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koqabear · 4 months

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Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal.

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child.

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside.

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together.

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with.

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick.

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there.

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set.

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves.

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you.

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice.

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile.

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning.

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies.

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can.

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you.

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods.

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching.

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own.

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you.

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly.

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies.

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye.

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out.

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully.

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent.

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him.

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with.

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in a feeble way to distract yourself.

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought.

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly.

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion.

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches.

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off.

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point.

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger.

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.”

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed.

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look.

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely.

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much.

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses.

“I’m here to protect you.”

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water.

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile.

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him.

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown.

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all.

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own.

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long.

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.”

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.”

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man.

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps.

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home.

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror.

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots.

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse.

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement.

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left.

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear.

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them.

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls.

“Get out.”

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu— to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself.

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard.

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it.

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds.

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom.

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face.

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?”

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off.

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly.

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body.

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale.

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end.

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you.

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage.

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open.

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him.

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct.

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill.

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display.

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down.

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?”

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you.

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning.

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely.

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.”

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you.

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more.

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.”

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?”

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly.

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?”

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight.

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response.

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils.

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly.

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest.

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches.

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles.

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you.

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit.

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection.

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you.

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt.

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations.

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?”

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you.

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight.

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp.

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts.

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence.

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.”

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.”

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.”

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra:

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks.

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.”

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied.

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt.

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want.

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure.

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own.

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly.

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words.

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation.

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck.

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you.

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other.

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough.

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into.

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within.

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

794 notes · View notes

whorediaries-09 · 6 months

Text

abditory;

"forgive us now for what we've done."

☆ EVENTS ☆

'tis the damn season (closed)

you can meet me at the hotel; (closed) [kinkotober masterlist]

put your life out on the line" (closed)

got the wine for you; (closed) [false god (masterlist)]

maybe it's a blessing in disguise; (open)

✧ ONE-SHOTS ✧

Peppers Sirius Black X Reader. Fuck buddies to lovers. Modern AU!. 18+ content

Delicate Sirius Black X Reader. Friends to lovers. TW- Self harm, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Night We Met Sirius Black X Reader Set During Order of The Phoenix. Mention of major character death(s).

New Year's Day Sirius Black X Reader Set during Order of The Phoenix. Fluff and low humor.

Cardigan; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort.

Sure Thing; Sirius Black X Shy!Reader Fluff.

Oh Children; Sirius Black X Reader Angst.

Million Dollar Man; Sirius Black x Camgirl!reader 18+ content, drinking.

Daylight Flowerist!Sirius Black X Barista!reader Fluff.

Consume; Dark!Sirius Black X Muggle!reader. 18+ content, cemeteries, dark themes.

Born to die Cult!leader Sirius Black X Reader. Mentions of murder, gore, dark themes.

Afterglow; Felix Catton x Reader Hurt/Comfort.

Dancing with our hands tied; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort, injuries, blood. (potential part two)

Maneater; Neighbor!James Potter X Reader 18+ content, stalker behavior, darkish themes.

She just hit my heart; James Potter X Reader Fluff.

Don't blame me; Priest!Remus Lupin X Reader Alludes to sex, dark themes.

ψ SERIES ψ

The Seven Lives; Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter. Status- On going.

⨴MOODBOARDS⨵

Poison Ivy From my fall event (close)

Heartbeat; From 'the seven lives' series.

§ ASKED AND ANSWERED §

Call It What You Want Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Touch sensitivity.

Indentation in the shape of you Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Fluff, bad humor.

Now I'm Covered in You Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. 18+ Content. From my fall event (close)

Trying To Keep The Water Warm James Potter X Reader. Professor James AU! Fluff. From my fall event (close)

Dark Red James Potter X Reader Set during the Marauders era. 18+ content.

Womanizer Sirius Black x Reader Set During the Marauders era. Angst, 18+ content, drinking, hints at sexual assault.

Meddle About; West Coast; FDad!James Potter X Reader. 18+ content, mentions of alcohol, age gap.

Maroon Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, drinking, alludes to sexual assault, hurt/comfort.

The great war; Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort. Part two to Maroon.

Do I wanna know? Rockstar!Sirius Black X Reader. 18+ content.

Dusk till dawn Sirius Black X Lestrange!Reader Hurt/Comfort, dialogue heavy.

Smoke on my clothes; Rockstar!Sirius Black X Popstar!Reader Fluff, 18+ content, use of y/n.

Into You; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, porn without plot.

Wherever I go; Remus Lupin X Reader. Making out, suggestive, fluff.

Blue Jeans; Professor!Harry Potter X Reader 18+ content.

Getaway car; Sirius Black X Desi!Reader 18+ content, sexual tension, substances.

I think he knows; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, mentions of war, fluff.

Gorgeous; James Potter X Reader 18+ content.

House of balloons/glass table girls; Sirius Black X Reader 18+ content.

You're in love Policeman!James Potter X Baker!Reader Fluff.

❁ ODE TO FANFICTION ❁

Hall of morals;

417 notes · View notes

myerssimp21 · 16 days

Text

Tim Drake, Aphrodisiac Victim (YAN!Pt.1)

Romantic!Yandere!Batfam x fem reader. Part 1 Part 2, Part 3

It’s easy for him to excuse it, easy for Tim Drake to pretend like he hadn’t intentionally fumbled the latest conflict with Poison Ivy. He could have done more to stop her, but when he discovered her plan and spent days pouring over the ingredients in her new concoction, the holistic quality of her potion calmed his nerves and quieted the anxious parts of him that screamed he would get caught. Ivy was known for several atrocities in Gotham, but she didn’t usually act as aggressively as Scarecrow or Joker with her toxins.

So when Tim Drake definitively concluded her newest potion wouldn’t have any adverse health effects, he was slower than he should have been when she whipped out the perfume bottle and sprayed it at him.

He’d been expecting this; what he hadn’t expected was Bruce yanking him backwards in an attempt to save him from the mist. The Batclaw shot out, aiming for the bottle in her hands but failing to retrieve it halfway through the delivery, the glass shattering on the ground and splashing all over the Bat and Tim Drake.

There had been dizzying action, and then only silence for a moment. Ivy had a shit-eating smile creeping onto her face as she began backing away, keeping her eyes on the two men trying to catch their breath.

“Gentlemen, it looks like you have the night off,” she said with a giggle as she continued to retreat, eyeing her escape route, “maybe make plans?”

“Pamela,” The Bat growls in a dark tone, his anger barely contained over how their mission had gone so wrong, “Give me the antidote.”

She turns to run away and he lunges forward to grab her before his knees buckle under him and he collapses to the ground, catching his balance and hearing her scurry off.

“Batman,” Tim says, feeling the weight of consequences of his actions as he feels his crotch begin tingling, “she doesn’t have one. I checked.”

The silence is palpable as Bruce evens out his breathing and pushes off the ground, using a nearby wall to steady himself, “We need to get to the Batmobile before it sets in.”

Tim shudders as Bruce places a giant hand on his shoulder, concerned both at how hard the big man is taking the dose and at how good the physical contact feels in this state. He hopes Bruce doesn’t feel pleasure at the slightest touch like he does; he’s frustrated since it was supposed to be just him.

Tim Drake was supposed to receive an accidental dose of Ivy’s new aphrodisiac. Tim Drake was supposed to stop by their darling’s apartment afterwards to relieve the strain in his crotch and the desire in his heart. It was supposed to be the best porno he’d ever see; getting the best angles for the cameras discreetly set up at her place earlier that month to rewatch later.

He knew Bruce was smart and Tim only hoped to earn forgiveness for this by making the best home film with you. He also knew Dick, Jason, and Damian would be grouchy he’d gotten to you first and it was entirely possible he’d get just decimated by your lack of interest altogether. Even though you and Tim had become close over the past couple semesters, he could tell you were reserved at times, just anxious or uneasy enough to pull away before anything with lasting complications happened.

The Batmobile had an autopilot feature which Bruce immediately enacted, setting a course for the Batcave. Wordlessly, Tim adds their darling’s apartment complex in as a stop, trying to not get shaky at the thought of getting laid in this state. It’s so easy to add it; all he has to do is press it from the list of saved priority locations in the portal.

“I had my suspicions,” Batman murmurs as he closes his eyes and lays against the headrest, trying to control the sensations in his body, “you wouldn’t have gotten sprayed at that range unless you wanted to.”

Tim says it before he can think in misplaced irritation, “Then why’d you get in the way?”

It’s embarrassing the moment he says it and Bruce says nothing in response, letting the silence sour in the air to make a point.

“What are you going to do?” Tim asks him, too aware of the growing urge to sink his dick into a warm, wet hole. The urge is going to be hard to wrangle enough to talk to her, let alone look normal enough to seem like a regular hook-up.

“I’ll manage,” is all Bruce says, and Tim hopes that means he’ll call Catwoman as soon as he leaves; he suddenly doesn’t like the idea of everyone tuning in at once to the live camera feeds as he tries his hand at seducing you. It feels like lots of pressure, and while Tim Drake is usually phenomenal at working under pressure, he doesn’t want to get rejected in 4k.

Bruce grips the steering wheel tight when the tingles begin in his crotch, trying to distract himself, “I have a change of clothes under your seat. Change before we get to her place.”

Bruce makes the call while he can, letting Damian know he and Tim were not going to be able to finish their patrol shift. Damian sounds unimpressed when he asks why and Bruce doesn’t answer him, hanging up.

Bruce goes to voicemail when he calls Jason, and his jaw clenches in irritation. He knows Jason holds more resentment towards him and might murder some criminals if made to do patrol on a night he’s supposed to have off, but Bruce can’t let Damian do patrol alone in the big city yet. He’s also a little concerned that Jason might murder Tim if he hears him with you, so getting him out on patrol is better for everyone.

After calling Jason two more times, Bruce gives up and calls Damian back, telling him he’d send Grayson over. Ever efficient, Damian is already dressed as Robin on the Batmobile’s call screen, his eyes narrowing in his domino mask.

"Father, your demeanor suggests trouble. What went wrong with Drake during the patrol?"

"It's nothing, Damian. Just a minor setback. We handled it."

"Minor setbacks don't usually disrupt patrol schedules. What are you hiding, Father?"

"I'll be back tomorrow morning," Bruce says, ignoring Damian's rude interrogation, "Make sure to stop by the GCPD to follow up with Jack Ryder on-" Bruce's voice falters as he struggles to remember what the story is; his crotch begins throbbing uncomfortably and he feels like the heat is spreading up his torso with each beat of his heart.

"On those cryptic messages left in the GCPD mailbox," Tim finishes for Bruce, leaning in to fit in the camera lens so Damian can see him too. Damian rolls his eyes.

"Your knack for evasion is quite the talent, Father. Maybe it's worth pondering why you choose partners if transparency isn't part of the deal."

With this scathingly cold delivery, Damian ends the call on a sour note. Tim would check with Bruce but their darling lives on the street they just turned down and his heartbeat has begun violently thudding in his chest and in his dick.

"Tim," Batman says firmly before Tim leaves the Batmobile, "stay in control. Scaring her off is not an option."

Tim's trying to not be sensitive about it because after all, it makes sense; if he comes off too strong and scares her, not only is he fucked immediately with Ivy's aphrodisiac coursing through his veins, but he will complicate things for the whole Wayne family. The other part of him, the part being drugged by Ivy's potion wants to whine in protest. How is he supposed to exercise control!? He'd never force himself on her but he doesn't doubt he might pass out if he doesn't find relief soon. As he exits the Batmobile with her apartment building in front of him, he just prays Jason is asleep and doesn't cockblock him.

You weren’t asleep yet. At 10 PM, you were drawing in bed, pausing at different parts in the pornographic video you were watching to practice drawing bodies. You couldn’t deny this way of practicing wasn’t tempting you to turn the lights off and rub one out with one of your vibrators though. They were recently charged, after all.

Not wanting to stop drawing quite yet but wanting the desire to build, you turn up the volume of the tv and make an effort to not pause as much. It felt good to feel a building arousal in your body and know you could use your toy as many times as you liked. It had already been about twenty minutes of you rotating out on your favorite pornography and hentai tags, working your brain up to arousal under the guise of practicing art. It honestly didn’t take much to get you feeling hot; growing sexual tension in your personal life made it easy to tap into. Maybe it was just that it never left your mind in the first place, and your mind wandered as your fingers snuck under the waistband of your shorts.

You thought of the recent weird vibes between you and Tim, the boy in your humanities course you sat near who was also in your social work course. You’d exchanged numbers early in the semester and at this point you’d met up for study sessions more than once. He’d always been a little flirtatious but you thought he was joking until he had leaned in the other day, hand finding purchase on your thigh as he murmured, “you drive me crazy, you know that?”

It was so generic you would have chuckled or rolled your eyes but the way he said it made goosebumps raise on your skin instead. His eyes were locked on yours and the sober intensity in them was not something you had prepared for, leaning away from him in sudden awkwardness even when you felt your cheeks burning.

Still, the thought of how he looked at you made you shudder when your finger brushed against your clit and your mind raced on.

Then there was your next-door neighbor, Jason. Tall and broad-shouldered, there's a casual confidence in the way he moves. His piercing blue eyes seem to twinkle with amusement whenever you shyly chat with him, like he's in on some secret joke. The black cat always at his heels chirps happily on his little patio table when you two chat, purring loudly and head-butting Jason at any given opportunity. Always, Jason makes his appearance shirtless, his eyes laughing louder at you every time you feel your face flush when he says something questionably flirtatious towards you. It's one thing to playfully flirt, but to do so while ripped and shirtless? How was your ability to articulate yourself around him supposed to have a chance?

You try not to look and act unflustered every time, but once your eyes lingered and you noticed scar tissue all over his torso, unable to tear yourself away from the sight. You'd apologized when he jokingly said you'd better take a picture, since you didn't want to seem rude checking out his scars and felt silly for getting caught staring.

"They come with a price, always," Jason remarked cryptically, suddenly making intense eye contact.

"Your scars?" You asked, afraid to say the wrong thing due to your social anxieties but leaning towards him from your bannister.

"No, my pictures" he replied with a smirk, his eyes twinkling mischievously while Alfred the cat chirped at his ankles again. Jason leaned across his bannister too, "But I've always believed in getting to know my neighbors. I think you and I could take that to a whole new level, don't you?"

"I-I think... that could be...nice," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Getting to know you better, I mean." You had looked away while trying to choke out these words, gathering your courage before meeting his gaze again. "I'm curious about you.. So maybe we could... explore each other sometime."

His eyes widened, his expression betraying a hint of genuine disbelief. A faint blush quickly dusted his cheeks, mirroring the warmth you felt spreading through you at his suggestion.

"Wow," he said, his voice laced with surprise and breathier than normal, "I wasn't expecting that, but... I like where you're going with this." The tone of admiration had given you chills at the time, praise kink activating at the new way he was regarding you. "I’m curious about you too, you know. Let's see just how close we can really get."

His reaction left you feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, but you couldn't help but smile at his response. You hadn't seen him since then, a couple days ago, and you hoped your conversation would amount to something delicious one day if it was meant to be.

As you reminisced about Tim's intense words and Jason's forward suggestions, your fingers gravitated towards your clit, applying firm pressure as they glided up and down your labia before slowly easing into your pussy. You opted for two fingers, relishing the sensation of fullness they provided compared to just one. They pressed deeply inside you, and you squeezed around them exploratively, reveling in the feeling.

After relishing the fullness of your fingers, you pumped them a few times, a low moan escaping your lips at the intense sensation. Your eyes scrunched shut tightly as you imagined Tim's hand from the other day—how it had come to rest on your thigh, the way it had firmly gripped at you, igniting a desire to jump at the touch.

You visualized him inching closer to the point of no return, sliding his hand into your underwear, and letting his fingers work their magic right there as you both sat with your homework in front of you. Just moments ago, you would have been innocently reviewing new terms together, but then the thought of his touch would be obscenely irresistible. You pictured yourself moving your hips, eagerly responding to his touch and allowing yourself to make all the noises you had always been too nervous to make with others. You imagined he'd get antsy to fuck you after hearing the squelching of your pussy on his fingers. In your mind's eye, he would just barely find the self-control to pull his cock out from his pants before burying his length desperately as far deep as it could go in you.

As you finally reached for the vibrators kept next to the bed, the abrupt sound of knocking at the door shattered your session. Startled, you jumped up, hastily yanking your shorts back up and rushing to wash your hands.

With no peephole on your apartment door, you felt a twinge of unease as you hurried to answer it. When you pulled the door open, the sight of Tim standing there caught you off guard.

"Hey... uh, sorry to just show up unannounced like this," Tim begins, his voice slightly breathless. "I, uh, I needed to talk to you about something important."

He shifts uncomfortably, trying to suppress the nervous energy coursing through him. "I know it's kind of out of the blue, but... can I come in? It won't take long, I promise."

Tim's words come out rushed, his cheeks flushed with a mix of urgency and embarrassment, as he struggles to maintain his composure despite the powerful effects of the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins.

Without hesitating, you step aside, allowing Tim to enter. His presence saturates the room, bringing with it an air of tension and anticipation.

"Tim, what's going on? Are you okay?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern and uncertainty as you closed and locked the door behind him.

His eyes met yours with an intensity that made your heart beat just a little faster, unsure of what he was going to tell you.

"I couldn't stop thinking about what I said the other day," Tim began, his words coming out in a rush. "About how you drive me crazy. I... I don't know how to explain it but I felt like I had to come see you."

His confession hung in the air, heavy with emotion and unspoken arousal.

As he stood before you, his usually composed demeanor was replaced by an air of dishevelment. His hair was messier, and his clothes weren't neat like usual. There was a manic energy in his expression, a hint of desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tim, you seem... different tonight," you remarked cautiously, noting the wild look in his eyes.

"I couldn't wait any longer," he confessed, his voice emotional, "I needed to see you. I needed to be with you tonight more than anything."

The intensity of his gaze sent your heart racing, a sense of unease creeping over you as you began to comprehend the depth of his interest. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of something akin to surrender. You longed for him to desire you so intensely that he couldn't wait for a more appropriate time, practically begging you to spend a night with him like a lost puppy.

As Tim stood before you, his agitation evident in every movement, you couldn't ignore the tension in the air. Your gaze inadvertently dropped to the now noticeable bulge in his pants and you're captivated by it, unwilling to look away. You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the undeniable evidence of his desire.

"Can you... touch me?" Tim's voice trembled with urgency as he made the request, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the underlying intensity. "You can set the pace, do anything you want, just... please, do something," he added, his words carrying a fervent plea while leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

The tension was thick but you couldn't say you were really surprised at this admission of interest. Regarding the boy in front of you, you pondered the consequences this could lead to. As far as you knew, Tim wasn't a frat boy or someone who could make your life annoying with spreading rumors about the type of girl you were at school. He'd only ever been considerate, kind, and genuine. No girlfriend that you knew of, and he'd definitely be the kind of guy who gushed about his partner if he had one, so you wouldn't be any sort of homewrecker. He always helped you with your homework, to a point where you barely needed to do anything but the minimum whenever he got involved in any of your projects or assignments. This in mind, you decided he deserved a reward.

Leaning in towards him, you place your hands against his cheeks to cup his face. His eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. You thought you heard somewhere that meant someone was in love. Staring into those blown pupils with a mixture of curiosity and arousal, you drew closer.

"Can I kiss you?" You whisper and he nods before you can even get the question out. You kiss him, noticing he seems to freeze up for a moment before kissing you back, pressing against your mouth harder. His tongue swipes against you, but before you let yourselves go any further, you pull away.

"Before things escalate, can we agree to keep it casual, keep us casual? I like what we have."

He seems so antsy, almost breathless, "Absolutely, yeah. I'm all in. No pressure."

Doubting his sincerity since he seems so gone off of whatever is happening to him, you hesitate, "Tim, I'm serious. I don't want you to agree just because of the moment or you're high."

You're staring into those dilated eyes of his in the beat of silence that follows, hoping he's really listening to you.

He looks back into your eyes, the frenzied look a little more under control. "I hear you, I'm on the same page. Friends-with-benefits, I'd love that." Notably, he doesn't deny the speculation of being high.

Nodding at the more clear communication, you went back in for the kiss, now letting his tongue enter and explore your mouth. After getting more clarity from him, you feel less tense and relax into his kiss, feeling his hand come up to touch at your hair as he takes more control of it.

Dropping to your knees when the kiss breathlessly ends, you kiss at his clothed bulge, pawing at it with a hand. Your eyes are fixated on the stricken Tim Drake above you, and he watches in awe as you deeply inhale. You can smell him through his pants and nuzzle your cheek against the bump in them.

Slowly pulling at the drawstring of his sweatpants, your fingers hook on the band and you pull them down till they're bunched at his ankles, hardly taking a breather from your kisses.

"Oh, god," he moans in a strangled voice, "You're so pretty down there."

His praise makes your cheeks begin to burn and your movements get a little more self-conscious, feeling marveled at. Moving your mouth against his bulge in his boxers, you find where the tip should be and roughly suck at it through his underwear. His body shudders, one of his hands fingering through your hair and grabbing it firmly and he hisses, "Play nice."

Feeling good about this now, you moan into his bulge at the choked tone you caused him, pulling his boxers down and kissing on his penis directly now. Lifting it, you craned underneath and kissed at his balls, licking a long strip up from them to the tip and swirling your tongue around his hole at the top. A loud moan tore through Tim and you felt him push his pelvis towards you more, the tip of his penis in your mouth beginning to inch further.

Graciously, you accept his bid, widening your mouth to swallow him completely when he pushes in. He's not terribly big but it's still a little hard to fit him in, the longer length causing it to bump into the back of your throat. He doesn't taste bad considering your previous experiences with oral. It was musty and damp like he'd just worked out, but the faint scent of soap and the neat pubes your nose was buried in told you his hygiene wasn't terrible.

Swirling your tongue with the movement, you experimentally go down on him to gauge his reaction. He moans loudly again and the sound is beautiful to you, doing it again in the hopes he moans nicely again. He does and you fixate your gaze up at him as you take his cock deeply again and his face betrayed how flustered he was, with his cheeks flushed and the look of a madman about him.

He's watching you like he adores you and when you make eye contact, his hips buck into your mouth and he whines, "I knew you'd be gorgeous swallowing my cock, you're taking it so well."

You look up at him in curiosity, so he thought about you like that? He'd pictured this?

"Fuck, I knew it. I knew you'd look beautiful on your knees."

You sense his thighs trembling and your hands come up to press against them, mouth obediently swallowing his cock.

"Oh," he chokes and roughly thrusts deeply, "I'm cumming- it's coming, swallow it all!"

He looks back down at you and then it comes as he moans loudly and crouches to push his cock as far as it will go down your throat, the overwhelming cumshot from the throbbing penis in between your lips threatening to spill out of your mouth. You always hated swallowing cum, and the hot orgasm spurting into your mouth is no exception. You feel your gag reflex threatening to make this night nightmarish but then it ebbs away as you focus on the fact the flow of cum is slowing down, on the fact this particular sensation will go away soon.

You can't lie he sounds and looks delicious otherwise, your eyes focusing on his flustered face that looks almost entirely delirious now. He's sweaty but the handsome face almost glows with liveliness, cheeks flushed and jawline trembling with emotion.

Gently, you slide his penis out of your mouth, sucking any remaining cum or spit off until you get to the tip, lightly swirling your tongue against his hole. When you finally pop off, his hand cups your cheek and he promptly drops to his knees, passionately grabbing your face and kissing you. His tongue wriggles into your mouth and you're surprised he's tongue-kissing you with the flavor of his cum fresh in your mouth still. One of his hands hungrily comes up to knead at your tit and you whimper as he harshly pinches on the end of it. Then he's pulled away from the kiss but his body is beginning to overwhelm you, crawling on top of you as you fall back onto your butt with your legs in front.

"Let me have you," he pleads, and you feel his penis is hard again and prodding against your thigh, "Please let me have you right now."

You wouldn't have preferred doing it mere feet away from your front door, especially since the crack under the door was a couple centimeters wide and anyone in the hall could probably hear you without effort, but the wild look in his eyes and the famished way he pulled at both your tits now made you want to indulge in such an animalistic fucking. Something was hot about the desperate way he looked, something enticing about the frenzied approach. You'd never seen this side of him, and the consequences of indulging with him in such a degrading way was far from your mind when his head dipped down and he tugged at the hem of your shirt. Helping him take off your shirt by lifting your arms, he wasted no time in shoving his face in your cleavage, nipping at the top of your breasts with his teeth.

Yelping at the surprising and slightly painful sensation, your hands come up to grip at his hair and he lays large wet kisses against your breasts, sucking at the skin there. You know he's gunning for hickeys and you whimper when he alternates between open-mouthed kisses and biting, arching and pressing your breasts further towards him.

His mouth pops off of them and he leans in, head over your shoulder as he fidgets with your bra clasp behind you. You turn your head as he fiddles with it and bury your face into his neck, inhaling deeply before kissing at it. He smells faintly of laundry detergent, but there's sweat and a slightly sweeter smell lingering on him, the sweeter smell hanging heavily in your nostrils and seemingly dripping at the back of your throat. It makes your head buzz a little and you pull away in a daze when he fails to unclasp your bra, your tits popping out of the thing when he pulls it down in frustration.

"What cologne do you wear?" You ask without really wanting to know right now, feeling your head spin after smelling at his neck.

"I'm not," he gasps, squeezing and pinching at your nipples freely now, and you throw your head back with a moan when he attaches at them with his mouth. He uses his tongue and teeth to alternate between nibbling and flicking at them with his tongue, paying attention to each side as he can. His penis is excitedly bumping against your thigh in his boxers and you kick your shorts off, groping at his bulge.

"Please," he says with need when he takes a break from your tits, and his hand now fumbles at his boxers. You see him pull his cock out from the hole in them and understand what he wants when he slides your panties aside, not bothering to remove them. His dick prods at you and his hips slowly move around, trying to find your entrance. Aroused and excited to feel him enter, you reach down to guide him in.

Then, you remember.

Groaning in annoyance, you gently begin pushing him off of you, "Tim, we have to use a condom. They're in my room."

He finally pulls off your tits with enough of your pushing, and he looks at you like he doesn't understand, a rabid look glinting in his eyes.

You smile, trying to make the best of it, "C'mon, it'll be more comfortable for us on the bed anyways."

Standing and realizing you feel uncharacteristically light-headed, you unsteadily make your way to your bedroom, feeling him grip at your hips while he follows. You apologize for the pornography still loudly streaming from your TV as you make your way to your dresser to get a condom, and his eyes quickly become glued to the visual stimulation, mouth opened slightly as he stared.

"Keep it on," he instructs when he notices you reach for the TV remote, "Keep it on and get over here."

You approach the bed where he sits on the end, and he opens the wrapper and pulls his boxers down to reveal his penis, hastily rolling the condom onto his length. The sensation of doing so seems to be much more stimulating to him than you thought it would, and he moans and whimpers as he pulls it all the way down. Once it's on, he grabs forward at your waist and yanks you down onto him, your breasts smashing against his face as you fall onto him. He's strong and you're letting him pull you around, straddling his lap and looking down at the needy man.

"Here," you say, reaching past him to grab your pillow and tuck it under his head, "There you go."

You smile down at him sweetly and he smiles back, kneading at your ass as you sit atop him. Leaning down to kiss him, you use a hand to reach down and guide his penis against your entry, pulling it to rub it up and down against you. His tip collects your aroused wetness and the movement become slippery as it slides with your lubrication. Just when you can tell he's getting antsy and about to whine, you guide it until you feel it at the tip of your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto it and his grip on your ass tightens until it's almost painful.

"Oh," He moans, deeply affected. His hips are still as you let him slowly penetrate you until you're full with him and there's no more room in you to sink down further, "Oh, god, you feel so good."

"How do I feel?" You ask in curiosity, looking at him as he seems dazed with the sensation of your pussy. A sudden thrust upwards into you makes you yelp, his hard penis harshly bumping against your cervix. His eyes are closed as he collects his words.

"You're so warm and fluttering around me," he says, and it's true. You feel yourself squeezing at him at the sight of him, his relief evident, "I've never felt so good; it's like you were meant to have me buried in you."

His words are spoken with conviction, and you're processing it all when he thrusts again. It still hurts, but less now. Your head is spinning, but you catch onto his new rhythm and begin lifting your hips up, forcefully pushing them down on him in time with his thrusts.

Pained but aroused moans spilling from your lips in time with each thrust, you realize your tits are bouncing around in his face with your fucking, swinging around wildly. His grip on your hips tightens impossibly and you see his biceps flex madly when his muscles take over, overriding your own rhythm and violently making you meet his thrusts. The moans from his own mouth gets louder until they're louder than yours, his pace quickening at the sight of your expression above him. You look fucked out and in pain and he relishes in it, knowing the sound of skin slapping against skin is his own doing. He grits his teeth and pulls you all the way down on his length like you were when you got on top at first, shooting his orgasm into the condom but envisioning it shooting straight into your womb.

You hiss in some pain at this large and painful thrust, moaning at the distant feeling of his dick twitching in you. The base of his cock is nestled at your entrance and you feel the entire length of it throbbing in your hot pussy as he takes his time to finish.

"You haven't cum," he says through heavy breaths as he comes down and you know he isn't asking but stating his observation.

"It's still really hot," you admit, "I like how it feels when you cum in me."

Staring up at you, he brings his hands up to your ass again and lifts his hips to inch the both of you towards the head of the bed, reaching towards the bedside dresser and grabbing one of your vibrators, handing it to you. You're still impaled on him and gasp at the sensation of him jerking you forward with him on his dick. Now kneading rhythmically at your tits, he pulls at them like he was milking you, "Cum on my cock."

Wide-eyed, you realize he's perceptive and has noticed your vibrators when you came in.

His gaze is drinking you in, eyes less wild as he stares. When you hesitate, he takes the vibrator from your fingers and turns it on, placing it against your clit as you sit on him. You're impressed he knows where the clit is and you jump at the sensation of the vibrator bumping against it, feeling him thrust up with an overstimulated whimper when you jump.

"Tim," you gasp, "doesn't that hurt?"

"Don't worry about it," he hisses through gritted teeth, "I need to feel you cum on my cock."

So you focus on finding your orgasm, hyperaware of the hard rod resting in your secret place, tracing the sex toy along places near your clitoris and moaning in pleasure as you play with yourself. He whimpers every time you squeeze on him and you squeeze on him any time you find pleasure near your clit. His hands return to milking your tits and you remember that his condom is full of his cum, sloshing around deep inside you and pressing against your cervix. The fear of the condom breaking suddenly rushes you to your first orgasm and you gasp his name, feeling him twitch deep inside you as you repeat his name helplessly in your climax. He strains upwards and his lips catch a nipple, sucking harshly as you begin to come down.

"Keep it there," he growls when you begin to pull your vibrator away, "We're not going anywhere until you cum again."

"Tim," you whimper, "I can't."

"I know you can," he says, thrusting upwards experimentally. The movement makes the vibrator bump against your clit and you squeeze down on him at your own overstimulation, making him groan. He slowly and determinedly begins thrusting into you again, small tears forming in his eyes at the overstimuation.

His stubborn insistence on chasing your second high even though you're both beyond the edge only makes you more aroused and you rut against him. He's not thrusting fully, but more so bumping against your cervix in small movements and you're fraught with a visual of the full condom sloshing around. You wonder if he will cum again into it, if it will become so full with his semen it bursts inside you. This thought along with his steady breast kneading causes the knot to quickly build up in your cunt until it comes undone again, and your second orgasm hits in a fray of overstimulation and whimpering.

"There you go," he coos, legs underneath you twitching at your pulsing movements, "There you go, you did so well. You did so good for me, baby...you were meant for it."

You shudder at the sweet tone, being pulled down for a long kiss. His chest is sweaty, the space in between the bottom of your thighs and the tops of his is slick, and you're gasping against his neck when he holds you. The two of you spend a while in that embrace, regaining your breaths and recovering from the intense session. Your head rests against his collarbone until you stir, slowly lifting yourself off him and breathing through the feeling of his cock sliding out of you. When it's fully out, you collapse next to him on the bed, bringing a leg up to wrap around his as you both take a breather.

You know you told him it was no commitment, no feelings, no drama, but you can't deny yourself a cuddle session after sex regardless. He doesn't speak, but the silence is comfortable as you rest your head against the crook of his chest and side. The atmosphere in the room shifts subtly as the distant sounds of the television fade into the background, replaced by the incessant chirping of Tim's phone.

You can't help but notice the growing urgency in Tim's demeanor as he glances at his device, a furrow forming on his brow. Despite your reluctance, he rises from the bed, his movements hesitant yet determined.

Sitting up despite your whines of protest, Tim looks at his device in concern and reluctance, "I have to take this."

Your initial protest dies on your lips as you watch him leave the room, a knot of unease forming in the pit of your stomach. What could possibly be so pressing at this hour? The uncertainty gnaws at you, feeding into the growing sense of unease.

As you strain to make out the muffled voices from the other room, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. The once familiar sounds of Tim's voice now carry an edge of tension, each word laced with frustration and urgency. It's a stark contrast to the comfortable silence you shared moments ago.

Your heart sinks further as Tim returns, his expression weighed down by an unspoken burden. The air between you feels heavy with anticipation, as if bracing for the inevitable.

"What's wrong?" you venture cautiously, already dreading the answer.

Tim's gaze flickers with a mixture of regret and resignation as he meets your eyes, his voice heavy with apology, "I'm really sorry, but something came up. I have to go."

Your mind races, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere. What could possibly be so urgent? Despite your efforts to remain composed, a wave of insecurity washes over you. Did this mean you weren't important enough to prioritize?

"...Really?" you finally utter, your voice trembling slightly.

"Yes," he reluctantly confirms, a guilty expression on his face, "I'm very sorry, but I need to attend to this."

Wanting to protest but knowing it would be more frustration than it was worth, you nodded slowly at the news, "...Okay."

He starts for the door, ""I wish I could stay, but I really need to go. I'll make this up to you, I swear."

As Tim heads towards the front of your apartment to gather his belongings and dress, you follow behind, hastily pulling on your shirt as you move. Despite the turmoil swirling within, you're determined to maintain a façade of composure, refusing to let the tears welling up inside spill over. The uncertainty gnaws at you as you watch him prepare to leave, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. You desperately cling to the hope that something truly urgent has come up, unable to bear the thought of him simply walking away after the intimacy you shared. You wonder if you'll be able to face him at school after this, but the thought is so overwhelming to you that you just try to focus on the present moment.

You swallow hard, forcing a tight-lipped smile as you bid him farewell, your heart heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions. As the door clicks shut behind him, you're left standing alone in the hallway, grappling with the aftermath of his abrupt departure.

After a long moment, you decide that freshening up will probably help you feel better and you turn on heel to head towards the bathroom, the goal of brushing your teeth and washing your face the only thing you're ready to focus on in your sudden loneliness.

Part 2, Part 3

@dakota-rain666 @tyga-stripes @obsessedwithromance

#yandere jason todd #yandere batfam #romantic batfam #romantic yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere tim drake smut #yandere smut #yandere gotham #yandere batman #yandere romantic batman #romantic yandere #yandere batboys #romantic batboys #yandere roy harper

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biggameplayertrentaa · 5 months

Text

Poison Ivy

Word count: 1825k Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem!reader/stripper!y/n/ Warning: smut-ish Summary: What happens when Vini convinces Jude to hit up a strip club during the international break? Author note: I haven’t written a fic in years so please forgive me lol. As I continue to write, it should get better. Also, send requests!

The mirror ball was the first thing Jude noticed upon first stepping foot into the private room. Hidden strategically at the very back of the gentle’s club, the mirror ball contradicted the room’s overall essence. Mirror balls typically indicate light-hearted fun, something the 7 by 10-foot space was not giving at all. Red LED lights decorated the perimeter of the low, popcorn ceiling denoting the ambiance of the room as mystic, seductive, and almost tantalizing. A plush velvet love seat rested along one of its plain walls, the only other piece of furniture accompanying it being a plastic folding chair placed directly below the mirrored facet-covered sphere.

Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the chair.

Palms littered with perspiration and tingling with anticipation, he glided them roughly against the fabric of his dark denim. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He had never been to a gentlemen’s club before. The idea also never particularly intrigued him either. He just didn’t get it. Jude was young, rich, and attractive, he did not need to pay for the attention of women.

He also found the entire thing slightly creepy.

Jude thought he was above it, but Vini had insisted. The Brazilian was convinced that a little lap dance and some fat asses would be the very things that would cheer him up after being ruled out of England’s camp due to his bad shoulder.

“It will also get you away from your mother.” His teammate clowned, always finding ways to tease Jude about his living situation.

After persistent urging, Jude was finally coerced into spending his Friday night at Madrid’s most prestige strip club. Prestige is generous, thought Jude, fingers toying with the cracked material on the folding chair. Jude silently prayed that the club’s vibe was the only thing Vini embellished. He had gone on for nearly an hour about the dancer he had specifically recommended, Ivy.

“She’s beyond sexy and she doesn’t make you feel like a creep; like she’s enjoying it just as much as you are.” This was the only thing Jude could recall from Vini’s briefing. He knows he had gone into her physical appearance, but the 20-year-old midfielder allowed his mind to wander as he did so. He didn’t care, this was merely something to check off his non-existent bucket list.

A faint click of the door snatched Jude away from his thoughts. Adorn in nothing but a red-laced thong and strappy heels, Ivy stood before him. She had braids that were thrown up into a high pony that accentuated her high cheekbones and somehow drew attention to her plump, red-colored lips. Vibrant and brown, her skin looked soft and the red light danced along it beautifully. Jude had the urge to reach out and touch her. Her sudden presence had winded him.

Jude was struck by her beauty and the energy that was emanating from her. He couldn’t name this energy, but he knew she exuded a lot more than just sex.

Ivy was hypnotizing.

She was still in the doorways, eyes low and a small smile tugging at her lips as she allowed him to take her in. She shamelessly mirrored his actions.

“Hi.” Her voice was sultry, smooth.

“Hi.” It was breathless and did not flow with the same honey-like cadence of her greeting.

“You only paid for a 15-minute session.”

Her lips had formed into a slight pout, but the glint in her eye did not lose its vibrancy as she walked over to him. Her pace was slow, teasing; it was as if she was a predator and he, the prey. Jude felt small under gaze-vulnerable and exposed too despite being fully clothed- but did not divert his eyes.

He couldn’t.

He did not know if it was mesmerization, anticipation, or a mixture of both coupled with immense intrigue. When she was finally positioned in front of him, directly under the mirrorball with the red of the LEDS adding to her radiance, he decided to finally speak,

“Y-yeah,” He began to stammer.

With clenched eyes, he cleared his throat and shook his head. A poor attempt to shake the nerves. “I’m new to this.” He stated, voice now steady but lacking the bass it typically accompanied.

Jude caught a whiff of her musky vanilla-scented perfume. Ivy was so close and her radiance so sensually warm that he found himself even more nervous than he was as he was waiting for her. He was slowly beginning to understand why Vini had gone on and on about Ms.Ivy.

She was magnetic.

“So you don’t want to overwhelm yourself?” She quips, reaching out to draw a delicate line down his chest with her pointer finger. He dropped his gaze to follow the trace of her finger; the red-manicured nail contrasted beautifully against his fitted white shirt. Before Jude could think of a countering remark, she hitched a leg over his waist and straddled him.

“Well, I am honored to be the person who takes your lap-dance virginity.” Ivy punctuates her statement with a slight roll of her hips.

He feels himself stiffen.

The denim of his jeans suddenly grew restrictive and uncomfortable. Without thought, he reaches for her hip, fingers immediately kneading at the soft flesh.

“My bodyguard will come and save you when your time is up.”

And with that, Ivy throws her arms loosely over his shoulder. Leaning forward so she was able to plant her heeled feet on either side of his legs, she moved her hips in a figure-8 motion. Her lips hovered over the shell of his ear before she gave it a ghosting kiss. Jude then felt the wet, but firm tip of her tongue press delicate to his ear. He shudders, hairs on the back of his neck standing on its ends.

Jude can feel his heart hammering against his chest and hopes that Ivy cannot. His head was buzzing and his thoughts were racing but it was difficult to decipher what all he was thinking about. Ivy had seemingly lowered his defenses, putting him completely at her mercy. She continues her routine, hips now moving in tune with the steady thump thump thump of the bass of the song that was playing in the background. She expertly glides up and down his body, never losing rhythm and never, ever freeing him from the shackles of her dark brown gaze.

Ivy rises from her seated position, now looming over him. She takes a step back while her hands moved to her bare tits. She presses them together, rolling them between her hands, and moans. The bottom of Jude’s lip immediately finds itself tucked between his two front teeth. His hands are limp by his side but his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch them... to touch her.

Jude is lightheaded with excitement.

When Ivy turns around, bending slightly so her bare ass was in his face, with her plump, glistening pussy completely visible, Jude considered officially making Vini his best mate. Her back is arched as she caresses her hands down her backside. Cupping her ass cheeks slightly before giving it a slight jiggle.

Jude lets out a groan that only shocks him.

Ivy repeats the action a few more times before she returns to his lap.

“Did you like that?”

She asks one of her brows slightly arched. Jude gives a slight nod, hands still at his side. Ivy reaches beside them, taking his larger hands in hers before placing them directly on her ass. His palms almost cover its surface. Ivy bites her lip at the realization and suppresses a groan of her own before saying, “Do it again if you like it. Go on, baby play with me like I’m yours.”

With a piercing gaze, Jude followed Ivy’s orders, mimicking her previous actions a couple of times before boldly slapping her ass. Her eyes darkened, the playful glint that had adorned them only seconds prior now completely dissipated.

Her arms were around his neck and her nails were scratching slightly at the hairs on the nape of it. She leaned in, her lips so dangerously close to his own that if either of them moved even a centimeter, they would collide. There was no doubt now that she could feel the beating of his heart against her own chest, but Jude didn’t care. His mind had situated itself in the deepest gutter, yielding full control to the expert seductress on his lap.

She nudges her nose with his. Jude mirrors her actions.

Ivy moves to the side, placing a kiss on his cheek and then the underside of his jaw. Lolling his head back with a slight tug of his neck, she drags her lips from his jaw down to his Adam’s apple.

It moves when she places a firm kiss on it.

She continues to kiss the length of his neck and Jude fears he may have forgotten how to breathe. His hands had not moved from the position on her ass but his attack on it had completely stopped. He was too consumed by the sorcery Ivy was currently conducting. His bulge was pressing uncomfortable against his zipper and he made a mental note to wear loose joggers the next time he came to visit Ms. Ivy.

Ivy was now on her knees in front of her. She was massaging his thighs, peppering the dent in his denim with light, teasing kisses. “I always said I would never do this, but I might have to break the rules,” Ivy mumbles primarily to herself, but Jude catches it and lets out a mental sigh at the implication that no one else had received this treatment before him.

Just as she was for him, he was her only exception.

Just as her fingers began to toy with his belt loop, Jude heard the door click open. A large man who had a striking resemblance to Terry Crews entered. His black t-shirt had the word SECURITY printed boldly in white on the center of it. “Times up, Ivy.” His voice was low and monotonous, completely unfazed by the scene he had walked into.

“Thank you, Jerry.”

Ivy was still on her knees in front of him. Though she was responding to Jerry, her eyes were laser-trained on Jude’s, and her fingers were still caught in his belt buckle. Jerry leaves without another word and when the door clicks behind him, Ivy finally rises. She places her hands firmly on his thighs and leans into him again. Jude’s eyes instinctively close at the proximity, lips slightly puckering with anticipation. He can practically feel her words as she whispers them, “I hope this wasn’t too bad for your first time.” With a final nudge of his nose with her own, she stands straight and makes her way to the door. “I’ll see you next time.” She adds right before she closes it behind her.

Yes, Jude thought, you will.

#jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagines #jude x reader #jude #black y/n #black y/n x jude #jude bellingham x black y/n #jude:)

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hxney-lemcn · 4 months

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Fake Dating — General! Scarecrow, Riddler, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Catwoman x gn! reader

summery: an excuse to pretend to date the rogues (some scenarios go better than others)

tw: Harassment, bad intentions (scarecrow), toxic ex

a/n: do some of these count as fake dating? It's more like kissing to throw someone off but same deal ig.

wc: 2.2k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Scarecrow

❥Your stupid boss made you stay back late. They didn’t care that it was dangerous at night, and you had to walk home. No, only work came first, safety was barely a thought. You were rightfully pissed, and the thought of quitting briefly fluttered through your mind.

❥Which led to your current predicament. The streets of Gotham were dark as you walked along the wet pavements. Your paranoia was proved correct when a catcall was heard from behind you. You kept walking, hoping that ignoring them would deter their unwanted advances. You heard two more pairs of footsteps fall in sync with your own.

❥Your heart started beating faster, eyes frantically looking for a way out. You were on a main street, but the people of Gotham don’t look twice when someone needs help. The men continued to harass you as you walked faster. You didn’t want to lead them to where you live, but nowhere was open this late at night.

❥That’s when you saw him. You didn’t know who he was, but so far he was better than the men behind you. It was a 50/50 chance that he was gonna kill you. So you jogged up to him, a fake smile on your lips as you greeted him, “Hey…love.”

❥When Jonathan had gone out for some fresh air, the last thing he expecting was someone coming up to him and calling him…love. Remind him that perhaps staying in his lab was better than taking a break. Jon stared at you like you had two heads, but the way your breath was rapid, your pupils constricted, and your eyes kept glancing behind you. You were scared, something he found amusing. Eyes trailing behind you, two drunken men leaned against a wall, seemingly waiting for you to be alone again.

❥Jon wasn’t a good man, he found the fact you ended up looking to the master of fear for help hilarious, but he didn’t let that show on his face. You clearly didn’t know who he was, otherwise you would’ve taken the two drunken idiots. He could’ve had his fun, deny you help and watch as your fear grew. Hell, he could’ve taken you in for his own heinous experiments, but there was something about you that made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the fact you trusted him (at least enough that you weren’t just running away), or maybe it was a tinge of selfishness. He wanted to be the cause of your fear, not some lowlifes.

❥”Hello…dear,” Jon replied back awkwardly. He wasn’t used to helping people, less so treating a stranger like a loved one. You felt your body relax when the stranger complied. Not to mention the fact that he looked intimidating. He was outrageously tall and his expression was grim. The two men groaned loudly, crying out about maybe next time.

❥For some reason, that rubbed Jon the wrong way. You weren’t his, not in any way, he didn’t even know your name! But for some damned reason, he didn’t like the thought of those two coming back to haunt you. He was supposed to be the one who haunted people's nightmares, not some nobodies. It was a matter of pride. And so he walked over to the two men, hand fiddling with the new fear toxin he had created. It was a dust, that once ingested, it would take immediate effect. He needed some test subjects for it anyway.

❥You felt your blood drain at the sight of your two harassers start screaming as the stranger blew an orange dust at them. No, he was no stranger, he was the notorious Scarecrow, and when he turned back around, he felt utter delight at the fear that shone through your eyes.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Riddler

❥It was hard focusing on the mechanical work when Eddie wouldn’t stop talking. When his fans found out you were his assistant, they blew up, drawing art and speculating about your relationship. You’ve been a part of fandoms before, so you didn’t think much of it. But seeing fanart of you and Eddie kissing did take a bit of a toll on your mental health.

❥Eddie had a harder time ignoring it, which made it harder for you to ignore it. Whenever he would look himself up, you seemed to pop up with him. It irritated him greatly. I mean he was supposed to be the one getting all the praise and attention, not you. And the fact that they put you on a pedestal right next to him? Were they even really his fans? You were a mere assistant, he could swap you out for anyone!

❥He’s read multiple fanfics of you two. He would never admit it. He’d also deny how they would make his heart pitter patter like an absolute sap. You bet your ass you walked in on him one time, laying on his stomach, feet kicking in the air as the fanfic he read concluded with the two of you kissing. He totally has an alt account that likes and shares all the stories he really thinks make him shine.

❥”Maybe if we pretended to date they’d get off our backs,” You offered. It was absolutely ridiculous and you knew it, but you’d do anything to get some work done in peace. Eddie scoffed, looking at you with a slight sneer. Really, how idiotic could you get? Why should he give those morons what they want? Absolutely not.

❥Yeah he caved pretty quickly. There was no other reason than to quench the masses. Nope. Nada. Why would he want to date you? He’s a man of intellect, not emotion. Mhm. Totally. And when he went live one day (obviously he covered his tracks so no one could find his location), and when you kissed his cheek on said live, the masses went crazy. In fact, your little plan had the opposite effect.

❥Eddie ate up all the attention you were bringing him. The revelation blew up on social media (much to Batman’s disarray). This caused Eddie to be even more annoying, and you found yourself completing even less work than before. He’d stop you to show how well someone drew him, he showed you praise, that was meant for you both, but twisted it to be about him only. He was a menace, but he was a charming menace.

❥The line between reality and fake blurred between you both. Now your role as assistant included showering Eddie with affection, on and off camera. You’d huff and puff about it, putting on a show of how much you didn’t want to kiss his cheek goodbye if you left the hideout, but deep down you loved it. No one was as close to the green clad man as you had become, and you felt a sense of pride that you had managed to overcome those barriers. Maybe you should thank your fans for aggressively shipping the two of you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Harley Quinn

❥You found yourself dreading friend night. You and your friends would take time out of your busy schedules and catch up. Whether it would be about work, dating life, or any wrong doings you encountered. It was all fun…until they all started dating. Of course you were happy for them, that they were happy with their partners and wanted everyone to meet them. But that made you feel more of an outsider.

❥You frowned as the group chat bounced with more and more texts. You all were going to hang out tonight, and you were the last one to have a partner to bring with. Harley had noticed that your lovely smile was gone, so she asked about it. When you explained the situation to her she looked dumbfounded. “I’ll just go as your partner then, silly!”

❥That’s how you found yourself nearly sitting in Harley Quinn's lap during karaoke. Some of your friends were off put by the fact that Harley freaking Quinn was there, but the others welcomed her with open arms. She was loud, rambunctious, and never failed to sing loud and proud, even if she didn’t know the song. She also was being overly affectionate…well if she wasn’t already.

❥When she noticed one of your friends and their partner getting lovey dovey, she’d lean over and give you a kiss with a loud ‘mwah’. She held onto you tightly the entire night, boasting about how great you were and she was lucky you picked her. It was nice, but it felt bittersweet. She wasn’t saying that as your lover, she was saying that so your friends bought the story.

❥As the night finished, you found yourself in a worse place than you started. Bringing Harley made you realize just what you were missing. But Harley was a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. So as you waved goodbye to all your friends, she wrapped her arms around your waist, leaning her head on your shoulder. “How about we do this for reals?”

❥Did you really think she’d let the night end there?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Poison Ivy

❥You glared at your phone. They just wouldn’t leave you alone. You had blocked them from everything, and they still managed to contact you. It was over between the two of you but they couldn’t get the hint. No, it wasn’t even a hint anymore. You were practically screaming into their face that you were over them.

❥It went too far when they had reached out to you via your address. Even worse, you were having a day in with Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy. Even worse than that? They had sent you a bouquet of red roses. Ivy frowned from where she sat, eyeing the vase with disdain. You yourself felt very similarly.

❥You didn’t even notice when Ivy walked up to you, taking the card that was imbedded in the dead flowers. Her expression continued to sour as she read the note. “You have quite the taste,” She murmured, tossing the card into the bin. “That taste has changed quite a while ago,” You replied back, unsure what to do with the flowers.

❥Ivy asked you to explain. So you told her about your previous relationship, how you ended things, and how they seemed to cling to you desperately still. She only let out a small ‘tsk’. She wasn’t jealous, no. She had no reason to be. She had the world at her fingertips. She could also tell when someone was lying, and you were telling the truth.

❥”Show them you moved on,” Ivy offered, taking a seat on the couch once more. You placed the flowers on a table, you’ll decide what to do with them later. You asked her how you could do that when that’s all you’ve been trying to do. She beckoned you closer, then grabbed your phone. Unlocking it, she pulled you closer into her, causing you to fall onto the couch. Then, she brought your face towards her and pressed your lips together. You felt like your problems vanished in an instant, unaware of the photo Ivy took. Then she pulled away, finding the unwanted admirer of yours quickly and sent the photo.

❥You watched with slight terror, only for Ivy to shut your phone off. If your ex was truly smart, they’d realize the woman you’re kissing in that photo was Poison Ivy, and that if they didn’t back off she wouldn’t take it lightly. But who knew, they were never the smart type. And you couldn’t help but long for more than just the taste Ivy had given you, your ex a distant memory.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Catwoman

❥Catwoman ran solo, everyone knew that. She worked best on her own. So when she asked you to accompany her on one of her heists, you did a double take. When you had asked her to clarify, she only winked. Oh how you hated how she had you wrapped around her pinky finger, but that’s how she likes them. She also promised a cut, which was more than enough to entice you.

❥She had you on watch guard. Not too bad you suppose. It wasn’t until the jewelry stores’ security alarm went off that you felt yourself double thinking this. You’d never leave Selina behind, but the thought of getting caught made your blood pump faster. You glanced around for witnesses, and only watched as people scuttled away. An alarm blaring was never a good sign, especially in Gotham.

❥Selina slinked down, civilian attire helping her blend in. You furrowed your eyebrows, not sure how she normally stole, but this seemed out of the ordinary. Selina pulled you away into the alley. Before you could ask her what the plan was, her lips were on yours. You gasped in surprise, sirens starting to ring out. Even scarier was the fact that a dark shadow overpassed you both.

❥Although, it was hard to think when she held you, when her lips pushed into yours so fervently. But you knew who she really was hiding from this time. Batman passed over, not even giving you both a second thought. Selina pulled away, she sent you a wink before sashaying away. You followed quickly, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded faster.

❥”If you’re really good, you might see more of those in your future,” Selina smirked.

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mendeshoney · 6 months

Text

apple of my eye, take a bite

A/N: surprise surprise! this is a part two to "a taste of the devine," with a special little halloween twist! to my lovelies, @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech happy halloween babes! the title is inspired by lyrics from the song “eve” by precious pepala

Summary: You and Andrei go to the team Halloween party at a club, and it takes Andrei down memory lane.

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Word Count: 5,120

Warnings: five year age gap, older woman x younger man, fluff, previously established dynamics (including msub x fdom dynamics, switch, mdom x fsub dynamics), smut, semi-public sex (in a club), hints of biting/hickies, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

Russian terms used (bearing in mind the author does not speak Russian and definitely Google’d these) can be referenced here.

“I feel like this won’t make much sense,” Andrei quietly mumbles to himself, adjusting the ‘hat’ of his costume, his eyes casting to the side once he sees movement from inside the closet.

The sliding frosted glass door is closed, so he can only see your shadow as you move around, and he can feel himself start to get antsy.

You’d kept your part of the couples costume a shrouded secret from him, claiming you wanted to surprise him.

As far as surprises go, he typically liked yours a lot, but given his current predicament, he found himself a little more anxious than normal.

He glances at himself in the vanity mirror in your shared bedroom, running a cursory hand over the fuzzy material of his Halloween costume, and frowning a little at his reflection.

“Kroshka, I don’t-” He starts, cutting himself off and turning back toward the closet when he hears the sliding door open.

You finally emerge, body in an emerald green mini dress that you’d sewed fake vines onto so that they curled and twisted around your figure, enhancing your silhouette, vines trailing down your shoulder and around your arms until they rested delicately on your wrists. Those beautiful legs of yours donned a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly.

You looked a lot more like that character that Evgeny used to tease him for having a crush on when they were kids, Poison Ivy, than you did the biblical Eve.

Sukin syn.

Andrei’s hard in seconds, heart pounding furiously as his stomach flutters.

Babochki, he thinks. Butterflies.

He laughs suddenly, feeling nervous out of the blue.

“What do you think?” You ask, turning your body a little so he can get a better view.

“I think there’s butterflies in my stomach,” he says honestly, the words coming out faster than he can process, but when you flush deeply, he feels a twinge of satisfaction.

“You still have a way with words, don’t you?” You tease, trying to look anywhere else but him, and he knows that strategy.

Sometimes, when you’re not sure how to receive his compliments, you try to brush them off, but tonight’s not a night Andrei can let that fly.

He can feel his hands twitching at his sides, and his feet are moving towards you before he even realizes, that familiar gravitational pull too strong to resist.

“Ty vyglyadish' krasivo, lyubov' moya.” He murmurs. You look beautiful, my love.

You smile at his words, his hands coming to rest on your waist and pull you closer. “Spasibo, malysh.” You finally seem to take in his costume, and you giggle lightly. “You look so cute!”

He frowns, brows pinched together. “I’m glad you think so.”

You smile, giggling a little more. “Of course I think so.”

“Remind me again why I couldn’t just be ‘Adam’ for Halloween?” He asks, fingers playing with a fake vine on your shoulder.

“Because no one cares about Adam,” you remind him gently. “The story’s about Eve and the Apple. Adam’s just there.”

Andrei pouts a little, turning back toward the mirror and staring at the apple suit that covers his upper half, the red hat on his head with the apple’s stem and a little leaf, and the dark brown pants on his legs. “I guess so,” he laments, then turns his gaze back to you.

You know him so well at this point that when the corner of your mouth quirks up in a small smile, he isn’t even surprised, and just smiles right back at you. “Don’t worry, shchenok, everyone still thinks you’re sexy.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he says without a second’s hesitation. “Just you.”

A small flush works its way up your neck and cheeks. “I still think you’re sexy, too.”

Andrei’s heart pounds then, that familiar disbelief that he was able to call someone like you the love of his life surfacing in his chest. He bends his head, pride surging through his veins when you accept his kiss.

“We should probably go soon,” you murmur against his mouth.

Andrei hums, shrugging. “Or we could stay home. Have our own little Halloween party.”

“Not an option, I’m afraid.” You say, and pull yourself out of his arms to head back into the closet. He watches, completely entranced, as you pull on a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly, and he can feel himself start to tent in his pants.

“Kroshka,” he tries again, the word nearly getting caught in his throat, “Are you sure we can’t just-”

You cut him off by standing, grabbing your small clutch and his car keys, tossing a curt “Let’s go, moye yabloko” over your shoulder as you head to the garage.

Andrei glances at himself in the mirror one last time, offering his reflection a long-suffering sigh, before grabbing his wallet and trailing after you.

His teammates don’t laugh as much as he expected, which he supposes is because out of all the costumes tonight, he looks the least ridiculous.

Jesperi, Teuvo, and Sebastian are dressed as Alvin and the Chipmunks - Jesperi was elected to be Theo against his will, Teuvo gladly accepted the role of Simon because it meant he was the smartest, which left Sebastian as Alvin, who claimed it was only fair since his last name began with an ‘A’ - Freddie, Anti, Jacob, and Brett dressed up as Michaelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, and Rafael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Brent was dressed as Sully from Monsters Inc, and those were just the costumes he managed to figure out on his own.

There were far too many others for him to keep track of or understand and some were just a headache to look at, so he ended up focusing on the one thing he knew would keep his attention - the way your ass moved in your dress as you walked through club toward the VIP section they’d reserved for the team party.

The girls complimented you on your outfit and assured Andrei that he looked cute instead of silly, and it only made him feel marginally better.

He was still dressed as a giant apple for the night, after all, while his bombshell of a girlfriend looked like a walking fantasy.

After you’d said hello to everyone, the two of you ended up separated, the girls heading out to the dancefloor, some of the guys heading to the bar to grab drinks and snacks, and the rest settling into the VIP section.

Andrei plopped down between Jesperi and Freddie, removing his costume’s hat and putting it on the little table in their section, tuning out most of the conversation happening within the first ten minutes and instead finding himself focused on you and that beautiful dress out on the dance floor.

His eyes were glued to you as you danced, lost in the familiar way your hips moved and how carefree you were. Other people may have needed a little bit of alcohol in them to be so uninhibited, but you didn’t. You never had.

Watching you now, it reminds him of the first night he met you.

It had been earlier this year, when the guys had been having a particularly rough week of games, and they’d gone out to a club to relieve some stress.

You’d been there with some of your friends, and Andrei had been feeling a little bit too confident after a few drinks. He’d locked eyes with you barely ten minutes after he’d arrived and couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole night, couldn’t seem to find the need to wander more than ten feet out of your orbit.

He finally found the courage to approach you after Martinook had all but threatened to send Freddie after you first, pushing off the bar and heading over to you.

He tried the gentlemanly approach, introduced himself properly by taking your hand, and from that first touch there was this crazy electric wildfire of sexual tension that neither of you seemed to be able to deny. You didn’t seem disturbed by him being five years younger than you, and he couldn’t have cared any fucking less about you being twenty eight.

He worried for maybe half a second about you not being able to understand him through his accent, but you had no problems with it, even beyond the blaring music of the club. Then, he offered to get you a drink or a bottle of water - whatever you wanted really, he didn’t care - before asking if you minded if he joined you for a dance.

One dance became two, then four, then six, and then the next thing he knew, you both had locked yourselves in a storage closet down the back hall of the club and he had you pinned against the wall, his jeans and boxer briefs around his thighs, your dress hiked up to your waist, thong pulled to the side, and his cock buried so deep inside of you that you had to bite down on the meaty flesh of his shoulder to keep from crying out too loudly.

You’d fucked twice in that closet before you took him back to your place and fucked another two times. In the morning, you’d managed to contain yourselves in the shower, but Andrei lost all restraint and licked your pussy on your kitchen table until your throat grew hoarse and your legs shook so much your table started to squeak.

He managed to rein it in and take you on a date two days later, and then you invited him out for dinner another three days after that. After about ten dates without any sexual interactions at all, and about a month in total of you actually knowing each other, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, and you both celebrated when you said ‘yes’ to him by locking yourselves in at his place and fucking like bunnies for about two days.

Andrei had learned everything about what you liked in bed in that first month, and you’d learned everything about what he liked.

You’d also learned enough about one another that Andrei was pretty sure he’d end up marrying you and having about five or seven kids within the next seven years, because there was no possible way he’d ever manage to find someone as brilliant as you ever again.

And at this point, you’d barely been dating a year.

He’d say he was probably moving too fast in any other circumstance, but he was pretty sure you were on the same page.

He feels a nudge in his side, and Andrei glances over, momentarily shocked because he’d completely forgotten his friends were dressed in costumes, and the orange fabric around Freddie’s eyes nearly scared him shitless for a second.

“You want another drink? The chipmunks lost a bet so they’re buying for the night.” Freddie says, gesturing to where Jesperi had gotten up and was now writing down orders on his phone.

“Sure,” Andrei says. “I’ll take one.”

Jesperi points to where you are on the dance floor and asks Andrei “One for her too, right?”, and when Andrei nods, Jesperi gives him a thumbs up before stalking over to the bar.

He has a feeling it’s going to take Jesperi awhile to put in the drink orders for the whole section, so Andrei resumes watching you, reminiscing on the day you first met and chiming in on the conversations around him every now and again.

You finally wander over with the girls once the drinks arrive, and Andrei immediately opens his arms, feeling content when you settle into his embrace and onto his lap. He hands you your drink, careful to keep your hair out of your face when you take a sip.

There’s a sound of fake retching, and you and Andrei cut your eyes to where Jesperi’s making faces at the two of you. You roll your eyes, settling into Andrei a little more, and he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you to him.

“Jealous, KK?” One of the other girls asks, and Jesperi’s nose scrunches.

“Hardly.” He scoffs. “I’m basically watching my older sister make out with one of my best friends. It’s disturbing.”

Andrei feels you stiffen in his arms, but Jesperi’s already turning away, and Andrei squeezes you gently. “Zajka?”

You turn to Andrei, a slightly stunned expression on your face. “I…does he really think of me that way?”

“What way?” Andrei asks, bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek.

He can see the shock starting to settle in a little more. “Like an older sister?”

And though Andrei knows they’ve never really talked about it, because it’s not really a topic that would come up, he knows for certain the answer is yes.

Especially after the way you looked after everyone during the beach trip this past summer, all Andrei heard for weeks during training camp and preseason was how much everyone missed your cooking, people asking how you were doing, and demands for him to bring you around more.

Since you’d barely been together for six months at that point, he didn’t push you about it at all because he didn’t want you to feel pressured or rushed, even though he knew you liked everyone just fine. It was another thing he felt like would make it feel like this was going too fast, even though you’d probably be on the same page about this, too.

“I think a lot of them think that way.” He admits. “Pretty sure Freddie thinks of you as a younger sister. Burnsy too, to be honest.”

There’s a thoughtful look in your eyes now, and after a beat, you nod. “I didn’t know that.”

“Is that…is that okay?” He asks, slightly unsure. He doesn’t know that he’s seen you this…contemplative before.

You turn to Andrei, and give him that dazzling smile of yours he loves so much. “Of course it’s okay. Just took me by surprise a little.”

He nods, sitting up a little more so he can press a kiss to the base of your neck. “They love you as much as I do.”

Andrei’s surprised when his kiss makes you shiver a little, and he pulls back a bit, raising a brow at you.

You flush, suddenly bashful. “I just…” He raises a brow when you seem to be trying to find the words to say, and you gesture with your head towards the dancefloor. “Feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

Realization hits Andrei and he smiles, nodding. “It does, zajka.”

A sly, cheshire smile works its way onto your lips, and Andrei feels his heart begin to pound in anticipation. “Let’s see just how well you can tempt me a second time, moye yabloko.”

You’re downing the rest of your drink and getting up from his lap faster than he can blink, and then you’re heading back out to the dancefloor with the girls.

As Andrei watches you walk away, he catches the wink you send him over your shoulder before you disappear into the crowd, and he smirks to himself.

Da nachnetsya igra.

Let the games begin.

Drink in hand, Andrei makes his way through the crowd, his puffy apple costume coming in hand by parting the crowd a little as he moves - he even has the ridiculous hat on again - until he finally reaches where you are in the middle of the dance floor.

He taps gently on your shoulder, and when you turn around, your eyes look up at him curiously, a small smile on your face.

Andrei leans down so you can hear him better, saying “Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, and I thought I’d introduce myself and bring you a drink.”

It’s not exactly what he said that first night, but it’s close enough. So what if he skipped a few cheesy lines?

You lean back a little, staring at the drink in his hand before taking it with a small amount of hesitation. “Thank you,” you say back, leaning in like he had. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“I’m Andrei,” he says, holding his hand out.

You take it, shaking it once when you tell him your name in return.

The nostalgia has those butterflies resurfacing in his stomach, and he tries his best not to smile like a total idiot. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You say, then smirk a little at his costume. “You know, I’m pretty sure I was warned to stay away from you.”

He laughs a little, stepping closer into your space. Bending down so he’s right next to your ear, he rests a hand on your waist and says “One bite won’t hurt.”

At your responding chuckle, Andrei feels goosebumps ignite on his arms. “I’ve heard that before.”

“It’s different this time,” he promises. “It’s just us. And there’s no punishment.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true,” you say, pulling away a little and taking a sip of your drink, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

Andrei rights himself, shrugging. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” He gestures with his head towards a hallway that he’d confirmed about ten minutes ago had both a storage closet as well as what looked like an unused office full of boxes, but still came equipped with a couch and a perfectly solid desk.

He makes his way toward the hall, waiting for all of five minutes before you appear in front of him, the glass your drink was in now empty save for the cherry stem he already knew had a knot in it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, taking careful steps toward him.

He holds a hand out, pleased when you take it, and he leads you toward the end of the hall. The door to the storage closet is on the left, and the door to the empty office is on the right. He places you in front of him, his hands resting on your waist from behind.

“Pick a door, zajka.” He says softly.

You hum a little, taking a step forward. You open the door on the right first, but there’s a small noise that leaves you, and Andrei’s confused when you don’t take a step inside. You open the door to the left, and the second you see the closet, you spin around, smiling wickedly at him before pulling him inside.

He flips you the second he crosses the threshold, shutting the door and locking it before pinning you against the wood, placing his arms on either side of your head. “Didn’t like the office?”

You shake your head, tilting your chin up, waiting. “Not the same.”

“I would’ve liked fucking you on the desk.” He admits, the image of it still fresh in his brain.

“You didn’t fuck me on a desk till I moved in with you.” You remind him.

He smirks. “Oh I remember,” he promises. “Hard to forget the time you made me come so hard I almost passed out.”

You shrug. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

He drops one of his hands from the door only to bring it up between you, running a finger down the side of your neck, to your collarbone, your chest, before teasing at the neckline of your dress.

“If you rip this dress before you get me in your bed, moye yabloko, you’ll be sorry.” You warn, but even so, your back arches off the wall, pushing your chest into his touch.

Andrei smirks. He’s never been one to shy away from his punishments.

Instead, he trails his hand down your dress and to the hem, pushing it up your thighs until he can reach under it to bring his fingers to your core, pleased when he finds the fabric of your thong already soaked.

“May I, moya koroleva?” He asks sweetly, eyes focused on where his hand lingers.

You nod, breath hitching a little when he pulls your thong to the side and runs his finger between your folds. “I want it like the first time.”

Andrei blinks, eyes darting back up to your face.

That first night was intense - and beautiful - but also not the kind of sex the two of you have most often. He likes to please you, likes taking his time warming you up or worshiping you the way he’s learned that you like best. Other than the occasional quickie, you two rarely ever just get straight to it.

“Can you take me like this? Right now?” He checks.

“I can,” you say. You reach forward, fingers finding one of the belt loops of his pants and pulling him forward. “Please, malysh. I don’t want to wait.”

His heart beats hard against his ribcage.

It’s rare that you’re the one pleading for him, that you’re the one asking for it this way, and he can feel the way his breath starts to stutter as he tries to maintain his composure.

The second he nods in agreement, it’s a race to get inside of you.

In a hurry, the two of you work to unbutton and unzip his pants, shuffling them down his thighs along with his boxer briefs. His aching cock springs free, and before you can reach for him, he’s bending down to lift you up and pin you against the wall, helping to wrap your legs around his waist.

He balances you in one arm as you press your weight into the wall, reaching down to line his cock up to your entrance. The second he can feel it catch, he presses in at the same time that you angle your hips downward, and he pushes until he’s seated all the way inside and his hips press yours against the wall.

You take a gasping breath, head lolling back as your eyes squeeze shut, arms flying to his shoulders and nails digging into the skin as your pussy grips him tightly.

“Zajka?” He asks, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nod, breathing harshly through your nose. “Move, malysh, spasibo. I need you.”

Andrei has a sudden feeling he’s going to have a hard time trying to remember to breathe if you keep talking.

Carefully, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock rests inside, and then he pushes back inside in one brutal stroke that seizes the breath from your lungs once more.

“Just like the first time,” he reminds you, before setting a rough and steady pace.

Your moans fill the room in seconds, and Andrei doesn’t care anymore about who can hear you or who can’t.

Especially when he knows you couldn’t care less about it either.

This time, you’re not at Freddie’s house and worried about making a good impression.

You’re here, with him, pretending like it’s the first night you met all over again, except this time there’s less to be cautious of for both of you.

Although…

If you do want it like it’s the first time again…

“You can’t moan too loud, kroshka.” He says, pressing in closer to you as his strokes slow a little, dragging himself in and out of you with precision. “Don’t want anyone to hear how pretty you are when you’re dripping on my cock, do you?”

Recognition flashes in your eyes like a bright flame, and you capture your lip between your teeth, nodding obediently.

“Need something to bite down on, my beautiful Eve?” He murmurs, gathering you up in his arms and pushing until he’s flush against you, tilting his head to expose his neck. “Do it, it’s okay.”

You wind your arms around his shoulder and lean forward, and when Andrei feels your lips on his neck, his whole body shivers, groaning at the way he can feel your teeth bite down before licking over the wound, then sucking a bruise into the skin.

That’s another thing the two of you don’t give a shit about anymore.

Andrei’s all too proud to wear your marks like a badge of honor, so as you suck on his skin, feeling his pulse beneath your tongue, he knows you take notice of the way his cock drives deeper into you.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage a second round in this closet, too desperate to fill you up and then drag you home so he can do it over and over again.

When his hips stutter a little, you finally pull away from his neck, leaning back to examine your work, smiling proudly. “Such a pretty little thing, moye yabloko.”

Fuck.

It is just like the first night all over again.

Andrei remembers the dirty things you whispered to him then, too. He remembers how he’d never heard something so sultry, so sexy in his entire life. It somehow made him hornier, made him feel like he could go insane with how much it made him need you even more in that moment.

It was like you knew exactly what to say and what to do to drive him insane, to make him feel like he would do anything to prove to you just how good he could be.

“You’re the same good boy you were that first night, too,” You taunt again when he doesn’t respond, and a sharp hiss falls from his lips when you tug his hair harshly, prompting him to tilt his head up so he can look at you.

His knees nearly buckle, and he thrusts hard into you once in warning.

“You can’t say things like that,” he breathes out, focusing on fucking into you in deep, hard strokes.

“Why?” You breathe out, bringing your hands from his shoulders and tossing the hat of his costume off of his head before sinking your fingers into his hair.

He shakes his head. Any other man might be embarrassed, but that’s never been a thing between the two of you, and especially not when you’re being intimate.

“It makes me…u menya babochki.” Andrei admits, trying his best to stay focused. I get butterflies.

“Babochki?” You ask, tone just shy of a whine, slightly mocking him. “Do I give my pretty shchenok butterflies?”

He looks up when he feels your hand on his cheek, staring into your eyes, and he can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm just looking at you. You run your thumb over his lips as they part, resting the pad of it on his tongue before his cheeks hollow, sucking gently on the digit.

You smirk, eyes rolling back in your head when Andrei gives a particularly hard thrust, causing your back to arch a little more and your body to press further against his. He can tell you’re getting closer, can read all your little tells.

The way your chest starts to heave, how he can see your nipples starting to poke through the fabric of your dress, the way your body starts to go lax, thumb slipping from his mouth and hand moving to rest on his chest instead.

“You gonna come for me?” You ask, tone somewhere between taunting and begging.

Andrei nods furiously, welcoming the molten lava spreading across his spine as he finds solace inside of you. “Da, moya koroleva.”

“Gonna come inside of me?” This question is definitely a taunt. “Gonna fill up the pretty stranger the very first night?”

“I did it once,” he reminds you. “I’d do it again, but only for you.”

Your blinding, satisfied smile takes over your face and Andrei feels his heart fall to your feet in adoration. “Come with me,” he begs.

You nod, tilting your hips a little until he’s hitting that beautiful spot inside, and your eyes flutter shut, pussy squeezing tighter around him.

He loses all control after that, cock pounding into you in a frenzied, nearly manic pace, trying so hard to keep going for you while also chasing his own orgasm.

When he feels you lock him in that familiar death grip, your come drenching his cock and making the slide oh so right, his eyes squeeze shut, and a loud, satisfied groan leaves his mouth as he throbs, spilling inside of you until he feels like he can’t breathe right.

For a moment, the two of you can only remain like that - you slumped and sated in Andrei’s arms and his hips pinning you to the wall.

When he feels you begin to squirm, he carefully pulls out of you, then sets you back on your own two feet as gently as he can. He’s quick to locate a stack of paper towels behind him and grabs a few to help you clean up before pulling your thong back into place and tossing the paper towels into a trash can near the door.

“Do I look okay?” You ask, fussing with your dress.

Andrei nods, letting out a content sigh. “Beautiful as always. What about me?”

When you glance up at him, Andrei’s expecting the same, but then you blink, and a surprised laugh practically barks out of you. It startles him a little, and your hand is flying to cover your mouth, eyes glistening with delight.

“What?” He presses, starting to fuss with his own costume. “What is it?”

“Drei, how hard did you come?” You ask through fits of giggles.

“You said like the first night, so pretty hard.” He admits, unashamed. “Why?”

“You’re…you’re…” You can barely say it through your laughter. After a second, you take a deep breath, calming yourself, and then smile at him happily. “You’re as red as an apple.”

If he - apparently - wasn’t already red, he definitely would be by now.

“How bad is it?” Andrei asks, rubbing at his face absently.

You shrug. “No better and no worse than after a shift on the ice.”

He pouts, brows furrowing. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s normal,” you explain. “It might be tough to explain away when we say goodbye to everyone in a minute, but it’ll be alright.”

“We’re going home?” He asks, already excited.

You nod, shrugging your shoulders a little. “Pretty sure that’s what we did the first night, too.”

He smirks, stepping closer to you and pulling you to him by your waist. “We did a lot of things that first night. And the next morning.”

Your own cheeks flush now, and you nod. “That we did.”

“Feel like a trip down memory lane, kroshka?” He murmurs, already leaning down.

You rise up on your tiptoes, lips brushing against his when you say “I think that sounds lovely, malysh,” before kissing him softly.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov smut #carolina hurricanes #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut #mendeshoney masterlist

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sl-newsie · 2 months

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Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 1: Introductions

“You can’t keep me here! I demand a lawyer! I am an associate of the Hell’s Gate Psychiatric Institution and will not tolerate this denial of justice!”

The security guard bangs his baton against the bars again. “Quiet, Prentiss! You’re lucky you get your own cell. Or would you rather have to share?”

My gaze throws daggers. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly sane and do not belong in this asylum. I will not cooperate until I speak to a lawyer.”

“That’s too bad,” the guard taunts. “‘Cause I got strict orders not to allow you any visitors.”

I gawk at his idiotic face. “On whose authority?”

“You’ll meet him once his current session is over,” he says as he walks down the hall away from my cell. "I think it’s with Croc if I’m not mistaken.”

Croc? As in Killer Croc? God, why didn’t I just play the game? Why did I have to go beyond my jurisdiction? I already knew Gotham was a rigged and twisted system the second I got here. I’ve gone from a respected psychiatrist to the very type of person I’m supposed to be above. Now all I have to my name is an orange jumpsuit, a pair of cheap sneakers, a toothbrush, and a small copy of the Bible.

How long have I been waiting? There’s no clock, no windows. No clue to anything happening outside. All I see are beige hallways spanned into a webbed labyrinth that’s meant to keep patients from escaping. Keep me from escaping.

Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

Muffled footsteps echo down through the hall, potentially signaling my approaching contact. At first my heart soars at the hope of finally talking to someone in authority who can get me out; yet as the footsteps grow louder there’s something about them that sends a chill down my spine. It can’t be him. God, I hope it’s not him-

It’s him.

I’ve heard rumors of the dark secrets that go on at Arkham. Crackheads slicing open arteries, schizophrenics keeping doctors up for days on end. One that always highlights itself above the rest is the Scarecrow. And he just opened my cell door.

What I notice first is the eyes. Cold, icy-blue eyes so full of curiosity yet still impassive. Those cold and calculating eyes stare straight through and scan me. It’s a silent battle of how hard his stare can press until I break. I also see how he’s managed to keep his job. One might say he’s handsome but I know better. Just because you were a clean suit does not mean your soul is spotless. He may be able to charm his way into Arkham but I’ll never give in.

“Good afternoon, Ms…?”

The voice doesn’t help either. He does it well. Calm, soft, and smooth. Typical therapist nonsense I see in my line of work every day. Let’s see if I can win this game.

“You should have access to my file, sir. Introductions should not be necessary.”

The man’s eyebrows raise in response to my equally calm tone. Keep the voice calm, keep the eyes alert. I need to discreetly establish dominance in this conversation in order to gain leverage.

“I do have your file. But I prefer personal introductions with my patients.” The man sets a briefcase on the nearby table and takes a seat, then gestures for me to join him. “No need to hide. I’m here to help.”

Straight to the point I see. No use trying to beat around the bush. I step away from the corner I’m leaning against but refuse to sit down.

“There was a mistake.”

The man frowns and pulls out a pad to start taking notes. “What do you mean?”

He wants me to talk, so I will. “I mean I’m not supposed to be here. Someone paid off the judge to have me locked up, and the judge has had it out for me ever since I dug up his affair with the mayor’s wife.”

This intrigues the therapist as he jots down more notes, still looking up to keep his eyes piercing into me. “Are you a reporter?”

“Far from it. I am- was a psychiatrist in Metropolis. I was called to Gotham to help the mayor’s son. No one else was willing to work here.”

“And you are?” He asks with slight surprise though he tries to hide it.

“Metropolis can only take my curiosity so far,” I mutter. “Gotham is unique.”

More scribbling. I must say he’s much more organized than other professionals I’ve worked with. All the more reason to be concerned with the outcome of this conversation.

“I’m going to ask you some questions to start forming your profile.” Crane turns over an hourglass and clicks his pen open.

Basic protocol. There’s no way I’m giving him everything. Thankfully I’ve learned to avoid the telltale signs of lying.

“Full name?”

“Calico Marie Prentiss.”

“Pretty. Family name, I presume?”

Trying to soften me up and dig into my family history. “My father likes unique names, my mother prefers traditional ones. So they compromised.” Use present tense.

“How is your relationship with your family?” the man asks softly.

He has my family history. My job required me to keep an updated profile on personal matters to validate my own mental health. In other words just an excuse for the bored guys at the top to snoop.

“Currently undecided.” They’re dead. What else am I supposed to say?

“Ms. Prentiss, your parents-”

“With all due respect, sir, can we move things along and save that topic for later?” Just get to the part when I can get out of here!

My stern request doesn’t seem to faze the man. “Do you have supportive people in your life?”

Trying to bring me down by addressing empathy links. “People, no. I have other methods of support. And before you ask, I have never done drugs.”

He nods. “Current relationship status?”

This trips my mind a bit. Must be a new questionnaire protocol?

“Single,” I enunciate in a cold voice.

“Interesting…” More scribbling. Jesus, is he writing a book about me? “Normally people like you are either engaged, married, or divorced. Very rarely do I see any single psychiatrists. Attractive, smart, rich. Very appealing characteristics for a relationship, don’t you think?”

Hm. He asked a question that isn’t based on my profile. Is this for genuine curiosity or a topic of interest for him? After a few seconds of silence go by he continues.

“Your toxicology screening came back clean, as you mentioned before. How many partners have you encountered?”

The question rings in my ear and for an instant my mask slips, but I’m quick to recover.

“None.”

Once again the therapist is surprised. “Catholic, are we?”

“I have my morals. I’m too busy to be worrying about sex, sir. My job comes first.”

More scribbling. God, how much longer?

“Are you having suicidal thoughts right now, or have you had suicidal thoughts within the past month?”

If this questioning goes any longer I may consider it.

“No.”

“Are you having homicidal thoughts, or have you had homicidal thoughts in the past month?”

“Never.”

“How do you cope with stress?”

“Exercise and hard rock. You should try it sometime.” I’m starting to lose my patience and I have to take a slow breath. This is just what he wants. Calm down.

The man hums. “What are some of your strengths?”

“I’m punctual and have a traditional mindset. This tends to drive away disagreeing parties, which is why I’m here.” I step closer and place my hands on the table to face him directly. “You are a head staff member here whether it’s morally correct or not. All I ask is to please allow me to speak to a lawyer, or at least a transfer to Gotham Penitentiary. I am not insane.”

“Morally correct…” he lingers on the thought and tilts his head. “Why would you say that, Ms. Prentiss?”

Just as I thought before, no use beating around the bush.

“I know who you are. Jonathan Crane, a former professor of psychology who’s obsessed with fear. Now you work here experimenting on patients behind the warden’s back.”

Crane’s eyes spark at the mention of fear. Must be a trigger word, perhaps for old memories. “Are you sure you’re not a reporter?” he asks, still in the same soft tone.

I shake my head. “Just a woman who’s not afraid to step on any toes.”

“Ah.” Crane stands up slowly and rummages through his briefcase. After tucking away his notes he looks up with a look that makes my blood run cold.

“Would you like to see my mask?”

#jonathon crane #jonathon crane x reader #dr jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #poison ivy #the riddler #harley quinn #the joker #two face #the penguin #batman #batman begins #the dark knight #the dark knigth rises #gotham #gotham tv #cillian murphy

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cece693 · 3 months

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Oh No, He's Hot! (Jason Voorhees x M. Reader)

Summary: What m/n believed would be a rather simple job has him encountering a masked murderer named Jason. But, oh no, why does m/n feel weirdly attracted to the dominant man?

M/n didn't know what he expected when his friends urged him to apply to become a camp counselor for the newly, about to be opened, Camp Crystal Lake. Poison ivy, yes, fallen tree trunks, sure, but a 6 ft 5 masked man chasing him around with a machete, no. Having left his friends (because who would stick together when death was knocking on the door?), m/n ran through the dark campsite before noticing a decrepit-looking cabin ahead. Looking behind for any sight of the man, m/n opened the door before locking it behind him.

The room was dark, with a tiny twin bed in the corner, and no source of light nearby. Controlling his breathing so as to not attract the murderer, m/n just hoped Jason (if that was even his name) found entertainment in killing another camp counselor and forgot all about him.

M/n should've listened to the townspeople who warned him that the camp was a lost cause, that camp blood was inhabited by a monster, but m/n (like the dummy he is) waved them off. Well, now guess who was regretting doing that? Yeah, this guy.

"Huh." m/n mumbled, noticing that the cabin was rather stocked with supplies. Inching closer, m/m crouched to inspect the ground, noticing tiny bones formed into a pile. "Well, shit." Those were animal bones—meaning that this cabin was, more than likely, Jason's hideout.

Quietly scrambling back to the front door, m/n was about to return to the forest when heavy footsteps began inching towards the door. Knowing the weight didn't belong to any of his friends, m/n looked around for a hiding spot before the door was ripped open, revealing Jason. Letting out a scream, m/n instinctively ducked to the side, narrowly missing the swing of the machete. Knowing the murderer blocked his only exit, m/n knew he had to somehow disarm or disorientate Jason.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he scanned the room for anything that could serve as a makeshift weapon. Bingo. Noticing a heavy wooden chair nearby, m/n grabbed it and immediately swung it towards Jason's head. Celebrating as the man stumbled back, m/n made a dash for the open door and began running. However, it didn't take long before he felt a powerful force slamming into his back, sending him sprawling forward. "Oww..." m/n whispered, when his face connected with the ground, and a line of blood obscured his vision. Just great, he somehow managed to cut himself.

Forcibly turned unto his back, m/n watched as Jason bent down and gripped his neck. M/n's world seemed to spin. The pressure on his neck tightened, and he felt the air being slowly squeezed out of his lungs. Panic surged through him, but to his surprise, a strange sensation overcame the fear. Instead of pleading for mercy, an involuntary moan escaped his lips.

Curiosity and confusion could be seen in Jason's eyes while observing the male's response. The moans of pleasure, rather than cries of pain or pleas for mercy, were entirely new territory for the infamous killer. To ensure it wasn't a fluke, Jason tightened his grip once more, only to be met with another round of apparent pleasure from m/n.

"Didn't expect this, huh?" m/n wheezed, his words carrying a hint of both amusement and disbelief. The encounter had taken an unexpected turn, leaving both survivor and killer in uncharted territory. Jason's hold disappeared, and m/n, though slightly shaken, quickly stood on his feet. He looked at Jason. Really looked.

Besides the whole murder aspect, Jason was handsome. And yes, m/n knew he would be considered crazy for admitting such a fact, but the man did have some appeal—his bulky, muscular form for one. Still staring at one another, m/n let out a chuckle.

"So are you going to kill me or...."

Before he could finish his sentence, Jason, emerging from his trance-like state, turned the machete so the handle could be seen. In a swift and unexpected motion, the handle of the machete swung over m/n's head, connecting with a solid impact. The woods briefly echoed with the sound, and m/n crumpled to the ground, consciousness slipping away.

This was a perfect opportunity for Jason to kill the man, but something held him back. Securing his machete to his belt, Jason, instead, lifted m/n from the ground and stalked back to his cabin.

Gently laying the male on the bed, Jason retrieved a cool of rope before skillfully bounding m/n's hands and feet to the bedposts. Ensuring there were no other exits besides the front door, Jason, with a stoic determination, left the cabin. The night was still young, and as Jason ventured into the darkness, his elusive silhouette vanished into the shadows.

#jason voorhees #friday the 13th #x male reader #male reader #pamela voorhees

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greatestexpectationss · 3 months

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A Quiet Moment

Luke Castellan x Fem!Daughter of Persephone Reader

Description: You and Luke get a rare quiet moment in Cabin 11 accompanied by some troubling thoughts. Luke's always there to make you feel better and you know him better than anyone else.

Can be read as a stand-alone or part 2 to Poison Ivy

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of mental health (season depression), making out, I think thats it?? Also not edited sorry!!!!!!!

“Luke, this is not good,” you’re pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. The cabin is in total disarray, you’d left Luke and a majority of other campers there to begin to clean it while you helped the Demeter kids in the Strawberry fields. You’d come back to, though a smaller mess, a mess nevertheless.

Cabin inspections are later tomorrow afternoon, and you can already tell the Hermes cabin is so totally screwed. Cabin 11 is chaotic as always, to be fair it isn’t Luke’s fault, Hermes houses his children, unclaimed children, and minor gods' children alike. As a child of Persephone, you’ve only ever known the Hermes cabin as home other than the few nights you’ve spent in the Demeter cabin with your friend Katie, you fit in there as a child of Persephone and your power of chlorekensis makes you fit right in. Chiron in a desperate attempt to make more room in the Hermes had asked you if you’d like to move into the Demeter cabin permanently. You’d told him no, Luke needed your help managing the campers, but you’re sorely regretting it now.

Your boyfriend pouts at you from his bunk where he’d collapse in exasperated exhaustion just moments before you’d return. “This whole thing is rigged, how’re we expected to be clean, we’ve got like triple the campers?” he groans. Then he sits up on his elbows eyeing you up and down. You’ve discarded your camp half-blood t-shirt and are left in your forest green spaghetti strap and dark denim shorts. He smiles like he’s won the whole damn lottery. You're exasperated resolve melts a bit when he speaks again.

“You look pretty,” he compliments you. You smile, blush, and roll your eyes before collapsing on his bunk beside him, ignoring the campers scurrying around you to get to their activities and clean up their own messes.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he reaches over and moves a piece of hair out of your face. “Anytime Poison,” he replies, a cheeky smile on his face. Then as if remembering something he sits up and addresses the few campers that are still scrambling about the cabin, “Go enjoy the rest of your free time, we’ll take care of the rest of the damage in the morning.” They all cheer and thank him, but you know this was just a clever ploy for Luke to get the cabin empty for a second.

“How was your day?” you ask him, sitting up and sitting crisscross on his bed. He follows suit facing you and interlacing both your hands between you. “You’re looking at it sweetheart,” he gestures around to the mostly not clean cabin.

“This took you all day?” you tease. Luke flicks your forehead, you laugh in response.

“Don’t be mean.”

“Who me? I’m not being mean.”

He shoots you a look.

“Well now you know how I feel, you’re always teasing me.”

It’s takes about five seconds for Luke to wrestle you onto your back, knee slotted between your thighs, while both of his hands mercilessly attack your side. Your writhing beneath him, laughing so hard you can’t breath.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you squeal, he halts his movements and pokes the dimple by the corner of your mouth, that only shows when you’re laughing hysterically.

“That’s what I thought Poison, you know we’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he’s slowed his movements, now one hand still stroking you cheek, moving down to your hip and pressing you depper into the mattress, his other hand holds him up so he’s not completely crushing you. You blush furiously at his implication, the last time the two of you had been in this position, it had been sinful, granted you weren’t in your cabin where anyone could walk in at any moment, but still. “You’re gross,” is what you decide to respond with, but he just laughs and leans down to kiss you anyways.

Kissing Luke is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve kissed other boys before him, but something about the way he kisses you, you know he’s absolutely ruined you for anyone else, he kisses you in a way you know will screw up forever. You don’t know what you’ll do if he wakes up one day and decides he doesn’t want you anymore. The thought makes you kiss him harder, and pull him closer. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your exposed skin from where your shirt had ridden up a bit. One of your hands rests at the base of his neck pulling him closer, begging him to kiss you harder. Your other hand hovers at his lower back, when you try to pull him closer there too, he pulls his face back from yours, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, he kisses your check once on both sides softly and then looks at you again.

“Nothing, just keep kissing me,” you tell him before pulling him back to your lips.

He mumbles your name against them, but then indulges you for a moment, your brain is going a million miles a minute, you don’t know why you can’t turn it off sometimes, but the thought of loosing Luke plagues your mind too often, were you destined to be like your father, who loved your mother in the spring only to be left again by the fall, he had never truly gotten over his one great love, Persephone. You couldn’t imagine ever getting over Luke either, especially with the way he’s kissing you so tenderly now.

He pulls away again, making you pout.

“I can hear you thinking, what’s up?”

You almost tell him but he’s always trying to make you feel better and for once you want there to just be nothing wrong. You’ve always been a little more darkness than Luke, you think. He’s the camp golden boy, perfect in all the ways that count. You’re Persephone’s only (claimed) daughter, who grows plants from nothing, and grows vines of poison ivy around people who piss you off. Your moods change with the seasons, and as Fall grows nearer you can feel yourself growing darker. You just want a moment with your incredibly hot boyfriend to not think of the impending darkness that’s right around the corner.

“I’m okay, really,” you tell him, he’s not convinced clearly because he stays hovering over you but he won’t lean back down to kiss you. “Luke, c’mon we’ve got like–” you check your watch, “30 minutes until the first round of campers are back.”’

“But you’re worried about something, I can tell,” he mutters, “It’s almost September, that’s what’s buggin’ you huh?”

Sometimes you hate how well he knows you, “Okay, yeah, you’re super duper smart now do you wanna make out with me or what?”

He laughs, and leans down to kiss you again, it’s a peck not at all what you were looking for and you groan. “Luke–”

“Look, I’m all for making out, and I’ll distract you if you really want me to,” his voice is husky in your ear, in the way he knows you love, but then he pulls back to look at you again, “but we both know this is still gonna be buggin’ you afterward, and I just want to make you feel better.”

You sigh, cause you know he’s right, annoyingly right, and stupidly handsome, you still really want to make out with him, but you don’t want him to feel like he’s a distraction, because he isn’t. He’s Luke, and you love him with everything you have.

“You’re never a distraction,” you promise him eagerly, you move to sit up and he follows suit, leaning against the headboard of the bunk and opening his arms wide for you to snuggle into is chest, you place a kiss over his heart. “You’re the main event baby.”

He snorts and pulls you closer, “That was incredibly corny Poison, you going soft on me?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. But seriously, you're incredibly sweet."

You lean up and kiss his jaw. He kisses your forehead in return.

A moment of silence passes before he asks the burning question on both of your minds.

“Are you going home this year?”

You’d spent most of your time at Camp Half Blood being a summer only camper, but the last two years you’d been a year rounder. Your dad had never really been the same after Persephone disappeared from him, never to return, at least according to your aunt. When you’d been younger you’d been a handful and provided your dad with a distraction from his sorrows. But as you’d grown older, made friends, and forged your own life, your father had started drinking again. The more he destroyed himself, the more he destroyed you and your already almost non existent relationship with your mother. You resented him, but you resented her more for leaving him with nothing more than a hollowed shell of who he used to be. He’s been writing you letters, but you can’t bring yourself to respond.

“Probably not,” you admit finally, “I don’t want to see him and besides,” you curl into Luke more, “I want to stay with you.”

Luke’s arms tighten around you as he peaks down at your face, “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

Luke kiss your head, you smell like flowers and goodness and the things he loves. He thinks he could stay right here with you forever. “Are you sure?” he asks you.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, feeling self conscious now, you don’t have the opportunity to let your anxiety consume you for long before Luke is reassuring you.

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I love it when you’re here, you know that.”

You smile up at him softly, his brow furrows, a little crease at the center where you can tell he’s thinking really hard about something. You reach up to smooth it out, but he catches your hand with his own. “You do know that right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, and you do. You really know it, in the back of your mind, you know Luke loves you as much as you love him.

“Good, because sometimes I think you don’t get it, how much I love you. I’d do anything for you, just say the word,” he lets you reach up to smooth the crease from his brows.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You get this little crease between your brows when you’re worrying about stuff, did you know that?”

Your pinned back down on the bed before you get a response, he’s kissing you like you’ve been wanting him to this whole time, Hot and searing with his hands in all the right places. You could die happy, right here, wrapped in his arms, his lips pressed against yours, and his tongur sneaking into your mouth. You stay like that for a few minutes, unaware of the time ticking away. You both pull away a little breathless.

“I love you,” he says quietly, “a lot.”

“I love you too,” you reply kissing the bottom of his scar softly, “a lot.”

He leans down to kiss you again but you place a hand on his chest pushing him away from you. “We should probably clean the cabin now,” you relent, sighing as you look at your watch, the first round of campers should be returning in about five minutes, Luke takes a look at your watch and groans.

“You were right,” he admits, head tucked into you neck as you play with his hair.

“I’m sure I was but youre gonna have to be a little more specific babe,” you reply matching what you’re sure is his cheeky smile buried in you neck.

“We should have just made out.”

You push him off the bed.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan #pjo series #pjo fanfic #charlie bushnell x reader #reader insert #x reader #female reader

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almonds-nsfw-world · 4 days

Text

My favourite Subject - Il Dottore

.ೃ࿐𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : ̗̀➛ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

-‘๑’- summary -- after meeting a handsome, eccentric genius, you couldn't help but fall for his charms - little did you know the truth for alluring you to his chambers

-‘๑’- pairing -- Dottore x gn! reader

-‘๑’- status -- strangers, you have never seen him before

-‘๑’- situation -- choking, domination, manipulation, hard fucking, using you, alluring you, a trap, and you being a good slut, fucking you from behind, description of a needle, horror themes towards the end, sadistic, my first attempt at 'dark' oneshots/ writings

"You can take me deeper? Can't you?"

A vile smirk slithered across his lips as the redness of his eyes glimmered beneath the darkness of his mask. But you could feel them watch you - study the way you drooled and squirmed against his grasp while your ass was up in the air, shaking from the slap of his hips against your skin.

At this rate, you can barely remember how you even found yourself in this position- with this gorgeous man being balls deep within your wet hole.

You felt his fingers tighten around your wrists that he had retained behind your back, forcing you to moan into the white of the pillow that's now stained in your flowing saliva. You barely registered his question as you felt your sensitive, overstimulated walls clench around the veins of his shaft - feeling how the tip of his cock slammed against your spot with every hard, fucking thrust.

"Can you?" He whispered dangerously into your ear, bending over your back while his pivoted into your own while a growl spilled from his throat.

You shut your eyes tightly, nodding your head as a whimper fell from your wet lips. You didn't even try to speak - you knew you couldn't.

That wicked smile of his...those blue locks of his that coiled around his face like the poisonous stems littered in thorns of a poison ivy. You remembered that dashing smile of his.

You were simply renting a room for the evening, claiming to have come to visit Sumeru and the wonders that filled its beauty out of curiosity and simply for the need to finally travel from the warmth of your own home. It was a sight to behold with the Divine Tree as its anchor.

...But then you met him.

The first sign should've been the mask he wore that concealed the redness of his eyes. The sight alone had slithered down your spine as you had glanced at him walking into the humble abode of the inn. You didn't want to be rude, how could you when his concealed gaze turned towards you...that smirk of his and the way it seemed to widen at every step he made - towards you.

He was reserved and lacked the empathy of...most men, you would presume. But you couldn't turn down a drink from this mystery stranger clad in black and blue and a beak protruding from the thing that covered half his face.

You wondered...perhaps his eyes were as beautiful as the rest of him?

Or perhaps he bears scars far deeper than your own?

If you had any to begin with.

He was charming and intelligent. You could tell that much from the way he had carried himself and confidence that radiated from him, attracting the eyes of all like moths to a flame.

Perhaps you were one of those curious moths waiting to be devoured by the scorching light.

And so, you found him somewhat...charming, hell, exciting even to the point where you would slightly blush from every compliment to flow from his lips like melted honey over a spoon.

And so, that's how you found yourself wrapped around his finger already despite the evening having not been over yet. But you never expected the night to have taken such a turn, to feel your next orgasm rise and the tightness of your stomach vibrate through your system.

He growled, his free hand leaving your hip to push itself against the back of his neck, watching how his fingers tightened themselves around your throat and the feeling of your every swallow and gasp against his fingertips.

You were so close, so close to another climax as Dottore's grunts filled your ears. You could barely take it anymore...your walls spasming and aching in desperate need to be freed.

You cried out as the warmth of his cum began to leak itself along your insides before your own squirted out, dripping down his veiny, thick shaft and balls while his other hand began to tighten itself from around your wrists - and before you knew it,

blackness shrouded your vision.

...a groan spilled your lips, a heaviness hung around your wrists and ankles whilst your eyes slowly began to part open.

"Mhm...awake already? I'm not surprised in the slightest." Your hazy gaze turned towards a familiar figure that stood before you - not registering what he had held within his slender fingers. His voice...you remembered that honeyed voice.

"Dottore?", you rasped out, groaning before you tried to move your arms - only to find them weighed down and strapped to a metal of a chair. Your eyes widened and your heartbeat quickened with every breath you took.

Your eyes met his mask, your lips parting, "What's happening? Why am I here? Please!"

A cold, deep chuckled echoed through your ears, causing you to struggle against the metal straps of the chair while the darkness of the room sent a chill down your spine like never before.

Panic.

Panic flooded your mind.

A glint of silver caught your eye, bringing your attention to the long, sharp object he held within his grasp.

...A needle. A long fucking needle.

He painfully grabbed your chin with his other hand, bending over so his face was close to your own, you could feel the warmth of his breath brush against your skin.

But it was the next words he spoke that made your stomach tighten and for tears to slowly well in your eyes as wicked grin slid across his lips. He slowly trailer his finger down your throat, mesmerized by the gulp you made against his touch before a hum of content vibrated from his chest.

"I think you'll be my favourite subject."

The end of the needle sunk into the flesh of your forearm.

#𖤓 artwork: artist unknown

# ‧͙⁺-ˋˏalmond writesˎˊ˚⁺‧͙#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact dottore #doctor dottore #genshin #dottore #genshin dottore

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8-dermestid · 27 days

Note

Hello, I hope you are well! Recently I read a fanfic of yours on Ao3 about Ticci Toby and I fell in love with your writing!! I loved the way you develop the characters and their feelings!! 🤧💕✨

I would like to know if you write for Creepypasta X Virus, it is one of my favorites but there is almost no content online about it 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

Anyway, I saw your requests are open! If the idea pleases you, I would like to ask for headcanons of X Virus and Toby (or just Toby) with a reader who practices magic and has somewhat "dark" tastes (interest in poisonous animals/plants and the supernatural as a whole, in short, just a scary and adorable nerd at the same time!)

Thanks!! 💚

ahh! hello-hello!! i read x-virus' story and took notes for these, i really enjoyed writing Cody, so thank you very much for the request :-]

i rlly liked this request, and this is actually the first time i've ever done headcanon-ish things, i hope you enjoy these (bc i enjoyed writing them a lot)

x-virus & ticci toby: reader with macabre interests

relationships: ticci toby x reader, x-virus x reader

word count: 1.5k

links: available on ao3

x-virus warnings: animal death (off-screen, animal body shown) animal dissection, taxidermy, canon-typical violence

ticci toby warnings: canon-typical violence

☣︎ X-Virus | Cody _____ ☣︎

You let it slip one day that you wanted to try taxidermy, an embarrassing guilty pleasure you were confident you could keep under wraps, but Cody’s just been so nice about your eccentricities and you couldn’t help yourself.

“They use bugs in the process, lots of museums have them to clean the bones because they’re better than the best person with the best tools—” You pace back and forth as Cody watches you from your bed, “—Because that’s all they do, all they do is eat rotting flesh off the bone. The bones last much longer when cleaned by any Dermes—”

You stop yourself from mentioning the insects by their scientific name, embarrassed that you let your ramblings slip away like that.

Cody leaves the next day and you’re left alone with your thoughts. Maybe there’s another mansion full of serial killers so you can start fresh, your ears burn recalling how excited you got talking about flesh-eating bugs.

A few days later, Cody returns to the mansion with a limp raccoon and some things it stole from the local morgue.

You spend the entire night together trying to preserve this creature’s hide, you take it apart with precise motions, expertly moving the scalpel along the skin and parting flesh and sinew. You soak the skin in salts, rubbing it into the bloody underside until you smell like copper and the salt mines.

The whole room smells like formaldehyde, too.

✸ ☣︎ ✸

Cody is so excited to share its books with you, all of them. You spend long evenings together curled over a battery-powered lantern and ten-pound textbooks, occasionally mentioning an interesting tidbit when you come across one. Your books are filled with flattened foliage from the surrounding woods, poisonous plants and flowers, plastic baggies filled with poison ivy leaves, and hand-drawn diagrams of each plant’s internal structures in a ballpoint pen. It flips through each page carefully, examining each specimen, complimenting each note and observation.

“You should open a museum,” It says, running a finger over a pressed Conium maculatum. That snaps you out of your science headspace.

You should, but you can’t. “Besides, who would enjoy a museum like that?” You argue.

“Think about the Mütter Museum,” It quips back, “If people frequent a museum full of pickled people-guts and spines, I’m sure people would go to yours. People like flowers.”

In another universe where violence wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, maybe you’d be the curator of a weird little museum full of oddities.

✸ ☣︎ ✸

“Toby comes here all the time to burn CDs, don’t worry, the cameras stopped working years ago and they never bothered to fix them,” Cody pushes open a window and climbs into the air-conditioned computer lab of the local library, “Just don’t knock anything over, I guess.” It jokes.

You drop through the window and feel goosebumps form on your arms, you haven’t felt air conditioning in years.

Cody unlocks the door leading to the rest of the facility, you walk side-by-side, dragging your fingers over the spines of dozens of books.

“You know the Dewey Decimal System, right?” Cody asks, there’s a thrill with breaking in, especially for pleasure (rather than worrying about killing every occupant in a house, you both can focus on finding a specific edition of a book you were dying to read).

“By heart.” You joke, guiding it to the 500s: Natural Sciences.

You spend five hours squished up together reading from the same book. It points to a diagram and you explain every minute detail, Cody listens eagerly to your explanations, wanting to ingrain every word that comes out of your brilliant, perfect brain, and memorize the way you describe the venom sacs of the Hydrophis schistosus.

The way it rolls off your tongue—Hydrophis schistosus—Cody wants that to be the last sound it ever hears, the sound echoing forever in its brain until the heat death of the universe.

You creep down to the 200s and find a few textbooks about niche religious practices. You tell Cody about the rarity of cannibalistic religious practices, and the prevalence of cannibalism in some movies ticks you off.

“Cannibalism isn’t that common,” You scoff, “It’s more than socially taboo, it’s biologically taboo. Ever heard of Kuru?”

“Tell me.” It begs.

✸ ☣︎ ✸

⦻ Ticci Toby | Tobias Erin Rogers ⦻

Every word that comes out of you flies over his head. Even though he doesn't know a thing about what you’re telling him about, he’s completely and utterly enamored. Toby never graduated high school, and—for the most part—he’s glad he didn’t have to spend any more time around high-school people.

He misses learning. Sometimes Toby thinks he’s stupid, Tim and Brian went to university, and they have high school diplomas with their names on them somewhere, Toby has nothing except an honor roll card from the eighth grade. You’re so brilliant, maybe part of him thinks he’s weighing you down by stopping your ramblings to ask for clarification. He’s so deep in thought he hasn't been paying attention to your talks about the Ghent Altarpiece’s connection to ancient practices of animal sacrifice.

“Does it bother you when I do that—when I don’t know things a-and you gotta explain it to me?”

You’re sitting on the porch together looking out over the rolling fog, he sucks in a breath, the tip of a Marlboro lighting up orange-hot.

“I like it, actually.” You say matter-of-factly

Toby’s diaphragm sputters as smoke spills from his nose, and he coughs hard into his elbow. “...Doesn’t it—But I’m interrupting you because I’m too stupid to get it the first time—”

That word gives you pause, and Toby tosses away the cigarette butt and curls into himself, shame burning hot on his face.

“I don’t think—”

“E-Everyone does,” He cries, “I-I can’t help it, I couldn’t even finish high school. Tim and Brian made it to college, at least.”

You push yourself into his personal space, knocking your knee into his as you lean over to share a secret.

“I can teach you if you’d like.”

Toby’s red-hot shame melts into a giddy flush as your warm breath lands on his ear.

✸ ⦻ ✸

The next victim that comes Toby’s way—a family of three with a prying-eyed teenager getting too close to discovering the mansion—grants you both access to the internet for a time.

You start with Wikipedia, it’s good practice to get bare-bones information that starts the deep dive. Marine Biology is the starting topic because the random article Wikipedia spat out at you was about the bigfin squid.

Toby mumbles aloud as he scrolls through the article, the picture on the right left the hairs on his arms standing on end. Little is known about it because it dwells so deep, and scientists aren’t entirely sure why its distinct long arms are there.

“Nobody knows how it feeds?”

“We know more about space than our oceans,” You say, “We have pictures of the Big Bang.”

Toby rolls back on the wheeled chair and pushes the keyboard to you.

You open a new tab and open the search bar.

COSMIC MICROWAVE BACKGROUND.

He pulls back in, opening the third link that pops up. You sit quietly as he devours an entire article explaining the picture’s existence, he’s vibrating in his chair. Toby continues the search without your input, googling words and finding plenty of pictures of smattered space dust orbiting tiny, dense stars.

The pictures of the black hole shake him to his core, nebulae give him chills, beautiful planets and star systems and moons and—

Alpha Centauri grabs a hold of Toby’s body and keeps him there. He pushes the monitor towards you and you read along with him, he’s shaking with excitement, free hand flapping excitedly as he scrolls through the academic journal.

He prints out a few pictures before the police show up, the cosmic microwave background bathing the room in greens and blues and smatterings of yellows and reds.

✸ ⦻ ✸

He starts stealing books from the library, as do you. You take turns showing and telling. He shows you astronomy books and you show him textbooks about the history of taxonomy; you spend hours sitting across from each other on the floor exchanging knowledge.

“I’m—I’m glad we did this. Thanks for doing all of—of that.”

You peek over an academic journal you’ve read at least seven times, smiling softly as Toby puts his new collection of literature into a box and pushes it into the closet. He piles a few flannels and shirts over the box to camouflage it amongst his dirt laundry.

“Why’re you doing that?”

Toby turns to you and turns away meekly, “...It’s our special thing, you get it? I don’t want anyone getting into our business. This is our thing. Our special thing.”

A warmth creeps up your neck as Toby holds your gaze. You close your journals.

“Babies have more bones than adults.” You whisper, your hand splayed over his shoulder blades, “About three hundred.”

Toby’s breath hitches as your hands warm the spot where his cervical vertebrae end and the thoracic meet.

“H-How many are—” He covers his mouth to cover a shaky breath, “—i-in the spine?”

“There are thirty-three vertebrae. Seven cervical,” You and trails down his back, “Twelve thoracic,” you creep further, “Five lumbar,” Lower and lower you go, “Five sacral,” You’re getting bold now, “...And four coccygeals.”

You hold your hands there, Toby enjoys the warmth radiating from your fingers, he wants to melt into you like watered-down clay (you would call it slip since you know everything). He wants to read books with you for the rest of his life and not do anything else.

He wants you to count every rib, every tooth in his mouth, every bone in his hands and feet—counting and counting and counting until he's dizzy.

✸ ⦻ ✸

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eupheme · 11 months

Text

— In Bloom

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 7.3k

Tags: sex pollen, dub-con because of sex pollen, pure pwp, mutual longing/pining/crushes, manipulation, touching, aphrodisiacs, spitting, mild oral fixation, fingering, oral sex, multiple orgasms, begging, PiV, cum eating, cum play

A/N: had a thought about polite and proper Alfred losing his filter, and wanted to see where it could go

When Alfred finds himself under the effect of a strange pollen at the hands of Poison Ivy, Bruce realizes your thinly-veiled crush might just be the balm that is needed.

A knock on your door in the middle of the night is never a good thing.

Especially when the one who is doing the knocking is none other than your employer - Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne, who likes to sneak down to Applied Sciences steal your prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who you’ve found like to dress up like a vigilante - using said prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who has a butler that you have a massive, massive crush on.

You’re scrubbing a palm across your eyes as you stumble towards the door, where he’s still knocking. It has to be him - no one else would stop by unannounced so late like this.

“I’m coming,” You call through the door, as you work open the deadbolt - cracking the door open. “What are you doing here?”

“Speeding up a timeline.” Bruce says cryptically - pushing his way inside as soon as it’s wide enough.

A mark carved between his eyebrows, as he paces. Shadows under his eyes, the remnants of grease enhancing them.

“What do you mean?” Your back presses against the door, worry starting to flood through you.

A sigh, then. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back from his forehead.

“It’s… Alfred.”

You’re wide awake now, on high alert.

“What wrong with him?”

“There’s…” There’s the huff of a strained laugh, disbelieving, “Been a situation. I think you’re the only one that can help him.”

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped down your ankles. Confused by his appearance, his words, his laugh.

Feeling so out of place in your own home, struggling to understand in a way that feels so different than when he’s three steps ahead on a project.

“He needs someone to take care of him.” He says it delicately, with a matching grimace, “We don’t have much time.”

You’d do anything to help. But still unsure of what he means, exactly.

“Why me?”

Bruce sighs - frustrated, that you haven’t caught up. The brief eye contact breaking as his hands shove into his heavy, black jacket.

“I know he’s been seeing you.” He states, “Will you come, or not?”

It had your heart freezing in its place. A soft ringing in your ears as you stare at him.

Because he’s not exactly wrong.

You been spending time together. Tinkering on fixes for Bruce - his extra set of hands and extensive knowledge more than useful.

And you think… that there is something.

Something there in the quiet way that time passes during the night. Brushing fingers and shared music and quiet murmuring.

The low timber of Alfred’s voice - murmuring praise when you work through an issue together.

That’s good. Smart girl.

A look that passes between you, when you see him off from the lab. The way he lingers, the way you can’t help but lean in.

The way you’re almost certain he’d been thinking about kissing you, just the day before.

But you never dreamed that anyone else would know.

Your words sound muted, as you ignore his question to ask your own, “How do you know that?”

“When I send him out to see you, he comes home whistling.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning, “So?”

“It means he’s happy. He hasn’t been in a long time.” Bruce sighs, his foot tapping, “And I’d like to keep him that way and not dead, or worse. So I’ll ask you again - will you come?”

“Wait.” You squeak, “Dead?”

A shoulder lifts, and then drops.

He tells you what happened.

The signal in the sky, his rush to the lab downtown only to find Poison Ivy already clearing it out. Dealing with her - only for Alfred to find a single, ruby-red petal in the car, when he had arrived back at the Tower. Unsticking from a cape where it had been carefully placed, a trap meant for Bruce.

One that had dissolved into a fine powder the second he picked it up. Coating his fingers and inhaled as he had coughed.

Flooding through his system, as he has swayed - Bruce guiding him up to his room to rest. To plan.

“I’m still figuring it out. I was able to save some of the powder to process.” He tells you, “So far, it’s been identified as an aphrodisiac.“

An aphrodisiac. The word rattles around in your brain, nudging at memories of a biology class - a heat rising to your cheeks.

“When I left, his heart rate was high. A rising fever, and he mentioned pain.” He rattles them off, pulling up an app on his phone, showing the readouts, “I don’t want to sedate him unless I have to.”

You can see it on the screen - the too-high heartbeat. The body temperature that ticks up a fraction of a degree, right in front of you.

There’s an uncomfortable pause, before he adds, “If it’s a biological effect, then I thought it could be eased. Naturally.”

So that is what he had meant, when he said taking care of. How it has to be you.

Bruce’s grimace tells you that you’re in the right track, as he watches you process.

“Okay.” Worry and something else - something warm and syrupy - swirl together in your chest.

“I’ll… I’ll help him.”

Your knuckles rap against the tall, heavy door. A thin silver disk shoved into the pocket of your sleep shorts - as you try not to think about it.

A fail safe, just in case. Press it if something goes wrong, and Bruce will come.

No answer comes, and your fingers curl around the handle. Unlocked, as they slowly twist, as you nudge open the door.

You’re not expecting Alfred to look furious, when you slip through the doorway. Shutting the door behind you firmly, resisting the urge to lock it.

There’s a strained look about him, clenched teeth and a pinched brow. Still a picture of elegance, even now. His hair still damp from a cleansing shower, neatly combed back.

Still slipping into dark trousers and a crisp white shirt afterwards - the buttons loosened at his throat, exposing skin.

A low curse hissed though his teeth - one that you’ve only hear him use the time you’d sliced your finger open while working together.

“It’s okay,” You’re telling him, placatingly. Moving towards him, where he’s sprung up from the bed.

A better idea of what you might need to do - the thought like a flame in your chest, creeping up to your ears. Too late to turn back, now that you know how dire the situation was.

Not that you wanted to.

Not that you would.

“I want you to turn around, and go back through that door.” Alfred all but growls - stepping further away from you.

Back against the side table, then over to the desk, tucked against the wall. A rattle of metal and wood, as he grasps at the edge.

“I’m here to help you.” You frown, still moving closer.

He’s started to eye the open doorway to the left - leading to the en-suite. Wordlessly you shift in front of it to block him, as something flickers across his flushed face.

Before his eyes close - his jaw ticks.

“You’re here because Bruce asked you to be.” He manages, “I’m not going to let you make a mistake.”

That has you halting, your hands moving to brace against your hips.

“He wants to help you.”

Alfred’s head shakes minutely.

“He’s trying to solve a problem. He’s pragmatic, and he’s compromised by emotion,” The words are labored, and from the closer distance you can see the shine of those bright, blue eyes. Can smell him, even - clean linen and cologne barely masking the scent of him.

“He doesn’t care about using you.” He insists, “But I won’t let that happen. Not even if…”

Alfred trembles, his hand tightening against the chair that he’s backed himself against, “Even if I wish for it. Desperately.”

The words linger like his scent, wrapping around you. Bruce’s comment making more sense, as something seems to bloom in your own chest at his admission.

Speeding up a timeline.

That maybe, you were right. About that something that sparks between the two of you.

The way he leaned last time - how your face had tipped up. Wishing and hoping, before the shrill rhythm of the ringtone had him stepping back.

Retreating.

“Is it the pollen, that has you saying that?”

You need to know.

The frown softens, as he sighs.

“It weaponizes desire. It pushes those feelings up to the surface, and renders you incapable of any other thought.” He tells you.

“But, they are mine.”

The tension in the room is palpable. The heave of his chest as he find himself unable to push himself further away.

As you step closer, and then closer. Your own heart in your throat and desire sparking to life and curling in your belly.

Trying desperately not to look down, to there the fabric pulls tight on his trousers. The hand that unconsciously cups himself, to ease some of that ache.

“Let me help you.” You beg.

He makes a low sound in his throat. The smallest shake of his head.

Still resisting, still so put-together. Utterly convinced that he’s cornered you into something you will regret.

Your tongue wets your lips and his eyes drop greedily. Longingly.

“Bruce said…” You begin, trying to explain, “He said it would hurt, if you couldn’t. That you might…”

You skip the words. Swallowing them down with a shake of your head, “I won’t let that happen.”

His chin juts forward, “If that’s what I must do to protect you-”

That has your teeth clenching as you move closer. Stopping just in front of him, as his fingers grasp at the chair, knuckles going white. All those years of self-control still clinging to him, even as his eyes widen.

“I thought I was your smart girl?” You ask him, watching how he shudders at that. Panic starting to flutter at his words, what he seems to be willing to do.

How his eyes seem to darken then, lips parting as he inhales.

“You are.” He rasps.

Slowly, you reach out towards him. How he stiffens, as your hands hover - just for a second, before cupping his jaw. The bristles of his beard tickling against your palm as he leans into your touch, his eyes closing.

“Then trust me.” You coax. His look is sharp when they open, “I wanted you to kiss me. I want you. I always have. I know this isn’t what I imagined, but you can’t leave me-”

He can’t. Not Alfred.

Alfred, who comes by just to check on you. Who makes sure you remember to eat. Who smiles, when he sees you. That soft voice humming along to the music you pick, as those hours pass. Exchanging quiet confessions at night, that no one else knows.

Who you look forward to seeing, more than anyone else.

Who you are so certain you were in love with, if the prospect wasn’t so goddamn terrifying.

You’re still pleading, as he lets go.

Leaning into the desire like he leant into your touch. Halting your words as his head tilts, his nose skimming against your cheek before his mouth is pressing hungrily against yours.

Your hand drops from his jaw to press against his neck. His heart thudding against your palm as it wraps around, fingers brushing the shorn-short hair.

The kiss soft for only a second, before it turns searing. An arm curling around your side, the hand pressed between your shoulder blades. He groans into your mouth before he’s tracing the seam of your lips, as his other hand grasps at your hip.

Drawing you in, as your own moan buzzes in your throat. Parting eagerly for him, as his tongue strokes yours, then licks into your mouth. It’s easy then, to spin you around.

Your shoulders knocking against that high-backed chair, as he steps into you. His body melding to yours, as he helplessly grinds himself against you. Rocking the hard curve where he strains - rutting himself against your hip, the kiss breaking so he can inhale a sharp breath.

“My smart girl.” He groans, his voice like gravel. Fingers pinching, as his cheek presses against yours, “Figuring out how to fix me.”

“I will,” You promise. Breathless, as your heart hammers in your chest, thudding between your thighs, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

His grip tightens, hips jerking forward and grinding into the curve where your hip meets thigh, “I know, darling. Know you will-”

“Let me take you to bed,” You coax, shoved between him and the back of the chair. “Come on, baby.”

You don’t know where that soft name comes from. Pushed out from your heart, affection melding with worry and desire. But he shivers when you say it - needing the tenderness, the gentle direction.

Not used to either. Helpless, against it.

Reluctantly stepping back as your reach for his hand. Large and warm in yours as you cross that short distance. A nudge to his shoulders has his back pressing against the mattress - scooting up to headboard as you follow.

Stern eyes softened and fixed on yours, pupils blown wide with the pollen. Half-pushed up on elbows, the unbuttoned shirt pulling open at his chest, watching as you kneel next to him. Shrugging off your jacket - draping it over the divan at the foot of the bed.

As his hands find you, like before. Catching you before you’re settled - gasping with surprise as they slide under a knee and around your waist and hoisting you onto his lap.

The part of your thighs framing where he’s aching, a rumbling groan as your weight settles on him. As your hands splay across his chest, knees pressing into the mattress.

His eyes dragging over you then, as if you were something precious. A priceless piece of art.

As if you were dressed in something other than your pajamas- an oversized Wayne Enterprises t-shirt, patterned sleep shorts.

Not wasting time to change, as you followed Bruce down to his car. Grabbing your jacket, and not much else.

His fingers reach out, skimming from knee to thigh. A finger toying with the hem of your shorts, tracing against your skin.

“You look beautiful,” He tells you, voice strained as his other palm presses flat against his abdomen. Teeth gritting as he suppressed a groan - a red-hot cramp in his guts.

He’d endure it, if he had to. It would be nothing, compared to what he’s had to before.

But that was before you had arrived, before things had turned so complicated and so crystal clear, all at once.

Your face twists with worry, a hand covering his and squeezing. The other hovering where his splay wide to press against his shirt.

“H-Have you tried?” You venture, feeling embarrassed at having to voice your question. Shy, in spite of everything.

His hand is hot in yours. A sign of his body working overtime to fight off the effects. Something that Bruce said will lead to his ruin.

“In the shower.” Alfred managed, an intake of air hissed through his teeth. An upward flex of his hips, into the air as he remembers.

Working his fist over, again and again. Thinking about you even then, shame burning as bright as the fever.

“It didn’t work. I couldn’t-”

The words die off. Teeth grit as his muscles string tight, sweat dotting across his brow.

You swallow, trying not to picture it. Trying to resist the urge to shift forward - trying to stay focused on him, to fix this like you said you would.

“Do you want to try again?” It comes out as a waver, and you have to clear your throat, “I could kiss you. Or…”

The burn in your cheeks rival his - your eyes dropping to the neat line of buttons.

He huffs a laugh, despite it all. Humor twisting into the pain, “Or you’ll give me a hand, darling?”

You want to tell him you would. That you’d do anything, for him. Bruce could have called you for any reason - you would have come.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him. How he relaxes when there’s something to take the edge off the pain. Catching the hands that roam across your hips, dragging one down to where he strains.

You’ll keep you eyes shut. You’ll be good.

His gasp is swallowed by the press of your mouth. Shifting in his lap as he works the button open on his trousers. Shoving down the elastic waistband to free himself.

Your tongue traces his lower lip. His free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, to hold you there - hovering over him. Feeling the jerk of a fist between your thighs, how his body moves as he flexes into the touch.

Trying to quell the fire that burns in his veins. That’s only seemed to become hotter since you’ve arrived. Desire twisting into his guts like a knife, making his own touch feel slow and muted.

Not nearly enough.

Frustration tinges his low groan, as his hips jerk angrily into his fist.

“I can’t. I need you, please-” He pants in your mouth, and in desperation - your hand covers his.

The kiss breaking as his moan turns sharp, as you glance down between you. To where he curves, thick and leaking above coarse, grey-flecked curls. The tip flushed red and glossy.

His hand loosens to make room for yours. Achingly hard and hot in your grip, as you mimic his strokes.

Letting go for just a second as he whines, saliva swirling on your tongue before you’re lifting off him. Settling next to him on the bed as your head dips, catching the spit on your palm before you’re slicking up further. Each jerk of your fist loud and filthy in the quiet room.

Concentrating on the pressure and your rhythm as you stroke him, risking a sideways glance up to see him watching - a flex of his hips into your fist when your eyes meet.

You’re sure yours look worried, “Does this feel good?”

The hand on his stomach drops to the bed, twisting in the sheet.

“Darling.” He rasps - his eyes drifting shut then, as your other hand comes to cup him. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve wished it was your hand instead of my own.”

His words make you throb, his cock jerking with this admission. Unsure if you can keep up the pace he needs, as your head dips again to give him more.

The pink point of your tongue tracing the seam of his sack. Swollen and heavy as he snarls, his hand coming to cup the back of your head.

“Oh god, please-”

Guiding you to his cock, as he begs for you to take him into your mouth. Tasting like salt and skin as he inches inside, thigh muscles jerking under your hands as he resists the urge to bury himself in your throat.

Sucking on the tip before you take him further. Rising up on yours knees for better leverage, leaning over him with a hand braced against a thick thigh.

Bobbing your head as your take him deep, and then deeper. Swallowing him down until your eyes are pricking with tears from the effort. Leaving his cock slick and messy with spit, as the muscles in his abdomen flex.

“You feel so goddamn good, sweetheart.” He moans, unable to help his words or the shallow thrusts now. Pumping himself into your mouth as your hand slips across what won’t fit. “B-Better than I ever imagined.”

His breathing now short, labored. Fixed on watching your lips stretch around - struggling to take him. Catching the press of your thighs as you squeeze them together, your panties close to soaked through already.

His fingers drift. Up your knee again, the soft skin of your inner thigh.

Your hand pumps and pumps as your eyes flutter shut. Buzzing groans that travel down the flushed shaft to where his sack pulls tight - so close to the release he’s been aching for.

The groan pitching low and long when his fingers pet against the seam of your sleep shorts. A little buck of your hips into his hand as his fingers press the fabric against your clit.

Pulling back to slip beneath - meeting soaked, hot flesh.

You pull off him long enough to croak his name, as his fingers circle the tight bud. The jerk of your fist tight as his ministrations start to waver, his attention splintering.

“Darling, fuck-” He grits out, with the rise and fall of his chest. “Keep going, just like that. You have me so close-”

Unable to help watching his face as you stroke him. Slick pumps as his hand clutches at the sheets, the soft “oh-” of his breath coming shorter and louder.

Your head ducks, then. Taking him into your mouth as he shatters. Growling out your name as he floods your tongue with each heady pulse of his cock, almost choking as you swallow him down.

Coming hard, with his fingers still pressed against your pussy. With only thoughts of you in his mind, some of that haziness worked out of his system.

Alfred doesn’t pull away, as that tightness loosens - as he relaxes back onto the mattress. Instead, his fingers trace down.

One teasing as your opening. Waiting until your soft “yes, please” before it’s sinking inside. Fucking you with it, never leaving you wanting for anything.

A steady pump of his finger - before a second dips along your entrance, fitting in with the first. A messy swipe of his thumb against the bead of your clit, as both press deep into you.

Groaning, as you find yourself relaxing against him. A hand still wrapped around his half-swollen cock. The pollen still flooding his system, the sharp edge just barely tempered.

“I-I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

The protest is weak. Your words not nearly as effective when you’re rocking back to meet the wet press of his fingers as you moan - cheek pressed into the whorls of salt-and-pepper hair blanketing his chest.

He hums, low and rumbling. The hand not buried in you slipping against your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

“You are, darling. God, you are.” He encourages - rough and low and earnest, “The only thing better would be if you were sitting on my face.”

A second, as he amends it, “Or, my cock.”

His fingers press deep, and you keen. Mimicking how he’d do it, curling the tips until he’s stroking a spot that as you seeing stars.

You’ve thought about his hands before.

Ever-steady and strong - scars littering his knuckles that made you wish you knew the stories behind. Tapping fingers against the table as he thinks.

Knocking against yours when you both rushed to grab a component, during the triumph of a breakthrough.

Skillful, in the way that has you jealous. Manipulating parts with dexterous fingers. Never thinking about how they could ruin you but now - you don’t know how you could have missed it.

How you’ll never be able to think of anything else, now.

The hand at your cheek twists until his thumb can press against your lower lip. You part them for him, letting it press against teeth and tongue. Lips closing around him - sucking, as your eyes roll shut, as that sweet pressure begins to bloom and swell.

“Christ I want to fuck you.”

The messy pump of his hand grows louder, slapping now against your skin. The thrust of his fingers turning fast and unrelenting, pounding and pounding against that spot.

The knot in your stomach winding tighter, tighter, tighter. Teeth grazing and pinching his thumb as you groan, but his fingers just curl around your chin to keep your head steady.

“I could make you feel so good, love.”

You’re nodding - too far gone to protest. Rocking back to meet him, your lips releasing him so you can beg.

“Please,” You whine, “Want you to.”

His fingers stroke your cheek, then - hearing the rumble of his words under your ear as it presses to his chest, washing over you.

Fully hard in your hand now. Slick and flushed like before, as your fingers stretch to encircle him. A shallow buck of his hips to ease the friction, as he warns you.

“If I fuck you, I won’t want to stop. I’ll want you like this, every day. Do you understand?”

Your answer is no more than a ragged groan. Panting and open-mouthed, as he drags you closer and closer to a blinding release.

There’s pressure on your jaw, as he tilts your face up to his. His expression wanting and lips-parted as he waits desperately for your answer.

“Tell me you that you want this.” His voice goes low - each word pointed, “That you need it.”

A little bit of clarity, coming back with the release you swallowed down so willingly. Feeling more himself in his own head, even as that pressure begins to swell in his belly. As that sharp wave of desire crashes against him, again.

Needing to hear it. Almost as much as the need to follow through with his words - burying himself deep in you.

Your voice trembles on your answer, “Yes. Please-”

He groans through gritted teeth, his words labored. Thick in your hand, a small thrust as he holds himself back.

“And what do you need, darling?”

It’s so close you can taste it. The tightness building in your guts, turning your brain to a buzzing haze. Each slick pump of his fingers sending a skittering jolt down your spine.

“I need your cock.” You whine, “I need to come, Alfred. I need you-”

His hum is pleased, each thrust of his fingers sends his thumb across your clit. The rhythm steady and almost overwhelming as he pounds against the spongey spot within your tight, clenching walls.

“And I need you to come so I can fuck you properly.” He husks, as the swipe of his thumb sends you toppling over the edge, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

It feels like your heart stops, for a second. A shaky gasp of breath, before the pleasure floods through you in bright, pulsing beats.

Moaning something that feels like words - “oh god, oh my god-” into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you, pulling you close. But it could just be warbled sounds, to your muted ears.

His fingers slow, but they’re still pressing in you. Drawing it out, as they become wetter with your release - louder.

“Look at you, soaking my fingers.” He murmured with approval, feeling how you drip down them, damping his palm, “Christ, I wish you making a mess on my cock instead.”

A chaste kiss pressed to the side of your head, as you come back to yourself. Feeling flushed and dizzy with pleasure as your lips brush his.

His hand eases from you, to wrap around his length. Smearing yourself on him, making him throb - that ache fully back.

“Turn around for me, darling.” He demands, his eyes heavy-lidded and wanting, “Hands and knees, now.

You peek up at him as you nod. Pulling back, tugging the layers of your top off. Leaving you bare, his eyes dragging over the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks that he fully intends to touch later, to taste.

“Leave those on.” He growls - as your fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. As his own work at his shirt and trousers, “I want to take them off you myself.”

His words make you shiver, a slow dance as the mattress dips. As you shift around each other - you stretching out like a cat in front of him, a sway of your ass in the air as you push up onto your knees.

The way his spread, strong and sturdy as his hips fit against your soft curves. The brush of his length against your thigh, hanging heavy.

Fingers that move faster, rougher, than he wants to. A sharp tug as they curl around the waistband and pull - pushing them down your thighs, leaving the layers to pool around your knees.

Pressing into soft flesh, then. Cupping the curves of your ass as his fingers sink in, as he tugs you open for him to see.

“Mm. Look at how wet you are.” He groans, the touch of a his thumb against your slit. Pressing against your entrance, seeing how you swallow the tip - clenching around it, “Such a pretty little pussy.”

That path between his mind and his mouth - his filter, that enduring and ever-lasting politeness - was severed, some time ago.

Replacing propriety and inhibition with baser needs. Urges that he would deny he had, on another night. Swallowing down those words that slide from a silver tongue that doesn’t quite feel like his.

Even if the thoughts are, deep down.

You’re pushing back into him, breaking this brief moment of reverie. Desperate and needy in a way that has you half-wondering if you’ve been affected yourself, in some way.

Absorbing some of the pollen, with your joining.

Or is it just the weeks of desire - crashing over you like a wave against the shore? Utterly pulling you under and surrounding your every thought, until you’re drowning in them?

He angles himself against you. Sliding against your core, then up, with the curve of his cock. Against tight and sensitive skin that has you peeking over your shoulder, still trusting.

Taking him in, then. Strong shoulders, a smattering of hair you had pressed your face against. Marks against his skin of scars long healed - across his ribs, curling around a shoulder.

A tapered waist. Flicking back up to those blue eyes. A furrowed brow as he concentrates, a face you know well. One that sends your heart tripping over itself as it threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Are you-?” He asks, unsure of how to word it. Lips parted in a pant, that pressure against his chest coming back.

“Yes,” You arch against him - knowing what he’s asking, the way he’s holding himself back, “I’m protected. Baby, please-”

“Fuck.” Alfred grits through clenched teeth.

He’s imagined you begging before. Late at night, when he’s alone - with desperate jerks his fist. Never imagining he’d hear it, sighed so prettily through your lips.

Angling himself down, as your eyes close. A sharp intake of breath as the fat head of his cock sinks into you. Stretching you out even with your orgasm - your breath caught in your throat as his hands grasp at your waist, tugging you back.

Seating him fully into you, with a low groan. Already inching back so he can rock into you, starting shallow - each one pulling back a little more, pressing deeper.

“So tight,” He moans - a hand sliding down your back, “So perfect, oh-”

Losing himself in the relief. In the heat of your pussy, unable to help grinding himself as a hand curls against the juncture of your thigh. Gripping on as he starts to fuck himself harder into you - your fingers twisting into the sheets, gasping at how much he fills you.

The hand against your back presses down. You arch more, as your cheek rests against the mattress. The discarded shirt nudging against the stiff peaks of your nipples with each of his rough thrusts, sparking pleasure down your spine.

“Feel so good,” You manage, all but drooling. Groaning into the sheets as you rock back to meet him, the best you can.

The slap of skin is louder, wetter than his fingers. Your breath growing short as his cock ghosts against the spot his fingers pounded against. Twin groans as your arm twists around, so your fingers can slip between your thighs.

“I want to fuck you all day. Four, five times.” He breathes. Eyes dropping to watch the way he disappears into you, how you take him so perfectly, “Keep you right here beneath me. Leave you covered in me each night.”

Unrealistic as it is, the rasp of his voice - his words - do something to you. Your fingers pressing intently against your clit. A soft, groaning gasp with each sharp punch, breaking your pleasure out of the plateau, sending it higher.

Clenching down around him, fueled by the groans and sweet praise that he gives so freely. It has you wondering if he’s always this generous. A twisted hope that just maybe, on another night, you might get the chance to find out.

Wishing that the root of his desire won’t slip away at the end, with the rest. That he’ll still want you.

It’s almost pathetic how close you are already easy, your fingers circling just a little harder, a little faster.

“Christ, I can feel you,” He sighs, each word drawn out, released with the stroke of his cock, “I’m not going to last, love.”

You almost miss it, with the way your heart thuds in your ears. But the little word is the beginning of your undoing - your own tiny warble as your muscles string tight.

“Don’t stop,” You whine, as he shifts - pressing more of his weight against your back as he archs over you.

The angle changing just a bit, until he’s nudging that spongy spot that has tears springing to your eyes with how good it feels.

“Fuck, baby. Please don’t stop, please-”

His lips press against your shoulder, your neck - the hand at your hip planting near your shoulder for leverage. Teeth grazing skin as he keeps going, just like you begged.

Giving it to you, until you’re reaching for him. Your fingers wrapping around his as you come, the rock of his hips slowing so he can feel how you pulse around him. How you sob his name into the sheets with little bucks of your hips, riding it out until you’re loose-limbed and content - hazy, in your afterglow.

Never fully stopping the way he presses into you. Rolling and rutting as your tight grip loosens, though your hand stays trapped in his. His mouth pressing against your neck, then higher.

“Please tell me I can come in you,” His groan is filthy in your ear, “Tell me you’ll take it.”

The rough timber of his voice, the thought, as your own thoughts flowing freely.

“Please. I’ll take it,” You beg, “I need you to come in me.”

The hand on your back shifts, sliding beneath and flattening against your belly. Keeping you pressed flush against him as your begging tips him over.

You hadn’t watched, earlier. Eyes fluttering closed, concentrating on swallowing him down. Your head tilts to look, now.

Catching a clenched jaw, the scrape of his beard against your cheek. A breath pulled through those teeth before he groans your name, sounding so pretty to your ears.

Feeling the throb of his cock as he comes - the rock of his hips with each pulse. Warmth flooding inside you as he nudges it deeper.

Notching himself deep, as he relaxes. A soft sigh as his nose ghost the curve of your neck, his weight pressing you prone. Welcome, as you stretch out beneath him.

Your head tilts, smiling. His own matching, as lips start to brush. Starting soft and slowly growing needier as the minutes pass by, his cock still hard where it sits in you.

Gently easing himself out, hands coming to your waist, flipping you over. Peeling the shorts and panties from your ankles, dropping them off the edge of the bed.

Kneeling between spread thighs as his eyes drag down. Fingers tracing after - against your collarbones, your tits. Cupping and pinching as his tongue follows.

A little shift of your hips. More than satisfied, but unable to help the little flame that sparkle to life as he kisses the curves of your breasts. Then, going lower.

Shifting back on the bed, a thumb slipping over your folds. Smearing his cum against your skin, where it’s dripped down the curve of your thigh.

“May I taste you?” He’s asking, as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Wide-eyed with want, as you go to move - to clean up. His hands pressing into your hips, holding you there.

“L-like this?” You squeak, and his nod is slow, severe.

“Like this.” He tells you, simply.

You nod, leaning back against the pillows. A gasp when his tongue swirls against your skin, as he groans. Tasting his spend mixing with the salty tang of your cunt, the tip tracing from your entrance to the tight bud of your clit.

Alfred wishes that his veins weren’t still so pumped full of pollen. That his mind wasn’t fractured between want and need.

On another night, he’d take his time. Enjoy the way his fingers sunk into you - seeing how many you could take. Slowly drawing it out as his tongue teases, until your thighs are closing around him.

Until you’re begging.

Tonight, he can barely concentrate. Eyes closed as he tries to focus on your taste and not the unrelenting fire that scorches his insides. More than aware of the heat that beads at his forehead. The rapid thudding of his heart.

It’s eased, some. But it’s not enough.

You buck against his mouth. The soft, wet brush of his tongue, the way he looks - arms hooked around your thighs, strands of slicked-back hair breaking free and curling - has you insatiable.

The soft “please” is all it takes to sever his attention, blown-wide eyes lifting - finding yours. A hand passing over his jaw, smearing your slick across his beard, as he rises again.

Pulling your thighs up over his. Spreading them with strong hands, as he works himself inside you again.

Your back arching as he does, lifting off the mattress.

It’s an easier fit, this time. Still slick, as he pushes himself deep. Legs twitching in his grasp, trying to latch around his waist.

A gentle nudge, a stern look.

“Keep your legs open for me, darling.”

They fall open, for him.

You’ve never had it like this. So full as he starts fucking you again, pushing his cum out with each thrust. Coating his cock and starting to drip down your thighs.

He groans at the sight - the way he looks as you take him, again and again. The sentiments softer this time, as your soft moans fill the air.

“I want to take you out.” He rasps, eyes still locked on the way he shines with you, with his own spend, “Make you breakfast, after I’ve fucked you in my bed.”

Eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers tracing where you’re stretched wide around him. His voice dropping low, “After I’ve made all your pretty little holes mine.”

You whimper at the thought. How easily you agree, with a little nod of you head, “Yours.”

Eyes trapped in a loop from the pretty twist of his snarl - all furrowed eyebrows and concentration- down to his chest, trailing further.

Hips tilted just enough so you can see. The peek of his cock before the impact of his thrust, how it bounces you against the mattress. Making that need return, the build of something hot and twisting, low in your belly.

This time, he does it himself.

Gently batting your fingers away when they drift down. Sliding his own across your thighs, sticky and slick when they com back to press against your clit.

Building you up, and up, and up.

That ache quelled, like this. Enough where he can slow down, when he’s buried it you.

Your breathy gasps making his other hand clench against the fat of your hip, trying to keep his movements steady.

Cooing soft encouragement, as he feels the way you clench around him again.

“Make a mess for me, darling. It’s okay.”

That edge, creeping back as you moan his name, “Fuck, I want you to. Come on-”

You shatter. Stomach clenching at that pleasure ripples through you. Softer this time, coaxed from you instead of wrenched. The relief washing over sweat-dewed skin and wrapping around you.

He follows, soon after. With hands that tug you against him, meeting the lazy rock of your hips. Finding his own pleasure in yours - head tilted back as he stifles a sharp groan, pressing himself deep as he comes.

A silence settling, then.

Your arms rests over your face - teeth pressing into your lip as you grin. Chest heaving with your breath, his hands planted on either side of your hips.

That heavy fog of want almost gone now, the pollen leeched from his system. Still lingering on the edges of his mind - as his hand comes to cup himself.

Wanting it over with. Wanting to end this night with you with just himself in his head.

A twinge of overstimulation, fighting through it as his fingers wrap around his shaft. Slick and streaked with cum as he finishes himself, one more time.

His thumb smoothing across your thigh, as your arm drops. Feeling vouyeristic as you peek at him, now - the flex of his arm, of his chest.

“I know you’re tired darling.” He soothes, when his eyes pull from the place where he’s fucked you open and dripping, “Stay like that, just once more.”

Sleepy and slated, you nod - his fingers dipping down to collect more of the mess, before spreading it on his cock.

Your hand finds his and drags it up to your chest, letting him cup your skin. Ghosting over your hips and curves, his touch reverent.

Watching greedily this time, as his brows pull together. More in his head than ever, the night replaying in his mind. Your soft words and touch and how you came here, just for him.

How he hopes he can make it to you. That you’ll won’t run as soon as the night is over.

Affection swells, and then bursts. A throaty groan as he spills across his knuckles, dripping down to where he holds himself against your pussy.

Covering puffy folds with white streaks of his release, marking you in a way that burns into his chest, sears into his memory.

Coming back to himself, fully - then.

Relief brimming as he watches how you smile. Looking at home in his bed, your arms opening for him as he slowly bends, relaxes.

Needing you, thought not like before.

Needing your touch, as your arms curl around him. A tenderness, breathed out against your neck. One he doesn’t have to give, though he feels like he must.

“Thank you, darling.”

The heat of the water eases the pleasurable ache in your thighs, the space between them. A gentle swipe of a cloth as he wipes you clean, as your back presses into his chest.

Content to let your head lull against his shoulder, your hands wandering to massage his thighs, where the muscles pull tight from overuse.

Taking just another moment alone, before you fetch that little silver button in your shorts. Knowing that Bruce is waiting - worried - despite what Alfred said.

“So,” You’re the first to break the silence, “Were you serious about breakfast?”

Thinking back to what he said, in the heat of the moment. The late night hours spilling into a soft grey sky that promises a clear, beautiful morning.

A second of silence, before the words rumble in his chest, “If you’ll have me.”

His hand curling around you, possessive and comforting.

“Maybe Bruce was right. That this just sped things up.” Your fingers leave his thigh to float on the water, sending ripples across the surface.

Your confession quiet in the large room, “I meant it, when I said I wanted you.”

The grip on you tightens, his filter fully back in place. Stealing his words and his tongue, after all that has happened.

“Alright, breakfast.” He manages, “I’m yours.”

A small grin, as you tilt your head to peek at him. Seeing only affection in his eyes, and you think you understand.

Your voice pitches low, “And, what about the rest?”

The rest of what he had said. He groans at the reminder, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“That too.” A huff of a laugh, his thumb brushing against skin, “Though we might need to wait, at least a little bit.”

Then, growing serious, “I know we skipped some steps darling. But I meant it, as well.”

His hand find yours - fingers entwining. Squeezing.

“I want you. I want to do this properly. Dates, flowers, everything.” A moment, as he considers, amends, “Though perhaps… no roses. At least, not for a little while.”

“Alright,” You smile, settling back down against him. The water sloshing over the edge, but at the moment - you’re both too tired to care.

“No roses.”

(0 pressure tagging some friends that commented on the sneak peek! 💕 @the-dazzling-urbanite, @the-eyes-of-andyserkis, @celestianstars, @vellichormybeloved, @ohheyitsokay, @princessxkenobi, @avarkriss, @arthurmorganstinkydick, @proud-to-know-you, @weirdsociology, @cat-shapedgoo, @themilesgmorales, @ghotifishreads, @communism-bitches )

#please mind the tags!#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth smut #the batman 2022

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