal reader. The game allows her to exercise power over the characters' lives that a normal reader of a book cannot--she can help along Trickstar, be the behind the scenes producer for a number of the idol groups in the school, doing something to make them shine. But she is always a puppet, controlled by the player. She has a silly personality with a questionable naming sense and determination and hard-headedness to boot...her preferences for the units and who she builds up are always changing according to the player. Her only goal is to make sure her idols shine (what more does a reader want than to see their characters shine?), yet the goal of the Enstars characters is to adore Anzu and make people like her who support them happy (where would the characters be without a reader?)

Like the Oldest Dream, she is the most powerful and weakest god of all. A puppet steered by the fantasies of many, many individuals yet always loved by the characters for "herself."

[usedtobecooler]

i cancelled my preorder of flight of icarus for two reasons and two reasons alone — first person and love interest 👎

[choism]

Hot take: if your fic is literally just 90% a word for word the script/scenes from a tv show or movie, your writing is unoriginal and you need to learn how to come up with original plot

[rambledealer]

Some of yall be talking way too much about internalised homophobia in your m/m fics or your m x reader fics– how about you address your internalised misogyny in real time?

[bragganhyl]

regarding that josh tweet you just reblogged. how much experience do you think aloth has, just in general? he's obviously not very social and he notes the watcher as being one of the first people he's ever been really close to. the banessa stuff initially made me think he had some game, but i'm curious about your opinion.

I'd like to think he's had *some* experience but... yeah not a whole lot. In addition to what you said, Aloth also spent quite some time working undercover/using an alias and he really doesn't strike me as someone who would pursue people sexually/romantically while lying about his identity. But yeah, we do know that Iselmyr liked to urge him to get a partner and he had time during the timeskip between PoE 1 and 2 (and we do know that he had people crushing on him during his academy years too, no matter how asocial he was there). So yeah, that's my 2 cents, Anon.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple