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mphountitled · 7 months

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𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚'𝙨 𝙇𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pregnancy definitely sucks but you take your complaints too far, and soon, you're left with the laborious task of making it up to Satoru

Warnings: Domestic Fluff, Petty!Satoru, Tantrums, God Complex (It's Satoru), Humor, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Praise Kink, Make up sex, Pregnant sex, Office Sex, Touch starved!reader, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Eye Contact, Dirty Talk, Cervix fucking, Lactation kink, Dom/Sub undertones, Subspace, Overstimulation

♡ please excuse me, I'm ovulating

"Is there any way I could park closer? So that your journey might be a quicker one?" Despite his voice dripping with nothing but kindness, you find your eyes narrowing at the taxi driver and his close cropped, black hair.

"I may look fat but my limbs are in perfect working conditions, Sir, I assure you," Admittedly, a low blow. The driver reels back, muttering his profuse apologies which immediately softens your resolve.

It is wholeheartedly unfair. The driver could not anticipate the way in which his words would grate at your wavering kindness. He is essentially blameless and perhaps even considerate in his line of questioning. He didn't have any intentions of insulting you.

After all, It was not his fault that you were currently sporting a nasty bump because Satoru decided to inject you with his release until finally he succeeded and you were burdened with the weight of his spawned and this baby, you feel, is a heavy one. One that has your steel emotions melting into guilt, like the deserted tar under the bright summer sun.

"Just here, should be fine," The taxi driver had gotten an impressive tip to make up for your rudeness and you scooted your way out. Soon, you were on the pavement that led into the forest framed by an impressively maintained torii. The driver eyed the gateway solemnly as you shrugged your backpack on, subconsciously grateful for the sundress combatting the summer heat.

"Have a nice day!" You attempt to soften your voice, as soft as you can make it given your current condition.

Condition.

The thought - that word- has you flinching as you make your way up the mountain. The very reason for this journey playing off in your mind's eye with a freshness.

'Condition?' Satoru, had said when you let the word slip the previous evening. The taxi driver had not been the only one affected by your foul mood but last night you were particularly nasty. Gojo's spawn was on a mission to drain you of all your energy, leeching off your nutrients but expecting you to eat at every hour. The Little Monster was testing your patience and it wasn't even born yet.

'You're having my baby,' Gojo had said, 'Not suffering from a disease.' As you both prepared for bed, Gojo, exchanging his black blindfold for the fluffy pink sleep mask which he had invariably stolen from you, while you wobbled your heaviness into bed.

"Trust me, Satoru, when I say that you honestly could have fooled me.' You scoffed, "This baby is making me sick." It had been more and more difficult to disguise the true nature of pregnancy, especially while everyone around lived their lives so carefree and un-pregnant- but you still should not have said what you said. And Satoru was 100% justified in assuming a tantrum.

You were forced to go to bed, with an ice cold, Satoru, refusing to curl up beside you like he usually did. Instead of brushing up behind you, ready to allay that constant state of need that you were haunted by, Gojo stole his warmth away from you. You went to bed without the sensation of his cock grinding into your ass and his long slender fingers seeking to touch anything and everything until he riled himself up enough to fuck you to sleep. When you thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, Satoru had already disappeared in the morning. He had already gone off to Jujutsu Tech, vehemently ignoring any text message you sent.

And here you were, lumbering your way through the thicket of evergreens that seemed to be growing on top of each other. You would not be surprised if these trees ended up being cursed as well. They invariably seemed to swallow the horizon, doing a stellar job at concealing the beauty of the institution inside.

"Your father hates me," The tiny human incubating inside of you is your only bit of company, and so, you decide to entertain the Little Monster, the closer you get to Jujutsu High. "You're a little demon, but he is too." Your heavy breathing fills the quiet air, "But I still love him and his demonic ways so that really means that I love you too," Unknowingly, your hand had begun to cup the underside of your swollen belly and staying there for the duration of the walk, until the very first towers began to peek from within the evergreens and the sound of jovial laughter reaches your ears.

"Woah-" Itadori is the first person you see once you emerge from the thicket, huffing and puffing with the Wright of your guilt carrying you forward. "Are you... supposed to be here?"

"I'm pregnant, Yuuji, not handicapped-" You began, steadily approaching the temple steps where he and a silent Megumi sat idly. "Gojo, where is he?"

"In his office by now." Replied Itadori, "Hey… did you seriously walk up the mountain just to get some from Gojo-" his crass statement is cut short by Megumi's elbow buried in Yuuji's side and you silently thank the dark haired boy as you drift into the temple.

Despite it all, Itadori's statement may have held a sliver of truth. The walk up the mountain had been a perilous one, admittedly one of your less than thorough ideas, but it also got you the opportunity to see Jujutsu High after 6 difficult months of house arrest. Your innate need to teach and help young sorcerers grow and develop their talents was being made dormant, yet somehow, just being in this place, breathing its air, was revitalising you. You could even swear the Little Monster made a happy little kick against your abdomen. You begin to wonder with shocking excitement what cursed technique this baby would be born with - it's a thought that occupies your mind as you maneuver the relaxing halls of the temple.

The positive energy coursing through your bloodstream only doubles once his door reveals itself at the end of the hall. Your nerves are immediately electrified with a violent current as you pull back the door, enough to slip inside. You could not go 24 hours without Satoru annoying you, and that was apparent. If that made you weak, then so be it.

"Satoru." Your voice comes out quieter than expected as you pull the door shut and turn to face the man seated behind his desk. His seat is reclined towards an open window casting an enchanting breeze, enough to lightly ruffle his pale, white locks. Arms support the back of his head, and his legs are perched on the desk. You can not see his eyes behind his rimless blue tinted shades. Your arrival announces rouses him, and immediately, you can tell you've disturbed him from a nap. Perhaps he did not get much sleep last night either…

"Hmm," Is the only sound he is able to make in the stretched silence, readjusting his position, striving to appear disinterested, "Didn't know they allowed murderers into Jujutsu Tech-"

"'Toru, you've probably killed more people than me,'' You say with a small smile as you venture to close the distance between you too. "And how am I a murderer?"

"You forcing yourself up this mountain makes me think you're trying to kill my baby." You can tell that he is still vehemently angry at you but his head ticks slightly to the side as you make your way behind his desk, pushing his feet off before easing onto it so you can sit opposite him.

"I brought salami sticks and a chicken sandwich," You ease the backpack off your shoulders, ignoring Satoru's head lazily draped on his hand. "You didn't eat breakfast this morning and I know your skinny ass is dying of hunger. You may not look like you eat alot but you and our baby are trying to kill me-"

To that, he had obviously chosen to respond with a crude and petty, 'That'd be my baby, you're referring to. Last I checked, to you, it's a cancer.'

"Satoru, I don't know what you want me to say-"

"I've got a pretty good idea of what I don't want you to say."

Your gaze lowers to your lap as your legs swing above the ground. It is always difficult seeing someone as jovial as Gojo, assume such a cold exterior, especially when it's not in his inherent nature.

"I really wish I can say I didn't mean it, 'Toru but I'm fucking drained," You laugh darkly, "I'm fat and ugly and I can't exercise because this baby hates when I move in a way it doesn't like - even getting up here fucking sucked, but the thought of seeing you kinda helped. Not to mention that fucking housewife next door and her perky tits and her tiny waist, and her non-fat ass-"

"Hey," Throughout the course of your hormonal rant, Satoru has felt himself slide his chair closer to you, until your mnees were directly in front of him. His arms fence you in, while he sat on the edge of his seat, "I love your fat ass, please don't ever diss her again."

His words have you laughing despite the thunderous emotions that had overtaken you just a moment ago. That may have been one of Satoru's many superpowers- allaying the darkened clouds with unexpected sunshine.

"Not to mention my feet hurt constantly, I'm horny all the time and I just wanna feel normal in my own skin. But I neglected your happiness in my own self pity and that's wrong and I'm sorry."

'Please fuck me and never, ever be mad at me again,' is what you would have liked to tack on at the end of that apology but you already felt as if you got enough words out. Truthfully, you really were sitting with a well of need between your legs- the warmth between your stomach only compounding given Gojo's proximity, which only becomes worse as he rises from his seat and slots himself between your legs. You shiver at the feeling of just having him near you.

"Does 'horny all the time' include' right now?" Another violent shiver wracked through your spine as Satoru eases a finger underneath your chin, raising your hooded eyes to his concealed ones. All you can do is nod as your fingers curl around the edge of the desk while your breathing picks up its pace.

"And you're never going to be a mean brat ever again," you're utterly mesmerised by Satoru's pillowy, pink lips crafting every word, so much so that you're unaware of his other hand rubbing along your exposed thigh.

"I'm going to have to hear words, baby." He teases lightly,"I'm going to have to hear that you were wrong," You're not sure what it is about the sing-song voice that has you slipping deep into subspace- perhaps it's the slight condescension sprinkled in with the tone one would use to scold a child. It completely breaks you every time.

Your lips curl downward into an involuntary pout as you say "I'll never be a mean brat to you ever again, Satoru-" a gasp races through your throat as his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your clothed, needy cunt. He is rubbing lightly, almost diabolically slow. Your eyebrows curve into needy crescents as you strive to open your legs wider, hoping his fingers might venture deeper.

"I might forgive you," his broad shoulders are hunched so his lips can reach your ears, "If you stop calling me Satoru and say what you really wanna say,"

He was baiting you for his own rush of pleasure shooting all his blood straight to his hardened cock. Satoru's pants were straining as you realised he needed you to slip into subspace as much as you did. His hand was brushing lightly at the fabric against your clit, but that is as far as he was willing to go. Your breathing is erratic as you attempt to thrust your hips into his hand but your stomach stops you from achieving a lot.

"I need you to fuck me, Daddy," The words drenched with the neediness in your voice is borderline pornopgraphic and it rips a wavering groan from within Gojo's chest.

"You're such a needy little slut, aren't you?" Satoru says now swimming in domspace, while he removes his hand from between your legs to quickly rid you of your sweat-drenched sundress.

"I need you so bad," you admit with an aching whimper as the soft wind rushes over your sensitive nipples. The second he sees them, Gojo's hands are clamped around your pillowy; swollen breasts, squeezing and prodding like a virgin who's never seen tits before.

"Fuck, baby, look at what you do to me," He releases a hoarse laugh as he clamps his other hand around your wrist, forcing your palm around his hard cock straining his pants. "Look at what the fuck you do to me," The both of you release a chorus of moans into the air- you, because his fingers were playing a dangerous game with your leaking nipples and Satoru, because he cannot refrain from grinding into your hand.

His glasses fog as he bends his head to watch beads of milk grow on the tips of your nipple before sliding down your torso with every squeeze.

"When did this start happening?" he asks through clenched teeth before rushing to exclaim, "You're so fucking hot- Fuck!"

"Last night- I wanted to tell you but-" You're immediately silenced by Satoru's lips crashing onto yours while he crowds you, pushing you down onto your back while the sound of his belt buckle echoes in the room. His mouth is absolutely restless as his tongue forces its way inside; eager to push itself against your tongue until you both are kissing each other with a tangle of spit. Your hands immediately find his hair and you pull at the strands as Satoru pulls you to the edge of his desk, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You're such a soaked little girl, baby," his voice still condescending and airy, but it riles you up further until you push your hips towards him. "Does Daddy get you this worked up?"

"Yes! Only Daddy can make me feel this way-Just- Please!" Your cries are slotted in the base of your throat as the head of his cock begins to stretch your tense and tight walls. Without thinking, Satoru eases himself deeper, his hips unable to move at a steady pace now that he feels how wet and ready you are for him.

"You're taking your Daddy's cock like a good little girl, baby," his words have you arching off his desk while your eyes fight to stay open. You don't close them because Satoru likes to look at you when he fucks you and so, you fight your way back, until your eyes are pouring into his behind those dazzling shades. It takes everything in him not to cum on the spot, and his cock twitches inside you as he begins to set the pace.

"Oh fuck- Just look at you, Princess." You were fucking magnificent - skin glistening with sweat with a belly swollen with his seed. The image alone affects him more than he initially thought it would. Satoru had strived to get you pregnant because he knew he wanted you to birth his legacy, but the sight of your body naturally shifting to incubate his seed scarmbles the very workings of his brain If you weren't careful, you were going to stay pregnant, every other term.

"You're doing such a good job, Princess. Do you know how fucking beautiful you look?" you are utterly deranged with need, feeling all your sensibilities slip out of you as you're fighting to take even more of him impossibly deeper. His shades hide the true nature of his hooded, fucked out eyes. He's not sure what it is about it, but your eyes on him, watching him pound his cock into your slippery, tight pussy, has him rutting into you with desperation. He loves holding your attention in your most depraved moments - watching you stare up at him like he's a God while he's corrupting every sliver of your cute disposition.

He's pounding against your cervix now and it has your moans bleeding into whorish screams. All the while, Satoru does not silence you. He does not clamp his hand around your mouth, instead he affirms quite the opposite. "If you keep squeezing my cock like that I'm going to make you take my cum." That sentence alone has you slipping into your orgasm. Your back arches off the table and Satoru leans over and latches his lips onto your breasts. He moans around your nipple, as his hand rubs your clit with immense rapidity, in tandem with his stuttering hips.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside you, baby, Tell me you want me to cum inside you," his voice cracks into a desperate whimper, "P-please," Your limbs are shivering as Satoru fucks you quicker, the sensation bleeding into overstimulation as you watch him fall apart over you. He looks utterly gorgeous. The shades may hide his eyes, but his slacked jaw reveals how utterly destroyed he is, with a trail of spit and milk running down his chin. "Fucking tell me!"

"Please cum inside me, Daddy." You pant, looking at him dead in the eyes, "I need your cum inside me," his grip on the desk fumbles and his movements immediately melt into sloppy thrusts and heavy pants.

"Oh fuck- I'm cumming, baby. Fuck, M'gonna fucking breed you-" just as you're forced to endure another orgasm, Satoru's cum explodes inside of you, ripping groan from your hoarse throat.

Gojo is absolutely spent as he eases his cock out of you, rubbing light circles on your thighs, utterly transfixed with the sight of his milky cum slipping out of your cunt.

"I hope I get you pregnant with twins, next time,"

"Get the fuck off of me Satoru." You say feigning anger, which is attested by the smile threatening to blossom over your face. Despite your lightened mood, you still feel monumentally terrible for making him feel bad about your impending parenthood.

"I'm sorry I've been complaining about my house arrest."

"Maternity leave," He corrects with a sigh.

"Same difference," you roll your eyes before noticing his unimpressed and stoic visage. "Only kidding, only kidding."

Thx for reading ♡

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty One-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Fingering, Teasing, Multiple Orgasm, Corruption Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Gagging, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Fighting/Bickering, Hatefucking(slightly).

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The burden of Dumbledore's trust pressed down on your shoulders, a weighty responsibility that only seem to intensify as you and Mattheo emerged from his office. The meeting had been long and painstakingly detailed, each word etched with the gravity of the situation as you finalized all the details for your first ever mentorship, an opportunity you’ve been waiting fucking years for.

You should be excited about this arrangement, you should be completely fucking ecstatic to finally be given the chance to truly prove yourself, but as Mattheo pulled ahead of you; a heavy, unspoken tension hung in the air as you trailed behind him, your footsteps echoing like distant thunderclaps in the quiet corridor. Mattheo's brisk, determined stride, while partially obscured by his usual arrogance, mirrored the barely-restrained, silent fury that simmered within him. The annoyance in his demeanor was tangible, a seething anger that could be felt even from a distance.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily on your shoulders. This wasn't just about Mattheo's future (one of which you did have a genuine care for, if you were being truthful with yourself); but your own credibility as a mentor was intricately woven into this journey as well.

Dumbledore's words reverberated in your mind, emphasizing the need for patience and compassion, urging Mattheo to embrace your guidance with open arms. However, his response was nothing more than an irritated eye roll, a silent rebellion that contrasted sharply with Dumbledore's hopes for cooperation.

Casting a fleeting glance at Mattheo's back, you couldn't ignore the stark contrast between his outwardly confident posture and the storm of emotions undoubtedly churning beneath the surface. It was evident that this arrangement had ignited a furious turmoil within him, even though he had begrudgingly agreed to it for your sake. The palpable displeasure he felt was impossible to overlook, a tension that hung in the air, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you both were attempting to maintain.

It was then, that you knew, the second you two finally decided to speak to each other, it was bound to be nothing other than completely fucking nuclear.

Entering the bustling Great Hall, you continued to follow timidly in Mattheo's wake, nervously clutching your books to your chest as though they were a impenetrable shield that could save you from this mess. An uneasy anticipation settled within you, bracing for the awkward stares and confused glances you were certain to receive from his housemates as you followed him to his table. But all to your surprise, the usually lively space resembled a ghost town at this early hour, thankfully devoid of his friends for the time being.

Taking a deep, shallow breath, you hesitantly settled into the spot on the bench beside him, feeling entirely like a fish out of water. The clatter of cutlery and distant murmurs of conversations taking place at the other tables filled the hall, yet an oppressive silence gripped you and Mattheo like a vice. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now held a darker, more guarded shade. A momentary glance flickered toward you before he locked his gaze onto his breakfast, his jaw clenched with a stubborn resolve.

Only a few weeks, you reminded yourself, trying to muster the courage to face what lay ahead. Surely, you could endure that, couldn't you?

"Look, Mattheo," you began cautiously, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the bustling ambiance. "I understand you're not happy about this, but it's just for a few weeks...I-"

"Don't bother, Raven," he interrupted with a low, dismissive growl, his tone laced with bitterness. "Don't concern yourself with my feelings. Just go on and conduct your experiments like I'm some little fucking lab rat, alright? I'll even lie down and make it easier for you."

His words struck you like a physical blow, leaving your chest constricted, the air escaping your lungs. The already palpable tension between you two seemed to tighten, intensifying the daunting challenge that lay ahead. You knew nothing about this arrangement was going to be easy--as the only time Mattheo ever seemed to open up to you, was when he wanted you to open up to him, physically.

"Gods, the only thing comparable to a lab rat is your fragile fucking ego," you grumbled, your voice laced with frustration and irritation. "And I'm not sure if you're aware, but the only bloody reason I'm here right now is precisely to concern myself with your feelings."

"Oh, spare me your noble intentions," Mattheo retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only reason you're here is for yourself...Dumbledore isn't around, you can drop the fucking act."

You released a long, heavy sigh, Mattheo's words striking a chord within you. The snark that had initially fueled your response halfway dissipated, leaving behind a sense of resignation.

You gently shifted to face him. "I'm fucking sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Sorry for what, Raven?" Mattheo's piercing gaze met yours, his fingers clenching the fork in his hand with a dangerous intensity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "Huh? What exactly are you fucking sorry for?"

You paused, taking a moment to contemplate your response. You understood that the mess you both found yourselves in was entirely of your doing. If only you had kept your mouth shut, refrained from provoking Berkshire so fiercely, perhaps neither of you would be entangled in this chaos. But there was no reversing the clock now; you were here, and there was no escaping the consequences. This was the defining point, the test that would determine whether you and Mattheo were destined for more than whatever the fuck you currently were, or if this really was all just some crash and burn type of secret fling.

"Sorry for yourself? Sorry for me?" He snarled, impatience colouring his tone as he shot the words at you like daggers. The veins in his hands bulged, revealing the intensity of his frustration. Your heart pounded, acutely aware of the boiling anger he exuded. "Or perhaps you're sorry for being unable to keep your mouth shut for longer then five goddamn seconds?"

"Be an asshole to me all you fucking want, Mattheo," you snapped, your tone cutting through the tension like a knife. "But I'm on your side here...I won't back down just because you're too bloody stubborn-"

"Give me a fucking break, Raven." Mattheo snarled, cutting you off abruptly, his voice dripping with cynicism. "You act like you're some divine oracle, dispensing wisdom to the masses."

"Men mock the Gods until they need them," you countered, your voice unwavering, meeting his cynical gaze head-on. "But even the greatest Gods can learn humility when faced with the consequences of their actions."

"Oh, now the perfect little princess wants to lecture me on humility, does she?" His eyes darkened, the clatter of his fork against the plate reverberating in the tense atmosphere--an echo that would have made you flinch on any ordinary day, but your anger shielded you from the noise. Your stare bored into his as he shifted, fully facing you. "I might be the black sheep of my family, but I've seen enough to know that some of those supposed white sheep aren't as fucking pure as they pretend to be..."

Your heart pounded fiercely, well aware of his underlying intentions. Steely determination set your shoulders rigid, refusing to let him chip away at your resolve. His attempts to manipulate the conversation only fueled your determination; you wouldn't allow him to twist the narrative in his favour. This was a battle of wits, and you were more than ready to hold your ground.

"Appearances certainly can be deceiving, can't they, Riddle?" You leaned closer, voice dropping. "How about we skip the mind games, and you answer me this...is a monster born a monster, or is it created?"

"Why don't you tell me, Raven?" He said, jaw clenching as he lowered his voice to a deep grumble. "I think you'd know a little too well how monsters are made, wouldn't you?"

You squinted at him. "Care to elaborate?"

A malicious grin curled on Mattheo's lips, his eyes narrowing with malevolence as he swiftly surveyed the room, ensuring the shield of privacy around you both, before fixing his gaze back on yours. Your palms turned clammy, a sheen of sweat prickling your skin, your heartbeats echoing like war drums in your chest. An unsettling anticipation hung in the air, as if Mattheo teetered on the edge of revealing something, something you were far from ready to confront.

“No,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t…” you grumbled, running a trembling hand through your hair as you tried to steady your heart rate. “Gods, you’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

A long, exasperated sigh escaped your lips, your eyes never leaving Mattheo’s profile as he turned away, his attention refocused on his breakfast. Anger churned beneath your skin, a turbulent storm of frustration and confusion.

"I can't fathom what twisted events in your life turned you into such an asshole," you continued, your voice seething with frustration. "You're deflecting, like you always do, but this isn't about me, Mattheo. This is about you…I struggle to imagine who the fuck could have made you this way.”

Mattheo’s face immediately whipped back to face yours, the tendons in his hands tightening, like a noose prepared specially for your neck.

"No one made me, Raven. I made myself," he hissed, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination, as if he was challenging you to understand the depth of his struggle, as if he figured you’d never, ever be able to relate. "When you're not fed love off a silver fucking spoon, you learn to lick it off knives."

His voice held a bitter resignation, a raw emotion behind his words, as if born from years of resilience in the face of hardship. Your contemplation was evident, your eyes scanning his face, picking up on the subtle hint of emotion behind his angry facade. His words struck a chord, hitting a little too close to home, but you’d never let him know it, not when he’s being like this.

After a moment of silence, you responded, your tone sharp. "Right...but I think you fail to realize just how quickly the blade becomes you, hm?"

“I wouldn’t expect the rich little princess to understand,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, contorted with annoyance. “You’ll never know what it’s like to have to claw your way through life, Raven...to not have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter…”

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve gone through…” you hissed, teeth barred as you tried to suppress your irritation. “Don’t you dare mistake my empathy for ignorance.”

Mattheo's intense gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before flickering back to your eyes. His voice, barely audible, was laced with a mix of curiosity and a still seething frustration.

"Why don't you tell me then?" he whispered, the words hanging in the charged air between you. "Why don't you fucking tell me what you've been through?"

You blinked, searching his face for a trace of sincerity, but found none. His expression remained unyielding, a mask of stoic resolve. His eyes, however, burned with a furious energy that left you unsettled, forcing you to question the authenticity of this conversation. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions surged within you--anger, frustration, empathy, and a profound desire to understand him.

You felt torn between conflicting impulses. One part of you longed to grab him, to shake the truth out of him, to make him see that you were on his side. Another part of you yearned to envelop him in a comforting embrace, promising that things would get better, that he didn't have to carry his burdens alone. But the reality was stark. Mattheo's resilience had become a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding.

You wanted to help him, to ease his pain, but every attempt to reach out seemed to ricochet off his emotional armor. The frustration boiled within you, making you want to unleash your own pent-up emotions.

"Why would I tell you anything, Mattheo?" you whispered, your voice edged with a mixture of bitterness and disappointment. "Why would I open up to you when you’re still treating me like I’m your fucking enemy? You can't expect me to break down my walls when you're the one building yours higher with every bloody word…”

Mattheo’s gaze flickered with a blend of frustration and resignation as he absorbed your words. He let out a frustrated sigh, his tensed shoulders slumping momentarily before he met your eyes again.

“So, where do we fucking go from here, Raven?” he asked, his voice tinged with weariness. “If neither of us are willing to lower our guard, if all we’re destined to do is fight, how are we supposed to endure weeks together like this?”

You paused, your eyes examining the complicated boy before you, capturing every detail like an artist studying their muse. Mattheo’s hair, perfectly tousled in its disarray, seemed to hold secrets of its own, a testament to the storms that raged beneath the surface. His lips, plush and enticing, had the power to both infuriate and enthrall, a dichotomy that left you perpetually off balance. But it was the scars that adorned his skin, each one telling a story of battles fought and won, that drew your attention most. You had come to know and appreciate these marks, understanding that they were not just physical remnants but echoes of the struggles he had endured.

This complex boy had become an enigma you couldn’t unravel, a puzzle that intrigued and frustrated you in equal measure. He had managed to ignite a storm within you, a tempest of emotions that you had never experienced before. Anger, desire, frustration, and a strange kind of empathy blended into a tumultuous mix, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

As your gaze traced the contours of his jawline, your fingertips ached to explore the texture of his skin. Your eyes traveled lower, lingering on the strength of his shoulders, admiring the resilience that lay beneath the surface. A warmth spread within you, a contradictory feeling of tenderness and yearning, as you allowed yourself to be consumed by the depth of your emotions.

Finally, your eyes met his once more, locking onto his with a fierce intensity.

“Business as usual, Mattheo,” you whispered, a teasing smirk dancing on your lips. “Time to put all this pent-up energy to better use before we fucking tear each others’ heads off…” you said, turning away from him and gathering your books off the table, grabbing your bag before returning your eyes to his, noting his subtle confusion. “Meet me in the bathroom. Same one as before.”

Pushing up from the table, you strode out of the great hall with purpose, a tempest of emotions raging within you. Infuriation, irritation, frustration, and anger churned inside, seeking an outlet. You seethed at Mattheo for his obstinance, berated yourself for caring so deeply, and raged at the inevitability that all this effort might lead absolutely fucking nowhere.

You weren’t naïve enough to simply forget about the mountains looming between you, insurmountable obstacles casting shadows over any potential future. The weight of it all felt bone-crushing, yet despite the turmoil, a desperate longing remained--to kiss that infuriating boy's face, even amidst the chaos he so eagerly fucking caused you.

In the intimate confines of the bathroom, the soft glow of the overhead light illuminated your way as your textbooks found their place, haphazardly strewn across the counter, your bag slumped against the floor--all before Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with desire, stepped into the room alongside you. With a swift motion, he turned the lock, ensuring your seclusion from the outside world.

The air crackled with tension as Mattheo’s urgency consumed him. His hands, possessing a rough yet sensual touch, claimed your skin--wasting absolutely zero fucking time as his fingers traced fiery patterns over your hips and up your sides, moving expertly to undo the buttons of your uniform shirt. It was as if he were a wild beast, untamed and hungry, tearing apart its prey with both hunger and reverence. In response, your own hands, guided by a mix of passion and ferocity , mirrored his movements, exploring the firm contours of his bare chest as it came into view.

“Fuck, I’ve absolutely ruined you, haven’t I…” Mattheo growled, his eyes dark pools of intensity, holding you captive. With deliberate purpose, he discarded your uniform shirt, letting the fabric cascade to the floor in a whispering descent, finding its place along with his. “You never could resist me…not even when you’re fucking furious with me…”

“Gods, Mattheo…you’re such an arrogant bastard…” you spat out, even as you clung to him desperately, his lips attacking your neck as he bunched your skirt between his fists, his tall frame pressing you against the wall with hungry force. “I’m just sick of the arguing and bickering over nothing…let’s just shut up, fuck, and get this bullshit out of our fucking systems…”

“I’ll shut you up alright…but you might fucking moan a little…” Mattheo groaned, fingers slipping under your panties and quickly teasing over your clit, forcing a loud cry from your throat that he quickly silenced with his mouth.

You both were breathless, the intensity quickly reaching its boiling point, the anger palpable between your bodies as Mattheo’s lips pressed against yours with a fierce urgency, the collision of your teeth a tangible echo of the raw desire between you. The air seemed to vanish, leaving your lungs gasping for the oxygen that eluded them, as if consumed by the fervor of your connection. Mattheo’s fingers were relentless, quickly building you toward climax without mercy as his other hand kneaded your chest, groping your tits, pulling down you bra to tease your nipples, pinching the hardening buds between his rough fingers.

As you moaned, far louder than you’d intended, he claimed your bottom lip between his teeth, his growls resonating with a furious energy that matched the fervent tempo of your bodies. Your response was instinctual, a desperate squirming under his touch, your nails finding purchase in the supple flesh of his back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

“That’s it,” Mattheo growled, the pace of his fingers increasing as he sensed your impending climax. “You want to cum for me, don’t you, little slut…you might hate me but this little pussy will always fucking crave my touch…”

"Gods, you're bloody insufferable," you managed to gasp, your words tinged with exasperation. Yet, your body betrayed your irritation, responding to his expert ministrations despite your verbal defiance. "Always so fucking smug."

“Yeah?” Mattheo’s chuckle resonated through the charged atmosphere, a dark, smoldering sound that sent shivers down your spine while his fingers remained relentless in their pursuit, pushing you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. “And yet here you are, about to let me fuck you against the bathroom wall…”

“Oh-fuck…Mattheo…” in the face of his undeniable truth, your snarky retorts faded into nothingness, overpowered by the overwhelming force of desire that gripped you. “Fuck…fuck-y-you…”

Mattheo’s touch was a symphony of urgency, his free hand exploring every inch of your skin as if he sought to possess all of you at once. His mouth captured yours in a fierce, devouring kiss, leaving you breathless and gasping for air, refusing to allow you to pull away, to separate from him for even a second. With hardly two more quickly swirls over your clit, he forced you over the edge, your climax rippling through your body, your moans caught by Mattheo’s mouth as he continued to work his lips over yours, groaning in response to feeling your body break for him.

As your pleasure peaked and began to ebb away, Mattheo’s own desire surged to the forefront. With a low growl emanating from his chest, he withdrew his fingers from your slick heat and then forced them relentlessly into your mouth, pressing them past your lips and deep into your throat. He spun you around with urgency, thrusting you against the wall as his free hand worked to free his pulsing erection. It was an exhibition of pure dominance, a physical manifestation of his unapologetic hunger.

Pumping his fist furiously over his length, he thrust his fingers further into your mouth, eliciting moans of both pleasure and pain as you gagged on them. Without hesitation, he aligned himself with your core and slammed into you with all his might, driving himself deep inside you with a violence that left you shaking and screaming out against his fingers. Every inch of him stretched and filled you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head, you fingers digging into the wall as fought to steady your breathing.

And as he began to pound into you, fucking you like you deserved the pain, you could almost feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep satisfying heat that left you gasping for more.

"Shit, you're such a fucking bitch," Mattheo cursed between gasping breaths, pulling his fingers from your mouth and gripping your jaw as his free hand dug into your hip. "But fuck, this tight little pussy is perfect for my fucking cock, isn't it?"

"Ah-fuck…you know," you spat out, rolling your eyes as his fingers dug into your skin. "…I hate that you're so fucking good at this."

Mattheo sneered cockily, the sound echoing off the tiles of the bathroom, mingling with the rhythm of slapping skin and breathless moans. "Fuck, Raven…you’re a pain in the fucking ass, but at least you know how to take a good fucking..."

“Oh-fuck…barely…” you retorted, wincing as your body shuddered from his deep thrusts, Mattheo’s grip on your jaw tightening, his pace entirely animalistic. “Why do you have to be so fucking big? You--ah--you’re going to fucking break me…”

Mattheo’s eyes flashed dangerously at your words, and he pushed harder, deeper inside you. "That's fucking right…I told you I’d be the ruin of you Raven…” he growled, his voice torn with pleasure. “You fucking love it when I fuck you like this, don't you? You love the way it feels when I'm balls deep inside this tight little cunt…”

"Mmm…you're such an asshole," you groaned, your vision blurring and your lungs reaching for air. "But-fuck-I…I guess you have your uses..."

Mattheo’s grip on your body was unrelenting as he pounded into you with a ferocity that took your breath away. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving imprints that burned with the heat of your pleasure. His sneer only made you all the more aroused, the way he spoke to you with such condescension ignited a fire deep within you that you wished you could fucking ignore. With each thrust, your body jolted with sensation, building up until you were practically vibrating with need.

"Oh, yeah?" he spat back, sweat glistening on his forehead as he pressed you harder into the wall. "Well, I guess you're not completely useless either…you do a perfect fuckin’ job at being my dumb little slut…”

“Oh, fuck-Gods…you’re-…” you gasped out, feeling Mattheo’s fingers graze over your hip and descend towards your core. As his skilled digits made contact with your clit, your body jolted with pleasure, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. His touch was quick and frantic, tracing tight circles over your clit that felt like they were set to push you to the brink of madness. “You’re such an asshole…”

Your pussy clamped down around his length in response to his ministrations. Your mind was awash in a sea of sensation, each touch and thrust sending waves of rapture coursing through your body. Mattheo only smirked, his lips finding your neck as he continued to pound into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

"You love it," Mattheo grumbled, burying his face in your hair as he thrust into you again and again. “You fucking love it…”

"Do not," you protested weakly, your voice cracking with pleasure as you felt your orgasm building inside you at a dangerously fast rate. “I-I…oh-fuck-fuck…”

Despite your bravado, you found yourself getting swept up in the raw intensity of your love-hate situationship, feelings of bliss and fury intermingling as Mattheo continued to pound into you, his fingers working your clit with experienced precision. You couldn't help but think how strange it was--that this same person who drove you so insane could also be the one who pushed you over the edge on the complete other side of the spectrum, all with his cock and fingers.

“Yeah…yeah that’s right…” Mattheo’s breaths were hot and ragged against the back of your neck as he pounded into you mercilessly, overwhelming you with the sheer force of his carnal need. “You’re going to cum on my fucking cock, princess…it’s inevitable, just let it happen…”

As Mattheo’s breaths scorched your neck, his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the orgasm edging closer. You snarled back at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "oh, Gods--fuck…let me just fuel that f-fucking ego of yours some more…”

But even as your walls tightened around him, you knew it was true. Your body was building to climax, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. All pretense of control and decorum had been lost, replaced instead with raw, unfiltered lust. You were nothing but a vehicle for his pleasure, a way for him to sate his burning desire, but he was that exact thing for you as well.

Even while the two of you were pulsing with anger at each other, he couldn’t resist the urge to give you the most pleasure out of this possible, reducing you to a mere pile of putty at his feet.

And you couldn’t hold off any longer. “Fuck-Mattheo!”

Your walls clenched around his cock, waves of pleasure washing over you, threatening to drown you entirely as Mattheo’s fingers swirled furiously against your clit, his free hand leaving your jaw and clamping over your mouth to muffle your screams as you shattered against his cock, your pussy milking him for every last ounce of ecstasy possible. Mattheo seemed to fucking love this, letting out a deep, predatory growl as he continued to fuck you through your high.

His fingers never stopped their assault on your clit, working you relentlessly as he thrust deeper and harder. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear.

“There we go…let it all out, baby…” his words sent shivers down your spine as your orgasm continued to pulse through your body, making it hard to think or or breathe or speak. “…you were made for this fucking cock, no one compares to you…”

His words sparked heat in your veins, gasping for breath beneath his palm as he finally pulled his fingers from your clit, bringing them up to your chest, groping your tits as he continued slamming into you, his pace erratic, his hips sputtering as he veered closer to his high, holding you firm to his chest, fingers digging into your cheek with intense possession.

“Mm…fucking hell…” Mattheo growled, the sound of his groan reverberating through your entire body as he breathed it directly against your ear, the words torn with lust. “I knew you’d be a good fuck but I didn’t know you’d be this fucking good…shit-“

Mattheo’s hips stalled for a moment as he let out a low, guttural groan--finally reaching his own aggressive climax. The sensation of him filling you up set off another wave of pleasure, and you moaned softly under his palm, your walls involuntarily clenching around him as he pumped you full of his release, his muscles contracting and breath sputtering against your neck as he finished.

For a moment, Mattheo remained there, his cock buried inside you, his hold on you still tight and unyielding as you both worked to catch your breath, his hand slowly sliding away from your mouth and travelling down to cup your jaw, directing your head to the side to meet his lips, capturing you in a feather soft kiss.

“You can tell me all your secrets Raven…I promise they’re safe with me…” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a soft breeze carrying the weight of his sincerity. “…but you won’t get anything out of me...it’d be wise if you stopped trying.”

The impact of his words hit you like a heavy blow, settling in your chest like a fifty-pound brick. Gathering your strength, you steadied your breathing as he finally released his grip, pulling away from you. Frustration etched across your features as you spun around to face him, your brows knitting in impending irritation as you watched him deftly fasten his belt, the metallic click echoing in the charged silence of the room. With a swift gesture, he reached for your shirts, discarded on the floor, and passed you yours with a stoic glance.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice laced with vulnerability, almost scared of his answer. “Why do you insist on being so fucking guarded…so fucking cold? You know this mentorship is literally all about working through your issues, right?”

“You said you wanted me, Raven…” his voice was low, almost a whisper, and he didn’t dare to look at you.

Your confusion grew, the anxiety pooling in your chest grew too. “I-I do…”

“Then take what you fucking get.” He snapped, his head whipping toward you, anger rekindling in his dark eyes. “You’re already in my head…I can’t let you get any fucking further…”

Your lungs stalled, your breath hitched. You could hardly blink. “Mattheo-“

“No--see, this is your fucking problem, Raven, you just don’t know when to fucking stop…” he hissed, the fury evident in his every word. He snatched his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder in one swift motion before closing the distance between you. In just two determined strides, he bridged the gap. “You’re just like my fucking brother…you have to excel at everything, fix everything, everything needs to be fucking perfect for you…

You braced yourself, shoulders tense with anticipation, acknowledging the anguish etched across his face. It was a silent plea urging you to put aside any disputes. This was a time for quiet surrender, a moment demanding your undivided attention.

“You know yourself that monsters are fucking created, Raven. They’re made…” his words dripped with disdain as he spat them out, his gaze piercing into yours, dissecting your reaction. “I’m not guarded, I’m not fucking cold…I’m a fucking result…”

Behind his eyes, you could almost hear the gears turning, processing the impact of his words on you. A deliberate, slow breath escaped his lips, carrying the weight of his frustration and disappointment. He took a deliberate step back, his head shaking in a mixture of disbelief and resignation, as if acknowledging the futility of the situation between you.

“I’m not sure what you except from all of this…but you know yourself, just as I do, that this fucking thing between us is nothing other than a goddamn dead end…over the second that graduation rolls around…” he raked a hand through his hair, his eyes briefly flickering towards the door. “Let’s not make the inevitable hurt any fucking more than it has to, yeah?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the air around you suddenly suffocating. Deep down, you acknowledged the truth in his words, but hearing him say it out loud felt like a punch to the gut, the pain far more intense than you had anticipated.

“Right, no…you’re totally right, Mattheo,” you forced the words out, swallowing the hurt that threatened to consume you, your hand reaching for your bag. “I…it just feels incredibly unfair to me, that your veins are full of ice water, while mine are fucking boiling…”

Mattheo locked eyes with you from his position by the door, the emptiness in his gaze almost tangible from across the room. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders, mustering the strength to approach him.

“I know you’ve done bad things…I don’t judge you for them, I’m not perfect either…but I am not your fucking brother, and I am not against you…” you said, the words slipping past your teeth before you could even think to stop them. “Sure, you’re an asshole--and sure, perhaps it’s warranted, considering you’ve clearly been through some shit..but your worst sin yet, is that you are destroying your chance at finding peace, for nothing…”

The weight of your words hung in the air, palpable and charged.

“If you don’t want to help yourself, then fine…I won’t push you,” you whispered. “But you’re stuck with me for three weeks. Wether you enjoy my continual presence next to you, or not.”

With a resolute resolve, you pushed past him, the echo of your footsteps fading into the silence, leaving him alone to grapple with the truth you had laid bare.

————————-

Chapter 22->

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pheonixgrave · 9 months

Text

Ignore It (18+)

This is really my first time posting a story to here, I usually only do it to AO3, but this is what I made this account for. Might as well start using it?

WARNINGS: Heavy smut, corruption kink, mild blood kink? (not sure about that one) Fem Tav, hetero relationship, stress fucking, not beta'd, angst, use of cunt

Smut blow the cut, please enjoy!!

Trekking through the wilderness was exhausting as is. But the bickering? That was starting to drive Tav crazy. Vampire this. Shar that. Eating magic this. Demons that. It was always something else. No matter what she did, they were always at each other’s throats. Oh the irony in that. Maybe the Illithid worm wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe this, the arguing, was the worst thing to happen to her. If she had to hear any Githyanki phrases in the next thirty minutes, she might kill Lae’zel herself. Tav was at her wits end, ready to beat her head against the nearest tree just to see if that got rid of the tadpole. It would be a win-win if it also got everyone else to shut up.

They didn’t even let up at camp. Sure, they all had their respective tents and spaces. But the glaring. Oh, the glaring! Not a moment of peace before bed. She sat near her bedroll, closer to the fire Gale had set up. A tankard in hand, her back to the more vocal members of the party. She could practically hear Lae’zel glaring at Astarion. And Shadowheart wasn't exactly quiet about her distaste for him either. It’s not like there was an Infernal being less than ten yards away from him. Or a Warlock just across the flames.

She very quickly downed the rest of her drink before tossing the tankard near the flames. Curling up in her bedroll, she tried to block out all of the noise and barbed words. It was currently taking everything in her to not scream at her first three companions. They had all been through something insane and deadly. Why could they not have it in them to simply get along? It felt impossible.

Fortunately, her sour mood was noticed by her party. Not that she’d realize it at the moment. The biggest point of contention, Astarion, managed to get the courage to walk up to their fearless, albeit grumpy, leader. He nudged her with his foot. Which he immediately realized was a bad decision. Taz shot up to meet his eyes in the blink of an eye. “What do you want?”

The bite in her voice was unmistakable. But he knew how to handle it. “I want-”

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off. She never cut him off. She was more than happy to let him talk at her sometimes. The final glare she gave him was intense as she stalked towards the lake, away from everybody else. Astarion watched her walk away. Did he only watch to see her hips sway? Absolutely. But that didn’t change the fact that the Bard needed to relax. He smiled to himself before following her. “Didn’t I say don’t bother? I’m not in the mood to be your midnight snack tonight.”

He didn’t fail to match her step. “Why darling! Do you truly think so little of me?” He pouted.

Tav just sighed, “Take your antics somewhere else for now, Astarion.”

“Will you just sit down?” He pushed on her shoulders, forcing her down.

Much to the rest of the party's dismay, she did trust the vampire. Whether that would lead her to her own doom was yet to be seen.

Her knees crumbled under the pressure as she fell on the ground. She shot another glare in his direction but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from his plan.

“You’ve been far too stressed today, darling.” He purred in her ear, his hands never leaving her shoulders.

“Astarion?” He continued to move her body until she was on her stomach.

“Shhh, do you trust me?” Gods, that man was always far too much for Tav.

“Should I?”

He chuckled as he readjusted himself so he was sitting on the back of her thighs, straddling her. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not immediately rub her ass. Gods, it always looked so perfect when she walked. He took a deep breath before applying pressure between her shoulder blades. He felt her body tense before slowly relaxing.

It wasn’t what she expected. Was he giving her a massage? His hands worked slowly from the base of her neck to her waist. And-oh? Did she just moan?

“It’s alright, my dear, I love hearing you.” He smirked before continuing his work. He continued like that for a few moments, just enjoying the little sounds she was making. “Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

She pushed him off her, rolling on her back and sitting up. “So that’s what this was? Just an excuse to get me naked?” That fire was coming back.

“Darling, if I was trying to get into your pants, I’d try flattering you more first. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get this right over your clothes.” He sat next to her, staring out at the water, just watching the water crash against the coast. “I was taught how to do this a long, long time ago.”

She stared at the rogue before swallowing. The tips of her ears and the back of her neck were flushed. But she did trust him. He would say if this was untoward. Right? With a shaky breath, she sighed but said “Alright.”

Astarion watched her shaky hands start to untie the little knots holding her bustier. His mouth started to water, but he had patience. As she shrugged the last of her tunic off, she covered her chest and turned the other way. He did manage to lay down her tunic so she wasn’t just laying on the dirt anymore. She laid herself in front of him. He could feel how shaky her breath still was as he climbed on top of her once more.

He resumed his previous work, addressing the knots in her lower back. The elf’s skin was so soft, so warm. He found himself just getting lost in the feeling of someone trusting him. It was a strange feeling but a welcome one.

Tav, on the other hand, was getting lost in his touch. His cold hands worked their way up her back and she liked it far more than she thought she would. What started off as little moans slowly became louder. It didn’t help that he was an expert with his hands. And her mind started to trail off to things that were unbecoming of a lady.

But Astarion could feel her thighs clench. No matter how she tried to move without him noticing too much. Gods, he could almost smell her arousal. Over 200 years old and here he was, still trying to keep himself from getting hard. But then she moaned his name. And what little restraint he had disappeared. He put his hands near her head before leaning down towards her ear. “This wasn’t an excuse to see you naked but you are making it very hard to not act on my…baser impulses, my dear.” He felt the shiver go down her spine.

“Astarion,” she moaned again before grinding back on him. And she got what she wanted when he flipped her on her back without moving from his spot. And there she was, laid out in front of a vampire spawn with her chest bare. She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure how to go from there. But him? He had far more experience than most. He moved faster than she thought. He captured her lips as he slotted himself between her thighs. And just like that, his hands were everywhere.

It was like he couldn’t decide where he liked them best. Her throat? Her breasts? Her hips so he could grind against her? He just couldn’t decide. And she tried so hard to keep herself quiet. But then he moved his lips down her neck, his fangs brushing over the still healing marks from the night before. He thought about feeding for a moment, but something far more filling had his attention right now. He moved until he had her nipple in his mouth. Flicking the nub with his tongue, his hand went to massage the other one. He wasn’t gentle. No one that knew Astarion for who he was thought he was a gentle man. It was rough but Tav didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, Tav seemed to love it. Her back arched into him. “Astarion!” And then her hands were on his shoulders, urging him downwards.

And he didn’t want to fight it. He kept moving, biting and nipping at her stomach. And then he got to her trousers. He sat up, panting and looking wild. His fangs were bared and he was panting hard. He threw her legs on his shoulders, tossing her loafers somewhere behind him. And then he went to work on the knots holding her trousers up. Which he made very quick work of. He shimmied them off her, making sure to keep her underwear on for a moment. He stripped off his shirt before returning to her mouth.

He needed her.

“Astarion, please, touch me.”

He was quick to snake his hand towards her cunt. And even quicker to find the spot that made her gasp into his mouth. Gods, he could do this forever. He made his way back to her neck, lapping over those same marks. Her hand tangled itself into his hair and the other gripped his shoulder with far more strength than he expected. His cold hands were a sharp contrast to the warmth of her. Her head was thrown back against the ground as she gasped for air. She was shaking.

It was already so much for her. She had been so pent up and so angry. But the way he worked her clit? It was a way no one ever had before. Not even herself. In fact, no one had ever touched her like this before. Nothing past shy kisses or heady glances. If she had known, maybe she would have lived her life a little differently.

But once her back arched and she cried out his name? She clenched around nothing. She felt so empty now and he hadn’t even gotten close yet. He chuckled as best he could, “Already, darling?” he muttered against her neck.

“I-” she gasped once he slid a finger inside her. “Astarion,” his name rolled off her tongue and he swore he wouldn’t mind hearing her do this forever. He could still feel her cunt clench around his fingers and he groaned. He couldn’t wait much longer but she was enjoying herself. “I’ve never-” he curled his finger before adding a second one.

“You’ve never felt this good before?”

“Done this before,” she managed to gasp out before he curled his fingers again.

His hands stalled for a moment and she whined. “I’m to be your first?” She nodded, wriggling her hips, trying to will him to move again. “My dear, why didn’t you say anything?” He removed his fingers and she cried out. “Shhh, I have to make a good first impression, don’t I?”

He practically ripped her underwear off. She was a virgin. He couldn’t lie that it made him even harder to think about being the only one who got to touch her. But he had to take care of her if he wanted to be the only one.

He buried his face in her cunt, holding her thighs open with his hands. Tav covered her mouth to hide her cries of his name. But it was his name on her lips. His fingers going right back inside her, where they belonged. His lips on her clit. He groaned again when she came, this time right on his face and hands. He lapped at her for a moment longer and started pistoning his fingers in and out. He couldn’t help but watch her cum make a mess of his fingers.

“Astarion!” She cried as she came on his fingers yet again. “Please!”

“Please what, my dear?” He wiped her juices off his chin before closing the distance between them. His lips hovered over hers, those red eyes glazed over with a hunger. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him, all too happy to offer herself to him. She bared her neck. And dive he did. His fangs pierced her neck once again as he drank. He knew better than to drink more than his share but he wanted nothing more than to keep drinking as she wrapped her bare legs around his waist and rubbed her cunt against the fabric of his trousers. He released her neck and practically shredded what was left of his clothing.

He leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight. This elf, a noble from Waterdeep, was laid out before him. Freckles dotting her skin and her blonde hair spread out like a halo before him. It would be angelic if not for the blood slowly trickling out of her neck. “Astarion,” she whispered. Her voice was full of something he couldn’t quite place. Something he had pushed aside a long time ago.

All he could do was nod before he lined himself up to her. As he slowly slid in, he swore that this was the closest he could get to heaven.

Astarion wasn’t small. Tav could feel his cock stretching her cunt out. Why did no one ever tell her it could feel like this? She gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him once more. She sighed as he finally finished. “Gods above, you’re amazing.” She whispered, almost too afraid to say it. Too afraid to say the other things on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes traveled down his body to where they were connected before looking back up at him.

“Shit,” he panted, withholding every emotion that came flooding through him. Instead, he snaked a hand underneath her thigh, lifting it up before he began to thrust.

She thought just having her inside him felt amazing. But this angle had her barely able to breath. She threw her head back and arched into his body. It was all she could do to hold on to him as he upped his pace. Tav could barely gasp out his name as she tried to look at him. His eyes were shut and his hair was more than perfectly tousled. “Beautiful,” was all she could get out before she tightened around his cock.

“Shit!” He followed closely behind her, seemingly unexpectedly. They laid there for a moment, just feeling each other before he slipped out of her. She cried, a palpable sense of emptiness. He watched her breath for a few moments longer, secretly enjoying his cum starting to drip out of her cunt. Normally, he’d leave. He’d get up, put his clothes back together and leave. But Tav? Something told him he couldn’t. So he grabbed his tunic and wrapped her in it before carrying her to the water.

He tried not to notice her nuzzling his neck. He tried to ignore the praises she said. He tried desperately to ignore the draw she had on him. He tried to ignore her moan as he set her in the shallow water, gently taking his tunic off her shoulders. Instead, he sat next to her and let the water wash away the previous activities.

#Astarion #baulders gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion smut #fem!Tav #god help me #this speaks for itself

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

Text

Special friends – Chapter 3

adult Neteyam x female omaticaya reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: You just look so pretty when you sleep.

Warnings: explicit smut, friends with benefits, heavy corruption kink, innocent / virgin reader, manipulative behavior, somnophilia, body worship, cum play, thigh job, mild dub/con (because there’s somnophilia duh)

It’s four in the morning.

Neteyam had learned how to tell the time from his father at an early age.

The Na'vi loosely determine the time solely by the rising and setting of the sun, as well as the beginning and end of the eclipse. It was morning when the sun rises, evening at the beginning of the eclipse and so on… It wasn’t very specific.

Of course it was hard to tell the exact time without the use of the sky peoples technology, but his father had taught him the approximate reading of the time based on the exact position of the sun and the moon. And right now, it was probably four in the morning. Maybe five, but that didn’t really matter.

What mattered was, that it was about two hours until sunrise and Neteyam was wide awake, tossing and turning in his hammock and unable to doze back into dreamland, how he so desperately wanted to. Back to the false reality he was so abruptly woken up from, by himself. Where he was with you, touching and kissing and licking and finally filling you up to the brim, stretching you wide on his cock and—

Why did he have to wake up now?

He felt betrayed by his own body.

It was four in the morning and he knew that he should probably go back to sleep– he really wanted to. But he just couldn’t. Not anymore. Not like this.

Neteyam couldn’t ignore how hard he was, flashes of his dream coming back to him in pieces and leaving him hissing as he snakes a hand down under his loincloth to palm at his cock and mutter a quiet curse.

He could definitely take care of this on his own. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just jerk himself off, his minds eye providing him with dirty little images that should be enough to finish quickly and then go right back to sleep, hoping he would dream about you some more.

He knew that’s what he should’ve done.

But his mind is still working on half speed, riddled with sleep and want, the arousal taking precedent over any logic and sense and throwing all caution to the wind. It felt like he was still dreaming when Neteyam found himself at the door to your marui at around four thirty in the morning, his body moving like it had a mind on its own.

When he steps inside, his nostrils flare at the sweet scent of you. You always smelled so nice, he remarked. His sweet little peach. Sweet to touch, taste and smell. He wanted to devour you right then and there.

You were sleeping, obviously. Blissfully unaware of the presence of your best friend in your home.

Neteyam smiled, moving quietly to settle down next to you and brushing a strand of stray hair behind your ear. He knew he should let you sleep. You’ve always been a little late sleepers and it was still so early, not even the sun was beginning to rise, so it would’ve been cruel of him to wake you up just for this.

But he’s so painfully hard and aching, growing more desperate with each second that he doesn’t do anything to quell the burning arousal within him.

There had to be another way, he thought. Another way of getting his release without having to do it himself. A way of feeling you, getting you to help him out without actually waking you.

Neteyam had been the perfect gentleman all this time, but he wasn't sure how long he could hold himself back. You looked so beautiful like this, laying on your back, your hair splayed around your head. You looked like an angel and part of him wanted to see that pure expression on your sleeping form change into something sinful.

His gaze wanders over your body for a long moment, his eyes feasting on every curve and every inch of skin, knowing it like the map to a treasure that he had studied for his entire life. A hand then reaches out for you again, caressing your cheek. His innocent touch soon turns into something more, curious hands gliding along your shoulder and arm, feeling your sides, your soft hips and waist. He doesn’t hesitate to dip down even lower, playing with the strings of your loincloth, loosening it so it falls off of you ever so slowly, like you were putting on a little show for him and he groans at the sight you unknowingly provide.

You were so wet, he couldn’t believe it, soft folds glistening in the dim light of your room. Naughty little peach. What where you dreaming about that could have you this wet? Or was that just because of his hands on you? Neteyam chuckled to himself at the thought.

He had to chew his lip just to prevent another, even louder groan from escaping when he reached out to continue feeling you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, feeling the little nub twitch right under his finger. It’d be so easy just slip at least one finger into you, with how wet you already were, fill you up so, so nicely…

Neteyams other hand moves further, to massage the squishy flesh of your thighs, feeling your silky soft legs up and down. You were so sleep-warm and pliable, so willing to be manhandled, he thought to himself with a smile.

But then his dream comes to him again.

With a tingling feeling, like lightning up his spine, Neteyam remembers what woke him in the first place. The dream that felt so real, he was sure he would cum in his loincloth at any second. His body was over yours, lips sucking purple hickeys to your neck, while he pressed his cock in and in, filling your tight pussy until there was no space left and you were so wonderfully full of him —your first.

Neteyam lifts his eyes to peer at your sleeping face again, noting your pinched brows and parted lips. He was sure you were still dreaming of something, so deep in your slumber. Breathing deeply, you hadn’t moved or reacted other than a few soft sighs, since Neteyam had started touching you.

All at once, Neteyam feels another flash of heat go through him, when an idea settles in his brain.

Maneuvering your legs, spreading them so he could settle himself between them, might’ve been risky, but he didn’t really have it within him to care. His cock was throbbing with need when he freed it from his restraining loincloth, pumping it with his fist one, two, three times before he moved even closer to you.

He was quick to get into position, desperate, without anyone to tease. Normally, he liked to draw things out with you, liked getting you all worked up and whiny until you were practically begging for him to just do something, but you were so blissfully unaware of any of this right now. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t take it slow.

You nuzzled at your woven sleeping mat and the innocence of your mannerisms and the sight of your cunt made his heart and cock throb all the same.

Neteyam then drapes your legs over his shoulders, your ankles resting against the back of his head while he hugged your legs. He was trying to keep his breathing even as he pushed his hips forward and with that, his hard cock between the soft of your thighs.

"Ohh.. fuuck", Neteyam sighed quietly.

It felt heavenly— the warmth of your skin, soft flesh enveloping his length in the same way a tight pussy would. He could feel your slick covered folds pressed against the underside of his erection, your arousal smearing between your thighs and his cock and oh eywa—

Nothing was ever going to compare, not to you.

Not to your perfect body, as if every part of you was there just to bring him pleasure.

"Fuck, peach", Neteyam breathes out, his voice low and nothing more than a whisper to himself, "You feel so good, I’m- I won’t last. You’re gonna make me cum like this… holy shit."

With an increasing pace, he began to rock his hips back and forth, fucking the space between your legs. To his own delight, you had started to moan quietly in your sleep, as the underside of his cock brushed against your clit over and over again.

At the sound of your first soft moans, his gaze immediately lands on the downright precious scrunch of your face. Brows furrowed, your cheeks now flushed red and bottom lip protruding in a way that almost seemed petulant. You were too fucking cute for your own good, he thought, hoping that your dreams were as sweet as you are.

Neteyams gaze wanders back to the space between your legs, watching how the tip of his cock appears and disappears between them. A short glimpse to your soaking wet pussy has him swallowing back a moan.

Poor thing, he thinks to himself. He seems to have gotten you all worked up. Unable to get what your body was begging for, with the way he was hugging your legs, squeezing them together for his own pleasure. His ears perked at the sweet little whine that trickled out of you when his hips snapped against the underside of your thighs just a little harder.

He was still careful, but there grows a force behind his thrusts, a need desperately restrained because he doesn’t want to wake you up.

Neteyam was gritting his teeth in order not to groan too loud. He could come so easily like that, rocking back and forth, his cock trapped between the plush of your soft thighs, your slickness lubing his length enough to make his movements more fluid. It was perfect, so good. If he closed his eyes for a while, he could imagine you in this exact position, but instead of your thighs, he would fuck your tight little cunt.

Neteyam felt his abs flex at the thought, hips stuttering for a moment because his mind drifts to images of you waking up with him buried deep inside you. He imagines your moans, soft mewls and cries, begging him to make you cum, to fuck you rough and hard, trying to convince him that you could take it, how easily you would cum from his penetration alone– how easily you could make him cum, just from sinking his cock into you.

If your thighs already felt this good, he couldn’t imagine the way your wet, warm and velvety-like walls would feel around him, squeezing him tight and sucking him in. How it would feel like to be the first to stretch you like this, so incredibly tight, you probably couldn’t even take his whole length at first try.

He could feel the last bit of his sanity slipping from his body, his mind going blank as his orgasm approaches at a quick pace. Neteyam watches you the entire time, waiting for signs that you’re waking up, but none of that happens. You were still sound asleep, splayed out before him like some peach flavored desert.

The sound of his cock sliding between your wet thighs was downright obscene and he could practically feel your neglected clit aching for attention, warmth slowly pooling into the pit of his stomach. And with that, he angles his hips to put more force behind his trusts, his length gliding through your folds, the tip of it pressed snugly against your clit, bumping harder against the little nub with every stroke.

Soft mewls turn into moans the harder he fucks your thighs and you begin to squirm in your bed. Neteyams toes curl when he feels your thighs flex and he can’t hold back the deep groan as the pleasure nipped at every sensitive nerve in his body.

Suddenly, and that was purely his own fault and the inability to keep quiet, you begin to stir and squirm. Your hands come up to your face, fists rubbing at your eyes, rubbing away the remaining sleep so you could finally pry them open and figure out what had woken you this early.

"T-Teyam?", a soft voice calls out for him, two big, round, innocent eyes look up and bore right into his soul. Your brows are drawn together, a puzzled look on your face making his heart skip a beat or two.

"Shh, it’s okay peach", Neteyam coos, one of his hands coming to rest on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin and you instantly lean against his palm. "You’re doing amazing, making me feel so good. Just… just keep still for me, yeah? Don’t move, just stay like that."

With half lidded eyes, you nod obediently, your cheeks flushing a darker shade of red than before and Neteyam groans loudly. Now that you were awake, there was no reason for him to hold back. Immediately, the pace of his thrusts increases, rocking you back and forth on your sleeping mat, punching little moans and huffs of breathe out of you.

"S-Say you love me, c‘mon say it", Neteyam pants heavily, a little short of words as he feels the pleasure rise in his body, "Wanna hear it from my favorite girl. You look so pretty like this, you know that? Feeling so good, fuck, oh fuck, yes."

Both of his arms are back to wrap themselves tightly around your legs again and he turn his head slightly to kiss your calf that’s still draped over his shoulder.

"I love you, Teyam", you whine softly, "L-Love you so much." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it loud and clear, his cock throbbing and twitching between your thighs at your honest confession.

"I love you too. So much", he groans, letting his head fall back against his neck and squeezing his eyes closed shut, "M‘gonna cum, peach. Oh great mother, you have no idea how much I just want to– to– f..fuck, nghh, oh shit!"

His body is shaking and trembling with euphoria as his cum splatters along the inside of your thighs, covering your soft stomach up to your navel. Neteyam hears your little gasp of surprise and feels you clench around nothing, slick wetness mixed with cum making the inside of your thighs even more slippery. He lazily thrusts between them just a few more times, until his hips begin to twitch and the overstimulation becomes to much to bare.

Neteyams chest was raising and falling rapidly as he tried to collect himself. He felt incredibly warm and satisfied, his body feeling boneless and flushed with euphoria as he took in the sight of you, while placing your legs back down to the ground. They felt a little numb, all blood rushed to your core at the position they were in the whole time.

"M‘sorry", he finally sighs. But before you can respond, a sheepish grin spreads over his features, fangs poking out between his lips, "Just needed you and you looked so pretty while you were asleep that I really didn’t want to wake you up. But you’re not mad at me, aren’t you? I mean, friends always help each other out, right?"

Neteyam tilts his head to the side, his braids swaying over his shoulder, even more so when he leans down to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You shake your head no, eyes fluttering close for a second to relish into the feeling of his lips against you.

"You’re the best. I love you so much, peach. I really do", he says, kissing the tip of your nose next and you giggle. "I love you too, teyam."

"Hmh I know", Neteyam grins even wider, before he sits back up. "I made quite a mess, huh?" He muses with a soft chuckle, running his hands over your stomach as if he attempted to rub his still warm cum into your skin, like it would soak in and ultimately mark you as his.

Your face heats up, a blush spreading over your cheeks once again as you begin to squirm at the sticky feeling of his hands running all over your naked body. Neteyam chuckles lowly when he realizes, his hands coming to an halt at the soft curve of your hips, where he squeezes the subtle flesh playfully, causing you to laugh softly.

"Let’s get washed up, yes?", Neteyam then smiles warmly at you. "I‘ll help you clean yourself and then we‘ll go and get something to eat for my special girl, how’s that sound?"

Images of you bathing in the river, with his hands all over you, begin to flood his mind on an instant. It was almost comically how fast he could feel his cock hardening again. Looking down on you, your pussy still glistening in arousal, pretty lips all swollen and begging to be touched, he’s reminded that you hadn’t finished. A chuckle rose in his chest by the thought of how needy you would be because of this.

Neteyam raised to his feet and reached a hand out to you, the excitement barely hidden on his face, knowing he was about to start a day that will most likely be filled with many, many begs and please for him to make you feel good and so many more moments of you returning the favor to him, because you really were his special girl.

#avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #atwow neteyam #neteyam x female reader smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x f!reader #neteyam x y/n

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icycoldninja · 1 month

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Don't leave me (Sephiroth x Reader angst)

Summary: Sephiroth's abandonment issues get the better of him in the middle of the night, so he goes to you, seeking comfort.

---‐------------------------------------------------------------‐--------------Sleep was never easy for Sephiroth thanks to the shadows, voices, and eerie bits of music that often plagued his thoughts. His mind, when allowed to wander, was often like a bitter, wintery blizzard, with everything swirling around in one, massive, confusing, mental storm. In order to keep the storm from growing too large, Sephiroth often kept busy throughout the day, focusing his mind on productive, stimulating activities such as exercising, scheming in his office, or tracking down Cloud and his accomplices.

However, at nighttime, when his brain was exhausted and craved sleep, such activities were very difficult to complete, therefore, he turned to more ordinary practices of keeping his mind occupied, which, unsurprisingly, did not work. Math problems were easy for him, as were crossword puzzles, spot the difference games, hidden object puzzles, etc. Sephiroth could work through an entire high-school math textbook in under 2 hours and say it was "child's play". This level of genius was purely astonishing, and also maddening, as his troubled thoughts, of which there were plenty, were also very disruptive.

Sighing, the man rolled over in his bed and draped his heavy, fluffy wing over his face like most humans would with a pillow. Why couldn't he sleep?! What would it take for his goddamn brain to shut off and let him rest already?! He was so tired, he could feel his eyeballs ache, but he just couldn't rest. Why?

The swirling storm in Sephiroth's head raged on; he closed his eyes and gripped his pillow tightly, trying desperately to remember what falling asleep felt like so he could ascertain whether or not he was making progress.

Several more minutes passed, and Sephiroth felt his brain fog over. He relaxed completely, willing his consciousness to slip into darkness and finally, finally, allow him to rest. He expected to plunge into fuzzy nothingness, but was instead met with a cold, dark, empty void.

All around him, he could hear laughter. Deranged laughter; laughter he'd heard almost all day of every day during his childhood. How he hated that laugh. Sephiroth turned around, only to find that same man standing before him in the familiar, pristine lab coat that he knew so well.

Hojo.

He was glad he couldn't speak; to utter his name aloud would have stained and corrupted his tongue. He glared at the man with contempt, wishing he would just leave already. He'd seen enough of that cruel bastard, he didn't need to see any more. Hojo smiled at him, his thin lips twisting into a devious smirk. Looking at it made Sephiroth's blood boil. Where was Masamune? Now would be a perfect time to use it.

Hojo's smile slowly faded, his expression turning from evil glee to disgust. He was regarding Sephiroth with disgust. How dare he?! Sephiroth watched as he turned around and walked away, shaking his head. Good riddance, he thought. He never wanted to look at scum like Hojo anyway. Turning around once again, Sephiroth came face to face with a being he never expected to see in a place like this. His own, beloved mother: Jenova.

Now Sephiroth was beginning to wish he could speak. He wanted to tell his mother how glad he was to see her here, how much he loved her, how thankful he was to her for his mere existence. He tried to reach out to touch her, but she recoiled, frowning in repulsion. What was wrong? What did he do to make her feel this way? Sephiroth was at a complete loss; all he ever did was for his mother, so why wasn't she embracing him? Why....why didn't she love him?

Panicking slightly, Sephiroth extended his hands in her direction once again, but Jenova stepped back. Shaking her head at him, just as Hojo had done, the entity whom Sephiroth had dedicated nearly everything he did to turned her back on him.

Now he was scared. The darkness was more than just that; it was an all-consuming maw mace of his own twisted, fearful thoughts. He didn't want this; he hated being alone like this. Why did everyone leave? What did he do wrong?

The stormy void closed in around Sephiroth, surrounding him in a cloud of fear. He didn't like this, he didn't want to sleep anymore, he wanted to wake up!

And he did, springing upright in a cold sweat, panting heavily. His wing flapped loudly against the bed, shedding feathers everywhere. He looked around and saw he was the only person in the room, this notion terrifying him even further. In a fit of frenzied hysteria, Sephiroth flung the covers aside and stumbled out of his room, not caring that he was bashing various body parts against the door trim. He ended up in the living room, where you were still awake, working on the couch. As soon as he appeared in the darkened room, you stopped what you were doing and turned to him, confused. His legs, clad only in pajama shorts, were visibly and violently trembling; an unusual occurrence.

"Seph?" You asked, standing up and walking towards him. "Are you alright?" He shook his head, nearly collapsing into your arms. You cradled him for a while, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, waiting patiently to see if he would explain the reasons for his distress. After a few moments, he began to sob.

"Don't leave me," He croaked, clinging onto you tightly. "Don't leave me too...." You sighed softly, before taking hid head into your hands and kissing him.

"I'm not leaving you, ever," You told him, running your hands through his long, silky locks. "I'm gonna be here forever. Don't be afraid." Sephiroth nodded, then sniffled and wiped his tears away. "Come on," You said, taking him by the hand and leading him back to his bedroom. "I'll stay with you tonight."

Needless to say, Sephiroth fell asleep easier than ever that night; the comfort of your presence, and the knowledge that you would never leave him lulling him into peaceful slumber.

#Ffvii #Ff7 #Final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #Sephiroth #Fvii sephiroth #Ff7 sephiroth #Final fantasy 7 sephiroth #final fantasy vii sephiroth #Sephiroth x reader #Fvii sephiroth x reader #Fanfic #Angst #abandoment issues #Sephiroth x reader angst #Angst fanfic #icycoldninja writes

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explorevenus · 1 year

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something permanent ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors pls dni i will scream

this is a dark fic for a multitude of reasons. if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, noncon, forced breeding, body horror, gore, & blood

in other words-- DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

ahem. now that that’s over.

word count - 4.4k

description - nothing in leon’s life was ever permanent and his life circumstances made sure of that. over the years he was beaten down from a bright-eyed rookie police officer to a weary and angry shell of his former self. when a chance meeting brought you into his life, he knew what he had to do. he knew you had to be something permanent.

tags/warnings - yandere!leon, dark!leon, leon being patronizing and condescending and sickly sweet, fem/afab!reader, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, pet names (doll, sweetheart, princess, baby, puppy, etc.), noncon, forced breeding, housewife kink, body horror (spoiler alert he rips your IUD out with his bare hands), slight gore, blood, noncon, stockholm syndrome if u squint, dollification if u squint, descriptions of vomiting, no use of (Y/N)

a/n - ok i genuinely don’t know if anyone even wants this but i personally find it egregious how little yandere!leon content exists out there in this world because listen. i know a lot of people consider leon submissive and breedable but personally i believe this broken angry man just wants a sweet little thing to dote on and take care of to make him forget about the horrors of his life and he will stop at nothing to make that happen ♡ anyways. enjoy. and if it’s not ur cup of tea idc keep scrolling :^)

p.s. this is obviously a very canon-deviant, borderline crack fic so it’s not really established which leon this is outside of referring to the events of re2 being a long time ago, so go wild with your interpretation of that to read this as whichever leon is ur favorite ♡ i personally like to imagine post-re4 or infinite darkness leon !! ;w;

read part 2 here !! ♡

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ♡

-venus ♡

You were slow to wake, which wasn't particularly unusual... as of late, but your body felt so heavy, like your muscles had dissolved into mush overnight. Consciousness gradually took its hold of you, and as it did, you began to realize that something seemed off. Different. Wrong, even. You peeked your eyes open, vision blurry with sleep, but you could see you were beneath your pink comforter, a plush of yours held closely to your chest, all normal so far...

But your walls aren't navy blue, they're white... They're supposed to be white--

You jolted wide awake, panic coursing through your weak body as you struggled to even sit up. That's when you noticed an unfamiliar, muscular arm draped over your waist, and that dialed up your anxiety about tenfold. It was hard to move, but you were able to turn your head enough to catch a look at the man it belonged to.

Strong, blond, maybe a bit tired in the eyes... maybe a bit familiar looking... but you were crying now, blurring your sight all over again.

"Shh, shh... you're okay, sweetheart, you're safe now," He hushed, holding you closely to him as you struggled. Smooching the top of your head, he spoke into your messy hair, "I've got you. I've got you, princess."

But... how? The last thing you remembered was tucking into your own bed, in your own apartment, and falling asleep there, how could you have possibly wound up in a stranger's bed with zero recollection of ever leaving yours? Your head spun as you tried and failed to fend off the unwanted affection with weak arms. His hold on you didn't dare budge as he continued to coo softly into your ear, to reassure you that you were safe, that he wouldn't let anyone, or anything, hurt you.

The anxiety stewing within you finally reached a tipping point, twisting your stomach into tight knots, and that's when you spoke your first words since you'd awoken. "I-I'm gonna throw up," You wept, clawing weakly at the covers and, well, at him, for freedom.

Thankfully he was quick to act, scooping you into his arms as he sat up and rose from the bed, carrying you to the adjoined bathroom. When he turned the light on, you managed to get a better look at his face as you passed by the mirror, and it took you a second to recognize him, partly due to your state of delirium, but primarily because you only knew him very vaguely. You had only met him once at work many months ago, when he'd sparked up a conversation with you as you made him his coffee. After that, he became a regular at the café you worked at-- you remembered his name was Leon.

So why were you waking up in his bed, with your belongings lying around like you'd lived here the whole time?

Your knees hit the tile and you began retching immediately, flinching as he reached forward to collect your hair away from your face. Puking on an empty stomach is never a fun time, but your nerves were alight with panic and every time you reminded yourself of your predicament, a new wave of nausea would crash over you. He rubbed your back sweetly, but it didn't help.

Once the vomiting eventually subsided, an awful, hollow pain took place of it. Your thoughts were running at a thousand miles per hour. You didn't have the time to acknowledge it, let alone nurse it, outside of clutching your shirt at the waist.

"Let me get you some water, babe," Leon said as he hesitantly stood from your side, eyeing you worriedly like you'd just fall to pieces if he let you out of his sight. "You poor thing..."

But all you could think about was getting out of here. "N-No, no, what time is it? I have to get to work--"

"I don't think so, sweetheart," He interrupted. "You're sick, you should be in bed."

"I'm fine," Much to the protest of your jellied legs, you pushed yourself up from the floor and fought through the head rush in an attempt to slip past him, but he simply caught you at the waist and brought you to a halt. Your ears were ringing, the room spinning around you, and you still weren't sure how to interpret what was even going on here. "L-Let go of me!" You cried out.

He simply hushed you, holding you tightly to his chest and petting your hair as you writhed, failing miserably to get him off of you. "Don't worry about work, okay? Just rest up and get better. I'll call them for you."

Your stomach sank even further-- what the fuck is happening right now?

Despite your thrashing he managed to lead you back to the bed as gently as one would fine china, scooping you up into his arms so he could lay you down exactly where you'd awoken earlier. Your chest heaved with sobs as you shrank into yourself in an effort to get away from him.

His eyes left you for just a moment as he reached for the covers, no doubt to tuck you in-- in a split second decision, you seized that time to scramble out of his bed and break for the door. Sadly, as perhaps you should have seen coming, he was more than strong and fast enough to catch up to you, even caught off guard. As soon as your shaking hand made contact with the cool metal doorknob, he halted you where you stood with a bruising grip on your bicep.

You cried out, trying in vain to peel yourself away from him, but it was no use.

"Come on, silly baby, you heard me," He tsked, dragging you back toward the bed. "No need to be running off anywhere, especially on a sour stomach."

"P-Please--" You gasped through tears.

"I'm sorry, little one, but that's final," Leon hummed with a patronizing but oddly sweet tone. It was as if he were scolding a temperamental child.

He basically wrestled you back into the bed, enveloping you tightly in his arms as he laid down beside you. You struggled against his grasp, but again, it was absolutely no use. He simply pet your hair and pressed soft kisses along your cheek and jaw, attempting to soothe you with restraint and unwanted affection.

You sucked in a labored breath, hiccupping, "Don't do this to me, please don't do this to me... I-I just wa-wanna go home, jus' wanna go h-home... Leon please--"

"Shh... oh, good heavens. You are home, princess," He mused, brushing away a stream of your hot tears with his thumb. "You'll see. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Nothing in Leon's life was ever permanent.

All he'd ever wanted was the American dream, to serve his community and meet a pretty girl to share his life with, to settle down in a big house with a fenced yard and two or three little Kennedys running around, maybe a dog. What he wouldn't give to come home at the end of a long day to his beautiful wife, belly swollen with his children, preparing dinner in the kitchen while the existing little ones play with their toys in the other room.

He would enter, slipping off his shoes with a relaxed sigh and a "Honey, I'm home!" to which the aforementioned little ones would rush to the door to hug him at his knees. He'd put one up on his shoulders while the other tugged at his hand, turning into the kitchen to give his beautiful wife a kiss. She would ask of his day and he would say it was good, but better now that he's home with her. With his free hand he would cradle her belly and ask "What's for dinner, you two?" to which she would reply "Your favorite," and as he smiled and thanked her with a kiss he would be silently plotting to thank her properly after the kids are asleep by fucking her full of his cum.

That was all he'd ever wanted. But, day after day after god forsaken day, the chance grew slimmer and slimmer until it had shriveled into something molecular. He didn't even get through his first day at the police station before everything went to shit.

Because of this, Leon began to lose himself over the years. He was no longer the bright-eyed rookie officer looking forward to his even brighter future. He was a broken man, worn down to the bone by years of death, plague, losing everyone he'd ever loved in one way or another-- Leon couldn't take the loss anymore. He wanted-- no, needed-- something permanent, something to give him even the slightest taste of that dream he once had.

When he met you, it wasn't even a question anymore. He knew you were the one. One way or another, he would have you.

He couldn't court you in the traditional way, of course-- it was too dangerous for you to be seen with him. After all, everything he'd ever touched had a way of turning to shit. So, it began with following you home after work so he'd know where you lived. Soon after that he would let himself in when you weren't home-- you weren't smart enough not to keep your key under the mat, furthering how sure he felt that you needed him to take care of you-- he would take little things of yours home with him just to have your scent around.

At first it was just little things like near-empty bottles of shampoo and stray pairs of panties from your laundry basket. Then it was sweaters from your closet, chewed gum and used flossers from your trash can. He'd pay close attention to your grocery lists and what you kept in your pantry so he'd know what kind of food you liked.

When you did come home, he would sneak out quietly and watch you through your windows, familiarizing himself with your routine. The first thing you'd do when you came home from a long day of work was kick off your heels and change into something comfortable to do your yoga. After a while, you'd pull yourself up from the pink mat and cook dinner. After you'd eat, you'd relax with a book or a video game for a bit before taking a shower and changing into pajamas. Then, you'd brew yourself a mug of tea and retire to the bedroom for the evening where you'd watch documentaries or put on white noise until you eventually fell asleep.

At 7:00 a.m., you'd wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

All he could think about was what he'd do when he finally had you all to himself. Under his roof, you would never have to work another day in your life. Gone would be the days of pouring coffee and baking pastries for random idiots who treated you like shit. All you would ever have to worry about is being pampered, having your entire day to yourself, waiting for him to come home, spending all the money on his credit cards.

And carrying his children, of course.

So, as he held you tightly in his arms while you sobbed and begged to go back to that tiny apartment, all he could think about now was how to fix this. How to convince you he really loved you, how to make you feel truly at home.

The first few weeks were hard for him. Really, really hard.

You were refusing to eat, laying wide awake at night, swinging rapidly between sobbing, screaming and complete apathy. Sometimes he would come into the bedroom and catch you fiddling with the window, or attempting to circumvent the lock on the door by stuffing the mechanism with tissue. You would hit him, kick at him and spit in his face, even as you grew weaker and weaker with malnourishment, not that you really stood a chance before that anyway.

Still, it was hard to watch you shrink in your clothes. It was hard to see your cheeks hollowing by the day. It was hard to hold back your brittle hair while you'd vomit from the nerves, still trying to fight him off of you. It was hard to watch your body tense every time he entered the room.

Just when he'd began to lose hope, he discovered a neat little tool to help you behave. In some countries it was called "devil's breath." The slightest bit of powder could be sprinkled into your water, or over your food, or even into your clothes-- it absorbs through the skin-- and within minutes it would render you quite pliable. Leon didn't want to drug you, of course-- he liked you better when you were lucid-- but it certainly felt like a good place to start, a helpful tool to train you.

When he'd give you a dose, you would let him coddle you without incident. You would lay limp on his chest while he played with your hair and felt your soft skin beneath your shirt. You would allow him to spoon food or tip water into your mouth. You would let him dress you up like his perfect little dolly. You would blush and whimper and whine, and more importantly, not fight him, while he fucked you full of his cum, just like his dream.

There was just one problem-- after about two months of trying daily, it would seem his seed wasn't taking.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the sound of Leon's footsteps nearing the bedroom door grew louder. You glanced over at the clock-- it was 6:15. He was off work for the evening and you knew what that meant.

The lock clicked quietly before the door creaked open, revealing your captor.

"Honey, I'm home!" He smiled excitedly, approaching the bed with a glass of water in hand.

You knew it was for you. You knew he had done something to it. You also knew you didn't intend to drink it.

"W-Welcome home, daddy," You said in a near whisper, forcing a half-smile. While you had definitely lost the majority of the fight in you, that didn't mean it didn't nauseate you to comply with his wishes. "Did you have a good day?"

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he offered you the glass of water while he replied as he always did, "My day was fine, but it's so much better now that I'm home with you, princess."

You smiled at him like it was the first time he'd ever said it, taking the glass with a shaking hand. You stared at it for a moment before mustering up the courage to say, "D-Daddy, I don't want the medicine anymore. I don't think I need it, and it doesn't make me feel good."

"You don't want your medicine anymore, baby?" He asked, tipping your chin up to look at him. You shook your head, rounding your eyes to convince him that much more. "Well, alright, but you have to promise to behave for me."

Now you were nodding, a little bit too eagerly. It was sort of humiliating. "I promise, daddy, I'll behave! I don't want the medicine anymore. I promise I'll be good."

With a proud grin he took the glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "That's what I like to hear, babydoll. You know, good little girls get rewarded..." His large hand spread over your thigh, inching up toward the hem of your baggy shirt.

You stiffened, but didn't push him away. He smirked, dipping his head down to kiss at your neck, large hand sliding up your shirt until he nudged it up enough to pull it off. You were bare for him now, save for panties, and given your experience with him you knew it wouldn't be long until those were discarded somewhere across the room. With a gentle hand at your shoulder he pushed you onto your back, your legs hanging off the side of the bed, and you were curious where he was going with that until he sank to his knees in front of you and began pulling your panties down.

Your eyes screwed shut, thankful that he couldn't see your face as he spread your thighs and greeted your cunt with a slow lick up the length of you. You gripped the sheets with white knuckles, pretty much holding your breath to keep yourself from kicking him away from you. His fingertips buried into the plush skin of your thighs to hold you apart as he began to eat you out more passionately, suckling your clit up into his mouth and lapping at your hole like he was starving.

If there was one thing you would give him credit for, it would be his skilled tongue. Perhaps he was crazy and obsessed, but he certainly knew how to translate that obsession into something that benefitted you both. You wouldn't have succumbed to it so willingly if he weren't at least good at it.

Still, it was hard to feel any enthusiasm. His attention might have felt good physically, but it certainly didn't feel good mentally.

You flinched when you felt a fingertip prodding at your cunt. He pulled away just far enough to tsk, "Relax and let me make you feel good, puppy. You said you would behave for me."

"Y-Yes, daddy," You muttered, continuing to clutch the sheets as you tried to control your breathing.

His thick index finger sank into you down to the knuckle, almost immediately curling up to brush against the spongy spot within you that made you see stars. As much as you tried to fight it you gasped, quickly bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, but the sound you'd made hadn't slipped past Leon. You felt him smirk against your skin as he pressed sloppy kisses to your thigh, reaching up with his free hand to force yours away from your face.

"Don't be shy, princess," He spoke against the inside of your thigh, trailing kisses up to your clit. "I want to hear just how good it feels."

You whimpered, hips squirming into his affection, and he chuckled approvingly, bringing his mouth back to you fully to continue eating you out while he fucked his finger into you. Soon after his index finger was joined by his middle, and you keened as he reached more deeply into you than he possibly ever had.

He pumped his fingers in and out for a moment, alternating between lapping at your cunt and kissing your thighs, and just as the coil inside began to tighten he suddenly... stopped?

You waited for a second, catching your breath, expecting him to continue any minute. But he didn't. Instead, he took on a tone that froze your blood as he asked, "Sweetheart, what is this?"

Then, you felt a sharp tug at your insides that made you yelp.

"Leon!" You shouted at him in a break of character, attempting to scoot away from him, but he grabbed your hips to still you. "That hurt!"

Another tug. You cried out, trying as you might to snap your thighs shut and push him away, but he wasn't budging.

"You never told me you had an IUD."

"Well, I do, so stop yanking on it! It hurts--"

The next words out of his mouth truly fucking broke you.

"That just won't do. It's no wonder you're not pregnant yet."

You sat up immediately. "Pregnant?"

He ignored you, tugging at it again. You screamed.

"L-Leon, don't! I can get it taken out by a doctor, I swear, I'll get it taken out!"

He shook his head. "And wait even longer to knock you up, pretty girl? Not happening. It's coming out now."

You screamed again, thrashing in his hold. He withdrew from inside you for just a moment, pinning you to the bed by your hip while he reached for your panties on the floor and shoved them into your mouth to silence you.

"There, there, angel. It'll be over before you know it, like ripping off a band-aid," He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you screeched through the cotton. "I'm gonna give you my babies, I promise. Gonna make you a mommy, and we’ll be so happy."

Before you could properly react he forced his fingers back inside you, yanking at the device until you felt a sickening tear and the unmistakable heat of blood rushing out of you. You curled into yourself, wailing, gasping for breath through the panties in your mouth as he withdrew his blood-soaked fingers, holding up the gory IUD in the light.

"There you are, princess. All better," He smiled contently, discarding the device on the bedside table. "You did so good. You were so brave for me."

You were bawling, shrieking through your gag as your vision blurred into white. Leon kissed up your thighs before standing to unbuckle his belt, and he didn't get much further than that before the panic and agonizing pain got to you and you lost consciousness.

You woke up the next morning with your thighs sore and sticky with blood. You lifted the comforter to see a deep red pool seeping out from between your legs, and the more you started to wake up, the more aware you became of the pain. You were cramping terribly, sweating buckets, your ears were ringing and you felt weak. Leon had left for work already, so it was up to you to get yourself to the bathroom.

Your entire body was trembling as you stumbled out of the bed, dripping blood in a trail behind you as you dragged yourself to the bathroom and crawled into the bathtub. You peeled off your pajama shorts and panties, watching in horror as a mixture of thick blood and cum spilled out of you and ran slowly toward the drain. Once again, you began to cry. Obviously he'd had his way with you after you passed out, buckets of blood be damned.

Even with your foggy, staticky brain, you couldn't stop thinking. Thinking about the fact that he had no intention of taking you to a hospital, so there was really no telling what might happen with your profusely painful and bleeding sex. Thinking about how fucking screwed you were now without your IUD, your best defense against falling pregnant with your captor's child. Thinking about the fact that if he wouldn't even take you to a doctor for this, he must be expecting a home birth if you were to become pregnant, which you doubted he was qualified to handle and therefore had a very good chance to result in your slow, painful death.

You couldn't stand the shivering anymore, so you filled the bathtub with hot water. It felt nice, though it was rather gross that the water was stained a glassy rose color with your own blood, not that you really had the strength to care in the moment.

In fact, you didn't have much strength at all. It wasn't long before you found yourself losing consciousness once again.

"Fuck, princess, can you hear me?"

You were trying to open your eyes, to twitch a finger, anything, but it was so hard.

"Shit. Stay right here, babydoll, I'm gonna get you some help, okay? I promise. I never meant to hurt you... shit...”

You heard some shuffling, pacing and possibly Leon talking to himself in the other room. You figured he was trying to decide whether or not to take you to a hospital. Part of you hoped he would and the other part of you hoped he would just let you die there. More than anything, you just wished you would have let him drug you in the first place so maybe you wouldn't be in this level of pain.

After what could have very well been 20 seconds or 20 minutes, Leon kneeled beside the tub and draped a cold washcloth over your forehead, reaching into the bloodied water to pull the drain. With what little control you had over your own movement you managed to crack your eyes open, which seemed to please him.

"Oh thank god... thank god, baby. I almost thought I lost you there," He huffed, voice shaking. "Listen to me closely, princess. Stay with me. I'm going to take you to a doctor but you have to be a good girl, okay? You have to be good for me and go along with what I say, even if it isn't true. I'm just doing what's best for you so you can get all better, okay?"

You nodded weakly. You weren't in any position to put up a fight, and all you really wanted was an end to the pain. Besides, he couldn't supervise you constantly at the hospital. There had to be at least some opportunity to tell someone what he'd done to you.

He somehow managed to dress you in some comfortable clothes of his, a soft black t-shirt that hung halfway down your thighs and a pair of black shorts with some little socks of yours to protect your feet. Then, he carried you princess-style out to the car where he bundled you up in the passenger seat and buckled you in.

As he pulled hurriedly out of the driveway, he made a phone call to someone.

"Hey, it's me... I need the best people we have in the infirmary, stat. I'm on my way now," He spoke sternly into the phone, white knuckling the wheel. "I'm fine, it's not for me, it's my girlfriend. It's a long story that I'll tell you when I get there, but she's bleeding pretty bad. I found her unconscious when I came home... I appreciate it, thanks. See you in 10."

Leon reached over the center console to squeeze your thigh in reassurance.

"You're gonna be just fine, princess. I'm gonna make sure they make you all better, okay?"

Your stomach sank. He obviously wasn't taking you to a hospital. From the sounds of it he was taking you somewhere he had a good amount of leverage, somewhere everyone knew him, held him in high regard and wouldn't dare challenge his word, let alone take yours over his. You slumped to the side, resting your head on the cool window with a quiet bonk. Leon was quick to ask if you were okay but you couldn't muster up a response. Your ears began ringing again and the world around you collapsed into tunnel vision.

part 2 !!

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #dark!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #dark!leon kennedy x reader #dead dove do not eat #something permanent

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

TERRITORIAL. | Softcore

"Don't worry- I'll take it real slow with you so you know I mean it."

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, Wolf!Jungkook, Good girl!Reader, Dom!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, Corruption kink, strangers to crushes to lovers, Fluff, Adult themes

+ Additional Tags/Warnings: none, some flirting?

Length: who's counting anyways

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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"Damn, who's pissed in your breakfast this morning?" Jimin laughs, trying to joke- but it's clear that Jungkook is genuinely angry with his packmate, heated glare sent his way.

"I told you, you were being too mean yesterday!" Hoseok scolds, smacking the younger wolf on the back of his head. "Now you ruined jungkookie's fun last night." He mumbles, looking at the youngest apologetically-

Though the wolf sits up almost proudly, a sly smile growing on his lips as he chews his food.

"Looks like he still got his dick wet." Jimin laughs, making Jungkook growl.

"I wasn't out to get my dick wet you dog!" He argues, before crossing his arms. "Was just.. driving around." He shrugs.

"You." Taehyung raises a brown before he sits down at the table as well. "Just driving around." He continues, making the youngest roll his eyes.

"You act like I'm always up to something." He accuses, before his phone buzzes on the table, quickly snatched away by Jimin who grins brightly while fighting against Jungkook's reaching hands.

"Movie sounds great, do you have one in mind?" He reads the message out loud. "Oooh, Jungkookie has an actual date?!" He exclaims, before the youngest wolf can snatch his phone back.

"Shut up." He growls, before he gets up to put on his jacket and boots, turning around once more. "Don't fuck this up for me. Next time you see us, just shut your mouth." He requests awfully.. nervously almost, before he leaves, door closing behind him.

"You think he's found someone he likes?" Taehyung wonders, pulling Jungkook's leftovers toward him.

"Looks like it." Hoseok shrugs.

"Huh." Jimin huffs, leaning bag with an almost proud smile. "Would you look at that."

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Your apartment is cozy, small but very inviting, and most of all- it smells like you and you only, something that Jungkook enjoys a lot.

"Do you want me to dry your jacket?" You wonder, looking at him carefully taking off his wet jacket, since it's been pouring outside. Only now do you notice that, once he pulls off his beanie, it's the first time you see him like that.

Damn. Those tattoos really paint a full sleeve and some.

Not to mention the fact that his black sleeveless top hugs his body so tightly that it leaves almost nothing to the imagination- and in a way, that makes you a bit self-conscious. He seems like someone who works out a lot and often- would he think of you as less attractive once he notices you hide no defined physique underneath your clothes, but small rolls and chubby thighs?

Maybe. Maybe this is a bad idea.

Interestingly enough, it seems like Jungkook notices your change in mood- posture changing to appear less threatening to you, tail waving a little behind him to add to the appearance. It helps- if just a little.

"I mean- sure? If it's not a bother.." He answers your question, making you nod before you take the heavy jacket from him, glad to have something to distract yourself with.

"You can.. sit down? Or, I don't know- raid my fridge." You joke a bit stiff, before you flee the scene, hanging his jacket up in your little laundry room where your dryer has already warmed up the air, everything smelling of your favorite fabric softener. You actually sometimes take a nap in here, especially during winter- you're not sure why, but the smells and warmth offers you the bestest naps, especially when you sleep on your thick feather filled quilt.

It's an odd habit. Will he think you're weird if he finds out about that?

Once you return to your living room and kitchen space, you find Jungkook already looking inside the fridge, scanning the different snacks and drinks in there, visibly curious as his tail stands high. You can't help it, in that moment-

sneakily tugging just a little on the very tip, causing him to snap around, startled.

"Sorry!" You apologize immediately, shrinking back a little. "I- that was rude-" You start, when he wags his tail so much it smacks against the open fridge door, his laughter ringing through the small space of the apartment.

"No worries, was just caught off guard-" He reassures with a grin. "-you're really quiet. And those ears work really well!" He jokes, pointing to his pierced ear.

"Should I be louder then?" You wonder, reaching past him for a bottle of water. "So you can hear me?" You ask, and he looks at you for a second, before he chuckles, throwing his head back.

"You're so cute!" He barks out, before he closes your fridge, following you back towards your couch. And there, you sit as if you're being scolded almost- hugging your legs in the very corner, too shy to really be comfortable around him, and of course- he notices.

"What's making you uncomfortable right now?" He wonders, zapping through the recommended shows on your TV.

"Huh?" You ask, looking at him. "Nothing. I'm fine!" You laugh, though even that sounds more like you're just trying to pacify him, and it reminds him of one of his packmates' mates, back when she first met the whole group.

You're acting very similar. Intimidated, unsure where your place is. Trying not to step out of line.

"Hm, you're not." He chuckles, sitting back a little more relaxed. "Is it the tattoos? They're off-putting to some, my mom doesn't like them either." He chuckles, trying to ease the tension- something he craves out of pure instinct, because, considering his interest in you, he can't have his possible future mate be this uneasy around him.

He's supposed to be your person of safety and protection, someone you can and want to rely on- not someone you're scared of, in any way.

"No- not really." You shake your head, looking at them from the distance, noticing the colors and intricate details in some parts. "Just.. I don't know." You mumble.

"Is it the muscle?" He wonders, head tilting to the side a bit, and when you look away and adjust your position a little, he clicks his tongue. "Ah, please don't worry. I know how to control my strength!" He jokes playfully, but you shake your head. "No?"

"It's not.. that, at least not really?" You wonder, deciding that you better rip off the bandaid right now so it'll hurt less later. "You're just.. you look really fit, and I'm not. I'm lazy." You explain, without any demeaning tone thrown at yourself. "I don't really do any.. working out." You say, and he shrugs.

"Fine by me. It's your body, not mine." He offers, and you're unsure what to think about that statement.

Growing up, you learned from both your family and past friendships and relationships even, that every sentence uttered by mankind has some sort of second meaning. It created some sort of imposter syndrome for you in a way, as if every praise and compliment had some sort of background to it. Like you didn't deserve it- and people were simply too nice to tell you that blunt and openly.

So maybe it's not him saying that it's your choice and he doesn't mind it- but him saying that he's simply aware of the fact that he can't force you to do anything, but that he's glad he's not in your place. It's a far reach, and you know this- but the petty demon inside your head just won't shut up, ever.

Luckily however, the wolf next to you on the couch seems to have telepathic powers or something- or maybe he can smell your feelings? Because he immediately adds something to his words to soften up his statement. "The most important thing for me is that you're healthy and happy. I don't need anything else, really." He smiles encouragingly, and you shrug, before nodding.

"I guess." You just mumble, letting the awkward silence wash over you both while Jungkook chooses a movie, logging into his own account on your streaming service- something you notice. "You can just buy it-" You say, but he chuckles.

"Nop. Let me do that- I'd feel bad otherwise." He explains, buying the movie with his own money. So his last name is Jeon? You really didn't mean to look at it, but it's hard not to. It's when the movie starts that he leans a bit more onto your little sofa, opening his arms. "Can we cuddle?" He wonders, and you look at him a bit like a deer in the headlights. "I promise my friend down there will behave. I just wanna have you close- is that okay?" He wonders, and you shrug, unsure how to approach it.

Considering how long you've been living by yourself, you feel like you forgot how to properly.. cuddle at all. And it's like you just realize that right now- when was the last time you hugged someone? Held someone's hand? Or just sat close to someone else?

"You don't have to. I just.. wanna make you feel more at ease." He softly says, pausing the movie on the TV. "If you're not ready to be this close to me yet that's fine, and understandable. We can try another time-" He starts, but you shake your head.

"I just.. I've been living alone for a while now." You say, opening up at least a little bit. "I'm.. I don't know, it feels awkward now." You admit, and he nods, soaking up the info you give him.

"Alright, I can work with that." He smiles. "We can take it slow and easy, no issues." He shrugs, setting down his hands again.

And that's where they stay, as you both simply watch the movie-

Jungkook quietly leaving after you fall asleep, but not before putting a blanket from the couch over your body.

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"I can't promise you they won't be weird-" Jungkook chuckles through the speaker in your helmet- a new one now, that you suspect he might've bought just for you, because it's a lot smaller and fits way better than the other one you've been given before. "-but I'll keep them in check." he reassures you.

"Are you like, the leader?" You wonder, unsure, and he chuckles again, stopping at a red light.

"No, I'll tell you who's who when we're there- I'm just a regular member, nothing more nothing less." He shrugs, one of his hands leaving the handle of his bike to rest on your thigh next to his leg, running up and down absentmindedly. "Is that okay? Or too much?" He asks, looking back for a second, though you can't see his face with the helmet covering his head entirely.

"That's fine." You say, genuinely meaning it- and you can't see it, but he's grinning brightly at this small step forwards, tail wagging. He's noticed you leaning against his back a lot more this time, slowly seeming to grow more comfortable on his bike, even so much so that you've begun to instinctively sit in the proper way to make driving easy for him.

And he also really enjoys you clinging onto him not in fear but comfort- but that's besides the main point.

The moment you arrive, everyone already standing around with their own bikes or by themselves, it's very clear that Jungkook's whole.. adventures with you has made the round. People are whistling and laughing, but it's also clear that it's just to tease him, and not in bad nature. You can even hear someone cooing when Jungkook reaches out to help you take your helmet off, bike standing secure on the kickstand, his own helmet already having been taken off. "Don't mind them. I'm the youngest of the pack." He admits, and you nod, smiling.

"You'll handle it, I'm sure." You agree, and he grins proudly, before he helps you get off the bike.

"Oh look at them, this is so cute!" Someone laughs, commenting probably on the fact that Jungkook had taken your hand in his to maybe offer you some extra security- something you appreciate.

"Please stop, you're scaring her off." He whines, as someone walks up beside you.

"Jungkook's right. Leave him be." A tall guy says, before he looks at you kindly. "I'm namjoon- not sure if he's told you already, but I'm the pack leader here " he offers, and you nod in greeting, smiling back. "I hope he treats you well- if not I'm gonna have to have a word with him." He jokingly threatens, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

"I'm treating her very well, thanks for asking." He snaps back, and you can't help but giggle a little at the banter they're both participating in.

Up close and personal like this, the whole pack of wolves doesn't actually feel all that threatening.

They're clearly playing around with him, teasing whenever he does anything considered affectionate towards you, and it's almost cute to see him glare at his friends for it. What makes you even happier is the fact that he doesn't mind being seen- he still makes sure you're always comfortable, checks in if you want to leave or if you're cold or if you're tired.

Right now, he's got you sat on his thigh, as he's sitting on the sidewalk- when there seems to be some tension rising, multiple wolves now moving to stand almost protectively in front of the rest. "Hey- stay here for a second yeah? I'll just check what's up." He says, helping you stand near his bike, before he leaves to do just what he said.

The way his tail suddenly rises, standing straight back, shows you that he's in an aggressive-defensive stance.

Somethings going on.

But it's resolved with simple glares from the pack, as Jungkook returns later to offer you your helmet. "Let's get you home, okay?" He says, and you nod, letting him help you with the helmet itself. "Don't worry, by the way. There's just some tension- and I'd like to.. not have you in the crossfire." He chuckles.

That's a nice thing to do, actually. He seems very much interested in your well-being, and that's new to you. But it's nice. Feeling like you're special.

Back at your home, he's helping you off his bike, taking the helmet from you- and you can't help yourself, as you unhook his own helmet with a click, before you slip it off his head, and lean in to kiss him.

It's a quick one, his helmet pushed into his hands as you run off into your home-

One look back making you laugh, as you see him frozen it appears like, tail wildly wagging behind him.

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He's awfully cocky next time he visits you, instantly leaning down as you open the door to let him in. "What? Do I only get goodbye-kisses?" He complains, and you giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

And he growls at that, though his wagging tail reassures you there's no anger behind it.

"You have to earn it." You say, and he glares at you.

"Isn't my giant crush on you enough?" He wonders, and you laugh.

"Maybe?" You shrug, putting on your jacket. "Well.. I'll think about it after the date." You tease and he grins.

"Well in that case, I'll be getting a ton of kisses after tonight." He beams at you, proudly so.

And you're sure of it.

He already earned himself quite a few.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines

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yeyinde · 9 months

Text

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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ollieink · 6 months

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

#( general ; ollie's writing )#childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #smut #childe smut #yanderecore #yancore

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helluvapoison · 2 months

Note

Hi! Idk if your request is open but if it is, can I request a little moment of Zestiel having some alone time with his wife/husband asking him why did they marry him—since there wasn't really that much of information about Zestiel, let's assume that he's a murderer* when he's alive and the reader found out about it after they've been seeing each other for some time now. Your content is awesome, btw^_^

Till Death

Zestial x Reader

Why did he marry you?

warning: murder, inaccurate zestial lore

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• It used to be that the honor of a man’s word was enough. A firm handshake would be just as legally binding as a contract

• He almost had it all. The vineyard, the estate, the fortune. None of it made him as joyful as having your hand

• The empty space on your ring finger taunted him daily, his chest pocket heavy with the solution to the void, though you were sweet to remind him you were his in every other way

• “Soon my sweet,” He promised and promised and promised

• It was to be kept well under wraps until the finer details were settled but make no mistake, Zestial had every intention of spoiling you rotten afterwards

• “Thou will not go into business while affiliated with heathens,” His father snarled, his words held the deed to everything high above his head

• Devastated would be an understatement but it didn’t last long. He could rebuild. He could take his knowledge and start over with you by his side from the get go. The ordeal would take longer but it wasn’t impossible and he refused to settle for less than what he was owed

• So his father took the matter into his own hands and paid off your family so you would be sent far, far away

• Zestial always said there would be no distance he couldn’t cross to be beside you, you were forever entangled in the web he’d so lovingly spun for you alone

• However, he’d learned his diligence from the very man who’d isolated you

• You were gone

• What Zestial’s father didn’t teach him, and never could be bothered to learn himself, was patience

• So for him, biding his time was the easiest part. Alone, he pried his feet from the mud and wrapped his aching hands in salve. Pain would be his companion, the friend that drove him closer to his goal. Slowly earning back his father’s trust until the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed— in ink this time, and everything he wanted was his once again

• Well.. almost everything

• “A toast,” Zestial was the first at the table to raise his glass, “To the ever growing vines of this business, nary shall they be corrupted by the weak. A promise from thyself unto thee.”

• “Here, here!” His guests chanted, emptying their glass flutes in a single swig

• Zestial’s smile spread wider and wider as the merriment morphed to coughing, gagging and, finally, gurgled screams. Crimson spewed from their lips and denied them their final breaths

• All except for his father who, thanks to the wine laced with something different, was frozen in horror to Zestial’s left. He would be last to face the wrath he unleashed upon himself

• “Son—“

• “Silence! There is nothing thou can say to escape thou’s fate. Return my beloved to me. Tell me where they reside this instant or I will burn this wretched land to ashes with thee inside of it. Tell me now, and I will find it in my blackened heart to show thou mercy thou doth not deserve.”

• “Go to hell.”

• “I shall meet thee there and make thy death far more painful than this one.”

• Zestial watched as the flames engulfed his childhood home and the fields he’d spent years learning. As unforgiving as he, they left nothing spared

• The sins on his back were nothing compared to the crippling loneliness that only followed him to the afterlife

• He was so sure he’d never see you again. You were too good for Hell, too pure for Heaven, but that didn’t stop him from exerting every option available to find a single sign of something undeniably you

• There was no way you would recognize him in this state, he hardly could himself and it only got harder as the days stretched into eons. He’s long forgotten his old self, name included

• Be it his devotion or a miracle, he cared not for which was responsible, one hellish day a familiar pair of eyes met his and he knew

• Confident his empire wouldn’t crumple without him, Zestial disappeared for weeks. And in any case it wasn’t uncommon for him to slink into the shadows, leaving everyone on edge for his inevitable return

• When he eventually emerged it was with you beside him, a very obvious claim shining around your ring finger

• Never did he get tired of the overwhelming joy that gripped his soul seeing the ring on your finger. The list he thought would forever be incomplete now contently filled out and lied to rest

• Now, sitting by the lime green fire with you enveloped in his cape, you reveal you’re plagued by such thoughts?

• Why did he wait for you? Why did he look for you? Why did he marry you?

• “Beloved, ask not such a foolish thing. Life was cruel without thee and death brought no relief. Only thou could fill the cracks of my mind, body and soul. If I should forget it all again, well, doth would be a measly price to pay if only to save room in my mind for you.”

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ after rewatching zestial’s scenes i’m tweaking the way he speaks. i hope you don’t mind me inserting my zestial agenda aha! enjoy and thank you!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #zestial imagine #zestial x reader #hazbin hotel zestial #zestial headcanon

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT (literally pure FILTH), Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, DubCon(?), Fingering, Multiple Orgasm, Overstimulation, Corruption Kink, Subspace, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Semi Public Sex, PIV, Choking, Gagging.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As the class finally drew to a close, the air filtered with an unspoken tension that shadowed over the room like a heavy fog--enveloping you and Mattheo in a world of charged silences and lingering desires. The classroom, once filled with the droning voice of Professor Snape, now echoed with the shuffling of papers and the distant sounds of students in the hallway.

Your hands moved almost mechanically, still trembling with the aftermath of your release as you briskly packed your bag--but each accidental brush against Mattheo sent a jolt of electricity through your skin, igniting a fire within you that refused to be tamed.

When you glanced over, his eyes locked onto yours, their depths a tumultuous storm of lingering, intoxicating lust that sent a thrill down your spine. The way he had treated you during this class felt like mere restraint, a mere fraction of what lay beneath the surface. Anticipating the upcoming encounter in the bathroom, you couldn't fathom the depths of desire he was capable of unleashing, and you'd honestly never been more fucking excited in your life.

Abruptly, the hypnotic trance Mattheo had ensnared you in shattered, as a familiar voice called out your name. Looking up, you found none other than Tom Riddle standing in front of your desk--his eyes, a mirror image of Mattheo's stormy gaze, flicked between you and his brother, a subtle tension creasing his brow.

"I heard what happened with Berkshire," his voice was gentle, yet laden with concern. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

Your cheeks burned, nerves spreading through you as you could practically feel the frenetic energy coming from Mattheo multiplying by the second. Though you couldn't see his face, you could vividly imagine the clenching of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, and the way his fingers must be tightening into fists, gripping his bag with a white-knuckled intensity. Ignoring the persistent heat between your thighs, you forced yourself to straighten up, your posture a facade of composure.

"Thank you," you said, your voice laced with genuine thankfulness, your eyes meeting Tom's with a blend of appreciation and depth. "I appreciate your concern...luckily Mattheo was there to help."

The simplicity of your words belied the complexity of the emotions swirling within you--a mix of gratitude, desire, and a strange kind of loyalty that bound you to Mattheo in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. Before Tom could get the chance to reply, Mattheo's arrogant sneer broke through the tension, his voice dripping with condescension as he mocked his brother.

"Quite the knight in shining armor, isn't he?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain as he turned his gaze from you, back to his brother. "Inviting you to the party, only to disappear when things got tough...guess it was only a matter of time before you showed your true colours."

Tom shifted uncomfortably under Mattheo's piercing gaze, a mixture of shame and resentment flickering in his eyes. The tension in the room grew taut, a silent battle of wills unfolding before you, with you being caught directly in the middle of it. Tom cleared his throat, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he composed himself, a veneer of calm settling over him.

"Well, you know how it is," he said, his voice steady but lacking conviction as he stared at his brother. "Parties can be rather...unpredictable."

His words hung in the air, an attempt to diffuse the tension, but the strain in his voice revealed the truth behind his carefully crafted facade. In an attempt to escape Mattheo's merciless gaze, he turned back to you, attempting a weak smile, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"I do apologize again," he said, attempting to muster up as much sincerity as possible. "I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps we should cancel our meeting tomorrow? You could probably use the rest."

You nodded, grateful for Tom's consideration despite the lingering tension in the room. "Yes, that would be appreciated," you replied meekly, mustering a small smile. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do, little witch." Tom managed another weak smile in return, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and understanding. "Take care. I'll see you Thursday."

As Tom made his exit, Mattheo shot his brother one final, dark glance--his eyes filled with a silent yet unmissable warning, one you knew only you would catch. Then, without a word, he too spun around on his heel and left the room, his departure swift and purposeful, leaving a trail of palpable intensity in his wake.

With a cautious pace, you trailed after him, allowing the tide of students to swallow his figure in the chaotic shuffle. Navigating the bustling corridor, you granted him distance, a deliberate move to give him space, hoping the interim might quell the storm brewing within him. Yet, an unsettling intuition gnawed at you, suggesting it might only intensify his brooding anger.

Upon ascending to the third floor, you took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling a sharp breath to steady your racing heart. As you gently pushed open the bathroom door, there he stood--Mattheo, his posture rigid, leaning against the sink with an air of restrained aggression. His eyes, sharp as flint, bored into yours, the confined space practically crackling with the weight of unspoken tension.

"Close the door." His voice was harsh, cold, firm. "Lock it."

Mattheo's command sliced through the air, his voice an icy whip that lashed at your nerves, compelling you to obey. Swallowing hard, your pulse echoing in your ears, you eased the door shut with trembling hands, the soft click of the lock amplifying the palpable tension in the confined space.

Mattheo watched you--his eyes, sharp and unyielding, drilled into your soul as he shed his uniform jacket, the fabric sliding off his shoulders with calculated grace. It landed on the counter beside the sink, forgotten in the intensity of the moment as he then methodically began rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing the sinewy strength of his forearms. Every movement he made was deliberate, a display of control that left you breathless

"Good girl," he stated, devoid of any warmth, his words falling like cold steel. "Drop your bag and come here."

A hard lump formed in your throat, forcing down a gulp that felt like swallowing shards of glass. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a relentless bass drum, each beat threatening to shatter the fragile structure of your sternum. Fingers entirely unsteady, you allowed your bag to slide off your shoulder, hitting the ground with a muffled thud, its impact barely audible over the cacophony of your racing pulse.

And then, taking deliberate, slow steps, you began to move toward him, your cautious approach mirroring the delicate balance of a predator stalking its prey--but in this moment, you weren't entirely sure who was supposed to be the prey. You, or Mattheo.

Coming to a halt in front of him, you felt the intensity of his stare searing into your skin. His eyes, dark and magnetic, darted to your lips, a hunger burning in their depths. The palpable energy surrounding him was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around you both like a tightly coiled thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Hands behind your back," he commanded, his gaze lingering on your lips with a predatory intensity.

Obeying him, you slowly moved your hands to your back, your lungs quivering with anticipation. His eyes flickered down to your chest, a subtle challenge in his gaze.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety growl, the praise sparking heat in your veins. "You're going to let me unbutton your shirt, aren't you?"

His words hung in the air, laced with desire and dominance, demanding your consent without uttering the words explicitly, inspiring your thighs to throb with need. The commanding tone of his voice, coupled with the unspoken request, sent shivers sprinting down your spine. Your fingers trembled behind your back as you nodded, succumbing to his silent demand.

"Can't you talk?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes smouldering with intensity. "Use your words, Raven."

"Yes," you breathed, your voice a fragile whisper. "I'm going to let you."

He blinked. "Good girl,"

Mattheo emitted a low, appreciative hum, his fingers gliding over the buttons of your uniform shirt with deliberate slowness. Each button yielded to his touch, his eyes fixated on his hands' movements, as if he feared missing a single detail. The cool bathroom air caressed your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and a shiver rippled through you as his fingertips found the last button, fully exposing your bra and chest to his hungry eyes.

His gaze traced every inch of newly exposed flesh as though he were savoring a newfound delicacy, his intensity leaving you breathless in the hushed atmosphere.

"Mm," he murmured, his eyes slithering up to meet yours. "You fuck me up in the best way, you know that, Raven?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, your nails biting into your palms as if anchoring yourself in the moment. "Do I, Mattheo?"

Mattheo stood before you, a coiled spring of restrained energy--the raw power emanating from him made every muscle in his body tense, as if he were holding back a storm. This version of him, this potent mixture of control and desire, was utterly captivating. You had never witnessed him like this before, and the sheer force of his presence, unyielding yet tantalizing, had the power to send every nerve in your body into a full out frenzy, and bring you to the brink of euphoria without even a single touch.

"You make me feel fucking alive," he murmured, his eyes fixated on your lips as if they held the secrets of the universe. "You're the only drug I can't live without."

"Oh...Gods..." your breath caught in your throat, desire and desperation intertwining in a tumultuous dance. Every fiber of your being screamed for him, ached for his touch, your voice leaving your lips in barely a whisper. "Please...kiss me..."

In an instant, Mattheo's lips crashed onto yours with a furious intensity, a maelstrom of pent-up desire and longing. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him with an urgency that left you breathless. They roamed over your back, tracing every curve, before ascending to tangle in your hair, holding your head in place with a possessive, commanding grip. The kiss deepened, a wild, passionate exchange that ignited a fire within you, consuming every rational thought.

With a swift, graceful movement, he spun you around, your back meeting the cold, unforgiving surface of the sink counter. The sensation made you shudder against his body, amplifying the electrifying connection between you as he tightened his grip in your hair. His lips molded to yours, the world outside fading into oblivion as you surrendered to the storm of sensations, lost in the overwhelming fervor of his kiss.

"Fuck...you're such a good girl for me..." he pulled back, lips falling to attack your neck. "You'd do anything I fucking said, wouldn't you?"

A gasp escaped your lips as he sank his teeth into your skin, eliciting a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that shot through your senses like lightning. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his disheveled curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline, your body still trembling from the aftermath of the classroom encounter.

Words eluded you, your mind clouded with desire and need. "I...I-fuck..."

"Mm," he breathed against your skin, his tongue tracing a slow, tantalizing path up the side of your throat. "You're still sensitive, aren't you, pretty girl..."

"Yes," you gasped, your breath hitching in your throat, desire pooling in the depths of your stomach. His hands found your waist, fingers gripping your skirt tightly, pulling it higher up your hips, setting your senses ablaze. "Gods..."

Mattheo groaned against your skin, his hot breath tickling your ear. With a skillful movement, he shifted one hand, his fingers teasing your heat through the damp fabric of your panties. Your back arched as pleasure washed over you, your body reacting to his touch with unbridled hunger. Pressed against the counter, you squirmed and gasped, utterly consumed by the electrifying intensity of his embrace.

"Shit...still nice and fucking wet for me...you love when I'm in control, don't you?" He snickered, breath washing warm over your ear. "That's why you act like a little fucking brat around me all the time...you want me to put you in your place...you want me to do the most unholiest shit to you imaginable..."

A low, unrestrained groan escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space, surprising even yourself. Your head fell back, offering him better access, as his mouth fervently marked your skin, leaving a trail of purple possessive bruises above your collarbone. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, grasping it aggressively as if you could pull your release from his scalp, his assault on your sensitive clit becoming relentless.

"Fuck-yes, Mattheo..." you whined, squirming against his hand, voice torn with pleasure. "I-I love it..."

"Yeah, that's right..." he sneered, his arrogance breaking through his hardened facade. "You want me to use you however I want, whenever I fucking want, don't you..."

His voice turned harsh, a husky growl escaping his lips as his fingers abruptly pulled back, yanking your panties aside before returning to swirl your clit with a relentless rhythm. A cry tore from your throat, louder than you intended, and Mattheo responded with a primal growl--his free hand moving swiftly, clamping over your mouth, muffling your sounds of pleasure as he claimed a new expanse of skin on the other side of your neck with his teeth.

"The things you fucking do to me, Raven..." he growled against your neck, fingers dipping down to your core, slipping inside you without warning. "I wanted to bend you over that desk so fucking bad...make you cum on my cock in front of that whole fucking class..."

Your lids fluttered as his thumb grazed your clit, two fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. "You're such a good little malleable slut I bet you'd have fucking let me, wouldn't you, princess?"

You attempted to nod against his hand, pathetic desperation fueling your insane compliance. It was entirely clear to you that in this moment, you were willing to say anything, do anything, just to coax release from him. Your craving was insatiable, a hunger that consumed you entirely. You needed him, every part of him, everything he was willing to offer, and you were more than prepared to fucking beg for it.

"That's what I fucking thought..." he purred, nipping your earlobe. "You're my desperate little whore, desperate to fucking please me, aren't you?"

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as he spoke, the arousal pooling between your thighs growing even more intense with each syllable. Part of you wanted to deny it, to protest and tell him that you weren't his whore, just to see how much further you could push him, but the words caught in your throat and seemingly dissipated into thin air as he pumped his fingers deeper into you, sending another tidal wave of pleasure through your body--and in response, your forced yourself to nod against his palm.

"Yeah, that's right..." his voice was a growl, his movements becoming more relentless. "Such a bratty little mouth, but when it comes down to it, you have nothing to fucking say..." you whimpered, legs trembling, threatening to give out from under you. "Just because this pussy holds power over me, doesn't mean for a damn second you can tease me like that...I will take you anywhere I want...I will fuck you so hard the people in Hogsmeade will hear your screams..."

He lowered his lips back to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there as his fingers continued to work their magic. Gasping, you nodded again, completely melting at his words, the pleasure becoming too intense, too all-consuming as it threatened to overpower you entirely.

Mattheo's palm released your mouth, his fingers diving into your hair, tugging gently as he smothered your lips with his. A gasp escaped you, lost in the fervor of his kiss, your attempts to pull away to catch your breath immediately met with his unyielding force. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on ravenous, as if he could devour you whole. Just when you felt your entire being coiling, ready to unravel in the throes of climax, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You want to cum for me, princess?" He murmured, tightening his grip in your hair. "Third times a charm, isn't it, baby..."

"Yes. Please-" you squealed, voice torn. "Please!"

"Good girl--so fucking good," he growled, his voice deep and rough with desire. "Cum for me, angel."

The nickname sent a thrill of excitement and warmth rushing through you, your body shaking with pleasure as you felt yourself teetering closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust of his fingers, Mattheo pushed you over the edge, sending you into the waves of orgasm for the third time today. You let out a gasp that you couldn't hold back, and he quickly covered your mouth with his own--your body shaking with pleasure as waves of ecstasy coursed through every inch of you.

Finally, after what you were certain had to have been an eternity, the waves ebbed away, leaving you feeling breathless and overly sated. Mattheo withdrew his fingers from your throbbing core, a satisfied smile playing across his lips as he met your eyes.

"There's my obedient girl," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before bringing his fingers up to your lips, forcing them past your teeth. "Taste yourself off of me...tell me how fucking good you taste..."

Under the heat of his praise, you were entirely unable to resist--taking his command without protests, obediently sucking on his fingers, tasting your own slick arousal off his skin. You moaned around them, holding his burning stare, the taste sending a fresh wave of need through you.

"You like that?" He purred, his tone an exasperated drawl. "You like tasting what I fucking do to you?"

You nodded, whining in response as he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing a gag before he huffed, ripping them from your mouth without warning. Before you could even think to say or do anything further, his grip on your hair tightened, pulling you forward. You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your front against the hard surface of the counter, and you shivered as you watched his hand wrap around your throat in the reflection in front of you.

"You see that little slut in the mirror?" he hissed, his breath hot against your ear. "She belongs to me."

You groaned, feeling his hand leave your hair before sliding down your back to cup your ass, flipping up your skirt as he pressed his throbbing erection against you, shoving your hips firm into the counter with enough force to make you yelp.

"I think you forgot who holds the power over your fucking goals...yet again," he groaned, tightening his hold on your throat, jerking his insistent erection against your ass. "You want that mentorship, then you're going to have to start watching that dirty little mouth around me more often princess...understand me?"

"Yes," you gasped, the feeling of his hardness pressing against you making your entire body quiver. You hissed the words out through the hold on your neck. "I fucking understand."

"Mm. Yeah you fucking do." He groaned, teeth nipping at your ear. You moaned softly in response, grinding your hips back against him. "Filthy girl. You're going to watch me fuck you."

It was then that Mattheo released your throat, his hand slithering back to hold a firm grip on your hair. With that, he used it to pull your head up and back against his chest, so that you were looking at yourself in the mirror above the sink. After a brief moment of manoeuvring, Mattheo had undone his belt and freed himself--his thick, smooth length pressing against your ass as he seethed in relief, before he reached down and slid his fingers along your slick folds, making you watch as he teased your dripping entrance.

"I wanted to throat fuck you until you begged me for mercy but I genuinely can't fucking wait anymore...I need to get inside this tight little cunt..." you mewled, watching your own desire on display as he circled around your entrance before thrusting two fingers inside you. "I've made you cum three times, Raven...this fuck is for my pleasure, not yours...understand?"

You moaned, nodding your head, feeling the orgasm rise within you as Mattheo pumped his fingers in and out of you with an experienced hand, his grip on your hair tightening.

Noting his dissatisfaction with your lack of words, you quickly gathered yourself and answered. "Yes, Mattheo...I understand..."

As your muscles clenched around his fingers, Mattheo pulled out abruptly, slapping your ass with a hard, firm smack--leaving your cheek stinging in its wake.

"Good girl," he said, positioning himself at your entrance now, teasing you with a few slow, sensual thrusts along your slick slit. "You're mine to use, to play with, to fuck. Say it."

"I'm-fuck!" Your words were cut short as he pushed inside you, splitting you wide with one long, harsh stroke--slamming deep, smacking your cervix with ease. "Shit-"

"Oh, fuck..." he hissed, his lips pressed against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, Raven...fuck, it's like you were made for my fucking cock..."

"Oh..." your sight blurred as you felt every single delicious inch of him inside you, felt him so fucking deep into your stomach that you were certain he'd split you in half if he kept going. "Mattheo-fuck-oh..."

"Say it or I'll fuck you so hard every breath you take tomorrow will remind you of my cock." You could see the pleasure etched on his face as he felt you clench around him, and you knew that he was enjoying this, enjoying every fucking second of it. "Go on, little whore...you can do it..."

"Ah-shit...I'm-" your words were cut short yet again as his hips started to piston in and out of you, hard and fast. He took you with almost ruthless precision--each thrust felt like it was calculated both for his pleasure and to test your endurance. You dug your nails into the countertop, clinging on for dear life as he moved inside of you without mercy. "Gods! Fuck-I'm yours! I'm-oh!-yours...please-"

At your plea, Mattheo huffed, jerking your head back and holding your eyes to his in the mirror as his free hand slipped up your front, finding your jaw and holding it firm in place. You could feel his hips slamming against your ass, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of losing your sanity, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the empty bathroom.

"You're okay...just breathe, Raven," he cooed, releasing his hold on your jaw and moving to your lips, shoving two thick fingers past your teeth. "You can take me...you can take it all, can't you?"

You whimpered in response, feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as he reached for the back of your throat, forcing a gag, his hand in your hair relenting only for a moment before sneaking down and clasping around your neck--holding you firm to his chest as he fucked deep inside your heat. Every inch of your being was focused on the raw, animalistic sensations that ricocheted through your body under his power--his cock spearing you open, splitting you wide with every single thrust.

"Yeah, you can..." he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "That tight little pussy can take this fucking cock..."

Your body trembled with pleasure as Mattheo's low, gravelly voice rumbled through you, his words only serving to increase the intensity of your sensations, emboldening you to take everything he had to offer and then some. With a growl, Mattheo's hand around your throat slowly loosened, gliding down the front of your body until he'd found your clit and began to rub tight, fevered circles against it. You cried out in pleasure, the sound muffled by his fingers still planted firmly in your mouth.

"That's it," he groaned, his lips pressed hotly against your ear as his hips continued to slam against you. "Watch yourself in the mirror, Raven...watch how this perfect little body breaks for me..."

In a desperate haze of pleasure, you met his gaze in the mirror, watching the way your body writhed under his demanding touch. The fire in your belly smoldered, stoked higher by the relentless pounding of Mattheo's cock. You groaned against his fingers, drool spilling from your lips and dribbling down your chin. You were so close, so unbelievably close to teetering over the edge for the fourth fucking time in one day, you couldn't even begin to comprehend it--your mind felt like it was about to melt into a mere puddle at your feet.

"There we go," he cooed, sensing your incoming climax, his fingers quickening their pace. "Watch yourself cum like a whore on my cock. You love this, don't you? You love being fucked like the dirty little slut you are."

His eyes roamed over you possessively, and you knew that he was taking in every detail, committing this moment to memory. His movements grew rougher, more insistent, as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your muscles tightening, and you let out a strangled moan as you finally broke for him, for the fourth fucking time. Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you came hard, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

"Shit-" Mattheo huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as your pussy milked his cock. "You squeeze me so fucking good when you cum-fuck..."

You knew that he was close now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you with all his strength, rubbing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until he pulled his hand away, both hands shifting to your hips, gripping you with enough force to bruise.

"Fuck-I'm gonna fill you up, baby..." you felt him twitching inside you, you felt his cock practically begging to cum. "Tell me you want my cum, Raven...beg me to cum inside this tight little pussy..."

"Please-" you squeaked, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath sputtering against your neck. "I want your cum, Mattheo! Please!"

"Shit...fuck-" finally, he let out a feral growl, his hands tightening around your hips as he thrust into you one last time before he stalled, his nails digging into your flesh with so much force you nearly winced.

You felt him twitching inside you, felt his cum pouring inside your heat as he came hard, his orgasm almost overwhelming you with its intensity. Gasping for breath, you leaned heavily against the counter, feeling completely spent, and Mattheo's arms slowly left your hips, slithering around your waist, holding you against his chest as he pressed a few small, sporadic kisses to the back of your neck.

After he'd finally come down from his high, and the both of your pulses had somewhat slowed, Mattheo pulled out, quickly moving to tuck himself away while you began piecing yourself back together. After a few silent moments, you felt composed enough to break it.

"Remember when you said you didn't want to take my virginity?..." you said, a sly smile playing on your lips, though you attempted to conceal it. "What a pretty little lie that was."

Mattheo stole a stoic glance at you, his emotions carefully veiled, as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to untangle the sweat-drenched strands from his forehead. With a deliberate yet seemingly effortless motion, he reached for his jacket, the fabric clinging to his form in the heat, his jaw clenched in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to break free.

"That wasn't a lie, Raven." He said, his voice carrying a hint of sincerity beneath the playful banter.

Your eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. "Oh, is that so?"

"I didn't just want it," he confessed, his tone steady yet laced with unspoken emotions, as he meticulously donned his jacket, the fabric rustling softly. Moving closer, he closed the gap between you, his hand tenderly cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. "I fucking needed it."

Your breath hitched, need screaming in your lungs with every inhale. Four orgasms in and somehow he still found a way to make your fucking thighs scream for more. "You're unbelievably insatiable, Mattheo Riddle..."

"Yeah, but so are you, princess..." he purred, leaning down closer, brushing his lips against yours. "I always knew you'd give it to me, it was just a matter of when...I'd have waited forever just to fuck you like this..."

You huffed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Your arrogance is insufferable."

"Am I wrong, though?" He murmured, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he brushed them teasingly against yours. "Godric knows I need to ruin that tight little cunt of yours...but he also knows I'm the only one you'd ever let do any of this to you..."

"Mm, you caught me..." you whispered, your lips meeting his in a fleeting, feather-light kiss. "Will you take that mentorship for me?"

"Perhaps I will," he replied, his fingers leaving your jaw and slipping into your hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "But I suggest you refrain from pissing me off like that ever again...don't think it'd look too good on you if you wrote 'Mr. Riddle got mad and fucked me into the sink like the dumb little whore that I am' on the detailed log, now would it?"

You scoffed, your playful snarl hanging in the air, a testament to your exasperation, yet beneath it, a thread of amusement danced in your eyes, unable to be suppressed.

"You're truly something else," you murmured, your voice a blend of vexation and reluctant admiration. "I will figure you out, Mr. Riddle."

With that, he relinquished his grip on you, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "Not before I figure you out, first."

————————————

Chapter 21->

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dungeonpuppykai · 3 months

Text

|| Magnum Opus ||

Summary: She was like a Delta kite; created for flight and triumph. Only her line was wrapped around the fingers of her Boss.

Pairing: Dark Mob Boss!Pete Brenner | Naive Mobster!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Pete Brenner. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), innocent!reader (as innocent as can be), boss!Pete, assassin!reader, corruption kink, age gap (reader is early 20's, Pete is late 40's), Daddy kink, pet names, fingering, p-in-v penetration, thumb sucking, biting, possible degradation and humiliation, power imbalance, boob play, slapping, dark themes.

Note: Yes, I am obsessed with this handsome jerk. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

Naturally, Boss was very pleased.

"Good job, everyone" Pete was leaning against the edge of his heavy work table in his home -that was a literal mansion- office, hands resting in the pockets of his grey dress pants. A long mission that had run the course of half a year had finally concluded tonight at the hands of his ace assassin, Y/n, with the assurance that it was going to earn him millions.

"Okay…" He nodded at the team that had been involved; a line of stern faced cruelty hardened men staring back at him. Some had beards, the others hair that touched their shoulders and the few left still the pinkness of early youth in their cheeks. "Dismissed, drinks and dinner are on the house… You earned it" the parting announcement made the younger members, namely Jake, Syd and Bryce, cheer as they turned to leave but not before the dark haired boy with the long hair reached out for the quiet figure that was still in a corner of the dimly lit room; engulfed in darkness.

Pete was quick to notice Syd beckoning Y/n to join them. When the girl made no movement to accept or reject the offer, the Boss half-smiled to himself before he broke up the rising chant of the boys that meant to urge the girl to join them.

"Y/n, stay behind" he pretended not to have noticed the commotion, acting like it was pure business as always. Though his words caused Curtis to tense up and pause mid-turn, bearded jaw clenching as all of them had at least a faint idea -the older members more than that- of what went down when the Boss made the young girl stay behind. Though a quick look from Ari and a quiet arm squeeze from Steve had the man force his feet to move with much will but only after he had closed his fists in tight balls to endure his growing rage.

The younger boys deflated as Jake pouted at Pete, but a challenging eyebrow raise from the older man made all three boys cower before they dragged the one with the spectacles away. And now the room was empty. Pete looked up at the shadowed figure and smiled, holding a hand out invitingly as he awaited obedience.

Y/n had been trained not to move a single muscle until the Boss ordered it, and so she finally moved now. Beginning to close the distance between herself and the only semblance of family and belonging she had, the girl felt her eyes flinch a little when the light hanging above Pete's head hit them. A reciprocative smile made its way on her face as she fished a hand out of her jacket pockets and placed it in his bigger one.

As the Boss' eyes traveled from her pretty face to the hand, the man's widening smile suddenly declined and turned into a scowl instead. He now held his other one out with a stern expression. Pete had heard Fowler had recently hired himself an assassin who was as good as Y/n, but he hadn't believed it until now that his sweet girl's scratched up hands lay in his. It wasn't usual for her to get injured in any way.

Taking care of business unscathed was her specialty.

"Aw, babygirl" crumbling up the digits streaked with red in his palms, the man raised them to his lips and began to pepper kisses all over them. "Oh… Daddy is so sorry…" Her head shook on instinct.

No.

Daddy could never hurt her.

It was forbidden for him to apologize, always.

Because he could never be in the wrong.

"It's not your fault, sir." Y/n replied defensively. "It wouldn't have happened if I had practiced well. I have gotten way too confident recently. I am the one who should be apologizing– in fact," she was on her knees in an instant. "I am sorry, Boss. I should have been better" Pete couldn't help but crack a smile at his Magnum Opus.

"I am sure you will be," He sickly widened his legs and bit his lip when the girl responded by crawling in the space gladly. "Now that you know what went wrong… You'll definitely fix it, hm?" The girl nodded as she resisted the urge to give in to instinct and nuzzle her face in his crotch. But Pete liked it so much when she did so! "You took an oath after all… remember?" Manly fingers slipped into soft hair and short nails scratched against warm scalp.

Y/n's eyelids fluttered as she felt him guide her head closer to his nether regions. "Y- Yes, sir–" the clicks of his tongue signalling disapproval stopped her.

"Now, now, sweets. You can do better than that~" Pete cooed as he hooked one foot under her ass and caressed the cheek.

The girl pinked at that and the man smirked upon noticing it. "S- Sorry… I meant… meant…" Pete hummed as he nodded encouragingly. "Meant… Daddy…" Desperate for cover, she turned her face to the side and nuzzled it in his thigh as her hands hung above her, still clasped in his.

The word always made her feel silly. She wasn't little anymore and Pete wasn't her father, yet he insisted she call him that whenever they were alone.

Because you will always be my little girl no matter what. A flashback of when he had taken her on this very table with her legs bent over his shoulders answered her question.

And then…

Daddies take care of their little girls and since I take care of you, I am your Daddy, aren't I? Another one pooled before her vision. Her pussy clenched as her teeth pulled her bottom lip between them. He had made her sit on his cock when he had taught her that one. The VIP room of one of his many clubs had been dark and his guests for the evening had entered right after. Oh, how her Boss had cruelly made the girl serve drinks to all of them. Every movement, every reach, every friendly chuckle had thoroughly tortured her aching core and had left her unbearably sensitive where their bodies were connected. It was a punishment, after all. For questioning the Boss and objecting to her Daddy's wish.

"There's my girl~" Pete unsnaked his fingers from her hair now, patting her cheek praisingly before cupping the back of her head. "You did a really good job today still" kissing her fingers one last time and making a mental note to tend to them after he was done with her, he let go. "And I think my sweet pup has earned herself a little reward still, what do you think?"

Y/n's eyes lit up with the excitement of a child walking into a candy store. She looked up at him and eagerly nodded, bouncing on the heels of her feet in exaggerated enthusiasm that she meant with all her heart. This girl kneeling in between Pete's legs and kissing all over his thighs and crotch with hopes of appeasing him was the stark contrast of the unforgiving, numbed out cold blooded killer that had flooded the Fowler mansion with guts and flesh by her blades tonight.

But that was exactly what she had been brought up to be. Taken in by the then Boss Brenner at a very young age after her whole family had been massacred due to a blood feud and thrown in the lowest ranks to frankly be torn and devoured by the predatory ambition filled trainees of what was Pete's mob now, she had fought her way up until she was one of his top people.

Though she had retained her femininity -as the superficial men of the group liked to call it-, the girl had the menace and cunning of a viper. However, Y/n's only mental development had been in the realm of survival; her sole art mutilation and horror. Taken in and under the protective (though only physical) wing of the warden overseeing the training house she had grown up in, the girl was naive to everything else other than the above.

It was ironic how she had mastered what most people fear and refrain from knowing anything about but was a stranger to everything that is basic knowledge to the normal person.

So when she had caught Pete's attention at the ripe age of 19, the Boss had taken it upon himself to first test and then teach her all she was ignorant to.

Although in his own way, of course.

When Pete's veins had warmed up from the soft kisses Y/n was pressing all over his nether regions, he gently stood up. The sound of his blood pumping audible in his ears, the man used his crotch to push her face away with the full intention of doing so and then smirked when her eyes crinkled shut at the impact, causing the tip of her nose to rub against his hard-on.

"Come on, little pup." Looking over his shoulder, the mobster held his hand out for the eager girl to take. "Let's go" he spoke after she had obeyed, staggering a little in her attempt to stand up as the man had started to walk already. Pete could imagine her sexy chest jiggling in her tightly zipped leather jacket as she jogged to match his pace.

"Missed Daddy…" Now her voice was a tender whimper as she rubbed her cheek against his arm, tightening her hold on his hand. She had a habit of getting sensitive after a relatively dangerous mission. Yearning for Pete before walking into a job was instinct at this point, the longing to crawl back into his arms a drive and the need to feel him all over her body again a motivation. He was her home and world alike.

Nothing else mattered to her, not really.

After years of everyone breaking, beating and scarring her, Daddy was the man who had finally praised her for her efforts. He alone had treated her like a person and not an attack dog. Instead of making her feel sub-human due to what was between her legs, he had made her feel special; needed. Pete was the one who had taught her that she could be held, caressed, kissed, complemented, rewarded. He had shown her that she deserved more than being slapped and slashed.

Though she was to receive this treatment only by his hand, for any other man trying to treat her in even a similar manner to his could only mean ill. As the world was ugly like that.

But Pete wouldn't. Because he loved her and only meant well. Even when he punished or berated her it was for her own good.

Because he cared.

"Hmm, you did?" When she nodded and began to climb the stairs that lead to his master bedroom beside him, he raised an eyebrow. "How…?" A giggle escaped the girl when the man playfully leaned in. "Where?"

"E- Everywhere!" Her face flushed as she pressed herself in his side shyly, whimpering out her next words. "A- And…" The fingers of her free hand raised to touch her neck. "H- Here…" Now they hovered over her covered nipples as she blushed harder. "Here…" Pete's growing smirk made her whine under her breath before she spoke again. "A- And here…" Her fingertips pressed against her clothed crotch.

"Mmm…" The man felt his adrenaline increase with every step he took towards the room. "What about… here?" Images of everytime he fucked her face and throat raw flashed before Y/n's eyes when his fingers grazed against her lips, a devious grin spread across his handsome– smug face.

"DADDY!" The girl squealed and the man chuckled, coming to a halt when she shyly jumped in his size to conceal herself from his eyes. "Y- You're so… bad…!" Pete let out a comically evil laugh as he bent to scoop her form up against his shoulder before he started to basically race to the room.

"Oh, yes! And now the big bad monster will eat his little puppy up!" The sounds of her shrill giggles bouncing off the walls could easily fool a stranger. Going off of this sight alone, they would never be able to guess just what kind of cruelty was about to take place in that bedroom.

Hell, not even one of the two parties had the faintest idea.

Which was why a furious Curtis who was ready to charge his way back to the Boss all the way from the foyer was dragged away and out by a grunting Ransom and one struggling Ari.

Y/n landed on the King sized bed with a thump but before she could let out an oof her hands were prying at her clothes to hurriedly peel them off much like the man in front of her. The sight of Pete's shirtless body caused for a shiver to rise between her moist folds.

The girl couldn't help but bite her lip as she let her eyes savor the sight. His body was perfect; nothing more and nothing less. Not too soft and not too hard and ripped like those of many of her coworkers, the Boss was the most attractive man she had ever seen. Widening the space between her legs, the assassin laid back as she reached for her core as nothing turned her on more than a sweaty and breathless Pete furiously ripping his expensive clothes off for her, dark eyes watching her form like those of a predator. The dim lights bounced off the sharp edges of his body and hugged the softer parts such as his stomach in the most ethereal way.

Though her descent into the ultimate condition where her mind shut off and senses heightened was cut short when her fingers that were toying with her clit were smacked away. The Boss clicked his tongue in disapproval as the girl furrowed her brows in lust driven confusion.

"That's Daddy's to play with" his voice was husky as he wrapped his fingers around her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed with a rough jerk, the sudden movement causing the girl to gasp in shock. "Bad puppy" putting emphasis on his disapproval at her prior actions, Pete kneeled in front of her and started to kiss her thighs that were coated with evidence of arousal. The man smirked to himself when Y/n whimpered sensitively from where his goatee tickled her tender skin, a jolt exploding in her spine when he suddenly bit down in the junction between her thigh and pelvis.

"Daddy!" Scratched fingers desperately reached for light brown hair that was sleeked back. "Sorry, Daddy!" Rough, manly hands squeezed and pulled at the greatest ass Pete had ever seen. An open mouth kiss from him caused another explosion, although this time in her loins. "Please… please… Oh!" Y/n was definitely the louder lover between them.

"Please what, hm baby?" Licking his pre-cum coated lips, Pete moved her hands off his hair to lean back and connect his fingers to her core this time. "Tell, Daddy what you want. He can't know otherwise" softly cupping the curve between her legs, the man let his thumb lazily drag against the thick folds in a continuous vertical motion that was too slow to do anything for the hot blooded girl.

"D- Daddy…!" Y/n's toes twisted as she tried to grind against his finger only to fail due to the iron grip he had on her ass.

"Yes, puppy?"

"Daddy… Daddy…" His dark and stern gaze was making her heart pound harder. She wanted– needed him everywhere all at once. Against, inside, outside, above, below, front, back, up, down… and any other way possible.

"You can do it, puppy." Pete encouragingly urged her on while he caressed her thigh with his other hand, thumb now prodding at her weeping entrance. "Come on… Do it for Daddy…"

"N- Need you so bad, Daddy!" The girl finally willed herself to cry out, cursing and arching her back only to whine in frustration when she realized that he still wasn't letting his digit penetrate her where she wanted him most. "Please, need you e- everywhere… A- All over… please… Please!"

Fuck.

Pete briefly chewed on his lip before continuing to enjoy the sight for as long as possible. "How about we start off slow and safe with my fingers?" He had never really expected her of all people and girls to turn out this needy and desperate for him. But here she was; leaking and writhing. Begging and panting like a whore.

She was so much worse off than him.

"A- Anything! Please, sir! Anything– everything! Just please fuck me!" The girl spoke like she had been trained to do so, hissing in a breath as her eyes clenched shut when the man finally let his middle finger glide down the length of her core before it found its rightful place inside her awaiting entrance.

Her walls squelched as they unwillingly parted to accommodate his thick digit, hips slowly moving to get used to the invasion as she gasped out loud and reached to squeeze his other hand that was palming one of her boobs now. Pete winced as he felt his rock hard cock graze against the wooden side of the bed, teeth sinking down into one of her thighs to withstand the stimulation.

"Oh… Oh, Daddy! T- Thank you so much…" Y/n moaned out loud as she felt his hand release her tit only to reach for her mouth and circle her lips before slipping inside. "Mowe, Dawddy… Mowe…" The thumb hurdled her speech and she gave in, clasping her lips around it the way she had been taught and got to sucking.

"There's my little pup" Pete praised as he pumped his finger in and out of her at a steady pace, peppering kisses and tiny bites all over thighs. He sucked some spots to leave marks and nibbled on a couple old ones. It made her cry out before clenching around his finger. "Now be a sweetheart and show Daddy how you'd like him to take care of those slutty little fat fuck handles" he was readying his index finger that was presently swiping against her clit for penetration now. "Geez, all that tit and for what? You wanna open a milk bank or some shit you slutty little puppy?" The girl could only clench harder as she reached for her chest.

Even his degrading words made her feel awfully sexy.

Y/n was convinced that she was the luckiest little girl ever.

Her Daddy was the best.

"I- If ith pweases you, Dawddy~" Pete couldn't help but smirk at her unwavering obedience as she continued to suck at his thumb, hands clasping around her tits now.

"Atta girl" his second finger pushed and forced its way inside her tight and hot cavern, the sensation making her almost bite down on the digit that violated her mouth. Y/n's hold on her breasts tightened. "Hm…?" Tilting his head to the side at the sight, Pete began to pump his thumb in and out of her mouth, also speeding up the invasion of her petals. "That all, pup? Sure ya don't want Daddy to do anything else to those sweet little titties?" His own speech was being impeded by his increasing need to mount her like a wild animal.

The young girl shook her head vehemently as she whined at how fast he was finger fucking her sensitive little pussy now, the loud squelching sounds of flesh rubbing and slapping loud in the otherwise quiet room. Twisting her toes to withstand the pounding she was being subjected to, Y/n jerked her tits up and down before pinching her nipples in a manner that made her moan amidst everything and then pull them as far as her skin would allow, moaning all the while as she imitated the man's treatment of them.

Pete snickered as he made use of his thumb to flick her clit before he added a third finger to her hole that was beginning to get ready for his cock. This precaution was necessary, as the organ had messed her up in more than one way on more than one occasion.

Perks of a virgin, he humorously supposed.

"Dirty, dirty pup" depriving her of his thumb with a pop, Pete softly smacked her cheek before cursing at the way her head lolled to the side. His hand now reached for his swollen and crimson cock to aid the ache thumping in his balls, biting his lip at the sight of her own thumb slipping in her mouth. Just how he liked it.

The man wondered what her Robinhood of a fuck father would have thought if he was to see her now.

Pupils blown, nose flared, face flushed, tits perked and pussy clenched as her screams bounced off the walls, chest rising as she orgasmed. Her thighs tightened around his shoulders to try and brace herself for the mind shattering orgasm that was flooding through her body.

As Pete flipped her over and unplugged her quivering hole with a loud plop only to quickly plunge it back shut with his cock so he could enjoy the post-climax hypersensitivity before abusing it in every way he desired, the man snorted under his breath. Wrapping all the hair he could gather around one hand and pushing his cum coated fingers into her mouth before pulling it open from one side, Boss Brenner watched his mob's former rival's daughter arch her back as she stared back, eyes drooping and lazy as she willingly let him blow her back. Inaudible praises and pleads spilled from her flushed mouth.

It was no use pondering the what ifs now for Pete had mutilated Boss Y/L/N and his entire family himself that one eventful night decades ago. It was the same night his father's men had taken Y/n, now his precious puppy but then only a baby, to his father to decide what to do with her because the girl was far too young to be subjected to the same fate as her siblings and parents. Lucky for Pete who neither cared nor really knew of your existence back then, his father had shared the mercy of his top men.

Well, the man decided there was no way for him to ever know what his puppy's father would think of what had become of her. Or rather, what old Boss Brenner's son had made of his daughter.

For better, or worse.

Mostly better, he decided as he pulled all the way out only to smash his cock back in, causing the tip to hit the girl's spongy bundle of sensitive nerves as she let out a final cry before her arms gave out and she collapsed.

#pete brenner #pete brenner smut #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x you #pete brenner x reader #pete brenner x female reader #pete brenner x y/n

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konigsblog · 7 months

Text

RUINED — in which your lieutenant teaches you a valuable lesson.

simon ghost riley x afab!reader

warnings: feminine terms, female anatomy, degrading and humilating, corruption, mean dom!ghost, choking and slapping.

synopsis/summary: you and ghost don't seem to have the best relationship. always groaning when put on a mission together. this time, you took it too far with your backtalk towards you lieutenant, leading to your very harsh, cruel punishment.

a/n: i don't post fics often, but if this does well i'll think about posting them occasionally whilst doing my drabbles and blurbs, of course. reblogs and comments appreciated.

to say you and ghost got along was a lie. you envied eachother, glared at eachother from afar and talked behind eachother's back. your captain knew this. he knew you two didn't get along, deciding to team you up for a duo mission in the hopes you'd get along.

oh, how wrong he was.

not only did you two not get along, ghost had been shot in the shoulder and arm twice, leading to you having to call medic and help him in the meantime. the enemies took their opportunity and fled, knowing they wouldn't get away with a successful mission either. your goal was to eliminate all of hassan's men, which was now turning into a failed mission, and hearing ghost scoff and blame you didn't make it any better

“if you'd done your job correctly, you wouldn't have been shot. be glad i even bothered to help your ass.” you practically growled out, pushing yourself forward and infront of price who held you back. disappointment hung heavy in the air, and the tension was thick between you two. “it's no one's fault. we'll send you out once you're better. rest, simon.”

you rolled your eyes before turning your heel, walking off to your barracks where you would rest grumpily, seething at the thought of him blaming you for causing a failure.

a hand shuffling your body awakened you. you rubbed your eyes and attempted to see through your sleepy haze, seeing simon stand above you, his arm covered in gauze, standing shirtless above you. “simon?” he continued to stare at you. “you need to be taught a fuckin' lesson.” his tone harsh and strict, stern and demanding as he gripped the blanket beside your head.

“wha—?” you were only cut off by his calloused hand placed and wrapped around your neck. you squirmed, scratching and attempting to pull at his wrist, his eyes narrowing in on you as he caged you beneath him. “say you're sorry, doll.” you wouldn't, it wasn't your fault, and you wouldn't take blame for anything caused due to his stupidity. “let go—!”

his hand collided with your cheek. it wasn't too harsh, he could do better, it almost seemed he was saving any anger or energy for something else. you rubbed your cheek and sat up slightly, struggling underneath his bodyweight. “i didn't do anything, why would i say sorry?” simon tilted his head and smirked almost sarcastically, tightening his grip on the blanket. “you should've shot the enemies, obviously. get tha' through your thick skull.”

you bit your lip to supress your anger, he chuckled seeing the effect he had on you and your built up rage for him. “don't be oblivious, simon. you know that wasn't my fault, if anyone's; it's yours.” his thigh managed to work it's way between yours, you squeezed around him when he pushed your head against the bedframe, a loud thud while he kept his hand tightened around your neck. “who's fault, love?”

his accent deepened when he spoke, and you found yourself grinding down against his knee. he was wearing grey shorts, his skin against your barely covered pussy made you wince and shudder, almost whining when he rubbed it continuously against the thin material covering you and giving you some decency. “the military isn't made for anyone like you, not for people who can't admit their fault.” you managed between gasps, before he slapped you harshly, this time making your jaw drop.

simon glared at you with a tone that could make any recruit drop their arms to their sides and nod obediently. you, on the other hand, wanted nothing but to listen to him. but, as he continued to apply more pressure, almost begging to hear you squeal, you found yourself with tears welling in your eyes. “simon, please—”

as he continued to grind his thigh against your cunt, you became wetter. you felt something inside your stomach turn and how hard he was holding you by your neck made you dizzy and hazy. “'m sorry, simon.” you whimpered finally. you'd rather admit fault rather than die by his touch. “mm', not sure if i can accept it, sweetheart. give me something, something in return for that bratty attitude.” a smirk grew on his face as he let go, trailing his hand down to your chest where he squeezed your breast.

you moaned unexpectedly, arousal pooling at your wet sex, his thigh beginning to get soaked as your juices seeped through your panties. in the dark, you could make out his eyes,, the bedsheets moving as he moved your body down to rest your head on the pillow. his forehead pressed against yours, letting go and tilting his head as he kissed you sloppily. his lips attaching to yours and your tongue interwined, grinding against eachother through your desperation.

he made you feel vulnerable. and to him, you seemed so inexperienced in the military. how you freaked out and rushed over to him when he was shot, anyone else would react calmly. but you seemed like you were worried, like you'd never seen this before. “so whiney, yeah?” simon's voice deepened again as he leaned back in, growling between kisses. “mmf', simon...”

he was being unfair, he knew you were getting off at this; how weak and small he made you feel under his grasp, feeling guilty for kissing your superior, and upset for admitting you actually apologised despite how you said you wouldn't. “up. now.” he practically barked out, ordering you onto two wobbly legs.

simon pushed you against the wall, lifting and hiking you up into his arms, two large hands cupping your waist and yours gripping his shoulder tightly for support. he laid hickeys onto your skin, moving his lips up to yours again, messily sucking on your tongue till you were gasping for air. his bulge hardened at the thought of turning you into an obedient slut who finally listened whenever given an order.

“so desperate...” your thighs were soft, feeling as he let you go and down onto your feet again, tugging at your shirt and pulling it up to reveal your titties. “off, all of it.” and being desperate for that release and the knot in your stomach to snap, you did as you were told. shakily removing your pretty, light blue panties and taking your shirt off, hard nipples sensitive whenever he touched them.

his heavy shaft just pulled out from his boxers, before discarding both and pushing you against the white wall again. “you're drippin', love.” simon commented, rubbing his hand against your slit before bringing you back up into that position; legs wrapped around his waist and his hands groping your ass. simon's bare, wet shaft rested against your stomach, angling his hips to push inside, swallowing inch by inch till he bottomed out with a loud slap. “god—fuck! so fuckin' tight, so fuckin' tight, pretty...”

broad hips smacked against your own as he thrusted sloppily into you, fucking deep and hard into your tight hole, groaning when you spammed around him. your sounds stuttered and almost silenced, coming out breathless and whiney as he fucked into you. you could hear the wet, sticky sounds of his girthy cock stuffed into your pussy, your juices and your sweet musk addictive. “takin' it so well, ain't'cha? bet your used to bein' fucked, huh? bet you're a dirty fuckin' whore,”

“or maybe you're a dirty virgin, desperate for a thick cock shoved into your cunt..” he buried his head in the crook of your neck as he ploughed into you. your hand gripped his shoulder tightly, emitting a wince from him as some blood began trickling from the wound. too distracted by his heavy dick laying in your hole, you closed your eyes and moaned out his name.

he became animalistic with his pace, angrily shoving and pounding into you as you held his bicep tightly, gasping and whimpering at each thrust he made. “dirty slut, swallowin' my entire cock like the greedy fuckin' thing you are.” simon growled out, slamming into you repeatedly, hips smacking against your own and his thick tip ruining your insides.

you gasped as tears began forming in your waterline, threatening to spill as his pace got faster and faster. “take it all, all of it.” you cried at his words, salty tears soaking into your skin as he degraded and humilated you. “what would they think? if they saw your tight pussy bein' assaulted by my pace, huh? they'd think you're a whore desperate for cock, wouldn't they?” you mumbled and babbled, his teeth biting into your neck before he made eye contact with you.

“look at me.” you listened to his order, moving upur hips with his pace, grinding down against him and feeling his happytrail grazing against your soft stomach. he made you feel dizzy, and the knot in your of stomach was beginning to get ready to snap as you soaked his shaft in your cum. each vein on his cock was prominent, grazing against your gummy walls as he bullied his way into you — probably bruising your cervix.

you felt him increase his pace further, getting ready to cum deep into your tightening, clutching hole. a whine left through your swollen lips, stolen as be attached his lips onto yours, taking your moans away while fucking deep and hard into you. “simon, simon— simon!” simon's hard cock twitched inside, groaning and grunting as you squeezed around him rapidly, clutching onto him while you shuddered and shook, sobbing out and cumming all around his dick, his thick girth stretching you out before he got ready for his release.

he threw his head back and growled, the sounds of skin slapping loud and heavy before coming to a halt, his cum buried deep in your hole, still thrusting and fucking it deeper inside. “naughty fuckin'...” he panted, breathing heavily in your ear as he slowly slid from your ruined hole, slit raw and clit sensitive. you felt him carry you over to the bed, grabbing a tissue and wiping your pussy clean before sitting down beside you. “go to sleep, love. i'll be here, just relax...”

you barely noticed his arm, crimson blood trailing down it, it just managing to catch your eye as you sat up. “oh god, did i do that?” you hurried over to him and grabbed a tissue from the box, holding it against him before looking for your medical box that you kept for small smergencies during the night. removing the old gauze carefully, hearing his wince as he kept quiet, the new and clean gauze wrapped around after you managed to stop the bleeding.

“i'm sorr—” “'s alright, doll..” simon cut you off, running his hand through his hair and gripping his bicep before squeezing a few times. “c'mere...” he pulled you onto his lap, kissing you softly a few times, pulling away and resting his head on your shoulder.

“'s safe to say that you probably kept the whole base up with your noises. price will be happy we've made up, yeah?” he joked and teased, seeing you fall asleep in his arms. placed gently against your bed, the blankets covering you. he whispered quietly as you slept,

“mission was my fault, love.” little did he know, you weren't fully asleep just yet...

do not repost onto any other website without prior consent. — konigsblog⭒

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vilsoo · 10 months

Text

prize counter girl ☆ nine

➥ michael afton x camgirl!reader

you've been a camgirl for only a few months and everyone loves the content you post. when michael afton porn surfs to relieve his stress, he comes across your videos. the more he jerks off to your content, the more he's addicted. but it wasn't until, a few months later, he sees your familiar face as the new employee working at the prize counter.

chapter warnings. dom!reader, sub!michael, semi-public handjob, slight edging, so much sexual tension 🫣

notes. i hope yall enjoy this long awaited chapter 😏 i’m pretty sure this will make all the y/n simps worse LMFAO

pcg materlist • previous • chapter ten

Michael's cock has never throbbed so hard in his life.

He was close. So fucking close. Right at the peak, at the fucking brink of obtaining that orgasm he's been needing so bad it made his cock ache in pain. But after your sudden surprise, after realizing that very moment you were watching him the whole time in the dark... something suddenly switched in his brain.

That feeling of submission. An urge to just surrender himself to you. Succumbing to such a dangerous, yet alluring vivacity. Inclined to obeyyou, and only you; like holding him captive and chaining him up tight in the dark, making him quiver and gasp for every unobtainable breath of air. Ruin him, hurt him, mark him, corrupt him, just fucking use him for your entertainment and pleasure.

The next thing Michael knew, he could feel your breath against the side of his neck, sending a tingling sensation down his body it made his blood freeze. And that wicked, sultry gaze you gave him, like a predator eyeing their prey with burning desire... his inhibitions were already gone.

He was rendered docile to your tantalizing effect. His breathing grew heavier and the knots in stomach became contorted. At this very moment, he could no longer think for himself; he wanted to give you exactly what you asked for.

Michael inhaled sharply and clenched his aching cock tighter as you watched. Slowly, he stroked from the base and up to his tip that was drenched with his precum. "Right, I— I won't stop," he muttered under his shaky breath. "I won't."

A smirk of satisfaction stretches across your face as you watched him gradually fist his cock to a sufficing pace. The lewd sounds taking over the room, his whimpers and groans soaking into the air, and his heavy staccato breathing filling your ears; you were already getting off to this delectable moment. You had this urge to take your hand and gently caress him up from his face and down to his chest, feeling his heart pounding rapidly.

Michael turned his head towards you slightly, the tip of your noses faintly brushing against each other in the heat of the moment. His jaw was slackened and his brows were furrowed from the white-hot waves of sensation coursing in his body.

“Like— like this..?" he breathed out as he continues to jerk himself off, desperate and eager for your approval. "Is this good..?"

"Faster," you whispered into his ear, almost like a soft purr.

Lust speared through Michael at your salacious tone. Immediately he obeyed. With his grip tightened, he bucked his hips into his fist while increasing the pace to as you please, driving his breath to hitch and his groans to shamelessly grow louder.

"Good... You're doing so good," you praised, and Michael's body was sent into vibration.

Never has he been so turned on that he couldn't see straight. The supply closet was still dark with the rays of light creeping through the cracked door. He could feel it building, that taut electricity in his pelvis it made him clench his jaw. He wanted to come. He couldn't hold back anymore. He needed it so fuckingbadly.

"I'm— not gonna last. I'm gonna... I'm gonna—"

"You're gonna what?" you teased as your hand on his body roamed lower, down to his navel it made his hips studder.

"I'm gonna come," he whined out pathetically, nearly breathless. "Please, can I? I wanna—fuck— I'm so close, Y/N, please. Please make me come."

Michael's pleads were so adorable to you, it would be absolutely ruthless to deny his orgasm like that. There was just something so beautiful about a man pleading to you if he could cum; something so irresistible about a man begging and hearing the urgency with which he begs for permission to cum.

You could listen to that sound forever.

With your hand sliding down from his pelvis and onto his hard cock, he shivered as you wrapped your hands around it. So swollen, so wet, so sticky, so thick in your grasp. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing your hands it made you coo into his ears, trying to soothe him but also playfully torture him.

"Poor thing. So needy for me," you teased again, gently planting kisses on his neck and behind his ear. "Come for me, then. Make a mess all over yourself for me."

After hearing your words, pumping his cock faster, and squeezing him so tight in your hands, Michael felt like he was gonna fucking explode. He was shattered. There wasn't even enough time for him to register that he was actually living a dirty, forbidden fantasy of his; being given a handjob by you. Especially in such an unexpected time, in the last place where he would ever do this. But fuck, he couldn't resist.

Michael came so hard that spots flew behind his eyes.

His moans and whimpers trembled in his throat and sweat was trickling down his forehead; he was already a fucking mess. He had a tear-streaked face and glazed eyes, mouth hanging slack as his orgasm had crashed over him, pounding in his body like fireworks exploding. And god, there was so much cum milking out of him.

You lightly gasp in amusement watching him come so hard like that, furtively aroused and turned on by this. His drooling cum got all over your hands, dripping onto the floor. You stop fisting his cock but kept your hand wrapped around the base, still feeling it twitch and throb in your grip.

As Michael's rapid breathing slowed down, he tried to flutter his eyes open, still seeing spots in the corner of his eyes and his head feeling hazy. He was completely drunk by his own orgasm, which drove you to kiss him softly on the face for reassurance as he was catching his breath.

"Aw, you did so good for me, making a mess all over yourself like that," you praised again, smiling against his neck. "Let me clean this up for you."

It took awhile for it to register in Michael's brain since he lost his coherence for a few minutes. That was, until, he sees the way you slowly get down on your knees before him, never letting go of your grip on his cock, and opened your mouth.

Michael's breath hitched in surprise. He knew what you were trying to do, and god if that wasn't the hottest thing he's ever seen in his fucking life, but holy shit he wasn't prepared at all for this. You're trying to be gentle with him, but his hips jerked from the overstimulation.

"Wait, wait, wait— I'm still— I'm still sensitive, Y/N..."

"I know baby, I know..." you murmured fondly, your warm breath hitting against his dick that it made him shudder. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

Michael hummed in response, instantly melting when you gazed up into his eyes, slowly gliding your tongue with his cum up from the base and onto his sensitive tip, kissing it ever so gently while sucking in his load. He's never been so dizzy with desire and his body has never felt so hot it felt like he had a fever. He knew that you were teasing him like this on purpose and he allowed it. Nothing mattered to him anymore at that very moment.

You watched the way Michael reacted as you were nearly finished cleaning up all his cum. The way his breath stutters, the way he groaned slightly, the way he throws his head back and sighs out of pleasure, and his cock erratically throbbing when you kept kissing his tip. Meanwhile, Michael had no idea if this situation was even real. He may have subtly pinched himself to see if he's dreaming, but this was no dream at all; you really jerked off your manager in a supply closet at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex.

Post-nut clarity sometimes left the poor man confused.

You finished cleaning him up, humming in satisfaction when you gently sucked his sensitive tip for the last time. Then, when you flickered your gaze back onto his, hypnotized by the heat in your eyes, the end of your lips curved to a wicked smirk.

"It was pleasure doing business with you... Mike Schmidt."

Michael watched in meek silence as you stood up on your feet and opened the door, letting more of the light enter the room and hit on his face. He blinked rapidly, squinting his eyes at how bright it was, like he was transcending back to reality. It felt like a wave of clarity hit him so abruptly and his coherence finally came back. And when your words thoroughly processed in his brain, panic suddenly thrashed in his chest.

Oh.

She knows.

She fucking knows.

She's been knowing this whole fucking time.

As if his body was high on adrenaline, Michael swiftly pulled his pants back up and rushed out the supply closet to find you. He panted heavily, running into the arcade and looking everywhere for you only to see you heading down the hallway where the exit doors lead to the parking lot.

"Y/N? Y/N, wait!" Michael yelled out loud as he ran down the hall.

You halted before you could push open the door and turned your head to see him standing right behind you, panting heavily. He noticed you smirking slightly, as if you enjoyed the chase, but also the trouble and scandal that he's about to be involved in.

"Look, I... I was going to eventually tell you, I swear," he attested. "I've never told anyone, not even my dad, and I don't plan on doing so. I just— I'm sorry for keeping this secret for so long. Especially as your manager, it all just feels wrong."

Giving him a chance to hear him out, you slowly turn your whole body around to face him as he ambled closer to you, staying silent.

"Look. Ever since you started working here and we started talking... I've been seeing you as just— you. Not as a camgirl, not as a sex worker. And I even started liking you, too— like, a lot. But there's just that... guilt of knowing what you really are and that's what has been holding me back."

Michael's gaze travels to the floor, feeling his chest tighten in culpability and uneasiness. "I didn't know how to come forward about it and I didn't know how to do it without any of us getting in trouble," he continued to confess. "But I'm just letting you know, I would never hold your side-gig against you. Never."

You inhaled deeply through your nose, hugging yourself from Michael's consolation. "We can just go on with our night and pretended this never happened," he continued. "But, really— I'm very sorry for hiding all of this from you."

It took a few moments, but you slowly ambled closer to him, arching your neck back to look into his eyes one last time. Michael noticed that same longing expression you had before, now subtly fading to a gentle, soft smile.

"Pretend this night never happened? Why would I wanna do that?" you say, slanting your head at him and giving him that look that you always give him; it made his skin crawl and his goosebumps to raise. Before he knew it, this whole consolation took a 360 degree turn that Michael never predicted.

"I appreciate you being honest with me, Michael," you beamed. "Sometimes I was in denial about it, but— the more we became closer, I started putting two and two together. It was painfully obvious now that I think about it, so I just kept teasing you and trying to get a rise out of you."

"Wait— so, you've known for awhile that I was Mike Schmidt...?"

"I did," you chuckled. "And you don't have to worry. I'm not really mad that you kept it from me. In fact, I respect you so much for not holding it against me. Which is why... I like you a lot, too, Michael."

An uncontrollable eruption detonates in his chest, like his lungs were squeezing in on him and his stomach becoming contorted from all the knots. He held his breath, his body flushed hotter, and his heart stammered. "You— you do?"

"Yes. I do," you breathed out, inching closer to his face with your lips almost touching his. "But there's also one thing I wanna know from you, though."

"Anything."

"How many times have you fucked yourself to me?"

Michael was caught off guard once again. Even though you're comfortable with each other, he couldn't help but feel bashful about the question. "Uh— you know. Only, like, a few times..."

You smirk at his blatant lie. "Aw, Michael. You and I both know that's not true."

Suddenly, something switched in him again. As if his underlying urge to take control over you this time was finally resurfacing. Knowing that you were riling him up on purpose for your pleasure, torturing him for so long that it's what lead to this very moment, jerking off earlier in a fucking closet; he wanted to get you back so bad.

"So what if I tell you, hm?" he teased, "All those times I got off to you playing with yourself for me... All the times I watched you orgasm multiple times on your streams..."

You find yourself biting your lip while walking backwards, your back hitting against the wall with Michael towering over you this time. And there goes that flame of burning desire scorching in your core. A tingling sensation blossoming at the base of your spine.

"You have no fucking idea... how long I've been fantasizing about fucking you every day and night until you can't think straight, Y/N."

Michael's hand slithers up from your neck and to your face, finally getting to caress you this time. Your hands are now all over him too, as if you fell right under his spell in lust. A rush of helplessness stirred in your stomach; there was something about the heated look in his eyes under this dully illuminated hallway that sinks in you deeply. His insistent mouth was parting your quivering lips, sending wild tremors within your nerves.

"Isn't that what you wanna hear from your top supporter?" he mutters into your ear. "Paying you just so I can fuck myself to you? So I can watch you please your audience, showing off that pretty fucking pussy into the camera..."

Your breathing was growing rapid this time when Michael's hands traveled to your waist, softly caressing your skin. If he were to have his hands near your inner thighs, he would immediately feel the heat, the arousal surging inside you. Oh, you were throbbing. You knew you were soaking as well. But holy shit, this side of Michael being in control and making you fall submissive this time has never turned you on so much...

"I've fucked myself to you for two months because I want you, Y/N," Michael professed, inching his head lower that his lips were just barely brushing yours. "I wanna take you out on dates, I wanna experience new things with you, I wanna play more arcade games with you, I just wanna be—"

Without thinking twice, you shut your eyes and clash your lips onto his, holding onto his jaw to pull him closer and keep him in place. He closes his eyes and kisses back slowly, pulling you by the hips and taking in each other's scent it drove you both dizzy. This time, it felt much more passionate compared to your first kiss in your car; it wasn't as sloppy or rough. You just kept clinging onto each other until the lack of air was making your lungs scream for oxygen. But nothing made you wanna separate from this heated moment.

"—yours," Michael suddenly continued as you both slowly pulled away from the kiss, staring at each other in farcical silence that you busted out laughing together.

You look into his softened eyes and smiled. "You already are."

#prize counter girl #michael afton smut #michael afton x you #michael afton x reader #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #fnaf michael afton #fnaf micheal

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