#the sheer and utter helplessness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anantaru · 7 months

Text

DAY 8 — DOGGY STYLE / ASS LOVERS

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — diluc, albedo, cyno, scaramouche

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, they need to touch your ass!!! they’re obsessed, doggy & prone bone, they are all ass men <3 it‘s confirmed trust me i‘m hoyo

𖧡 — DILUC

the lucid sense of domination you could feel whenever you're slotted underneath diluc's body was always there and on plain sight— with your ass being forthrightly presented to him, just the way he liked it.

for clarification, it wasn't a secret to you anymore that he was obsessed with your ass and touching it for that matter, whilst watching you perk your behind up for him, waiting on all fours— it's mouth watering to say the least and the vermillion haired man plants his hands against the fat of your ass immediately, hissing in deep puffs when he first presses the tip of his cock against your warm pussy, your body relaxing, aflame under his scorching trace.

"diluc.." you whine out, your face burning as you're being pushed around back and forth the bed— he's already so warm inside of you, and this position just made him feel even hotter whilst rubbing his shaft against your sore walls.

"you're— you're so good to me.."

at your luscious choice of wording, with your helpless utters being high on his blows and needy for more, the force of his hips suddenly picks up as diluc continues to listen to how you're saying his name, or well, moan it for him to eagerly listen to— frankly, it makes his cock even harder when you're vocal, his dick jutting all up inside, causing you to feel full.

he gasps, noticing the skin on your hole tightening, "fuck— i need you to say that again.." and it's so hard to keep himself from just cumming early on and spilling all of himself inside, to soothe the twitching burn in your heat and warm you up in such special way.

you whine, a sound all desperate and eager to please him, "y-you're so good to me." you say once more, noticing his grip tensing on your flesh, tracing his cock over your delicate sweet spots as if he wanted to have him size embedded on your cunt forever, the fast rolls of his hips pistoling you towards the edge of release.

"my love.." he grumbles from behind, slanting his body forward whilst wrapping one strong arm around your frame, his movements now becoming a dab sloppier, somewhat careless and messy, yet do not get fooled— because you see, his enduring strength never falters, it's growing behind every thrust and remains on its place as you need to take it all, your ass smacking back at his hips, whilst needful moans and praises leave both of your darling lips.

𖧡 — ALBEDO

you attempt to watch as best as you possibly could from a position such as this one, focusing back while albedo was putting formidable pressure on your ass before listlessly shifting one large pillow under your hips, so you could relax your muscles with your behind being perfectly shaped for him, staying in place so he needn't worry and can go all out on you.

from the grip on your plushy behind, he gives it another strong squeeze before his palms begin to ghost over your lower back, suddenly adding his weight on top, his hips now beginning to shift forward so he could sink himself inside your hole— very much aware on how long you have been waiting for this to happen with your sopping cunt fluttering around sheer air, clamping and letting go again, aching for something to fill it, someone for that matter.

he starts with one inch before adding another of his cock splitting you apart effortlessly, the stretch consisting of a mild burn that developed into a mind-numbing euphoria that touched the deepest ends of your nerves, and albedo pauses for a moment just to be sure, being aware that having you pushed into such position made you extra tight for him, your warm walls constricting against his shaft so agonizingly cramped that he feels like he was about to explode.

"you're... so tight." he grunts, experimentally wiggling his hips to find the right spot, "it's even tighter like this." he notes and it doesn't even surprise you anymore on how vocal he could become— at the same time, you could also debate that it's an abysmal habit from his work as an alchemist, which was demanding him to write down every last one of his experiments— or in this silly case, how well his cock felt whilst deeply pushed into you.

"how's that?" he mutters again, warm puffs of air touching the film of the sweat on your neck before he glides a long, deep spot on your walls, your thighs beginning to strain at how he handled you, never stilling his movements and examining several reactions your body made to the heightened breathing exiting past your parted lips to the pitchy tone color of your broken whines.

you cry out, little, shaky pants evidently notable when he nudges your cheek with his nose all sweetly, a grin on his face signalizing his happiness and gratefulness to this moment.

"it's perfect..bedo.." you mumble, your lower lip trembling as your pussy lubricates his girth with your arousal, a ring of whites lacing the skin on his shaft as your complete frame quivers under him the moment he throbs inside at your whistling affirmations, a mirage of dense clouds fogging his mind from the feeling of doing everything right, pleasing you just the perfect way.

𖧡 — CYNO

"you.." a gaping, gritty whine slithers over cyno's lips, trickling undermost the silhouette of his warm heaves before he leans his weight down on your back, to nibble on your shoulder, ghosting over the skin with his white canines.

the tone of him, it never changes, and he continues, "this feels so good, baby." mumbling again, smearing messy, wet kisses along your flesh while becoming quite irritated on the lack of responses coming from you— without realizing that you're practically crumbling under the heaviness of his cock crowding your clamping walls, "you.. you feel amazing."

granted, it's silly— and somewhat cute of him, when cyno gets so overwhelmed with the pressure building inside his stomach whenever he fucks you, it's almost as if he can see the twist form on itself, together with the force of his strong hips pistoling past the desperate grip of your walls, keeping your body steady while your bodies moves as one.

and don't get him wrong but there was nothing better than looking at your hazy facial expressions or your misty eyes, consistently fusing into a stronger version whenever he paces his hips a little faster, glancing down at your cunt flooded by his erection before spitting down to lubricate you further, again then— becoming rougher so you could scream his name how much you wanted to, so he could listen to you beg him to finally make you cum.

on the other hand, he loves watching your ass tightly squeezed against him, or how you're able to grind eagerly into his touch whilst holding onto the head board for your dear life, swallowing his cock back each time he drums himself inside— with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, able to just stroke the flesh of your ass and pull you into his cock with it, his strokes long and steady taking your breath away.

you make an affirmative noise, it being the only thing you could say as a large hand rubs over your thigh. cyno presses forward and buried his face in your neck, mouth open, almost feral alike rocking his hips, his cock slipping out with a slick noise as you welcome him all lovingly.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

there was no other way as to go on about that particular matter, but scaramouche always has to have his eager hands on your plump ass— or moreover look at it, even better when it's tightly pressed against his hips so he can easily fuck into you, together with watching how the fat of your behind messily nudges and sticks on his skin due to your pussy drooling of your slick.

how he needs to spill himself on top of your ass and lower back when you cry out in babbled whines, curse out at the overstimulation taking a heavy impact on your frame as he allows your cunt to milk him forever, noticing the strong grip of your pussy tightening ever so slightly on his shaft, holding him in before softening again so he could press his dick inside, all inches sheathed while you're greedily taking him.

his cock effortlessly spreads you, his broken grunts untangling butterflies inside your belly as he shivers at each new quiver of your walls around his dick. "you know you can talk, right?" scaramouche rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue whole his hips buck hard against your bristling heat, noticing how you yelp in a tireless bliss touching the edge of your pleasure spots.

without pretence— you're not entirely sure if he's saying that to tease you or have you agitated, since scaramouche knew how much you hated it whenever he edged you on, maybe ripped you off an orgasm because he liked the way you tend to beg for it afterwards. or if he really cannot see that you're actually struggling to even breathe out in an even matter, with his hips being consistent in their blows, unwavering, making it to say something coherent even a greater task.

"fuck.. kuni please don't tease me now." you breathe, hiccuping over your utters, noticing his warm breath fanning across your back, his nose tickling your neck, grinning at the little moans that leave your lips and oh, he has you spiraling now but hey, at least you're trying to meet his demands.

now, you're keeping yourself in place to move your body as one with his own, penetrative squelching noises reverberating off the walls as the flushed, leaking tip of his cock crowds the burning ends of you, kuni's palm itching to feel the soft trace of your ass again, or the trembles of your entire body resounding over his— the slick slides of wet skin on wet skin invading his ears.

maybe he won‘t be mean tonight after all and let you have it for once, and fuck— he’s immediatly noticing how he’s succumbing to his one and only weakness, which was you— at last, choosing his enchanting darling over his ego.

3K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

Cabin in the woods (yandere!shasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yandere!slasher!Horangi) chapter 6

You start to break down, finally accepting Konig's soft advances.

WARNINGS: Blood, dub-con bordering on non-con, general slasher-y, mild knife stabbing

Masterlist with all chapters This on AO3

This basement is filled with dead people. Or, so you thought at first glance.

At the second glance, you notice a broken bicycle, a bunch of furniture pieces, and something that you could only describe as a particularly horrible-looking attempt at wood carving. Or, maybe, a hanging post. You were in the killer’s layer, after all.

You were there for 10, maybe 15 minutes, and you already know that you are not making it out sane. Your whole body is trembling, your head is throbbing, you are dizzy after an orgasm, and Max is still lying here, his body is warm and soft. Blood stopped dripping from his stomach, but it didn’t make him any less dead. Coughing and almost throwing up from disgust, you spit out every last bit of cum that you managed to get out of your sore throat. You needed something – water, normal food, a good few hours of sleep because you’ve been running on sheer adrenaline for the past 12 hours and it started to take a toll on your…everything.

Just a few hours ago, you were a bored college girl on her forest trip with a bunch of weirdo friends. Your biggest problem was the utter boredom of this fucking woods, not the murderous maniacs on your tail. Now…

— Open wide, Maus. Let me feed you, ja?

Now you were spoonfed reheated chicken soup by König. Colonel in the PMC. The guy who dropped his mask to make you even more scared because you see all the burn marks and scars on his face, and just know that you won’t ever be able to resist someone as strong as him.

Guy who calls you “good girl” and pets your head and tries to engage you in this weird as fuck power dynamic that makes your cheeks warm and your mouth open, even though the saltiness of the soup makes you remember his cum and…fuck. Oh, god fucking damnit.

He is smiling like a maniac, making sure that with each spoon of your soup, you also eat something…you don’t even want to acknowledge it, your stomach is too empty, and your mouth was already tarnished by him, so what’s the problem with a few more drops of his semen, carefully added to the mixture so you won’t be able to miss it? You cringe in disgust as he smiles and pushes even more in your throat, almost making you gag from the spoon deep past your teeth. At least you know that the chicken bits here are actual chicken.

— Let…let me go. Please.

You finish the bowl of soup after a few torturous minutes. The salty taste in your mouth leaves you cringing, and König smiles, wiping your face with a napkin. You feel helpless – with your arms newly bound, there is nothing much you can do when he presses a bottle of coke to your mouth, making you wash away the incredible saltiness with even more incredible sweetness. You want to gag, but he closes your mouth swiftly after.

He smiles.

— We’ll walk you later. Now is not the time for girls to be out.

— I’m not a…

He scoops you in his hands, your body swinging in the air like a doll. It’s horrible, just how strong he is – makes you tremble in his hold, like a useless little victim you are. God, this even sounds embarrassing – yet you can hear the smile in his voice as he drags you along with him. Forcing you to look at Max’s dead body, the smell isn’t filling the room just yet. You try your best to consider yourself lucky.

— You’re cranky, Maus. Need to get you out of here before he starts to smell, right? Brainy ones usually rot extremely fast.

He laughs at his own joke as he pushes you in his arms further. Your head pounds with every one of his rough, deep phrases, his hands are going to roughly manhandle you in place. You whine, too weak to resist but not too weak to stop crying. God, this is pathetic. And scary, And not like those movies about hot killers and half-naked girls.

You’re not a final girl material because instead of fighting him and slamming your knee in his dick again, you get even further on his hands, hoping he would be able to hold you in place like you wanted it.

— Not sure if I should call you a Kitten or a good girl. What do you prefer?

He pushes his large, calloused hand to your face, smearing blood all over your cheeks once again. You cringe, your nose gets the fragrance of blood and decay from his skin – the weirdest fucking perfume that you hope to never smell again. Sobbing softly, you allow him to press his hands on your body, to roam around freely, like you were his fucking treat and not a real person with wants and desires.

— Fuck you.

— It’s Horangi’s job, girl. Not yours, ja?

He laughs plentifully, getting you in his hands. You shiver under his touch, not wanting his fingers anywhere near your abused body – they got you off one time exactly, and you wish never to come from your captor’s toucher. You don’t even want to look at Max, too scared to ever see his lifeless, cold face – terrified of the deep path you feel towards him. Like nothing has happened, like he wasn’t one of your friends. You don’t feel anything besides being tired, and you can’t begin to unwrap all the complex feelings behind your assholish friend group deaths.

Jenny and Chad are still out here, still could get help – but they were ignoring every one of your pleads, not wanting to ruin their nice vacation with your dumb panic. Deep down, you almost feel like screwing these fucking assholes and hoping that they would get impaled by a large freaking stick, preferably in the middle of very lame and satisfying sex. Preferably…

— König, I thought we agreed of not letting her out.

— You’re going hunting, and I need company.

— She could run, you know. You’re too soft on her.

— I can break her ankle! She won’t run then.

König’s voice is so cheerful you actually feel nauseous. He is smiling and laughing, and they both hug before the shorter guy gets out – you can’t even begin to remember the outline of their house because, honestly, serial killers shouldn’t have houses this nice. Ruch wood, probably painted with blood, some hunting trophies, probably incrusted with human bones and remains of their victims, a lot of silly little knickknacks that are probably trophies from the previous groups of dumb college kids…

Shit, no matter how much you wanted to say that this place looks horrible and straight out of a horror movie, it still looks nice. You wonder if it could be scored for a low price, with all the disappearing in the woods around it. You wonder if they started to kill people to make the house cheaper and buy it for half a Euro and a firm handshake.

König grabs you like a plush toy, squeezing you in his magnificent, strong chest, almost making you choke on his boobs as you just desperately try to breathe. He smells like masculinity, too much male perfume and blood – you tuck your face closer to his neck, trying to see if you could, perhaps, bite through his blood stream and vampire your way out of this place, but he only laughs, feeling your teeth on his skin as a form of foreplay. You didn’t want foreplay, you wanted to fucking kill him, maul him to death, do everything in your power to drop him on his back and perform acts that would be not only concerning to feminism but humanity as a whole.

He drops you on the couch before you can sink your teeth into his shoulder, leaving perfect teeth marks on the pale skin of his body. You heard somewhere that human bites are actually incredibly dangerous and call make you ill – you also hoped that you could somehow get rabies from that one poor rodent lying dead on the ground, and so you would be able to transfer the disease to these two fuckers.

You hoped that Karen would give them all the STDs that are possibly could be transmitted.

You hoped that Max would annoy the shit out of them before he died.

You hoped…but it’s useless now, isn’t it? You are sitting on the couch, your captor keeping a firm hand on your thigh, his erection still hard in his pants – you refuse to look at it, you’re better than this, but, oh god, you had no idea a dick could be this dick and don’t prod through pants. You feel like a house dog that was allowed to sit on the soft furniture for the first time in her life, and you hate it. With a groan and, perhaps, a bit of an angry yelp, you fall to the ground.

König smiles immediately – and pushes your face between his legs, perhaps thinking that you just died to suck him off. You wince, both from disgust and fear. Your jaw is still sore, and you aren’t sure how you can still close it.

— Such an eager girl, ja? I will give you what you want then.

Come to think of it, while he is relaxed and his partner is out of the house, you could try to bite his dick off. It should give you a headstart to run and find a weapon to eliminate one of the problems. Then, again, it would require you to put his dick in your mouth again.

Your jaw pleaded to just allow him to fuck your pussy instead.

Your pussy pleaded to just give him your ass, to not risk being pregnant.

Your ass…yeah, you’re not trying anal for the first time with a guy who can swing his dick like a baseball bat and kill some unhappy campers with it.

With the swiftness of the wind, you get up, sitting on the couch in the most modest pose you can imagine. You threw away a couple of pillows in the process – nice pillows, soft pillows, pillows you couldn’t imagine in the house of not just two killers but two military dudes who don’t seem like the type to like everything soft and cute. Besides you, you guess – or they always get one of their victims as leverage or a fucked up pet until they are fully committed to just killing you and eating what is left of your remains.

König only laughs, getting a hand over your shoulders and pressing you closer to him. You don’t want to, but you’re basically naked, save for your underwear and torn jeans, and he is warm. You don’t need a blanket when you have his hot flesh next to your skin – you suppress a smile, trying your best not to fall into their clutches. You’re tired, yes, but it’s not an excuse to be a whore! There are many more convenient moments to be a slut and this one is not it. They killed your friends!

Your asshole friends.

— You have any movie preferences?

He has to repeat his question a few times, you’re too lost in thought to actually listen. Only when he pinched your thigh, no doubt leaving a bruise, you kinda jumped in place, only barely containing a pathetic whimper. His fingers just started to gently squeeze and play with soft flesh, only making everything more warm and twisted and painful.

— No slashers.

He chuckles, pressing his hand deeper into your inner thigh. You try to close your legs, not wanting to invite his fingers in, but he just rests his fingertips on the border of torn jeans, gently brushing it over the sensitiveness of your skin. You gulp, suppressing any reaction.

— No slashers. Gut. I, too, prefer the real thing.

Shiver rund down your spine. God, you need to get out of here, not play house with a murderer! A handsome murderer who killed your asshole friends and who was also kinda nice(not killing you, that is) and even saved you from being too hurt and even allowed you on the couch and even…god, you’re a miserable shell of a woman and the greatest speedrunner of the Stockholm syndrome in the world.

Your body sinks into the couch that smells like a mix between a frat house and a meat fridge.

He turns on the TV, placing something dumb and loud. You don’t even want to look, but you’re bored, and you don’t want him to think you are letting him off the hook with your observant nature – you look at him, quietly as he intensely watches a…

A familiar melody fills the room. You actually need to wait a few seconds, blink, and then look at the screen again. God, is he fucking serious right n-

You are sitting in the house in the middle of a murder forest, with the dead body of your friend rotting in the basement of said house, you were forced to have sex with the killers of the said friends, and now you’re kidnapped in the said house…and the killer just turned on fucking Encanto for you.

— It’s popular among girls your age, right?

You want to say that, among normal college female population, porn would be far more suitable to watch. The guy looks older than you, for sure, mature, with a rugged face and scars and that perfect stubble and touches of silver in his ginger hair, and…shit, you’re dreaming of his rough handsomeness again. Quick, think about your dead friend.

— I’m not 5.

— You act like you’re 5.

— Wh…what do you mean?

— You left your friends to die, you don’t care that we can hurt you…

— I care that you can hurt me!

— You’re silly, Liebling. A normal person would try to run away three times already.

— You said you’d break my ankles.

— I will. Still, you look like you prefer this place more, ja? You can watch dumb shows and eat whatever you want and never worry about…whatever you were doing before.

— I don’t! I…this is stupid.

— You’re a bit dumb, Schatzen. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.

He smiles as he ruffles your hair again, his hand goes to gently cup your face and cover it with hungry, sloppy kisses. You can’t even focus on the cartoon on the screen because he is basically devouring your lips right now, forcing you to open your mouth and invite him in – you don’t want him to bite you, you are hurt enough without that kind of contribution. You feel dizzy, dehydrated, you are still exhausted, and you’d want nothing more but to close your eyes and allow him to do whatever he wants with your lifeless body.

You want to roll to the side, hug the pillow, and watch Encanto on pair with some trash TV about housewives killing each other over a garden salad. You don’t want to think about your dead friends because they are dead, you are alive, and your lips are getting crushed as he forces the kiss to be more deep, as he brings his hand to gently squeeze your waist and brush over your back.

You are flushed by the end of the kiss, König grins sluggishly as you are panting, shocked, excited and a bit overwhelmed. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t even think about biting his tongue off – which sounded a bit stupid right now, yes, he would probably just kill you for trying, but you could at least…you could at least close your lips and don’t allow him to kiss you like an excited puppy who just loves loves loves covering your face with his saliva.

Like a dig with a boner, König presses wet lips all over your face and head – in your hair, on your temple, gently brushing over your forehead and cheeks, making sure that he traces his lips over every last bit of blood that he left on your skin. He grunts in the kiss, something more like a guttural moan, and you never knew that just the motion of simple, sloppy kisses can make a man so excited – you are scared and just a little bit curious. Just how much he wants to touch his victim.

König gently places you down on the couch, forcing you to sit straight. He picks up one of the fallen decor pillows and throws it into your hands, allowing you to have something to fidget with. He almost looks guilty, anxious, that barbaric, rugged face is red with embarrassment and sadness as he can’t really do anything nice with you right now, can’t play with you like he wants to. God, König would give up a lot to just fuck you raw on this couch, to forget about your stupid friends and make you their nice little couple addition – but he promised, he knows he is, and you’re too sensitive and overwhelmed to take him like this now.

König can bet that you’d be so tight he wouldn’t even get a finger in. Breaking you in should feel fucking amazing.

— Can’t fuck you right now, Schatzi. Promised my tiger we would share you.

He smiles guilty, boyish, that dumb smile brings heat to your cheeks again. You turn away from him, feeling his hands keeping you in place firmly – but otherwise, he allows you to just watch the movie, getting lost in the plot you saw a couple dozen times.

You are watching the movie, and König is watching you.

— You aren’t sad?

— About what? You can sense a certain level of nervousness in his tone. You lick your lips, hugging the pillow closer to your face so he won’t be able to read your expressions.

— That we can’t fuck right now.

— I don’t want to have sex at all.

— You came stronger than I did.

— It’s a…ph…physical reaction. I didn’t want it.

— You don’t sound convinced.

He is drilling the dangerous thoughts in your head. The desire to just empty your brain and allow them to take the lead, the desire of your mind to simply shut down from all of the horrors you already saw. This is an apathetic stance – you don’t see a point in fighting after you see what they are capable of, and you certainly don’t see the point in ever trying again. Still, you somehow want them to stop, just so you can stop worrying about falling for their trap and stop being a good person who cares for her friends.

You feel like almost falling asleep, dozing off on the couch – not because you feel safe or warm, but because your body is simply refusing to reach anymore, too exhausted to produce even the most basic self-reservation instincts. König forces your head on his lap, gently stroking your tear-stained face.

When Horangi returns home with a bloody axe and Jenny, kicking and screaming in his hold, you are fully asleep on König’s lap.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #yandere cod #slashers #slasher #horangi x reader #horangi #yandere horangi #yandere x reader #male yandere

854 notes · View notes

manincaffeine · 3 months

Text

We all are told that people change, friendships change, and that's life. But nothing prepares your tender soul for that shock. When a really close friend changes, it changes your world, ever so bitterly and ever so silently. You can't even mourn it properly because "Who cries over broken friendships? Lol, it's not like you were lovers." But you know in your heart how much it means to you. You know how helpless you feel, how cheated, and how absolutely broken. So you cry in dry tears, all alone, burning in that anger of "How can you ever change who we were? Who gave you that right? Don't you feel ashamed?" Yes, you feel that angry. But you don't fight. Why? Because it was SO naked. Even a blind person could see that you were being ignored, that you were being replaced, and that no one gave a damn about how it affected you. You felt insulted. We knew it. We talked about it how important we were to each other. We promised each other that we are family. And family stays family, remember? Family stays family. But was I your family? No. You just walked out on me as if it was a normal hi-hello. You broke my heart. And it's not that I did not try to keep it as normal as I could. I tried talking to you with the same laughter and smile. But I just could not. I could not just fake that emotion with you. It was like my soul was crying inside while I was trying to laugh with you. So I failed. And I started walking away from you. I wanted to share all those things with you as soon as they happened, like always. I almost picked the phone. But I did not tell you.

I knew we were not the same anymore. And you did not deserve to know my daily smile and tears. And hey, I did not find someone else to tell those things. I did not replace you. I just buried that friend, just dead. So in all those moments of utter joy and sheer pain, I was all alone. And my soul is so angry at you for leaving me alone like this. I will never forgive you. But I will still pray for you. You know why? Because I can still die for you. And you, you did not even care when we were going dead. How can you? How??

#desiblr #desi tumblr #txt post #txt #dark academia #intrusive thoughts #spiled ink #spilled thoughts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writer #artists on tumblr

294 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 6 months

Text

Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 15: Mask Kink

October 30th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt really loves to eat you out.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), black suit Matt supremacy, Dom!Matt, mask kink, unprotected p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, slight spanking, bondage (use of ropes), use of "good girl", praise, not proofread

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/n: This is dedicated to @sunaspotato because her mask kink made my mask kink worse. And since she’s on this hellsite too now and wanted to read this, here you go. (Also, I hope you can still look me in the eyes after this. If not, I sincerely apologize. It’s different when one of the people reading this is someone I know irl so I hope I didn’t disappoint with this.)

The air coming in through the half-open bedroom window brushes coldly against your heated skin.

You never thought you would end up in this position. So… vulnerable. Hunted like prey. It was never your intention. And yet, here you are now. Your wrists are tied to the bedpost with a harsh, greyish rope that isn’t yours, your sheer nightgown torn to shreds and discarded somewhere in the room.

You’re helpless. Hopeless, also. Your friends have told you time and time again that you trust too easily, and maybe that is true. You can be colorblind to the existence of red flags. When you look danger in the eyes, you tend to gravitate toward it and not away, which has put you in trouble more times than you can count. You have shit judgment, to say the least, so it should come as no surprise that you are in this position.

He has walked you home before. A few nights ago, a man tried to mug you after you missed the last bus of the night on your way home from work, and even though you cooperated, you had a bad feeling you weren’t going to make it out of this alive. He was about to steal all the money you had left in your purse, your phone, and everything else dear to you.

Out of nowhere though, a dark figure emerged. He wore a mask made out of some sort of used fabric, a little white peeking through where it kept his eyes hidden from the world. His lips caught your attention right away. They were curled up into a smirk. He looked as if he had no emotions left in him, he only saw red where you saw none, and he beat the man trying to steal from you to a bloody pulp right at your feet.

You should have been terrified, but the fear turned into a quick thrill, and it made you more careless than it made you careful.

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” he said to you.

Foolish of him to think he could tell you what to do, but he was right. He shouldn’t have been out there on your own.

Next thing you knew, he offered to walk you home. Him on the rooftops of the city, you below. And you felt safer. You agreed; you talked to him, and you let the danger right into your life.

From the second you first laid your wide eyes on the stranger, there has been something so forbiddingly arousing about the image in your head. His plump lips, his tongue, his sharp jawline, and the chiseled chest that he keeps hidden away underneath a tight, black shirt. Not to mention his thighs and the ass he is definitely not hiding in those pants.

It is so arousing, you have not uttered a word about it to anyone. If you told anyone the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saved your life and belongings a few nights ago and has walked you home from work every night since then, they would surely call you crazy. Perhaps you are, but you have no shame about it. You are ashamed that he does something to your neglected soul, something a stranger in a mask should not do, but you are not ashamed that you haven’t told him off. Maybe you should be, but you can’t possibly find an ounce in your that cares.

Even though it wasn’t planned and it took you off guard, you let him in when he knocked on your windows tonight, begging you to stitch him up. His panting and the way he groaned whenever the needle threaded through his skin didn’t help with this strange attraction you have been harboring.

He noticed. You’re not sure how, but he noticed that you were getting turned on by his presence, and it was only a question of time until he would snap. In the end, he did about half an hour into your putting bandages on his battle scars.

Now you’re tied to the bed, naked and vulnerable to the man in the mask at the foot of your bed, but your heart is not beating out of your chest out of fear. It’s the pulse between your legs that is the most prominent, and the danger only sends the pleasure you’re experiencing to new pinnacles.

He isn’t going to show you his face, he told you as much. Lucky for you, you do not want or need him to. The thought of getting fucked by a man you have no idea what he looks like is as arousing as it is exciting. The mask on his face only enhances the feeling of being completely exposed to the prying eyes of danger, and you don’t want to miss this feeling again for the world. If that makes you perverted or mentally deranged, you don’t have a problem with that. You’ve been told that your delusions will be the death of you one day, so maybe it’s time to live your truth.

The man paces around your bed. Eventually, he opens those plump lips again. He asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

“What I’m doing to you?” you question, your voice barely above a broken whisper. He’s got you right where he wants you.

“You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

You want to sit up, but the ropes keep you locked in place.

“You were supposed to run away,” he says. “But you didn’t.”

“I don’t scare easily,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Why he sounds so bitter all of a sudden, you’re not sure.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not scared of you,” you say, a lot surer this time.

The stranger bares his teeth for a moment, then closes his mouth again. God, those lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and somehow you already miss him.

“I can smell you, you know. I can smell how fucking wet you are for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to control myself when you’re so wet?” he says. It’s a rhetorical question. “You want me to fuck you so badly, and you don’t even know me.”

You blush beet red. You’re not sure how he can smell that you’re wet, even with your thighs clenched so tightly together. There are a lot of things you ask yourself, and for a second you wonder if you made a mistake, but if he knows that you are desperate to be touched by him, there is no chance in hell you will be able to lie your way out of this.

You want this. You want him. And there is no denying the obvious; he wants you, too.

His cock is straining against his pants. He is packed, you can tell. You wish you could see him, even just a small glimpse of skin, but he keeps himself hidden away. That’s how it’s going to be. He’s not going to give himself away, and you’re not going to protest, no matter how wrong this may be.

You want him to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you. There is only one way this is going to end.

The bed creaks. His gloved hand meets your bare thigh, and you shudder. Your mouth falls open. The rough texture hiding his fingertips rubs against the sensitive hairs on your body. It makes your toes curl.

“Don’t move away from me,” his mouth is suddenly so close to your ear.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you choke out. He has a chokehold on your lungs and the oxygen that is supposed to pass through them.

His teeth show when he chuckles this time. It’s a breathless chuckle that sends even more shivers down your spine until you can’t feel anything but him. His breath, his hand, his body—you are completely consumed by him.

“Matthew,” he whispers in your ear. “My name’s Matthew.”

He told you his name. Does he trust you enough not to ask questions? Not that you have it in you to do so, but it throws you off for a moment.

He told you his name. The masked stranger who refuses to even take his gloves off told you his name. Your mind reels. You’re interpreting too much into this, but how can you not? You are completely infatuated.

You’re infatuated with the devil.

The heavy leather of his gloves thuds to the ground next to the bed. When his bare fingers touch you, you’re almost halfway on your way to heaven.

You let out a soft moan that sends the heat to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pulsates in your ear. You can hear your blood rushing. Can he hear it too?

“Tell me it’s okay.”

You blink at his demand.

“Tell me it’s okay to touch you,” he says. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words elude you for a moment. “I–” You swallow as you look at his covered face. “Yes,” the consent rolls off your lips softly but surely. “I want you to…touch me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. This is the most human you have seen him. “Thank you,” he says.

You open your mouth again to respond, to tell him that he has nothing to thank you for, but he shuts you up by thrusting two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt all at once.

Your words turn into a loud moan that bounces off your apartment walls. You struggle against the restraints, wanting to wrap around his wrist, but you have nowhere to go. Your walls clench around the intrusion, but he pushes through, his fingertips brushing over that one sweet spot that has you seeing stars within seconds. And once he has found that spot, there is no going back.

The lewdest cacophony of wetness and heady moans turns into a crescendo. He is playing your keys so delicately, your entire body locks up. The wave keeps on building until it has turned into the size of a tsunami, ready to destroy whatever is in its path.

He moves his digits in and out of you, brushing against that spot every time he thrusts back in, and he pushes even deeper until he’s filled you up completely to the brim. He reaches parts of you that you never knew existed, and he does it over and over and over again until there is not much more you can take.

His free hand grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet the darkness of his mask. Somehow, that makes your walls clench ever harder around him. He smirks. Oh, that shit-eating smirk is going to be the death of you, you’re sure. At the same time though, you want to wipe it off his face.

“Look at me,” he says.

You have no choice but to comply, as ironic as it sounds.

“Good girl.”

The subtle praise makes your nails draw blood from your palms, the robe rubbing against the sensitive skin of your wrists and probably doing just the same. You’re going to be bloody and bruised tomorrow. You’re going to carry his marks.

You’re his now.

“Are you gonna come?” his breath tickles your ear.

All you can muster is a weak nod.

“Good,” he says. “Don’t.”

You must have misheard him. “What?!” you stammer. “But–”

“No.”

Fucking with danger is as hot as it is frustrating, it seems.

His fingers pull out of you suddenly, roughly—you are left with a gaping emptiness that makes your thighs clench, and your throat emits a whine that you are not used to hearing from yourself.

“Please,” you beg. You never beg. Not like this. “Please, Matthew, I… I’m sorry.”

What are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong. But he makes you feel like you did. He makes you feel like you deserve to feel so pathetic, and that he owns your orgasms.

He owns you.

Well, shit.

The ropes around your wrists disappear for a moment. A moment of mercy, you think, but he is quick to flip you onto your stomach. The bed creaks again. You catch a glimpse of his smirk again. His mask. His body. His cock. It looks like he touched himself while he fingered you, his cock pink and weeping as it stands tall against his stomach. You want to reach out and touch it, a rare beauty, a rare sight, but once again, you are disappointed.

He flips you over, and he ties your hands back to the headboard. You’re once again trapped.

A series of cries, “Please, please, please!” Passes your lips. You kick your feet, you say his name, and you moan when his lips travel down your exposed back. You would do anything for more, and you try to, but he won’t let up.

This is what you get for making foolish choices.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hand collides with your backside, and you cry out. The pain turns into the sweetest pleasure, making your clit throb in need. You can’t withstand him. “I’m far from done with you. You asked for this, remember?”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine.

When his thick cock penetrates your tight walls, forcing your legs to stay together as he pushes his way forward, you surrender. Your jaw slacks in a needy moan. He’s got you wrapped around his finger and his cock, and the feelings he elicits in you are so inhuman, you get addicted. He’s a drug. He’s dangerous.

But danger has never looked so fucking good before.

Besides, you brought this upon yourself when you let him into your bed. When you asked him to fuck you like no one has ever fucked you before. When you gave him consent to touch you. And when you let him take you like this, you surrendered yourself to him all over again. All of you. Your mind, body, and soul. You gave it all to him. You’re his now.

His. His. His. It keeps repeating in your mind as he pounds into you, and God, it is good. It is so good, you lose yourself, and you never want to go back.

The stranger in the mask is what you need. He is all you will ever need.

You asked for this.

You made a deal with the devil and now you have to pay your dues.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @ravenclaw617 @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #black suit supremacy #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #lizzi writes #charlie cox

175 notes · View notes

idkwhatthisisfuck · 1 year

Text

mini skirt

In which Aki has a thing for girls in their short skirts.

cw: unprotected sex, creampie, fantasy with skirts(?), rough sex, spitting, f. reader, mdni.

note: english isn’t my first language.

***

It’d been two hours. You’re supposed to cum at least twice an hour ago but here you were; getting hammered to the hilt by the sweaty male hovering above you. Aki’s sweat rolled down from his jaw, to his throat and finally landed squarely on your collarbone. You moaned provocatively when his cockhead managed to graze over your sponge while leaving your swollen clit untouched.

“Aki..” you half-whimpered, half-purred; urging him quietly to finish already otherwise you could simply perish from the sheer amount of overstimulation.

His grip on the band of your skirt tightened, his jaws set. “I know, I know, baby. Just let me do my work, ‘kay?”

You could only comply. Even after sleeping with him for almost a year, he still lived to surprise with how long he could last every time you had sex. Aki possessed higher stamina and drive than you had.

“Aghh…fuck..” he drawled out, dark eyes solely focused on your writhing form as he slided his throbbing cock in and out of your wet clout.

“You look so pretty in those skirts, sweetheart. Wear it more for me, yeah?”

Aki’d always wanted to fuck girls in their skirts. He always thought it was attractive and cute how easily accessible it was when girls wore those.

Of course, you wanted to look good for him. So you said yes when he asked you to wear the shortest skirt you could find in your closet. You wanted to be a good girl for him, wearing that little skirt with nothing underneath so whenever his naughty hands sneaked up, he could feel your bare pussy awaiting for him to stretch open.

Aki leaned forward, cupping your heated face in his large rough palm and enveloping your quivering lips in his. His lips were too soft for a devilish body like that. It had always been a contrast to the intimate and dirty ministrations he was doing down there when he would kiss you softly on the lips in the middle of sex.

Aki was shuddering. His cock twitched and pulsed inside of you everytime he flitted his gaze down to you: shimmering in the dimly lit light with sweat and his spit, breasts bouncing (spilling out of your bra), being a complete quivering mess from how delightful having his gigantic cock tucked snugly in your cunt. He also indulged in how your gorilla-grip pussy seemed to swallow his entire shaft so it disappeared when he pushed.

Hold getting more taut on your skirt he could feel his orgasm brewing. So he decided to be lenient with you finally. First he put one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Aki. Oh my God,” you panted when the pad of his thumb finally came in contact with your puffy clit. Aki pressed it down gently without stopping his merciless pounding.

Your first orgasm of the night made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your helpless whimpers turned into high pitched screeches when Aki didn’t allow you to rest as he proceeded to work through his high.

“Oh, yeah, baby... I’m gonna cum inside you, okay? I’m fucking cumming so good,” he grunted. He jerked his hips at a fast pace. Letting out a loud moan when he finally shot his seeds in your womb, Aki faltered. Your entire body convulsed at the sensation of his warm cum filling you up.

Finally he came crashing down on your fucked out body. Kissing you sweetly on the lips he uttered,

“I’m gonna buy you more skirts so I can fuck you in those next times too, sweetheart.”

#aki hard thoughts #aki smut #aki x reader #csm aki #csm x reader #hard hours #hayakawa aki #aki hard #aki hard hours #csm smut

590 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

Note

Hello, there ♡ I saw your requests are back open and I was wondering if I could request some more Thranduil smut where the reader (female human) has a nightmare or is just deeply upset over something (whichever you prefer) and he comforts her, but then it slowly turns into a slow burn fuck sesh 🔥🔥 thank you so much. I hope you are having a good week.

Well hello there! I had a great week, I hope it was the same for you! Now, onto your request.

"Light after darkness"

✨Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Human / Second person POV)

✨Themes: Some angst | Smut | Soft

✨ Word count: 3k words

✨Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Summary: A bad nightmare and waking up in the dark ends up with something much lighter and sweeter.

✨ Author's notes: "Girdle of Varda" is a band of countles stars similar to the Milky Way.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The vision returned, darker and more sinister this time.

It started as an inky black mist rolling in, and the world went dark. Lightning struck like a lance, its flash splitting the sky, but little could be seen, save for shadows in the gloom. Ugly things, ones only found in the darkest pits, slithered about, muttering in a tongue that was foul and torturous to listen to. There were flashes of terror and suffering, and there was laughter, coldness, and cruelty. There was the glint of steel, of eyes glinting like red, hot coals. And the pain, sharp and intense, returned, with memories of a dark time flooding in like waves crashing over jagged rocks.

And that flood only grew, with those waves rising higher and higher. Your heart lurched at the next flash of lightning, at the glint of a sword, at the sound of a beast pounding over muddy earth. You caught the subtle sheen of armour, the agonizing sounds of frantic screams. Red eyes flashed in the darkness again, hot and angry this time, rushing towards you, and then —

"Starlight?" a comforting voice called out from the darkness, pulling you out of the dream and slowly into waking. "Starlight, are you all right?"

You jerked awake, a silent scream trapped in your throat. The utter clarity and terror of that nightmare left you shaken and cold, and you trembled, your eyes barely making out the outlines of a large room. "It's dark," you said in a panic, your chest heaving heavily. "Why is it dark?"

You heard nothing, save for the muffled sound of feet over thick carpets. A candle was lit, its soft, golden light dispelling some of the gloom. Someone walked over to the large, arched windows, opening them to a wide expanse of the night sky. Sheer drapes fluttered in the cool breeze. And how beautiful the sky was! Countless stars glittered against an endless field of inky black, with the Girdle of Varda and a pale full moon standing out against them all. How comforting it was to see that sky after weeks of darkness, the light of that candle, but most important of all, the face of the ellon who made his way back to your side.

"Are you well, starlight?" He studied you, his eyes filled with growing worry. "You were struggling in your sleep."

"Bad dreams again," you tried to take a deep, steadying breath to try and compose yourself. "From before and..." You began to weep then, shedding sad, bitter tears, as the memory of your capture kept flooding back. Thranduil felt helpless, unable to defend you from an enemy he could not fight or even see. It made him angry—so very angry, that he couldn't shield you from the horrors that plagued you some nights. In the end, he settled on the one thing he could do. He joined you in bed, gathering you in his arms and holding you while you wept.

Tears fell, hard and relentless, and you clung to Thranduil's robes, your chest heaving painfully against his. And Thranduil refused to let go, holding you silently without complaint. His presence was a great comfort, and his touch was soothing. You lost track of time, so lost were you in your grief. And it slowly passed, with your tears easing and your sobs quieting. The pain you felt ebbed, and yet you felt empty instead of light.

"Do you wish to talk about it, starlight?" Thranduil's voice was warm and deep as it cut through the haze.

"Tis the same as before," you choked, nestling into him. "A foul mist and lightning. Daggers and those ugly red eyes. Then a sword flashed in the darkness. Your elk pawing at the earth. Screams." Your eyes drifted down, to your exposed left arm. "The pain."

Thranduil ran a careful finger over the scars on your forearm, a gift from your orc captors. "Does it still hurt?"

You shook your head. "Not anymore. But I can still feel the blade. And I hate it. I hate how it looks. How it makes me look." You sniffled again when you went over those scars, all words, all in the black tongue of Mordor. No amount of healing could make them go away, and you were bound to carry them for the rest of your days. "I feel ugly."

How Thranduil hated it, hearing you talk like that. He couldn't bear to hear you talk of yourself that way. "You are beautiful starlight, and it pains me to hear you talk of yourself that way."

"But look at these!" You cried and stuck out your arm, so he could see. "They will never go away, so how can you say that I am?"

Thranduil took your hand into his and lifted it to his lips. "I am not blind to them, starlight. I say you are beautiful because you are. Remember your first night after waking up?" His pulse scrambled with each little kiss when his lips pressed against your skin, at the scent that filled his lungs—the sweet scent of you. "When you were strong enough to dine with the rest of us?"

Your cheeks warmed; how could you forget? Thranduil was the first to rise when you walked in, his eyes fixed on you and no other. He had insisted you sit next to him, and he spent almost the entire night talking and dancing with you. "I thought you had never seen a mortal before me," you managed a weak smile.

"Hah!" Thranduil guffawed, his lips skimming over your fingers. "Mortals, I deal with plenty. You on the other hand? I have never seen anyone like you, and I could not keep my eyes off you. You were a vision that night... You are a vision, starlight. I wish we had met under happier circumstances, but I am glad we did. I would not change the past several moons for anything."

You barely remembered the first few days of your rescue. All you did have were hazy memories of that battle, of opening your eyes and seeing Thranduil for the first time, the fall of his silver-blonde hair, the steel of his armor, the cloak that kept you warm on the ride back to his halls. Still, those first memories of him, blurred as they were, were so precious to you. "I would not change one thing either, save for maybe this."

Thranduil's lips left your fingers and trailed down your arm, barely skimming over the scars. "You are beautiful, starlight," he breathed softly. "Will you let me show you just how beautiful you are?"

You hummed sweetly, all too aware of the heavy thud of your own heart. And to have him take his time to make you feel good? Well, you were not going to say no to that. "Yes," you said, your breath hitching when his eyes darkened.

Thranduil took his time, slowly unburdening you of your robes and unburdening himself of his. He started by touching you first, letting his hands glide all over your body, slowly and gently, like he was touching you for the first time. And he trembled, his breath soft and tremulous, his hands shaking as they continued with their gentle exploration. "Just feeling your naked skin against mine is enough to make me weak," he murmured, delighting in the little gasp he heard. "So soft, and I cannot get enough of it."

His touch slowly grew insistent, and his light brushes grew a little rougher, a little greedier. His hands were everywhere, over your thighs, your belly, the soft swell of your breasts, deft fingers kneading at your flesh. You shivered, your body slowly easing over soft, silk sheets, your fingers digging into the fabric. Thranduil saw this and groaned under his breath. He had only just begun.

He moved over you, his thighs pushing yours apart. Propping himself on one elbow, Thranduil continued with his exploration, his soft, luscious lips just hovering over yours. His free hand kept gliding over your belly, over trembling muscles, and his eyes locked on you. And those eyes of his, burning bright even in the light of that single candle, the blue of them as vibrant as a clear morning sky. That was the only first clear memory you had of him after your rescue: opening your eyes and finding him looking down at you on the ride back. A gasp then ripped through you when his hand came back to your breasts, stroking the soft skin, his fingers drawing little circles, then pinching lightly at first, then growing rougher, until it felt like your entire body was aching. Flushed and breathless, you moved a hand over his, trying to guide him.

"No," Thranduil gently ordered, his lips brushing over yours. "Not tonight."

You swallowed and moved your hands over your head, your body pulsing as he continued, brushing his fingers over your throat, your lips, and your eyelids.

You were everything he wanted, needed, even. And he didn't stop. Not with his hand, not with his lips. Thranduil kept brushing his lips over yours, savouring the sweetness of your mouth and he felt it—the slow pin-pricks of desire smolder and grow stronger, degree by slow degree. Hunger threatened to overcome him, but he forced himself to hold back just a little longer. He wanted to taste more of you first.

Your back arched against him, and you sighed helplessly when he dipped his head, his lips and his tongue leaving a damp trail in their wake. "I cannot get over how sweet you taste," he mumbled against your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin. "Just thinking about my lips against your skin is enough to make me hard."

You pulled away and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, searching for any sign of a lie or a tease. There was nothing but love and dark hunger burning in them.

"D-do you m-mean it?" you still asked, as doubt slowly sunk its claws into you. Thranduil was the Elvenking, an ellon who could have had anyone he wanted, and yet he chose you, a mere mortal with a scarred arm. His choice shocked many, and you were constantly worried despite his promise of devotion.

His eyes grew serious as his hand went lower, to the apex of your thighs. "I mean it, starlight, every word of it," his voice was thick and hoarse, a groan escaping his lips when you arched your back again, your mouth parting in a soft moan as his fingers rubbed up against your heat.

There was no talking now, just feeling. Thranduil watched, his blood heating at the sight of you writhing beneath him. He wanted to see, truly see, what pleasure was like on you, and he was not disappointed. Intoxicating, was what it was, and he took his time, drinking in the myriad of expressions that washed over your countenance—the looks of shock, desire, and pure ecstasy. Thranduil enjoyed it all, committing everything to memory.

"No starlight," he denied you when you tried to move your hand over his once more. "Not tonight. Let me take care of you."

Oh, how he took care of you, running the pads of his fingers over the warmth of your slit, your little pearl. And how it thrilled you—how it sent jolt after jolt of intense pleasure washing all over your body. Having to keep your hands to yourself and letting him take control—it all felt so wonderful and so very erotic. And then he slid a finger in, gently curling it around your pulsing walls, pulling shameless moan after shameless moan out of you.

"You are made for me," Thranduil's breath had grown ragged, his eyes feasting on the sight of you moving frantically, how you bucked against his hand. And how his heart pounded against his chest as you continued to writhe beneath him, your walls clenching around his finger. "Just me. And look at how glorious you are right now, starlight. Look at how your body responds... I could spend all day in our chambers like this, just watching you."

"Th-thranduil," you whimpered weakly, your body slowly unraveling beneath him. You were unsure what heated you more, his words or his touch. "D-dont stop. P-please."

The king growled in approval, his own body aflame. "That first night with us," he crooned huskily, his lips skimming over the shell of your ear. "When you came to eat with us, and I saw you, I thought I had strayed into a dream. I could not keep my eyes off of you, starlight."

"M-more," you pleaded, your body tingling at his words, your muscles tightening more and more with each passing second. "P-please my k-king."

Thranduil was almost undone by that alone. And he felt it—your thighs shaking, your walls slowly tightening. He withdrew his finger and positioned himself, his lips just a hair's breadth over yours. "Your body is intoxicating," he breathed, trembling when the tip of his cock rubbed against your slick. "Fuck," he mumbled, his very breath shuddering. Thranduil swallowed and forced himself to focus. He was not going to move along blindly. He wanted you to feel as much pleasure as he did.

And you could no longer bear not touching him. You could no longer bear this waiting. You reached over, twining your arms around his broad shoulders and tracing lines between his shoulder blades. "I'm ready," you whispered. "Please, my king. I need to feel you inside of me again."

Thranduil's gaze cut to yours. There was nothing but lust shining in his eyes and it thrilled you to have him look at you like that.

"Please," you pleaded once more. "I need you inside me."

Thranduil hesitated briefly. Just briefly. He looked at you, eyes filled with reverence, his free hand brushing over your hair. You looked up at him, the two of you staring at each other in wonder. There was a pause. The very air seemed to still. And then, his mouth captured yours in a kiss. His kiss seared, his mouth hot and hungry as his lips plundered yours. Your heart fluttered when he pressed himself against you and his tongue licked past your parted lips to dip into the warmth of your mouth. A noise rose at the back of your throat, a soft, needy moan, something dark and sinful, enticing him to kiss you even more. Your arms tightened over his shoulders, and your legs scrambled for purchase against his hips. You felt it—him piercing your core, his cock sinking inch by slow inch, pushing you deeper into the bed. And oh, how good it felt to have him inside you, filling you to the hilt. Belonging to him, just him. Oh, how you loved that, knowing you were his. And then he moved. His first thrust ripped a gasp out of you; the second, a dreamy sigh.

Thranduil was slow and deliberate. His thrusts were gentle and steady, as if he didn't want to shock you, or cause you pain. All you could do was cling to him, your body tightening again with each passing moment. It was always like this, always so good, and only he could make you feel like this, take you higher and higher, to places you have never been before.

Thranduil's breath quickened and grew ragged. He grunted when your hands moved up and buried themselves in his thickhair. Those grunts grew deep and gutteral and turned to moans every time you tugged, every time you pulled him closer to you. Feeling your naked skin against his hammered at his restraint, and he slowly picked up the pace, going harder and faster, his hips slamming against the inside of your thighs. His moans matched yours, his free hand kept gripping at your hip, so he could go deeper. And how he loved it, how you held him, how your body responded to him.

"You are perfect starlight," he rasped, rough and deliberate, when your hands moved back down to his shoulders and your nails dug into his skin. Thranduil didn't mind it one bit, for it meant you found pleasure in what he was doing. "You are perfect even with your scars, and I would not change a single thing about you."

You would have replied, but your answer was muffled by his kiss. It didn't matter. Hearing that he fully accepted you, scars and all, was enough. Seeing and hearing how strong his desire was for you was enough. You cleaved to him, your legs clinging desperately against his hips as he took you closer and closer to the edge. It was there, in the trembling of your thighs and in the quickening of your breath. Thranduil felt it—the coiling of muscles in his belly, the frantic pace of his breathing. "Together then?"

You looked up at him and nodded.

Moans spilled free and filled the room, drowning the sound of skin slapping against skin.Thranduil didn't let you go, not when your orgasm ripped through you and you cried for him, his name repeatedly rolling past your lips. Oh, how that shattered him—his name on your tongue, your walls clenching around his cock. Thranduil took you over the edge and fell with you, his moans peppering the air when those coiled muscles snapped, making him lose himself in you. You barely heard it, so caught up were you in your blissed-out state. You barely heard it, the satisfying grunt, the gruff, throaty moan. You felt his body trembling violently over yours before he spilled his seed inside you. One last thrust, one final moan, and he let go, propping himself on his hands to stop himself from collapsing over you.

You hear nothing, save for the sound of your choppy breathing and his. Only that and a sweet smelling wind that blew in through the windows. You opened your eyes to that glorious sky, those glittering stars, and the soft light of the moon. You hungered for such sights, to see light after being kept in the darkness for so long, and Thranduil made it possible again, in more ways than one.

"My king," you breathed when Thranduil moved to his side, taking you with him. The strength of his arms and the gentleness of his touch were nearly enough to make you forget. Nearly. The memories will always remain, but you knew you would be safe in his arms and that nothing could get to you now.

"My queen," Thranduil brushed his nose against your hair. He then started to hum an elven lullaby, his soft, soothing voice lulling you into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Tags: @shrasdust | @asianbutnotjapanese | @nupppuff | @ryantryan6969 | @viivi

#thranduil imagine #thranduil smut #thranduil x reader #Thranduil #The hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #reader requests #reader inserts #Asks #Writeblr #a world of whimsy writes

756 notes · View notes

istoleyoursk1n · 4 months

Text

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

A Wretched Love

A Gn!Durge X Gortash short fic.

Featuring Angst 💀

An alternative outcome to the Gortash boss fight.

The first fic I’ve done in years so let's see how this goes :)!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

Bloodied and heavy is all this cursed body of yours felt as you clambered your way up another flight of steps, steps that felt…oddly familiar. Trailing behind you were your exhausted companions who had ever so generously lent their strength to aid you in every way they saw fit. They meant everything to you, such precious souls that you've fought to keep alive, not just from the enemies that dare stand in your path… but from this profound urge that leaves you ever so restless.

You've done so much just to get to this pivotal point, you've slaughtered his men, his noble warriors, and his onslaught of soldiers, all to get to Lord Enver Gortash. Strange how such a name fills a sweetness in your bitter tongue, a sweetness you can't help but wince at. Regardless, you shook the familiarity and strangeness aside, rushing forth to the final flight of steps. You're so close to victory, a victory that could put an end to the Absolute and the chaos it had wrecked in its path. Enraged and pumped to the bones with a blissful rush of sweet sweet adrenaline, you were ready to slice this man into pieces and revel in his blood.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away from your bloodied hands.

For a moment your eyes widened, a strange pull tugging at your darkened heart that was enough to make you hurl if it weren't for the sheer stubborn will you carry. You froze as you gazed upon him, a tired visage you can't help but feel utterly fixated by. You've seen this face before… somewhere lost in the sea of forgotten memories, you've met those same tired eyes dozens of times. Still, you pressed on. You were this city's last hope were you not? This is what everything you've done has led, right?

“Gortash! Step forth and face me so! Allow my blade to pierce through your godforsaken body, let these walls be coated with the color of your damned crimson blood!” Your words were violent, a rumbling growl of malice directed toward the man before you, and yet in you stirred a barrage of emotions you couldn't possibly understand. You were angered, frustrated, hurt, and perhaps even confused. But he sensed it too. No, he did not confront you with a scowl or a prepared speech over breaking your shortly-formed alliance, the man was smiling. A horrid smile you wish you could just tear off his face.

“Ah. It’s been far too long since I've seen that fiery look in your eyes… that darkened urge to maul whoever was unlucky enough to meet your striking gaze. Oh, how I miss it.” He uttered ever so sweetly, his phrases akin to a soothing remedy that only seemed to cause you to choke on your own words. How dare he say such things? How dare he leave you so clueless, so lost, helpless to the loss of a forgotten past… a past that certainly involved him. You tried to still your frustrations, and your confusion, stepping closer with an unsheathed blade.

“Whatever I was to you. Whatever we were. It means nothing to me now! I will be put an end to this, I will do what I know must be right!” your words of conviction sounded more like a plea than anything else, a desperate cry that longs to put aside all these familiar feelings this man had placed upon you. No, you can't recall what you two had done or were… but everything about him sent you into a craze. You wanted to rip him apart, to curse him for all that he’s done to the city and your dearest friends but... Your hands, bloodied as they are they long to touch him. Still, you shake those cursed feelings rush through you, snarling at the sensation.

“Tell yourself whatever you wish, my dearest assassin. Lie to yourself. Blind yourself, try your hardest to claw your way out but we have shared far too much for you to truly forget… for your body to forget.” His whispers were sickening, sickening in ways that bewitched your entire being. Out of desperation, you lunged at him, slicing a cut through his luxurious robes, though he managed to save his own skin by missing just in time. His guards were all too ready to attack, moving to their master's aid and yet, he signaled for them all to halt.

Still, you were persistent, refusing to falter now. You've come too far to fall at the hands of a man whose tyranny couid have ruined this entire city. You drew your sword against him again, attempting to slice and tear pieces of his flesh just as you always do to your every foe and yet you couldn't hit him. It was as if he memorized your every move, exactly how you fought, exactly how your body would strike. It was a glorious dance of death. Your companions were left to stand back as they attempted to attack the guards who circled around their tyrannical Lord, allowing you and Gortash to focus on one another in a rather familiar proximity.

“Just as I remembered. Just as how I dreamed. You are as dreadful as the day I first met you. Just how many have you slain without me? Don’t tell me you've replaced me now.” He chimed, even laughing as he fought against you. A low growl found its way out of your lips, followed by the swing of your blade which Gortash could have so easily avoided yet again… but he did not. Blood began to drip down his chest as you finally were able to cut through his skin, his blood being the most beautiful kind you've ever seen. You shook at the thought of finding his blood beautiful, of finding him beautiful.

“Stop! Whatever it is you’re pouring into my mind! Stop this madness! I’ll cut your throat and dine on your bones like the worthless thing you are.” the words roared out your throat like a violent threat, enough to make anyone cower, anyone but Gortash himself. Instead, his smile only seemed to widen, his eyes brightening in ways you couldn't understand. That wasn't a look of hatred, that was a look of admiration, of enhancement, of desperate longing. Pure unrivaled longing. You couldn't stand it, you couldn't stand feeling so helpless around a man you swore to kill. With another swing of your blade, you continued to cut through his skin, your composure shattering bit by bit as cry after cry left your lips.

“And that would be the most magnificent thing you could ever give me. To have such an ethereal monstrosity such as you rip through my very heart once more…if I could only have you once more, if only you could cry out for me once more..” His words… so soft, words that were meant for you. He was smitten by your every move even if each strike was meant to hurt him. He was drawn to those bloodshot eyes and the trembling little growls that would leave your lips as if by nature. You felt as if you wanted to scream, to cry out, to pull out these confusing sensations you feel for the man who’s been happily bleeding out for you. It almost feels as if you've done this before as if you've made him bleed a dozen times and more…

For a moment, your eyes darted all about, finally taking in the massive room you and your companions stood within as you all fought and bled. A room that felt all too familiar to you. These stone walls and these blood-stained carpets… stained by your hands somehow if only you could remember. Those disgusting paintings you could have sworn you've passed by many times before and in the corner of your eye a soft bed whose bed frame is etched with deep claw marks of… are those yours?

All too suddenly, you were shoved up against those stoned walls by clawed fingers, snarling at the man who dared do such a thing to you. Writhing and clawing beneath his hands, you struggled to push him away from you. He was bleeding, bruised, and bloodied from your onslaught of attacks, and yet his smile never once disappeared. He was getting closer... Close enough to make your skin crawl. His scent was enough to drive you mad, an all too familiar scent that made you want to skin him in hopes of keeping such a precious scent to yourself.

“Oh, love. My wretched love. We could have been so good together. We could have moved mountains, we could have ruled this world, we could have been… us.” As charming as his words were you could feel a deep pain stir within him. He was smirking and yet pain was nestled within those dark eyes. He knew all too well that you wouldn't recall a thing, that all memories you may have had with this man were long gone, and yet… you could feel it. Like a cold haunting whisper that caressed your skin, your body, and perhaps even your heart could remember just how much this man meant to you, how much he once completed you. And the way he calls you his… the way that once upon a time perhaps you two were beyond mere allies or enemies.

You opened your lips to protest, to bark out every threat and insult that you could muster but they were silenced by a sudden tug of your hair and sharpened claws against your throat leaving nothing but a growl to rumble out your mouth. “We were unstoppable! We were a team! Through the hells and back we were by each other’s side. We were magnificent! We were above it all! Two Kings atop a golden throne! We waltzed through foul piles of rotting flesh and built towers out of our sheer brilliance! We were everything we could ever…” and for a brief moment, he hesitated to continue, not when both of your Gods looked down upon their chosen with weary eyes. He couldn't say such a thing… yet still, he pressed himself closer, clawing deep sweet cuts at your skin which only caused you to shriek. Even so, it all felt too good, such a wonderous feeling of chaotic bliss that you hadn't felt in so long. Both of you bleeding together, your breaths so close together. Somewhere deep within your heart no matter how much you deny it, you've been through this before. You’ve basked in each other’s unholy blood before.

“Enver. What was I to you?” You choked out through heavy sighs, the name rolling out the tip of your tongue like a forbidden pleasure. You've said this name a hundred times or even more, a name that even now despite all the memories you lack, leaves your body shuddering head to toe. Your blade was still pressed against his skin like a warning, a warning that if he came closer, close enough to reach your bloodied lips, he’d die. You couldn't let him get that close no matter how much you seemed to ache for it.

“You were mine. As I was yours.”

A sudden shiver ran up your spine at his confession, a confession so sweet it made you sick. You've come so far, and done so much to get here and it was taking everything within you to not drop your blade and fall into the arms of a man from your dreaded forgotten past. There was no denying it, both of you were pained beyond belief, lost in a flurry of sensations that left both of you breathless. Perhaps, in another life, things could have been better… perhaps you two could have been rulers of a rotting world, but not this one. Not anymore. The struggles you’ve gone through to resist The Dark Urge you felt coursing through your wicked blood were nothing compared to how insanely difficult it was to resist the treacherous embrace of Gortash. Your Enver.

In a final moment of sheer desperation, you finally mustered up the strength to pierce your blade through his body, heaving at the realization that you had just taken a life that at a certain point meant everything to you. His blood felt glorious against your skin, the life from his eyes slowly flickering as he gazed upon you with nothing but utter awe. Even in his final moments, hatred was something he never could have felt for you. You shook in fear for the first time in decades, grasping onto the man whose roughened hand gently began to graze the skin of your cheek. You did what had to be done… and yet you could not help but feel utterly broken. Shattered by the fact that even now, you’ll never understand just why your heart beats so intensely for him.

A sharp angered cry left you the moment the fondness buried deep within his eyes began to drain, a loss you couldn't possibly comprehend. All the people you've slaughtered and tormented throughout your life but why is it he that you cry for? All you wish to do now is claw at your own flesh and curse yourself for once again bloodying those sinful hands of yours with a sweet visage that long ago you used to long for. This battle was doomed from the start, you may have come one step closer to saving the world but would it ever be enough to fill the sudden void in your heart?

Gods above all, what has this man done to you?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 x reader #durge #gortash #enver gortash #gortash x durge #durge x gortash #durgetash

77 notes · View notes

chrollohearttags · 1 year

Text

so we can all come to the general consensus that levi is a classy, boujie ass man. We all know he despises messes and making them even more. Everything must be spotless..

that is until it comes to fucking you..and then he becomes the nastiest man alive.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰──── ───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.

themes: black !fem maid reader, dom levi (with hints of ocd) thigh riding, degradation (use of slut and whore) pet names (kitten, princess, sweetheart) spit kink, throat fucking, use of sir and daddy, mentions of anal sex and masturbation, there’s a lot of other stuff too. Minors, you’re not welcome.

📝: not sure of the word count but this is a little drabble because levi is on my mind heavy.

oh yes, (y/n), his gorgeous little housekeeper turned personal whore, who he fucks at will and abandons all of his neat freak tendencies for. The absolute vision of beauty strutting around his huge estate with those long legs, plump ass and perky breasts swaddled up in that cute uniform. A skirt about three inches too high…

just barely covering that backside. Enough for him to daydream about bending you over and breeding that pretty pussy as he worked away at his desk.

damn you and the urges you drummed out of him. It was so unbecoming of such an accomplished man. Having vivid wet dreams about his help like a prepubescent teen? It was embarrassing! But not shameful enough to stop him from enacting on said desires..calling you into his office and answering with quite the request when you so sweetly asked:

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

and indeed it was. Waving you over with a finger, the normally stoic stock broker, who had amassed millions from his trade, requested for you to join him as he looked over some paperwork. It was no secret, at least to you how Mr. Ackerman felt;

all but obvious when you caught him one night in his study, stroking his cock and moaning your name..loud enough for you to hear him from the other side of the door. It was so fucking hot! This multi-millionaire, busting a nut at the sheer thought of you.

god, he must’ve sounded so pathetic but he could care less. He was sexually frustrated…having been long time single and not looking in the slightest. Granted, he could pay for it if that’s what he chose but purchasing pussy wasn’t really his style. Especially when he had it in house.

being the dutiful and diligent employee that you were, you’d gladly come and assist. How so? By letting him use your slutty mouth as a flesh light and draining his cum down your throat. It was such a mess; that warm nut splattering his bare thighs and your exposed tits. Mixed fluids all over the carpet and chair…but you’d be happy to lap it up.

if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn he saw heaven that night. So naturally, it couldn’t stop there. When the other staff were away, you two would play: having the nastiest, most disgusting sex ever. Complete polar opposite of his public image.

just like that very moment: when you’d obey and come sit atop his lap. That ass brushing his crotch and your clothed cunt slowly straddling his thigh like a helpless puppy. As busy as he was, he needed a distraction..only the kind you could provide. “Kitten, I’m just feeling so fucking tense right now. Work’s got me stressed. ‘Think you can help me out?”

uttering that precious pet name he had adorned you with. And like always, you’d fulfill his wishes with bells on. Once you had worked yourself into an aroused frenzy; dripping through his black slacks and wetting his skin. Practically whimpering when he hoisted your shirt and began groping those beautiful breasts.

even deciding to shove a hand in those panties and press against that swollen pearl..tracing tiny circles and massaging it.

“Y—yes. Whatever you want, sir!” And what Levi craved more than anything was to put you atop that desk, fold your legs behind your head and pump you full of dick until you came everywhere. So fast forward and that’s exactly what came to fruition..

papers and whatnots shoved to the floor, pushed to the wayside and your body was the only thing that remained. Rocking back and forth as he stuffed that sweet spot, stretching it open. “G-ahhh. That’s it, just take this dick, sweetheart…your only job right now, it’s what you’re best at. I don’t even need you to think..” Not to say you didn’t do exceptional work at the other duties but something about the way you tightened around that cock was something special.

gripping at the sides as he jolted you around, making you toss your head back and release a yelp when he so casually decided to shove his all of those thick inches into the deepest part of your throbbing heat..even pressing down when he started bulging and touching your cervix with his tip.

“Hhhngh! It feels so good, sir. Oh shit!”

“You’re making such a mess on me, kitten. Surely you’re going to clean this up, right?” referring to the milky puddle of cream spilling from your little hole, onto his shaft and the mahogany wood underneath you. Mocking the fact that you couldn’t help your body’s reaction..it was all but inevitable to nut all over his dick when he fucked you this good.

but it’s when you don’t answer his question fast enough, because you’re too busy screaming that he snatches (y/n) up by the center of those beautiful curls and forces your head up; making you meet his gaze. Oh, he turns into such an unhinged feign when he’s inside of you. Unable to control himself and ends up pounding your pussy like a brutish animal…so damn hot.

that’s when Levi shoves three of his perfectly groomed digits into your mouth and begins finger fucking your jaws, turning you to a drooling mess..that dumb, slutty expression on your face making him lose it. The trail of saliva trickling down your chin and chest filling his mind with all types of filthy, perverted ideas. “You answer me when I speak, slut. I hate being ignored..”

it’s then that he reluctantly pulls out and goes to the front to fuck that throat. But not without drumming out some of your squirt with him and letting it splatter his barely buttoned white dress shirt. You’re getting your fluids all over him and his workspace…it’s so disgusting, so nasty…and exactly what he wanted!

“I’m sorry, sir..I just—“

but your excuses are of no consolation to him. And instead, he fills your mouth with his dripping erect. Immediately pumping it between those pretty, plump lips of yours. But not without lubricating the inside with his own trail of saliva.

he’s so conflicted…on one hand, he hates the idea that his office is now in disarray. He’s the type that needs to maintain a spotless environment at all times..on the other? Watching you taste the sweet remnants of yourself as he sloppily throat fucks his little slut; strings of saliva bubbling and dangling all over the place. Not to mention the way your nimble fingers toy with that clit because you’re just feigning to feel him inside of you again…

it was the most divine thing ever and he didn’t give a fuck how filthy things got..it was a mess well worth it! “Oh fuck, kitten…I swear you bring out the worst in me. I know it’s not right but I just want to keep pounding this throat until you suck me dry..I want to do all the nastiest things with you, babe. Daddy just wants to give you all of his nut..in here, in that beautiful pussy..”

mindlessly rambling as he tosses his back onto his shoulders, trying to regain a semblance of self restraint. The ever so poised Levi Ackerman has never spoke so vulgar and vile words to anyone but it’s something about you. He’s gently stroking your cheek as you gaze up at him with those big doe brown eyes and fluttering lashes, suckling on his tip like a piece of candy. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll train that cute little ass next. How’s that sound?”

earning him a fateful nod. “That’s my good girl..always doing whatever the fuck I tell you. Exactly why you get whatever you want from me..” his cock twitches once more when you squirt all over those fingers and display the dripping mess mid air. Feeling the vibrations of your moans around his base.

raking a hand through his hair, he proceeds..sucking his teeth and trying to maintain his composure but it’s fading fast. In all honestly, he’s losing his goddamn mind. Like a feral creature in fucking heat, Levi just keeps thrusting upward, getting faster until sweat begins to head around his forehead. As with the rest of his sheen slicked body. He can’t believe that you’ve both been going this hard. Losing track of how many times he’s watched you climax now but it was damn sure time to add his own to the mix.

those heavy, full balls colliding with your hairline were just begging to be emptied and of course, with the assistance of those warm jaws, you were bound to taste his cum in a matter of minutes, if that. Releasing one of those heavy, loud grunts, the normally less than vocal businessman coiled his thumbs around your throat and palms to the back of your neck and fucked your skull with all he had. You could see how desperate and deranged he was..

“C’mon, princess. Swallow this nut for me, okay? Suck this cum out of me like I know you can. Just drain me already..fuuuck.”

never having seen him so vulnerable like this. All of it: the language, the filthy dialogue between you two and the disgusting mess of bodily fluids..it’s all your doing. Only you could drum up such a scene from him. But none of that matters now, and with your tongue scaling the underside of his shaft, you grant his wish sooner rather than later.

with one final twitch, breath catching in his windpipe..Levi releases an extremely loud groan as well as those sought after strings of semen. Pouring every last drop of his warm liquid into the back of your welcoming throat. “Ohhhh, fuck! Take it..take it all from me, baby..” Bubbles and escaping droplets are pooling down the sides of your face and after a full minute of pumping, he finally pulls his sensitive, overly stimulated cock out of your mouth. The tip is practically glowing red, emitting all types of mixed fluids from it.

at that moment, he’s so delirious and spent but feeling prideful all the same. You’ve just swallowed every drop of his cum as if it were nothing..a sign that he had trained his little whore very well. “C’mere..” When you finally come to, you’re greeted with a peck to the forehead, followed by a deep, sloppy kiss from your boss and lover. He has no shame shoving his tongue inside of your mouth after just getting the nastiest head possible.

“You did great, kitten..thank you for clearing my head up. I needed that…” making you grin from ear to ear, your cheeks burning and face twisted into a smile. That white and clear liquid painted all over that beautiful brown complexion like a canvas and undoubtedly, you were his work of art.

chuckling, you’d find the strength to make it onto all fours, teasing that ass in the air; subtly twerking. You were really something when you got going. “It’s my pleasure, sir. Always..” muttering so sweetly as you leaned down, akin to the pet he had been calling you, and lap up your own puddle of juices; gliding that tongue pad across the surface before glaring back up at him..who was already hard as rock once again and in awe of how utterly slutty you got for him..and decided that one round wasn’t going to suffice!

“…matter of fact, let’s just take the rest of the day off. I think we could use a little more time together.”

662 notes · View notes

mysticcafe · 2 years

Text

𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩

𝙄𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚 𝙭 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Toge finds it difficult to control his dirty thoughts around his crush, but when an opportunity presents itself, self control goes out of the window.

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩: MINORS DNI! innocent virgin!Reader, slight dubcon if you squint but they are two consenting adults, mentions of overstim, oral (fem rec), slight perv!Inumaki, embarrassmemt, nudity.

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: approx 2k

𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚: Hi!! This is my first jjk fic! I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you'd like a part two!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Toge was not normally the type of boy to get hung up on someone, but he couldn’t help it around you.

Every time he saw you, Toge was left breathless

That might have been dramatic on his part, but honestly at this point he was struggling not to fall hard for you

Perhaps it was your sweet personality, the way you just melted from praise or the adorable way you looked at him

But if anything, Toge was particularly hung up on how terrifyingly innocent you were, but just how unaware you were of advances from some of the other boys

You never seemed to realise that bending over a bit too much and showing off your pretty underwear was enough to have sent Toge to the floor in utter helplessness

But if it wasn’t that, it was the way you sat there, legs crossed with your skirt accidentally tucked between your legs, giving him the most wonderful idea of the shape of your thighs

But let’s be honest, catching a glimpse of your panties was what had him having to check himself and cool down to prevent it from showing.

It certainly didn’t help that sometimes you would take your sweatshirt off, allowing your top to ride up with it and almost give him a peek at your chest, but either he looked away at the last second, too ashamed to allow himself the pleasure of seeing, or your top stopped just before you could flash anything.

But to say that Toge was nothing short of breathless around you was an understatement.

Between the way you’d so sweetly say his name and call him senpai, that alone was enough to make him want to have his way with you.

But Toge knew better than to be like that. You might have made him feel like he was losing control, but he would never do something as stupid as taking advantage of your innocence or taking advantage of you in general.

Don’t get him wrong though, there definitely were times when he would be watching you as you leaned over a table or bent over to pick something up, only to get the most beautiful view of your clothed pussy and Inumaki just couldn’t help the way his imagination wandered.

Just the very idea of walking over to you and taking you right then and there made his mouth water.

Or walking up behind you and gently teasing your cunt with his fingers.

But he never actually expected that to happen

Which was why he was so flustered and shocked when one day you bolted out of the girl’s shower room with a look of sheer embarrassment and tears in your eyes because someone had stolen your clothes and it wasn’t Toge.

“Takana?” Was the only word that left his parted lips when he saw you, flustered and clutching onto your towel with a shaky grip.

“Toge, someone took my clothes.” You shakily managed to get out with a little sniffle, but you were so shy and embarrassed about it all that you could barely get the words out.

No one had ever seen you naked and only the girls had seen you in just your towel, but you were comfortable around them, you’d been able to get used to that at least, but not around the boys.

Granted, you were certainly old enough to be thinking about those types of things, but you’d just never done it before, let alone letting a boy see you without clothes on before.

Inumaki felt bad, in fact he felt terrible by how shaken up you were about it, but part of him was also shamefully grateful that it was him you had run into while just in a towel.

“Konbu.” He responded, only wishing he could reassure you and tell you that whoever took your clothes was going to likely meet his death glare and maybe even a word aside from rice ball vocabulary.

But trying not to get too carried away with the sudden feeling of protectiveness, Toge quickly realised that you wouldn’t be comfortable to stand around in nothing but a towel and even worse, your room was not exactly close to the showers.

So Inumaki did what any horny good boy would do and gently pulled you towards his room, which was much closer.

“Tsunamayo.” He told you as he closed the door behind him, letting you walk into his bedroom as he rushed towards his dresser and pulled out a very oversized sweatshirt. This would at least cover you up better than having to hold up a small towel that really didn’t leave much to the imagination.

If you moved even slightly wrong, you were sure the towel would ride up and flash your ass, or perhaps even worse, the towel could flap open and show off your bare chest.

Toge held out the sweatshirt for you, but as you reached for it, holding the towel closed with only one hand, you felt your grip slip and without even a second to react, you were left bare in front of Inumaki Toge.

Oh god.

It wasn’t even the fact that he was a boy and he was seeing you naked, it was the fact that it was Toge.

You’d had a crush on him since nearly the moment you met him and now he was staring at you wide eyed while everything was on show for him.

The useless towel was puddled around your feet, hands paused because what were you supposed to do now?

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, you might have screamed and tried to cover yourself up with your arms and curled into a ball on the floor to cry and vow to yourself to never look that person in the eye ever again.

But this was Toge and his gaze on you did not make you feel like you were about to die on the spot or that you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

“Tsuna.” The word left his lips in shock and if it had been anyone else, the word used would have confused you, but you knew that he was only expressing his shock at seeing you in this state.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Toge, I’m so sorry.” You rambled, quickly pulling the sweatshirt towards you and trying to take it from his grip, but Toge held your gaze as he held onto the garment, not allowing you to take it from him.

It took you a second to realise what was happening here, the heat rising through you, embarrassment hot on your cheeks and throat dry from the shock of it all.

But you realised.

And when it hit you that Toge didn’t mind, if anything, he liked it, you began to realise that you kind of liked it too.

“Toge.” His name played on your lips, soft and innocent as you let your hand fall to your side, allowing him to really look at you.

He wanted to tell you how pretty you were, how pretty your peaked nipples were and if you were to lay down and open your legs for him, he’d tell you, or rather show you just how pretty he thought your little clit was.

Heat thrummed through Toge as he dropped the sweatshirt, hand reaching out for you instead and when you didn’t move away or flinch from the gentle touch of his fingers against the swell of your breast, his gaze returned to your eyes, waiting for permission.

“Please Toge.” You breathed the words out, shy and quiet and so innocent and it all but made his cock throb against his jeans.

He touched you, fingertips gently trailing over your nipples, thumbs teasing them into pretty peaks while his lips found yours, caressing your skin with his warm breath.

“I’ve never done this before.” You told him quietly, eyes set on the ground out of embarrassment at your admission.

But Toge gently lifted your chin with his fingers and he hoped that the look in his eyes would tell you what he wished he could say out loud.

He wanted to tell you that he would take care of you, that he’d show you what pleasure felt like, but the soft look in his eyes was enough to convey that.

He lowered you onto his sheets and you watched, dazed and curious as he sunk between your legs, eyes fixated on your pretty clit as his thumbs parted your lips.

No one, not even yourself had touched you there and it felt so good, but so sensitive.

The rough texture of the pad of his thumb gently swiped over the little bud and the soft whine that left your lips only heightened Toge’s urge to show you what real pleasure was like.

His tongue gently soothed over your clit, lips closing around your bud while his eyes kept watch on your expression, reveling in the way you squirmed beneath him.

You wriggled under his grip, unsure if the pleasure you felt was too much or simply not enough, but whatever it was, it was intense and hot and you couldn’t help but let out the most sinful moan either of you had ever heard.

If this was what it was like to let a boy eat you out every time, then you wanted this all the time.

Toge was not exactly innocent himself, he’d had a few explorations of sex, but nothing with someone who he felt this much for before.

His tongue lapped desperately over your sensitive little clit, pulling little jolts and moans from you, because you just couldn’t handle the intensity of the pleasure.

But Toge loved it.

If he could, he’d keep going past your first orgasm just to keep you sensitive and watch you squirm as his tongue laved over your poor, exposed bud.

But for now, he would have to suffice with just one orgasm from your throbbing clit.

He drove you to the edge and watched as you panted and gasped and clung to the bed sheets as your orgasm rippled through you.

And Toge was all too proud that it had been what he suspected to be your first orgasm ever.

How lucky he was to have that honor.

As you lay, spent and panting on his bed, you expected him to fuck you right there and then, but Toge just sat back and watched you through lidded eyes.

He was satisfied just watching you experience that, but he was pretty sure you were not ready for his cock yet.

He was not exactly small and you definitely were.

As much as he wanted to take you right now, Toge’s eyes stayed on yours, thinking, watching as you lay limp and tired on his sheets.

He loved you, he loved the way you squirmed and came in his mouth, he loved the sounds you made and the way you were surprised by the pleasure.

But now he was pretty sure you’d come back for more and he was more than willing to sit between your legs and eat you out everyday if you asked him to.

And maybe he’d have the pleasure of overstimulating that soft, pretty little clit one day.

Toge could dream, but he’d only do it if you let him. And he was sure you would.

#inumaki x reader #inumaki x you #inumaki x y/n #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

2K notes · View notes

sunnynwanda · 4 months

Note

hello!! i hope your day is going well <33 :D

could you please write a story about a hero and villain who are academic rivals? and one day before their final exams the villain finds the hero in the library late at night, really stressed about their exams. maybe the villain comforting a panicking hero?? :'))

i would really appreciate it if you could write this!! its completely fine if you don't want to :D

p.s your work is amazing!! 💙

Even Odds

Hero shivers and shifts in their chair, folding their legs under them for warmth. They look up for a moment, noticing the snow cap on the lamppost outside the window, and rub their red eyes. It had been snowing for several hours now, and they had no idea how they were going to get home in their light coat and sneakers. It was warm in the morning when they ran out of their dorm room - not that they had time to look for winter clothes in the mess that was their wardrobe. The last month has been hectic, between classes, work, confrontations with Villain and all the catching up they had to do because of it. Not to mention that the smug bastard kept teasing them in class. They had no problem fighting Villain outside the classroom, yet facing them in class seemed infinitely more challenging and infuriating. All at the same time.

Christmas is coming up. Hero shakes their head at the thought. So are the finals. They close their eyes for a moment to let the wave of panic flash by them before returning to the subject matter. It takes Hero another two hours to realise the letters are blurring in front of their eyes. They can no longer discern the lines, and the paragraph looks entirely unfamiliar. They are doomed. Villain is going to destroy them with hungered passion, tearing into their flesh with snide remarks until Hero is left teary-eyed and defeated. And to think they enjoyed all of it once. They even went so far as to await the bickering arguments that followed after every class they shared.

With an exasperated sigh, they let their head fall onto the book. The panic returns with a fresh vigour, as do Hero's doubts. They want to cry from the helplessness that overwhelms their entire being. Their ears start ringing, probably from lack of nutrition. Hero presses their hands to their temples, trying to remember when they ate for the last time when a cough interrupts the flow of their thoughts.

"You look desperate," Villain muses, seemingly satisfied with the atmosphere in the 'enemy territory'. "I like it."

Hero has nothing to offer them but a deadpan look. They are too exhausted to muster any expression other than utter fatigue.

"What? Still trying to beat me?" They quip again, turning the chair to face their rival despite taking the seat right next to them. Hero doesn't react, much to Villain's dismay. They sigh, choosing another tactic - one that never fails to unnerve Hero. "Drop it, babe. No one can top me. Not in physics, at least."

Hero's eyebrows twitch, and Villain can't help the triumphant smirk that graces their thin lips. Gotcha.

"Sod off," Hero scoffs, flustered by their flirting and, more so, by their proximity.

Villain places their hands on the table and lays their head over them, mimicking Hero's position. "Says the one desperate to compete with me."

"Bold of you to assume I study for you," Hero's retort sounds surprisingly genuine. Villain isn't sure if they should find that offensive or not.

"Oh," their mouth forms a perfect round shape, and Hero almost reaches to touch their lips. Almost. They drop their hand over their eyes, trying to shake off whatever haze took them over. Sleep deprivation must be getting the best of them. It's sheer luck that Villain doesn't seem to have noticed. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I have a lot of catching up to do, dimwit!" They don't mean to be mean, but they are just so tired, and Villain's nagging doesn't help. Not to mention that Hero is not ready for the exam, and both Villain and their professor will take their sweet time chewing them out tomorrow. Amazing start to the holidays!

"Shouldn't have missed the classes in the first place," Villain snaps back but softens upon spotting Hero's distress. Come to think of it, they had no idea why Hero would need to be absent so often. It's not like their confrontations took that much time out of their own week. So what was Hero so busy with? "Why did you miss so many, by the way?"

"None of your business!" Hero cuts them off rather harshly. They seem riled up for no reason, so Villain turns away towards the window, scrolling through possible distractions Hero might have been facing this semester. They're not fighting anyone else, and Villain was pretty damn sure they weren't dating. Or were they? Did Villain miss something? Should they be jealous?

Hero's low mumble draws their attention back to the matter at hand. "I'm still gonna score higher than you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Villain chuckles. Their brain is working overtime, trying to figure out how the smartest person they have ever met was behind the programme. "How long have you been here anyways?"

"I... don't know," the conclusion stuns Hero enough to get off the desk and sit straight. They have no time for conversations, but they also have no energy whatsoever to get up and leave. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven..." When Villain glances at their watch, their eyebrows furrow in concern. "Wait, have you spent the entire day studying? Have you even eaten anything?"

Hero shakes their head instead of replying. Villain's eyes turn awfully round, and Hero smiles softly. This shouldn't look this endearing! They must have lost their marbles.

"Are you an idiot?" Villain questions, shaking their head when Hero attempts to answer. "That's not even a question, it's a statement."

"We have finals, dammit!" Indignation colours Hero's features, shading the weariness away. "I can't afford to fail, not after all the effort I've put in!"

"You won't fail," Villain sounds absolutely sure of their statement. They believe it, too. Hero, however, does not.

"How do you know?!" They break character, looking more panicked than Villain has ever seen. In fact, they haven't seen them scared, ever. Not even when they were hanging upside down from a skyscraper because Villain dared them to.

"I just do," they reassure, placing their hands on Hero's shoulders to get their attention. "I know."

"How?" Hero asks weakly. They look drained of life, and Villain hates to see the most cheerful person they know like that.

Fuck, is it them? Did they overdo it with the battles? Maybe they shouldn't challenge Hero so often. But then again, they only do that because they miss seeing their rival, and Hero has been skipping classes because of their job.

And then it strikes them. Their job. How could they forget Hero has to work? Ever since they lost their father, they took it upon themselves to support their family. And Villain had to go and add more to their plate - as if balancing classes and work wasn't bad enough. Shit.

They sigh at their stupidity, shaking their head to collect their thoughts before speaking.

"I've seen you ace every test, Hero," they cup Hero's chin, urging them to meet their eyes. "Not a single mistake, no cheating, nothing. You've got this. Trust me."

"What?" Hero's mouth is agape. Villain assumes their unexpected sincerity to be the reason but is proven wrong sooner than they can justify themselves. "Wait, do you cheat?"

"'Course not." They wait for Hero to nod before continuing. "I don't need it. You don't either."

"Well, I might this time," the claim makes Villain chuckle, baring the neat row of their teeth with slightly prominent fangs. Why the fuck do they keep noticing all this about Villain, of all people?

"Stop, Hero, stop," Villain catches their chin again, their stare intense when they speak. "You're not gonna fail. I promise. Now come on, you've got to get out of here, or your brain is gonna melt and drip out of your ears."

With that, they let go of Hero, and get up. Hero scrunches their nose at the graphic images that flood their tired head and starts collecting their books and countless pages of notes. Villain takes the last heap, shoving it into their bag while Hero fetches their jacket.

It's only later, after running through the showy courtyard back to their dorm and taking a hot shower to warm their limbs, when Hero pulls everything out of their bag to begin their night of studying, that they notice a few stapled sheets of unfamiliar notes. They are expertly organised and precisely what Hero needs to learn to pass the test. They stare at the pages for several seconds before shaking their head with a lopsided grin at the obnoxious and frustratingly sneaky little shit that slipped their notes into Hero's bag while they weren't looking.

They pull out their phone, sending a short "Thank you." text to their rival, only to receive a cheeky reply in mere seconds.

"Simply wanted to even out the odds. Let's see if you can top me now, babe."

Masterlist

Hello, dear!

Thank you so much for this request! I've wanted to write academic rivals for some time now, and this was the perfect opportunity for it. So yeah, thanks xD I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

xo Sunny

P.S. I wasn't able to find the owner of the photo, credit to the owner.

77 notes · View notes

marxistcomedy · 7 months

Text

Anyone working in counter-propaganda can testify to a curious experience: we’ll put in hours of careful research collecting an impeccable set of resources that undermines some warmongering narrative, and we’ll eagerly share it with someone who claims to despise racism in all its forms — say, an outspoken opponent of the West’s so-called “War on Terror.” Unexpectedly, we are met with a response that is somewhere between chilly reticence and downright hostility. What’s going on?

From our perspective, we’re offering water to a person who’s self-identified as thirsty, and yet they react as if we were trying to poison them! They turn on a dime to defend the same institutions whose lies they were denouncing just moments before. At this point the sense of pride and accomplishment that comes from seeing through propaganda and putting puzzle pieces together into a satisfying historical account gets brutally transformed into its exact opposite: a sense of crushing defeat. In response to this bitter experience, many researchers — serious people, with plenty of experience reading and writing, and sometimes even of being published! — lash out. They decide that people have been “brainwashed” beyond the point where they can be reached by words or rational appeal. They “realize” that the masters of propaganda have been far more successful than we first imagined: it turns out we’re not David fighting Goliath, we’re more like an ant facing an asteroid.

The same inquisitive nature that first led them to unravel war propaganda narratives begins to feed an even larger psycho-historical narrative, and nihilism takes hold. The tragic cycle begins to appear eternal: innocent, well-meaning, hard-working folks are, time and again, viciously tricked by the scapegoating of a new rogue in the gallery — Indigenous, Black, Spanish, Jewish, Soviet, Vietnamese, Cuban, Serbian, Muslim, Libyan, Syrian, Korean, Venezuelan, Russian, Chinese. Due to the sheer power of propaganda and mass-media, the masses helplessly fall for hatred and volunteer for war, even though it comes at a very high cost to ourselves, our loved ones, and our ideals (religion, environmentalism, etc.). Sadly, the innate human propensity to “hate the Other” seals our fate as a society… or something along those lines.

I am going to argue that this narrative is nonsense. It tries to pass off as universal and eternal something that in reality is particular and ephemeral. In short: Westerners aren’t helpless innocents whose minds are injected with atrocity propaganda, science fiction-style; they’re generally smug bourgeois proletarians who intelligently seek out as much racist propaganda as they can get their hands on. This is because it fundamentally makes them feel better about who they are and how they live. The psychic and material costs are rationally worth the benefits. As for those anti-imperialists who don’t participate in this festival of xenophobia — and here I include myself — we have our own elitist consolation: we accept the tragedy of masses of gullible sheeple falling for cunning propaganda because having overcome it flatters our own intelligence. The more we condemn society’s stupidity, the smarter we feel in comparison.

But am I not just worsening the problem, aggravating our hopelessness, by criticizing the critics in a way that suggests that no one escapes ideological self-flattery? I don’t think so. Paradoxically, it brings us all back to a more even and possibility-rich playing field.

The prevailing populist narrative grants the People (of the West) moral innocence by attributing to them utter stupidity and naivety; I invert the equation and demand a Marxist narrative instead: Westerners are willingly complicit in crimes because they instinctively and correctly understand that they benefit as a class (as a global bourgeois proletariat) from the exploitation enabled by their military and their propaganda (in Gramscian: organs of coercion and consent). We’re not as stupid as we’re made out to be. This means that we can be reasoned with, that there is a way out.

[emphasis mine]

#very necessary read rn imo #red sails #roderic day

97 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

taken from a fic i’ll probably never write, but steve is back in ‘83 and has three years to save the world without his friends. this is how he meets wayne munson

Steve did not expect to suddenly feel so lost the moment he sets eyes upon Eddie’s and Wayne’s trailer. It’s funny, in a way. He’s out of time, has just over two and a half years left to figure out a way to save the world and his friends who don’t even know him in this timeline.

And here he is. Nervous. Small. Lost in the face of this trailer that holds so many bad, bad memories that aren’t memories yet, not here. It’s just a trailer. He’s just a bully and Eddie is… Alive. So gloriously alive that Steve forgot how to breathe before having two panic attacks about it in the abandoned boys’ bathroom just today.

The setting winter sun is shining down on the trailer, tinting the roof in golden and red hues and for a second, everything is serene. The air smells like snow. Steve wants to linger, but he can’t. The Upside Down is following him everywhere he goes, he can’t endanger Eddie and Wayne like this. He shouldn’t even be here, it’s too dangerous. Eddie hates him, Wayne doesn’t know him, probably only knows of him, and Steve should leave. Really, he should.

But his feet seem rooted to the frozen ground and his icy fingers twitch around the reason he’s here in the first place. Eddie’s notebook. The one he’s always carrying with him, always scribbling and drawing something or other in that extreme focus he gets, where he won’t even notice Tommy and Jason sneaking up on him to snatch it right from under his pencil before shoving him into the lockers and taking off, leaving behind a furious Eddie.

Steve’s face is still throbbing, his eye beginning to swell, his ears ringing from how Tommy had yelled at him before Steve had made him shut up in the most effective of ways.

See, Dustin? I can win a fight.

Except doesn’t care, not in this time. And the real Dustin, the one that would have cared, would have cheered and then hugged him, well. That Dustin is dead.

Tears prick in Steve’s eyes and he tries to breathe away the pain, the panic, the sheer and utter helplessness.

“Can I help you, kid? Because if not, I suggest you leave before I decide that I don’t have a good day after all.” The gruff voice of one Wayne Munson who does not trust rich-looking strangers entering his property is what keeps him from spiralling, and Steve wants to laugh.

Except, breaking into hysterics is not exactly the way he would get Wayne to believe him that he’s not here seeking trouble.

Steve meets his eyes, overly aware of his looks. There’s blood on his shirt from the two, three good hits Tommy managed to get in. His red, scraped-up knuckles are a stark contrast against his pale skin and the black leather of the book. His clothes altogether too preppy for the trailer park. His eye swelling and probably wild from where he’s desperately hanging on by a thread.

“This belongs to Eddie,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady. “It’s… It’s important.”

Recognition flits over Wayne’s eyes as he spots the item, and a frown makes its way between his brows.

“Yeah, it is. So how come you have it, then?” He crosses his arms before his chest, his chin raised, his voice dangerous. Steve wants to shrink, wants to run, wants to apologise, wants the tremor in his hand to stop. Don’t panic. Please don’t panic. He’s not gonna yell at you, he’s not gonna hit you, he’s not dad. He just loves his kid. He’s not dad.

“Look, I just. I wanna help, sir. Can you just take this and give it back to him? Please.”

Wayne doesn’t budge and Steve’s hand really is trembling now, but he doesn’t lower his hand, doesn’t evade Wayne’s eyes. He must look so pathetic right now, if he looks any way like he feels.

“I don’t want any trouble, I swear.”

Wayne looks skeptical at that and eyes his black eye with distrust before he sighs and drops his arms.

“Looks like you got it anyway.” With that, he’s approaching Steve with careful steps, still so very distrustful, but there’s something else in his eyes as he studies his swelling face. “You lose a fight over this?”

“No, sir,” Steve says, his shoulders straightening involuntarily. He doesn’t want Eddie’s uncle to think he’s weak. “I won, actually.”

There’s the shadow of a smile on Wayne’s lips at that and he finally, finally takes the book. Steve wants to sag in relief. He doesn’t.

“Well. Thanks, then. I’ll make sure Eddie gets this back.” Steve nods, a sigh of thanks already on the tip of his tongue, but Wayne stops him with another stony expression. “And now I’m gonna ask you to leave. I don’t want your kind of trouble anywhere near my nephew and our home.”

Steve does nod this time, too fast, too ready to leave, too used to shake apart all alone.

“Yes, sir, of course. You won’t see me again, I swear. Unless it’s life or death.”

Wayne scoffs and Steve envies him for his ignorance, for the way he has no idea of what other horrors this world has to offer. What horrors lurk beneath this very trailer.

Gods, just the thought of that makes him sick. He’a going to throw up again, isn’t he?

Before he leaves completely, he turns around again and sees Wayne still watching him.

“Oh, Mister Munson,” he calls. “Could you not tell Eds who brought back his notebook? I’m afraid he would burn it if he knew it was me, and, frankly, it’s too important for that. Okay?”

Wayne looks confused, frowns at him, but nods after a moment or two. “Sure, kid.”

Sure, kid.

That’s good.

He nods one last time and turns around to walk home. Not home. He doesn’t have that, but he can’t think about that too hard. He can’t think about anything too hard as he shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his too-thin jacket.

#steddie #steve harrington whump #steve harrington #wayne munson #steddie fic #except it’s not really steddie in this. not yet #time travel au #dio words

511 notes · View notes

eris-snow · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, angst, death

There are three two things you need to know about Katsuki Bakugou: 1. He loves winning. 2. He hates losing.

3. He has you, the most incredible person he never wants to lose.

Bakugou hates losing.

He simply despised the feeling of helplessness, of not being the best. It makes him feel strangely vulnerable inside. It's one that lingers at the back of his mind like a taunting ghost, threatening him.

Bakugou loves to win.

It's that certain thrill that runs down his spine. The cheers from everyone around him, his family or friends or other extras gasping in awe at his utter brilliance and sheer, raw talents.

Yeah, he liked this feeling. He was going to keep it.

But nothing could prepare him for the sheer joy, contentment and fulfilment when Bakugou won you.

He didn't like you at first. He only noticed you when you stole the top marks for a test, even besting Yaoyorozu. It was a huge wake-up call.

Oi, don't mess with me, he remembered thinking, it's probably just a fluke.

And among that pissed-off feeling of not being the best...

blossoms a curiosity that festers and gnaws at his thoughts.

Someone's better than him? You?

He doesn't believe it. Next thing he knows, you steal his marks and battle your way to his precious first place in the practical fights.

What?

Now that has to be a fluke. No way someone like you could best him in a fight! He won't fucking allow it!

He's defeated again, due to the power of teamwork and the lack of communication on his end with his teammates.

He's so caught up with his attention on you, all the anger but respect that builds each day as he observes just how amazing you are under those modest glasses and bright, shy smile.

Fuck, you'd look great with or without glasses, he remembers thinking absentmindedly while watching you study furiously with the flames of determination in your eyes.

When he gets paired up with you, he starts talking to you more. He pushes you and you pull him higher up, draw him to you like a fucking magnet with the attraction dialled to the max.

You stole the top marks in academics, you stole his position in the practical fights at midterms, and before he knows it...

...you steal his heart.

You sly, gorgeous, oblivious, heart-rollercostering asshole.

It took a while before Bakugou finally won you over. With sneaky bentos and his own stumbling actions of care, he wins you over. Those 3 years were the best ones in his entire life. You were his greatest victory. Those sweet smiles and genuine words of care that spew from your lips were all he could ever need in his life. Those times you'd kiss him right before he left.

The "see you later" kisses and the "welcome home" ones.

He couldn't ask for more.

If he still had you.

He wants to grab the universe's clock and rewind those wrenched, fucking hands because no, no this can't be how he spends the rest of his life. He can't imagine it without you by his side.

It's plastered all over the news.

"Hero/n saved thousands!"

"Hero/n died like a true hero! Will forever be remembered!"

"Crowd mourns for Hero/n's death-"

Bakugou punches the power off button on his TV remote.

This can't be it. This can't be your end. Knowing you, you'd pop out of his closet like a heart-attacking jack in the box and laugh at him for taking this too seriously. You will.

You have to.

Bakugou feels tears threaten to spill from his eyes for the billionth time, and wipes them away hastily as he shoots a glance at your urn. A picture of you, just you, sits in front of it, stone cold.

All this talk about Hero/n makes Bakugou want to pulp the paparazzi.

What about his Y/n? The one that would greet him whenever he came home? The one that had terribly cute bed hair, awful morning breath, and wore those stupid, fluffy socks during winter? His girlfriend was gone.

Bakugou feels droplets of water fall from his face. Tears.

Again.

"You just had to outdo me," He rasps softly under his breath. You're the only person who could break him like this. "Goin' off with a bang like that, huh?" He's met with icy silence.

You were his greatest win, the person that made him feel whole, the person he loved unconditionally with every fibre in his entire being.

But he never thought he would lose you.

#bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugō #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #mha fanfiction #mha #bakugou angst #angst

269 notes · View notes

kastlequill · 7 months

Text

knock, knock

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: when an unstoppable force meets a movable object tags: whumptober, first meetings, bank robbery, rescue, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, civilian!reader, miguel is a dork, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here

Work was awful; always was, always would be. But today differed in its awfulness.

Usually, work sucked because of power-tripping bosses, incompetent coworkers, and asshole customers. As a banker, you had grown accustomed to dealing with not-so-nice folks who were eager to withdraw funds or deposit a fat check. Today, however, went to shit for an entirely new set of reasons.

A blaster dug deeper into the small of your back. “Do you know where the vault is or not, lady?”

Robbing a bank. How original.

“Yes, I—” God, what could you even say? It wasn’t as if the nutjob would see reason. “I have the code. If you ease up a bit on the gun, I can open it for you. No one has to get hurt here.”

The few silent moments of deliberation filled you with unease. There was no telling how triggerhappy this guy was, nor how impulsive.

“Don’t even think about playing any games. I’ll vaporize you faster than you can scream for help,” he snarled directly into your ear, the fabric of his ski mask brushing against skin. The press of the blaster disappeared, and you exhaled in relief. “Lead the way.”

And so you did.

You were in no position to play hero, not when he could pull the trigger in a split second, and certainly not when your pay was barely above the minimum wage. Dying for a job that didn’t even care to provide you with a livable salary would fucking suck.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

As you started to direct the intruder to the back of the building, adrenaline mounting and mind racing, a blur of red and blue suddenly cut across the room. With its speed came a gust of wind that ruffled your hair and drew your full attention toward the flurry of motion. At the center of the chaos stood a man who you’d only ever seen on the news, whether as a still photo printed in the papers or as a shaky video on TV filmed by some random passerby.

Spider-Man. Easily beating the absolute shit out of the guy who had threatened you mere moments ago.

While they were both distracted, you tiptoed back to the front counter, crawled into the space between your chair and the desk setup, then pushed the emergency button that dispatched law enforcement. But you knew help wouldn’t arrive for at least another fifteen minutes.

The joys of living in Nueva York.

From where you hid, it was possible to glean a fragmented view of the fight, criminal versus vigilante. The latter threw the former around as if he were merely a ragdoll, and the sheer ease with which the hero did so reminded you of a cat pawing at a helpless mouse, wanting to have a little fun before the ultimate kill. They exchanged words as well as punches, but your hearing didn’t extend so far as to hear the specifics of their no doubt hostile, undiplomatic conversation.

Commotion raged on; pained groans accompanied by the subsequent splintering wood as the robber’s body crashed into another desk, followed by resonant thuds as unnaturally-powerful fists rained down on him. Spider-Man held little back and had no qualms delivering a violent retribution.

Not that you had any, either.

Finally, after what seemed to be an endless brawl—if such a one-sided beating could even qualify as a brawl—there was silence at last. Complete and utter silence. No heavy breathing from exertion, no agonized howls, no groveling for mercy.

Just quiet. The type of quiet that settled over a desolate city post-natural disaster, that permeated the air in a bloodied warzone post-surrender.

Until a throat cleared from somewhere above. “You in there?”

When you glanced up, the face that greeted you wasn’t by definition a face, but rather a mask. Red lines framed where eyes laid hidden, and the expression into which the markings configured told of slight concern. The outline of his hulking figure was illuminated by the flickering of a broken light, occasionally revealing to you a skeletonized spider emblem on his torso.

You found yourself wanting to absorb every little detail, every pattern and design, because you didn’t think it statistically probable that you would see him again. If the universe was feeling benevolent, then these kinds of events would happen only once in a lifetime. Prior to today, you’d not had the pleasure of crossing paths with Death, nor had you the good fortune of being in the vicinity of one of the most wanted men in the city.

A great deal had changed since this morning, however. And, to be quite frank, you were ready for the world to return to normal, eager for tomorrow to begin and end without misery or mayhem—

His knuckles rapped the counter overhead. “Knock, knock.”

What the hell. Was this guy for real? He didn’t give you the impression of being the funny type, but neither did he seem the kind of guy to participate in idle chatter.

“Who’s there?” you replied, curious yet cautious.

“A little old lady.”

“A little old lady who?”

“Bank telling and yodeling? Talk about being talented,” he remarked with a low whistle of admiration.

At the cheesy punchline, you crawled out from your hiding spot, stood, and stretched a bit to assuage the ache that had settled in your muscles as a result of crouching for too long. You dusted off your knees once much of the tension had dissipated then fixed him with an unwavering stare, raising an unimpressed brow.

“I’ve got one more for you.” Spider-Man put his hands on his waist and lifted his chin. While true that his features were obscured, you’d bet his eyes had become narrowed and intent, determined to evoke your laughter. “Knock, knock.”

Fine, I’ll bite. “Who’s there?”

“Police.”

“Police who?”

“Police hurry up, I need to take my lunch break.”

Lunch break.

You hadn’t had the chance to go on yours, too preoccupied trying to survive being held at gunpoint. Mortifyingly, this realization caused a salty wet trail to travel the length of your cheek, then another, and then a choked sob bubbled forth against your will.

The hero cursed something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath and sheepishly rubbed a hand down his masked face. Clearly, comforting crying civilians didn’t come naturally to him the way combat did. Although, in his defense, few had the energy to navigate a hysterical woman’s emotions after just starting (and finishing) a fight.

“I didn’t mean. . . The jokes are stupid, I know—”

“—no, it’s not that.” You waved off the unwarranted apology and attempted to put a lid on the accumulated stress that had decided to manifest in the form of frustrated tears. “I just realized I didn’t even get to eat lunch, is all. I always clock out at 12:30, but that asshole threw everything off with his shitty robbery attempt, so now it’s 1:07, and we’re only allowed thirty minutes, and I still haven’t had any food today besides a soggy bagel this morning, and I’m so fucking tired, and he pulled a blaster on me—”

The rant quickly devolved into hurried gasps for air, your chest heaving, your lungs not fully functional. How embarrassing to be rendered to a state of hyperventilation, especially since an infamous vigilante was around to witness your crumbling composure.

“Deep breaths,” Spider-Man murmured, pulling you by the shoulders toward him, your nose connecting with his sternum. To you, such was an act of humanity free from ulterior motives; this hug was the simple conclusion to everything that had transpired. A solace. “That’s it, just breathe when I breathe.”

Easier said than done, but you could appreciate the sentiment all the same. Some minutes later, your lungs had begun to expand and contract at a regulated pace, heeding his own rhythm.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. Was it safety, then, that caused this warm fuzziness to bloom in your chest?

You couldn’t recall when you’d last felt this comforted by another’s presence, when you’d last been this at peace in a world overrun with strife and conflict. There was no telling how long you stayed wrapped up in his steady embrace, your respirations synced. The very passage of time seemed to halt, the two of you frozen in this singular moment.

Only when the wailing of sirens began to draw nearer did he remove himself from you and vacate the premises, swinging from one building to the next, further and further away.

Only when he left your line of sight did you finally shut your eyes, preparing yourself to be questioned by the approaching news anchors and police officers.

fin.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #spiderman x reader #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #marvel #whumptober #my fic #fic: knock knock

71 notes · View notes

doodle-pops · 8 months

Text

Hold Me Tight, I'm Fine

Gwindor x reader

A/N: My first Gwindor fic and it's angsty. I really am the worse. This is a fic which is based on these Gwindor headcanons I wrote a while ago.

Warnings: touch starved Gwindor, descriptions of his scars and brandings, hair cutting, mild angst/comfort

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: No longer able to bear the shame of the floating memories from his traumatic days, Gwindor makes one request that only you can do for him. An act that defines your bond.

You could feel the air shifting deliberately the faster your feet paced to approach his room. The air was foul and musky, thick and foggy. It was nearly impossible to cut through and weave your way to his chambers. What was habitual became a burden…to him. You understood that he wished for no assistance, however, when he chose to stay out of the moving world, time was of the essence.

A simple gesture that held no animosity but rather sympathy, to him, all he saw was pity and felt helplessness. Pushing everyone away was the best intention to avoid the sorrowful eyes of the court and everyone else singing their heart at him. It wasn’t difficult to see that he wished to be left alone and wallow in shame; there was nothing left for him to achieve.

The last person he chose to push away was always the first person he humbled himself to reach out to. His eyes never met yours, wanting nothing more than to hide the ugly scars he attained and his no-longer beautiful eyes you once adored, as he requested your help. You offered to be at his side, but his response was silence. Now, here you were chasing towards his chambers after he reluctantly summoned you.

After three raps to his door, you were greeted with the sight of Gwindor hunched before his vanity. His grey hair scattered around his body like a snowy waterfall of silvery ice, and all he wore was his trousers. To the left of him was a discarded cream shirt and his robes and tunic thrown haphazardly across his bed. As much as his hair covered his back, it did little to hide the disfigured scars and brandings on his skin. All the marks of the Iron Fortress were etched into his fair skin and left him unpleasant. No amount of elvish medicine was able to remove all his scars, leaving the brandings tattooed.

Facing the vanity with his face buried in his hands, he was heaving laboriously. You weren’t sure if he acknowledged your presence since his senses were fluctuating, one minute he was aware and the other, he was unconscious to be alerted of anything.

Sliding across the thick carpeted floor, you made quick observation of the fireplace being out and the curtains down, blocking out all ounces of Anor’s rays. Ever since he returned with the loss of his sight, the glare had always been an issue, but this idea of coping with the strain was only making matters worse. It didn’t matter how many times you broke it to him; he would ignore it and continue.

“Gwindor? I’m here,” you called softly, standing no more than a foot apart.

His body froze and his breathing ceased. Lifting his head out of his hands, you noticed in the faintness of what little light invaded the room, he gave you a side eye before turning afront to stare at the mirror. This was the first time you saw him lock eyes with his reflection for more than five seconds without flinching in sheer and utter abhorrence. His right hand reached out to knock about the vanity and cause a series of clatters with different objects knocking into each other until he found his item. The glint of silver along the blades showed the tiniest reflection of his silvery murky eye and the revulsion he was feeling. Holding the pair of metal blades above his head while it hung, his broken voice echoed louder in the shrouded darkness.

“Cut it…please. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Exhaling silently, your eyes became saucers at his unforeseen request. There were so many things you had prepared yourself to hear from him, but this was an icebreaker. You weren’t sure if he was silently asking you to talk him out of his suggestion or go through and commit to his demand. Nonetheless, you approached and inaudibly removed the scissors from his hands and held them to your chest. Standing behind him and staring at his silvery strands that appeared brittle, even in the faintest of the light, tears were eyes prickling the corners of your eyes the more you gaped.

“Gwindor, are you s—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, just cut,” he begged. His voice choked on the last syllable, fearful of the newfound change he was about the make. While everyone else who suffered like him came out of most of their traumatised state, he had no one. Doomed to be alone and his heart clenched.

Reassuring yourself that this wasn’t drastic or life-changing, with shaky hands you lifted the first portion beside his chin and brought the scissors down to clip away at the long strands. The dryness of his hair felt as though the scissors would have broken. All the life had been sucked out his fёa and it reflected with the physical. The buzz in the room grew substantially as you hovered like a bee to a flower. The loud snips of the pair of metal blades against his dull hair sounded like nails on a board. You assumed halfway through the process; he would shoot out of his seat and halt your actions. At least snatch the scissors out of your hand and awake from his maddened nightmare, but he sat like an obedient child sparing no glances at you in the mirror.

The more you cut, the more his skin revealed and the angry fading red zig-zag lines across his skin became pronounced. The brandings of Angband on his left shoulder and the centre of his back became visible. It glowed red with its black hue; one was grotesquely carved and the other was stamped. You still remembered the first time you saw them; you spent weeks crying over them whenever you needed to dress his wounds.

“Is this suitable for you?” you asked sorrowfully. It was impossible to hide the tears in your voice and he heard them.

Still standing behind him with the blades in hand, you noticed his eyes slithering like the curtains were being peeled off his eyes to reveal the task he assigned you. You saw the winces when his eyes fell on his reflection before they opened wider. His nerves riddled his entire body shaking like a leaf endlessly as he raised a hand to touch the shoulder-length hair. “…It…looks better,” he confirmed.

“Gwindor, why did you want me to cut your hair?” the question never left your tongue when the corners of his lips raised. Instead, you smiled with him in return and placed the delicate instrument down to brush his hair out of the way. The serenity he experienced at that moment as your fingers tenderly curled into his hair and massaged his scalp, he visibly sagged deeper into the seat. Lips parted and soft groans escaped.

“Do you want to skip the meeting today and stay indoors? I’ll keep you company,” you suggested with the slight hope that you weren’t overstepping your boundary. It was a hot and cold game with him where his mood was concerned.

For the entire week and more, Gwindor was slipping in and out of his tranquil display and you had reason to believe that it was due to the approaching anniversary of his captivity. Missing a few meetings this week was irrelevant when his health was on the line; you only hoped that he saw the situation the same way you did.

Turning his body away from the vanity and sitting perpendicularly to it, he stared at your longingly at your flowing robes; the small gold embellishments on the teal-coloured material. While his vision fell on the fabric, his line of focus shifted and his mind glided past space and time until he ended up in the void. He buffered before your eyes and it wasn’t the first time, you knew and understood that it was done with overwhelming volumes of emotions attempting to be displayed but was too much for him to handle. While they occurred frequently, they were short-lived.

“Gwindor,” you called and fumbled to place your hand upon his naked skin, knowing the ickiness he suffered.

Snapping his head upwards, his mismatching eyes fell on your concerned face. “You…You would neglect your duties to care for me?”

It did not matter how many times he repeatedly threw the question; you would answer it with the same vigour and genuine affection would always feel towards him. An unconditional love that journeyed beyond the heavens and the earth. Love that could fill the void and melt its coldness enriching it with life and warmth. Continuously providing eternal peace and being his serendipity; fulfilling the undying and unspoken promise of a lifetime. “I will do my very best to always care for you Gwindor…my love.”

You saw it. The world saw it. The heavens and all above and beyond saw it.

The shivers.

Forcing himself to stand from his seat, he easily stood at a height comfortable to prevent the craning of your vertebrate. Actions that were foreign upon his return and filled without warmth were reciprocated. Perhaps it was too forced and hurried, lacking care and gentleness but its symbolisation was the important factor. A squeeze that ignored his strength and your fragility but encompassed you with contentment and the unspoken ‘thank you’, prompted you to return the said action. Your hands fumbled, any touch could shock him out of his tranquil state and send him into trepidation. But you were reassured when he liquefied against your body.

“My love…I haven’t heard you call me that in a long time. Felt nice.”

Resting his chin in the crook of your neck, you fragilely lifted your hands to stroke his hair and cooed into his ear, “I’ll always call you my love, my dear sweet Gwindor. I’ll always be here for you, please don’t push me away.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but you don’t deserve me like…this,” he breathed, “you should love someone else.”

You felt anger and ache as he spilt his words. They were his contemplative thoughts, but it was agonising to hear them. “W-…Would you be happy if I loved another?”

There was a pending silence as he fought falsehood but caved into his honesty. “No. I’ll be heartbroken if you left me, but—”

“Then I’m not departing Gwindor. I’m here to stay at your side. Before, after and until the end.”

The buzzing increased once silence fell between you both. His breathing evened out so did his grip around your waist, yet his body did not disjoint from yours. This was the most physical contact aside from healers probing his body. This was the first time he experienced physical contact from the one who loved him the most since his return. He forgot what it felt like to be physically loved and cherished. The touch-starvation was clawing from within to never let you go, to bask and relish in the affection.

“…Yes, my love.”

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @floragardeniahope @batsyforyou

75 notes · View notes