#fontaine x black!fem!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

megamindsecretlair · 2 months

Note

Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?

A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?

Blackbird, Part 1: Lust

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?

Word Count: 10,810k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby

Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection.

The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you.

“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now.

Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death.

The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around.

He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile.

Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy.

Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something.

Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record.

“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair.

They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered.

You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck.

“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack.

You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.

One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.

You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood.

One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you.

You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them.

“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you.

Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled.

He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him.

“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt.

“You heading inside?” He asked.

“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.

The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face.

Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.

“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both.

“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.

You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense.

“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said.

“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.

“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.

“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin.

“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.

“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.

“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.

You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.

You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.

“Probably,” you said.

He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.

You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.

“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.

“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him.

“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish.

“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup.

You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.

You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours.

Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club.

You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number.

Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.

“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror.

“Another day?” She asked.

“Another dollar,” you said back.

You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations.

The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.

You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time.

They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever.

Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up.

You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley.

Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top.

So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”.

You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas.

As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine.

You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.

The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”.

Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples.

“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!”

You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain.

“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you.

“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted.

Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies.

“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said.

“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips.

“Sheeit, this is better,” he said.

You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.

“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes.

A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.

“Your turn,” you said.

“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.

“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark.

“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”

“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said.

“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”

Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.

Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires.

Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head.

You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.

“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms.

Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.

“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.

“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact.

You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news?

“Moved up how?” You asked.

“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma.

“I cannot with you,” you said.

Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but.

He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.

“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said.

“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins.

“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building.

“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door.

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile.

His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.

You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up.

But, but, but.

“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said.

“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said.

You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it.

“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.

You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.

So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close.

That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.

You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said.

Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body.

Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger.

“Would you like to continue?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”

Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all.

After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit.

There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans.

You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.

Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate.

But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too.

He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down.

Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it.

When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you.

And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting.

Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door.

Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy.

Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles.

“Hey you,” you said.

“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said.

“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked.

“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth.

“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you.

But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you.

“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked.

“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be.

When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.

It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now.

Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.

It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous.

Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside.

“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.

“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed.

“You really do look good,” you said.

“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom.

“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute.

“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word.

Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself.

Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you.

As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee.

You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses.

“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.

“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless.

“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.

“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute.

Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.

Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked.

“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.

“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said.

“I do not! Just answer my question!”

Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams.

“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”

He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it.

“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.

When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear.

Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.

Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes.

You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.

It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room.

With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up.

You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.

You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it.

There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway.

Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started.

She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free.

You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then.

There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers.

Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.

You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.

You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.

“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this.

After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here.

Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said.

You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to.

You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.

“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth.

“Fontaine?” You asked.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat.

“Delicious,” he said.

He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties.

“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.

“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat.

“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.

In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.

He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you.

“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.

The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction.

You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.

It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back.

“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Where we going?” He asked.

“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone.

You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything.

The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera.

“Forreal this time!” You giggled.

Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes.

You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them.

“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked.

“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips.

“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said.

Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you.

His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way.

The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them.

Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee.

Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it.

You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him.

But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade.

You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure.

Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer.

He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.

He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.

You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.

You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said.

“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire.

You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck.

You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down.

“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.

You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach.

Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.

That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips.

You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you.

You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.

You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.

He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing.

Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.

You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?”

You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that.

Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.

He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth.

His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking.

He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.

“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer.

“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.

“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.

He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him.

He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.

You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.

He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.

You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!”

He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you.

You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”

“Fon-tai–” you moaned.

“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.

He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes.

He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned.

Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself.

“You-you didn’t…”

“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.

He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you.

“Fuck!” You moaned.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.

He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.

“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.

You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm.

“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned.

“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie.

Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move.

Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.

“You’re so damn cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said and smiled.

“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked.

You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said.

“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.

You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.”

The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Only if you want to,” you said.

He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.

He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him.

“I want you to stay, please.”

He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else.

Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.

Me and you.

You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.

You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight.

There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.

Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files

Graphics by saradika-graphics

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dawnwriterimagines · 8 months

Text

Missing Pieces : Fontaine x f!Reader

Summary: After supposedly returning from a shooting he can't remember, Fontaine's memory seems to be a little jacked as something doesn't feel right. He sits down with Slick Charles, trying to connect the missing pieces in his daily routine, while everyone tries to explain to him that someone's missing...

Warning(s): Violence, Angst, Amnesia, etc.

It was loud, it was close, almost like it was right in front of him.

BANG!

A gun shot rang out.

Fontaine's eyes burst open, he sits up with a startled breath, almost choking on the first gasp he lets out.

Putting a hand against his chest, feeling for the indent of a bullet hole he was sure had gone through him at some point. But there was none, only the raised scars from a few mishaps or scuffles with any dumb motherfucker that used to try him. The ghost of pain was strange, as he shook himself out of his slumber it quickly settled and numbed to nothing. But it wasn't really even a memory, a nightmare?

He'd gotten shot before, never flat out in the chest like he'd felt when he got up. Somehow, he imagined it would've felt differently. But, then again, it was only a nightmare.

Fontaine ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily. The nightmare faded from his mind, he couldn't even remember what it was about, but it had left him shaken.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he seemed to wait for something, looking beside himself to see if anyone were sleeping at his bedside. It was empty, the other side's cover tucked tight.

Brows furrowing at the weird feeling that the morning had already brought for him, Fontaine huffed out a breath and stood, preparing for his day.

He got dressed, throwing on the white sweatshirt and a pair of worn down jeans, as he pulled them on, he caught sight of a silver chain on his dresser, a threaded cross at the end.

Walking over to it, he took it and looked it over, it was unfamiliar to the eye but he could've sworn at some moment he had probably worn it, or he had seen it on somebody else. He pockets it, leaving the room.

Outside, he meets up with his boys, the gang crowding at the corner, waiting on him. On the front yard, Fontaine lays on the lifting bench, putting an ungodly number of rusted plates on the bar before pressing the weight with no assistance.

The two other swole muhfuckas huddle around him hyping him up, throwing insults to goad him to a few more lifts as he nears his next rep, "One more! Weak ass nigga!" Fontaine huffs a puff of air, muscles flexing as he lifts another. "One more!"

"Hey Fontaine!" Junebug yells as he runs over, a Caprisun in his grasp.

Fontaine racks the weight with no problem, sitting up, he looks to the kid as he stops in front of him with a toothy smile, looking around. "Where she at, man?" Junebug asks, suddenly looking disappointed.

Fontaine raised a brow, before standing taking his jacket off the ground, "What you doin' here, Junebug?"

"(Y/n)," the kid says, "Where she at, huh?"

"I ain't got yo' babysitter, lil man." The name sounds familiar for a split second, until it doesn't.

Junebug frowns. "Did you get in a fight again?"

"What the fuck you talkin' bout, Junebug? I dunno no bitch named..." he pauses a minute, catching sight of a car, a 1975 AMC Pacer, a dark yellow color. It was parked up down the block, just behind his Pontiac.

Ignoring Junebug's nonsensical questions, Fontaine turns to Big Moss, who holds a handheld fan to his face, "Yo' nigga, who car is that?" he points to the Pacer.

Big Moss looks over, squinting a bit, "Ain't that yo' honey's, mane?"

"Ma' honey?" Fontaine made a face, clearly the only person lost here. "The fuck you on?"

The rest of the gang around made sour faces, some clearing their throats and turning at the suddenly uncomfortable conversation, attempting to nosily mind their businesses. "Not no mo', I guess," Big Moss says, awkwardly. Clearing his throat, "It's cool mane."

"The fuck--" Fontaine's interrupted.

"You and (y/n) ain't together no mo'?" Junebug looks disheartened. "What you do?"

"Ya'll niggas crazy, I ain't know no bitch named (y/n)--"

"Fonnie..." a gentle whisper in his ear startles him. A woman leans in close to him, he feels her hands drag up the side of his torso and up his chest from behind, hugging him close for just a second...

He turns quick.

His eyes instinctually cut to the yellow Pacer at the corner of the street as he finds no one to blame behind him. "Crazy..." he repeats, maybe about himself.

Fontaine decides to get in his car, driving to the liquor store. He buys a lotto and a routine bottle of Anaconda Malt Liquor. As he unscrews the cap, taking a swig, he hopes for a buzz or a sense clarity that never hits him, maybe it was time for something a little stronger.

He scratches the lotto, and the same outcome taunts him back with a 'You Lose' in bold. Tossing it to the ground, he walks back towards his car, coming up towards Frog, the homeless old man that always had some riddle to say. And he didn't disappoint. "Lovin' n' holdin an' they just takin' n' stealin', ey youngblood?" Frog says, holding up the styrofoam cup as Fontaine pours a good bit of the liquor to his cup.

"Yeah, Frog," Fontaine sighs, used to the nonsensical jabber. "Yeah."

Leaning up against the side of his car, he takes a drink, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the chain he'd found in his bedroom earlier. He brings it up to look closely, in some way he recognized it, but not enough to recognize it as something he'd worn in the past few days or even months.

As he holds the chain, he notices a smear of red along his finger, rubbing his thumb at the stain on the silver, rubbing off the red. He stares at it on his fingers, he recognizes it to be lipstick, a soft red shade.

Even more confused, he huffs out a breath, but he holds the chain tight in his grip, trying to think of any moment in time that he could've possibly been given it, or anyone that could've left it. He hadn't let anyone in his house in a while, let alone his bedroom, the last woman he had slept with had been...fuck when was the last time he'd gotten laid?

For some reason, he was convinced it wasn't as long ago as he thought.

He gets in his car, driving back towards home.

That's when he catches sight of someone. At the end of the street, a black man in a white sweatshirt limps down the road, his chest stained with red. He's on his knees, curling his arms around someone, dragging the person onto their feet, but they're limp in his grip, dead. A woman, jeans wet with blood and knit sweater falling off her shoulders torn and smeared with red. She's pretty, gorgeous even, from what he can see from here.

The man struggles to stand to his feet with her again, his shoulders shake from the effort or from the angry sobs that wracked through him. Fontaine can see that every movement is agony, he watches as the man hacks up a mouthful of blood. He'd been shot too.

As he hacks up a lungful, the man's eyes flicker up to see Fontaine driving past. They look at one another.

And for a moment, Fontaine sees himself. Literally. His hair, his eyes, his clothes even which he was wearing at this current moment. He forgets he's still pressing on the gas when he loses sight of him.

Fontaine stomps on the brake, stopping the car, he looks to the rearview mirror, quick. When did he start breathing so heavy? It had to just be a coincidence, just a trick of light or of his mind. That can't be him.

Interrupting his thoughts, a black van drives into the area, nearly clipping the Pontiac as it swerves around the corner and towards the couple.

"NO, NO, Nooo! NO!" the man even sounds like him..."Get the fuck away from us! Get the fuck off--! No!" he's cut off by the slamming of the car doors, muffling his screams and driving off quick.

All that's left of them is the red stain against the cement.

As he makes it home, trying his best to forget about the strange event, Fontaine pockets the chain he forgot he was still clutching.

He makes a sandwich, cutting it in half, he walks to his mother's door and knocks, "Mama, you hungry?"

She answers. "Nah, I'm good, baby. Josephine had a fish fry last night, I'm still full."

He walks away from the door, covering the plate for later and making another sandwich. He must've blanked out because next thing he knows he's making two new peanut butter sandwiches, cutting the crusts off one of them absently. Slowly stopping, he places the knife down, confused with himself.

He takes one of the sandwiches, sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. As a poorly filmed commercial starts, he swipes his malt liquor off the table and takes a swig. "--Gon getcha summa dis here limited-time-only Hotbox Spicy Chicken! Cause remember, who needs all these vices when you've got all these herbs and spices--" the narrator continues as folks dance after every bite.

A commercial he's seem about a hundred times, before another came on about perm cream.

Fontaine zoned out, chewing silently on his sandwich, wondering why everything seemed so off today. Who was (y/n)? Did he just imagine seeing himself today? Who's fucking chain was this?!

He tosses the chain across the table, it hits a box of pizza that halts its slide to the floor.

That's when he noticed the pizza box at the table, eyes narrowing as he quickly thought of someone. Slick Charles. "Motherfucka'..." he stands and takes his keys off the hook.

---

"You saw me, what?"

"Die, muhfucka!" Slick Charles repeats with an agitated yell. "I saw you and yo honey!"

This is the second time someone mentioned his 'honey'.

"I'm clearly not dead, nigga, where's my money?"

"There are more pressing issues to discuss here, nigga!" Slick Charles backs away from Fontaine, looking around his chest for bullet holes, anything to declare the man, undead. "Look if you don't believe me, we'll get, Yo-yo! She'll know, she done lef' around the time you came in, alrigh'?!"

Fontaine glared at the pimp, before rolling his eyes and exiting the hotel to make his way to his car, Slick Charles following. For some reason, his mind drifted to earlier that morning, seeing the couple, covered in blood and dying on the street.

Finding Yo-Yo about to sell some ass for a $50, they interrupt the transaction, getting the sassy prostitute in the car, clad in a fur coat and yellow boots, she sneers at them both. "Ya'll owe me, 50!"

Fontaine gets to the point, hushing the woman. "I need to ask you somethin'," he begins. "You seen me?" he asks, tentatively, almost in a whisper. Asking meant admitting to some degree that he thought he was actually dead and had come back. In some way, that would explain his very realistic nightmare.

"Not like that, nigga..."

"Nah, I mean...you seen me?" he questioned again, quieter this time, serious.

"Yes, nigga, I saw you," Yo-Yo admits, truthfully. "And wasn't (y/n) witchu? I ain't seen her, she ight?"

Slick Charles leaned back in his seat, remembering seeing the young woman in the car before the shoot out started. "Aw no," he whispered.

Fontaine glanced back at the pimp, confused and angry. "Who the fuck ya'll talkin' bout, man? Who's (y/n)?!" he hits the steering wheel, tired of the day, and the dumb shit that's been getting to him lately. "What bitch ya'll think I'm fuckin' with, huh!"

"Well ain't she give you that?" Yo-Yo pointed to the chain on his neck. The cross he had tossed and decided to take with him, he had just absently put it on, almost out of instinct.

"You know who's this is?" Fontaine held the cross up to her face.

"Uh, yeah, nigga, what's wrong wit you?" she gives him a distasteful look.

"Who?!"

"(y/n)!"

"You--"

Slick Charles slaps down a polaroid photo on the console divider, "So you tryna tell me, you don't remember her?"

Fontaine looks down, choosing to ignore the change in tone, Slick Charles has his pointer finger in the middle of an unfamiliar photo, he picks it up. The car is dead silent now as he holds it up to his face, luckily he had parked under a street lamp, providing him a little light to see.

Fontaine's eyes widen as he sees her fully for the first time. (Y/N).

They're frozen in time in the photo, in a paused state of a love he couldn't remember. She presses a smooth kiss to the side of his face, he wraps an around around her waist, pulling her into his lap, his expression was softer than normal despite a lack of a smile. But he wasn't looking at his lips, but the way he'd leaned into her, held her close, he'd never done that before, always keeping his distance from any actual relationship that he recalled in his life.

So this was (y/n)?

He felt he would've remembered someone like her. Why didn't he?

"Remember 'er now?" Slick Charles asked.

"I'm gon' need you to tell me what exactly you saw last night," Fontaine's eyes flickered to Yo-Yo, he's gratefully for how dark it is, he had a feeling now that he had seen her today, drove past her, let someone take her away. What the hell was going on?

---

There was an elevator that led down under the Glen, this tiny town was somehow apart of an entire experiment, for what? He didn't know.

But, it seemed to involve him. Involve you. And involve all the people of The Glen. And if he wanted to know why he seemed to have died late last night, he needed to find out what exactly was going on.

Luckily, he had some help, although he would've preferred a smarter duo, he was stuck with them.

As Slick Charles held his gold gun up to the pale-skinned scientist with a clean shaven afro, giggling and spasming seemingly uncontrollably, Fontaine made his way around the lab.

Yo-Yo began to mess with a few of the strange sets of chemicals within the lab, taking notice of the lack of experimental subjects: like mice or even rabbits, nothing. She tipped a beaker, blew on the white dust, she supposed was cocaine and swirled a bit of a blue liquid in a test tube.

Fontaine found two surgical tables, blue sheets over each figure that seemed to lay atop the metal slabs. Not a single breath moved through the sheets, nothing to signify either one was alive.

He moved one sheet first, it was you. (Y/N)...

And everything suddenly started flooding back in waves.

"Wake up..." she breathes, tapping his cheek as she yawns against his chest.

"I'm awake..." he responds, tiredly.

"No, you're not," she grumbles, before sitting up a little. The movement coaxes him awake, his arm pulling around her shoulders tighter to get her to lay back down.

"Be quiet," he pulls her down on him, she chuckles, conceding.

He scoffs out a humored hum, turning over her, they drift off for another hour or so, awakening to kiss the other. He's leaning over her, the chain she had given him, swinging in front of her face, hanging off his neck.

Fontaine notices it, taking it off in that moment and placing it on the dresser, "No, hey, that keeps you safe," you protest as he moves to shift between your legs. "Don't take it off, Fonnie."

"Yeah, well right now, it's distractin'," he squeezes your thigh, bringing one of your legs over his right shoulder. "I'll put it on later, if you're so worked up bout it."

"Ok, ohh--k, yeah..." he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, letting you take hold of a handful of his locs, your nails running through his scalp in a way that just told him to keep going. "Fon'..." you gasp as he cups the skin of your ass to move down lower, greedily.

After another hour of consuming the presence of one another for the morning, you both move through the day as you usually would. Fontaine would bench press a few reps with guys, you would start making campaign flyers for the protests during the week. He'd leave with Junebug later unbeknownst to you and deal with an amateur dealer that made the dumb decision to sell on his side of the streets. When he comes back, Fontaine and you would head to the store together, he'd get his usual Anaconda Malt Liquor and you'd usually go for a Moscato if not a pack of swedish fish. Pass by Frog for another daily lesson in senile obscurity and pour him a cup.

Heading back home, they'd have breakfast together, sometimes you'd make eggs and bacon, other times Fontaine would make the only thing he really knew how to which were peanut butter sandwiches. You hated the crusts, so he'd always cut them for you. You'd call him soft and he'd sit pause mid-way to let you finish yourself in bitter defiance, to which you'd quickly take back your statement. "Wait, wait, I'm kidding," you laughed. "Come on, finish, you cut them the best! Fonnie!"

"That's all you, baby," he took a bite of his. "All you."

"No, I'm sorry, please, please," you begged, wrapping your arms around him to pull him back to the kitchen. "Come on, Fonnie--"

"How many times I gotta tell you to stop wit' that, Fonnie shi', huh?"

"But I thought you liked it when I called you, Fonnie?" you teased with a smile.

"Fonnie sounds like a bitch, I ain't no bitch."

"You're my bitch though," you cackled.

"Whatchu say?" he turned, surprised at the answer. And you took off running. "Naw, bitch, get your ass back here, whatchu say!"

"Nothing!" You laughed as you ran through the house away from him. "I'm sorry!" you put your hands up as he grabbed at you, the two of you soon enough laughing together.

"Getch your ass back here!"

Later in the day, Fontaine recalls the customer dealings of his business, remembering that Slick Charles still owed him a pay day since last week. Fontaine got to his feet, took his keys, and you accompanied him into the pontiac, tapping the insignia on the hood of your Pacer car parked behind.

Driving off, the two of you enjoyed a moment with each other, you leaned over the console between you both, singing to the song on the radio. "I need a hug...I need a hug..." you nuzzled your face against his shoulder.

"You need to be quiet," he snickered, emphasizing 'Need', glancing over to you as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, and you just kept at it.

He finally parked up by The Royal, a hotel across The Glen, where he knew Slick Charles would be. "Stay here," Fontaine said before leaving the car.

You roll down the window, sticking your head out to wave towards the pimp as your boyfriend forces his way into the hotel room. "Hi, Slick!"

"(Y/n)! Why you ain't tell yo' violent ass nigga to show some goddamn muhfuckin' respect!" he yells mostly towards Fontaine, who glowers at him in return, threatening to punch him right in the grills if he don't keep his mouth shut.

You duck back into the car, choosing to let the two men figure their shit out, instead opening the windscreen, watching as a photo fell out to your lap. A little picture of the two of you, you recalled the day, you'd only been officially together for a few months at the time, but you were happier than ever.

Looking up you take notice of another photo, of Ronnie, you had never met the boy, but you had always wished to, knowing what had happened to the sweet kid, always made your heart clench with tears. You pressed two fingers to your lips and to the still frame of Ronnie, breathing sadly, in some way you felt you knew him, maybe had met him, caught glimpses of him in the street when you were younger.

A beep is heard, startling you to drop the polaroid of you and Fontaine, it slips between the seats and you curse, "Shit, ugh," you glare back at the car that had stopped behind the Pontiac, before driving driving again. "Motherfucker!" You sneered at the driver, who just kept his windows up, music blasting, glass shrouded in smoke.

Fontaine soon returned to the car, pocketing the fraction that Slick Charles had made, not enough to fully pay him back though. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I--" then you saw the same car rolling backwards, coming to a slow park just behind the trunk. But, it was the man walking up to Fontaine's side of the window that really terrified you. "Fon--!"

He turns a little too late, "GET DOWN!" just pulling out his gun when the window shatters, the car being layered with bullets, the young man on the other side frantically emptying the clip. The click of an empty magazine is the only thing left to hear besides the bass drum of the radio of the assaulting vehicle.

The young man stumbles backwards, stuffing the weapon into his shirt and racing into the car for a getaway, as the car speeds off from the scene, Fontaine takes a shuttered breath. Blood spilling from between his lips, his hand achingly coming up to feel the holes that had ripped straight through him.

"(Y/n)..." he heaved out, he turns his head as much as he can, every movement a strain on his failing organs. "(y/n)..." he said again, hoping you'd say anything. "Say somethin'," he huffs out, panicked. Say you're ok. "Say it..." he breathes. "Say it..." he repeats as he struggles to breathe, hoping he'd live a little longer to get some fucking help.

He reaches for you, his fingers inching towards yours, but you were already gone.

And then that's when the van comes around. A few men, white guys in black suits wrapped in plastic, gloved hands and unbothered looks as they swing open the car door. "Woah, he's still alive," Fontaine hears one of them say. "Do we still take him?"

Who the fuck were they?

Obviously they weren't police, or ER, or even some random passerby's.

"Won't last long, so yeah," another says, opening up the opposite door. "Not sure about this one though." He was talking about you, Fontaine was sure.

Fontaine blinked, blacking out a moment before breathing harshly once, as if his heart had stopped in that split second, he was somewhere else now. Suddenly, he had been hauled into the van.

"Guess we'll just have to wipe the next one till we can get a copy going, right?"

"Dunno, we've never had to do that before. Damn, this is going to be a lot of paperwork," the white guy sighs out before turning you in your seat, Fontaine finally gets a good look at you as he lays there trying to keep his eyes open. Your sweater was drenched in your blood, and probably a bit of his, the side of your face wet and broken up from the bullet through your temple. You had died as soon as it happened.

Fontaine felt his heart drop, blood filled his throat and he choked on the feeling, but he wasn't sure if it was from the heartache or the puncture. "...'er go..." he gurgled out, eliciting the attention of the disturbed men around him.

There was a pause. "Was that you or him?"

"Well, it wasn't me..." one of the collectors said.

"Let 'er go, muhfucker," Fontaine managed.

They had begun to drive, going around the corner and away from The Royal motel.

"Shit, he really is still alive," the white man gapped, but he still began to haul you out of the car. "We're not really supposed to talk to y--" then there was a gunshot.

Startling all of them as the man that had begun to unceremoniously strap you down to the metal, fell back and too his knees, silently. A bullet between the eyes. The van swerved in the mens sudden panic.

Fontaine had still had a hand on the handle of his gun all this time, the only issue had been getting the energy to pull the trigger. And he let his hand go around to pull again on the white man that moved to pry the gun from his grip, "No, stop!" the collector had shouted, but the gun went off again, this time right through his hip. "Ahh!"

"Oh, shit! Hey, get up!" picking his co-workers up off the floor, "Get the hell out of here, we'll send another unit!" the only uninjured stranger hauled the others into the van as Fontaine stumbles out of the car taking you with him, trying to get a locked eye on the last of them as they drive off and away from the scene as if they hadn't even been there.

And so, Fontaine sat on the curb for a moment, holding you tight, wondering if anyone else would try to just snatch them off the street again. He watched as the van drove off fast, he wondered why they had bothered to do all of that. To kidnap him off the street, as if they had known exactly who he was, where he would be and that he'd be shot. What did they mean by make a copy later?

Fontaine swayed, wondering how he had even lasted this long. He let his head settle against yours, he wished for the little snore of yours that would usually coax him to sleep. He recalled the first time you had fallen asleep against him, the first time he caught himself falling asleep next to you. Pretty much the first of any time he had let anyone catch him slipping.

And he waited for a single breath to slip from you, to bring him even a sliver of comfort.

But it never came.

Even in the early morning, when he found himself staring into the eyes of...himself? Driving by in the very same car that had been totaled to shit in the parking lot of The Royal motel.

Even when the same black van swept by, turning to haul the two of them up off the street and into the van. They don't let their guard down like the others, and he breathes for the last time in that van, holding tight to your hand, just before they pull you both apart.

- - -

It's not a memory that he can grasp onto, because it's not his to have. Just a copy of moments he's never lived.

And they flood his mind.

Fontaine leans over your dead body that laid on that cold slab of metal, the familiarity becoming knowing, absence of memory becomes an overflow of moments he knew he hadn't lived but he could still hold onto.

As the labs alarms go off, he takes you into his arms, ready to take you out of this horrible place, get you some place warm.

Something the previous version of him, hadn't been able to do. But, he was pulled to do the same as his previous self had tried for you.

"Come on, I got you," he spoke, miserably.

It was like speaking to a lover he had never had. But it was also like losing one he had never said goodbye to.

"Come on, please," Fontaine undid the straps, pulling the plastic sheet laid across your naked flesh. He shivered, you were cold, "I've got you," he stares down at the floor as he holds you in his arms. Memories still flooding his mind, sensations, sounds and feelings only a single version of him had experienced, and it wasn't him.

But he still knew he had loved you.

Slick Charles and Yo-Yo pull him from the lab, the alarm sounding loudly, meaning whoever owned this place would be on their way, forced to leave you on that metal slab, next to the original version of himself.

Fontaine was on that elevator. But, a piece of himself stayed down there, and he'd be back to find it again.

"Believe us now?" Slick Charles spoke the question almost sympathetically.

#fontaine #fontaine x reader #they cloned tyrone #they cloned tyrone x reader #fontaine x black reader #black reader #x black fem reader #they cloned tyrone fontaine #fontaine x black!f!reader #fontaine x f!reader

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uncannylaw · 8 months

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Uncharted Waters

This randomly popped into my head and I decided to experiment with it, so…….

Fontaine x black! Fem reader smut, pegging, handjob, bit of praise kink, Minors DNI!!!

—————————————————————

This was definitely new for the both of you. Neither of you could say how this idea came to be but it happened. Here sitting on the edge of the bed, naked except for his socks, was Fontaine.

You stood about a foot in front of him with a strap attached to your hips. It wasn’t that big, compared to him at least, but it definitely had some girth to it. Fontaine stared blankly at the prosthetic piece.

“You know you don’t have to right?” It didn’t need to be said out loud, he already knew but he took it in stride.

“Wanna see what all the hype about,” you didn’t down play his curiosity, in fact you welcomed it. You wanted him to feel comfortable so you embraced the idea he had ten fold.

“Lie back f’me then,” it was a quick and easy command, he followed with a tad bit hesitation. “I’m gonna lube this up so it doesn’t hurt.” He nodded and waited for you to get through.

Taking the lube you added a conspicuous amount to the strap, spreading his legs a bit further you added some to his hole. He was tense.

“Gotta relax otherwise this won’t work.” He willed his body to do as you said. With this you slowly pushed a finger in. His hips twitched but didn’t move past that. He was tight.

Spending time opening him up you noticed his tip starting to leak. Leaning down you slowly enveloped the head in your mouth. His breath hitched, hips thrusting up slowly to try and get you to take him further.

Your mouth and fingers worked him up, it was cute. But you didn’t push much further otherwise the fun would be spoiled. With that thought you stopped everything. He smacked his teeth out of annoyance.

“You gon do it or no,” he had an attitude problem but that could be fixed later. You understood that he was also excited despite his face not showing it.

Putting your nerves to rest it was time for the real action. Getting between his thighs you settled into place. Pushing his thigh up and back a bit for more room. The tip of the strap pressed against his hole. You took one more look, seeing no protest, you pushed in.

Watching the strap sink into him was an out of body experience. Despite it being his first time he took it well. You sunk as deep as the strap allowed. His face contorted a bit before his mouth opened with a groan. Grills shinning in the lamp light.

You waited for him to adjust and then set the pace. It was slow, but it didn’t need to be fast. Not when the strap hit deep, pressing against his walls. Not when the tip of the strap brushed against his prostate, not when he let out deep whines, hips jolting upwards to feel more.

The pace was perfect. His tip leaked like no other. The vein’s bulging, begging to be touched, and so you did. You wrapped your hand around his dick. The amount of pre-cum he leaked was enough to make things easy but it wasn’t enough for you. You opened your mouth and let a string of spit slide down his tip.

The stroke of your hand matching the pace of your hips. “So pretty like this taine,” he groaned. His hands coming up to cover his face. “Don’t hide from me pretty boy, let me see you.”

He let his arms fall to the side, not exactly knowing where to put them. You felt him throb at being called pretty. You hummed, he was your pretty boy and you made sure to tell him.

“Fuck-“ he was a goner, you could feel it the more you stroked him, he was about to blow. You leaned over him, a sound similar to a whimper spilling from his lips. You smiled, you were happy he was feeling good.

With a firm press of your hips to his he came. A deep moan falling from his lips. You leaned back and looked at him. His body a bit sweaty from all the twitching and bucking he did. Mouth wide open taking lung fulls of air. Dick limp against his lower stomach where the cum pooled.

Yeah he was fucked good. Slowly you removed the strap from him, taking everything off and tossing it to the side. Crawling back between his thighs you slowly stuck your tongue out, licking up the cum and cleaning the tip.

He pushed your head away with a grunt, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Did it meet your expectations?” He flipped you off and you full out laughed. He smacked his teeth before flipping you both over, you could feel him getting hard against your thigh. He had a lazy smirk on his face, one you wanted to wipe off but let him be.

—————————————————————

I’m gonna end it there bc it was getting too long. The next fic I put out will be longer than this one (maybe). But I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

#fontaine x black reader #uh yeah idk it just hit me and I wrote it #Fontaine x black fem reader smut #uncannylaw

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silkjade · 6 months

Text

CLASSICAL CONDITIONING !

featuring— wriothesley x reader ⤀ cw: fem!reader, 'good girl', established relationship, unprotected + rough sex, overstimulation, use of handcuffs, lil bit of dom!wrio — ꒰ mdni ꒱ ⤀ summary: careful how you tease the duke a/n: i blacked out and when i came to, this was written && sitting pretty in my drafts

for the duration of your relationship, you’ve made it a habit to bring wriothesley tea every afternoon. it’s something that’s become so ingrained in his routine, that when the noon bell chimes two, he’s compelled to sit a little straighter, exchanging unrequited glances with the large double doors of his office.

as the minutes tick by, he finds himself a little more irritable, finds it admittedly more difficult to focus on the paperwork at hand. you're late and it's not until a quarter past, that he finally hears the familiar tap tap on the door, that indicates your much anticipated arrival.

by the time you make it to the top of the stairwell, the fragrance of freshly brewed tea has long filled the room, yet your boyfriend's eyes remain trained on the documents before him. unbeknownst to you however, he's been reading through the same line for the umpteenth time, clearly distracted without your little midday pick-me-up.

“for your hard work,” you hum, setting the teacup to his side before stepping away and just missing—though in his opinion, dodging—his expectant lips.

wriothesley blinks. it’s neither the tea nor the pastries that he looks forward to everyday, but the kisses that always follow—until today, apparently, where you’ve left him with the terrible notion that his lips are to remain grievously untouched.

he clears his throat. “aren’t you forgetting something?”

“hmm,” pouting, you tilt your head, brows loosely knitted with cluelessness. “i don’t think so.”

your duke leans back in his chair, arms crossed, before he huffs in amusement. “single handedly halting the productivity of the warden,” he lets out a low whistle, “could be a pretty hefty crime you know.”

“s’that so…” you seat yourself on the edge of his desk; it’s the playful little grin twitching at the corners of your lips that give you away. “well what’re you gonna do about it, your grace?”

it's quite cute how you giggle at the way he’s wrapped around your finger, and given the lovestruck look in his eyes, he truly does not mind at all. however, that's not to say he finds it fair.

because although they say it’s unwise to bite the hand that feeds you, this is not the nation of wisdom; here in fontaine, justice demands an equitable arrangement, and as the formidable duke of meropide, it's in his right to enact his own... so it really should be of no surprise when wriothesley shows no remorse as he drills into your gushing cunt, hellbent on conditioning you to cum on his cock and his cock only.

he makes sure to imprint the very shape of him into your walls: from the fat mushroom tip that first slips through your sticky folds, to the large bump of each vein dragging across your velvet insides—your little hole greedily swallows every thick inch of him. over and over, every thrust sheathes him to the hilt, and the heavy sounds of skin against skin echo through the room.

the sudden cold of his fingers on your clit sends a shudder through your core, jolting as he begins to press and toy with the nub, legs twitching while his heavy balls continue to slap against your puffy pussy lips. you squirm in his hold—far too sensitive to cum again, but you're so close.

your hips bounce back and forth, alternating between the hard edge of the desk that presses sharply into your skin, and the merciless ruts that penetrate so deep inside. but like the doting lover he is, wriothesley takes note of your woes and makes a decision for you. he presses his weight into you, grazing his teeth lightly down the nape of your neck.

"ah ah," he coos, "c'mon you can take it. be a good girl for me, yeah?"

it's a shaky, dreamy imitation of your voice, that nods along to the thin facade of agency; with your wrists cuffed behind your back, and body bent over, imprisoned between the warden and his desk, the only thing you can do is to take it.

still, your walls tighten around him nonetheless, prompting him to angle his hips, hitting that spot with a precision that only comes with experience. you keen beneath him, spiraling into yet another dose of exhilarating bliss as you cum again, creaming all over the girthy shaft still buried in your wet mess of a cunt.

and as you're still shuddering from the intensity, consumed completely in the pleasure, wriothesley continues to grind your insides. he's far from finished and intends to carry on until you’re blissed beyond any semblance of sane, drunk on the memory of being molded to his fat cock.

a/n2: reblogs and feedback appreciated, as always ^^ ty for reading !

#— 𝓼𝓲��𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #genshin impact x you #wriothesley x you

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meowlod · 6 months

Text

Them seeing you in a lingerie after they come home.

characters: Neuvillette, Clorinde, Arlecchino, Furina, Wriothesley x fem!reader (bonus focalors)

(nsfw) warnings: teasing, dragon in heat, handcuffing, fingering, spanking, fucking against window, etc.

Neuvillette

Poor guy gets flustered and hard fast! You really like to tease him, don‘t you? You, laying in the bed with a lingerie on, looking at your husband with a innocent smile as he looks back at you. Stepping closer, he unzips his pants, throbbing cock hitting his stomach.

“f-fuck— baby..i need you inside me..please...“

He crawls between your legs, pulling down your underwear while pumping his hard cock with his free hand. Your husband was never this clingy before (unless mating), now hes right between your legs, at your mercy. Neuvillette grips both of your thighs to spread them more apart with his strong hands, guiding his cock right infront of your wet cunt. You wrap his arms around his neck, smiling. Your man could be in heat right now, and you have to take care of him.

”My hydro dragon is so submissive.“

Clorinde

You weren‘t expecting the champion duelist to come home so early, seeing you in your bed in such clothes. Clorinde takes a step closer to you and looks you up and down, taking a look at your outfit.

“M—my love, what are you..“

You grin at the sight of Clorinde with a flustered face. She always looked so emotionless, but not today. You‘ve been waiting for this moment, but the duelist just wanted to take a break. She crawls onto the bed and hugs your warm body, burying her face into the crook of your neck. ”Clorinde, how was work?“ Are you seriously asking such innocent questions while in underwear only? Clorinde slides her hands lower until meeting your ass cheeks, giving them a slight squeeze. You let out a small gasp, smile turning into a smirk. You know that Clorinde can‘t resist you.

Arlecchino

It is a dangerous idea to show yourself to a strong harbinger like that, but you won‘t mind if she gives you a punishment. Waiting for her to come home, you‘ve been laying in your bed with a bored expression until the door opens, revealing the Knave. Her eyes narrow at the little of clothing you have on, black hand gripping the door handle firmly.

”Just what are you wearing?“

You smile nervously and crawl further into the bed, the scary looking woman stepping closer to you and quickly pulling you up by your leg. ”A-ah— A-arle! Its just so hot in here, you know?“

Excuses never work with Arlecchino. She pushes you back onto the bed on your stomach, slicing the lingerie panties in half with her sharp nails before delivering a harsh smack on your ass. You let out a yelp, trying to crawl away, but the Knave climbs on top of you and buries your head onto the pillow to keep you quiet. ”Do you know how much you‘re acting like a slut right now?“

She slowly slides her hand right to your entrance, before slipping three slender fingers in. The sudden move made you groan loudly. ”I-im sorry, Knave!“

”Be quiet and take this like a good girl, la mia troia.“

Furina

You did not tease her much as she needed had to have some time for herself after all the stuff that had happened in Fontaine lately. But living in a house now, she‘s happy that she did not have to continue acting as a god. Now that you know her true self, you decided to tease her today to see her reaction.

You‘re laying in her bed in your lingerie, two glasses of wine on the desk next to the bed. Furina comes home with bags of grocery and puts them on the kitchen table before walking to her bedroom with a tired face. Her eyes widen to see you half naked.

”w-wha- uh- what..wh— hey..um..“ hundreds of stutters come out of her mouth as she stares at you with a red face. ”p-please— um- put on some clothes..i..ah..wait don‘t..“

Furinas lips turn into a slight smile as she takes off her jacket and jumps onto the bed on top of you, cupping your cheeks, giving you a hungry kiss that caught you off guard. You kiss her back, soft arms wrapped around her neck, fingers tangled in her short hair from behind as she unbuttons your bra, slowly sliding it down before throwing it onto the ground. “Mon bébé, you wouldn‘t mind, right? I need you so badly. Right now.“

You nod with a pant as you crash your soft lips firmly against hers once again, her hand finding your panties, seductively taking them off, skillful fingers rubbing against your cunt.

“i need you..“

Wriothesley

That man has been pretty busy in the Fortress lately, barely coming home. You message him on your phone several times, and he only reads them. Eventually, he came home with a hum and opens the door, smirking at the sight of you in a lingerie, checking you out.

”Wow..someones extra playful today.“

You chuckle at his words and stand up, seductively touching his chest. ”Of course, love. I‘ve been waiting for you.“ He scoffs playfully and gives you a quick kiss before taking out his fancy handcuffs, putting your hands behind your back, handcuffing them.

”A woman like this has to be put in their place, yes?“

A blush appears on your face as he picks you up with one arm, bringing you to the kitchen before bending you over the kitchen table. ”This,“ He slowly slides down your underwear, ”has to be gone.“ your panties are quickly taken off as he works on unbuttoning your bra. ”And this too.“

A gasp escapes your mouth as you feel one of his hands grabbing your bare tit, his other hand working on unzipping his pants, revealing a bulge inside his boxers. ”Be a good prisoner, will you? I know you will. Great, now lets begin the punishment.“

Bonus - Focalors

That woman had always been a teasing one to you, and you wanted to tease her back. She came home with a yawn as she opens the bedroom door, revealing you in HER lingerie. The archon lets out a little shocked gasp before licking her lips seductively with a smirk, walking towards you.

”Oh..tch..so cute, so sexy. So vulnerable wearning my beautiful lingerie.“

She pulls you by your arm and picks you up easily before pinning you against the glass window, breasts pressed against it, seeing views of Fontaine.

”Is this girl so desperate for a punishment?“ she licks your earlobe.

Focalors whispers seductively into your ear, using her hydro powers to create a water cock between her legs. You look behind you, only to get your head pressed back against the window. People could see you like this! Legs spread open and breasts pressed against the window. She quickly takes the lingerie off of you, laughing softly at the beautiful view of you fully naked. She holds both of your hips before pushing in, feeling the cock slowly stretching you open. ”F-focalors— f-fuck- ah!“

”My pretty girl is gonna be so messy after this. So pretty. I can fuck you against this window and people would see your precious little face.“ Before you could talk back, she takes one hand away from your hip and stuffs two slender fingers inside your mouth.

”Shhh, we don‘t want others to see you, right? Good.“

#furina x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #focalors x reader #focalors smut #genshin impact #furina smut #genshin smut #fontaine #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #clorinde x reader #clorinde smut #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut

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slippinninque · 4 months

Text

Fontaine, Seduced

(alternatively : Fontaine Tries To Be A Gentleman But You Aint Ask Him For All'Dat)

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, Minors DNI, long fic, cursing, use of the n-word, thirsty Fontaine, ramblings, slight corruption kink, praises n' begging, P-in-V, light bondage, Slips' First Smut

A/N: So sorry for the wait! Sooo, this is in answer to the anon who asked how Fontaine would be if he was trying to hide his nasty. i really hope i did you proud! I've

He...may have a problem.

There you were, the light of his life, seated on the floor and in a nest of your own making. Blankets and pillows spread with you nestled in it's center. A skein of yarn to your left as whatever it was you were creating grew in your lap with snacks to your right.

Absolutely adorable while you watched an old western with him. Fontaine knew you were warm and soft as a cake from your shower and shea butter, he could smell your hot chocolate with every sip you took.

Your furry socked feet rubbed together in your contentedness and every so often, you'd lean back on Fontaine's legs to look up at him until he leaned down to kiss you.

He wanted to see you cry.

It was terrible, he was terrible. You've been nothing but good to him and here he was wanting to see those pretty eyes rolling. It was a problem, he knew it.

Still...

He wanted to bend and twist you, he wanted to hear how close he could get you to screaming. Fontaine wanted to bite from your neck to your ankles, he wanted to ruin your sheets. He wanted to ruin the back seats in his ride, take you on a walk and lay you down beneath the moon and hear you call for him.

Fontaine knew how pretty you'd be taking his dick down your throat and he wanted to see it first hand.

But....it was you.

He could imagine wrapping a hand around those pretty locs and tugging them down to swallow his dick, but he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it.

Because it was you.

What if he hurt you? What if he did something you didn't like and you didn't tell him?

What if he scared you?

The idea alone distressed him.

He wouldn't risk it. Fontaine wouldn't risk anything when it came to you.

"Tea time? I think its tea time."

Your words drew him from his thoughts, movie long forgotten as he watched you stretch. You rolled partly onto your side, humming and unaware of the chaos you were causing as your cami rode high and your nipples pebbled beneath the fabric.

"You want some tea?"

You were laid out into your back now, lost in a other stretch and Fontaine took a breath and nodded.

He was fine.

It was fine.

:::

It was not fine.

"I know it's a lot, but I made a promise." You sighed, looking over your shoulder and into the full length mirror in the back of the bedroom door. Fontaine sat only a few feet away, the polishing his sneaker in the same damn spot.

The promise was modeling a line of beautifully crafted crystal-bikini sets. Your locs were piled up carelessly as you struggled to clasp the top piece.

Fontaine has never seen anything like it, but you often ran with an artsy crowd. You often brought home strange and beautiful things to either model, store, or complete.

He really he hoped that you get to keep this one.

"You good, baby, you good. Tell what's it made of." Fontaine cleared his throat and stood, coming up behind you to take over.

"Fluorite and clear-quartz, you can see the lil' silver bells, right?" she said. "It reminds me of those flapper girls! But without the, uh, middle part, y'know? Look!"

You took a step back and twisted your hips with a soft, "Swish, swish!"

Fontaine whistled lowly. All he saw pretty titties and tasty thighs. When you turned and bent over a bit, wagging your bottom at him, he moved before thinking.

He cracked you right across the ass.

You squealed, putting your hands on your cheeks and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Ooh, shit, my bad baby!"

Fontaine's heart fell into the floorboards, regardless of giggle fit you were in. He pulled you close with one arm, pressing apologetic kisses to the top of your head while his free hand rubbed your cheeks.

What the fuck was he thinking? Okay, he's gave you a little pop every now and again but that--that was out of line.

'You fuckin' up, nigga.'

"It's okay, it's okay. Really, it was really the sound that surprised me--okay?"

Fontaine looked you in the eye, saw your glimmering eyes and the giddy smile. He kissed your cheeks, wanting to feel your blushing face.

Then he nodded.

You kissed him on the lips, then had the nerve to bat your eyes at him.

"Y'know...I do get to keep this."

:::

"--od, Big Dawg?"

Fontaine's head snapped up and saw that Big Moss was trying to pass him a blunt. He shook his head at himself, taking the blunt and then taking a pull.

Big Moss shook his head as well, "C'mon, tell me what's up."

"I'm good, 'Moss. Jus' got a lot on my mind."

"Is it about your lil' shawty or somthin'?"

He grunted. Feeling his stare, Fontaine turned to face Big Moss who's expression was expectant.

"Well? Tell ya mans what's goin' on!" On went the fan and Fontaine knew it wasn't going to be let go.

He took another hit and passed the blunt back, "She's a good girl. Ain't like the others I had, I ain't gotta tell you that. Can't treat her like normal."

"Can't treat her... normal?"

"Can't treat her normal, y'know wha' I'm sayin'?"

A beat of silence. Then Big Moss' eyes widened in understanding,

"Oh! can't trea--yeah, a'ight, I see, I see."

Fontaine sighed and told Big Moss about losing himself when you were trying on the bikini-set, how bad he felt.

"Did she feel bad?"

"What?"

"I know you heard me, nigga. Like, did she cry or cuss yo' ass out? Get up and leave? anythin'?"

Fontaine didn't have to think hard to recall your smile, the breathy way you laughed, "...No. She wasn't mad. I was the one most fucked up by it."

Smacking his lips, the Big Moss put a hand on Fontaine's shoulder,

"Lemme tell you somethin', this yo' first Good Girl--ain't it? I'll tell you somethin' about 'em. The sweetest little faces be hiding the nastiest shit, cuz."

Fontaine scoffed, unbelieving. He recalled your inexperience at the beginning of your relationship. You were nervous but you did make up for it in unlimited enthusiasm...

"Hmn."

Big Moss continued, "I'm telling you, man! She's probably shy 'bout some shit and just need a lil encouragement from her man. Trust me on this, Big Dawg. I've seen how ya'll are--"

His free hand went up innocently at the look Fontaine gave him,

"All I'm sayin' is that ya'll rock with each other. Work with her, man. It'll all be cool in the end, ya dig me? Whatch it be something small, I'm tellin' you!"

Fontaine thought about it.

Then he nodded. Big Moss nodded back, handing over the blunt and not bothering to hide his grin.

:::

Fontaine had a plan.

He was thinking about it every since he left Big Moss, their talk still echoing through his head.

'Take it slow if you that worried, Big Dawg.'

'Moss was right. Fontaine took it slow made sure to be careful when dealing with you, and it's gotten him nothing but sweetness and warmth back.

He went to your place without even thinking and you welcomed him in with an excited smile. That smile grew nearly manic when you saw the take out in hands.

He took in your plushy romper and slippers as he followed you into the den. That winter weight that you've been commenting about was nothing but God and Fontaine knew to be grateful.

"Damn girl, whatchu been up too?" He rose a brow at the whirlwind of yarn and notebooks.

"Ah, just trying to keep hands busy!" you said with an embarrassed little laugh. You hurried to make space for him on the couch, moving your next to the floor after tossing down a few blankets.

You went onto your hands and knees, spreading out all the corners and pulling a few seating cushions closer. Fontaine followed the lines of you, right to the lil' bit of booty that was peeking out.

"You gonna be sittin' away from me?" Fontaine mumbled, eyes stuck to your ass.

"I'll come closer." You promised with a coy smile, then told him to get comfortable. You asked if he needed anything as you both settled down.

Fontaine nearly purred at your care of him, reminded of how good he had it with you.

He just had to go slow. Get used to checking himself, making sure he wasn't doing too much. Fontaine would contain himself.

A soft touch brought him outside of his head.

"Whatchu doin' down there, pretty?"

Your hands slid up his jean clad thighs and aimed those bright eyes at him. You still laid your cheek on his knee, still rubbing as you blink slowly at him without saying a word.

Fontaine's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn't prepared for this. All he could do was nod and you gave him a candied smile as you pulled down his zipper. He groaned inwardly, bracing himself as the lust for nearly boiled over.

He was trying to be a good.

Your soft hands found his dick already half hard. Fontaine shifted to make more room for you, utterly enthralled by the way you licked your lips and wriggled closer.

A few pumps were all he needed and without preamble, you slipped his dick right to the back of your throat.

His ears rang and he finally released the remote he's been clutching, arms going out to span the back of the couch. What the fuck was this?

Your head went in small bobs, never letting the head of Fontaine's dick from the back of your throat. Your tongue was wet and wonderful. Nearly serpentine as you jerked the base of him, pulling back and giving his tip saccharine kisses.

He breathed heavily, hips jerking only once before he remembered himself. You hummed disappointedly and pulled back, looking at him with a small frown

" 'Taine, you need to relax." You still stroked his length, "Are you not into oral, we don't have too--

"Naw, that ain't it," Fontaine interjected quickly,

You rewarded him with another wet kiss to his tip, "Then why aren't you putting this where it belongs?"

He blinked as your words rang through his ears, the sweetest faces...

"You always go stiff as a board when I'm down here, never let me stay as long as I want." you sniffed and rubbed your lips against his dick.

His voice was faint, "I ain't want you to think you had to."

"I'd love to, Fontaine, that's the thing. More than often, preferably." You sighed, "I love that you're careful with me, but have you ever...wanted to...not be?"

Fontaine's hands balled where they were still up on the back of the couch.

You made the face when you were going to be really patient with him about something. Your gave his dick another kiss, soft as silk.

"Would you still be into me if I wasn't acting sweet all the time?"

He never understood whiplash until this very moment, but Fontaine focused when he saw the furrow in your brow.

"I don't care how you act, you're gonna still be mine at the end of the day." Fontaine was certain there was nothing that you could go through that he wouldn't be there to stand with you.

"Exactly. You ain't gotta be on your best behavior. You have me and all I want is you. How ever you are. I'm yours."

You laid it out so easy for him, the right words strung together to settle perfectly in his mind. Your words, your words...

Fontaine sat up, his focus zeroing in on you. Your back straightened as you continued.

"So what if I want to act...like-um..."

He sat up, "What? You wanna act up, pretty girl?"

The way you rubbed your thighs together in anticipation ignited him. You were a delicious little morsel on your knees trying to ask if you could swallow his dick again.

The sweetest fuckin' faces...

Fontaine reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb running across your lips. Your brown eyes were nearly black with a craving similar to Fontaine's.

He gently wagged your face, "Tell me what you want, baby."

"Everything."

He chuckled lowly at your whining and leaned in close enough to brush your noses together.

"You know what you askin' me?"

"You said you'd give me anything I need, didn't you? I need you, Fontaine."

Your voice carried off into a gasp, Fontaine had reached behind you and gathered your locs up into a gentle hold before tugging. With your head drawn back, Fontaine had the pleasure of seeing your pink tongue sweeping across your lips.

"You look hungry, pretty girl."

Your answer was a breathy little moan. Fontaine groaned as he leaned in to claim your lips, his reason slipping into the back seat of his mind.

:::

Arms tied behind your back, you could only rock and whine in Fontaine's lap as he pinched and plucked your tender nipples. One hand pulling the satin scarf that he used to bind your hands. It kept you taut and nearly immobile, enough for him to move you as he pleased.

And move you he did. Sometimes releasing your hands to grip at your waist, leaning up to kiss you or lying back and watching you.

The most nasty things flowed from his delectable lips and he definitely wasn't shy about giving your ass a few swats now.

Fontaine has been wringing orgasms out of you like honey from it's comb. The longer it went on, the more it felt like you were being devoured.

On your knees, away from the couch and up against the wall, folded up in recliner, now back on the couch.

Fontaine has never treated you this way. It was sublime. Gone was his careful touches and tender passion. Fontaine fucked you with a single minded determination, content to relish your ecstasy.

"This is what you wanted, pretty thing? Am I givin' you what you need now?"

You nodded, exhaling sharply as he ground into your sweet spot. Tears sprang to the corner of your eyes at the sweet-hurt of being overwhelmed. You needed more to fall over the line, but you didn't want it to end.

You made desperate noises as he backed off enough to leave you on the edge, "Ye-Yes! Yes, 'Taine-- please, please--!"

He kneaded your ass, rough as he moved you on his dick. The pressure had you releasing a sound you didn't know you could make.

Fontaine's echoing moan shadowed a grin, "That's it, tell me who I am. Tell me who's this pussy's for."

"Yo-You, Fontaine, you..." You babbled, "It's yours, it's yours!"

"And it feels good?"

"Mmn, yesss..."

"Is it too much?"

You shook your head. Fontaine's brow lifted and pace sharpened, ripping a keening gasp from you.

He purred as your eyes rolled back and sat up to meet you chest to chest, using one of his hands to squish your cheeks together.

"Use your words, beautiful. Is. It. Too much?" He husked against your lips, pace frustratingly slowing once again.

Your answer was to bite his bottom lip with the best growl you could muster.

Fontaine muttered something you couldn't hear and then he was leaning back, putting his hands on your thighs and driving up into you in earnest.

It felt like running through fire, seeing ever color at once, knowing the name of every star. All through it, Fontaine continued muttering to himself, no longer concerned with holding you steady.

"Mnh, look at that face. Finally gettin' what you wanted. Acting like like I ain't gonna give you what you ask for--that you can't tell me?"

"It wasn't like that." You whimpered at his hands on you again, reaching down to spread you around him. You gasped and lost balance swaying forward to press your forehead into his shoulder. When Fontaine slowed his pace again, you distantly hoped you'd be awake if he ever decided to cum.

"Don't worry," Fontaine's voice was gravel, "Imma teach you good. We'll find out how much you can take, hm? Together."

You were trembling and your brain was probably slush by now, but you've seen the appeal of being greedy.

Fontaine could still give you more, you still wanted more. Together, you could tear down the fences that kept you from each other's pleasure.

You leaned back enough to mash your lips to his, drinking down his pleased moan.

You didn't care how long it took, you wanted this man to tear you apart and piece you back together.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

PHEW

thank you for reading! this took literally too long and it still feels rushed, but I really wanted to challenge myself! Please let me know what you think, any tips would be greatly appreciated as well!

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93

(let me know if you want to be tagged!! 💕💜🌟)

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #they cloned tyrone #fontaine fic #please let me know what you think #fontaine x black!fem!reader #fontaine x black!reader #fontaine #Fontaine x you #fontaine smut #they cloned tyrone fanfic #john boyega fanfiction #they cloned tyrone fanfiction #fontaine x blackfemreader #Fontaine x black!fem! reader

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heizlut · 2 months

Note

Hallo! I am very new to tumblr, so please excuse any mistakes i may make qwq

I really enjoyed your Venti and Kaeya story(ies)! Could you do something similar for Lyney with the addition of a breeking kink? He doesnt have cat ears or a tail like his sister- instead, the feline side of him shows through his obsessive need to breed :x

jshdhdhd i’ve been thinking about this like crazy and i’m so glad we got to clarify a few details over messages before i wrote this! again, welcome to tumblr! i’m so glad you stumbled across my page🫶🏼 (was also totally inspired by the yaoi when writing this lmfao)

Jinx

cw: breeding kink, textured feline tongue, hypnosis, rope-play, mentions of pregnancy

tags: sub fem!reader, dom!lyney with recessive feline traits, mostly proofread

a/n: here's a lil translation for the pet names- "mon chaton"= my kitten; "mon cherie"= my beloved; "bonne fille"= good girl; “ma bonne fille”= my good girl

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

Ever since becoming his girlfriend, Lyney found he had a particular jinx; all because one evening he fucked you so hard backstage before his performance, filling you so full of his sticky cum, and his show ended up being the greatest one yet. The next performance, he wanted to test out his little theory; fucking his cock into your tight cunt til his cum was leaking out and dripping down your thighs. Lyney had yet another show stopping performance.

When he told you his theory, you had simply laughed, “Seems like you just want to relieve some pre-show nerves. I doubt it’s some type of jinx, my love.” The cute little pout on Lyney’s face made it hard to take him seriously. You give him a kiss on the cheek, “I don’t mind this little routine though. If it means getting fucked so full of you before a show, I’ll do it.”

Tonight was a performance that Lyney knew he couldn’t fuck up. It was meant to be another show stopper with prominent Fontaine guests in the audience. You made your way to his dressing room as you usually did. Lyney was seated at his vanity touching up his hair when he saw your reflection behind him in the mirror. The corners of his lips curl upwards, “There she is~”

You smirk in response, “I have something special for you tonight…Master Lyney~” Lyney turned his body in his chair to face you as you begin to undo the buttons of your dress. The soft material slips off your body, revealing a red lacy lingerie set with a black garter belt that matched his. Lyney’s lips part, taking in every inch of you with his violet eyes. Lyney almost wanted to curse his innate feline genes for almost pouncing on you right then and there. The way you looked right now and using that title he'd teased you with before was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to be able to take his time with you, or at least as much time as he could before he had to make his way to the stage.

Lyney gets up from his seat, sauntering over to you with a sultry look in his eyes. His fingers reach out, tracing the lacy edges of your lingerie, "Look at my sweet girl dressed so provocatively... Wearing my extra garter belt no less." He runs his finger under one of the straps and pulls it back and releases, letting it lightly slap back against your skin. Your breath catches in your throat as he does so. Arousal pooling against the thin fabric of your panties when he leans in, his lips grazing yours as he speaks in a low tone, "I have something special for you too, mon chaton~" Lyney backs away from you, the lingering touch from his lips sets you ablaze with desire.

Lyney digs through his pocket and pulls out a carnelian pendulum with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Be a sweetheart for me and keep your eyes on crystal, yes?" You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, fixing your gaze on the pendulum. Your eyes follow the swinging pendulum as Lyney begins to speak, "Relax your mind and your body... Focus on the sound of my voice..." He continues on as you feel your mind go blank. He smirks at your dazed expression, now having you fully under.

He softly caressed your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your soft lips, "Be a good girl and get the purple rope, yes?" All you can do is nod and follow his instructions. Lyney's cock twitches as he watches you bring back the rope he requested. He takes it from you hands and moves behind you, his lips against your ear, "Arms behind your back, mon cherie~" Of course, you comply. His voice filling your mind like a sweet melody that was only meant for you alone. A tingling sensation pricks at your skin as the ropes loop through your arms just tight enough for you to be forced to stay in that position, unable to touch him.

Lyney's fingers trace your skin as he moves to the front of you, admiring how gorgeous you looked. He takes hold of the straps of your pretty bra between his digits, using his pyro vision to carefully singe them just enough to let a piece of them burn away. The straps fall loose to your back and he singes the front connecting the cups. Your perky breasts are left exposed to his lustful gaze as the bra makes a soft noise when it lands on the dressing room floor. You squirm a little in your spot as the need between your legs begins to consume you. Your eyes stuck on his violet ones that burn with deep desire, "Be still, mon chaton."

Your lips part as you let a soft moan slip when Lyney cups your breasts in his nimble hands. He squeezes and massages them, mesmerized by the way the plushness squishes between his fingers. He lowers himself and leans forward taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth; his rough feline tongue flicking and swirling around it. Your body tries to fight against the hypnosis, desperate to tangle your fingers in his hair as his rough tongue does its work on your body.

Leaving your breasts sore and swollen, Lyney kisses down your body softly til he's eye level with your clothed cunt. His eyes flit up to your face, pleased to see you looking so needy. He taps your thigh twice, "Spread out so I can enjoy my pre-performance meal." You comply, taking a small step to the side to give him more room. Lyney smirks, "Bonne fille..." He places his hands on your thighs and licks a stripe through your thin panties. He lets out a broken groan at the scent and taste of you as your arousal soaked the material. Lyney tugs at the panties until they rip and glide down, now hanging loosely around one ankle.

Your moans fill the small dressing room as he dives in between your folds, lapping up your juices with his rough tongue. His grip tightens on your thighs as you shake with pleasure; his tongue relentless against your sensitive clit. White hot pleasure courses through you as you cum on his tongue, making him snarl as he overstimulates you, unable to get enough of your taste. "Please, Master Lyney~!" you cry out, feeling as though your legs are about to give out from underneath you. The title you give him and the way you taste and smell kicks his feline instincts into full gear. Lyney needed to breed you.

Lyney straightens up and tugs you by your garter belt to his vanity. He bends you slightly and tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling your head up to look at the reflection of you both in his mirror. "Oh, mon chaton... See the way you look right now? I simply can't resist~", he chuckles as you whimper when you're forced to look at how dazed and desperate you are for him. He undoes his pants, tugging them down just enough for his twitching cock to bob free against your ass.

Lyney's hands travel down your curves and to your round ass, giving your cheeks a light squeeze. He spreads them apart, giving himself a better view of your leaky pussy. He moves his hips, letting his fat pink tip rub against your cunt and gather your arousal. Lyney stills himself, his tip pushed against your wet entrance as he leans over, locking eyes with you in the reflection, "Keep your eyes on us." Unable to do anything other than what he says, your eyes widen as a pretty cry leaves your lips as he pushes himself inside of you.

His fingers dig into the fat of your hips as he fucks into you deep and hard. Lyney completely loses it when he sees your eyes flutter and drool slips from the corner of your mouth as you keep your eyes on the lewd display. His pace becomes harsh as the tip of his thick cock bullies your insides over and over, "Need to breed you nice and full... Need to see your cute stomach swell with my children- Fuck, mon amour...-" His hips stutter when he sees the white ring of cum that had formed at the base of his cock. Lyney lets out a breathy chuckle, running his fingers though his hair, “Creaming around my cock? You must really want me to breed you, huh”

You’re so fucked out the only way you can respond is by moaning over and over. You looked angelic and so fucking slutty that when your eyes crossed in pleasure and your tits bounced in time with his thrusts, Lyney releases a whiny moan. With a final thrust, his hot cum floods your fluttering pussy. His cock throbs as he regains his senses, groaning as he pulls out and his cum begins to leak from your cunt.

As much as the sight of his cum leaking from you filled his ego, Lyney needed it to take. Quickly grabbing a silicone prop, he pushes it inside your pussy with a curved smile, "You shouldn't let my seed go to waste. We need to keep you stuffed full 'til my cum takes..." Your eyes meet his devious ones in the vanity mirror, still looking for more. A sudden knock on the door causes Lyney to snap from his thoughts as Lynette's voice sounds from the other side, "Lyney, it's time."

"I'll be there in a moment!", he calls back and then lets out a sigh. His gaze returning to your dazed one. Your were still under his hypnosis... Lyney's voice is saccharine when he speaks his next words, "Sit still at my vanity and don't even think about covering up or fucking yourself on the prop that's keeping my cum in you." A sly smile forms on his lips when you let out a small whimper when you sit, making the silicone prop push deeper inside of you. Lyney presses a slow kiss to your lips and smiles, "Ma bonne fille..." He readjusts his clothes and fixes his hair one last time before heading out for his grand performance,

And what a performance it was. A standing ovation, thrown flowers covering the stage, and raving reviews from the prominent figures of Fontaine; all thanks to you. Lyney walks back to his dressing room and his lips curl up when his gaze lands on your shaking, restrained body still sat as his vanity as your own arousal had pooled in the chair. You were his lucky charm, his special jinx; and oh how he would reward you for being so perfect.... Breeding you time and time again.

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

a/n: i turned myself on just writing this lol also plz if you’ve read the yaoi i referenced, let’s be friends lmao

#lyney smut #lyney x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney

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uvuyai · 4 months

Text

ᥕrᥲ⍴⍴ᥱძ ᥙ⍴ 𝖿᥆r mᥱ

Husband!Wriothesley x FEM!reader

–genre. smut, nsfw , starts off fluffy, suggestive before getting gud

–tw. sex by the fireplace, bondage(as in ribbons), gift exchange, reader has winter blush, aftercare, reader is implied to be smaller than wrio, big dick!wrio, creampie, missionary, mating press, breeding, belly bulge, creepy themes but no yan, maybe yan themes idk, yandere Neuvillette??, pet names, blow job, not proof read and small plot, ooc wrio, slow to rough,

–synopsis. You and your husband decide to have a gift exchange(just you and him) to see whose gift is the best. Since he hasn't been inside his wife in a while, he might as well get something that she won't regret.

Mari/yai's message – uhh reader can be viewed as busty if you want or chubby. This was supposed to come out yesterday 😒

December 3rd, ????

It was a miracle sight to see Fontaine covered in a thick white snow blanket. You've lived here for quite a while with your husband.

Since he has been busy at the fortress, he wants to spend time with you, Neuvillette was fine with it. Since he wanted you to be happy.

His boots were making the snow crunch beneath him, he was snuggled in a gray and red fluffy scarf that was wrapped around his neck that was made by you. Your scent was all over it as if you used your own smooth skin to make it.

You were busy decorating the tree with Sigwinne. She purposely put stickers on some of the ornaments and maybe glitter. The Melusine's came to help but they left since you told them that it was all fine and they can go back to what they were doing. You were finally done with the tree. Now you just had to place the star on top. You tried to place it but due to your height and the stools height it was still not enough.

You held Sigwinne by her waist and hoisted her up to the top of the tree(not on the tree like she isnt stuck up there). She was able to slide the star on top but it was leaning far off left.

You heard the knob to your home rattle and then a bundle of keys jiggled. You knew it was your husband and let out a relaxed sigh.

The door opened, snow slowly creeping in. He quickly shut the door and kicked his boots off and placed them next to the door. He shrugged off his coat and scarf and hung them up on the rack. His eyes quickly landed on you. Your small body glowed in the golden light that was cascaded on the tree.

“Hey baby, I see you and Sigwinne put up the tree together.” he slid his hand around your waist and pressed kisses onto your chubby cheeks, occasionally nibbling on them.

“Eww! Get a room!” Sigwinne gagged slightly. You giggled at her child antics.

You placed a hand on his face to stop him but he pressed himself into you more, as if he wanted to merge himself into you(which he has already). “Mmm.. Wrio let go..” you whined but that only made him squeeze harder. Sigwinne already left so you have one less thing to worry about.

You wheezed as he squeezed harder than ever. You tapped on his bicep, desperate for a few breaths. You love the way he is cuddling you right now as you are enjoying his warmth. He noticed your struggle and released you. Already missing the warmth that was coming from your body.

You were left panting. If only you could see the look on his face. “I appreciate it wrio, but next time, not so hard.” he nodded. “I'm sorry bunny, I just miss you that's all.” he scratched the black and grey tuffs on his head. he placed his scar filled hands on your chubby cheeks which sent a jolt down your spine from how cold they were.

“C'mon Wrio, let's get you warmed up.” you dragged him to the living room and made him sit on the couch. You placed more logs to create a strong fire(but not too strong or else,) enough to make the room warm. You were oblivious to the lovesick eyes he was giving you. There was a hint of worry in his eyes since he was the one usually putting longs in the fire.

You brought yourself to the kitchen to warm up some hot chocolate (or his favorite tea) for you and him. These were given to you by Sigwinne since you mentioned that you wanted to get some but Wriothesley refused to let you out in this freezing cold weather. You had winter close but he would blame you if you got sick and he'd have to take care of you. You put water into the kettle and placed it on the stove, turning the heat on for it to warm the water.

You put enough water to make two hot chocolates and tea for Wriothesley. Just in case he wanted hot chocolate.

As you let it boil, you ran to your shared bedroom and grabbed a big fluffy blanket for both of you to cuddle up and stay warm.

You ran back to the living room to see Wriothesley with his head leaning back on the couch. He looked as if he was in pain. Or maybe he was cold and getting a fever. “Wrio, are you alright?” you carefully and slowly step towards him. He jumped out of his skin when he heard you. “I'm fine, bunny. Just getting cold is all.” he avoided eye contact with you for as long as he could. You walked towards him and placed the blanket between both of you.

You snuggled more into him, heat emitting off his body. He wrapped his large hand around your waist, nearly engulfing it whole.

You heard the teapot yelling which was your cue to get up. But your movement was restricted by his hands

“Please stay.” he nuzzled himself into your hair. “I promise we'll get back to this when I get back.” you said as you pressed a kiss on his lips. You got up and traveled to the kitchen.

After a few which was not long, you went back to the living room placing the tray on the coffee table. “You must let it cool before you can drink it.” you said as you caught him staring intently at the beverage. “I—I don't want that right now.” he said nonchalantly. “I want you.” he said. You looked down at the blanket to see a tent forming. You guessed it was him.

“Do you want me to help with that?” he nodded as you began to kneel down in front of him. You move the blanket out of the way, revealing his hard-on. His face was flushed red and low pants coming from his mouth. You looked back up at him with your doe eyes.

“Go ahead bunny, do what you want.” you removed his belt slightly pulling down his pants. You tugged the hem of his boxers down. his cock sprang out, nearly hitting you dead in the face.

You gave cat licks down his shaft which was twitching too much to the point you had to grab it. Precum was drooling from the tip. Finally, you bobbed your head down on his cock, already webbed in the wetness of your drool. Your tongue licking the base of his cock as you bob your head up and down, granting him the pleasure he wanted.

“S-shit baby, you take it so well.” he started to tug at your hair softly not trying to discomfort you.

His cock began to twitch in your mouth and his breathing got harsher signaling his release more. Thick ropes of cum splurged at the back of your throat, some leaking from your mouth. He panted, leaning his head on the sofa trying to catch his breath. You gathered yourself on the sofa beside him. He looked over at you as you were clearing the cum from your mouth and chin.

“Swallow.” he grabbed your chin as you swallowed, sticking your tongue out as proof. He chuckled, wiping left over come that was on your chubby cheeks.

“Now bunny, it's my turn for me to help you.” he picked you up bridal style as he brought you to the bedroom.

I guess you could say you hoped for this.

December 24th, ????

You and your husband were currently out and about, roaming the streets of Fontaine. You look so cute with that scarf covering half of your face and blush sprouting from behind it. Since you had the idea of a gift exchange, you got him and Sigwinne a gift as you'd give her hers tomorrow.

You got Wriothesley something special, as you saw him gazing a few times at things at stores that fit his style. You had no idea what Wriothesley got, which was more exciting.

You both arrived home, taking off your coat, sweaters, scarves, and boots and placed them in an organized place and order.

You placed yourself on the reclining chair that was by a window and opened up a book you started to read(as well as recommending it to Wriothesley) and going back to where you book marked it. You didn't realize where Wriothesley went so you figured he went in the bedroom to rest.

Wrio came back with a lace ribbon(?) In his hand. He quickly placed it behind his back as you glanced over at him. “Is something wrong?” you tilted your head as he shook his head no. “Can't I just admire my beautiful wife?” you stayed quiet as blush began to creep up on your face. He chuckled which made you roll your eyes.

“C'mere bunny.” he signaled his hand towards you. You got up and walked to him. “Do you mind if I blindfold you?” he said with a hint of worry. “Yeah you can, but why?” you asked. “It's a surprise.” you signaled him to put the blindfold on. He stepped behind you, placing the black lace ribbon blindfold over your eyes. He chuckled as he led you to the living room, sitting you down on the carpet on the floor. He grabbed a pillow from the sofa, placing it beneath your head.

You felt him tug at the hem of your shirt, the hot pooling gathering at your pussy. He lifted your shirt up taking it off and throwing it somewhere. His hands trailed around your skirt trying to find the zipper. He placed your skirt on the side not wanting to dirty it up.

You were only in your black lace bra(the your husband gifted you) and black stockings with black lace panties underneath. He used the middle and index finger with both hands to rip open your stockings, revealing your wetness soaking through your panties. “Ah, you're already wet. I bet it was just from me touching you.” he said with a seductive voice.

He moved your panties to the side revealing your drooling cunt.

You gasped and shivered as the slightly cold air brushed up against your cunt. Wriothesley felt this and went to the fireplace and threw a few logs inside, the flames gathering up on the newly put fire. He looked back at you to see you stop shivering.

He went back to you and pulled off the rest of your stockings and panties and bra. He placed your legs over his shoulders, leaning down so his nose was touching your cunt. You jolted as he licked at your clit. You whimpered and started clawing at the pillow beneath your head. He thrusted his tongue in and out of you, the clawing at the pillow became apparent.

He chuckled which sent a vibration up your core. “Your reactions are so cute. It makes me mad.” he made circles on your thigh as he continued to swirl his tongue inside you and played with your clit. Your hands latched onto his hair as tears soaked the black lace fabric covering your eyes. Your breathing became harsher, as the knot in your stomach started to tighten.

Before you can climax, Wriothesley removed his tongue. You were a little disappointed and started to pout even though you couldn't see him. “Sorry bunny, but the only thing you'll be coming on is my cock.” he pulled down his burgundy/red(I might be color blind) tie and removed his shirt and accessories along with it. You heard his belt rattle as the embarrassment filled you up more which is why you're red in the face.

Wriothesley grabbed the black and red box off the sofa that you didn't see since you passed by the sofa(or he just placed it there). Although you couldn't see he made a grabby motion with his hand. “Give me your hands bunny,” you moved your hands from your sides and lifted them towards him. You felt something clamp onto your wrist. It was Wriothesley's signature handcuffs.

He placed his hands on your waist, turning you over to your side. You feel some type of silk fabric wrap around your body; up and around your breast, your thighs, shoulders, and arms(that were bound by handcuffs already). You heard his belt jingle and shuffling of his pants. His large hardened cock sprang out from his boxers. It was slightly twitching and a white bead of precum at the slit. He leaned down, pinning his hands on both sides of your head and your legs on his shoulders.

He rubbed his cock on your pussy, coating it in your juices. You flinched at the sudden contact but got used to it and let out a few whimpers and moans. He pushed the tip into your entrance your pussy nearly engulfing the tip whole. He started to sink his cock inside you, wanting you to feel every inch possible. Your moans get more high pitched every time Wriothesley jolts his hips into you. It's like fuel to fire as your moan sends blood down his cock, making it grow bigger every second.

His entire length is sunk deep into your core. The tip almost forces its way into your cervix. Wriothesley starts to rock his hips back and forth. Getting faster as your moans and whimpers become more apparent to him.

The yellow glow from the fireplace cascaded your body, leaving both of you in a sheen of sweat. His cock repeatedly bumped against your cervix, it was big enough to hit your sweet spot and leaving a bulge in your stomach. Wriothesley let out a strangled chuckle and rubbed the bump on your stomach, occasionally pushing down on it. You let out yelp as your cuffed hands tried to cover your mouth. Drool was leaking onto the pillow as you turned your head to the side, your hair sticking onto you and the rest on the pillow.

His thrusts got harsher, he leaned down more, getting deeper into you as you were nearly folded over since your legs were on his shoulders.

His breathing got caught up in his throat as his cock began to twitch, both of those signs signaling his release. You came for the nth time as you arched your back. You didn't realize you came on his cock. Wriothesley leaned down giving cat licks to your chubby cheeks.

He soon came inside you, spurting ropes and globes of pure white cum filling your insides instantly.

You whimpered as Wriothesley pulled out. The sudden emptiness was gone. Your legs went limp and revealed your cunt that was spurting out his cum since you were over filled.

You felt the blindfold being lifted and revealed your bleary eyes to Wriothesley. “How do you like your gift bunny?” you looked up at him still panting. “I-I love it..” you said.

He chuckled. “Glad you do bunny, because we're not done.” your eyes went wide as Your husband flipped you onto your back, grabbing your hips and lifting them up. His hand reached in front of you to grab your chin and tilt it back, it was uncomfortable for your neck, he pushed his tongue inside your drooling mouth. He released your chin as your cuffed hands grasped at the pillow. He pushed himself back inside you with ease, to which earned him a yelp that went to a moan.

He bucked his hips more intently, you arched your back as he pressed his hand on your back, arching you further. Your breast jiggled with each harsh thrust he sends inside you. You were already stimulated due to the previous round you both went through. “A-Ah! Wriooo~ i-it's too much—f-fuckk!” your face was muzzled into the pillow, you felt the knot coil tightening in your stomach. Your juices webbed his cock, his legs were drenched in your cum. He leaned down and spoke into your ear. “Are you gonna cum? Come for me bunny, come for me!” you came on command as he came inside you with a grunt.

You collapsed onto the carpet and laid your head on the pillow with Wriothesley still inside you. He released you from the cuffs and ribbons. He pulled out and brought your limp body to the sofa, now you were cuddling with him. He pushed his cock back inside not wanting any to spill out.

“You did well bunny, I love you so much.”

Im finally done with this bull

Made [ December 14th ]

Finished [ December 25th 9:53 ]

#𓆩ri.𓆪 #[ ♪o(〃＾▽＾〃)o♪ ]#✉️.txt #✎ suggestive 𓆪 #𓆩!smutty.𓆪 #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #Wriothesley x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #✎ other club characters #no yandere fic this time but next bit with blade from hsr #sigwinne #how tf do you spell her name

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mybutcheredtongue · 4 months

Text

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

Harry Potter timeline Sirius Black x fem!reader

FULL of angst but has a happy ending

No use of Y/N

This fic is mostly a collection of moments and scenes! So a lot of time skips.

p.s. the title is from the song "I Love You" by Fontaines D.C. — one of my favourite bands!! would so so recommend giving them a listen :)

see chapter ONE for small summary!! 💌

SERIES LIST

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

#fanfiction #harry potter #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #hp #hp fanfic #marauders #fanfic #sirius orion black #marauders era

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dottores · 1 year

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine

notes: finally reader's pov! and YES, theta segment IS webttore! i started making the segment sheet, ill post it at some point sunday or monday so if u want to see it, keep an eye out for it!

THE COLOR PURPLE

“If anyone is to ask, your soulmark has gone black, your thread is severed, and your soulmate is lost to the world. Should anyone find out that your thread leads to the north, all of us will be under suspicion and Her Excellency is not merciful.”

You stood tall, hands clasped behind your back as you stood between your mother and your half-brother, listening to the Hydro Archon’s announcement. It was an abrupt assembly, as they typically had been lately. You had been preparing for bed when the bell rang throughout the massive palace that housed all of the nation’s aristocrats in the center of Fontaine’s capital city.

If you looked up, you would see the moon high in the sky, the stars glittering against the darkness, but you didn’t dare look away from the Hydro Archon or her court officials.

“... for months, we have allowed ourselves to be lenient with the heretics plaguing our capital. We allowed ourselves to be patient, but the time for leniency and patience is over, we must…”

It was an honor to be welcomed into the Hydro Archon’s abode, the chief justice had claimed, but you knew better. It was no honor for the nobles to be forced out of their countryside estates and into the city--it was a means for surveillance, to make sure that the most influential members of Fontaine’s society were not sympathizers to the growing dissent throughout the capital.

The people were unhappy. The Hydro Archon was becoming more and more severe with her sentencing, more and more strict with her laws. Fontaine prided itself on being the center of culture and arts, but the nation was declining, their energy apparatuses were failing, and their judicial system was becoming corrupt, though no one dared to say it.

The Hydro Archon’s descent had to do with rebellion stirring in the north. You weren’t sure what it was, exactly, you didn’t think anyone really did, but you had heard your grandfather whispering about it vaguely with some of the other court officials--an uprising against the gods, one that she believed would draw the wrath of Celestia down upon all of Teyvat. You thought this might have begun as a noble cause, the Hydro Archon desperate to protect her people and keep Fontaine absolved of conspiring with Snezhnaya, but it was going to become a witch hunt where anyone with any affiliation to Snezhnaya would be found guilty of collusion.

You felt acutely aware of the thread tied neatly around your thumb, of the soulmark branded in between your shoulder blades--the ones that connected you to a citizen of Snezhnaya and would make your whole family a target should anyone ever learn.

You thought it was unfair. It was unfair that you had to hide the fact that you had a soulmate. It was unfair that you and your family would be under suspicion if it got out that your soulmate lived in the north. It was unfair that you had to deal with people gossiping about you because of it--because nothing good ever came along with someone that never received their mark. There were a lot of things unfair, you thought to yourself, and while you didn’t have it as bad as some of the civilians living in Fontaine City who had to deal with the Hydro Archon’s forces constantly prowling the streets looking for dissidents, you thought it was rather ironic that everything unfair about your life stemmed from Celestia’s decision to give people soulmates.

You frowned as your gaze tracked to the side instinctively, looking at where your mother was standing next to you. Behind your mother, your stepfather lingered. You could feel him hovering directly behind her, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help the resentment that pooled in your stomach.

Your stepfather. Your mother’s soulmate. The man who had all but turned your life upside down when you were three years old after his arrival in Fontaine.

“... this organization is a blight upon our esteemed nation and court of law, staining the purity of our ideals, defiling our magnificence in the eyes of the divine…”

You tuned the Hydro Archon out as your gaze drifted back down to your own thread. Your soulmate was annoyed with something--you could feel the emotion deep in your gut, muted enough to know that it was not your own. Your soulmate never really felt anything strongly--not sadness, not fear, not anxiety, and certainly not happiness. You weren’t sure you had ever felt them actually happy before.

They were angry sometimes, though, and annoyed occasionally. It was never overwhelming like you had overheard some of your peers talk about. They said sometimes it felt as if they could feel their soulmate’s emotions more intensely than their own--when they were angry, a burst of joy or excitement from their soulmate could ease their anger, or worse, when they were in a good mood, a surge of anger could have them lashing out at their friends and family for no reason.

You never experienced any of that, for better or for worse. In fact, for nearly a year after your tenth birthday, the only proof you had that your soulmate was alive was that your mark was still brightly tattooed between your shoulder blades. They did not tug the string back in response to your own goodnight tugs--though you tried not to let it bother you--and you never really felt anything from them, pain nor emotions.

It wasn’t until you learned how to separate their tiny inflections from your own emotions that you had a way of knowing whether or not your soulmate was alive besides the shared mark and thread, but even then it was just… underwhelming. You didn’t know what to expect from your soulmate, which was unfortunate because by your age, most people at least had an idea of their soulmate’s personality through their shared emotions.

“Perhaps, it just means they’re calm,” your nanny, Miss Elyna, had tried to soothe you while you were making yourself upset over it one night.

“Not feeling anything strongly is not a bad thing,” your father had agreed quietly, “it makes it easier to hide that you have one.”

But you didn’t want to hide, you were sick of hiding--you wanted to go looking for them, you wanted to travel to the frozen wastelands of Snezhnaya, you wanted to wear open-back dresses to show off your mark in hopes that someone had seen the match, you wanted to find them, and you wanted to be with them.

But if you wanted to be with them, it would mean leaving your country behind, leaving your family behind. So much as you might resent your stepfather, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving your father, your mother, Miss Elyna, or even your half-siblings. Unless the Hydro Archon changed her stance on Snezhnaya, you would be forced into an impossible decision: your blood or your soulmate.

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head. From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your stepfather, again. Donned in a lavender dress shirt with a fancy watch that once belonged to your mother’s late father, he looked like the image of Fontaine aristocracy despite hailing from the City of Freedom.

Purple was your favorite color, it was your family’s color, but you hated how it looked draped against your stepfather’s skin. You felt irked again, unable to draw your gaze from the older man. You hated him--you hated how he treated your father, you hated how he treated you, and you hated how he was trying to pit your half-siblings against you. You knew you couldn’t fault your mother for wanting to be with her soulmate, but if this was her soulmate, you couldn’t help but wonder what that might mean about her.

Your throat felt tight as you forced yourself to look away, eyes instead falling on your grandfather standing at the Hydro Archon’s side as she spoke. He was Warden of the Black Cells, the highest security level of Fontaine’s prison--he was one of the Hydro Archon’s most trusted confidants, the one she counted on to make sure her enemies stayed locked deep beneath the lakes of the city. His eyes were sharp as he stared down at the aristocrats standing before him, reminiscent of a predator hunting its prey, waiting for someone to slip up and place themselves under suspicion. He paid particular attention to your stepfather, you couldn’t help but notice, and it made you almost want to giggle.

The assembly was finally near its end, you could tell from the Hydro Archon’s tone: “... a curfew will be instated to preserve our-”

And then your arm burned--so intense that it took all your self-control to not cry out, somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It was dragging against your skin in even strokes as if branding letters onto you. You bit down hard on your lower lip, hand flying to clutch your forearm and trying not to make a scene. You could feel several pairs of eyes on you, including your mother, half-brother and stepfather… and your grandfather.

Branding words.

You felt light-headed as realization began to hit you.

It was past midnight.

It was your birthday, and you were fifteen.

It was the start of the third phase, and the first time that words were shared between soulmates, the pain was excruciating.

What terrible timing, you thought to yourself as your eyes teared up and your half-brother shifted in front of you once he noticed something was wrong, looking at you with a questioning look that you couldn’t even respond to.

Just as your vision began to go spotty, you caught sight of the words being seared into your skin--the same shade as the soulmark stamped between your shoulder blades, but only visible to you:

Deactivate.

“Do you think I won’t have you deactivated, Theta?” Dottore asked, voice calm but internally, his anger was rising as he looked down at the report in front of him detailing the near destruction of one of his labs down in southern Mondstadt and along with it, most of the progress that they had made the past six years in stabilizing delusions.

The Theta Segment looked unbothered, staring at Dottore emptily. “You won’t have me deactivated because you don’t have the resources to create a new segment right now. Otherwise you would have replaced Beta already, and you haven’t. Either way, deactivating me wouldn’t have prevented the situation unless you’ve figured out a way to endow segments with prophetic abilities,” Theta said, voice dry and mocking.

Beta, Dottore inhaled, trying to reign in his temper as it spiked at the reminder of the Beta segment. His head was pounding--he had been dealing with setbacks in his own research, and the Balladeer was being less than forthcoming regarding information about the Abyss and Irminsul. He was losing his patience with it because the only reason Scaramouche was even capable of withstanding the hostile energy in the Abyss was because Dottore had unlocked his latent powers as an Archon’s creation.

He could by all means deactivate Theta, but Theta was right in that he didn’t have the resources to create another segment to replace him. He had all of the physical materials, despite how hard they were to come by, but he lost the connection to Irminsul he had in Snezhaya, drained the sprout of all of its energy, and he needed the connection to Irminsul to create the segments in the mindsets of his past self. There were rumors of other withered sprouts in the ruins of Vindagnyr--he had the Rho and Gamma segments searching through the bitter cold to try to find ways to revitalize the sprouts, but their efforts had been fruitless thus far.

“Careful,” he warned quietly, looking up from the report to finally look at the Theta Segment, who stiffened a bit at Dottore’s tone. “You’re testing my patience.”

“There was nothing I could’ve done,” Theta’s voice was still sharp, defensive, which Dottore expected of the segment. Theta was the segment created right after his expulsion from the Akademiya--volatile, uncontrollable, always angry and always on edge. He never took well to being told that he did something wrong, Dottore was surprised it had taken him this long to snap.

“If it were Rho or Delta, they would have made the necessary preparation to deal with such a situation,” Dottore countered, reading through all of the reported damages and lost research. He pressed his lips together tightly as he realized that all of their research had been lost. It would set them back over a year, maybe two or three. “Instead, we-”

“Don’t compare me to them,” Theta bristled, hands fisting at his side, teeth clenched so tight that Dottore could practically hear them grinding. “Not to Delta.”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Then do not do things that make me compare you to them,” he said coldly. He leaned back in his seat, placing the papers down. “This was easily preventable, Theta.”

“How was I supposed to know about a stray wyvern nesting in the Mondstadt countryside?” Theta said, aggressive and loud.

Dottore stared at him, “You research, Theta,” he responded, tone a bit more sharp. “You research the area where you plan to waste hundreds of thousands of mora building one of our labs to make sure that it’s a location conducive to our research. All of the older segments would have known to look into the property and the surrounding land before throwing away our limited mora. If you can’t even bother to make an effort to show a little bit of responsibility, you will be stripped of your independence and sent to the Fontaine border to assist Delta permanently, do you understand?”

“You can’t do that,” Theta hissed. “I’m not a child-”

“No, you’re not. You are a tool,” Dottore interrupted, “and tools do what they were created for and when they are no longer useful, they are disposed of.”

Theta turned to leave, fists balled tight at his side, Dottore spoke up again before he could walk away, “Did I dismiss you?” he asked. Theta stopped but did not turn to face Dottore. “You will go to Sumeru with Lambda. The two of you will work on replacing all of the lost research. You will explain to him the situation and why he is being forced to halt his part of the residue project. You have half a year to replace all of the lost research.”

“Or what?” Theta spit out.

Dottore did not respond, he figured that was enough of an answer.

You will be deactivated.

Theta scoffed, shaking his head—and just like that, Dottore’s temper snapped. His hand shot forward quickly, iron-grip latching around Theta’s wrist as he yanked the segment closer to him, tone low and laced with poison as he leaned forward over the desk, “You have wasted far more resources than you are worth. Time and time again you have proven yourself to be the most useless segment that I’ve created. Tread carefully because your next mistake will be your last, I don’t care enough to replace you.”

Theta ripped his arm out of Dottore’s grasp, taking a step away. His lips were twisted, and his eyes were ablaze with rage, but he didn’t respond this time.

Dottore looked back down at the desk, shuffling through the papers and looking for the one that he had been trying to get through before Theta had arrived to disrupt his peace.

“Leave,” he ordered, void of emotion as he relaxed back into his chair. “Now, and don’t ever bring up the Beta segment again.”

Theta didn’t say another word as he left the room, closing the door harshly behind him. Dottore let out a sharp exhale, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself down so he could refocus. Instinctually, his gaze drew to his other hand, where the thread was tied snugly around his thumb.

His soulmate hadn’t tugged the thread tonight. He looked back to the window on the far end of the room, where the sky was dark and the stars shone brightly against the black canvas. He wondered if they had finally given up or if they just hadn’t fallen asleep yet--he wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Usually, he could tell when they fell asleep, but this time he had been distracted by Theta and wasn’t paying attention.

Tonight would be the start of the third phase.

He looked over to the side, in the direction of the chart that he had set up. He wouldn’t know the exact time, but it was soon, and he was glad he got Theta out of the room before it began. His thread had shown up in the dead of night ten years ago--he remembered the day very well--and he had dreaded this day ever since it had shown up. The third phase was a violation, a breach of his privacy. He did not want his thoughts being transcribed onto a random person at all, much less when he couldn’t even control what words were being sent to them.

This was when the concept of a soulmate really became an issue. They had already been a personal issue, but now it extended beyond just him. It was an issue for the whole organization because if one wrong word got transferred to them and they mentioned it around the wrong people, it could spell a lot of trouble for the Fatui and their goals.

He should have gone to the Jester by now. He should have gone to him and told him the situation so they could work to track down his soulmate before it got to this point before it put the Fatui at risk. He didn’t know why he hadn’t yet. Something odd and unfamiliar tugged at his gut, an emotion he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t from his soulmate, he could feel that much, but he convinced himself it was.

You haven’t gone to the Jester because you’re going to sever the bond, he reminded himself, and then this would become a nonissue. But it was not as easy as he thought it would be. There was no previous research done into severing a bond between soulmates, there were old folktales but no legit information to back the validity of them. Dottore had a feeling that Irminsul would have answers for him and he found it ironic that the tree seemed to be the root of all of his most recent issues--he had half a mind to burn the thing to the ground when he finally got to it.

Just as he was going to finally force himself to focus back on the report, he felt it--a searing pain in his left forearm, nothing compared to what he had dealt with before but he hadn’t expected it to be as intense as it was.

He paused only for a second before rolling up his sleeve.

Purple, the word said, and Dottore couldn’t help but shake his head. He wasn’t sure what he had been anticipating from them, but he supposed that a color was about as predictable as it could get.

He wondered what they might have gotten from him--it could’ve been anything from his argument with Theta to his thoughts on Irminsul. He hoped that it wasn’t the latter. He felt stressed suddenly, rubbing his temples and letting his eyes slide shut as he tried to figure out what he could do, if there was a way that he could control his thoughts and filter out what they could be receiving from him.

He didn’t think there was, realistically. He had done a lot of research trying to prepare for this day, and he had come up empty-handed. The only way to prevent his soulmate from receiving words he didn’t want them to receive was to stop thinking about them, and that wasn’t an option. He had work to do, research to complete, and he refused to let them interfere more than they already had.

Hesitating for a second, he reached for a notebook laid out on the desk next to him, jotting down the word he had received before pushing the notebook out of sight and pushing his soulmate out of mind, returning to the heaps of papers he had to get through before the night was up.

You lounged in the garden, relaxing to the soft scent of lilies beneath the gentle glow of the sunset over the horizon. You could hear a songbird chirping in the distance, people chattering in the streets as they made their way back to their homes before curfew, the quiet hum of the apparatuses set up throughout the garden to keep the flora rich and healthy. It wasn’t raining, for once. You swore that the past two weeks had been nothing but torrential downpour, you’d been trapped inside the library of the palace, spending your time reading old tales of forbidden love and the old gods.

You didn’t like being in Fontaine City. It was always muggy and ugly outside, it was usually raining, and even when the skies were clear, there was a strange, intense mechanical scent that made your head hurt--the only place free of it was the garden on the roof of the palace, but even then, sometimes the sweetness of the flowers was sickly. You wanted to return to the countryside, to your mother’s family estate near the Snezhnayan border where the air was brisk and fresh, and the grass was lush and green, the thick scent of the wild and the subtle scent of smoke from the estate’s fireplace being the ones most familiar and dear to your heart.

You sighed as you rested your head against the cool stone of the statue you were sitting against, pen tapping steadily against your notebook as your eyes grazed over the past few words that you had received from your soulmate: sever, residue, research, failure.

You couldn’t make much sense of it, you had thought two years ago that maybe you would finally get to know more about your soulmate now that you were sharing thoughts, but you found yourself at even more of a loss than you were at before. They were a complete mystery to you. They thought words in the old tongue rather often--Theta, Iota, Lambda, and Delta, most frequently but there were others that appeared less often: Kappa, Rho, Gamma, Epsilon, Zeta—and no one really knew the old tongue unless they were an academic or some sort of priest of the dead gods.

And even the thoughts you received in the common tongue were just strange, and you didn’t even understand half of them. Ever since the start of the third phase, you seemed to spend the majority of your days in the palace’s libraries trying to understand them by looking up the random words that were showing up on your forearm, but somehow, it only left you more confused.

You thought that maybe they were a scholar at Sumeru’s Akademiya who had traveled north for research. Fontaine had its own institute, but it focused on engineering and mechanics, not languages, and students who graduated from the institute typically remained in Fontaine unless they were granted leave to introduce and promote their invention to other nations… and even then, they would never be granted leave to Snezhnaya, but as far as you were aware, the Akademiya did not have such restrictions.

It would be better for you if that were the case--that way, your soulmate wasn’t a citizen of Snezhnaya, and you didn’t have to worry about being prosecuted by the Hydro Archon for treason.

You hummed to yourself, doodling on the corner of your notebook as you eyed the word that was currently branded against your forearm: dead. It followed the string of words you had received earlier in the day--normally, you only received one word from them a day, two if you were lucky, but since you woke up this morning, you’d gone through five words.

You bit down on your bottom lip, hesitating before you finally noted the word down beneath failure, adding it to the grouping you had made for today. Sever, residue, research, failure, dead. Not foreboding at all, you thought to yourself, trying to put together what it all might mean. You weren’t sure how the first word fit in with the rest, but you figured the other four were all related.

Research into some sort of residue? What residue? Failed in whatever they were doing, something or someone ended up dead.

They didn’t seem distressed about it, so you supposed that no one important to them got hurt or died… or if they did, your soulmate simply did not care… and it kind of worried you that you genuinely did not know them well enough to know which was the case. You sighed, a pout tugging at your lips as you looked away from your notebook and up to the sky.

There was another storm already rolling in, you could see the dark clouds in the distance. You didn’t know what to think about your soulmate. You got strange words from them, you never felt anything from them sans the occasional annoyance or anger, and they never responded to your tugs when you tried to tell them goodnight.

You supposed it hurt a bit. Your whole life, you had watched kids your age babbling on, excited about their soulmate. You watched them have invisible flicking competitions that only the two of them could follow--seeing who could flick the thread the most before the other person gave up. You watched the way they reacted to feeling waves of emotions from them. You watched the way they would all giggle and talk about the words they received--figuring out their favorite colors, their favorite foods, what they liked to do and maybe even narrow down to where they might be living. You watched as they blushed and got flustered when it became apparent that their soulmate was thinking of them.

You couldn’t do any of that--not only because your soulmate was from, or lived in, Snezhnaya, so you couldn’t even talk to anyone your age about them but also because you weren’t experiencing any of that with your soulmate anyway. Every time you tried to get them to flick the thread back, you were ignored, and your soulmate never thought about you, the most frequent words you received from them were deactivate, failure, and sever. You didn’t know what deactivate meant, you assumed failure was in regards to whatever research they kept thinking about, and you had no idea what they were trying to sever.

It was frustrating and upsetting. You just wanted a soulmate that you could be with like your peers, someone to be excited about and look forward to. And you were excited, and you did look forward to eventually meeting them, but you couldn’t help but be a bit bummed and anxious over it all.

Three years.

You were seventeen now. There were three years left until you and your soulmate entered the fourth and final stage--being able to communicate through the shared thoughts and then you would finally get some answers from them.

“There you are.”

You slammed your notebook shut, eyes wide as your head snapped to the side, gaze falling upon your half-siblings, Elliot and Sylvie, approaching you from behind. You smiled as best as you could, trying to glance around to make sure that their father wasn’t following them.

“He’s busy with mother at a meeting,” Sylvie said quietly, eyes lit up with a sort of mischief that you hadn’t seen in her for quite a bit. “We snuck out.”

She spoke hushed, as if the flowers around them might tell her father what she was saying. You supposed it was possible--you wouldn’t put it past the Hydro Archon and the court officials to install listening devices throughout the city to make sure that no one was conspiring against them.

“How did you sneak past Miss Elyna?” you asked her as the two of them came to sit cross-legged with you on the ground next to a bed of pretty pink flowers.

They were almost fourteen years old now. Both of them had been born with their marks, so they and their soulmates would be entering the third phase soon too. They were excited, constantly whispering about what they thought their soulmate would be like. You remembered when you had been like that, bouncing around in bed as you rattled off possibilities to Miss Elyna because you had no one else to talk to about it.

Now, you only felt a dull sense of disappointment.

“She wasn’t looking, so we snuck out the door and ran,” Elliot told you, a bright smile on his face. You doubted that was the case—Miss Elyna had the senses of a hawk, it was more likely she let them leave because it’s their only chance to spend time with you without their father hovering and dragging them away.

You hated their father. At one point, you had been hopeful. You thought that your mother meeting her soulmate would change little in the way your family worked. Your father was more than happy to step aside and let your mother find solace with her fated, but it wasn’t enough for your stepfather. He wanted your father gone and he wanted your brother to replace you as your mother’s heir, but you had no way of proving it. He hid the rotting carcass he called a personality behind a kind smile and empty eyes that your mother refused to look past.

“Can you tell us what it’s like?” Sylvie whispered, drawing you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed in confusion, shooting her a questioning look, but Sylvie only looked pointedly down at your notebook.

Your eyes widened, instinctively tucking the notebook closer to your chest. Your lips and mouth felt dry as you stared at your half-siblings, trying to figure out if Sylvie was implying that she knew that you had a soulmate. No one should know—no one besides your father and mother and Miss Elyna. You had worried the day you received your first word from your soulmate would draw suspicion, but your father had brushed any unwanted eyes off by telling them you had been ill.

No one should know, you felt sick and anxious, unsure of how to respond to Sylvie--both of them were looking at you expectantly, excited for an answer.

“It’s okay,” Elliot said, once he realized how upset you suddenly looked. “We’ve known for a while, we won’t-”

“Elliot! Sylvie, have you seen-”

It was Miss Elyna, out of breath and on the verge of tears--she cut herself off as soon as she saw you hidden behind the statue. You rose to your feet, concerned, “Miss Ely-”

“It’s your father,” Miss Elyna said, voice choked and wobbly. At once, the world around you shattered. “Come, we must hurry.”

“I suppose I owe you thanks,” a familiar voice murmured, approaching Dottore from behind. He tilted his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder to where his old recruit, now promoted to the Ninth seat as the Fatui’s Regrator, came to a stop next to the column that Dottore was leaning against, waiting for his chance to slip away from the celebrations.

“Thank me with funding,” Dottore said. “I’ve exhausted all of my resources. I’ll need a significant amount of mora and test subjects to begin research into Archon residue if we want to find a safer alternative to delusions any time soon… which I’m sure you’d be personally vested in and I am not cutting the funding from my own personal projects.”

Pantalone let out a huff of laughter, Dottore was not sure what exactly the new Harbinger found amusing about what he said so he turned to face him, lips flat and eyes void of emotion behind the mask he wore.

“Relax, doctor,” Pantalone said quietly. “I have not forgotten about our original deal. Have you not already seen an increase since my induction into the Fatui?”

“Not a large enough increase in comparison to the risks I took advocating for you,” Dottore said coldly, looking away from him up to where the Jester was preparing with the Captain for the official inauguration of Pantalone as one of the Eleven Harbingers. “Go, this event has lasted long enough. As soon as all of the official business is over with, I can leave.”

Pantalone did not look pleased, lips pressed together tight as his gaze swept across the large room. All of the higher-ranked members of the Fatui based in Snezhnaya were attending the event--agents trained by Arlecchino, vanguard captains trained by Capitano, even some mages and Mirror Maidens that had gone through La Signora’s strict training regiments lingered around where the Eighth Harbinger was lounging back at one of the tables. She looked just as ready for the night to be over as Dottore was.

Pantalone looked anxious, only thinly concealed behind an otherwise blank expression, and Dottore supposed he couldn’t blame him. All of the people in this room were the people that had been considered and rejected for the Ninth Seat in favor of him. The Fatui were united, yes, but their loyalty only went so far when the prospect of a promotion was dangled in front of their face. Not a single person in this room would forego the chance of taking out the new Harbinger if it gave them a shot at being one of the Eleven.

They had tried it with him centuries ago, when Dottore had initially been promoted to Harbinger. The Fatui was a younger organization then, less structured and far more anarchic, and there had been more attempts on his life than he could count. Only one had succeeded, and he had made it so that it could never happen again.

Now that he had centuries of authority, his moniker inducing fear and respect throughout their ranks for all of his accomplishments, he didn’t have to worry much about greedy, ambitious underlings trying to take off his head and claim his position.

But the Regrator would have more trouble, he noted to himself.

Something felt odd in his chest--a twinge of anxiety, or fear. It was not his own, and he had been blocking off his segments for the duration of the night so he was not interrupted while at an important event. He could only assume that it was coming from his soulmate. He frowned to himself, eyes darting down to his forearm but it was covered by his sleeve, and he would draw too much attention to himself should he go to check if the word had changed.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

Pantalone was no fighter, his delusion harmed him as much as it helped him--more so than it did to the average person--it tore apart his body from the inside whenever he summoned the volatile energy, and he couldn’t even control the energy yet. He was incompetent with a sword, couldn’t pick up a claymore, and was awkward with a polearm. He was decent with aiming a bow, but that would be useless in a close combat assassination like the ones that would be attempted on him. If he were attacked, the only real defense he had would be that decorative blade strapped to his waist.

Dottore wondered if it would be worth it to enlist Sandrone in creating a sort of projectile weapon that could be used both in close and ranged combat… but that was not something he was going to waste his own time doing, he would present the option to Pantalone only once Dottore’s funding has been increased significantly.

“Is funding the only thing you want?” Pantalone suddenly asked, voice cryptic in a way that Dottore did not like. He peered at the younger man from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to explain himself. But he didn’t, instead, violet eyes only looked down pointedly at Dottore’s right hand--the hand that his red thread was tied around his thumb. Dottore inhaled, not responding, and finally, Pantalone continued, “I’m just saying, I have other resources, connections… should you need to find something,”

Someone.

Dottore was livid, he could feel his anger rising, and he could feel that strange anxiety begin to get worse from his soulmate’s end, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that now--was it a taunt? A threat? Or a genuine offer of help?

Either way, Dottore didn’t like it. No one should know about the thread tied around his thumb. No one should know that he had a soulmate. Did one of the segments let it slip? Did they mention it in public? It was possible, but Dottore doubted it--the younger segments were never around people and the older segments knew better, even Theta. They knew very well that even if they had no interest in meeting their soulmate after all of these years, that if their soulmate died, it would cause irreparable damage to all of them.

They would not risk it.

So then how-

“If you’re wondering how… I’m very observant, that’s all,” Pantalone interrupted his thoughts, watching him carefully. “I had to be, considering my lifestyle before you recruited me into the Fatui. Abrupt movements for no apparent reason, flinches, stiffening, sudden jerks… a gaze flickering down just a bit too often… tucking a thumb into your fist--I learned to watch for certain tells to find weak points in my enemies...”

Dottore unfisted his right hand immediately, not moving nor responding even as Pantalone stared at him expectantly, waiting for a response. He felt like a fool, and he hated feeling like a fool. He wanted to say something, make a dry comment about how yes, of course the way he held his hand meant that he had a soulmate, but his lips wouldn’t move and he wasn’t sure if responding would be more damning because Pantalone hadn’t even said the word soulmate yet anyway, only implied it.

“... but we are not enemies, so you need not worry. It’s not something I plan to use against you… just offering some extra resources. If you need them, just let me know,” Pantalone finally said, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble ground as he began to make his way past Dottore toward where Pierro and Capitano were waiting for him. “You know where to find me.”

Damn all of the subordinates looking for a quick promotion, Dottore had half a mind to kill Pantalone himself, right there in front of everybody. His rage was clouding his mind, a wicked storm about to break through the calm facade. He felt like he was young again, the years just after he was kicked out of the Akademiya when he was brewing with uncontrollable fury and a switch that could flip on or off at any given moment with no warning.

He forced himself to leave. He would deal with the Jester and his complaints about his premature departure later, he was certain that if he remained there any longer, blood would be spilled and all of Dottore’s efforts to get himself more funding would go straight down the drain.

He couldn’t tell anymore if the anxiety he was feeling was from himself or his soulmate. The corridor around him swayed like he was on a ship sailing through the rough, northern sea. He had been so careful to keep it hidden and the way he positioned his hand gave it away? There was no way. Pantalone had to have been throwing out a wild guess and hoping for confirmation--his only hope was that he had been able to keep his face devoid of the anger that was twisting his insides, that he hadn’t given Pantalone any reason to believe his suspicions had been correct.

His chest felt tight--like he couldn’t breathe properly, which was ridiculous because he was breathing but it felt like he wasn’t getting enough air to his lungs. He didn’t know what this was. It was not something he had ever felt before, and that meant it had to be coming from them, his soulmate--he cursed himself for giving in to his own bout of emotion, a show of weakness that allowed their emotions to engulf his and he didn’t know how to fix it now that the spiral had begun.

Unless it wasn’t emotions, and that was why it was so intense.

Were they getting strangled?

It didn’t make any sense, he would be able to feel the hands around their throat, the bruises forming against their skin.

He leaned against the wall of the corridor he had escaped down, only dimly lit by a candle halfway down the hall--far enough from the event that he shouldn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon him while he was like this. He pulled off his mask, pressing a hand hard against his chest, right over where his heart would’ve been.

Calm down, he wanted to spit out at them, his rage blending with his soulmate’s anxiety and fear. Calm down.

This was not the place. He could hear the Jester speaking in the distance, he could hear the crowds of people applauding dutifully at the official announcement of the Regrator’s position, he could see the shadows of people walking just a bit too close to the side hall for his own comfort.

He was being overwhelmed, and he had never been overwhelmed by someone before, not like this. His fury was subsiding, being replaced by his soulmate’s intense surge of emotions. He had never felt anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure what it was or how to describe it. It felt as if the walls were closing in around him, as if someone was dragging jagged nails down the inside of his throat, as if his blood had turned into lead—thick and heavy, weighing his whole body down.

He couldn’t even tell what was wrong, he couldn’t tell if the pain was physical or emotional. Was his soulmate dying? Was that it? The thought made his stomach churn, wondering what that would mean for him, if he would become the husk that all widowers became after their mark went black.

No, he told himself, you are stronger.

The Captain was able to move on from the death of his soulmate. Dottore had seen the blackened mark himself when the man asked him to fix up his arm after a challenge had gone wrong years ago against one of the ancient gods of the far north.

Had he moved on? Dottore questioned himself, or was he just a shell of himself, moving on autopilot to bring the divine to their knees before he could join his soulmate in the next life?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not Capitano had been able to move on because Dottore would--he was above man, above mortal. He refused to let something as inconsequential as the death of a stranger inhibit his research, and obstruct him from his goals. He refused to let nearly five hundred years go to waste.

But he wasn’t sure, no matter how much he insisted to himself that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t confident he would be able to brush it off, and the uncertainty was damning because the thought of his soulmate—who would be no older than sixteen or seventeen now, a year or two older than the Gamma segment—dying such a brutal and untimely death made him sick to his stomach for reasons beyond just selfish ones, reasons that he didn’t dare try to delineate.

Celestia is cruel, he thought to himself as this situation forced him to come to terms with what he had been pushing away for over a decade. Because they were not just a stranger, so much as he tried to convince himself of it. Dottore was a pragmatic man at heart, and he knew himself very well, no matter how much the past twelve years have tested his sense of identity. From the moment he had noticed that thread and felt those childish little tugs, Dottore had formed an attachment to the person on the other side. He was selfish and possessive, and he had never in his life had something that was so fundamentally meant to be his before and he didn’t want the gods to take yet another thing from him--he convinced himself it was more out of pride, out of anger toward Celestia than out of fear.

He had known it was too good to be true from the start. He knew that the gods would dangle his soulmate in front of his face like meat to a starved dog--it was why he was so intent on finding a way to sever the thread before this could happen. He knew that they would let him get accustomed to their distant presence, they would let him get accustomed to the goodnight tugs and the frequent swells of emotion that he was not capable of feeling on his own. They would even let it get to the point where he was beginning to accept it, noting down all of the words that were transferred to him in hopes to find clues regarding where they were… in hopes of getting to learn more about them—who they were, why they were meant to be his fated.

He knew that they would let this all happen, and he knew that they would rip it away, and he let himself fall for the trap they had laid out anyway.

Dottore was a fool. He had always been one, but the past decade or so had truly made a comedy of it in the eyes of the divine.

His fingers fumbled for the buttons on the cuff of his dress shirt, trying to see which words would be branded on his skin for eternity--to see if it would give any sort of hint as to who they were, or where they were, or what happened to them so if the opportunity ever arose, he could deal back tenfold to the person that did this.

Father

He paused, taken aback for a second. Was their father the perpetrator? If that was the case, it might not be all too hard to find the culprit--filicide was considered taboo across all seven nations… but Dottore had a feeling that it wasn’t so simple because him being startled at the word gave him the bit of clarity he needed to compartmentalize and digest all of the stray emotions tearing through him.

It was not physical pain, he realized, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. He had gotten better at deciphering emotions over the past seven years, but whatever this was, it was still foreign to him. The only consolation he had was that he couldn’t feel his body weakening, he couldn’t feel any physical pain. The thread was still bright and very much connected to him.

And the intensity was fading--albeit at a snail’s pace, but it was fading. It was becoming something heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of the world was being tossed onto his shoulders.

Grief, he slowly recognized, this must be grief.

Grief. He had never experienced grief before. Not like this. He had mourned failed experiments, he had mourned the loss of his resources, he had mourned wasted time but he had never experienced an emotion like this before.

He felt relieved knowing that his soulmate was not, in fact, dying, knowing that he didn’t have to stress about figuring out how he was going to move on when Celestia damned all those who had lost their soulmates to desolation, knowing that he would not have to deal with his segments losing their minds over this but at the same time-

“Dottore.”

He was not even able to dwell on his train of thought, forced to try to compose himself as a familiar voice met his ears. Now back in control of himself, getting ahold of the unwelcome emotions still crawling around inside of him, Dottore could focus. He tucked away the feelings deep within him as he straightened, slipping his mask back on and rolling his sleeve down as discreetly as he could.

He looked over his shoulder to where Brighella was standing several feet away, a glass of wine in his hand, green eyes beady and curious as he spoke, “Is something wrong?”

He spoke with a sort of faux care that made Dottore irrationally annoyed because he knew very well that it was just that--faux. He wanted something. Brighella always wanted something and Dottore wasn’t particularly in the mood to humor him this time, lips twisting down as the man brought it upon himself to draw closer to Dottore.

“No,” Dottore answered shortly. “Why are you not attending the event?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Brighella’s response was challenging and quick. Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask, not that Brighella could tell, but the other Harbinger quickly grew uncomfortable in the silence, letting out a sheepish laugh, nervous gaze flicking back and forth. “Ha, sorry. I’ve had a few drinks, you know how it gets-”

“I do not,” Dottore said, voice icy as he observed the man.

Dottore had never been particularly good at reading people. He spent more time in his lab than socializing, even during his years at the Akademiya, and the only use he found for humans once he joined the Fatui was utilizing them to make advances in his research. But he could tell something was off, Brighella’s eyes were too sharp--they didn’t have the drunken glaze that they usually did when the man had been drinking.

Was he faking it?

Dottore didn’t think so. Brighella reeked of alcohol, and he seemed off-balanced, and Dottore didn’t think that he could really fake much of anything to anyone, much less to Dottore. He was always skittish and anxious around higher-ranked members of the Harbingers, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. Dottore thought-

“Oh god, I didn’t mean-”

Dottore stared down at his stained clothes, at the red wine seeping through his white dress shirt, sticky against his skin. Dottore’s lips twisted, barely restraining the resurfacing fury and Brighella was panicked, stuttering over his words as he apologized, stumbling over his own feet as he searched for something to use as a cloth or napkin to clean up the mess he had made.

Dottore only inhaled sharply, turning on his heel and ignoring the calls after him as he made his way down the hall in the direction of his quarters for the night.

Tonight had been a trainwreck, he thought to himself bitterly. Between Pantalone, his soulmate, and now the drunkard that called himself a Harbinger, Dottore swore he was on the verge of losing his mind.

Ever since the red thread had appeared on his thumb twelve years ago, he had been losing control. He was losing control of his segments, he was losing control of all of the carefully calculated plans he had created, he was losing control of himself, and tonight was proof enough of that.

He was done.

He would figure out a way to sever the damned thread before this got any further. It was too close of a call for comfort--he didn’t know how the death of his soulmate would affect him, and it was a gamble that he wasn’t willing to take. He couldn’t afford to let something like this happen again, especially in public. It made him seem weak in front of those that would use it against him—and Dottore was not weak. He was sick of being strung around like a marionette by the emotions of a child.

And if there was not a way to sever the thread, then he would make a way.

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