Part four | Meeting Omen | Valorant Discord Au | Mutiple x Reader |Reverse-Harem
After years I’m here again lol…just going to have a lot of rambling writing here, will add my ao3 account soon too for longer stuff. Just fluffy for now. Enjoy
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Yoru stood on your right while Phoenix stood on your left. Their presence was at least comforting, warm and solid against you as the three of you stood at the door stop of where he supposedly lived. It had only been about an hour's drive away, and you were surprised by the quaintness of his home, of the neatly arranged plant beds with flowers by the front.
There was rustling behind the front door, and you couldn’t help the way your heart thudded in your chest, the jittering of your leg as you anticipated his reveal. You probably knew the least about Omen among the group. He’d barely talked about his own personal life online, and you imagined him as someone rather recluse. And when you had curiously asked Yoru and Phoenix what Omen looked like, even their reactions were vague.
“Edgy fucker,” is all Yoru had commented.
“He’s a strange bloke for sure,” Phoenix added unhelpfully.
The door finally creaked open, and you anxiously straightened. The man standing there was…hidden. Hidden in the sense that he had a large hood draped over his head, so wide that it cast his entire face in shadow. You could maybe spot a slight gleam from under, as if he were wearing glasses or something, but beyond that was a total darkness that was borderline unnatural. His figure itself wasn’t unlike Phoenix and Yoru. Although he clearly wasn’t the gym nut that those two were, he was still very tall, almost looming in his height. There was a lanky nature to him, and even though he probably just looked like a regular, albeit brooding guy in his all black attire and black tech wear pants, there was an aura to him, quiet and simmering and shadowed.
You didn’t get a chance to dwell on it any longer, before suddenly he was stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you.
You squeaked, eyes widening and face heating up. He was still essentially a stranger to you, and you to him, yet he didn’t hesitate.
“H-hi!” You managed to say, although he still didn’t let go.
He was cool to the touch and solid, wrapping around you steadily as if he’d been waiting so long to do so.
“Hi.” His voice was quiet, but deep.
You heard Yoru tsk and yank Omen back lightly, “Oi, give her room, weirdo.”
The man reluctantly pulled back but still hovered so close. Even this close you couldn’t see his face from under his hood.
“It’s nice to meet you…” you finally said, regaining your voice but still trying to quell your blush, “It’s really surprising to see you in person…”
He nodded, “You are smaller than the photos.”
You cocked your head, “Photos?”
You heard an awkward cough to your left, and your head turned to Phoenix, who was looking away sheepishly.
“Erm, I might have possibly accidentally taken a few photos of you and sent them to the group. You don’t mind, yeah?”
You squinted at him. You certainly did mind, but what was done was done. Sighing and giving him one last glare to let him know you’d properly scold him later, you brought your attention back to Omen, who had his head tilted down curiously at your attire.
You mimicked him, looking down at your own outfit. Comfy and a bit baggy, you hadn’t dressed super fancy or anything since you hadn’t thought of that, but now with him staring down at it so intently you felt embarrassed. Maybe you should have dressed up a bit more.
“Cute…” you heard him murmur.
“What?” You automatically say.
You can hear Phoenix and Yoru snickering.
You ignore them and stare at Omen in disbelief.
He stiffened before turning around and clearing his throat. “Ah, nothing. Come in…I baked.”
With that, the three of you followed him in. The inside, again, was a surprise. Much neater and quaint than your own living space with Yoru and Phoenix, that was so often littered with protein shake bottles and random wrappers along the counters. Neither of them were particularly interested in decorations either. In comparison, Omen’s place reminded you faintly of a grandmother‘s house; with its porcelain plates displayed on its walls and the framed pictures of various cats, although you couldn’t see any around even as he led you through the front hall and into his kitchen. The sheer amount of floral pattern there overwhelmed you.
Omen paid no mind to your stunned expression, nor the way a grinning Phoenix nudged Yoru with his elbow, gesturing to the cat themed oven mugs hung on a hook. The man ushered the three of you to sit down before turning to his counter and preparing something.
“So…” You began after glaring at Yoru and Phoenix and gesturing them to shush, the two of them still snickering like schoolboys, “Do you have a cat, Omen?”
“No,” he said without pause, now gathering some forks and pastel blue plates, “I’m allergic.”
You swallowed back the automatic awe at the slight wistful tone in his voice. Suddenly he wasn’t so intimidating. He was still the edgy sullen guy online who used cutesy emoticons and cat profile pictures.
“That’s too bad,” You said sympathetically.
He hummed in agreement without dwelling on it any longer. He finally turned around and placed three plates on the table, along with one big tin of what looked like apple pie.
Phoenix and Yoru stop their snickering long enough to stare in disbelief.
“You made this?” Phoenix says incredulously.
You watch the way Omen shifts uncomfortably, “…yes.”
He is still standing and looming as a lanky mass of black in the middle of this cottagecore kitchen, but you can’t help but smile.
“It looks really good,” You say earnestly.
You can’t see them, but you feel his eyes flick to you. Phoenix and Yoru have already started digging in while Omen sits down, body tilted to you but face turned away as if embarrassed.
“I wanted to celebrate your… well-being.” He says quietly, “I…we were worried.”
You can’t help the rush of emotion that again swells through you. From the few weeks spent with Yoru and Phoenix, to the anxiety of meeting another one of the group in real life, only to find out he’s a total sweetheart who cares about you, there was too much to feel happy for.
You smile and take his hand gently. His face whips towards you, the gleam under his hood brightening.
“Thank you, Omen.”
He lets go of a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding.
I have an honest question and I don't want to sound rude or anything at all but what's so interesting about CNC. Like I see people hype it up but to me it just feels like romanticizing r4pe..I'm not really into CNC so I can't talk bad or downplay whatever they do but I'm just asking because I want to understand it better.
A question I, by no means, can answer perfectly. However, in the spirit of philosophy and amateur psychology, I will lay unto you, ye who have keen ears, my theories.
Now, I am in no way a psychiatrist. However, as I am a woman who does a great deal of fantasizing and further thinking of what I fantasize about, I thought I might assume the role of a sexologist as it is no protected title.
I’ve long wondered why we (women) fantasize about things that would appall us if manifested in reality. It makes little sense that an act so ruining in practice should make us feel fulfilled when the mere thought of it is humored.
In the vast complexities of psychology, no matter how much I drink of its depths, I can’t seem to get my fill enough to understand it. Trying to figure out female arousal is like pulling hair from a clogged gutter and trying to undo all the knots. It’s a web of contradictions.
However…
First theory – there are cultural reasons. If we accept the inbuilt instincts of old and the instincts we adopt through media while growing up – all in all, the great history of aggressive men dominating passive women – we are conditioned to accept that this is what romance looks like.
Second theory – there are the emotional reasons. The "Beauty and the Beast" motif – featuring classic co-dependency. Women submit to abuse because we have an inbuilt need to nurture others – so when we love men who require to abuse and own us in order to love us, we somehow forget to protect ourselves in favor of loving them, which in this case means allowing them to abuse and own us. It's warped.
Third theory – there are psychological reasons. In fantasies and writing or viewing, we get to reframe traumatic experiences in a positive light or rework traumatic experiences in a safe environment – a form of psychological self-defense, much like Stockholm Syndrome or a type of self-inflicted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Fourth theory – research has also been conducted regarding physiological reasons. Here, we have another inbuilt self-defense mechanism – a seldom talked-about phenomenon – which shows that women tend to become physically aroused when they sense any possibility of sexual aggression in their environment – in order to lower their chance of injury if they are raped.
Through all this, I believe one can narrow fantasies of rough or non-consensual sex into something as paradoxical and polar as having a wish for control and a wish to relent oneself of it. And coming to this conclusion, I realized that such is the pursuit of many, even in endeavors not of the erotic kind.
Humans wish to have control just as much as humans disdain having control. This is why BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, masochism) kinks and fetishes are found in some shape or form in nearly every romantic or sexual relationship in existence. You’ll have the dominant partner wishing to achieve control over a submissive partner wishing to relinquish control through such means of domination, humiliation, pain, and pleasure.
But it’s more complex than that, isn’t it?
Yes. Because, contradictory – a submissive partner may wish for control, and a dominant partner may wish to lose it. Human beings are an unyielding paradox where we flex across contrasting aims with no means to an end.
Yes, we wish for control, yet disdain having it. Perhaps we find the answer to this paradox in maintaining control by losing it?
Moreover… how does this relate to nonconsensual sex fantasies?
Here, we get a fifth theory containing the ego – a spin-off of a kind from the third theory. Here we find the wish for control, where, in the lustful fantasy realm, non-consensual sex bolsters a woman's feelings of seductiveness and desirability in the way it has the power to make a man lose his decency and self-control, driving him to commit crimes of passion despite ill consequences of losing his pride and honor as a man – also, ultimately, risking getting sent to prison.
Put simply, some women enjoy the idea of being irresistible enough to drive even a good man crazy. The thought of being attractive enough to make a man love-sick and the power and control that follows it is, in this case, a turn-on.
A sixth theory – another spin-off from the third theory – is that fantasies of rape allow women to reduce the distress associated with sex, as they are not, in this scenario, responsible for what occurs. Moreover, the logic here states that when one is forced into something, they’ll have a lesser need to feel guilt or shame about acting out their own sexual desires.
Put simply, some women wish to maintain their innocence despite having carnal desires only satiated by means of sinful acts.
This begs another question.
Is this a lingering feeling of guilt and shame around female sexuality?
Of course! Women are constantly met with disdain when open about their sluttiness.
So, are fantasies of nonconsensual sex a type of projection they do because of this?
In some cases, yes!
Transferring our own sexual desires unto another gives us permission to act them out without feeling guilty or dirty – because, inside this fantasy, it isn’t us committing the indecencies.
... Okay then...
Summing up theories five and six:
Control. To feel wanted, lusted for, obsessed over, and coveted by others. The power of driving someone to lovesick desire, a frenzied state, where they would do anything, even illegal, to have you. Additionally, despite such harsh cases of ego, wanting none of the responsibility for it, wanting to be free of sin, to maintain innocence and purity in light of such dark desires.
Or is there a seventh theory? One found in our idyllic construct of freedom – this aimless goal of ours to make ourselves appreciate breathing – done by balancing the electric powerline between having and losing control.
Is it this act of switching places, the attraction and pull, the stimuli and response, the attack and retaliation? In the chaos of contradictions and uncertainty, we find a thrill that occupies our otherwise hibernating minds – bored to the degree that we become machines in our daily programs.
Is it simply that we need a little extremity as a remedy for our dull lives?
Do we fall in love with illegal things simply because we are denied them? Simply because they’re illegal? Self-harm, drug use, gambling, murder, rape…
Are these things a part of us? And are we, without them, left feeling unfulfilled? Is The Purge perhaps onto something vitally important? A cure for boredom, this mediocrity that leaves us feeling so blue?
I think, if I were to find a comparison, it’s quite similar to the blind bounds of excitement others ascend to in the midst of playing violent video games. The rush of falling in and out of enemy territory, of danger and safety, from being a predator to becoming the prey, of victory and defeat, of chasing death only to be comforted by one’s remaining life – because in reality, you're safe and sound in front of a screen.
Also, in other cases - rollercoasters, horror movies, extreme sports, etc...
Yes, the wish to trip in and out of control isn’t limited to the realm of lust but is present in most aspects of life. We find it in extreme cases such as drugs, gambling, gaming, relationships, and in other subtle cases of professions and work.
If you don’t like it, that’s your business, and I wish you the best of luck in lust elsewhere.
On another note – and such another warning and disclaimer – I want you not to accept my tales of lust as love stories. Personally, I think hints of toxic displays such as jealousy, obsession, and possession in a partner are natural – but – a difference is made when such feelings become restricting to a degree you no longer feel free. I implore you to make such distinctions for yourself when regarding yourself – and, in extreme cases, when regarding others.
In said regard, I do not condone the events nor the actions of the characters in my stories – neither offender nor victim. Don’t allow yourself to fall prey to toxic partners! The signs are always there – keep a weathered eye out for them.
And no, I’m not blaming those who’ve allowed themselves to stay in toxic relationships. I, myself, am guilty of that. But I won’t excuse my poor judgment either. You know when something doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t blur the lines of right and wrong in the name of love – or whatever else we may lend our self-control to – such as religion, culture, family, societal pressure, etc...
You are in control. Don’t forget it. And don’t allow anything else to become the case.
I know it’s self indulgent but I love the idea of like… the Valorant team recruiting a noob on their team and all of them working together to teach them the ropes and taking care of them and such… like why doesn’t Valorant have a rookie agent already they would be so cute it’s always someone who’s already very confident if that makes sense.
- him having a fetish for cutting up his girl with one of his favourite knives, gently slicing through all her clothes and underwear until he reaches her skin, cutting gently across the smooth surface and licking up the beads of blood quickly. Probably loves seeing the marks afterwards. He loves his knives and he loves his girl so what better combination?
Steve Rogers x mute reader | rubbing cock + cum on face | petting | ownership | very degrading | n*fw | I had to get this out | woah first marvel post |
One of his favourite things to do was to make you sit on the ground.
He would push you down gently, patting your head reassuringly as he did so.
You didn’t fully understand why Steve liked this position so much, didn’t understand why he loved to tower over you and look down at your small figure on the ground, caressing and petting the hair he could reach.
It’s not like you ever minded; it was somehow comforting, and you liked being able to nuzzle and hug into his legs as he told you how much of a good girl you were.
You never really replied to what he said, you didn’t like to speak and sometimes you thought Steve liked it this way.
People were always arguing with him, protesting and complaining about whatever he ordered.
Being a leader was a hard job, and you relished in being able to take away at least some of that burden, even if it meant you had to sit on the ground below him.
It wouldn’t take long for him to start getting hard though, his bulge growing larger and larger from your perspective, his jeans eventually straining taut from the hardening member inside.
Then things would usually grow more intense.
You don’t really have a choice when he pulls your face into his crotch, grinding and groaning as he lightly ruts against your soft face.
He loves hearing your muffled whimpers from below, seeing you struggle to breath as he smothers you into his clothed cock.
The smell of his cock is strong even through his pants. The musky scent is reminiscent of sweat and salt, and it fogs up your head even more than it already was, making you more compliant to his wants.
Steve doesn’t dirty talk much, his noises more of a series of breathless groans and grunts as he messes up your hair and rubs your face red, as if even if he did talk you wouldn’t fully understand him.
When he’s gotten too hard that it’s painful, he’ll finally pull out his cock altogether, hastily unzipping his jeans and freeing his dick directly onto your waiting face.
It’s hard to see his dick properly from this angle, and you struggle to even keep your eyes open as he begins to rub his thick cock all over your face.
It’s slightly sticky and warm to the touch, and you only sit there obediently, whimpering every once in a while as he smears his precum onto your checks, poking and prodding at your soft skin with his heavy member.
The smell is even stronger now, and you feel as if you’re growing dizzy from the overwhelming musk that overtakes you.
It’s only then that the soldier will really start talking, low voice raspy with lust.
“This is exactly where you belong,” Steve’ll groan out, moving his dick over your eyes to block your vision, “Underneath my dirty cock, all smothered in it. I love seeing your pretty face become nothing but a place for me to rest my dick; such a lovely, lovely little slut.”
You can’t even reply as he begins to nudge the flushed tip of his cock into your mouth, the sudden invasion making you recoil slightly at the salty taste.
You look up at him pitifully, and you swear his dick only grows harder in your mouth, his breathing growing ragged as he brings his hands down to grab both sides of your head crudely.
He loves inching his dick into your mouth slowly, watching your discomfort grow more and more as you struggle to fit the whole thing.
Steve adored the control he had over you, the total submission and lack of pride you held to yourself to be handled so degradingly, to let him dirty your sweet image with his unrelenting dirty wants and pleasure.
It was a sweet release from how he usually acted, how everyone seemed to see him.
“That’s right,” He would breath out, seeing tears well up in your eyes as you began to struggle and gag on his cock, the thick member filling your throat and tiny mouth, “Don’t you dare fucking move. Let me enjoy this.”
Even with his cock fully submerged in your wet mouth, his voice was still soft and gentle, almost condescending as he didn’t let you breath, only pulling you closer and closer in using your hair as his handles.
Soon your face would be pressed up against his crotch completely, vision blurred and nose nestled in the thick blond pubes.
Although you would do anything Steve asked, you always hated this part.
It felt like hours that he would keep his dick nestled in the warm comfort your mouth, forgetting your need to breath and ignoring your discomfort at having his warm fat cock invading every one of your senses.
Your jaw would ache and your knees would grow sore from sitting on the ground for so long, but still you waited, letting him use your mouth as nothing but a fleshlight for him to stick his cock into, a warm hole to be filled by him for his pleasure.
Finally, finally, he would begin to slowly thrust in and out, the lewd squelching sounds of the accumulated drool filling the room.
You can only gag and cry as he would fuck into your face earnestly, balls slapping your chin and hands still gripping tightly onto your head as he pounded your abused mouth and spread your own spit all over your face.
If you tried to get up he would shove you down easily, groans becoming full on growls as he lost himself in the pleasure.
He usually lost control of any sense of respect and modesty at this point, the things he would say being absolutely vile and unacceptable had you not been choking on his cock.
“God, you are so fucking dumb. Do you really have nothing in this little head?” He would knock your head with a knuckle condescendingly, “No self-respect? No pride? You’re okay with letting me use your face for my dirty fat cock? Letting me fuck your mouth until you can’t breath anymore?”
You can’t nod or disagree, can only squeeze your eyes shut and wait for him to cum.
“You don’t need to talk or eat or breath or see, right? You only exist to take my fucking cock, right? Don’t bother answering—that slutty little face says it all.”
It’s not long before you feel his cock swell up in your mouth, and he’s finally pulling his dick out of your abused lips, aiming his twitching cock at your face.
You don’t close your eyes when he cums on you, watching his body tense up as he covers you in his hot cum, the thick liquid spurting out in pumps all over your face.
It lands on your cheeks, nose, lips, and eyes, but you ignore the stinging, only staring up at Steve as he groans at the sight of you covered in his seed.
Still, even then you don’t dare move.
You let him grab your face roughly in his fingers, let him drag his cock across your face one last time to rub his own cum into your skin crudely.
You don’t bother wiping any of the mess off, or even waiting for him to let you stand.
He just stares at you, with an strange expression even now you can’t fully comprehend.
Part Three | Valorant Discord Group | school au | introverted reader | reverse harem | sfw | part one here
Everyday felt like a dream.
Yoru was a fantastic cook; most days you woke up to the sounds of him in the kitchen, making food you knew would taste amazing, like savoury omurice and warm rice balls.
You liked how he would decorate your plates nicely, sometimes adding a delicate garnish or a smiley face.
He would place the dishes in front of you with a gruff face, mouth permanently folded into a frown you could only assume was his resting expression.
You always gave him a shy thanks before digging in, melting at the flavours exploding in your mouth.
Sometimes you would see the corner of his mouth tick up, expression turning into an intriguing mixture of smug and satisfied.
That is, until Pheonix usually barged in, Yoru's frown turning into a downright scowl as he shoved some food onto Pheonix's plate messily, a harsh contrast to how he treated yours.
Still, the two got along surprisingly well despite their bickering, and if there was one thing they always seemed to agree on, it was that your well-being was their priority; and in a way, you felt almost spoiled by them.
Especially since you don't go to school anymore.
Sometimes you felt guilty for dropping out, but honestly, it was hard to miss the stress of classes, the anxiety of being near strangers, and the strain of having to raise your voice to talk to anyone.
With Pheonix and Yoru, they always seemed to listen, leaning over to hear your hushed words intently, never making any sudden moves while near you.
It was comforting. Everything nowadays was.
Except on nights when you would wake up sweating, chest heavy and heart racing with fear, flashes of unwanted memories still running through your mind.
It was easy to go to one of the two boys for comfort, to stand beside their bed trembling, arms shaking as you wrapped them around yourself and sobbed quietly.
How they reacted depended on who you came to.
When Yoru wakes up and notices, he quickly jolts out of bed to put his hands on your shoulders, face immediately setting into a firm line, eyes flashing with concern.
He voice is low and steady as he guides you through breathing exercises with that rough voice, rubbing your shoulders up and down comfortingly with his warm hands until your sobs subside.
Only then does Yoru pull you into bed against himself, body firm and steady under your weak hands.
Phoenix on the other hand will immediately jump out of bed and embrace you, holding you tightly as you grip onto his warm figure.
His overwhelming warmth engulfs you until your fear is replaced by drowsiness, and it always isn’t long before you’re melting into his arms and falling fast asleep.
You’ll wake up in bed next to him, his arms still protectively wrapped around you.
It was difficult not to notice how much they touched you now.
It was as if they were making up for the past years of not being able to see you with how much they initiated physical contact.
Goodbyes always came with a hug if it was Phoenix, and you’ve lost count of how many times Yoru had ruffled your hair when going out the door.
They liked to guide you to certain places, if there was a movie Phoenix was linking arms with you all the way to the couch, and sometimes Yoru would be the one to carry you back to be when you fell asleep during said movie.
Even sitting next to each other, thighs or arms would always be touching slightly, the lingering warmth making you feel at home.
But sometimes it was hard not to grow flustered.
It didn’t help that both men were hardcore gym bros and went together everyday of the week, and it definitely didn’t help that they were both extremely handsome.
But you shoved those thoughts down for another time.
Finally the day comes when you decide to join discord again, and you’re shocked by the sheer amount of messages you had received but never replied to while in your depressed hiatus.
Thousands of concerned calls, messages, and tags begging for you to say something, anything, and you can feel your eyes tear up at how much your friends had missed and worried for you.
Omen, the usual stoic recluse, had spammed you non-stop with despairing text messages eventually reducing to garbled self-degrading texts about everything he could have done better, eventually turning into a vent of private things you didn’t feel comfortable reading without his permission.
Chamber had done the opposite. Although he had also texted a fair amount, his were short and cold, demanding rather than begging. Some of his threats sent a shiver through your body, but there was always an underlying desperation in his tone.
Unlike the other two, Sova was none of that. The gentle sweetheart was neither cold nor despaired, he had only sent long, heartfelt paragraphs, full of bittersweet recounts of things you used to play and do together, and how much he missed you.
Meanwhile, Yoru’s messages were full of unfiltered, blunt anger. Nothing but pure rage directed towards anyone and anything. You can’t make it through the stream of intense text before you’re clicking out, hands shaking. It was so different from the way he acted towards you in real life, and so different from how he acted towards you in your first meeting.
Phoenix’s were of genuine concern; the man had always been the honest type, he never hid what he was feeling and it was clear in the way he frantically texted you over and over about how much he missed you and how much everyone was worrying.
Surprisingly, Cypher hadn’t said a word.
After you had finished catching up to all the unread messages, you hands hovered over the keyboard, uncertain of what to do next.
You knew you had to confront the others a some point, and maybe you would even get to meet them the same way you did Phoenix and Yoru.
There was only one way to find out.
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Sorry for the rather short and dry part three, the next part will have actual n*fw and some more interesting stuff haha, for now I thought it would be cool to do a poll for which valorant guy reader should be introduced to first in the next part!
Phoenix x reader | Big brother | inc*st | rough | slight angst and comfort | adopted sister | dead dove do not eat | suggestive | if u don’t like inc*st…. DONT READ LOL | I thought this might be a little much for a return fic but... i wanted to write it lol | also this was originally in bullet point format, so it might read a bit weird at some points, apologies
“Shhh!” Phoenix whisper-yells at you, a panicked expression on his face.
The loud music outside is muffled by the wooden walls of the closet, and although it's dark, light seeps through the cracks of the door, giving you just enough vision to see your brother's heavily flushed face, the tousled locks of his hair falling messily into his face.
He's leaned over your small figure, and although you fit into the closet just barely, he's struggling to even maneuver himself inside the cramped space, broad shoulders hunched over uncomfortably just to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling.
You just giggle at his frantic behavior, squirming around to lightly tap him on his head with an open hand.
“You’re the one making the most noise, big bro,” You say teasingly, trailing another hand down his chest with your index finger, "Plus, I really really really wanna meet your friends!"
You try to push past him to the exit of the closet, eager to see the lively party beyond the closed doors.
Suddenly, Pheonix grabs your hand roughly, pinning it back against the wall of the closet with a loud thud.
You make a squeak of surprise, but his other large hand comes up too, covering your mouth completely as you stare up at your brother, shocked.
He seems a little stunned as well, as if his body had moved on its own, but he gathers himself and stares down at you sternly as he leans you up against the closet back, effectively walling you in.
"Listen, I can't believe you followed me out tonight–I mean, come on! You know Mom and Dad are gonna friggin' murder me if they find out you went to a party, even more so if you meet my friends!"
You blink up at him, confused, trying to talk but still unable to speak under his firm grip.
Pheonix loosens his hand to let you speak, and you can't help but protest.
"But why not? All you ever do nowadays is hang out with your new friends, shouldn't I get to meet them at least once?"
But your brother only shakes his head, looking even more stressed. Your eyes linger on the bead of sweat that drips down his temple.
"No no no–it's different, alright?" You hate when he uses that tone of voice on you, "Mom and Dad don't like my friends, you know that. And they sure as hell don't want their only daughter to be hanging out with some bad influences."
You can hear laughing outside the closet, a male talking to a girl about knives or something.
Pheonix is still staring at you intently, body not moving an inch as restrains your movement.
"So I'm just supposed to stay home alone and be a good girl every day?" You say, hurt creeping into your voice, "While you get to go out and have fun every night? Nowadays, I never even get to see you anymore, every time I try to hang out you just avoid me!”
When the two of you were younger you used to be like best friends; Phoenix had always done right to treat you like his real little sister, and you remember always being able to come to him for anything and everything. It was a far cry from how he acted towards you nowadays.
“Just admit it already—admit that you hate me and you’re too embarrassed to let your new cool friends meet your loser, little sister! "
You want to say more but Phoenix slams his hand into the wall behind you, shaking the whole tiny closet. The outside party quiets confusedly for a second, before growing again.
The male leans into you darkly, his usually energetic demeanor uncharacteristically somber.
His eyes haven’t moved from you this whole time, and now his stare is downright intense, his gaze making you want to fidget but you dared not to move.
His body seems to radiate extreme heat, and for a moment he doesn’t say a word, face flashing with expressions of regret and anger.
In the end, he doesn’t say anything. He simply kisses you.
His mouth is warm and slightly salty, and you’re frozen in shock as he moves his lips over yours.
His voice rumbles lowly in his throat as the hand gripping your wrist tightens painfully.
It’s like the party, the noise, and even the closet surrounding you have just melted away, and all you can think is: holy shit, my brother is kissing me.
When he finally pulls away, it takes a moment for you to gather yourself, and you can only stare at him slack-jawed as he struggles to catch his breath, chest heaving with every intake of air as if he’d run a marathon.
It’s silent between the two of you before he finally breaks the silence.
“I could never hate you,” Phoenix is so serious he almost seems like a different person, but there’s still a familiar edge of nervousness in his voice you’re just able to catch, “I know my friends would love you if they met you. That’s exactly why I don’t want you meeting them.”
You shiver at his next words, “I don’t want to have to share you with anyone. I won’t.”
“Because you’re mine, lil sis.”
You can’t think straight, all you can do is stare at him dumbly as you try to think of what to say, try to ignore the leap in your chest as he speaks.
You must be taking too long because his serious look begins to soften into panic as you remain silent, his body beginning to retreat slightly in worry. But you don’t want him to leave you again.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” His face contorted into regret, “I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—!”
You cut him off with your own lips, having to pull him down and tip-toe in order to kiss him forcefully until his protests die on his tongue.
When you pull away, his eyes look even hungrier, and the warmth from his body is almost too much to bear, but you don’t get a say before he’s shoving you against the wall with his whole weight, your body pressed up tightly against him as he grips onto your wrists roughly and full on groans, lips finding your lips again and kissing you deeply this time, his touch scorching hot against your skin.
You can barely contain your own moans, still aware in the back of your mind of the people who still surround the two of you, trying desperately not to make a squeak as your older brother desperately pokes and prods against your mouth with his own thick tongue like a man starved.
Until you feel something below stir against you, and then you can’t contain the yelp of surprise that escapes you.
Everything is so unbearably hot, every breath you take just smells like Pheonix, a slightly ashy, sweaty scent that has your head swirling.
Somehow you know he’s wanted this for a long time because of the way he grips and touches every part of you desperately, an eagerness in his touch you’ve never seen before, but only felt in his eyes in the past. Everything seemed to click into place the more your brother felt you in places that should have been forbidden; why he suddenly seemed so distant, why he hesitated to do things the two of you used to do previously.
Phoenix finally pauses in his frantic touching to pull back slightly, eyes taking in the sight of you in front of him, lips flushed and messy, clothes wrinkled and ruffled.
“Are you… Okay?” He pants out, and you can’t help but giggle.
“I’m more than okay,” You say teasingly.
You savour the way Pheonix’s face breaks into a relieved smile, teeth glinting white in the dark closet.
“Whew,” He breathes, and his intense expression has lifted, replaced by his usual easiness as he looks at you adoringly.
The two of you don’t say a word about how wrong this is, don’t dare to even think of how you’ll handle this in the future, but when Pheonix brings you in firm embrace and kisses the top of your head, all you do is sigh contently, happy to finally have your brother back.
So,,,,hi. IM SORRY for the extreme disappearance, I’m finally free and back to do more writing for myself and others. I hadn’t expected life to get so busy and chaotic, and it’s only now that I’m finally stable, ready, and confident to come back to doing what I love! Writing cute and spicy things for fictional characters…., yay!
So I’ve already got some drafts started up, I’m gonna post a part three to the Valorant Discord imagine fairly soon, and a few others as well. I’m also going to be trying to sort my posts into a taglist soon, for easier navigation as well, so stay tuned for that! However this time, I just don’t have the ability to accept requests, and for that, I’m extremely sorry. Instead, I’ll have some writing commissions open if anyone wants a custom piece and I’ll be extremely grateful for anyone who supports me and my writing! Of course, I'm still gonna post my own ideas and writing and such, it's just custom content and suggestions I cannot accept for free for the sake of avoiding burning out. Hopefully, that makes sense, and like I said there are other options if you're truly interested.
If you’re still here on Tumblr and sorta remember me then goddamn ur a real one and I’m always extremely thankful. I hope my new posts and writing will be good enough for everyone to enjoy, and thanks again!
His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as his massive frame trembled.
“I missed you so goddamn much,” He muttered, almost sounding angry at you.
You can’t stop the smile that creeps onto your face from how clingy he’s acting, “I’m sorry baby, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Itto just nuzzles his face closer into the crook of your neck, long hair brushing against your face, “Yeah but… don’t want to let go just yet.”
You laugh, and then stroke his hair gently, “I missed you too, you big goof.”
There’s silence, and then his voice muffled from under his embrace, “I’m gonna pick you up now,” Is all he says before he’s swooping you into his arms.
You yelp before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, steadying yourself in his grasp. You feel so high up, and his hold on you is sturdy and steady.
“Itto?” You tilt your head at him curiously when he begins walking, “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t look down at you, but his face flushed a deep crimson, almost as dark as the red markings that adorn his face.
“Taking you home,” You snuggle into his warm chest, “I wanna make out with you in bed. Can’t do that shit out here. ”
You can’t help the flush of red that comes over you too.
Then you smile bashfully, looking at him with adoration and love.
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