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bi-writes · 2 months

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so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon riley

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luveline · 6 months

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Girl pls pls write stripper reader and Spencer where she thinks he would never date her bc she’s a stripper and just a sprinkle of angst with lots of comforting fluff and Spencer reassuring

thank u for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.5k

cw mentioned past domestic/workplace abuse, unhealthy eating habits

Someone broke into my apartment. 9:14AM

Spencer reads the message under the table but forgoes discretion when he registers what it says and who it's from. He excuses himself from the round table, something he isn't even sure he's allowed to do, and hurries out onto the landing.

You answer on the second dial. "Hey, did you see my text?" you ask.

"Are you okay?" He squeezes his phone.

"I'm not sure. I'm fine, but my lock is busted and the door won't stay shut."

"Where are you?"

If you're surprised that he's steamrolling, you don't show it. Spencer leaves work to meet you at the coffee shop you've chosen for refuge, your eyes tired, a small bag of your most important possessions hanging on a slumped shoulder. He hugs you straight away.

"I'm fine," you say into his neck.

He hugs you tighter. "That's good," he says, feeling useless, fingers stroking little paths into your shoulders. He pictured the worst from your text, and seeing you in person is the only true mitigator. You'll talk down bruises and black eyes —you have in the past.

He pulls the story from you as you walk back to his apartment, shoulder to shoulder in the cold street. "It was open when I got home, the door, but I did what you asked me to."

"You didn't go in?" he confirms proudly.

"Not at first."

"You really won't call the police?"

"I texted you."

Spencer takes the strap of your bag from you and throws it over his own. "I'm not that kind of cop. I'm not really a cop at all."

"No, you're a fed, which is worse. The girls at work told me to stay away from you." You wipe under your eyes sluggishly. Sleep clings to you like a shadow trailing behind you, ever-present.

He puts his hand behind your back, worried you'll fall up the steps to his apartment building. "They think I'll what, extort you?"

You shake your head, something sad in the slow side to side. "Girls like me have no business around guys like you."

"You probably get too much business from guys like me."

You laugh, but you both know it's not what you meant. Spencers noticed it more and more lately, nothing so obvious until now, this dead set belief you hold that he's one type of person and you're another. He gets that your work isn't what you wanted for yourself when you were growing up. He knows it isn't easy, even on your 'good' nights. It takes a toll to be seen as you are, nothing left private. But you've always said you liked stripping as much as anyone should like their job. "It's a job," you'd said, having barely known him, tired and hungry, curled up on his couch with nowhere else to go. "Only the luckiest get to really enjoy work. S'why it's called work."

He'd hoped, perhaps in a self-absorbed way, that having more support might make you feel better about yourself; he wanted his friendship to give you some confidence, basically. Before you met Spencer there was no one else you could depend on. It's why you stayed working for a man who broke your wrist until Spencer weaselled his way into your life and made you a bed in his living room for the time it took to get you out. His credentials helped, of course, but you survived it because you're resilient. You're awesome. You've done everything you can with what you have and you don't think it's enough.

You and Spencer take the elevator to his floor, and for the twenty seconds it takes to get there, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. He's just about to drop his head on top of yours when the doors open, and the slice of quiet you'd both savoured slips like sand between his fingers.

"I can go back and get some of your stuff," he offers, guiding you the short walk to his door. He passes you the key rather than struggle with the lock himself.

Your hand shakes as you push down the handle. "There's nothing worth going back for."

"Don't say that, you have all your clothes there, your couch. You have things. I'll take my car."

"You hate driving."

"I'd hate someone robbing you even more."

"Robbing me again," you correct, holding the door for him.

You didn't have anything worth the trouble, it seems. You keep your savings in a locked box hidden in the bathroom that they couldn't find, and though your apartment is clean and bigger than the one you lived in before Spencer met you, it's mostly empty. You don't have a TV, you're not a collector. They took the radio off of the refrigerator, your microwave oven, and a box of cosmetic jewellery worth chapel change.

"But it's your stuff. You deserve to have stuff." Spencer drops your bag gently and his with less care by the door.

"It's only until the locksmith can come tomorrow," you say with a yawn. "Let the junkies lavish in my stuff for the next twenty hours."

"That's not a problem for you?"

"I don't have the luxury of that being a problem for me, Spence. What am I supposed to do? The locksmith can't come–"

"There are a hundred locksmiths."

"Not that I can afford." You shrug out of your jacket. "Spence, listen to me. It's okay. I can't ask you to do that, anyways. You've done more than enough for me already," you say, sitting on the couch. You perch for a moment like you're trying to be polite until fatigue overtakes you, and you sink into the cushions with a relieved sigh.

Spencer crosses the space between you and kneels by your feet to untie your shoelaces.

"Don't do that," you mumble, hand over your mouth as a second yawn in as many minutes catches you.

"Why not?" He slips your shoes off, letting his hand rest on your ankle. "Wanna watch that weird cooking show–"

"Why aren't you at work?"

He climbs onto the couch next to you, unafraid to sit shoulder to shoulder. "You were having an emergency."

You rub your face with both hand. "I knew I shouldn't have called you. You can't just leave work because of me, Spencer, what if you get in trouble?"

"Someone I care about needed my help, and Hotch understands that." Spencer puts on his big boy pants with a wince. "Do you get that?"

"I don't really… I don't…" You falter. "We're never going to work. You'll never…"

"I'll never what?" he asks insistently, voice lilting up with a little incredulity. He can't help it.

You refuse to answer, turning your face from his.

Spencer knows what you're going to say. He's bad with girls but he's good at recognising human emotion; he sees the same insecurity in himself as he does in you. He knows the feeling.

You're not right, is the thing.

Spencer would kiss you if he thought that would change your mind. But tired as you are, angry with yourself, defeated, he knows it's not a good idea. He takes your hand instead, sewing your fingers together with a deliberate slowness. He brings his other hand to them and strokes the back of your index finger with his thumb, careful not to disrupt your press on nails. He knows they have a tendency to come off with too much pressure, and you're always losing your glue.

"If they really need me to go, they'll call me. But I'm staying here." His thumb moves down to your knuckle. You have little calluses and cuts and bruises everywhere from dancing. He's seen the contusions that line your thighs on a semi permanent basis. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Spencer," you murmur.

"Let me take care of you, please," he says, hand curling around your wrist with extreme gentleness. "You need to eat. You need to sleep. Let me worry about everything else for once, I want to."

You still don't look at him, but you sink down an inch at a time until your cheek is on his shoulder again, like it had been in the elevator. Hesitant, you wrap your arm around his stomach.

"I'm so stupid," you say.

He wonders if that's a placeholder for what you really want to say. You think so little of yourself sometimes, but it's like you've told him before. Not everyone has the luxury of enjoying their job.

"You're amazing." Spencer feels like he's on fire everywhere that your skin touches him. Is he saying the right things? "You are. You're the only person who doesn't see that."

"The only person here, maybe."

"You should always be here, then. With me. That way I can remind you."

You sound more like yourself when you answer, though tiredness lines every word, "Thank you, Spencer. I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do."

Spencer rubs your hand until you fall asleep, and then he buys you a new toaster oven on his phone, and an industrial security lock. He doesn't know what it'll take to convince you that you deserve him, you deserve better, but he's gonna try.

He presses his cheek to your temple and focuses on the softness of your skin where it touches his.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 months

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At the Movies

Male Alpha Yandere x Transfem Omega Reader

CW: Noncon, extortion, coercion, cum licking, panty sniffing, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, general yandere behavior, musk, pheromones, knotting

Word Count: 866

(I had a dream that this happened to me last night and decided to write it as a story. Not beta read. Sorry for errors. I don't think transfem readers are really catered to that often, so hopefully some people feel represented without feeling fetishized in this. <3)

You were an omega. You had decided to go see a movie by yourself because the theater was playing old classic horror films every night this week. This was the first time since coming out as a trans woman that you had been out in public and you were extremely nervous. You had worked very hard on your makeup and had put on a cute skirt. Though you had a lot of anxiety, you also felt more yourself than you ever had before.

It was a Monday night and still a bit early, so there was no one else viewing the same movie that you were. You picked a good spot to watch from and settled in with your popcorn and drink. After a few good minutes, you felt more and more comfortable, until halfway through the film, you heard someone come in.

You didn't pay the person any attention until they were close enough for you to catch their scent. You recognised who it belonged to immediately. Your stalker, Shaun. He was a persistent alpha who had been after you for months. A total creep who thought you were meant to belong to him.

By the time you could smell him, he was already too close for you to escape. He sat down beside you and grabbed your wrist so you couldn't get away. With his other hand, he muffled your mouth so you couldn't scream. He leaned close, and his scent made you dizzy.

"Sorry I'm late for our date. I had to pick up Mr. Sir Squiggles."

Your blood ran cold. Mr. Sir Squiggles was your beloved hamster. The implication was clear. Stop struggling, or else he'd do something to your pet.

"Don't look so horrified, baby. I'd never hurt our pet. But I have custody, so if you want to see him, you'll have to do what I want with you and move in with me."

Shaun sounded so smug. He knew he had finally won. His romantic advances had failed, so why not keep your pet hostage? You cried silently and nodded so he knew you understood what you had to do. He released you from his grip and pulled you close with his arm around you. His pheromones were suffocating, and you could smell how aroused he was.

After a while, he noticed you shaking with nervousness but misinterpreted it as you being cold.

"You look cold, here~"

"N-no I'm fine." You sputtered.

He ignored you and draped you in his sweaty jacket. It did nothing to soothe your anxiety though his musl did make your body betray you in a humiliating fashion. Your cock was hard and slick was starting to leak from your ass. He could smell it as soon as it happened.

"Well I was going to wait until we got home, but if my girl needs it now, I'd be neglectful if I said no."

The tip of his cock was already visible poking out the leg of his shorts as he reached under your skirt and rubbed your soft thighs before ripping off your panties. He brought the tattered underwear to his nose and inhaled deeply before stuffing it into his pocket for later. You had to suppress the urge to run away and just let it happen.

Shaun pulled his shorts down enough for his eager prick to bounce free. Then he hitched up your skirt and pulled you on his lap, lowering you on his length in one smooth motion.

"I fit so well~ you were made for my cock."

You whimpered but he shushed you and kissed up your neck.

"Shhh, relax. Just watch your movie and enjoy my cock."

You tried to focus on the movie, to focus on anything but this gross violation. But it was impossible with him sliding so deeply into you while claiming, biting, and kissing your sensitive neck over and over. Je began to gently stroke your weeping cock. You couldn't help but moan softly as his knot swelled and brought you to orgasm. Your insides clenched and throbbed around his dick and finally made him drain his balls into you. He took the cum you spilled into his hand and smeared it on your lips before licking it off.

Shaun held you tight in his lap while waiting for his knot to stop swelling so that the two of you could uncouple. You panted and blankly watched the film while not really watching it as your head was overloaded with all that had just transpired. Occasionally, Shaun would kiss your neck gently or rub your legs in what he thought was a soothing manner.

Every once in a while, he'd whisper praise softly into your ear.

"You're so good at taking me."

"You look so pretty in a skirt."

"You're such a good girl."

When the movie ended, and when his knot decided to dislodge itself from your rear, Shaun led you out of the theater and into his car, cum slowly dripping down your legs the entire time. You were a mess, but too numb to really pay attention or care, but that was okay. Your new alpha boyfriend would take care of you.

#yandere x reader #alpha yandere #alpha x omega reader #Transfem reader #Transgirl reader #Male yandere x transfem reader #My OCs #My OC Shaun #Yandere a/b/o #yandere omegaverse #yandere

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dilfomaniac · 2 months

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❝𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙠❝

leon kennedy x fem!reader ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

ft. Death Island Leon S. Kennedy

wc: 3.409

cw: ddlg, age gap, innocence kink, p in v, riding, creampie, praise kink, rough sex

note: This was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being a rushed fic ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა writer’s block has me in a chokehold lately, ignore parts that don’t make sense !! i’ll fix those tmrw cuz 3 in the mornin… ͟mdni 18+

The silence in the room is steep, the lack of light even more than so. Wind knocks itself against the window, every tremor making you feel like its aim is to break in. Your heart is racing, your eyes wide and on the lookout for the source of your alarm. Of course, there’s none, but you haven’t really grown out of childish habits. You’ve heard stories after stories about houses being haunted, ghosts residing in each and every corner waiting to pounce on defenseless girls like you, and it’s been stuck to you ever since. Stored inside your head as a core reminder that something’s creeping in the dark.

You’re the ripe age of nineteen, there’s no particular reason for you to believe this still. Fear of the dark should’ve been abandoned when you were twelve - when the failing of classes and smothering glare of teachers vanquished the rest of the worries. At this point, it’s just laughable. Even your stuffed animals are starting to look awfully odd. You look past one shoulder, past the other, detect no strange entities and wash down the dryness in your throat. You’re curled up in a ball, snug like a puppy, hoping to fall asleep like one when something welts your window. Your head snaps towards the sound and you see something flit behind the windowpane, flashing its ominous identity to you. The child inside you screams - you’re quick to comply with it, tossing the blanket off yourself and scampering out of your bedroom like an overgrown puppy.

You scurry your way downstairs, hand on the railing gathering dust on your fingertips. There’s better lighting here, because Daddy’s fallen asleep with the TV on, snoring to the mumbles of another sitcom you told him about, as if he genuinely watches those. You lower the volume until it’s mute, not daring to turn the TV off because it’s the only source that illuminates the room enough - save for the crescent shimmering moon which didn’t do you much help back in your bedroom. Making your way towards the sofa you observe Leon who's sleeping like a top - head over the back of the couch and mouth tipping agape. You fail to stifle a giggle, but this is no laughing matter, mind you. He promised you, oh, he promised you so many times he’d come and join you in the bed eventually, but he didn’t. “Okay, sweetheart. You go, and I’ll be there soon, yeah? Daddy has some things to finish,” No, Daddy just wants to make an empty promise and fall asleep on the couch. He always does, likes the feel of giving you a heavy heart. Your brows crinkle with lack of guilt when you go to nudge his shoulder. Leon’s a light sleeper, so his eyes burst open like a puppet, old geezer snoring cut short.

“Baby—” His chest rises in a beat, hand clutching your wrist reflexively. He takes a moment to shake the remaining sleep off, tossing his head back and clearing his throat to waken. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

The audacity he has to say that, when you were supposed to be asleep with him, not without him. Ghosts don’t come up to scratch when Daddy’s with you, because you know he’s stronger and that they’ll be put off by his mere presence. “You didn’t go to bed. You lied to me,” the accusation comes down as you sink your nails into his forearm, small flecks of red imprinting onto his skin. “You promised me.”

“Yeah. Yeah— Daddy knows,” His brows furrow. Your antics extort a rumbly groan from his throat, but it isn’t until he glares at you that you let go of him sheepishly. It’s just that you can’t help it while you’re like this. Leon is your only safe zone, but he’s so old he can’t even control when he sleeps. “Well, I thought you’d be a big girl and be asleep by the time I’m back. Guess not, huh?” He chuckles silvery and before you see it he’s propping you over his leg, letting you sit pliant like a marionette with your knees dipping in the gaps, entwining in his legs. You’re not easy to play like one, though - you opt to stay your ground by smacking him on the cheek to which he balefully clutches your wrist. “Don’t go throwin’ hands now.”

“You’re an A-hole.” You say bluntly. He blinks at you as if trying to say how insufferable you are in morse code. “Something— something was behind the window. I think it wanted to break in, and you weren’t here.” You say more like a protest than a distressed denunciation. Leon’s hands come to cradle you, from your back all the way to your scalp, holding you to himself like a baby who can’t support its head yet. He shakes his head, tongue in cheek, so sick of being woken up in the middle of the night because of things so mediocre, but all the more understanding of you. Because you’re his baby. His ray of sunshine. A pretty little thing who makes his day-to-day routines somewhat more endurable. “What, you scared of ghosts now?”

“I’m not!” You say crossly, God forbid your fragile little ego is hurt. “I’m not scared of ‘em, okay? I’m just saying, if someone were to break in, and you weren’t there, it’d be your fault.” It’d also be his fault if you had a nightmare and had no one to lull you back to sleep. Things like this aren’t easily forgivable, you want to tell him, but he already knows.

Leon takes in the scent of your pomade, fingers threading aimlessly through your hair. You can tell he’s not as worried as you are, but maybe that’s because he knows better and you’ll never know as much even if you conjoined the three remaining brain cells in your head. “Well, I promise you sweetheart, no scary monster s’gonna take you while I’m here,” then he bounces you on his knee and you feel your senses liquify. “You know you’re safe with me. You aren’t a dumb girl, are you?”

You shake your head, peeking at him between your lashes. You are a dumb girl but don’t entirely want to be one. It’s funny to see how all your worries dissipate once the honeyed lilt sinks in, putting you into an entirely different mental state. “I was scared,” you murmur. Leon only hushes you, bobbing his knee like consoling a toddler.

“I know, baby. I don’t blame you for it.” His stubble scrapes your cheek and then you’re dipping your face lower, nose brushing over a bared clavicle. Leon smells so good, so falsely evocative and citrusy and paternal. Like a daddy you’ve never had but always wanted, and it has you addicted. “Guess I have to make it up to little missy then, huh?” He stops to look you in the eye, his glare piercing and yet soothing and alluring all at once. Like he’s trying to read you by your expression alone, find out what goes on in that lil’ head of yours that can’t fit more than maybe a few social interactions per day.

You clutch the hem of his shirt and give him all the puppy eyes you’ve got, tilt your head and play dumb like he equally appreciates. “Uhm, yeah?” He cups your cheeks instantaneously, plants a slew of sloppy kisses across your forehead ‘cause cute aggression is real, and he’s more than likely to eat you up if your cheeks don’t deflate. “You owe me big time, idiot,” you pout, “ ‘Cause you never listen to me.”

You’re met with an eye roll and then Leon’s flipping you over so your positions are swapped, you now spread over the couch and him hovering above you. He holds both your hands in one hefty palm and pins them over your sternum, pushes down like he’s trying to submerge you into the cushions. You peep and fend off, even in your sleepy state because you know what comes after he’s fully overpowered you. You’ll scream bloody murder if he starts tickling you. However, to your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he shores you up on the couch and slumps beside you with a soft grunt. “Think we can reserve playtime for tomorrow?” He says. After getting you riled up? No, but, matter-of-factly, it’s way past your bedtime. You bat your lashes solemnly, cast your gaze elsewhere. When you think about it, there will be no playtime, really. Because Leon’s always off on business trips - always on the go to fill his devoir while you’re at home rotting away in pink comforters and stroking yourself to sleep. It’s unfair - so, so unfair, how he makes you wait like a puppy, because you’re so entirely co-dependent on him. You fold your arms and clamber to the opposite side of the couch, avert your face to hide the crimson scattering your cheeks. Leon knows this change of air by rote, knows that his pretty princess is upset, and he knows by heart what your doleful puppy eyes look like, even if you try to hide them from him.

“I’m just kiddin’. I had something else in mind, actually,” he coos at you, one hand planting itself on your thigh and parting it from the other. “Daddy would never lie to you, yeah baby?” The wetness across your neck takes you by surprise when Leon seals the gap between you, making you want to shrug off.

“Tickles,” you mew, raising your hand to his face which he swiftly takes hold of and sets down. You don’t object, ‘cause while you may be bratty, Daddy’s wants will never go over your head. Heat uncoils inside your lower stomach and you start rubbing your thighs with need, stealing glances from Leon who’s nipping you with such fervor, you start doubting whether this takes less energy than your regular playtime.

“Thought you’d get away so easily, huh? Not a chance,” the metal clink of the belt has you transfixed when you’ve just started squirming, as you sit stockstill beside Leon. He looks at you with a grin - you sit there with panties soaked from one-sided kissing alone. There’s that tent on his lap, like he gets in the mornings. You try to wet your lips but clamp your tongue when he sucks a hickey onto a velvety patch of skin, tugging his briefs down until the forbidden part springs up and whacks him on the gut. Seeing it makes you shudder, snap your head away so fast as if a bare look will contaminate your innocence.

“Yeah, bunny? That so? Don’t like Mr. Horsey?” He exhales with a sneer - you try not to hyperventilate because of the amount of blood that gushes to your face then. You steal one small peek and turn away again, closing your eyes as if the thing will disappear on its own, making Leon chuckle heartily. “Well, I think Mr. Horsey likes you.”

You’re sure neither you nor Leon imagined your lives would ever lead to this moment. Leon for an entirely different reason, but you due the fact that you’ve been turned down by every partner who failed to break down the nature of this play. You never realized how much it meant to you, though, to be purely virgin. “Um,” you teeter more to the edge, eyes darting to all corners of the room, “I like him too— I don’t know.”

He takes it for granted, moving closer until you feel his breath waver. The glow of the TV strains your eyes, casting a fluorescent light which disguises your blush. Leon sets your hand on his crotch, hums contentedly when your palm lays smoothly on his shaft and your fingers grip. “Yeah,” he says. “He likes it when you play with him, baby.” His hand comes to rest on his side and he lets you take the lead, leaning back and exhaling in a way that screams he’s pent, and you better get stroking.

You palm him to the best effort, watching closely to see if what you’re doing with your hand is good enough. All the jerking off you’d done before was winged, and you never really put your mind to it. Leon gave you a chance to learn to actually please a man, and you can never wait to suck up all the praise you can. “Like this?” Your voice squeaks - you suck the inside of your cheek meekly. Leon nods and lets his eyes fall shut when your hand delivers the wet squelches, pre slicking up the entirety of your palm and leaking through your nimble fingers. There’s the faintest bucking of hips and you see him tense before coming to a halt, restraining himself. You’re so wet it hurts. You need him bucking into you instead, and not holding back.

Leon’s cock oozes generously upon your ministrations and before you know it you’re moving on top to straddle him. Real cowgirl in the making - so excited to have her first ride. He croaks dizziedly, hands hooking behind your knees and helping you up on his lap. You think back to how the Redfields see you two, what they don’t know about you. Maybe the fact that Leon has a college kid for a lapdog isn’t the worst thing that's been happening around here. Maybe that he breeds it on a daily without a pinch of guilt is a fair enough transgression. The waistband of your mini is yanked down when Leon hikes you up on his knee, forcing you to shimmy out of it. He feels up the plush of your pussy, prods through your dampened panties like that doesn’t make you all the more desperate. You’re drooling, practically. If Leon didn’t know any better, he’d stick his fingers down your greedy cunt, but you’ve got to work for it first.

“Come on, baby. Rub yourself on Daddy,” he pulls your panties aside, and you’re so quick to listen. You sink down, hands perched on your ankles until your slippery folds engulf his tip. You’re making quite the mess - to that he toots but otherwise leans back to observe how his princess is willing to fulfill her duty. You buck your hips back and forth, run your nub over his slit repeatedly and whimper like a bitch in heat. When you slide too close to your hole, he slaps your tit, grips your chin between two fingers to give you a warning. This is the root of this whole ordeal - him fucking you to a pulp, turning you into a full crazed nymphomaniac and then leaving like nothing happened. It’s not fair, not fair at all - and the worst part is he’s sure to serve you justice using the same treatment. Fucking you so hard you forget you ever doubted him in the first place.

“Just like that. Good girl,” he murmurs, speaking to you like you’re mentally deficient - which you are. You test your luck by squeezing yourself down, attempting to take him in a little, but Leon’s cock springs like a twig, flaps over you with a wet squelch. You whine.

“Daddy!” you grumble like it’s his fault you failed so miserably. He shakes his head, “You know I spoil you too much,” and with that, Leon jams himself inside until he’s breaching you to the brim. You were wrong for being so hasty - he’ll give you a bitter taste.

Startled, you drape your head over his shoulder and sink your nails into his back. You could feel the jab to your cervix, and while that wasn’t particularly good, the feeling of Leon seating you to the hilt sent you straight to heaven. You haven’t had him since so long - you swore at times you clenched on nothing. Leon fills you so good, God, he fills you better than anyone has ever had, and it drives you mad when he doesn’t. You sit bandy-legged when his arms lock around your shoulders, bringing you up so he can slump you back on his cock. Horsey, right? Chris and Claire wouldn’t see either of you in the same light if they knew.

“You might just be the dirtiest girl, yeah baby?” He groans, and the tone alone is enough to have you gripping. You shake your head, dirty isn’t exactly your most-liked title. “No?” Leon thrusts deep and you jump up with him, hugging him tight for comfort.

“No! ‘m not—” He rocks you on him, does all the work cause you’re a pillow princess even on top. So spoiled, and yet he’s to blame. Maybe you’ll change one day, but so far he hasn’t had the guts to work you for that outcome. “But you woke Daddy up so you could have his cock up that drooly pussy, didn’t you?” he says and the words jab straight into that spot. Leon groans and then you’re moving on your own, sheathing yourself on him over and over until a ring of white gathers around the base of his cock. Now you get it. Now it’s horsey.

“Sorry, Daddy. I missed you so much— sorry,” you recite like a plea, stumbling over your words after a moment, until it’s just unintelligible moans, because Leon’s cock pounds you so good. You lick the sweat off his temple, watch his brows furrow when his hands grip your hips and squeeze impossibly tight, lips catching over yours when your movements grow shaky.

“Sorry— I’m sorry, sorry— Daddy—” Leon shushes you when he begins to thrust in tandem with your wobbly hops, thrusting to a depth you thought was impossible to reach before. You see it flash before you and soon he’s lifting your body, holding you up as he drives relentlessly into your wetness, back arched and nose nuzzling the crook of your neck with sharp primal grunts. Daddy fucks you so good. Daddy pampers you so much. Daddy loves you to the moon and back, and he’s going to give you warm milk to put you to sleep.

“Fuck, baby— You’re a natural. Rode the horsey so good, now it’s Daddy’s turn—” your heart skips a beat when you’re thrown over the coffee table, all the items toppling over with a row of clattering, and Leon being able to dig deeper into you when you thought he’d reached your limit. You throw your legs over his shoulders, your panties begin to tear and the table begins to crack until you’re screaming his name. Fuck. God. The pressure inside you amplifies and then you’re struck by unadulterated bliss, the familiar warmth coating your inner walls which is quick to gush out the seams as Leon gives one last jab to secure the tip against your cervix. His hair is wet and he heaves like a dog, hands still holding you tightly against the table which you fear might collapse any minute now. You shiver - he gives your side a good smack and pulls out of you with a plop, all what he planted inside you oozing out in thick dollops. Not on his watch, though, ‘cause he pushes it back placidly, panting.

“Good enough for today, princess,” he says but you’re already out of it, lashes fluttering as you try to grip onto your consciousness, but Leon knocked all the breath out of you, you’ve expired. You hum, feeling your walls pulse and chest swell in a slow-paced rhythm. It’s like that one time you convinced him you’d be able to handle an all-nighter but fell asleep one hour past midnight. “Well, you set yourself a record,” because it’s just one hour later which is impressive for a little girl like you.

He’ll have to change you into something more comfortable. A miniskirt and knee highs on a winter day? What, were you trying to whore yourself out to the Ghosts? He gets it, you were just asking for it, just wanted to stick your cute ass to get his attention, but sometimes you’re genuinely stupid. His stupid girl. Drunk off Daddy’s milk - he’ll bear that in mind. Sliding his hands under your frail body, he makes the dire mistake of trying to lift you when the coffee table caves in and snatches you with it. Auntie Jill called Daddy a ‘fucking cheapskate’ once when she was over - now you get what she meant.

#૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩🐾#fics 💌#leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #leon x reader smut #death island leon

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dessertgeek · 6 months

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The Twitter Mari Lwyd sagas (2019)

So way back in 2019, @seananmcguire and @tkingfisher (and also later @kbspangler) got into a whole poetry/rap battle involving the poor Mari Lwyd (played by Seanan) just trying to get some cheese from Ursula's stores. This went on for a few years, and I can't find transcribed sources, only screenshots.

So, with X/Twitter being What It Is, I wanted a text source to exist. CW for food, alcohol, and all the caps, and full credit to the authors. If you want the original source it's here.

Seanan: WE'RE HERE TO SAY PLEASE WON'T YOU GIVE US SOME CHEESE SOME CHEESE AND SOME BRANDY OR PORT. THIS FESTIVE HORSE SKULL HAS BEEN SHOVED ON A POLE SO GRANT ME YOUR FINEST RETORT.

Ursula: BEGONE WITH YOUR POLE (YOU CAN LEAVE THE NEAT SKULL) DEMANDING MY FOOD IS EXTORTION FOR CHEESE IS QUITE DEAR AND WILL BE WORSE NEXT YEAR AND I CAN’T SPARE YOU EVEN A PORTION

Seanan: IF IT'S HEAD FOR A HEAD, I COULD TAKE YOURS INSTEAD, THAT SEEMS LIKE A TRADE THAT'S QUITE FAIR BUT DECAPITATION REQUIRES CONTEMPLATION, I'D RATHER THAT CHEESE OVER THERE.

Ursula: YOU COME ‘ROUND WITH THE BITS OF A HORSE THAT IS QUITS DEMANDING I GIVE YOU MY CHEDDAR BUT HEY, YOU HAVE SAID, AT LEAST IT’S NOT MY HEAD— I’M SUPPOSED TO THINK THIS IS BETTER!?

Seanan: I AM NOT A QUITTER, NO NEED TO BE BITTER, AND I'D TAKE YOUR GOUDA OR BRIE. YOU ASKED FOR MY HEAD, THINKING THAT SINCE I'M DEAD YOU COULD JUST KIDNAP PIECES OF ME. I HAVE INFINITE TIME AND THE PATIENCE TO RHYME AND I'LL STAND HERE LIMITLESSLY.

Ursula: AND WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT ON NOT-QUITE-LONGEST-NIGHT TO MAKE FREE WITH OTHER PEOPLE’S CHEESES? YOU THINK ‘COS YOU SHOW WITH A WEIRD SKULL IN TOW IT CAN ASK FOR WHATEVER IT PLEASES?

Seanan: THAT'S JUST WHAT I THINK, GIVE ME CHEESE, GIVE ME DRINK, AND I'LL NO MORE CAST DARK ON YOUR DOOR. I'M NO TINSEL OR TREE, I'M CELEBRATORY OF SURVIVAL ON HEATH AND IN MOOR.

Ursula: THERE’S NO HEATH AND NO MOOR BETWEEN HERE AND THE SHORE I COULD MAYBE GET YOU A BOG IN LIEU OF MY BRIE WHICH I’M HOARDING FOR ME WHAT IF—LOOK, SEANAN! A FROG!

Seanan: THAT WAS JUST DIRTY POOL, AND YOU KNOW THERE'S NO RULE THAT SAYS I CAN'T LEAVE AND COME BACK. NOW THERE'S MUD ON MY SHOES I WON'T LET YOU REFUSE THIS FESTIVE DIGESTIVE ATTACK.

Ursula: ALL’S FAIR, SO THEY SAY WHEN CHEESE IS IN PLAY ALTHOUGH I ADMIT TO DECEPTION WHILE YOU CHASED A FROG I SCARFED THAT CHEESE LOG AT PERSONAL COST TO DIGESTION

Seanan: THEN I'LL COME FOR YOUR BOOZE I'M NOT LONGING TO LOSE, AND THIS IS THE HOLIDAY SEASON. I'LL STAND HERE AND SING AS THE MORRIS BELLS RING AND YOUR GUTS CONTEMPLATE CHOOSING TREASON.

Ursula: I’VE NO BRANDY NOR GIN THE SCOTCH STORES ARE THIN BUT OF A SOLUTION I’M THINKIN’ THIS HOUSE’S LIBATION AGAVE’S CREATION WILL NEVERTHELESS GET YOU STINKIN’ IF IT’S BOOZE THAT YOU’RE FOR BONE HORSE FROM THE MOOR IT’S TEQUILA THAT WE WILL BE DRINKIN’

Seanan: WE'LL GET HAMMERED LIKE BOARDS WHEN THE LIQUOR GETS POURED, THEY'LL ASSEMBLE US LIKE WE'RE IKEA. THERE ARE WORSE THINGS TO DO THAN START DRINKING WITH YOU. I'M SO HAPPY THAT I CAME TO SEE YA.

Ursula: I LOVE EVERY ENTITY IN THIS BAR *falls down*

#Mari Lwyd #food #caps #seanan mcguire #ursula vernon #t kingfisher #I think I got all the meter right #May tumblr be okay with this wall o' text #Mari Lwyd Project

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blkkizzat · 7 months

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ꨄ︎『YakuzaBoss!Toji』ꨄ︎

YakuzaBoss!Toji x Black Reader

18+ Minors - DNI

CW: public sex, voyerism, cockwarming Song Inspo: Don't Tell - BIA

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who first spots you while you are Go-go dancing at one of the nightclubs he extorts by Sōkaiya frequents in Shinjuku. He didn’t recognize you. You were the new girl, a foreigner. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of your curvaceous body. The strobe lights seductively illuminated your dark skin as you rhythmically swayed to the beat on a high platform centered in the middle of the dance floor. You immediately caught his attention and of course you noticed him. How could you miss the exceptionally built, tall and handsome man seated in the prime spot of the VIP section? He had been shamelessly eye-fucking you since he arrived. You winked and blew a kiss at him before then proceeding to ignore him. Not even looking his way for a few more songs in favor of the men who gathered below you as they were the ones throwing you tips. But you could sense that his eyes never left you the entire time.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who if anything is more intrigued by the attitude you are giving him despite recognizing his crime associations when your manager nervously forces you to dance on his table instead of letting you take your smoke break. He had requested you personally and whatever YakuzaBoss!Toji wanted at this club, YakuzaBoss!Toji received. Your frown however, quickly turns 180° into a sweet flirtatious smile when you see what must be over two dozen ¥10,000 notes he pulls out of his suit jacket. His iced out Audemars shimmers against the club lights as he throws them at your feet on the table. The exchange program at your University was not cheap and this nigga was clearly loaded, so you pulled out a few tricks.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who whistles at the sight of you. Your short pink pleated skirt lifted as you bent over to twerk for him. This gave him an up close look at your pussy print nearly bursting out of your tiny neon pink thong. The strip of neon fabric that struggled to cover your plump lips glowed in contrast against your dark skin in the strobe lit club. Your hand snakes up your legs to cover your pussy again as you lift back up and turn to smile at him as if to tease some modesty. You wink and blow him another kiss from your red cherry glossed lips. However, the eye contact makes you shiver as he looks like he would devour you raw right on the table.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who tells you to sit and have a drink with him after a few songs, patting the spot next to him. You weren’t supposed to drink on shift nor sit with customers but you had a feeling your boss wouldn’t object. He seemed terrified of this man. The man seated beside you introduces himself as Toji and you tell him your name, Y/N. You impress him with how well you can throw back whisky shots and how good at conversational Japanese you are. Toji listens intently as you tell him about your school, exchange program, friends and how you started working here only this week to help cover tuition costs. Toji's gaze never stops lazily roaming your body and he rests a hand on your upper thigh. From the way the scar on his mouth twitches up into a smirk you can tell how much he enjoys making you squirm underneath his touch when he decides to give your soft thigh a firm squeeze.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who you have to remind even though you take tips, you are not a stripper and this is not that kind of club when he requests a lap dance. Yet again you quickly change your tune when he offers you a whopping ¥750,000. With a devilish smirk, he motions down to the black leather bag on the ground by his feet nearly overflowing with ¥10,000 notes. You couldn’t lie, you were a bit nervous. You were just a Go-go dancer, you had never given a lap dance before. But this man was offering you at least half your tuition for the next semester! You also couldn’t deny how dangerously attractive he was. Especially when Toji had his expensive black suit shirt unbuttoned halfway, giving you a glimpse at his massive pectorals in addition to the tattoos that started from his neck and traveled down further past his chest. At least he wasn’t some old decrepit ass geezer, right?

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself and his tattooed sleaved arms wrap around your body as you grind on him. Your hips swivel in figure 8s on his lap while you rock against him, your back to his chest. From the size of the bulge pressing into the crack of your ass you could tell he was huge and he wasn’t even fully hard yet. You bit your lip as his breath tickled your ear with crude praises and salacious suggestions of what he wanted to do to you. Your face grew warmer.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, whose large hands laced with gold rings now dig into your doughy hips. He squeezes them toyingly and kneads into them which elicits a soft moan from you. You felt his warm lips at the back of your neck and your stomach did a flip. This lap dance was supposed to seduce him. To wring this sexy rich pervert gangster for every yen he would give you. Nevertheless, his tight hold on your body combined with his scent of bergamot and cedarwood mixing with cigarettes, liquor and sweat made you dizzy. The alcohol in your system begins to hit you as well and only enhances the assault on your senses. You couldn’t help but react as you mewled against him.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, whose grin widens. You were slowly unraveling in his lap. Toji's ministrations on your body from there grew bolder as his hands greedily traversed your body. Rough hands settled to cup your tits over your matching neon pink bikini top as two fingers slipped into the sides of the thin material. Amused to find your nipples pierced, he harshly pinched your already hardened buds. You yelped as he rolled them between his fingers and tugged at the metal rings.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who lets out a roar of laughter when his assault on your nipples has you jumping out of his lap and turning around to tell him off. Before you can really cuss him out though your face completely drops as you notice the sizable wet spot you left on the crotch of his pants. Following your gaze Toji grabs your wrist before you can run away from him in embarrassment. He tells you with a smug tone he won't pay you shit if you leave him now. You nod and swallow hard as his other hand rubs his now fully hard cock straining against the spot you soiled. He lets his fingers linger on the stain before he brings it up to his face for a whiff and comments on how sweet your cunt smells leaking on his dick. The mood shifts though as he asks you with a dangerous edge to his voice exactly how you plan on repaying him for allowing your slutty pussy ruin his brand new Armani suit?

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who you end up cockwarming in the middle of the dark but crowded VIP section. Your tiny pink neon thong soaked with your juices was pushed to the side as his wide girth split you completely open. Fuck, its too much! Your mind was racing too fast to process how exactly you got here but all you could think about was the sting from the intensity of the stretch. You weren’t fully prepared to take on his size despite how wet you were. “Come on mama,” Toji teased as his hands went under your skirt to spread your cheeks so you could sink lower onto him. “I know you can take dick better than this.”

YakuzaBoss!Toji, whose cock smooshed up against your core as gravity forced your cervix down further smashing his fat tip. It was becoming difficult to take steady breaths. You crossed your legs together as you tried to tilt forward away from him to lift up and relieve some pressure. His fingers traced the slight bulge that protruded on your stomach as he pulled you back to an upright position and fully seated on his cock. He gave you explicit instructions to be perfectly still and not move an inch. You couldn’t help but pant, tongue peaking out of your glossed lips as your body started to crave a taste of friction despite the very public place you were in, it was torture.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, whose turn it is to now completely ignore you (he made sure you knew this was payback for earlier) as you whined and cooed for him to reconsider. You would be good for him. He only responds by asking you to remind him of how many songs you ignored him for and doubles the amount before he will even consider letting you move an inch. It was your punishment and Toji made sure to relish in giving it to you as he took calls, barked orders at his men on standby and even brought others to his table to conduct business. He made another waitress come over and prattle off a long list of drink specials while he flirted with her and ordered you another shot of whisky. His thick cock buried in your pussy all the while. You were annoyed at his ignoring you and his flirting but just thankful that from this position no one could see him inside of you.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who as if sensing your fears, manspread with you still full of him. Your legs fell to the outside of his thighs and dangled as your feet no longer touched the ground. The sudden movement had you gasping as his cock shifted inside your stretched walls. You fell back fully against his chest as you heaved. The low set table did nothing to help cover you. Your short skirt that barely reached the bottom of your ass standing and had your cheeks peeking out when you sat, gathered around your upper thighs with you spread on him. It was dark in the club but it wouldn’t take more than a lingering second look from someone passing by to see your cock stuffed cunt on display. The fabric bunched on your thighs only hid the top view partially. If the people he was interacting with knew what was going on, they gave no sign. In fact they barely acknowledged your presence at all which either meant they were familiar with him pulling these kinds of stunts or they knew better than to concern themselves with anything beyond what he asked of them.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who chuckled when you reminded him the 8th song had just ended and you only ignored him for 4. “This messy cunt can wait for one more song can’t she?” Toji wanted to make sure as many of those sniveling losers that you ignored him for now saw what you looked like impaled on his dick. You nearly screamed when his heavy ringed hand came down with a firm smack to your clit. He hushed you with two fingers shoving them deep in your mouth that you couldn’t help but gag and slobber on them. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he would give your cunt a firm tap at random intervals. It made your pussy contract around him and you felt Tojis grunts fan across your neck. “Shhh mamas... You wouldn’t want to make it even harder for the people around here to ignore how well I’m stretching this pretty pussy, now would you princess?”

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who merely snapped his fingers and as if materializing out of nowhere, your manager came rushing over, nearly stumbling on himself.

“Y-Yes Mr. Fushiguro, what can I get for you sir?”

“This girl… Y/N.”

Toji gave your pussy another pat and it had you shaking as you turned your gaze away from your manager who you couldn't bare to look at directly.

“She no longer works at this club. Understood?” He told your manager authoritatively.

Although your manager didn’t want to lose his best new girl he wouldn’t dare question a directive from YakuzaBoss!Toji.

“Y-Yes, sir! U-understood, Mr Fushiguro sir. I will remove Y/N from the schedule immediately”, your manager replied with a bow before getting himself the fuck out of dodge as Toji waved him off.

“T-Toji- whafhefck” you mumble despite his fingers in your mouth still.

You couldn’t afford to lose this job.

“Hm, you wanna work here?” Toji questioned you running his free hand across your ribs. The calloused fingers contrasted with the gentleness of his touch yet still managed to give you butterflies.

“Or.. would you rather work for me Y/N?”

There's an edge to Toji’s voice as his free hand lifts you a bit before he slams you back down onto his cock hard with a thrust of his hips.

“To-jisjhi!!!!”

Your cries were still drowned out by his fingers as drool began dripping out down the sides of your mouth and down his forearm. Tears finally broke free and you trembled as your heels scraped the outsides of his legs. Your poor stretched walls burned at the sudden movement, making you near feral for more as a white ring of your juices and precum formed at the base of his cock and trickled down his balls, staining his pants even further.

“I assure you the pay and the benefits are better.” he continues to roll his hips while your eyes roll back into your head.

“Whaddya say, Y/N?”

Toji’s fingers slide out of your mouth to give you an opportunity to speak but you’ve gone all but non verbal now. You can only babble incoherently as your tongue fully lulls out of your mouth.

“Dunno mamas, doesn’t sound like you are too interested...” Toji teased with a huge shit-eating grin looking down at you.

You turn your head up to pout at him and your hips roll in tandem with his in a slow wine. Reaching behind you to bring his head down onto a nasty sloppy kiss. You were so horny you could combust and no longer cared who saw you, you just wanted to be fucked. It’s not like anyone here would stop YakuzaBoss!Toji from doing what he wanted with you.

Toji broke the kiss, slurping up the saliva that lingered between your lips and his.

“I should take that as a yes then?”

Cock drunk and stupefied you eagerly nod your head.

YakuzaBoss!Toji, who shifted as his arms slipped underneath your legs and brought them up behind your head into a full nelson position. There would be no hiding your cunt now as you felt multiple eyes in the room dart towards and away from you again.

You whimpered in protest yet Toji felt your cunt gush around him at the thrill of it.

“Don’t be like that mamas. I can tell from the way you are creaming on me this slutty pussy loves an audience.”

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

A/N: I know I said next was Geto and cockwarming but this idea popped into my head and I HAD to write it. This is also inspired by this nightclub I went to in Shinjuku during my own study aboard to see my friend from school DJ where I met 2 gangsters (they were in red sweat suits so I don't think Yakuza). They had matching tats from the neck down and were fine af. Unfortunately that was towards the beginning of my trip and unlike Y/N here my conversational Japanese then was ass (and they didn't speak a lick of English) so nothing came from that. I fumbled the bag badly yo. BUT I CAN WRITE THIS AND LIVE OUT MY FANTASIES WITH TOJI LOL.

New to this writing shit so please reblog to spread if you can but likes and comments are also appreciated all the same!

Edit 9/20: minor errors fixed!

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Note

hangman request incoming ‼️‼️

so the reader is best friends w rooster and whenever she’s around hangman he’s always quite rude to her, only bc he’s harbouring huge feelings for her which he isn’t very used to. then maybe he goes too far and rooster needs to talk some sense into him (reader could be a pilot or just a close friend of rooster’s)

SORRY i’m not great and giving requests but i hope there’s something in there that you like !

Ahhhh I LOVE this request!! And I really loved writing this piece, which may or may not turn into a series.. oops I couldn't resist haha

Less Talk | Part I

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Masterlist

“Do you ever not have an opinion?” Jake watches you irritably before taking a long swig of his drink. He needs the alcohol to calm his nerves so that he doesn’t inadvertently push you off your chair.

You glare at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice, safe space for Seresin to dominate the conversation without opposition.”

Jake lets out a steady breath. No one riles him quite like you do. “We’re talking about food, Y/N. It doesn’t exactly have global ramifications.”

“Actually, it does,” you respond matter-of-factly. “And are you saying I shouldn’t have an opinion unless it is ground-breaking in nature? Maybe I should just sit here quietly and look pretty.”

“Ha!” Jake cackles. “I would love to see you try.”

“Hangman!” Bradley, who’s sitting to your right, gives him a disapproving look.

You make a grimace. “I will never give you that kind of satisfaction.”

Jake meets your gaze with a hostile look. The thought of you satisfying him in any way sort of disorients him. He makes a face at you because he can’t deny that if you were to just sit there in silence, you would be exceptionally pleasant to look at. Pretty, even… maybe. Instead, he says, “How the fuck does eating avocado toast for lunch have global implications? I would love to know.”

“The recent surge in consumption of avocados - thanks to health nuts such as yourself - has led to an unprecedented increase in price to the point where those people whose culinary staple for generations has been the avocado cannot afford to keep it their diet.” You fold your arms over your chest to drive your point home while Jake just stares at you, speechless. No other woman in the world has ever rendered him that. He glances over at Bradley who is looking back at him with a slight grin. Just when Jake thinks you might be all talked out, you add, “And don’t even get me started on the environmental burden of growing enough avocados to sustain the whole of North America’s health culture.”

Jake blinks at you. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“The avocado trade is contributing to local violence and extortion” – you continue, but Jake cuts you off.

“Okay, okay!” he says. “I’ll never eat an avocado again.”

“Just quit spreading your avocado propaganda!”

“It’s not propaganda! They’re actually good for you!”

“How wonderful it must be living in a world where your needs come before everybody else’s,” you say bitterly.

“Can we please talk about something other than avocados?” he says tiredly, his eyes sliding to Bradley in a plea for assistance.

“If you’re looking for a topic on which I do not have an opinion” – you say, but Jake interrupts you again.

“Does such a topic exist?” he asks flatly.

You roll your eyes at him. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re the one who should talk less?”

Jake nods. “Certainly. I should talk less to you. Because you’re driving me crazy, lady.” He stands up after having downed the rest of his drink. “I’m getting another beer and, when I return, I’m going to have a conversation with my good friend here, Rooster.”

Bradley shakes his head and looks over at you. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bitter, bitter man.”

“A bitter man who needs to be schooled on occasion,” you mutter.

Jake turns to look at you with wide eyes. He slides back into his seat. “I heard that,” he says dangerously, inclining into the table.

“Good,” you respond, leaning forward so that your noses are nearly touching. “You were meant to.”

“You are so fucking annoying,” he whispers, his eyes slipping momentarily to your mouth as you lick your lips.

“Hangman, come on, don’t be a dick,” Bradley says, also putting his weight into the table in an attempt to intervene.

Jake’s eyes are still scanning your face as you glare at him without moving away. The truth is, he could probably listen to you talk about the problematic export of Mexican avocados for hours just to watch your mouth move and to hear the passion in your voice. But he’s tired of the tunnel vision he experiences every time your boyfriend ditches you and you end up going out with your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. This is the fifth time this month that you’ve accompanied Rooster to ‘guys’ night out’ and it’s becoming more and more difficult for Jake to shake you after each successive evening of relentless verbal sparring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake can see Bradley slowly inching off the table, having realized that he may be a third wheel. But Jake doesn’t need him to be some sort of wingman in this bizarre scenario where he may or may not be completely in love with an unavailable woman who happens to be an expert at pushing all his goddamn buttons. Normally, he would remedy this kind of matter with a good old romp in the hay but, considering the fact that you are in a relationship, this option is, unfortunately, off the table. Besides, he’s not entirely sure it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on him, anyway.

But, despite all the reasons for avoiding your pull, Jake can’t look away, not even for a second; not even to get another beer. He moves his face a millimeter closer to yours, just to see what would happen; not because your breath smells like Peach Schnapps and not because your eyes are absolutely destabilizing him. His nose is about a split second away from brushing yours when your phone buzzes on the table. You flinch, withdrawing immediately, leaving Jake to watch you try to frantically pick it up. You shoot him one last intimidating look before rising from the table.

“Hey, babe,” he hears you say as you walk away.

“What’s your deal, man?” Bradley says as Jake watches you step outside.

Jake shakes his head solemnly. “Doesn’t she have other friends to play with?” he asks. “Why’re you always babysitting her?”

Bradley fixes Jake with a knowing look. “Hangman,” he says with a suggestive squint to his eye. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to tell you that your bestie is a pain in the ass, Rooster.”

Bradley’s jaw hardens. “You’re way out of line.”

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who finds her absolutely infuriating. The girl never shuts up!”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “And you don’t, at all, find that sort of thing attractive?” he says sarcastically.

“Attractive? I find it immensely aggravating, actually.”

“So aggravating that you argue right back every time,” Bradley points out with a smirk. “Movies, books, social constructs. Last week, I heard you guys bickering about space waste. What do you even know about space?”

“What does she know about space?” Jake responds angrily, pointing toward the door with his entire arm.

Bradley leans back in his seat with a sigh. “I know that you don’t actually hate her, Jake,” he says. “You can stop pretending.”

“Who’s pretending?” Jake looks up at him aggressively.

Bradley purses his lips. “What if I told you that her boyfriend is a shithead?”

Jake’s jaw tightens but he continues to stare at Bradley coldly. “Why the fuck would I care?” he says.

Bradley returns his callous expression before looking away. “Been trying to get her out of that relationship for months.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “She’s a grown-ass woman, she can decide for herself if she wants to end it.”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jake rises from his seat, his eyes unintentionally drifting up to check if you’re still outside. He sees you pacing back and forth through the big window of the bar. You look like you’re arguing. Big surprise. “Want another beer?” he asks Bradley.

“Please,” Bradley says.

Jake nods at the cocktail you’ve been drinking. “She going to have another one?”

Bradley shrugs. “Probably, unless you’ve pissed her off enough that she decides to leave early.”

Jake scoffs. “She’d be doing me a favor.”

Bradley shakes his head with a laugh. “I don’t even know what she’s drinking, man.”

Jake shifts his jaw. “I do.”

Bradley gives him another piercing look. “Shocking,” he says with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, Bradshaw,” Jake says under his breath as he walks away. He glances back at the window behind which you’re now waving your arm around aggressively and yelling into the phone. He tears his gaze away from you, frustrated with himself for even giving a damn.

For some reason, he feels a painful pang in his chest, like he’s jealous of whomever it is you’re tearing into. You’ve never gone off on him quite like that and he can’t help the resentment this fosters. He tries to suppress the impulse to go out after you and rip your stupid phone right out of your hand. That would surely reclaim at least a fraction of your attention. Then maybe he could do something unexpected; something that might persuade you to channel your passion in a more constructive way.

He orders three drinks and walks back to the table with the beers before going back for your cocktail. When he returns, he exhales sharply, giving Bradley a humorless look. “Why’s her boyfriend a shithead?” he says, feeling his hands forming into fists before Bradley even has a chance to respond.

But, right when Bradley’s about to speak, you walk back into the bar.

Read Part 2

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this piece! It's my first Hangman story, so let me know what you think!

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elaemae · 1 month

Text

The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.

[Twst x Obeyme!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 1.1: The start of the Blood Rose Tyrant.

Thank you, my amazing readers, for all the likes, comments, and reblogs🥹 It makes so happy, like– almost nothing can top the joy of seeing y'all liked my work :)

Btw, If you have any questions about my tagging and/or literally anything you wanna ask me bout the fic, just reach out to me and I'll try my best to answer you.😊

CW: Cursing, Idk what else... There's also the pronoun schtick I've been yapping about since pr. 1. (i.e MC will get mistaken for a pretty guy a lot -Mc is AFAB referred to as they/them- because the NRC cast have come to expect only boys to be in the school. Excluding the paintings ofc.)

(My pic)

Fun fact: While all of your ornaments act as containers to very *nom*-able amounts of magic, such a thing can be dangerous as it may give away your location if you need to hide or run away from someone.

Therefore, all of them were cast with a special spell developed by Solomon that makes it so that people can't sense that magic unless they're really close to you physically.

(Not to mention, only exceptional mages can actually have the hope of picking up on that magic as your all jewelry were also cast with a heavy magical concealment blessing from both Micheal and Luke.)

• • •

'What the hell is this?'

You think as you fiddled with the fancy pouch in your hands.

You had opened the gift box to find the pouch containing some basic skincare products and just went; ( •_•)..?

Like– What the hell? Who does that?? Are they saying that you're ugly and needed to start taking care of your face?! Well excuse you, I'll have you know –whomever you are– that this face was approved by Asmodeus himself you rude lil' shi—

*Ehem*

So like any sane person is supposed to do in that situation, you checked if the products were cursed or charmed and then pocketed it to maybe sell it in the future for some cash. (Lovely gift but you were taught never to use/ingest things given to you by strangers.)

Leaving the infirmary, you venture into the botanical garden, hoping you'd find some edible plants that you and Yuu can nibble on until you can procure other food options and some all important moneh. (Ugh, if only that damn crow didn't escape and hide away from you, you would've extorted his cowardly-ass and bought some food instead of needing to resort to this bs.)

'Trying to find a stone in a long abandoned mine is simply a fools errand.'

You thought as you absent-mindedly skipped past a certain tall, dark, and handsome man with horns, unknowing of the look of pure curiosity pointed at your back as you continued your musings.

'But oh well, they wanted to try so they might as well be those fools.'

You're not gonna stop them if they wanna try to fix things even though you've mostly stabilized the situation. (Not that they know.)

Damn, you also need to go to the library later so that you can learn what changes you'd need to do in order to adapt and know the problems you'd likely experience in this world.

Knowing yourself and your history for being a magnet of chaos, It'd probably involve almost dying more times than you have fingers and unearthing some deeply-buried soul-crushing trauma in which the only thing you'll get in return are the friends you've made along the way.

Aside from that though, you'd need to gain yourself a foothold in this society.

Preferably, there would be a lot of rich and influential people in this school to suck up to, but if those aren't enough then maybe you can venture into industries where you can kiss-ass in peace.

As much as you'd love to be optimistic, Crowley is the almost literal embodiment of a dead-beat dad barely pays child-support and your own search for a way home may take years before coming to fruition.

Tsk. You can feel your stress levels transcending the mortal plane of existence again as you can already envision the figurative mountain-range you'd need to climb just to achieve stability in this place.

$°\•m°n.. p/€∆$3.. H€\₱ m£...

Times like these just make you wanna curl up onto the floor in a fetal position and let the earth consume you whole.

Oh! And you also need to obtain a stronger blackmail material against Crowley to make sure he won't try anything remotely against you.

'Hmm... But maybe...'

You think as you took a quick and discreet glance to a security camera that had been "coincidentally" pointed at you.

Well, not really a coincidence.

If the mf behind these creepy-ass cameras —that have been watching you since your arrival here, mind you—, can lend you a hand then that would be the optimal outcome. There are a lot of security cameras after all...

Though there's also a large possibility that the fucker wanted you dead because of either boredom, simple bloodlust, money, vengeance (for some reason), your organs or all of the above.

You sighed as you entered the botanical garden, telling yourself to just worry about that later and focus on finding food.

If you get in trouble for taking plants here, you'll just throw Crowley under the bus. (figuratively and literally if he decides to be a bitch about it.)

• • • •

Yuu, Grim, Ace, and Deuce stumbled out of the mirror, finally away from the creepy forest and back into the college.

They all flinched and turned their heads back when they heard a dramatic 'Tsktsktsk–' from behind them.

"Well well well~ Look who finally decided to show up at–"

*checks imaginary wrist watch*

"46 minutes past midnight.. Huh.. If you all got any curfew for your dorms then you're both toast. Can't believe y'all spent more than five hours looking for a single rock..."

You said, referring to the two first years who flinched under your words and judgemental eyes.

"You all look like shit by the way."

Yuu awkwardly scratched their head.

"Thanks?"

*Sigh...*

"You're welcome, bbg."

"Just hurry up and give that rock to the fuckin crow already so that you all can spare the world from having to witness anymore of your gross, sweaty, homeless-lookin selves."

Deuce shrunk even further behind Yuu. (funny because Yuu was at least half-a-head shorter.)

Ace meanwhile, has too much ego to not say anything back.

"We wouldn't be looking like this if you at least helped!" He snarked.

"Why should I?"

You Dwayne-the-rock-Johnson raised your eyebrow at him.

"I don't owe any of you a smidgen of literally anything so why should I help?"

It wasn't a question, but a statement. Because why should you help? They should be grateful you even talked Crowley out of expelling them immediately. Not that they know but still...

But of course, audacity is gonna audacity. Because, Ace really had the nerve to look offended by your words, as if you weren't saying something as truthful as the sky being blue, the grass being green, and your ass being a literal masterpiece from god.

"Don't even try to pass off the blame, Weasley-wannabe. I know it, you know it, your mom knows it, your dad if you have one, your entire bloodline and your non-existent cow knows it, there's literally no point."

Ace literally almost snarled at you like a damn dog, pft– That's what he gets from pissing you off by existing earlier.

"Oh shut up!"

He then looked like he was about to start a rant of how unfair his life was and how he totally didn't deserve any of this and blahblahblahblahblah–

You swear on Diavolo and Luci's fruity man-boobs, you'll hang this bitch upside down like a bat if you had to hear another complaint about things being unfair for him.

What about you? or Yuu? Isn't life more cruel and unfair to you two? Taking you both away from loved ones and shoving you into a world where you two need to fight for a temporary sanctuary as you both try to go home with no real proof you'll actually be able to make it back?

Isn't life more unfair to you? Right when you almost finally achieved the start of your happy ending.. You were taken away from the people that you fought tooth and nail to be with.. And now, they're all too far away for you to reach... again.

Deuce elbowed Ace, thankfully making the jab to the ribs painful for the annoying ginger.

You dramatically sighed again, turning to Yuu and Deuce.

"Remember kids, don't copy Ace's attitude okay? Lest you want to end up single and with no bitches for the rest of your life."

Ace's right eye twitched erratically, shouting at you to shut up and to stop messing with him.

• • • • •

Talking with the crow is an annoying affair as expected. At least now, Yuu is finally an official learner of the school. Even if they're just half-a-student with the loud talking cat. (That kinda reminds you of Mammon, now that you think of it. Also very funny because the cat's name is grim of all things..)

Oh, and you're a prefect now. You're definitely going to make that everyone's problem. Hehehehehe~

"So the abandoned dorm we were supposed to live in is fixed now? How? Hasn't it only been like– a day?"

You ominously beamed at the question, releasing a sinister little giggle that caused Ace, Deuce, and the now wide-awake Grim to subconsciously shiver while Yuu refrained from asking further questions and just wisely snickered instead.

Unseen by everyone, you sent a quick devious little smile to a wall where a certain electrical device was mounted, biting down a snort when you saw the security camera suddenly snap into another direction, as if it was a person embarrassed that they got caught by someone they were staring at.

You then had to hold back a cackle as you remembered how easily this newly made stalker friend of yours snitched on the headmaster, like– you literally didn't even do anything, the flustered boy just gave you the blackmail material that you needed. Well, maybe you did corner him a little bit by using his own electronics against him but you're pretty sure he enjoyed it for some reason if the way he literally blurted out 'mommy-' at you was anything to go by—

Haha, the benefits of having a hacker as a fren :3

• • • •

Kicking away the two idiots and telling them to go back to their dorms already, you dragged Yuu inside the now newly fixed dorm.

The two of you needed to talk about a few things and arrangements..

• • • •

Quickly opening the door in hopes that the fucker that was banging on it gets mash-dabbed face-first, you saw nothing but disappointment as the bastard — Ace — had actually moved away from the door in an impressive display of intuition and spidey-sense before you had even wretched the door open.

"What the fuck do you want, you ugly punyeta?"

It hasn't even been a few hours since this mf parted ways with you and Yuu, so what could be the problem now?

. .. . . . . ..

"No, you're sleeping on the couch."

"What?! But why?!! There are perfectly good rooms here!"

"All the other rooms besides the one we're using are still unfurnished. The beds in them are yet to be assembled and the floors are dusty because of the quick renovations." Yuu stated, rubbing the bridge of their nose.

"Ughhhhh! Just let me squeeze in, I promise I won't take up too much space!"

"Nice try but no."

"Tch, You're all so stingy and inhospitable.."

"Yuu, Do you hear that?" You said, theatrically cupping your ear with a hand.

"Yes, It seems that a forever virgin is talking." Yuu answered with a smirk.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, you oompa-loompa lookin ass— we unfortunately can't understand the language of people who can't pull."

"You guys are the worst."

"Thanks bbg." you and Yuu paused.

"Pft–"

"Oh dear~ It seems you're starting to take after me."

"Indeed it seems." Yuu replied, even subconsciously copying the fancy accent you used.

"Oh no, you're multiplying. :0"

"Haha, we're still dragging you to apologize to your Housewarden later."

"Aww shucks.."

← Pr.7 | Chapter List | Chp. 1.2 →

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avatar-saiki · 11 months

Text

Eye of the Tiger

Mammon/AFAB reader (you/your pronouns) 5.7k words

CW: NSFW, mating kink, overstimulation, squirting

Summary: Mammon borrows a headband from Levi as part of a costume to party with you up in the human realm, but things go awry when the headband is revealed to curse the user to be a kemonomimi for 12 hours.

Why did his luck always turn to shit when he was close to getting something great? It was supposed to be a fun night, just him and his human in the human world… partying it up all night long only to have them all to himself once the partying was done.

But instead…

“Check again,” he muttered under his breath, D.D.D. held close to his cheek while he paced. “There’s gotta be a way to fix me.”

“Dude.” Levi’s voice crackled through the speaker; inter-dimensional reception was always a bit spotty. “You asked me to look up how to dispel a curse. If you want me to figure out how to fix you that’s a whole other—"

“Shaddup you know what I meant!”

“I don’t think I like that attitude much. Maybe you should figure it out yourself.”

He tsked, catching a glimpse of himself reflected in the window. Still lookin’ sharp as always, but the little flutter atop his head was definitely not appreciated.

“You’re the one lendin’ me defective goods,” he snapped, “I thought otakus were supposed to take pride in gettin’ the good shit.”

Levi’s gasp crackled while he scowled at himself in the window.

“Oh excuse me? You’re lucky I even let you take anything when I caught you digging around my closet! Just for that I’m adding ten percent on top the finder’s fee for getting you out of this mess.”

“What?!” He glared at the screen. “Who’s the greedy one here? You or me?”

“Oh piss off.” Clattering computer keys accentuating his brother’s sass. “If I didn’t charge you for my assistance, I’d never get even a fraction of what you owe me back.”

“Ow, that hurts,” he said with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the window. “You’re my little brother, aren’t you supposed to wanna help me?”

Silence.

He checked the screen again to make sure the call didn’t drop, but the timer continued to tick away.

“… Levi?”

Nothing.

He clenched the D.D.D. tighter.

“Levi, if you hung up I swear I’m gonna—”

“ROFL did you really think that’d work? Your charms suck.”

“O-Oi!” He growled, “This ain’t funny! Quit actin' like me and tell me how to get them off already!” “Oh don’t think I’m trying to flatter you, I’m dead serious.”

A notification chirped in his ear and he swiped to check it.

“Authorize the transfer and I’ll tell you what I found.”

“6… 16,000 Grimm?! Are you crazy?!”

Levi’s laughter crackled again. “Well it’s either that or you’re on your own.”

He grit his teeth. “You tryin’ to extort me? You’re my little brother!”

“LOL as if you wouldn’t do the same if the roles were reversed.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it instead.

“See? You can’t even lie and say you wouldn’t.”

“I never—”

The faint squeak of a turning faucet caught his attention, one of the ears atop his head tilting instinctively.

Dammit.

“So I take it you’re not interested then? If so I’ll be logging off. I have other things to take care of and you’re really eating into my grinding time to level up my latest gacha babes.”

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

16,000 Grimm…

He didn’t even know what to think of what Levi just said.

He couldn’t look.

Just…

He squeezed his eyes nearly shut and held the D.D.D. as far away from him as possible, holding his breath to type in the pin code and hit confirm. After a few seconds the confirmation chimed crystal clear and he felt himself die just a bit inside.

“Oh wow! You actually paid. LOL you must be desperate.” Ugh, he was not in the mood for this anymore. “Just tell me how to break the damn curse already!”

“Simple. You can’t.”

“What?! What do you mean I—” The faucet squeaked again and the gentle rain of the shower faded.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

He turned to face the window again, tucking the D.D.D. close and lowering his voice in a harsh whisper.

“Listen, Levi. You better not be tellin’ me you just made me pay for nothin’ or so help me—“

“Oh come off it, you owe me way more than 16K. You should be thanking me for only taking that much!”

“You didn’t even tell me how to fix it!”

Levi laughed. “Because you can’t, there’s nothing to fix!”

“Nothing to- Levi I have a fucking tail!”

“So? So do I. Sometimes.”

“Levi!”

Another laugh. “Look, relax. It’s a feature for cosplay. The headband’ll reappear and you’ll be able to take it off when the curse is done.” “R… Really?” He hated how relieved he sounded, but if it was just a feature… “Oh,” he sighed, “Okay, I can work with that. How long does it last?”

“Um… let me check…”

Mammon leaned forward again, inspecting his reflection while Levi’s keyboard clacked away, and reached up to pinch one of the ears to give it a tug, wincing.

Functional and attached all right. These stupid things were as real as his own two ears.

“Oh you’re in luck! The effect only last twelve hours.” “Oh that’s not so- twelve hours?!”

“Mhm~ what’d you pick again? A tiger? Apparently some lesser demons can get a little too into character when they wear these… better be careful to not lose control and eat our human now.”

He scoffed, “Like some stupid little curse is gonna make me—“

“I’ll tell Lucifer just in case. It might be smart to come home until the curse wears off.”

Wait! No—

“Levi don’t you dare—“

Click.

“Well that phone call sounded intense.”

He whirled around, startled to see them— his human— standing just outside the bathroom door, dressed in nothing but a white hotel robe.

“Everything okay?” You asked, tilting your head a bit to finish towel drying your hair.

“H-How much did you hear?”

“Mm… something about a curse. I know you were talking to Levi…” You turned back and tossed the towel onto the bathroom counter. “Was it about the ears?”

He reached up to cover his head, smacking himself with his D.D.D. in the process.

Why’d you have to smile like that.

He averted his gaze, sulking. “That damn otaku gave me some defective costume. He said I’ll be stuck like this for the rest of the night.”

“Aw… that’s too bad,” you said with a grin. “The whole night?”

“Y…Yeah…” He muttered and looked away. If the headband didn’t reappear again by morning, Levi better make damn sure he wasn’t home.

Who was he kidding though?

He wouldn’t do anything.

Well.

Actually he could probably do something.

Maybe figure out whatever the latest stupid collectible he was eyeing and snap up the last one before it—

“Could I…”

Your gentle voice nearly startled him out of his skin and he yelped. “W-When’d you get so close?”

You blinked, looking up at him in confusion. “Mammon, you have two sets of ears now. How did you not hear me coming?”

“I-I wasn’t paying attention!” He protested and you laughed, oh how you laughed. Was your laugh always so… exhilarating? His tail swished excitedly. It made his heart feel all light and funny.

“You’re so cute, Mamms,” you murmured, eyes sparkling with affection. “Can I pet you?”

He was already bowing his head, “Sure, anything you—“

Wait a minute.

He stood up straighter. “Wait- no! I ain’t some house cat!”

You giggled and reached up, wiggling your fingers, “Aw c’mon, please? You’ve let me before why can’t I now?”

He caught your wrists, about to tell you no again, but… the warmth of your skin…

Lesser demons can get a little… too into character.

But that didn’t mean him, right? He wasn’t some lesser demon, he was the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed. One of the seven rulers of the Devildom. Surely he could resist some stupid little curse like this; he’d survived worse more times than he could count.

Even if…

“…Mammon?” You tilted your head, wrists relaxing in his grip. Always so trusting… so comfortable in his presence…

And your soul looked…

So…

“Mammon? Are you okay?”

He let go and stepped back, covering his mouth.

Better be careful to not lose control and eat our human now.

He inhaled deeply, your scent so light and intoxicating when he breathed in. Had it always been so… alluring? When had it become so… tempting? It was almost like the first time he saw your soul… that sparkle that drew him in like the brightest of gems. He’d never… thought he’d have trouble resisting your pull, but right now…

“Mammon?”

A gentle touch on his arm sparked a reaction, and he’d only realized what happened by the sound of your startled gasp, only to find you beneath him on the bed, robe askew and eyes gazing up at him in surprise.

“I-I—” He sat up on his knees with his hands up. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Surprise became temptation captured in your smile, eyes sparkling with desire. “Isn’t that part of why we’re here?” You shifted on the bed, letting the robe open further to expose more of your chest, one of your legs lifting to caress his inner thigh. “It is just us here~”

Heat rushed to his face. “I-I want too, but…” He glanced away again, swallowing thickly. “I’m not sure if I… the curse might make me…” He couldn’t even say it, his tail curling around his legs while his ears tucked in his hair.

This sucked.

He was gonna borrow money from Levi twice as hard now to make up for this! After he’d worked his ass off for a month to get Lucifer to approve this private trip up and save up enough to pay for it all, now he had to spend the night as some stupid cat?!

You sat up, question soft. “Is it the curse?”

He glanced at you, then looked away again without a word, only a nod.

“Do you feel sick?”

“…No.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” Your sincerity made his heart flutter, but when he turned to look at you again it clenched.

You’d scooted further back up the bed, robe falling off your shoulder while you stretched to grab the remote.

“Why don’t we watch a movie instead?”

Your offer was so nonchalant and calm, it snapped him back to reality if only a little more. “Y-Yeah, sure…” he said, starting to crawl into bed, but you held up a hand to stop him with a laugh.

“Mammon, you’ve still got your shoes on. Why not get comfy first?”

“Oh, right…” He turned his back to you and sat down on the edge, face heating further.

This was going to be a long night.

“Did you want to shower before bed?” you asked while he leaned down to take off his shoes.

“Nah,” he sat up again and tossed his gloves on the floor, then shrugged off his vest. “I’ll just shower in the morning. I don’t wanna…” he trailed off, and you tugged his tail.

“Don’t wanna get your fur wet?”

“Hey!” He turned to retaliate, but fuck why did you have to look so tasty? He looked away again, stripping down to his boxers while your giggles tickled at his back.

Whatever.

He could do this. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been tempted by you before.

He climbed into bed and leaned back into the pile of pillows next to you, the plushness helping him relax. Yeah… Yeah just another comfy movie night, no biggie. Just him and you, no one else to barge in or try and get in the way. He could still salvage some of—

“Wh-What’re you doing?” He asked, tensing when you crawled over his legs and sat yourself between them, then scooted back and laid against his chest.

“Mm…” You nestled closer, tilting your head back to look up at him. “I thought this would be more comfy. Is this okay?”

Heat rushed to his face and much much lower.

“S-Sure—” he breathed, clenching his fists at his sides. “But ah… you should know the curse might make me…”

You shifted a bit, stealing a shaky breath from his lips.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? Did I hurt you?”

“No, but you might make me wanna—” He bit his lip and tilted his head back, groaning under his breath when you snuggled closer.

“Mm… you’re always so cozy, Mammon.” You cooed, reaching out to rest your hands on his thighs, tracing your fingertips in light, nonsensical trails. “So… warm~”

“Y-Yeah….” He swallowed, feeling… trapped. His tail skittered against the bed, thumping in an effort to exercise his need.

“Does the curse make you want to hurt me?” you asked, touches gliding higher along his outer thighs.

“No…”

He could hear the smile in your voice, smell the scent of your skin usually so faint but now it clouded all other sense.

“You wanna eat me?”

His fists clutched the sheets.

“No.”

“Mm…” You shifted a bit, purposely backing your ass up against his groin. “You sure?”

He swallowed again.

“No…”

You laughed and leaned back, ceasing your touches. “Damn… that’s too bad.”

“Y…yeah…” he breathed out, stealing a glance down at you. Even without the glow of the TV screen he could make out your figure perfectly, settled comfortably between his thighs. Your eyes were bright, nothing but happiness sparkling in your soul.

Ugh.

You shifted again, just a little, making yourself comfortable with your head resting on his chest. He wasn’t familiar with any of the shows you were flipping through, but he was trying to pay attention to what flickered on screen. It wasn’t fair. Your body was so… warm… so… soft… he just wanted…

“Mammon?”

He froze, realizing he’d been nuzzling just above your ear, and breathed out a low laugh. “Y-Yeah?”

“Are you… hungry?”

“What? For like… room service? You wanna order something?”

You laughed softly and placed your hands on his thighs. “Maybe in a bit… I don’t want someone… interrupting us.”

He swallowed, tensing when your palms drifted higher. “I-Interruptin’ what?”

You tilted your head back with a small pout. “You know I can feel it, right?”

Heat rushed to his face and he looked away, your laugh only making him feel even hotter.

“Why’re you acting so shy? It’s just me~”

He tucked his ears back and clutched at the sheets. “Be… Because I want you…”

“You have me~”

“Y-Yeah but—”

You reached over to touch his hand, “Mammon, relax. You’re going to rip the sheets.”

“I… sorry,” He loosened his grip and bowed his head, breathing in your scent. “I’m… not… I won’t… eat ya…”

“I know,” you hummed, lacing your fingers with his. “Even with fangs and claws, you’re as gentle as a kitten aren’t you?”

He growled, tail swishing on the bed when you laughed again.

“Do you think you’ll lose control?”

He winced, feeling the question sting in his chest.

“N…No…”

“You sure?” You teased, lifting up his hand and holding it between both of yours. With the curse his nails had sharpened slightly, not enough to be considered claws, but if he wasn’t careful he could easily hurt you. You slouched and lifted his hand up, tracing your thumb along the edges of one nail, feeling its razor-sharp point. “Does the curse make you… want to?”

He shook his head and tried to snatch his hand back, but you held it firm.

“Your nails are so sharp…” you chuckled, “too bad there’s no clippers in the bathroom, huh?”

“Y-Yeah…”

You leaned to the side and glanced back at him with a coy grin. “You wanna have a little fun?”

He sucked in a breath. “I- we can’t tonight, I--”

Your grin turned mischievous, and you placed his hand on your chest. “Just don’t squeeze too hard~”

His chest felt tight as flutters stirred below, the softness of your breast so—

“I-I can’t,” he whispered, wanting to let go but your pleased sigh kept him still. “I could hurt ya…”

“You could always do that,” you mused, closing your eyes and reaching your arms up to wrap around his neck.

“Yeah, but—” He squeezed, nails pricking your skin and stealing a soft moan from your lips. Don’t do that. “I-It’s different! Tonight I might actually do it!”

You chuckled and ran your fingers through his hair, feeling for his new ears and rubbing them with your thumbs. “I don’t know if you could… even if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to!” He insisted, tail fluttering as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you closer. “That’s the problem!”

“Is it?” Your breathing changed and you rubbed your thighs together, moaning softly while his heart pounded at your back.

Don’t do that.

Your scent was changing… becoming… heavier…

He tipped his head down again, brushing his bottom lip against the curve of your ear.

“Please…”

You giggled softly, letting one arm fall to rest over his. “See? You still say please~ doesn’t sound like it’s a problem to me.”

He groaned quietly, nipping your ear while kneading your chest until he felt your nipple begin to firm under his palm. Careful. Had to be careful. If he squeezed too hard he could cut you…had to be—

“Ah~ Mammon,” you breathed out happily, subtly pushing his other hand lower as you spread your legs. “Touch me more~”

“D… don’t do that,” he whined, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer. Every whimper, every shift in his lap, every waft of your scent tickling his nose was making him—

Your hand touched his, guiding his fingers down lower to touch wet.

“Won’t you help me?” you whispered, using his fingers to stroke yourself. “Just a little?”

He swallowed thickly, body tensing and fingers splaying out. “I… can’t…”

“Please, Mammon?” you whined, reaching a finger down between his to touch yourself, letting him feel the strokes as you pushed further in. “It’s so much better when you do it.”

He growled, tail swishing again while he felt you fuck yourself between his fingers. No. He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted it. No matter how good you felt against him. No matter how good you smelled. How good it’d feel. How soft and warm you felt pressed up against him… your little tremors rubbing your backside against his—

“Wh- Mamm—”

You squealed in surprise at the sudden flip, but he didn’t give you much time to adjust. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up flush against his pelvis while his chest held you down.

“Ya gotta stop…” he whispered, his face pressed into the pillows beside yours. “I… I can’t…” He rubbed himself against the soft, wanting more.

“Oh… Mammon…” you breathed, reaching between your legs and feeling for him, palming his balls. “Yes you can…”

Don’t do that.

He bit his lip, groaning under his breath while he rubbed himself against your ass. It wasn’t much… wasn’t enough. He needed more.

“I could hurt ya…”

“You won’t~” you whispered back, giving his balls a gentle squeeze and making him groan. “I know you won’t.”

“G-Give me an order,” he said, “Make me stay back. Sleep on the couch, I dunno.”

“Is that what you want?” Your thumb stroked his sack and he loathed the cloth that dulled the sensation.

No.

He clenched his fists, tail swishing side to side while he humped into your palm.

“Tell me what you want, Mammon,” you whispered and he almost laughed. If this had been any other moment, it would’ve been the easiest request you could ever give him. But right now?

You rolled your hips back, using your ass to stroke his cock and shattering what little resolve he still clung to.

“If you really don’t want to… I can order you… but you have to tell me it’s what you want,” you said softly, “because… I want…”

Another roll and he—

You squeaked when he pressed his pelvis flush, knocked you into the pillows.

“I want you,” he murmured huskily, brushing his lips across the back of your neck. “I need you.”

“You can have me whenever you want me,” you whispered, pressing back against him, your slick beginning to soak through his boxers. “I’m always ready for you~”

He cursed under his breath, feeling you blindly attempting to pull him out. “I want ya so bad…”

You withdrew your hand, tucking your arms under your chest and letting your hips sway side to side to tease him. “I want you too, Mammon~ won’t you please give it to me?”

“Fuck.” It took everything in him to lift himself up on his knees, and everything more not to pounce again once he caught sight of your cunt spread before him, glistening with arousal. “Why’re you so wet already?”

You laughed, swaying your hips again. “What can I say? I’m needy.”

Needy…

Okay.

He could work with that.

He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. If he could just take care of you, you’d be satisfied enough to fall asleep and then he could try and find some way to calm down. Yeah.

Yeah that made sense.

He tapped his nails together.

Except he couldn’t…

Well, he could…

“Okay, hold on,” he murmured, lowering himself down to the bed and ducking his head between your thighs. Your surprise made him smile, and he laid on his back, looping an arm around your leg. “C’mere.”

“Oh hell yeah,” you whispered, spreading your legs and lowering yourself down. “You’re such a good boy.”

He chuckled, lifting his head to kiss you the moment you were within reach and moaning as the scent overloaded his brain. More. His tongue glided up your slit, making your thighs clench around his head.

“Fuck,” you hissed, sitting up and rolling over his tongue. “Good boy.”

You’re damn right he was.

He let his eyes close, savoring the soft velvet feel on his tongue while he looped his arms around your legs, holding you steady. Soon your fingers found purchase in his hair, keeping him close. He moaned shamelessly when your ruts smothered him, making it hard to breathe… to think…

Only want…

“M-Mammon—” you stuttered, thighs tensing when his tongue circled over your entrance, taunting you with more. “Mammon, please—”

He let out a purr, resonating low in his chest, soothing his mate to let you know he’d heard. His tongue pushed inside and you let out a needy whimper, sinking your hips lower as if you could make him penetrate even deeper.

“Good boy,” you breathed, touching your clit and reaching up to squeeze your chest. “Don’t stop—”

He let his eyes open, gaze hazy and lustful. Your face was flush, fingers greedily massaging your clit while you gazed down at him, fucking yourself on his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered again, pinching your nipple and gasping under your breath. “Please… I’m close…”

He purred again and closed his eyes, tilting his chin up to lick up your slit and latch over your clit, suckling himself around you, fingers and all. You squealed and squeezed his head so hard it might’ve been deafening if it weren’t for the ears sitting atop his head.

“O-Oh, fuck, Mammon—” you keened, clutching his hair tight while your hips rut of their own accord. “Please-” you panted, “Please-please-ple—”

He moaned with you, feeling the twitch of your thighs tensing when a small wave of pleasure rocked through your core, satisfaction rising in his soul. That’s it… no one could make his mate feel this way~

“Oh… Mammon,” you breathed out, leaning forward to rest against the headboard. “That was— whoa!”

He tossed you aside as he sat up, licking his lips while you fumbled about. “You keep callin’ me a ‘good boy’,” he growled, stripping off his boxers and reaching for your legs before you could get too far away. “How many times do I gotta tell ya I ain’t a dog?”

Your eyes went straight to his cock, a soft gasp escaping your throat when he spread your legs. “Oh fuck…”

“Yeah,” he smirked, hooking your legs up around his hips while his tail swished smugly behind him. “Oh fuck.”

“M-Mammon, wait just a sec— you’re—”

He whisked you closer, pressing his cock into your heat with a low growl. “If you want me off, you’ll have to order me.”

You gasped again, reaching down to touch his lower abdomen. “N-No! I don’t— Just—fuck-!” Your last words came out in more of a moan, the thickness of his cock against your slit making you realize just what sort of predicament you were in.

“Ju…just go… slow…” you whispered, looking up at him with flushed cheeks. “Please?”

He tilted his head slightly, feigning consideration to tease you while he rolled his hips back, letting the head catch at your entrance.

“Go slow?” he repeated, sinking his hips down and watching as your lips parted in a silent cry. “But didn’t you say you were… needy?”

“O-Oh shit—” you whined, reaching for his wrists and clinging tight. “M-Mammon you’re— it’s too—”

Lust gripped his soul when your nails bit into his skin.

“You can take it,” he purred, leaning forward and pushing further in, watching your eyes roll back with a silent keen. “I know ya can.”

“M-Mammonnn…”

Your pathetic whines were always so precious; poor human struggling to take his cock~ He stopped himself, resting a hand on the bed and waiting for your breathing to steady before sinking further in, making your back arch and breath stilt yet again.

“You’re so tense… you gotta relax for me, treasure.”

“I’m trying,” you whined around a moan, shivers rolling through your body. “You’re so big.”

He laughed under his breath and eased his hips back, leaving just the tip inside. “Fine… I’ll let ya have a little break.”

Your grip tensed briefly, then relaxed off his arms, little indents left on his skin. “Good… good boy…” you whispered, and he chuckled again.

“You like praisin’ me, don’t ya?”

You breathed in deep, arms laying across your stomach as you gazed up at him with desire.

“Good boys… should be praised…”

His eyes lidded and he leaned forward on his hands, tail swishing side to side.

“You kept teasing me.”

Your hand reached up to clutch your breast, his hips sinking just a breath.

“Y…Yeah…”

“That ain’t nice you know,” he said, smiling more when your head tilted back. “You know what you do to me.”

“I know…” you breathed, gazing up at him with want. “… More…”

He pushed in further until your breathing hitched and your hands clung to him, tensing beneath him.

“You gotta relax, treasure~”

“I know,” you whined, hooking one of your legs around his hip. “Just… go slow…”

Still wanting more already?

“You’re greedy,” he murmured, pulling back only to rock back in, shallowly using his cock to stretch you while you whined beneath him.

“Needy,” you pouted, groaning when a soft clench squeezed around him. “Mmm-Mammon…”

“Needy,” he repeated, working you in gentle thrusts, your cunt so tight he could only fit himself halfway in. “Is that why you mess with me?”

You whined again and clung to his arm, lifting your hips to give him a better angle - or maybe it was more for yourself with the way you whimpered for him.

“It ain’t fair ya know,” he murmured, rocking faster when your walls became slick, tremors fluttering around his cock. “I didn’t wanna… risk losin’ control…”

“M-Mammon…” You breathed out, keening low as a soft ripple of pleasure radiated from within your core, making you even wetter.

He leaned forward, pushing himself in deeper and watching your eyes roll, nails biting his arms.

“I can’t even take my time to do all the things I wanna do to ya…” he whispered, grinning as you wordlessly tried to say his name. “Look at what ya do to me~”

“M-Mm-amm--”

He thrust in full, groaning under his breath when the shock made you tense around him again, your whines music to his ears while you squirmed.

“Too… too… big…”

“Well if you would’ve waited till the curse was over I could’ve taken my time,” he said, easing his hips back only to thrust in full again, making you whine so deliciously~

“Hhhhii—”

Again.

You moaned when he sank in, clinging to his arms desperately.

“I can’t even use my hands,” he said, digging his nails into the sheets while his balls slapped against your ass. “Y’know how much it drives me crazy waiting for you to be ready for me?”

Your eyes were hazy, gazing up at him with a lustful glow.

“Fuck… me…”

His heart soared at that… your face so…

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked, starting to thrust himself in deeper, steady strokes. Your fingers pinched his arms again, legs moving up to wrap around his hips.

“Was I goin’ too slow for you?”

Your brows furrowed, breath held in your throat.

“You asked me to, y’know~”

“M-Mamm-nn~”

“You can pinch me all you want~ but I’m still gonna make you cum.”

“M-Mah-fuh-mnn—”

Your walls began to quiver again, deeper this time with his full length thrusting inside. Ugh, your cunt was getting so wet. He closed his eyes and focused on that feeling, where it was contracting, squeezing…

“M-Mamm—!”

His name left your lips in a sharp keen, body clinging to him as you clenched tight around him, smearing his balls with your cum while he thrust in deep to give you something to really squeeze.

“That’s it…” he purred low in his throat, reveling in just how much tighter you could be when you came. “That’s what I was lookin’ for~”

“I… I….” You breathed out, unable to think or say anything more.

He slowly drew his hips back, reveling in the way you whimpered and squirmed again.

“N-No- don’t… mhhh…”

“What? Don’t move?” He thrust in, shivering as your cunt tensed in response. “After I warmed you up so nice?”

Your eyes drifted up to his, a hand rising up to touch your lips.

“Mam… Mammon…”

“You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t ya?” he purred, leaning more of his weight on his hands. “Show ya just how much I want ya?”

“Please…” you whispered, closing your eyes.

“That’s my treasure,” he whispered back, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’re my treasure.”

You groaned, hands flying to his arms again to cling when he started to move, already so tense and stimulated. He hadn’t even made you cum as hard as he wanted yet, poor thing~ he needed more from you.

“M-Mammon…” you stuttered out a low whine, only goading him on with your desperate keens. It didn’t take long for your walls to begin closing in again, tremors rippling down his length with every stroke.

And it was so wet.

“M-Mammon—”

“There ya go,” he whispered, thrusting faster. “You’re doin’ so good.”

“Mammon, please—”

He groaned under his breath, fucking into the wet heat with his own desire. Your whimpers, your pleas, your desperate graspings only added fuel to his fire.

“M-Mamm- I can’t,” you cried, “I’m gonna—”

He growled, clutching the sheets tight.

“M-Mammonn-!!”

You cried out in a broken sob, cumming hard on his cock. A possessive sense of pride swelled in his soul as your cunt squirted and squeezed, clamping around him so tight.

“There ya go,” he moaned, dropping onto his elbows and letting his pelvis slap with deep thrusts, your whimpers music to his ears.

“Mam- I can’t—” you panted, clutching at him. “I cah--”

Your walls quaked, threatening to collapse again.

“There ya go,” he growled, chasing that feeling and letting the pressure rise. Just a little more…

“M-Mamm—” you keened a desperate breath, eyes rolling back.

He moaned, feeling so close but he needed just a little more.

“M-Mah—” you panted, hands weakly clinging to him as other wave rolled through, legs shaking as tears formed in the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the tight just what he needed to—

“Khck—” you keened, squeezing around him while he came hot inside, a thick throbbing roll emptying his load deep within your core.

Relief flooded his head, making thoughts light and dizzy. He moaned, nuzzling you lovingly while another pulse made your oversensitive walls twitch.

“That’s my treasure,” he murmured, a low purr resonating in his chest. Finally satisfied. “You did so good~”

Sweat clung to your brow, your chest heaving in deep breaths beneath him.

He chuckled, leaning in to nip at your ear. “You okay?”

“Hh… hold me…” you managed, arms loosely finding their way around his neck.

He smiled and slid his arms under your shoulders, nuzzling closer.

“Gladly~”

He laid with you until your heart no longer raced in your chest, and your breathing eventually slowed. Until your embrace became more, and you began to stroke his hair. He stayed with you nestled beneath him, blissed out and full of his scent, his cum.

He laid with you…

“Mm… Mammon?”

He lifted his head, gazing down at you with a slight tilt. “What is it?”

You smiled dazedly and cupped his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss.

“Love you~”

He felt himself start to blush, the curse’s effects still making him feel…

“Love you too,” he whispered, kissing you again. “But ah, careful with that. Don’t get me too excited.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Oh don’t tell me you could go again.”

He smirked, “I might~”

“Ugh, please no I’ll die.”

He laughed, nuzzling his nose to yours.

“No more tonight, promise.”

“Good,” you mumbled, hugging around his neck. “M’tired.”

“Wh… well you can’t sleep now, we gotta clean up.”

“Mm… in a minute…”

“But you’re… we’re all…”

You nuzzled into his neck, breath so soft and light.

“Later… ‘sides I… kinda like it…”

His face burned even hotter, and his tail swished side to side.

“Dammit…” he cursed, making you giggle. “Why you always gotta say what I wanna hear?”

“‘Cause I’m your treasure~” you teased, nuzzling yourself closer still. “Take care of me.”

He swallowed his skipping heart, suddenly finding it harder to resist wanting more.

“I promise,” he murmured, turning in to kiss your temple. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Does forever count?”

He chuckled fondly and closed his eyes, curling himself around you.

“Yeah, forever counts.”

#obey me smut #reader insert #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #obeymeshallwedate #gender neutral reader #Started as something I wrote around Halloween then tried to finish sometime later then forgot about and decided to revive it #pretty much just a scenario to indulge in a mating kink with Mammon but the guy's got such self control it's hard to get him to lose it

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

Text

“Wrap Me Up:” 🎀 A Merry (NSFW) for the Vampire Lord Astarion, “The Rogue You Were” Christmas Special 🕯️

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.6K of thawing his “Scrooge-ish” heart with bondage and ice play

Based on “A Christmas Carol,” because Astarion would be a total “Scrooge”

Part 2: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: He hates Yuletide, a time where he is haunted by the ghosts of Yuletides past, but you won’t let him remain so cold, not when all he needs is a little warmth and pleasure to thaw…

CW: Bondage, Ice Play, temperature play, Dom/sub tones, face fucking, nipple play, breast biting, blood kink, sex as healing, face the ghost of Yuletide past, make him look towards the ghosts of Yuletide present and future with you

AO3 link | Read “Rogue You Were” | Masterist

🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊

Cazador was dead to begin with…. His palace redone, reclaimed by your love, your master. No longer some distasteful, neglected home of a miser and monster. It is the toast of Baldur’s Gate, the lavish, decadent crowning jewel of the city, and home to the man all admired and feared. Astarion, Vampire Ascendant.

Your love. Your Master. Your spouse.

But even still, as the streets of the city filled with snow, wet and heavy from the sea, as the air filled with the sights and sounds and smells of Yuletide, your home remained cheerless.

Cazador was dead, and so was the infamous Yule Ball he hosted in his decrepit halls—forbidden by its new lord and master. Astarion had no wish to carry on any of that monster’s legacy. A gala event meant to make his spawn work all the harder for victims at the risk of torture… a night of sumptuous darkness, where victims were aplenty, a prize for their master.

And so… Yuletide was banished. Halls were bright, but no more shining than usual. No evergreens or music or mirth. No gatherings or carols or banquets or dances.

And no… gifts. Those were his orders.

Orders that you understand, but ones that make you grieved. That make you wish to show him the true meaning of Yuletide. And you will show him tonight. To do so, you have been sneaky, subtle, deceptive. And above all… disobedient. But that only makes this plot of yours all the more delicious.

He’s been away all day, corrupting officials and threatening the right people. Turning the powerful into puppets, ensuring everyone pays their tribute to the most powerful being in all the realms. In fact, you think as you begin to peer out the window looking down into the drive, banks of snow scattered to the side and torches flaming to await the master’s arrival, he has been extraordinarily ruthless of late. These last weeks leading into Yuletide, he’s been extorting more money, squeezing favor after favor from the influential, securing all the wealth he could to line his own coffers. And all the while, he grinned that brilliant fang-toothed smile, laughing to be such a menace before the festivities.

Little did he know what you are doing in his absence. Your little secret.

It wasn’t easy to keep. You had to block out his mind, the little ways he liked to check on you from a distance, swirling into your thoughts down your bonded minds as master and bride. You were careful these last few days. Conveniently sending him only thoughts of how much he pleasures you… his hands gripping your ass, his fangs in your throat, his cock shoved to the hilt between your thighs or down your throat, the slick feeling of his cum or its rich and bitter tang….

And once he was satisfied, his presence would leave you, back to your own devices.

Even when he was home of late, he spent much of his time in the treasure vaults, counting and recounting your wealth… until he wandered back to your bed for sweet words of praise and pride in your victories… and for all the carnal ways he loved to consolidate that power with you.

And so, you were free to continue your little plan. You are free to complete your plan.

The eve before Yuletide, and you place a few finishing touches around the library. His favorite place. Not only because he was fond of books, but it is a room all of his own creation. A room free from the ghosts of Cazador’s abuse and violence.

A room all his own.

And now, you made it… festive. The air smells of fresh evergreen and holly, spiced rum punch and sugared sweets, candle smoke and… him. Of citrus and rosemary, that makes your mouth and your cunt wet. Your eyes peer out from the slit in the curtains, watching the snowdrifts billow up in the wind and weather, more flakes of white falling heavy in the night. All that soft, fresh fallen snow muffles the rattle of Astarion’s carriage as it glides up the drive.

Your heart leaps, your hand pulling the curtain back, making sure the light illumines behind you. Making sure he sees you wait for his return, his most beloved spawn in his most beloved room.

He is like shadow incarnate, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his body as it still flaps in the icy winds. Those crimson eyes catch your figure, backlit by the glow within, intrigued, suspicious, his smirking grin makes your quiver, even at this distance.

“Little love… whatever could you be up to?” His voice caresses your mind, sultry and purring to warm your soul.

“Oh, don’t be so cold, my love,” you throw back down the bond of your minds, “why not come and… make yourself warm?”

“Make myself…” he continues to purr even as he strides inside the doors to your palace, “…or permit you to warm me?”

“Come and find out, my darling…”

You can feel his approach, as if you travel as his shadow. Sensing the moment he undoes his clasp, the wet wool of his cloak flopping to the tile. Riding the movement of his legs as he climbs the stairs two at a time. Hearing the sniffs of that aquiline nose that makes a little growl resonate in his throat.

“What have you done?” he hisses into your mind, a pulse of rage and suspicion flaring down your bond.

“It will please you greatly,” you chide in reply, “as long as you overlook my loving disobedience.”

His presence pulls away, only because his hand tears the handle from the library door, the panes of its dark wood flying open to reveal him.

Where he fumes in the entrance.

Crimson eyes glow as he takes in the sight… the fresh scent of spices and sweets and evergreens making his nose turn up in disgust… his gaze scanning from the decorated mantle to the table of sweets, to where you await him near the window.

“My… defiant… little… consort,” he speaks steadily through his grit teeth. “Do you wish to tell me the meaning of all this before I punish you or will it be an extra sweet revelation I pry from you… during…?”

“Or, consider this, my love,” you give him a warm and sultry smile, “you let me, your beloved bride, your treasure, lavish you with some festive joy,” you gesture to the mantle and the table of spiced punch and sweets, “bestow upon you some adoring gifts to show my undying love for you,” you point to the two, small gift wrapped boxes waiting on the table, “and of course some very… merry… entertainment…” You would blush harder if it were possible, your hand tracing down the deep cut of your silken dressing gown. His crimson eyes darkening and dilating as it follows your touch on your own skin.

“You, of all people, my darling should know the dangers involved in tampering with the ghosts of the past that still haunt me…” he crosses the room in what feels like a single bound, his hands closing on your upper arms, his warm touch crushing you against his chest. “You are on some very thin ice… darling. Tread. Very. Carefully.”

“The Rogue I love wouldn’t shy from a fight, even against facing the ghosts that once tormented him,” you smirk up at his enraged face, you can feel his heart racing in a heady mix of emotion, see it throbbing in the veins of his neck. That powerful ascended heart. “Won’t you… at least open my gifts? Let me spoil you for once this Yuletide, as you have never been spoiled before…”

A single brow raises at that. “Well,” he sniffs, tilting his head, eyes falling to the boxes impeccably wrapped before him. “I do rather like being spoiled.” It was a quiet, begrudging sort of acquiescence. “And…” he sighed through his frowning, open mouth, “I suppose you did make a huge effort… even if it was a secret…” he hisses, suddenly giving you that gaze as if you are his next, most delicious meal, “…and disobedient… and deceptive sort of effort for me…”

You smile, such a saccharine look of innocence. “I’m glad you’re beginning to see it, my love.”

His hands fly to your chin, clasping around it before slinking down to claw gently around your neck. “I still expect much from you, darling, to make reparation for your… defiance, as loving as it might be.” You laugh, letting your throat vibrate beneath his touch, as he brings your lips in for a consuming kiss.

However brief.

He presses against your throat, breaking with that dark, conceited grin. “Now, my dearest pet,” he purrs, “impress me with your festive spirit…”

You give him that slightly pouting smile that seems to lower that haze of lust over his eyes. You keep his gaze locked, reaching for the large box,

wrapped in golden paper, tied with golden ribbon. He accepts it into his hands, sifting its weight, shaking it just a touch to feel something hefty sliding inside the container. Then, you see it, almost like the first trickle down an icicle as it starts to melt, the corner of his lips turns just a little higher.

His fingers grip the end of the bow, slowly unraveling it. “What is it?” he asks, a skeptical brow raised.

“The gift to help you chase away the ghost of Yuletide past, my love…” you grin, feeling so confident, so sure of your choices, of your knowledge of him more than he would even admit to his ascended self.

That wins you a twist of those full lips. Those crimson eyes flicker up to yours briefly as his long, dexterous fingers lift open the lid. “Is that a… crown?” pure amusement, voice tickled with the flattery only a perfect gift could give.

You reach your hands in, lifting the metal circlet from its box, the little interwoven strands of dark metal rising into little spikes. “Elegant and vicious,” you hum as you take it between your hands and raise it to rest on his tousle of silver hair. “Just like you, my roguish love.”

“Well if this is your idea of spoiling me with festive cheer…” he raises a brow, turning his head to test out the weight upon his head, “you’re exceeding my expectations.” He turns to the wall behind you, where you have draped boughs of holly leaves and blood red berries around the ornate and gilded mirror on the wall. A fixture in every room now, so he may bask in his own reflection when he wishes. He primps and preens before the glass, turning and twisting to view every angle.

“And I must say, you’ve really captured my power and prestige with something so deadly and…” He pauses lost to the silence as he lavishes in his own reflection, rubbing a finger over the sharpened edges of the points.

You sneak up behind him, where he is lost in his own reflection, that piercing red stare meets yours in the reflection. “A gift, reforged from the past… your old, sadistic master’s dagger, melted down to make you into the sovereign you have always deserved to be…”

He pouts, dramatic and whining and most of all, fake, “A dagger for a crown?” Sighing, he turns quickly to capture you in his arms. “I’ll say, it is the only acceptable repurposing of a blade. You’re lucky I love you so much, if you’re going to be turning my weapons into jewelry…” He presses his lips against your neck, “But even a crown worthy of my handsome head won’t spare you from your own recompense.”

“For my loving disobedience,” you laugh, arching your neck to expose even more of your skin. “And perhaps, you should open your second gift, my love, before you settle on any ideas of exacting such delicious… retribution. Especially now that your chilled heart seems to have thawed.”

“Me?” he rasps into your ear, “cold? Chilled? Cheeky little pup… do you forget that my heart beats now, my skin warmed over as your ascended lord?”

“Hmmmm,” you sigh, “why don’t you open that second gift, a little something to help you embrace the spirit of your Yuletide present and future with me, your own… forever…”

“Oh,” he smirked, wicked and ravenous, “if you’re my gift… and all the many ways I can play with you, I doubt you’ll fit in any little box, darling.” he gave a loud giggle, “but I can imagine how festive you would look… all wrapped up in ribbon…”

You feel his hands wandering over your body, his touch seeping its warmth through the fabric of your dress as he does wrap you in arms and presses you against his unyielding body.

“My little treat, ready to be unwrapped once she’s been very… very… good to me,” he growls in your ear. Shivers racing down your spine as you giggle. Your stomach flips upside down, despite the months of this… of being his, forever. Your body still gives you away with each encounter.

And you grin like a lovesick fool, reaching to the table beside you for that second, smaller package.

He palms its wrapped sides in a single hand, the other remains clutched firmly around your waist with his hand curved hard over the swell of your ass. He smirks, dark and playful, as he bites into the end of the bow and tugs the black silken ribbon apart with those gleaming fangs. The silk slides, no resistance as the bow comes apart in his mouth.

You know that feeling all too well. Of coming apart at the command of those teeth or lips or tongue… You love that feeling. Crave that feeling.

He lets it drop from his teeth to flutter to the floor, a finger flicking open the top of the box to fall to the same fate. Then his brows furrow, he lips drawing in a smile so wide, those perfect teeth glint in the flickering warmth of the firelight.

“My, my…” he purrs, lifting his touch from your backside to fish out the gift within.

It’s coiled, wrapped around itself, this long strand of thick and smooth, a long velvet ribbon, as crimson as his own eyes.

“Perhaps our minds are shared more than the bond formed when you made me, my love,” you taunt, a lilt in your voice as you press into him harder, letting the curves of your breast flatten, the panting of your belly push into his. “Now… are you going to finally let that cold, beating heart of yours be melted by Yuletide warmth?”

He cocks a brow, tilting his crowned head at that rakish angle, hand returning to claw around the base of chin. That free set of eager fingers slipping the gifted ribbon from the box. You gasp as those fingers pull you against his lips. He sucks and caresses with all the hunger that flares under his touch and behind his eyes. “I think I’d rather watch you melt, watch you puddle on my fingers and come when I say, my consort, beloved but also naughty.”

“Sounds like you’re burning to use your gifts, my love…” you growl between his lips. “My lover with the warm touch and the ice in his heart, a bit different than before, my love….” You rake your nails into his hair. “Now I can make you warm all over.”

He chuckles, his grasp easing around your throat, winding to the back of your neck to tilt you open for his tongue all the more. “Sounds like you’re missing that icy touch of your undead rogue, my treasure,” he snaps in return, biting down on your lower lip just enough to draw blood.

“And what are you going to do to remedy that?” you reply, a little moan coloring your voice as his hands begin tearing off your clothes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he taps his thumb over your swollen lips. “Not a sound, not if you wish to earn my forgiveness, and perhaps receive a little sort of gift of your own in return…” you shudder in his arms, the only reply needed for him to flash you that feral, twisted grin. “Then lay down, my love, and warm yourself by the flames of the fire.”

A hand tugs apart the last laces from your dress, sliding the sleeves from your shoulders. “Oh, and you won’t be needing any of that now…” Your silken gown becomes a silken puddle around your feet. Your skin turns to gooseflesh as he scores his nails down your sides. He snaps his gift, your velvet ribbon, between his hands. “Get comfortable, my treasure, while you still can…”

His gaze scalds you, intensity beyond even your expectations. He is about to enjoy this… and you are too.

He lets you settle on the puddle of furs, the thick white skin of some animal that lines the floor before the fire. Back turned on you, he busies himself at the table of sweets and punch, the clatter of dishes enough to make you smile; he is indulging. You lounge, letting the light flicker over your flesh, letting the fire warm your skin, a cascade of heat over your back and shoulders and ass. One that almost rivals the heat that puddles and pools between your folds.

“Hurry,” you mewl, rubbing your thighs together. “I’m burning for you…”

“Don’t worry, my greedy pet,” he snickers from the table of refreshments, his back to you, purposefully hiding just what he is busying his hands with. You hear the silver spoon stirring the bowl of punch, the clatter of metal and the clacking of ice cubes as he chuckles to himself. “I’m confident there are many ways to cool that lust in your veins, darling.”

He turns slowly, his face leering at you, you see why he has suddenly begun a low rumbling laugh in his chest, a small glass holds a few of the cubes of ice, your velvet ribbon hangs over his wrist, and his eyes glow with that simmering power that crawls beneath his skin. Stalking towards you, you flash him your own fanged smile, running your fingers through the lush fur that cradles your naked form.

Astarion steps over you as you lie on your back, settling down to straddle your belly, making you work for every breath beneath his weight. “Now, for the toughest decision, just what sense to control as your reparation for such a willing… if loving… transgression.” He sets the ice down at his side, the silk of his breeches strained taught with his arousal as he covers you with his body. “Do I take away your sight to awaken all your other senses, do I gag that pretty little mouth of yours to make your screams deeper and richer… or do I bind your hands and make you crave only my touch for your release.”

He trails the soft, fluttering edge of the ribbon up and down your belly, your eyes following it, drawn to the way it makes your gaze flicker to his own straining cock. You snigger, gripping your nails shamelessly into his hips, running them down his thighs hard enough to score his flesh. Stopping only once you cup that erection you crave.

“I guess that seals your fate, my love,” he licks his lips, gripping your offending hands by the wrists to stretch them overhead. The velvet caresses your skin, soft and cool as he snugs it around you, tethering them together and binding them around the leg of the chair nearest you.

It wouldn’t hold you captive, not for real, but this… this was for fun… delightful divertisment to help him rekindle his… festive spirit.

And as he leans over you, satisfied with the work of his skilled fingers to bind your hands above your head, you moan when he slips his legs between yours. Prying you wider, grinding that confined erection against you, the slippery feel of his silken pants soaking with your arousal.

Wet and warm before the fire, every nerve ignites under his attention, flaming with your need to have his skin against yours. “Seems unfair,” you try to whine as your voice ripples more as a whimper, “for me to be so… unwrapped and ready for you to enjoy.”

“You’re going to have to beg and plead more sweetly than that, my darling,” he smirks against your whining mouth, capturing it with his. You taste the burst of flavors on his tongue, the sweet and spices of the punch, his tongue cool in your mouth from having imbibed it.

Just like old times. You shudder and moan to feel it tangle with your own, that flavorful concoction, the tingle of alcohol spiking your senses. “Mmm, delicious,” you moan against his fangs.

“Not as delicious as it will be as I taste you, my pet. Be a good little consort, plead so prettily, and you’ll get everything you desire tonight.” He gives a little extra, hips undulating into your slick, his breeches undoubtably ruined by your arousal. You groan at that ferocity, that untamable hunger. And you, you buck your hips to ride that friction. You give him what he wants, a loud mewl of your pleasure to tickle his punch-coated tongue.

“Very good,” he smirks, raising back to his knees. “I’d ask you to help me…” he taunts, rubbing his hand down the front of his decadently embroidered jacket, slowly letting his buttons free one at a time. “… but you seem already… tied up…”

“Oh, you must be feeling merry to throw such taunting puns at me, my love,” you smile.

“Hush, love,” he grins wickedly, tossing that jacket to the side, the firelight dancing over his ivory skin, rippling over all the rises and ridges of his torso. “Or if you insist on that insolent mouth teasing me, I might just have to find something with which to gag you.”

You smirk, hungry and defiant, as you stick out your tongue. A taunt. And an invitation.

“If you wish,” he growls happily, hands quick to unbutton his breeches. A split second, and he frees that cock, drips of his seed already seeping from its tip. You keep your tongue dangling as he scoots forward straddling your shoulders, until your mouth has nothing more to do than let him in.

With a groan, he thrusts into that familiar wet. Head thrown back, but not so far as to risk that magnificent crown to tumble off. He’s slow, languorous, savoring the way you’ve taken him so well. “Such a good little consort, earning your penance and more…” One hand knots in your hair at the crown of your head, the other you can’t see.

But you hear his movements, that dull clank of ice cubes on glass. And suddenly, you gasp, that frigid cold in his invisible grip, trailing its cold up your thigh. He’s so quick, his face scrutinizing your slacked mouth as he continues to fuck your throat, a twist of total delight on his lips as you shiver.

That is your only warning, the only inkling of his devious intentions before he slips that cube of ice between your folds. His mouth grins so wide, you see every tooth, his pleasure cemented as he thrusts between your moaning lips. Your body fights against his pinning weight. Thrusts begin to accelerate, timed with the swirls of that ice as he circles faster over your clit.

You feel the water beginning to drip, same as your slick, and your body shudders, heated by the fire and his body, frozen between your thighs as he still sweeps the melting ice through your seam.

Wave after wave consumes you, total swept away by the play of hot and cold, the merry dance of ice and fire that crashes through your body. It makes your buck and writhe, panting and choking on his cock between your cheeks. He withdraws a bit to let you savor your pleasure, pouring those praises over you once more, “Perfect, my treasure, coming for me so hard and beautifully.”

He chuckles, stroking his fingers through your long hair, lifting your head for a few really slow, really deep thrusts. Ones that you curve your tongue around and suck hard until you gag.

“Yes…” he growls, taking his cock back in his hand as he withdraws it from your now swollen lips, “good girl, so delicious… I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson of loving disobedience.”

“Savored the fruits of it, more like…” you grin, sultry, desirous, licking your lips clean of his juices that have already snuck out to coat your lips, your tongue.

That ice, so much smaller already, skates up your mound, your belly, settling it in your navel. “Astarion,” you screech as he leaves it there, as the chill settles over where you crave the heat and weight of pelvis, where you wish for him to crush you and fuck you.

“So greedy, little love,” he purrs. “And isn’t I who should be the greedy one? Denied any semblance of Yuletide joy for so long?”

“Then be… greedy… be naughty, and I will be very, very nice,” you giggle, deep in your throat as you watch him sliding down to settle between your burning thighs.

But not before he sneaks another ice cube from the cup. You lose track of it… until he grins with his mouth spread wide, his gleaming teeth biting down on that piece of ice, shining like crystal in the firelight. You shiver in anticipation. Waiting, watching for just what he might do next.

Angling down agonizingly slowly, his eyes lock into yours, his mouth aiming that fragment of ice for your already straining taught nipples. You scream again, bucking and writhing as the cold shoots right through you, racing down your every nerve. He laughs, taking that cube back inside his mouth, swirling that ice-cold tongue now over your flesh, sucking it hard between his lips.

“I will be undone, my love…” you groan, arching under his tongue.

“That’s the point,” he laughs darkly taking out that cube to rub over your other aching nipple as he teases and toys with it, “be undone before you’ll be… unwrapped, my darling.”

It steals your breath, making you writhe and tug against your binds as you feel every shiver down your spine consuming every sensation. Then he sets the ice, nearly gone back in your navel.

Heavy-lidded, Astarion licks his lips, dragging his tongue over his fang, announcing his next desire loud and clear.

“Hungry? Then get to it, greedy love,” you squirm and squeal as he gives a bite on your breast, just enough to bring a little blood to the surface. “Hgnf,” you groan as he drinks from you, those little hums and noises he makes as he feeds bring even more arousal pooling between your thighs.

You feel his cock hardening even more, as if that was possible, the union of your bloods, that tremor down your bond as he feeds from you, chin red with your essence. It makes him grind against your mound, cock twitching, a mind of its own to find that wet and clenching pressure he craves more than anything.

You feel that slow undulation, the tip of his length slipping into your folds, teasing just an inch inside you. The chair above your head scrapes across the floor, the ribbon snapping as you struggle against your binds. “Please,” you beg, “free me. I want you… I need you.”

“And why should I release you early?” he asks, barely raising his head from the pillow of your breast as he still laps at your blood. Eyes closed. As if he is too preoccupied to watch your agony. Even though you feel his smiling lips against your skin. “Just what would you do… if… I set you free?”

“Touch you…” you pant, feeling his cock dipping in and out again, shallowly. But he stills, unsatisfied.

“And?” he goads, slowing his tongue, eyes flickering up briefly at last.

“Cling to those powerful scars on your back, trace them since I know them all…”

Another dip inside your channel, slowly still but deeper as he withdraws equally slow.

“…and?” he smirks, licking his bloodied lips and chin.

You give a laugh, heavy with your need. “Clean your face from my blood, you messy thing…”

“Hmm,” he smirks wider, the lights catching in the red of his eyes as he scans your pale skin, where you pant and squirm beneath him. “Tempting, but…”

“Worship you,” you interrupt, “caress every inch of your ivory skin, grip hard into the clenching power of your ass as you fuck me… finally, run my fingers through your hair to keep that perfect crown on your perfect head…”

His lips twitch just once, a single arm reaching for that ribbon as the velvet release from your wrists. You groan, finally… finally touching him again, your voice rasping in your throat as he sheathes himself in fully. Already he commands a punishing pace, but you are so on fire for him, you crave it. You ride it all, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your hands clutched into his hair, pinning that crown in place.

A good thing too, his body shaking as he loses all his control. His rhythm is feral and driven, giving no regard to anything other than filling you with his cock and making you burst with his cum. But he watches, arms pressed into the floor as his eyes drink in that sight of you. The way your bosoms sway, coated in his spit and your blood as they glisten in the soft light. The way your eyes lock into his, flickering every now and then to watch the way his pale cock spears harder and harder into you.

You snicker, a wicked idea in your head as you glance to the last cube of ice in the glass. “You wouldn’t dare…” he groans inside your head. But it’s too late. You’ve already snagged that chilling, hard lump, tracing it down the planes of his belly as you reach between you.

“Oh, I would…”

You have to be quick, but he lets you… his flawless reflexes could stop you… if he wants.

But instead he just groans so loudly as you press that ice at the base of his cock. Caressing whatever length of him doesn’t thrust inside as he fucks.

He shivers, his arms shaking as he lowers down on top of you. That crown falls into the furs at your side, but he doesn’t care. His mouth devours yours, his grunts and pants as you bring him to climax deafen you, reverberating inside your mouth.

And as the melting ice drips to your seam, you follow him into that wave of pleasure. Heat and ice, fire and cold blast through your bodies. His thrusts are merciless, slamming hard against the end of your channel, the pain adding to the heady mix that steals your breath and sends his name screaming from your lips.

He stills inside you, your greedy walls squeezing out the last of his cum, working against the twitching pulses of his cock. Resting his hot, damp forehead in the nook of your shoulder, he struggles to catch his breath. Nuzzling closer, you feel his warmth saturating your flesh, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as he lays on you and in you.

“I… should thank you, my love,” he whispers, that tenderness he saves for your ears alone. “You never give up on me, never allow me to remain trapped, haunted by those ghosts of my past… however tormenting they may be. You have… done more than make my heart to beat again, to teach me how to love again. For centuries, at this time of year… I wanted nothing more than to take one of those stalks of holly and ram it like a stake through… his heart.”

Cazador’s. He won’t say it. Can’t say it.

“But with you, perhaps it is something just the two of us may… enjoy. To savor…”

“My love,” you whisper, placing a kiss into those silken, gleaming silver locks, “you don’t need to use Yuletide as a reason to wrap me up in pretty ribbons.”

“It is rather pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles as he raises his head, “not as magnificent as this, however…” His hand closes around that metal circlet, replacing it crookedly on his silver hair. On that head made for a crown. “Seems like you’ll need one of your own, my little consort.”

“I’m open to all sorts of gifts from you…” you purr, catching his chin to bring his mouth to yours.

“Perhaps you need me to give it to you again, my darling?” he speaks into your lips. “Another lesson for me in finding the warmth of Yuletide? I might still feel a bit frozen in the heart, if you’re not thorough, you know…”

“Avernus would freeze over before I abandon you to such a fate, gods bless it…” you catch his lips in your mouth, a good long suck in that thick lower one as you nip it gently in your fangs. Tasting the richness of his blood, the thrumming of his power that rides his essence.

“Then gods bless it,” he growls, hand catching tightly around your chin, a slight drag of his still hardened cock inside you, “every time.”

178 notes · View notes

bi-writes · 2 months

Text

mercenary!ghost is dead inside. he wonders what it leaves behind on his pretty little bunny.

notes about reader: as always, reader is curvy and ghost knows exactly what he wants to do with all that ass

more mercenary!ghost (part 2/?)

word count: 5k

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, pet names (luv, pet, bunny + rabbit, puppy), dark!ghost, mean!ghost, toxic!ghost, ghost is thicc, mentions of violence and gore + murder and extortion, mw3 spoilers, mentions of ghost's canon trauma, tw smoking, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink (reader described as much smaller, manhandled easily), suggestive touching and oral (fem!receiving), cumplay, mentions of dubcon but relationship/dynamics are consensual, simon "i eat pussy like a god" riley

his phone is ringing. it surprises him, the sound of it. it's not familiar, to hear it ring, to see a name on the screen of it and recognize it.

there was no one left to call. not until now.

he adjusts his hold on his rifle, slipping an earbud into his ear.

"'ello?"

"almost back yet?" it's you. rattling your cage.

"'m busy."

"i know--" he clicks his tongue when you say this, annoyed. "but you're not back yet."

"i'll be back when i'm back."

"yeah, but when is that?"

brat.

"'s this how it's gonna be? botherin' me when 'm out?"

"uh huh. so when are you gonna be back?"

"when 'm back."

you huff at that, and ghost snarls a bit under the mask, adjusting the scope and peering through it. there is movement, and he focuses. then your soft voice sounds again, "are you with someone else?"

there's a grunt, and then a firm, "no." and it is the truth, and you know it is, because he doesn't care enough to lie to you. you sigh on the other end, staring up at the ceiling with a wobbly bottom lip.

"we done 'ere?" he asks after a long pause. you sniffle, closing your eyes.

"take me with you next time."

he hangs up before he answers. needy little puppy he has, he knows this. he isn't unfamiliar with this kind of dynamic. it wasn't unlike the job he used to have--a lieutenant, a man in charge, in command of other needy puppies that needed to be put in their place. he wonders often if johnny would have liked you, but you are enough trouble as it is on your own.

a pet dies and another is bought; whatever ghost is, he outlives them.

he attracts them, he thinks. the ones who ache to belong. from the first moment he met you, he knows that is why he felt his blood run a little warmer at the sight of you--it is something in your eyes, something he recognizes, something that he knows tastes so fucking good. there is predator, and there is prey, and then there is the in-between. the purgatory of those who have no idea who they are. they must be shown. they have to be taught, and if they fall into the wrong hands, they are mangled and chewed through.

he wonders for a moment if maybe his mother was one of them. then he remembers that it doesn't matter what she was, because his father had black running through his veins. the same black that simon thinks he sees in the mirror--and sometimes it bleeds onto his face, he swears it's there, hiding underneath the eye-black he paints on himself.

when he was younger, he used to hide from his reflection because of it. the rot of the other half that he was made of, it terrified him. he feared being consumed by it. he was afraid of letting it show, he was afraid of scaring other people.

but when he crawled himself out of his early grave and buried the good half of himself, he didn't flinch in the mirror any longer. he let himself linger there, and when he swiped the black against his pale skin for the first time, he remembers thinking that maybe it had always been there. that he doesn't recognize himself without it because this is what i am, something made of ash, something that shouldn't be here, the remnants of something that touched a flame too hot and swallowed something foul. rancid.

and maybe that is what he's been doing since then--maybe that is what the hollow place is that he feels inside, maybe it's the half that he buried that he wishes so fucking badly to hold onto because it's the only thing that distracted him from feeling like the thing that he truly is. and maybe that is why he died again when johnny did; it was too late to realize that the hollowness is back, and it is deeper, and it hurts now, fuck, take it back, take it away--

and maybe that is why he hates you in some way. because the space is gone. it is filled again; and you fit so perfectly there, and it will happen again, and he has no idea how many more times he can lose the redeemable half of him until there is nothing left to redeem.

but black still runs in his veins, and he is selfish, and he will hold onto it until it's gone. he doesn't care. he is a thing, he is not real, and it doesn't matter to him if he will die again when you do, because while he has you, he will drink what you give him. salvation, redemption, painting his blood red, whatever the fuck it is that you are meant to give him, he will take it, and he will devour it, and he doesn't care what he leaves behind.

he wants it. it's selfish, it's cruel, but he wants it. everything he touches fades away; if he was something real, he would cut you off. but he isn't, and he doesn't care, and he's curious to know what the stain of himself will look like on you.

beautiful you. such a pretty girl. soft like a bunny, glittering eyes--if he was a poet, he might say they are filled with starlight. but ghost is a predator; the shine of you only makes his mouth water.

you were his the moment he saw you for the very first time. he was not inclined to ask your permission, but it wouldn't have mattered--he knew as soon as your eyes met, really met, that he had you. hook, line, and sinker--there it is, there she is, what she really is inside. there is a light there inside of you, he could see it.

he is going to snuff it out. he doesn't know why, but he will, because he wants to. he has an urge to kill something, and he thinks whatever it is that swims in you will do just fine. he knows, somehow, that you will look beautiful covered in it--in the tears when he breaks, when he tears, when he destroys, you will look beautiful, and he won't stop until he takes all of it. he knows, too, he doesn't know how he knows but he knows, that you will let him.

he crossed another name off his list today. he watched them on a lonely rooftop all morning, and it rained. he watched them move back and forth, between doorways, answering phone calls. he doesn't ask questions, so he wonders occasionally what it is they did to warrant a visit from him.

they could've stolen. maybe they betrayed; that is a popular motivation. lovers' quarrels--he knows what it is to die for love, but dying for love at the wrong end of his rifle isn't in marriage vows. maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; maybe they saw what they shouldn't have, and it was enough for a visit from their guardian angel.

sometimes he thinks that what he does is at their mercy; because if he didn't do it, if he didn't make it so quick, so easy, they would suffer. at least this way, by his hand, they would never know. he brings comfort. ease.

it is the same with you, it has to be. he closes his fist and bangs on the outside of your door. the wood rattles under the force, and when you open the door, the look that you give him only solidifies his assumption. if it wasn't him keeping you, then it would be someone else. someone else would look into those eyes, and they would take from you, but they wouldn't be like him. he takes, and he will take, but you won't know that you are empty until it's too late.

that is merciful, isn't it? this kind of love is forgiving, right? the kind that shields, the white lies that protect, that blindfold that hides--this is humane. he is a thing, a predator, yes, but he isn't like the others.

right?

you step aside, and he has to maneuver his shoulders to make it past the narrow doorway. as you close the door, your eyes linger. he wears a dark rain jacket over a long sleeve, dark cargo pants tucked into heavy boots. he wears a holster on one meaty thigh, but it only holds a small pack there. his balaclava is plain, hiding all but his dark eyes, and the hood of his jacket casts a long shadow over him. the gloves he wears are of a utility variety--he worked today. if you ask him, he will say yes, but he will not tell you anything else.

sometimes, you aren't sure if he just doesn't care or if he is trying to protect you from some ugly truth. but then you remember that there are no ugly truths with ghost; the truth is as it is, nothing more and nothing less, and if he hides it from you, it is because you simply don't need to know.

you lock the door behind you, leaning against it. he moves through your apartment with ease. he has been here before, but it feels as if he has always been here. he knows how to rattle the balcony door to get the lock to free, and you don't remember showing him how to unlatch it. you busy yourself with putting the kettle to boil as you see him light a match, a cigarette between two gloved fingers.

it's a nasty vice. it blackens the lungs, shrinks the organ, addicts the user. but it tastes good. and it feels good. and it isn't what will kill him, because this isn't real.

you come outside, a mug of tea in your hand, and you set it down beside him. he flicks ash off the cigarette, spreading his legs wide as he sits there, watching the street below. it's quiet because it's raining, and while the balcony is covered, it wets the toes of his boots.

he looks so good. he spreads himself out in the chair, taking up so much space, and his hand that doesn't hold the cigarette is spread out along his thigh, running absentmindedly down the material of his pants. it's hard to describe the breadth of him--ghost is just big. his hands, the height of him, the space that you can tuck yourself into his chest. he could curl you around his arm, wrap you up with both of them, trap you there. you don't hate the thought of that, the idea of him keeping you there like that. you think about the width of his hand, how it might look with the black of his glove spread out across your throat, holding you there, keeping you there.

you think about what it would be like to be under his mercy. his control. to feel the press of those fingers against the hollow of your throat, knowing he could crush your windpipe with just one perfectly placed squeeze. he would know where to touch. he would know where to tug just right to cut the air off.

it's too bad you didn't know you already belonged to him.

"can i have some?"

you nod to the cigarette burning in his hand. his eyes flicker up to look at you for a moment before he adjusts in the chair. he shrugs finally.

"'f you want."

you put a hand on his shoulder, lowering yourself to sit on his lap. you wear nothing except for a loose shirt, one that covers you to your thighs, but when you sit, it rides up. he takes the weight of you easily, not looking strained in the slightest, one arm supporting the thickness of your thighs with a firm grasp.

you lean forward a little, into him, and he brings the cigarette to your lips. you wrap your lips around it, taking a breath. you want to revel in that fact that you're putting your lips around something his own have touched, and then you start to cough.

the air burns. you turn your head to the side and wheeze; you hear a condescending chuckle, and you go warm with embarrassment. but his hand rubs small circles into your back, coaxing the smoke out of your lungs. you take in a few strong breaths to clear the smoke, and then you look away from him.

"not a smoker, eh?"

"that was...my first time."

when your head turns back to face him shyly, he tilts his head to the side. you cannot see any of his expression, but you imagine he's curious. the way his eyes look you up and down tell you that much.

"wot, you saw me do it, 'n ya think y'can take it?"

you don't respond, just keep your eyes on his. your fingers move, spreading across the solidity of his chest, and you rest them there. you lean in a little more, your face only a few mere inches from his own, and it gives you an opportunity to examine him so close.

his mask is weathered, the skull mouth painted along the mouth a little faded and messy with wear. he smells like cigarettes and earth, wet soil and ash and something warm. the eye-black that is smeared across his eyes fades out at the edges, and the paleness of his skin peeks out a little. you know the black covers the tiredness under his eyes, the lines that must be set in his face from how much he frowns. he has blonde lashes and dark eyes, and what intrigues you the most is that you can see the jagged edge of a healed scar peeking out from under the fabric that hides him.

he frowns, and you see the furrowing of the skin underneath. you meet his eyes again, and it feels surreal to see him in this much detail. you don't think this is a common occurrence; you have a feeling that anyone that has ever gotten this close to him did not live to talk about it the next day.

he has never told you, but you know death follows him. you have never seen what war has done to him, you can't see the rough skin and the patches where skin has been shredded or torn off, but you know, sitting so close to him, that he leaves bodies behind him and terrifies the ones that approach.

you wonder if you should be afraid, but then you remember that if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it by now. he does not want to kill you.

he wants to eat you.

you have asked him once what he does for work. he said he used to work for the military, but he didn't say anymore. when you asked what he did now, he said he was an independent contractor.

a contractor for what, you did not get the answer to. just that he was his own boss now, and no one told him what to do anymore.

"what did you do today?" you ask him finally, reaching up timidly and slipping a thumb down the line of his strong jaw.

"work."

"and how was it?"

he does not answer, and your eyes flicker back up to his, studying his reaction. he doesn't give one, just eyes the line of your throat as you swallow hard.

"a good pay day then?" you ask, and he hums at that. you smile a little, reaching up with both hands and cupping his masked cheeks gently. "must be good at what you do."

his face flickers a bit at that. he sniffs, looking to the side before back at you, shrugging those broad shoulders of his. one of his big hands comes up and slips up the shirt you wear, gripping your ass firm.

"good at other things, too," is all he says, and you smooth one of your thumbs down the row of painted teeth along the mouth of the mask. his breath comes out warm under your thumb.

"like killing people?"

his hand stiffens against you, and he glares up at you. a huff of a breath comes out, and you tense a little. he flicks the cigarette onto the ground, reaching up with that hand and gripping you around the jaw. your face fits nicely in his hand, and you might enjoy it if it wasn't so aggressive, the way he touched you. he shakes you a little, bringing you close enough that you can feel the wetness of his snarl against your lips.

"that wot y'think i am? some kind o'murderer?" he spits. "think 'm some kind o'fuckin' killer?"

a wave of tears prick the sides of your eyes, and you grip his wrist tight, trying to keep the pressure off of you.

"i know what you do," you whisper. "i know what you do, it's pretty obvious."

"yeah? 'n ya think it's a good idea to fuckin' talk t'me this way? ask me questions you don't want the answers to?"

you narrow your eyes, and you stare back at him, matching the intensity of his own. this makes him laugh; there is no humor in his laugh, but he laughs, and he rattles your whole head as he brings you close enough that your lips brush against the fabric of his mask.

"oh...you want me to tell ya...want me to spill all my bloody secrets..." he growls. you let out a whine when he brings you even closer, smashing your lips against the front of his mask. you choke out a whimper, and you swear you feel his tongue trying to find yours through the barrier. "think y'can handle the lot like me, bunny, and you can't. blood on m'ledger would fuckin' drown you."

and it is the truth, he knows it is, and he wouldn't lie to you because he just doesn't fucking care enough to think up a lie. he didn't serve so many years, he didn't give so much time to what he thought was righteous to come home and paint war as a pretty picture to civilians like you. war is blood, war is loss, war is what takes and takes and takes from a man, until they are things. until they come home and realize they have no idea what they were fighting for when they seem the same dirty streets they left behind.

when their brothers still get killed. when their families still come apart. when their lovers betray them, when they break their hearts--when they realize they are glorified weapons for the politicians that don't care about them, that send them away to die, that refuse to support them when they come home without the goodness that they left with.

he gave his entire life up for this. they took his family, they took the only half of him that mattered, and what was it for? nothing waits for him at home. there is no one in his bed, there is no one to call, there was no money in the bank.

there is only the memories that manifest into nightmares, and the blue sky that reminds him of blue eyes. the blue eyes that he could not save, the blue eyes that haunt him, that ask him, desperately--let the bonnie lass go, LT. you cannae save'er.

but he is a lieutenant, and he was a sergeant, and he didn't take fucking orders from anyone anymore anyways.

you are his, and you look so pretty in that cage. pretty enough to eat. pretty enough to take away. pretty enough to poison, because he thinks maybe this is the only way to make himself feel better.

he wants to see your blood run just as black as his own. misery loves company, they say, and it would please him, the selfish thing that he is, to see you just as ugly inside as he is.

"but you want it," he says, and your eyes flick back to meet his. you don't smile, but your gaze doesn't falter. you just stare back at him, and he laughs again, because he sees something he recognizes there. something inhuman, something a little feral. it is inside you.

and he wants it out.

he stands, leaning over you. you're forced to walk backwards, and he doesn't stop until you're back inside. he closes the balcony door behind him, putting a hand on your chest before forcing you backwards with a firm push. the back of your knees hit the couch, and you squeak as you fall back against it.

you almost think he's going to pounce on you. rip your panties to fabric shreds, spread you wide, and fuck you into the cushions. you think he's going to take from you, because that is what predators do, but you're almost taken back by the sight of him lowering to his knees.

he's kneeling. this behemoth of a thing kneels in front of you, and you yelp with a start when he grips you by the back of your knees and yanks you forward, manhandling you until he has your legs tossed over his shoulders. he grunts as he pushes the shirt up to expose your cotton panties, a soft red pair that you know he will ruin when he's done with you.

your back arches as he buries the front of his mask against your cunt, taking a deep breath through the mask. it's filthy, the way he takes in the scent of you, and if you were sane, you would push him away, the nasty thing he is. but you don't--the gesture floods your insides with need, and you squirm in his grip.

"stay still, little rabbit," he says, but it's a demand. he moves one hand further up your thighs, and you whimper softly when his thumb squishes the slit of you through your panties. his eyes brighten when he notices the fabric darkening as soon as he does this, a growing wet spot dampening your underwear. "look at 'er...drippin'...you hungry, luv?"

"uh...ngghhh..."

"oh, fer fuck's sake, haven't even got m'mouth on ya, and y'can't speak already?"

he laughs, because he is mean, because he is a thing that just wants and takes, and what he wants is between your thighs, and you are easy. you want to be more of a challenge; you want to make him work for it, but his eyes flicker up to meet your own, and there is nothing you can do. there is something said whenever your eyes are on each other--you have no idea what it is, but it tames him, and it keeps you.

"he woulda loved you," he says suddenly. you frown, opening your mouth to say something, to ask who he is, but his index finger pulls your panties aside, and he buries his masked face into the wet seam of your pretty pussy.

you cry out at the feeling, your thighs closing around his head instinctively. your back bows even further, a taut, imaginary string being pulled inside of you, and ghost laughs again, because you're so warm and cute and needy. he pushes his face further into you, nuzzling his nose into the place where he knows your clit is, and he draws the most delicious moans out of you. he smiles under the mask when one of your shaking hands grips the back of his head, pushing him deeper, his mask soaking with the slick of you.

he continues the torture for a time unknown. your brain isn't working; you have no concept of time. all you can think about is the way your legs shake and the grip your hands have on the back of his head as you grind your hips up into him. your eyes flutter open and closed, and you push your shirt up a little so he can see your nipples harden with how much everything aches for him.

it feels so good. he grunts, and then a low groan leaves him when you maneuver his head, shoving his nose up against your clit again and slanting your hips up and into him. you're getting off on this--fucking the front of his mask to feel something, to feel this thing you have been chasing for your entire life.

you saw it in him the first time you met him. the knowing when your eyes met for the first time--whatever it is that you have been chasing for your entire life, it is in him, and you need it.

the thing that poets chase. the rush that a high brings. the missing half of you, the warmth of a love you've never had, the shape of something in your cunt that you know he can fill.

you think you might faint when you feel his tongue finally. you can't see his face; he hides it with a wet mask, but his tongue is inside of you now, and you can't help the crying moans that leave you as he laps at your folds like a thirsty dog. maybe he is thirsty--you can hear the lewd, deep swallowing sounds he makes as he tightens his grip on your thighs and bobs his head in time with your stuttering, pleasure-chasing hips.

he drinks. he drinks you insane. his tongue suckles at your clit, then lets it go with a filthy pop to swirl inside your tightening cunt and eat the pretty bunny he has been thinking about far too much. when he works, before he sleeps, in the shower, in the mirror as he covers the scars of him that he never wants to share anymore. the taste of you is enough to distract him--here, between your thighs, your sweetness in his mouth and your moans filling his ears, he doesn't think about anything else. it's impossible. he has been chasing the void for a long time, and all he had to do was eat a pretty girl to get to it?

he knows it now, has decided it already. your cunt is redemption, and he will lose himself in it to make it reality.

"ghost! please!"

your cries shatter his resolve. he folds you in half as he leans over you now, his hands sliding up your soft stomach before he grips the weight of your breasts in his rough hands and squeezes firmly. you whine, cry, moan, beg--you beg for more, for him to please, please, please--! it feels so good, i want it! i want you, i want it all, i want--i want--what does she want?

me? the thing? what isn't real? because ghost knows that if he gives in, it is over. he signs something away, and he has done this before, and suddenly he is afraid.

when he did this before, he was left something else. he is afraid of what will happen the next time. what will happen to him, what might become of him, because what he is now terrifies his reflection, and he has no idea what it'll do.

"please! please! please!"

but you're crying, and you taste so good. and as he laves into the prettiest pussy he's ever had, the sweetest, he remembers why he is here. he isn't here because he loves you. he isn't here because he cares, he isn't here because it is good.

he is here because whatever he is needs a new host, and you are what it wants. soft, pretty, naïve--you have let it inside, and now he will eat and chew and bite until he sucks something out of you.

maybe the good. maybe blood. but it doesn't matter.

he slides his hands back down, using both thumbs to spread your folds apart, and he pulls back to look at you. you're a sloppy mess, your little hole puckering and pulsing, your clit a throbbing bud that begs him to stop teasing. he looks up at where you're a whimpering, crying thing, tears sliding down your puffy cheeks, and he snarls before he leans down and spits right on your clit, watching it drip into your cunt and swirl between what seeps from you.

"say it."

"nnh...huh?"

"say who you belong to."

when you take a moment to answer, he leans down and licks a fat stripe over your clit, making you sob. you reach down, cupping the underside of his jaw. it's bare, and your soft hands glide over the scarred skin there. it is the first time he doesn't flinch.

"you--you!"

"say it."

"b-belong to you..."

the moonlight is blue when he makes you come. his lips wrap around your clit and suckle soft, and when he knows you're coming, he opens his mouth, hinging a strong jaw so he can swallow what drips from you and take in mouthfuls of it. there is a glare over you, a blue light that shines over your sweaty, shivering body, and ghost nearly bites.

as if the blue eyes he can't keep out of his head, the blue eyes that follow him everywhere he goes, are mocking him for taking the thing he knows he shouldn't have. he's telling him to leave you. that there's still time to let you go. that what he has in his hands, what he has at his mercy, is too soft and too pretty and too gentle to be touched by what he will bring to her doorstep.

you sit up on your elbows, half-lidded, face wet with your tears. ghost almost believes the blue that washes over you, but then his eyes meet yours, and it is over. you're smiling.

this is acceptance. because you know what he is. you know what he does. the gun on him is real. the black in his eyes isn't a trick of the light. the poison spreading in his veins isn't just a sickness, it is a cancer, and this will kill him, and it is contagious.

you cup his face, bringing him up, letting him crowd the space between your legs as he leans over you.

he would care. he wants to care. and when he kisses you, sealing your fate, he remembers, suddenly. the blue moonlight is gone.

and this isn't real.

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ackerifle · 5 months

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Can you please do a scenario with Yandere Levi who is in an arranged marriage with reader? Their wedding night, perhaps? :)

’til death do us part!

yan. husband levi ackerman x wife. reader

+ CW. — nsfw 18+ mdni; rape/non-con, au: arranged-marriage, mentions of: stalking, blackmail and extortion, slight dissociative rage, levi scares the hoes, rough sex, vaginal sex, cum eating, restraints: leashing and collaring.

it is so sincerely and utterly unfair. there are still far too many things you do not know about your, now, husband. and it is only until long after your departure from the wedding recessional do you ever think to recall such moments of ambiguity from him. but the wedding had gone so well, at least you had thought so, considering it almost made you forget how the evening would inevitably end. you could almost forgive him, for how he was so selfishly, and possessively, claiming you now. baring his teeth, levi is practically fully clothed, while you are bare and naked beneath him— save for the tight leather collar around your neck, tethered by a metal leash that sits pretty in the grip of his right hand.

you’re bent over the bedside, face buried into the silken — now tousled — sheets, along with your hands that held onto them for dear life as he viciously fucked you from behind. how demeaning, humiliating even, but that thought doesn’t dare to cross levi’s mind, not at all. he thinks you’re exquisite. you had looked lovely in your wedding dress and veil, but you look even better now, so helpless and exposed beneath him, so wonderfully, so wholly, his. at first, you had violently clawed and scratched at the collar, struggling with such animalistic vigor when he wrapped it so delicately around your neck. but it seems there’s little to no fight left in you, and your submission brings a sadistic smile to levi’s face.

and as much as he craves to see your face, your expressions of pain and pleasure, to make eye contact with you and intimidate you into giving in further, he’s mesmerized by the way you take him. narrowed, slate eyes observing the way your greedy cunt sucks him back in with every thrust. even as you bit down on your tongue to lower the volume of your moans, your body would betray you, arching your back each time he would buck his hips into you. your skin felt flushed and feverish, leaving you sticky with sweat, and it had become increasingly harder for you to breathe with the collar around your neck. with every tug of the silver chain, you gasped, willing yourself to stay put, and to prevent yourself from going entirely breathless.

and perhaps the worst of it all, was that he had felt so good. as if he already knew how to work you, how to work your body. levi’s left hand was pressed down onto your lower back, his thumb rubbing halfhearted circles on your taut muscles that would’ve soothed you had he been any gentler. he has you panting and heaving, just like he wants— and it shouldn’t have, but his cock filled you up so perfectly, so nicely. every time levi had ruthlessly pounded into you, he would just barely graze your cervix, teasingly pulling at the leash in his hand with every movement. and he knew when you hadn’t choked for air that time, that you were gone.

“i’m glad it all, hah, finally paid off.” levi’s words are incomprehensible to you, pace getting impossibly rougher as if he were intentionally distracting you from his words with each forceful push. fresh tears blurred your darkening vision, and your thighs ardently shook as your sensitive walls enveloped him in a tight embrace, “’ve been watching you for years.”

at this, your eyes snapped open, “had to— make sure you’d remain, ah, faithful to me.” he spoke through low groans and sloppy thrusts into your warm, wet pussy. as if regaining your consciousness, your senses, your arms went straight for the collar. desperately sinking your fingers around the metal buckles, digging your now dull and grated fingernails into the leather until they too, went numb. “’s why i threatened all those shitty brats, those pathetic excuses of suitors of yours.”

levi’s voice began to slur near the end of his confession, but he sounded so, so, content. whether with his own intimidation tactics or with you is unknown. and with his eyes half-lidded, he almost let out a haughty chuckle as he had only now noticed your frenzied scrambling, “told ’em to lay off.” he cursed when you constricted around his length, “or i’d…”

with his left hand, he effortlessly pulled one of your hands from the collar, leading it to rest behind your back. levi leaned forward, pressing down on your nude backside until his stomach laid flat over top of your hand, keeping it in place. his dick twitched inside you when he heard you whimper from the undeniable pressure the slightly altered position granted, as he had pried your other hand in the same manner. had it not been for the fact that levi was now holding both your hands hostage, bound together by your wrists in vice like lock, you may have actually torn through the collar. of course, given a few more hours, maybe.

“or i’d… that’s right.” as if the repetition of his words brought to mind a distant memory, more akin to a repressed recollection of nightmares, levi’s tone dropped forbiddingly flat. and if you had been able to see him, you would have noticed his furious expression, with lips curled into a bitter snarl, and eyes sinisterly glaring down at you. and like a statue, he had stopped moving altogether, “i’ve bloodied my hands for you, broken bones, and fought with those sorry men who thought they had the chance!”

you can’t help the sigh that you softly breathe out. whether out of relief now that his bruising pace had finally stopped, or out of disappointment due to a denied orgasm, you are uncertain. and with your focus elsewhere, his words go straight over your head. but levi doesn’t let up, how dare you not pay attention to him? abruptly, he yanks on the leash with such force, your neck feels as if it’s been decapitated, “so don’t ever say i don’t love you! don’t accuse me of it like you did to your fucking family!” it is like he had completely lost it, snapped out of the euphoric feeling of bliss to lash out at you. and then it finally sinks in, his confessions of coercion and crimes that led up to your inorganic marriage.

but you don’t have a clue as to how he would know of that tight-lipped conversation between you and your relatives. it was in the dead of night, at a grotesque hour where any sound minded individual would have been asleep. only then would you ever profess your dismay for your soon-to-be marital status and husband. and you’re starting to comprehend how serious he was about watching you.

��w-what? hold on–” but it seems that you’ve grasped the severity of your situation too little too late, and you know there’s no point in resisting when levi aggressively slams his hips back down on yours. the fat tip of his cockhead bullying its way back into your dripping cunt, and only until he has stuffed you full again, and he’s satisfied, does he begin fervently moving, “if you didn’t say anything, i— ah, wouldn’t have had to threaten them either!” levi finally concludes with gritted teeth and a tense jaw.

it doesn’t take long for him to work your body again, to push you over the edge, and give you what you want. the licentious and shameless noises you make while he splits you open on his dick only spur him on further, and levi is adamant about holding out to prove his point. even as it becomes absurdly burdensome to keep his own eyes open, he does, just so he can see you come undone. grunting, he crudely drags you one last time by the leash, collar constricting around your throat as levi shoves himself so deep inside of you that it feels that you two have become one. and it’s heavenly when you reach your high, you almost forget about how mercilessly he had coaxed your climax from you, how your body aches, and how perilously you’re in need of air. you almost forget the way it feels when he too, reaches his high, pulling out of you and pumping his cock over your lower back.

the feeling of his seed splattering all over your back and bound hands makes you cringe, and levi releases his grasp on your wrists in favor of puppeting only one of your hands for you— but never does he let go of the leash, “but we’re ’til death do us part now.” your hand is deadweight in his, and levi dips the edges of your fingertips into the pool of cum on your backside before forcing your hand into your mouth. but not without digging your own fingers into the top row of your teeth, pleased with the way the thick white liquid smears against your gums, melding with your saliva, “and i’ll drag you down into hell with me if i have to.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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marlinspirkhall · 8 months

Text

I watched the unaired Selection pilots so you don't have to

But, if you want to, you can do so here, and here (password: “selection”), credit to Media Garage on YouTube

Edit: links no longer active

The Selection (2012)

Strong Hunger Games vibes throughout, the plain-text opening screen isn't helping

Stock-footage of rolling hills gets replayed way too much

ETHAN PECK?

Unlike in the books, America only finds out she's been entered into The Selection after she gets selected, so the plot point about the photoshoot & her radiant smile being the thing which gets her selected no longer applies, I guess

Everyone in the YouTube comments was saying that Aspen and Maxon were miscast & the actors' roles should have been swapped (... No comment. I believe in you, Mr Peck)

This castle is looks too small to fit 24 TV show contestants in it

Fiona, unprompted: “Can you keep a secret, America?”

America: “I have been known to”

Fiona: “I play the violin”

Okay? (This is actually a very sweet moment and, again, Fiona may be the best actress in this)

This episode covered a significant portion of the first book, out of order, which makes me wonder if the intention was to cover all 3 books in one series.

This almost feels like half of a film, making me wonder if someone adapted a film spec script into a tv show spec script

Apparently, Fiona has a secret child and Celeste knows about it, causing Fiona to drop out on day one and tearfully warn America to “trust no one, there's no such thing as friends here”- which is a fucking wild thing to say when she's probably the only contestant who's been nice to America so far & Celeste didn't even need to get to know her to know her secrets because she has spies anyway 😭

It's worth reminding you that they have been at the palace for one entire day total

You think Queen Amberly is being fleshed out in this version but... Hmm

Amberly appears to be the one pulling the strings from behind the scenes (she confronts Celeste about extorting Fiona, tells her "she would have gone home in due time" and to "leave America to me. Anything we do to try and separate them [her and Maxom] will only make him want her more")

Again: IT HAS BEEN A DAY

America sees her servant gathering all her dresses (none of which she has used yet, bar the yellow and green ones) including the iconic blue one from the book cover. America asks what's happening and the servant replies: “Prince Maxom's orders”

Cut to America's family. They open a box with a glittering pair of high heels inside. I guess this is supposed to mirror the part of the book where Maxom cuts off the stipend for 2's and 3's who are in the selection?

If you think this version feels unfaithful to the book, just wait until you see The CW's pilot

IT HAS BEEN ONE DAY

Runtime: one day 45 minutes

Final rating: 5/10, kinda long and stiff in places and the set design was all over the place. Felt like a Hallmark movie (the set design didn't help). Probably would watch another episode of this if it was a full series or a limited series of 3-6 episodes. A little script-doctoring and a better set would work wonders.

The Selection (2013)

I cannot stress enough: this version begins with a sex scene between Maxom and a servant

Okay, I got ahead of myself; it actually begins with another hunger-games-esque black screen with text on it, text which reads “Someday, in the future”, which is read aloud by a woman's voice.

We zoom in on a much roomier-looking castle on a hill, as a random whip sound effect plays (leading into the sex scene, in which no whips are present)

All the female servants in the palace are dressed in sexy maid costumes and I wish I was kidding

The world map explaining the history of Illea is CONFUSING AS HELL, but maybe they hadn't nailed down all the details yet. I'm genuinely not sure

ANTONY HEAD?

Aspen is introduced tied to a St Andrew's cross and being watched over by a guard. America asks the guard to free him, he chases her through the streets, she circles back and cuts Aspen down

America's selection is similar to the 2012 pilot, except Aspen is present. America asks her mom why she'd enter her into the selection when “You know I'm with Aspen”, so uh, I guess they're not keeping it a secret here.

There's also no mention of Aspen being of a lower caste than her, nor of America having a job other than the vague title of "laboring class" which hangs over them all, vaguely

This is a masterclass in editing and pacing. The dialogue is okay, but the added geopolitics make no sense. Any issues with this are smoothed over by the fact that the plot keeps moving forwards at a breakneck pace to keep you distracted.

The lack of breathing room would probably be too confusing for an audience who wasn't already familiar with The Selection

The set here is absolutely beautiful but unfortunately it gives me Merlin vibes, and casting Antony Head as the king does not help with this.

Maxon attempts to pull a Mr Darcy. He then tells America that if she runs away with Aspen, the guards will beat him to a pulp and they'll both spend the rest of their lives in prison. America suggests that she make the monarchy look good so the working class don't side with the rebels. Looks like we're going full Hunger Games.

Celeste's handmaiden seems way too devoted to her; they turn out to be lovers

Just when you think Maxon might start redeeming himself, we see the palace guards swarm Aspen and kicking him. Maxom stands nearby on his horse overseeing this so there's no question of whether he did it or not

Final rating: 6/10, I would absolutely watch another episode of this. It was an absolute mess, but I've seen teen wolf, so I'm not gonna pretend I'm above it.

This feels like the kind of pilot which would get greenlit just to attract hateviewers.

Summary:

Neither protagonist had red hair and neither adaptation was trying particularly hard to give it to her (2012: dark red box dye. 2013: blonde!)

These actors are doing their best and some of them even seem to be having fun (good for them)

In the 2013 pilot, the writers lampshade America running around “like an action hero”, but she promptly forgets how to do that by the midpoint of the episode, so w/e

It feels like the 2013 pilot was a reworking of the 2012 pilot, because there were too many similarities carried over from one script to another which weren't present in the original book, like Fiona having a secret relationship.

I forgot to mention that Aspen has a brother in the 2013 pilot. He seems to be adapted from the palace guard who has a relationship with one of the contestants in a later book.

I can't get over how fucking weird of a decision it is to make the kind and likeable love interest into a power-corrupt despot, but it does feel more true to an actual monarchy. I assume they were trying to give Maxon a bad-boy vibe, which doesn't make much sense because that's supposed to be Aspen's whole deal.

There was a whole subplot in both pilots where an advisor character is revealed to be working with the rebels at the end of the episode

Extremely funny to me that the 2012 pilot makes a point of mentioning that sex before marriage is illegal and the 2013 pilot opens with premarital sex with the prince regent

#The Selection series #The Selection #Kiera Cass #Anthony Head #Ethan Peck #dystopian fiction #YA fiction #undescribed #America Singer #Prince Maxon #long post

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