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bluejeanstrash · 9 months

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pt. 2 | pt. 3

tags: vampire! seventeen x human reader, 18+, mdni, dubcon, mind control, oral (m receiving), mentions of a gangbang, hardcore humiliation and degradation (verbal and physical)

seungcheol’s hand twists around your hair, grabbing a fistful of it to pull you off his cock. ‘stick your tongue out for me’ he cooes. you feel quick steady taps against your wet tongue and immediately you can tell it’s not his cock anymore. who is it today?

you don’t have time to dwell on that thought as seungcheol shoves your head forward, the cock sliding into your mouth as you hear a low satisfied groan. this man, whoever he was, was much more unforgiving than seungcheol, and you can feel it in the way he uses your mouth — like it’s not attached to the rest of you.

it’s not long before you feel your jaw ache and you start slacking, barely putting in any effort into pleasuring him.

‘tch, is this how we treat our guests? i know you can do better than that’ seungcheol chides, disappointed in you.

you hear the man zip up before he bends down, now eye-level with you. ‘open your mouth’ he speaks with an unexpected low drawl that makes your toes curl. he pushes his thumb inside your mouth, the coldness of it making you shiver, and the shiver making your nipples hard. faintly, you hear someone laugh. the man goes deeper, probing further and further until you finally gag.

‘are you tired?’ he questions and you shake your head no. ‘it’s okay if you are’ something tells you not to admit to that.

‘i’m not tired’ you say aloud, immediately regretting it, and a second later feel a sharp sting across your face ‘i don’t remember giving you permission to speak to me’

‘wonwoo, you’re scaring her’ you hear someone hum and you freeze, your blood curdling. he’s here again.

‘am i?’ icy fingers grip onto your blindfold, yanking them off as your eyes try to adjust to the darkness, and when his silhouette becomes sharper you almost gasp — inches away from you is one of the most beautiful vampires you’ve ever seen. it’s blinding beauty and it feels like if you look at him too long you’ll lose your mind; so you drop your gaze to the floor.

‘am i scaring you?’ he asks and you shake your head again.

‘see, she’s not scared’ he turns around to tell them. ‘them’ are the familiar figures that sit at the back, hidden in the shadows. you still don’t know their names — you’re left so mindfucked each time you can barely remember a thing. they all come and go, most don’t even touch you, they just want to watch a human being toyed with.

‘you know-’ he turns back to you ‘-i don’t really care for humans but i have to admit i do like how nice and warm they feel when i fuck them’ he runs two fingers down your neck. ‘and he’ his eyes flicker to seungcheol and back ‘tells me you’re a really good slut. tells me you begged to live so you could become one’

‘so, if you can’t even do that properly then there’s no point keeping you alive’ he whispers, pushing his sharp nails into the throbbing pulse in your neck.

‘that’s enough’ seungcheol steps forward.

a snarky little smile pulls at wonwoo’s lips ‘why? have you grown attached to your pet?’ he mocks, attempting to rile him up.

‘now now, let’s not fight in front of the human’ you hear him again, a shiver running down your spine. you remember the last time he was here — him and the other one took turns with you for hours. it was brutal. so why does your pussy throb thinking about it?

you hear his sadistic hum echo off the stone walls as he tugs at the chain that’s attached to you. he drags you towards him, watching you crawl across the floor to where he’s sitting.

‘i hope we didn’t ruin the mood for you’

you say nothing.

‘did we?’ you know from experience there’s no right answer here. ‘yes? no?’ he pushes, itching for you to answer.

‘jeonghan, i think you’re the one that’s scaring her’ someone laughs and you feel your blood curdle for the second time. the other one is here too.

your pulse picks up, your heart beating through your chest a million times a minute. you try to calm yourself down but it refuses to steady. are you scared? excited? both?

‘ooh, i think she likes you joshua. can you hear that? her heart is beating so fast’ jeonghan tattles like a snotty kid revealing your crush to the class.

‘aww, you like me? come here’ jeonghan drops the chain as you turn to joshua. he claps his hands calling you towards him like a dog. you crawl to him, the cold stone under you bruising your knees; but every time you get closer, joshua takes one step back. you can hear hushed snickers from the audience as he does it again and again, taking longer strides each time.

‘joshua, her knees’ seungcheol warns. he hated bruises on his human pets.

‘okay, okay, i won’t tease anymore’ he stops, letting you reach him.

‘now let's not forget our manners. when you greet someone you should bow. i’ll go first’ he bows to you, causing jeonghan to chuckle. that sick laugh triggers memories of last time. these two played off each other's energy constantly — when one laughed, so did the other; when one was cruel, the other followed. they were so in sync, right down to the way they fucked you.

‘now you go!’

you bend, bowing low, feeling hot humiliation burn through your body.

‘lower’ he lifts his foot up and places it on your back, pressing down till you can’t bow any further. ‘how polite’ he smiles a smile that reaches his eyes.

‘see, we have such an obedient slut here, so why are you wasting time fighting?’ jeonghan taps his nails on the armrest before letting out a long sigh ‘now someone please fuck her, i’m bored’

‘get up’ joshua pulls you up by the chain. ‘choose!' he points around the room 'who do you want to fuck the most? we’ll start off with them'

you look around, your eyes drawn to wonwoo. it’s almost hypnotic the way you feel compelled to look at him. your body wants him…and so does your mind? there’s a voice repeating his name in your head that you're sure doesn't belong to you.

joshua’s eyes follow yours ‘how interesting..’

‘well, wonwoo’ he lets go of the chain as it hits the floor with a resounding clang ‘she’s all yours’

wonwoo smirks, walking over. behind him you see seungcheol’s face sour, his eyebrows pulled together.

wonwoo walks leisurely, a warm wetness spreading between your legs as he practically devours you with his eyes on the way.

the closer he gets, the more you realise just how tall he is. his lean frame towers over you as he grabs your jaw making you look up at him. under his rough grip he can feel it all — your blood rushing, your rhythmic pulse, the heat of your skin — you feel so alive and that makes him so hard.

he takes his thumb rubbing it across your plump lips and then without warning pricks you, immediately licking away the blood that oozes out ‘fuck, you’re delicious’ he mutters against your lips. he glances back to see seungcheol has taken a silent step forward and rolls his eyes.

‘well’ he says, pushing you down to your knees ‘i hope for your sake you fuck as good as you taste’ he unzips his pants, pulling out his cock and stroking himself as you see him lick his lips again desperate for another taste of your sweet blood.

‘go on, what are you waiting for? open your fucking mouth’

god, you’re in for a really hard night.

#a drabble for a daydream i had #also i know the vampires aren’t historically accurate i simply wrote them to be cruel and hot :)#wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #joshua smut #joshua x reader #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen au #seventeen vampires #seventeen x reader #svt smut #svt x reader

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williamsracinggf · 2 months

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✧.* just like dad / ls2 *.✧

little luna sargeant's got her mind set on one thing: she wants to be just like dad when she grows up.

notes: HURRRR THEY WONT TAKE ME OFF SHADOWBAN SO I'M POSTING HERE UNTIL THEY TAKE ME OFF and yes i'm still tagging it under dpm LMFAOOO

“i’m nervous.” logan glances at the sleeping 5-year-old sprawled across the backseat with her koala stuffie covering her face. he sits back again and glances at you, eyes stuck on the road ahead.

you hum and glance over at him, shaking his leg as he twists his body and takes another look at your daughter. “it’s not even your race, babe.”

you hear logan sigh exasperatedly, staring longingly at the snoring kid. “i know it’s her race. but you know,” he trails off, tilting his head slightly.

he doesn’t get nervous about his races anymore. so when the then 4-year-old daughter came up to him after his race in miami talking about how she wanted to register for a karting race this year, he was more than flabbergasted. he remembers looking over at you in shock while you just shrugged and told him, “you heard the lady.”

while you’re not entirely pleased by your daughter’s decision to start karting, you wouldn’t ever dare to be the parent who told her what she can and cannot do. it’s a value that you and logan had discussed earlier in your relationship and something you’ve tried to stick to heavily.

if you have the means to ensure that your daughter can do what her heart desires, then why would you ever deny her?

logan would have preferred for his carbon copy to not subject herself to the brutality of the sport he’s gotten himself into, but he also cannot help the feeling of pride growing in his chest at the thought of his daughter taking after him. there is something so endearing about the way she wants to be just like him — in her words, not his.

“you can always tell her not to race,” you shrug. “no harm in saying no.”

he throws his head back as he gets comfortable in his seat again. “i can’t do that,” he shakes his head, “you saw how excited she was when we signed her up for her classes.”

you laugh. “besides, you’ve got the perfect gift for luna.” you reach over for his leg in the passenger seat, squeezing him as you smile at him. “she’ll love it.”

that’s another thing: the custom helmet that logan had gotten made for luna’s first race ever. your daughter initially only insisted on her own race suit, which you went and got customised together without logan on a weekend he was away for a race.

it wasn’t until little luna had seen one of logan’s helmets on one of your bedroom shelves that she decided she wanted one for herself. but by that point, it never would have made it in time for her first race.

though, logan being the proud dad that he is (and luna being daddy’s little girl), he already had a custom helmet in the works with a much cuter motif. it’s pink and grey with koalas plastered all over it, thanks to oscar’s influence on the little girl during their trip to australia early last year.

“that design was sent in months ago. what if she doesn’t even like pink anymore?”

logan’s concern is valid. the little girl had taken after your indecisiveness, often changing her claims for things that are her favourite every other day. one time she had sobbed for a solid half hour after logan came home with blue raspberry flavoured candy, suddenly claiming that strawberries are actually her favourite flavour of candy.

logan looked at you hopelessly for help, but neither of you had gotten the memo that her blue raspberry obsession was short-lived. he wound up walking out the front door and coming back with a bag full of strawberry-flavoured candies, feeling like the worst dad that he had somehow let it slip his mind what her favourite candy was.

both of you struggled to finish the blue raspberry candy for weeks, having to start giving it away in the paddocks during his next race.

“i’m sure she still likes pink as much as she did yesterday,” you explain, glancing at your daughter through your rearview mirror. “look at her — it looks like the pink panther threw up all over her.”

he looks back at her, almost bursting out in laughter at how right you are. she’s taken the liberty to dress herself in a pink tutu with a random grey shirt, topped off with a bow that held her hair in a ponytail. “are you sure? what if she wakes up and changes her mind?”

your car comes to a slow stop, surrounded by several other cars in the parking lot of the karting track. you turn to logan and sigh as you shake your head. “you’re overthinking this, babe. she’ll love it,” you reach over for his hand, “because it’s from you.”

he raises an eyebrow, staring at you with clear scepticism. being away for weeks at a time didn’t make him feel like a great dad, despite the young girl always clinging to him whenever he was back in town for breaks, always rambling on about how much she missed her dad while he was gone and that she watched his race.

it’s managed to make him feel so disconnected in her life, sometimes even jealous of how much time you’ve gotten to spend with luna as she grew up. he just doesn’t feel like he knows a lot about her, despite him passing the random quizzes from his giggly daughter right before bed.

“are we here?”

logan flinches at the tiny face that’s slotted herself between their seats, clutching his chest while the 2 girls burst into laughter. “you’re sneaky! i didn’t even notice you were awake!”

“the car stopped moving!” luna shrieks, climbing between the two seats to throw herself onto logan. “and i’m excited!”

“of course, you are!” you cheer, reaching over to pat her head. “it’s your first race, isn’t it?”

she turns her head to look at you with a wide smile, her familiar green eyes shining in the sun that hits your car. your genetics hadn’t had a chance against logan’s — the small girl sported identical green eyes and dirty blonde hair, with dimples to complete the mission of being his clone.

“uncle ozzy will be here too, right? with aunty lily?” she scrambles to press her face against the window, hands cupped over her eyes as she scopes out for her parents’ best friends in the crowd outside the car. “what about uncle alex?”

“they promised to be here to watch your race, lu,” logan laughs, peeling her away from the window. he sits his daughter on his lap, leaning back as he enjoys their time in the cold of the car. “i actually got you a present for the race today.”

“a present! where?”

“it’s in the back, but-”

“then let’s go!” luna squirms in her father’s grip, reaching forward to unlock his door. she almost falls out when she opens it, giggling when logan’s grip on her arm refrains her from hitting the ground face first.

she wiggles out of his grasp, logan tiredly looking over his shoulder at you, still sitting peacefully in the driver’s seat. you shrug as you pull down the visor and grab your makeup bag. “you told her about your present. you know how she feels about presents.”

he opens his mouth to shoot back an explanation, but is cut short by his daughter screeching and running back up to his side of the car. “daddy, my present!”

she reaches up for logan’s hand, forcefully pulling him out of the car. he nods, stumbling over himself as he hurriedly reaches back to release his seatbelt and lets her drag him to the trunk of your family car.

“what is it? is it a toy?” she beams, hopping next to logan as he scavages the several bags in the back for the black dustbag that contains her new helmet. “did you get it while you were away?”

“it’s no longer a surprise if i tell you,” logan laughs.

“is it a toy?”

logan shrugs, reappearing with a bag in his hand. luna’s eyes widened at the far larger gift than she had expected. she reaches up for the bag, whining when logan doesn’t immediately give it to her.

“do you want to guess what it is?” he teases, lifting it further out of her grasp.

“no!” she shrieks, now wrapping her arms and legs around her father’s body at an attempt to climb him to get to her promised present. “please, daddy! my present! i wanna see it!”

“how can daddy give you the present when you’re climbing him like a little monkey, my love?” you laugh, coming around the corner to tear her off logan’s body. “are you our little monkey baby?”

you burst into laughter watching the tiny girl screech in response, shaking her head aggressively as she tries to rebuke your accusations.

alas, logan finally gets on his knees to match her height. he holds out the bag to her, grinning when her green eyes stare into his, her body shaking in excitement. “present time?”

she nods, biting down on her lip. “present time.”

she drops to the ground when logan hands it over. she immediately grabs at the bag, tugging it off the helmet and grunts when there’s another layer of paper packaging that shies it away from her prying hands and curious eyes.

when she does get around to it, though, it’s like time stops when she lays eyes on the large drawing of the koala on the top of the helmet. just 3 weeks ago, she had finally come to terms that she wouldn’t have her own custom helmet for her first ever race ( against her best wishes). now here’s a helmet with her name in black at the corner.

she breaks into a mind-curling scream as she jumps to her feet excitedly. she certainly doesn’t notice the eyes heavily staring at your family, but you do, simply shrugging before returning your attention to luna.

“daddy!” she screams, throwing her arms around logan’s neck, knocking him back into the ground. she doesn’t even notice the soft thud when the back of his head hits the car. “it’s pink and there’s a koala! oh, my days!”

you snort at her vocabulary, suddenly wishing that you hadn’t taken george up on the free babysitting in the paddocks whenever you’re there. her vocabulary never fails to shock you, seemingly being the perfect mix of a kid growing up in the uk with a dash of american from her dad’s side of the family.

she pulls away from him, picking the helmet up from the ground and hops on over to you. “look at it, mummy! it’s got a koala on it!”

you feign excitement and shock. logan had consulted you with the design about a month or two ago, asking you for opinions and any additional designs to satisfy his little girl. you’d even seen the helmet just this morning before getting out of bed to make breakfast for the family.

she turns back to logan, who simply grins. “you like it?”

“i love it!” she screeches. she places the helmet over the dustbag on the ground, whirling around to throw her arms over logan again. “it’s the best present ever! i really really love it!” she throws her head back. “you’re the best dad in the world! i love you!”

she grabs logan’s face, mushing his cheeks as she presses a sloppy kiss on his cheeks. “thank you, thank you!”

“little luna!” oscar’s voice makes the young girl perk up, turning around at the call of her favourite uncle.

she picks up the helmet and sprints over to the couple not too far away, stopping in their tracks when she practically throws herself into oscar’s arms with the helmet in her hands. “look what daddy got me!”

oscar and lily immediately gawk at the girl’s amazement of her dad’s present, showing them all of the things she’s noticed since she laid eyes on it about 5 minutes ago.

logan finally turns to you, sighing in relief. he rests his head on your shoulder and you chuckle as you wrap your arms around him and pat his back. “you’re too hard on yourself, love,” you hum, swaying slightly as you take a quick glance at luna, now surrounded by alex and george who are also congratulating her on her first helmet. “she sees you, you know.”

he pulls away and leans into your touch when you cup his cheek. perhaps he’s too hard on himself. but when you’re away from your daughter most of the year, you’re bound to start thinking that you’re no better than an absent parent.

“i just always feel so disconnected from you guys.” he clenches his jaw, throwing himself over your smaller frame again to hide his face in your hair. “i wish i was around more. it feels like i’m losing her with each day i’m not around.”

“she talks about you all the time and how cool you are.” you pull away and grin slightly, caressing his cheek with your thumbs. “look at her — entering her first karting race. she goes on and on about being just like daddy. you’re her hero.”

logan raises his eyebrow and clenches his jaw. “again — i wouldn’t say i should be her role model when it comes to racing.”

“you can’t change her mind,” you shrug, forcefully turning logan around to look at luna, now in fits of giggles as oscar helps her to try on the helmet. “you’re always with her even when you’re not.” you rest your cheek on his arm, wrapping an arm around his and intertwining your fingers together.

“i just miss you guys so much all the time.” he throws his head back with a groan, turning back to you. “i miss you all the fucking time.”

“don’t be like that.” you tiptoe and pucker your lips, giggling sheepishly when he bends down to press his lips on yours. “luna loves watching the races and she looks forward to you coming home with trinkets and candy. she never forgets you.”

before he can answer, a hand is hitting his thigh, forcing him to pull away to look down at what’s cut your intimate time short.

the girl looks up with her helmet on, her small hands struggling to pull up the visor. “daddy, mummy, look.”

“oh, luna, you look so cool!” logan gushes, helping the girl lift the visor.

her cheeks are mushed in the helmet, green eyes shining through as she throws her head back with a loud giggle. “as cool as you, daddy?”

“even cooler!” logan bends down, taking the young girl into his arms. he hoists her into the air, and then sits her on his hip before reaching for your hand. “come on, let’s get ready for your first race, lulu.”

@cashtons-wife @nikfigueiredo @darleneslane @happy-nico @namgification

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #ls2 #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke mab

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 9 months

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hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring.

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness.

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation.

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard.

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this.

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing.

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road.

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment.

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands.

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him.

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers.

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill.

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head.

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear.

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left.

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening.

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough.

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud.

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him.

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose.

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods.

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted.

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke.

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism.

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can.

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work #ngl i just wrote my oc in second person pov so like sorry but honestly not that sorry lmfao everyone still gets to eat #but there's no use of names or nationality markers it reads pure reader

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dearharriet · 3 months

Text

By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.” You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

#sirius black #marauders #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x female reader #marauders era #sirius black fic #sirius black fluff

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kuroosdarling · 10 months

Text

DEVOURED — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. barou shoei !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : a not so gentle reminder on why you shouldn’t squirm in barous lap.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. cockwarming, unprotected sex, creampie, primal kink (?)

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : everyone say happy birthday to this king ^_^ love him sm and needed to get a lil blurb out for him hehe. enjoy !!

“shoei-“ you whine, your nails digging into barou’s back. he’s kept you in this position for well over 15 minutes and you could hardly take it anymore.

but you didn’t really know how much he got off on it. how he loves when you cling to him, whining in his ear with problems only he can solve. he feels needed, like he’s got you wrapped around his finger — he feels unbeatable.

“stop squirming.” he gruffs out, the pads of his fingers forcefully gripping your hips, securing you in place yet again. his cock couldn’t help but twitch inside of you as you let out another sweet whimper.

he wanted to see how long he could cockwarm you for. it was agony for him as well, but it was laced with the sweetest sin that made it all worth it. having your pleasure at his mercy stirred up his insides and brought him back to something deep within his very core — the one that aligns with the primal side of his brain. to win, to conquer, to rule.

“i thought you were gonna be good for me?” he speaks lowly in your ear, the intimacy has you tightening around him and all he can do is bite back a groan. “thought you’d do anything for me, hm?”

“ye-“ the word gets cut off with a cry as he roughly thrusts up into you. he relishes in the power he has even while he’s buried deep within you. he pauses, and you know he’s still waiting for his answer. “yes, i'll be good.”

he responds with a satisfied hum as your nails dig further into him. he’ll proudly wear the marks you leave on him, showing them off at practice just so the other guys can only dream of tasting a bit of what he has. but they’ll never get it, they’ll never have you. and the thought alone drives him insane.

barou isn’t dumb, he can tell you’re almost at your limit. his fingers reach down to touch your clit, causing your body to jolt against his. but you’re good and only let out a small whine. everything was so wet, your slick had completely covered every inch between you two and he knew it was about time. all he had to do was wait one more second for the signal.

and there it is. this is exactly what he wanted, what he was waiting for all this time. your body gives out, practically falling onto him as your head rests on his shoulder. a silent surrender that has him all too excited, a satisfied smirk growing on his face as his lips brush against your ear.

“atta girl.” he praises, the words barely escaping his mouth. pride fills his chest as he feels you nod, peppering your soft kisses into his skin. “you’ll get what you want now, don’t worry. let your king take care of you.”

in an instant, his hips are snapping up against yours, brutally thrusting into you. all you can do is hold onto him. which only drives him more feral. the feeling of you clinging to him, taking every single thing he’s giving you, causes him to lose a piece of his control.

his mind blanks out as all he can do is focus on how good you make him feel — mind, body and soul. the level of trust and confidence you pour into him has him wanting to give you everything and anything you want. he’d give you the damn world if he could.

you feel his dark red eyes wander down your body, watching where the two of you connect over and over again. he honestly can’t tell where he ends and you begin. the two of you formed into the perfect being as his hips mercilessly chased yours, almost offended by the space that’s inevitably formed between your bodies each time he pulls out.

that’s why he loves cockwarming so much. he loves to see how desperate you get, yes, but the softer, more vulnerable part of him craves that closeness. and each time he feeds into it, it chips away at his control. slowly losing himself to you in the way he always prided that you did to him.

your cries grow louder and louder, your body helplessly falling limp against his as he drives all his force up into you. each thrust was getting harder, deeper. your needy cunt barely lets him move out of you. every part of your body latched onto him and it made his mind dizzy. but he was not one for giving in.

so, he reached back down between your joint bodies and expertly rolled your clit around between his fingers. it sent you over the edge, bringing him with you in a cry of victory. his hips drove themselves into your depths before filling you up with everything he had.

it was quiet for a moment, save for both of your heavy breathing. lightly grabbing you by the back of your neck, he softly gazes into your eyes. a silent way to check in on you, read you to see where your mind was at. and by the glint in your eye, he knew you were still with him.

besides, just because you’ve both come, doesn’t mean it’s over. far from it, actually. because now that the beast has been let out of its cage, expect to not be finished until the both of you have been devoured by it.

#⁺. ʚ now streaming:#barou shoei #barou shoei x reader #barou x reader #barou shoei smut #barou smut #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut

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sadhours · 6 months

Text

Penance (Sequel to Bully) - 1/3

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

A/n: something happened and this came out of me.

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, Catholicism, religious kink, religious trauma, idolizing billy like he’s god, oral (f and m receiving), road head, choking, p in v, unprotected sex, swallowing heheh

word count: 3.9k

A cool night in late October, suns been down for hours. Rubber burns on the asphalt as that midnight blue Camaro rips down your street. You can hear it as soon as he turns down Chardonnay Way six blocks up. Rushing out into your front yard, Billy pulls up and leans against the center console so he can push the passenger door open for you. With an excited squeal, you jump inside and he peels away before you can even close the door.

“Angel,” he purrs, that devilish smirk you’ve fallen in lust with spreading across his lips and you feel that all too familiar heat rising up your thighs.

No matter the routine, you get insufferably excited at sneaking out with him. Being as now you don’t go to the same school and you’re absolutely forbidden from seeing him. St. Augusten is a good school and all, but it’s a little brutal being around only girls all the time. Not to mention, all you can think about is Billy. All day you fantasize about him. Which is totally sinful, if the sisters could read your mind you’re sure they’d expel you or worse, exorcize you. It’s really not your fault, since he took your virginity you’ve been insatiable.

“Hi,” you pant before placing your hand on his thigh and leaning over to kiss his jaw. “Been thinking about you all day.”

Billy hums intrigued, his breath hitched when he replies, “You little nymph.”

Smoothing your hand up his thigh, you place a handful of kisses against his jaw until your hand cups the particular piece of him you’ve been thinking about nonstop. You squeeze gently, groaning excitedly as you feel it start to get stiff. Billy exhales sharply, pressing on the gas a little harder. You observe as his hands tighten around the wheel as you push against his bulge some more. His hips roll just slightly, barely noticeable but you’re learning how to pick up on his tells. You’re actually a bit obsessive, analyzing your interactions once you’re back home in bed. Remembering every sound and move he makes, and what you do that has him making them.

“Can’t help myself,” you tease, squeezing his cock through his tight jeans and lick against his jaw, “You made me like this.”

“Fuck,” he groans, lips parting as his tongue comes out to swipe against his lower lip. “Keep talking.”

“You corrupted me,” you tell him with a whine, unbuttoning his jeans slowly, “You touched me and now all I can think about is all the nasty things I wanna do to you. All day, during school, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I need to have your cock in my mouth.”

He gasps, foot heavy on the accelerator as you unzip his jeans and pull his achingly hard cock out. You lick against his jaw again, squeezing the base of him.

“Today's lesson was Avoiding Evil and Doing Good,” you tell him matter of factly before lowering your voice, “And I had to keep squeezing my thighs together because I was thinking about you fucking my face.”

“Jesus Christ,” he tilts his head back just slightly as he rolls his hips again, keeping his eyes on the road. “Bet you’d let me bend you over your desk and fuck you in front of everyone.”

“I would,” you agree, beginning to pump him in your hand, “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.”

“Such a slut,” he groans, “Be a good girl and swallow down my cock.”

You bite your lip as you smile, leaning down between his legs and licking at his tip. Swirling your tongue around the pink tip and gathering all the precum bubbling out of his slit, you languidly stroke his shaft in your palm. The weight of him makes you giddy, makes your whole body tingle in anticipation. Wrapping your lips around him, you peek up to get a look at his face. He’s still got his eyes on the road but his mouth is open from the pleasure. So you swallow him down as far you can take him, smiling around his cock as he elicits a gravelly moan. Lowering a hand to his sack, you breathe through your nose and begin to bob up and down on him. Suddenly, you feel his hand knotting in your hair and you pray there’s no sharp turns coming up. Maybe you shouldn’t be praying to God with this man’s cock in your mouth, but you’ve decided it’s gonna be better to beg for forgiveness later. And well, God made Billy so he has to understand. Right?

Momma tells you Billy is from the devil, put here to tempt you into a salacious and satanic life. But really, in these moments, you feel closer to God than you ever have. Billy makes you feel like you’re floating up and up and up, close to heaven. Maybe it is a false prophet thing but you’re too far gone to really care. It feels too good.

You gag as his tip reaches the back of your throat and you pull back, making sure your hand circles around the base.

“So good,” you say, muffled around his cock, blinking up at him.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk with your mouthful?” he grins, glancing down at you briefly.

“Sorry,” you apologize, mouth still stuffed with his cock and he gives you a tug of your hair. You quickly swallow him down some more to shut yourself up, closing your eyes tightly as you hollow out your cheeks. He pumps his hips up, holding you still with his hand and you can’t help but gag, squirming in your seat because this is exactly what you were thinking about while Sister Agnes droned on and on about what Evil’s to stay away from. She’d really dislike Billy, if she’d seen him, if she’d seen the things he did to you.

“Fuck,” Billy whines, “Gonna cum, angel.”

You double down, sucking hard as you take him as deep as you can. Hand on his thigh, squeezing it while you try not to choke. His hips lift off the seat, flooring the gas as he shoots down your throat. You swallow as much as you can before pulling off. He lets off the gas, chest heaving as he puts both hands back on the wheel. As you catch your breath, you help get his softening cock back in his pants and button them back up.

Billy drives to a familiar spot, parks in the meadow and pulls you onto his lap. He puts his seat back as far as it’ll go and grabs onto your face, dragging your lips to his. It’s filthy the way he licks into your mouth, makes your mind go numb as you grind against him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. You’ve come a long way since your first kiss but he still manages to make you melt from a simple kiss. You swore you were gonna explode the first time and now, it just makes you antsy to get his mouth on other parts of you. His hands move down your back and then he grabs firmly on your hips, swirling his tongue against yours. It’s heady, impure and so sinful. Your momma would be furious, seeing the way you give into the demonic pleasures. You’re putty in Billy’s hands though, especially when they move to the globes of your ass and he squeezes, pulling you closer. Nipples poke through your school shirt, skirt pooled where you sit on Billy’s lap. He told you how much your uniform turned him on one day and now, you keep it on whenever you see him. The way he groped you when you wore it made it obvious enough but when he mumbled in your ear how sexy you looked while he was fucking you confirmed it.

“God, I love you in this uniform,” he mumbles against your open mouth and you laugh back in his.

“I was just thinking about that,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he tilts his head while he beams up at you, “That why you wear it every time I see you?”

You nod, biting your lip and unbuttoning the top of your blouse to expose the rosary underneath. His fingers grab the beads and wrap them around his digits, using the leverage to pull you into another heated kiss. Billy growls into this one, using the hand still on your ass to ground you against him. He’s hard again, his strained erection rubbing against your pantie-clad heat and it makes you dizzy, grabbing his shoulders tighter while you try to keep up with the sloppy kiss. The way he reacts to you makes you feel like you're rising out of your body, astral projecting up and up. Perhaps what your mother says is true, because Billy has you under some kind of weird spell. You imagine this is what drugs feel like. At least, it aligns with all the things you hear about drugs and in the same vein, satanism. And Billy really kind of encapsulates that. The music, the fast car and the dangerous way he makes your clothes fall off.

“Need you,” you gasp against his tongue, pulling his shirt up by the collar.

He chuckles lowly, tugging on your rosary as he rolls his hips up, “All yours.”

“Mine,” you confirm as you pull his shirt over his head and connect your lips again immediately after, hands purchasing all over the golden contours of his muscled chest. His skin is hot to the touch, warms your entire body but very, very intensely between your thighs.

“How much repenting are you gonna have to do tonight?” he inquires against your desperate mouth.

You slide your fingers up into his mess of curls, tugging on them as you furrow your brows, “Not enough.”

“You love being my little sinner,” he snarks, wrapping the beads around his fist and pulls harder. The tightening of it chokes you just slightly and in the most delicious way, makes your head feel even more spacey as you grind down against him. “What would your parents say if they saw you right now? So desperate to have me ruin you…”

“Billy,” you whine, voice hoarse with the pressure of the beads against your throat, “They’d have me exorcized.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, lips meeting the center of your throat. His breath is hot and his words vibrate against your neck, “You possessed by my cock?”

It’s so wrong but it’s cynically true. He’s got you wrapped around that entity in his pants. You’d beg for it, you’d commit any sinful, pathetic act to have it. No matter how wicked. Maybe you are possessed but you really don’t care. You need him, completely at will for this man. Billy could ask you to do the most nefarious things and you’re in deep, you have to. You’re addicted to him.

“Maybe,” you huff out, face contorting as you grind your clothed cunt against him, desperately trying to relieve the pressure building up between your legs. “Need it so bad it hurts.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tilting his head and frowning condescendingly, “Poor baby. You’d do anything for it.”

“Anything,” you confirm with a frantic nod.

“Stay still. Don’t move,” he instructs and your hips come to a stop, but your face must show your frustration because he tsks and says, “You said you’d do anything. Be a good girl for me.”

You nod, making sure to pout your lips. He laughs, low and guttural as he lets go of the rosary. He slowly unbuttons your blouse the rest of the way, displaying your tits to him. He purses his lips, “The good catholic girl didn’t wear a bra to school?”

You did, but you took it off before Billy picked you up. He doesn’t need to know that so you shake your head, trying to convey innocence as you stare at him wide eyed. His fingertips dance across our pert nipple, but he told uoi to stay still so you don’t arch your back like you really want to, you don’t moan out like you need to. You just blink at him. He smirks, circling his thumb against the stiff nub and tells you, “I can just imagine you, sitting at your desk, playing with your nipples over your shirt while you think about me. Impure thoughts, about me defiling you..”

You gasp as he pinches it, looking up at you with dark eyes, “What would Sister Agnes say if she saw me do this?”

He grabs your jaw, holds your mouth open and spits into your eager mouth. You hum as you close your lips and swallow, then dart your tongue out to lick up what didn’t land in your mouth. The filthy action has your cunt pulsing and you can’t help but rock your hips against him.

“And what would she say about how much you fucking like it?” He groans, moving his hand around to spank you. “God, you’re such a filthy little slut. I’ve done a good job, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, arching your back, “I’m your filthy slut.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, “all mine. Think you deserve to have my cock?”

“Please,” you beg, clenching around nothing as you pathetically bounce in his lap. “Need it so bad it hurts.”

Billy exhales, “Fuck, you drive me crazy. I need it too. Wanna taste you.”

You flush, cheeks swell with your flattered smile as you dip your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs, the sound sparking even more desire through your body as he rubs the small of your back.

“So shy,” he notes and turns to kiss your temple, “Let’s get into the back, yeah?”

You don’t hesitate, carefully lifting yourself from his lap before climbing back into the seat behind, laying on your back as you watch him eagerly follow. He settles between your legs, hand on the back of your thigh as he kisses you hungrily. You kiss back with fervor, though you want nothing more than his mouth between your thighs. Your clit aches with it, kissing him deep and messy. He grinds against you, jerking his hips as he growls against your mouth. He pulls back finally and kisses against your sore throat, grabbing your tit in his palm and squeezes as he licks your neck. He bites the skin and begins to suck and you let him for a beat before your better judgment clouds through.

“No marks where someone can see,” you remind him and he groans in frustration.

“Wanna mark you up so bad,” he complains, squeezing your tit again, “Want everyone to see what I do to you.”

You whine, rolling your hips up at him because fuck, you really want that too. Can’t help but imagine what the girls at school would say about you and what kind of trouble you’d get into but you’d be on severe lockdown and you cannot go long without seeing Billy so you pull on his hair and tell him, “I know… but I need you. I can’t deal with another month without seeing you. It’s too hard.”

“I know, baby,” he says against your skin, “Fucking went insane last time…”

You did too. It was so unbearable. And all you had was a Polaroid of Billy in a crop top. You’d been successful in coming to the photo but it was nothing like the real thing and you need his touch like you need air. “You can leave marks below the neck, anywhere no one will see.”

Billy pouts but his mouth descends, “Like here?”

His lips drag against your cleavage and you bite your lip, “Yeah…”

Teeth, pearly white ones, clasp around your nipple and you cry out, arching your back. He soothes the pain immediately, swirling his tongue around the stiff bud and you melt, the sensation shooting down to where you’re making a mess of your panties. And he’s got that quirk on his lips, smirk tugging the corners of them and Lord, forgive you, he’s the idol you admire most. At this point, you’re made in Billy’s image, not God’s. And you live to please him. He returns the favor better than the lord ever could.

His tongue broadly licks between your tits, down your stomach and he stops where your skirt rests on your waist. But he pulls it up, resting it on your tummy while his fingers hook into the waistband of your white panties. He bites onto the pale pink bow adorned at the center and starts peeling them down your thighs. You aide, pulling your legs up so he can get them off your ankles. He spreads your thighs and squeezes them in his grasp, eyes trained on your glistening cunt.

“So wet,” he purrs, dragging the pad of his fingertip through your slit, gathering the slick before sucking it into his mouth. He looks at you expectantly and the ritual begins.

Your fingers grasp your rosary and close your eyes as you whisper out the sacrament, “Lord, forgive me…”

Once the words leave your lips, his eager mouth meets your cunt and then you continue in a moan, “For I have sinned.”

He drags his tongues through your folds and you tug on your rosary, your own tongue heavy in your mouth. Billy’s mouth is sinful, so sinful as you continue, “my last confession was… four days ago…” a gasp, “for… premarital.. fuck—“

Billy laughs, breath tickling your folds but he keeps licking your pussy, fingers digging into your thighs.

“For premarital sex…” you whine, rolling your hips up against Billy’s face. “And I’m doing it again. I-I… god…”

His tongue lowers down to your entrance and he prods it so tenderly, makes your whole body shake as you confess, “I’m committing sin against my own body… again.”

Billy hums as he pulls back, rubbing his fingers against your whole as he begins his part, “God, the father of mercies, through the resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to Himself…” two digits slip into your eager hole, squelching with the motion as he keeps on, “and sent the Holy Spirit among us for forgiveness of sins…” Billy curls his fingers up, hitting that oh so tender spot deep inside, a moan spills from you. It’s loud, echos on your ears and makes your chest heave. Billy continues, “through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you,” he bends his head down and licks against your clit, pulling another moan from you. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Once he’s finished, he gets his mouth back on you completely, sucking and licking against your clit almost feverishly. You have to fulfill your rest of the sacrament, spill out a prayer and this feels so blasphemous but so fucking hot. And you know Billy was also raised catholic by his necklace he always wears but you’re still always impressed by his perfect recital… every time.

“Fucking… Billy!” you cry out, pulling on his hair and he looks at you with almost judgmental eyes.

“Are you repenting or what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow before getting back to work on your cunt, hot mouth on your sensitive pussy.

“Oh my god,” you moan, arching your back, “I am… heartily sorry! Fuck….”

“You’re gonna have to repeat this whole confession again, the way you’re talking,” Billy notes, slowing the thrust of his fingers, “Behave. I don’t need to remind you, you’re talking to God.”

“I’m heartily sorry for having…” you gasp as he curls his fingers up, brushing against that beautiful spongy bit inside of you. You have to start over, “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee…” he licks around your clit and you gasp out, “and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell.” Maybe hells not so bad if Billy’s down there with you. He feels like heaven on earth as it is. Yet, this feels like an actual confession, but better, “But, most of all, because they have offended Thee, my God, Who art all good, and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy Grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”

When you get through it, he pulls his fingers out and looks at you lustily, “Your penance is cumming on my cock.”

He sits upright and pushes his jeans down, exposing his throbbing cock to you. You nod, hands grabbing your own chest as you eagerly await your penance. He pressed his tip against your hole, plunging in quickly and grabbing onto your rosary in his fist. The beads press against your windpipe as he pounds his cock in and out of you in quick succession. It’s glorious. It’s heaven; right here in the crowded backseat of the Camoro and for a beat, you believe you’re getting fucked by God. At least, Billy’s just as pretty as you imagined him.

Even if his face looks extremely animalic, teeth exposed in a snarl as he snaps his hips roughly against you. The swollen head of his cock hits your g-spot every time and the lack of oxygen from how tightly he’s grabbing the rosary helps your orgasm culminate. Billy’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen in your life and you cannot fathom a life without this. Without him. He grunts, sounds as animalistic as he looks while he drills his cock into you with reckless abandon.

“Billy!” you cry out, body seizing from the overwhelming sensation. You’ve thought about how maybe the way your body reacts to him as similarly to demonic possession but you’ve seen people speaking in tongues, coming from God and you think that’s what billy’s doing to you.

“Come on, baby,” he seethes, tugging on the rosary, “Show God just how sorry you are.”

Billy rocks his body into yours, lowering his mouth to yours. He attacks your lips with his own, biting and sucking on your lips as he quickens his pace. The way he’s thrusting into you rocks your body, eyes rolling in the back of your head as he easily pulls your orgasm out of you. The pleasure is white hot, causing a scream to rip out of your throat while you thrash against him, coating his cock in the fruits of your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, stroking his thumb against your cheek, “That’s a good girl, cum for me.”

You yelp, scratching down his back while the waves of pure, blissful pleasure rush through you. “Ah! Billy!!! Yes!!!”

He pumps his hips quickly, grabbing onto your hips tightly, no doubt leaving bruises in his wake as he fucks you brutally. There’s a sharp sensation deep in you, makes you spout ecstasy riddled cries as he drags out your orgasm. He waits until you relax, the tenseness disappears and he pulls his dick out, inches up your body and presses the tip of his cock against your lips. You wrap them around the head and suck as hard as you can, swallowing his load for the second time that night.

“Such a good little sinner,” he heaves, combing his fingers through your hair and it’s… amazing. His words make you feel so naughty in the best way. God loves sinners but Billy loves them more.

#billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x f!reader

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simpcityy · 1 month

Text

My Little Spawn Pt.6 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 960

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all. MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU AREN'T IN ACT 2 YET.

Author Notes: Hello everyone, another short chapter for this week but next week I am going to focus on the new story I want to publish soon while. Thank you so much for the support! I should be updating the master list with all the links of each chapter. Remember to Reblog and like if you enjoy this series.

You looked at Astarion as the group was having a meeting of what they have done so far. “So we slayed an old hag, killed a Gur, defeated some Gnolls, met a devil and killed other creatures we came across and you still want us to rescue this Halsin guy?” He complained, crossing his arms. “He can be our ticket to curing this tadpole.” Tav stubbornly kept the same plan, recusing Halsin. You tugged at his arm “ Astarion, if we save the mister, we won’t have that yucky worm.” You tried to cheer him up. “See, that’s the spirit little soldier!” Kalarch smiles, “You should listen to them Fangs.” Astarion only mutters looking down at you before picking you up “ I guess you are right but I won’t be happy if this Halsin can’t do anything. Just wasted time is all. We could’ve been in Baldur’s Gate by now.” He walks off to his tent with you in his arms.

How Astarion hated that he was right, after a long brutal battle, Halsin wasn’t any help. He stood at his tent sipping the cheap and awful wine. He wasn’t even in the mood for a celebration. He scanned the camp seeing the tieflings and his odd companions celebrating for taking down the leaders. He turns his head hearing your giggles as Scratch is chasing you around. He turns over to Tav as they walk over. He smirks and puts on an act “You know, I never picture myself as a hero.”

You were by the lake looking out to the moon. Scratch was long gone resting after playing with you. You boredly threw rocks into the lake before looking over hearing something shuffle in the bushes. You walked off into the woods that surround the campsite. There is a sweet scent in the air and you wanted to find out what it is. Getting closer and closer to the sweet smell before a gloved hand grabbed you from behind. Your tadpole was squirming. “Let me go! Astarion” You yelled before the headache got worse before going to a deep sleep. Someone else has had a wiggly worm like yours and made you go into a deep sleep.

The following morning, Astarion walked back to camp watching Tav head back to their own tent because anyone else wakes up. He walked into his but stopped seeing it empty “Oh Little spawn, where are you?” He hums “Having a sleepover without telling me?” He hums to himself and lays down on the bedroll. He pulls back out the book and continues reading till everyone else wakes up.A couple minutes passed and he heard the shuffling of everyone stirring away. He lets out a chuckle knowing some of them might be hungover. He gets himself changed and walks out seeing everyone but he keeps looking for his little spawn. “Have you seen (Y/N)?” He walks over to the Wizard. Gale looks up “No…last time I saw them was last night playing with Scratch.” He looks around “Maybe she stayed with Shadowheart?” He goes back to cooking breakfast. The pale elf walks over to the Cleric. “No, I haven’t seen her since last night.” Shadowheart says “but maybe that gith might know” She was already pointing fingers. Astarion was slowly panicking, no one knows where the hells you were. He quickly downs a potion of animal speaking and walks over to Scratch. “Where is (Y/N)?” He stood in front of the dog. Scratch tilts his head “(Y/N) was last seen by the lake before I went off to rest?” He begins to sniff the ground and runs into the woods. Astarion follows quickly, and looks around seeing your small footsteps along with larger ones. “No….” He whispers. Scratch barks looking up at him “The scent goes through this path.” He walks off sniffing the ground. Astarion only stood still, his mind wondering who took you. Was there a goblin that they didn’t kill, did another Gur hunter found you? He was brought back down to earth hearing someone calling his name. “Astarion what’s the matter.” Tav walks over with the rest of the group. “(Y/N)...they…they were taken…” He whispers before stabbing his dagger to the tree frowning. “ This…this..is all your fault.” He looks at tav refusing to believe it was his own fault. Pulling back the dagger, he walks off following Scratch who was on your trail. Everyone else watching him walk off, seeing how a few days together alone, you have impacted greatly on his life.

You were placed in a dark jail cell, the trip was a long one. When you woke up, all you could do was wail and hug yourself. “I wanna go home!” You cried. You quickly kept quiet as the big door opens and hear heavy footsteps. “What’s this general?” You only push yourself closer to the corner scared. “ My soldiers told me about this young one with a tadpole. I had to see myself.” You look over whimpering and flinch as the door to your cell opens. “So young and tell me why are they here? When this isn’t part of our plan Ketheric.” Ketheric looks over “ Someone did some digging into her tadpole, they aren’t just a human child with a tadpole but a dhampir Gortash.” This puts a smile on Gortash's face, “Such a beautiful creature” He looks down at you. “Bring them with you to the city when your part of the plan is done…we can use them as part of our plan.” He added before walking off. Both men walk off locking the cell once again. You only whimper crying out softly “I wanna go home” You whisper “Astarion” You cried out in the empty cell.

#dadstarion #baldurs gate 3 fic #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #bg3 fic #dadstarion x child reader #fatherfigure astarion #child reader

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shadowstarion · 20 days

Text

daddy halsin • part 1

ships: halsin/astarion, halsin/shadowheart, general tadpolycule with a sprinkle of bladeweave

tags: explicit sexual content, daddy kink, dry humping, cock warming, subspace, kink discussion, exhibitionism

i mentioned this briefly in my tadpolycule headcanons post but i wanted to expand on it so have a few halsin daddy kink drabbles!

Halsin nagging Astarion about his well-being and Astarion getting prickly about it. The Druid is really starting to push his buttons, riling up the vampire’s temper because how he dare he suggest that a bit of rest, a bath in the stream, and a warm meal might help him feel better? Astarion’s coping mechanisms are just fine, thank you very much.

“Why, of course I’ll do as you say, dad.”

It’s meant to be scathing but it makes Halsin’s expression soften with curious interest, taking Astarion by the waist and bringing him close.

“I don’t mean to push you, little one,” he hums, kissing the vampire’s forehead, brushing his hair back, lips finding his ear. “Would you like me to take care of you instead?”

Halsin’s question is as sweet as it is erotic, an open-ended offer that Astarion can take a run with in any direction he’d like. It’s a little overwhelming and words fail him, but he wants Halsin to keep touching him, to keep talking to him like that. It makes him feel small and delicate and safe, Halsin pulling him closer and stroking his lower back, peppering kisses all over his face until he can’t possibly maintain that pout a second longer.

“Good boy, always such a good boy for me,” Halsin babbles against his neck at some point when Astarion rolls his hips forward, grinding against his thigh. He encourages him along with kisses and low whispers of praise until the vampire is outright rutting into him, chasing his relief with labored moans.

“That’s it, come for Daddy.”

Shadowheart knows exactly what she’s doing, but doesn’t quite have the language to describe this particular kink of her’s. What she does know is that Halsin is a brutally doting lover and he encourages her to relax into that submissive space, to let him care for her and reduce her down to something small and helpless.

He’s holding her against his chest, thighs spread over his lap and soaked cunt stuffed with him. Halsin’s hands stroke tenderly through her hair, lacing the unbound locks into an intricate braid while she mewls and weakly rocks her hips.

“Hush, sweet girl,” he chides, “hold still until I’ve finished.”

Shadowheart whines but her squirming does stop as she leans forward, pressing her face against the muscle of Halsin’s chest. Her hair slips from his fingers and he huffs with annoyance at the loss of his place in her braid, but he’s quick to return to the task at hand. Always so calm and collected, it makes her want to rile him up even more.

“Are you almost done, Daddy?” She asks, voice innocent and small against his skin. She can feel his cock twitch where it’s buried inside her, feel the pleased groan reverberating through her body.

“Oak Father, preserve me,” he mutters, losing his grip on her braid once more, his hands circling almost entirely around her waist, “I am nowhere near being done with you, little dove.”

Karlach, though much smarter than most give her credit for, can be incredibly oblivious to innuendo and lacks a basic verbal filter. If it comes to her mind, she will say it without much consideration for double meanings or potential interpretation. So, when they return from a very successful mission, indulging in some celebratory wine and a bit of cuddling around the campfire, she speaks without thinking.

“Y’know, you’re some real solid Daddy material, big guy,” she’d remarked, clapping a hand on Halsin’s shoulder.

A stunned shock passed over the rest of their companions, her statement silencing the buzz of conversation. Astarion gawks at her from where he’s sprawled over Halsin’s lap, Shadowheart is biting back a wine-drunk remark, and Gale goes entirely red in the face, hiding against a stunned Wyll’s shoulder.

“What? You all saw how well he did with those pipsqueaks,” Karlach continues, looking to Halsin for reassurance that she hadn’t said something egregiously offensive by referencing his skill in soothing the group of scared children they’d encountered.

The tension breaks when Halsin laughs, rich and warm, readjusting his arms around Astarion’s waist.

“I do have some experience fulfilling that role,” he agrees with a hint of that gorgeous, wholesome grin stretching his features, “isn’t that right, little one?”

Astarion stammers, at a loss for words, cursing the way his face heats up with the remnants of his feeding, a generous helping of Halsin’s blood yesterday with a side of Wyll to tide him over just before their mission.

“Daddy asked you a question,” Shadowheart chimes in, her tone taunting and utterly bratty, unbidden and flushed by the wine she’d drank, “you really ought to answer it.”

Karlach only really begins to put the pieces together when Shadowheart worms her way into Halsin’s lap and their evening of celebration devolves into the cleric and the vampire taking turns choking on the Druid’s cock. She’ll ask Gale about it later, and he’ll spend an hour explaining to her the sexual implications and eroticization of the simple familial term.

“Is it the same for… other words?” Karlach asks, serious as a scholar. She’d taken to calling herself Mama in a joking, unserious way, but she’d noticed her goofy remarks along the lines of ‘come give Mama K some sugar’ always seemed to have an effect on Shadowheart.

“There are some who enjoy referring to their partner as Mommy or variations of it, or being called such by a partner—“ Gale starts and Karlach burst into laughter.

“By the Hells, Teach, that sure explains a lot!”

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p1nkcanoe · 8 months

Note

Pink... pink pls can we get cum bulge or something with Dew and Mountain? I'm on my knees begging

!! anatomy isn't accurate or whatever, but it's fanfiction and i'm drunk so who gives a shit?

“I know you can take another one–you can–you want it?”

“Yes,” Dew grunts in between Mountain’s thrusts pistoning into his ass, mouth open wide, breathing hard. He’s so full of Mountain’s cum already, it leaks from his hole and sticks to his thighs, but Mountain keeps giving it to him, keeps promising him more, and he can’t find it in himself to say no. They’ve been going for what feels like hours. Dew’s legs feel like jelly, his hole abused.

“I’m gonna give it to you–gonna–oh–” The hold on his skinny hips tightens impossibly tighter and in a moment he’s falling boneless in Mountain’s hands as he floods his ass with another load.

Dew’s cum so many times that he hasn’t even gotten close in the last thirty minutes. He’s painted Mountain’s and his own chest in his own spend and his cock is so thoroughly spent, so sensitive, that the slightest brush of the underside of his head against Mountain’s stomach makes him cry out in overstimulation. Mountain’s in rut, it hits every year around this time, and Dew just happened to be the (un)lucky guy to take his knot… Over and over and over again. The big guy’s insatiable, relying on stamina rather than instinct to drive him to completion, and Dew doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.

“Look,” Mountain grunts. He slows his thrusts and leans the little ghoul back on his cock. “Look how pretty your belly is.”

Dew looks down, down at the messy skin of his stomach, and what he sees makes his breath catch in his throat and his dick jump for the first time in many minutes. The usually flat plane of his stomach is round, bulging just under the soft skin near his belly button. Pretty. Mountain thrusts up and pushes his huge cock wholly inside, hitting Dew deep in those sensitive areas and sending him mewling. “Look,” Mountain says again and slides the palm of his hand from his hip around to his belly. He pushes into the soft flesh, feeling himself inside there and moaning low and drawn out when he feels himself inside. “So pretty.”

Dew hums, drops his eyes to Mountain’s hand pushing in and in and in. His face feels impossibly hot along with every inch of his skin.

“Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you catch. When your belly swells all big with my kit.”

“Wait–what?”

“Gonna breed you so good, get you so full that there’s no way you won’t catch.”

Dew sputters, places his hands on Mountain’s pecs and tries to push away but Mountain wraps his hands around his back, pulls him down flush on his cock and into his strong chest. Dew shakes his head, “Wait, dude. Cmon–”

“You want it, I know you do. I can feel you around me, pulling me in, begging for my seed…”

Mountain attaches himself to Dew’s neck, adds to the necklace of purple and red bruises around his collarbones with sharp teeth and tongue. Dew claws at sweaty skin, carves lines down his chest. Mountain groans, holds him tighter and gives him another mind melting thrust that sends Dew’s eyes rolling into the back of his skull. “Fuck, Mountain. What’s gotten into you?”

“Just keep taking it. One more. Can you do that for me? One more–that’s all it’ll take…”

Dew wants so badly to object, to tell the massive ghoul off and tell him to knock it off, but the rut-lost look on his features is too much to deny and his dick is too good, too hard in his ass, and he looks down, cries out when he realizes his dick is filling back out against his own desires. The bulge in his tummy continues to swell.

Mountain wraps his arms tight around the ghoul’s waist, lifts him up so he can lick over the center of his sternum, and slams him back down in once motion sending the ghoul reeling for purchase on his shoulders. His thrusts stay brutal and bruising after that and Dew holds on for the ride. The head of his cock rubs against Mountain’s belly, drags through the mousey hair that leads from his chest all the way down and tickles his frenulum. He’s close before he realizes it, fueled by the desperate noises that fall from Mountain’s lips and the ever-growing bulge of his knot against his hole. “Cmon, Mount,” he gasps. “Give it to me.”

“You want it?”

Dew cringes, nods despite knowing what the ghoul really wants. “Yeah, I want it.”

“Then beg for it.”

And against all thoughts in his brain, he does.

#p1nk ficlet #mountain x dew #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul

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gvtted-ratz · 2 months

Text

read all our tags/ratings. they r important n give u all u need 2 decide if u wanna actually read or not. do not like the tags/rating? do not read.

FEM ALIGNING/IDENTIFYING PPL (unless mutuals/friends) DNI WITH OUR MLM WORKS. fem ppl can still request tho. respect our wishes or get blocked. yes we do read/check everything. we tag appropriately/use tags that go with our posts.

want 2 request? find the rules: here!

want 2 see all the fics? find em: here!

Soft To The Core

König x M!Reader

Last Edited: 03/01/23

TW: death mentioned

AO3 LINK -> HERE

anon: 4 with König and he/him male reader. That is all <- frothing at the mouth but being SO COOL about it (4. accidental touching!!!!)

Word Count: 767

Notes: hey again bestie… i see u. i have our dms about the man n u frothing btw. Also. ik absolutely nothing about guns n stuff so uh. oop ig… also. i made the reader like. kinda techy n speak some russian? i was listening 2 gore by graveyardguy as i wrote this just so u know. Didn’t influence much of the thing but the title is definitely from the song.

You hum as you clean your sniper rifle; the disassembled piece of metal all over your lap. Usually, you would be around a table or even in your own assigned room. However, today they had a mandatory room check. While you didn’t mind it, having all the tables and sitting areas taken out in the cafeteria as well as the shooting range didn’t help. This leads to you sitting underneath a small pine. It’s fairly young, being only large enough to cast enough of a shadow to give you cover from the sun.

While you don’t mind cleaning your gun, making sure your laptop was in better shape or needed to be put back together was more interesting. While you’ve done it a hundred times before, for you, it never got old. You enjoyed taking apart the electronic gadgets and putting them back together. Seeing how they work and even improving them intrigued you more than going out on the field and sending bullets people’s way to splatter their blood everywhere. The missions they assign you in KorTac have been nothing but boring or a pain. You’ve never actually trained for this part or even with the rifle at all. You are more of someone who hacks cameras, reads coding to try and find anything that could give enemies away, and even disarm some bombs via the tech you have on hand during said times.

Now, while it’s not something you prefer doing, you can’t help but enjoy at least one of your members. König, or King as many call him, is your favourite man. Despite his awkward social interactions, he’s never been particularly rude to you. Nor has the giant Austrian ever tried to get on your nerves. He keeps to himself mostly, leading to you having to seek him out if you want company. Sometimes he’s out and about, though he’s either alone or towering over the other soldiers.

Of course, that doesn't mean he’s not deadly. You’ve seen him out on the field. He’s truly a rampaging beast. He picks up enemy soldiers and cracks their backs over his knee. He’ll gun them down or snipe them, giving a laugh or giggle. He’ll yell out in a happy tone “I have some cash!” whenever he gets his hands on even a single coin. He’s wilder and more brutal. And you couldn’t help but notice. However, despite noticing it, you didn’t treat the man any differently.

A large pair of military-issued boots appear in front of your crisscrossed legs. Looking up, you see the man you’ve been thinking of as you cleaned the barrel of your gun. “Ah. König,” You say, giving him a small smile. “Привет! How has my favourite man been?” König’s hands are loosely holding each other, nearly touching his stomach with his chosen position.

“Ah… Ich meine, es lief gut…” He says, looking uncomfortable standing there. You gesture to the ground next to you, letting him know that he can sit beside you. With confirmation now obtained, König lets himself fall into a seated position right next to you. He ends up knocking his knee into your thigh; you wince at the sharp pain but laugh it off.

“I’m so sorry..! I did not mean to hit you. Bitte vergib mir!” The large man starts to apologize immediately, already beating himself up over the accidental touch. You wave him off, trying to make your smile softer to try and reassure the Austrian.

“ нет, нет! Все хорошо, ты в порядке!” Your words seem to calm him down a bit, despite him not exactly understanding your words. “Besides, König, I say you’re sharp as a knife but Soft To The Core.” You’re not sure why, but the words felt right to say.

“Ja? Well… They do say beauty is on the inside, Freund,” He tells you; a nearly inaudible chuckle escapes him. You feel another smile pull at your lips at his words.

“They sure do, мой возлюбленный. They sure do.” You mumble. With some silence between the two of you, it’s easy to hear the shout of one of your captains letting you all know that the mandatory room clearance has been finished. You playfully smack König’s shoulder, clasping it as you stand. “Let’s go back, да?” When he gives you a nod, you shove your gun parts into the duffle bag you brought just for it. “Let’s go then! Maybe we can grab some food once these bozos clear out.” With those last words, you take the lead, König following behind you quietly and with genuine happiness shining in his eyes.

#x male reader #x reader #my fics #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw 2 x reader #cod x male reader #cod mw2 x male reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig x male reader #konig x male reader

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ceruleancattail · 10 months

Note

Yandere rot okay...👀 Yuu x Scar!Leona getting rid of his brother for them so they both can rule how they see fit... He didn't have the guts before but...with Yuu at his side, he created a uprising just for them. Making all that doubted them both now bow to them. Anything they want. All the Sunset Savanna nobles that once doubted them both...now on their knees. A nobody...and the second scorned prince against the world, taking whatever they want, hand in hand~

I feel like it’s less of “he didn’t have the guts”, and more like he couldn’t be bothered. What was the point of doing away with his brother? There’s his people to pacify, and being completely honest?

Murder was always such a pain. Multiple ways to carry it out, each more brutal then the last. It wasn’t worth his time, nor his energy. Leona was perfectly content to lounge in the shadows, where the prying eyes of the court couldn’t reach him.

Then, you came along. A meek little thing, tripping over hand and foot to serve him. Sure, you were rather twitchy, yet most herbivores were. Leona didn’t see anything special about you at first. He put on a bit of a show, slamming you against the wall, claws grazing the tender skin of your neck.

Heard the rumours about him, herbivore?

He’ll give you a reason to fear.

Leona expected you to run, tail tucked in between your legs.

However, you came back. Trembling like a leaf, sure, but you returned. He could smell the fear off you, that sickening stench clogging up his nostrils. Yet, you still serve him. Your eyes still met his.

As if you saw something within. Something the old men of the court couldn’t. A healthy amount of fear, yet it was mixed with something else.

Admiration. Respect. Your eyes simply glowed with it, watching his every step. Watching him pour over maps of the kingdom, claws nudging pieces ever so slightly. He hums to himself, tail swishing like a pendulum.

It’s rather odd. You haven’t gone crying and screaming to someone else. Company wise… you’re not half bad. Chess games are a little more enjoyable, now Leona’s got you to utterly crush.

You still smile all the same.

He hates to admit this, but you’ve grown on him. His servant. His aside. His.

All his.

Although you still report to the king. That’s troubling. As much as Leona hates it, he doesn’t have as much sway as he’ll like, in this country.

The council of old farts will surely discourage his… attachment to you. It just wasn’t done, a servant and a royal. As the second prince, they still had a certain authority over him. Even if they allowed the elopement, the marginalisation you would face afterwards…

Leona can’t bear to see that look on your face. He’s the only one allowed to make you look that way. Your tears, your pain, your smiles, they all belong to him.

Whatever the Sun touches was his, after all.

Chuckling to himself, his fingers toy with a chess piece. The king himself. Curling his index finger, he flicks the king right off the board. It crashes into the ground, rolling over in surrender.

About time for the sun to rise, wasn’t it?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Leona #Leona kingscholar x reader #Leona x reader #Leona kingscholar #yandere Leona #yandere Leona x reader #yandere Leona kingscholar #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #a little softer this time but hehehehhehe Leona plotting against everyone to have you by his side…#you better not leave.

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theminecraftbee · 1 year

Text

Grian hums, cackling quietly to himself as he puts the finishing touches on the netcode. He has some proper admin friends who check it over for him, of course—just because he knows he has a sense of fair play doesn’t mean everyone else does—but the game’s set. A bit brutal, of course, but what fun’s an ordinary game?

“Okay, names. Gotta have a good one for the game. Something—something life, I think, since those are the central mechanic… I’d say third, but that seems… wrong somehow.”

He steps across the room, thinking. “Last? But no, that’s too bleak. Too on-the-nose! Something to do with the twist, then,” he mutters. “Something to do with the twist. Something to do with…”

There’s an intake of breath in the back of the room. Grian whirls around. “Excuse me, I’m doing secret gamemaster things—Tim?”

There, in the chair, is Jimmy. He’s reading a book. He’s leaned against the back of his seat, like he’s been there for a while. Yellow feathers are stuck to that stupid blue jacket he has; funny, Grian doesn’t remember those.

Jimmy turns a page of the book.

“What on earth are you doing here? You know, if the Rift was acting up, you’re supposed to tell someone, not go through. You could get trapped, and trust me Tim, no one wants that.”

No response. Jimmy turns a page of the book.

Grian huffs. “Even if you were allowed to be here, and missed me that much—can’t say the same, really—no one’s allowed in here. There’s a sign and everything. This is a secret plotting room. You’ve got to respect The Rules, Tim, you know this.”

Jimmy turns a page of the book. Grian stares for a moment, taking a step forward.

“If you’re trying to prank me, trust me, it’ll backfire. We’ve done this dance before. You might be able to get away with calling yourself the Law at home, but you know my respect for rules that aren’t…”

He trails off. Jimmy turns a page of the book. Something dark crawls down Grian’s spine. He steps back again, and then another.

“You aren’t Timmy,” Grian says.

“No I ain’t,” Death says.

He turns another page. Grian steps back until he realizes he’s against the wall.

“You’re not—why do you look like Jimmy?”

“I don’t choose these things,” Death says. He pauses at something on a page and chuckles. Grian’s heart pounds. Something spins in his head. He reaches for a weapon in his inventory, then thinks better of it. It won’t work. Not against this, not now, not like this—

“It’s not time,” Grian says.

“Don’t you worry,” Death says. He looks up from his book at last. He shrugs. “That’s why I brought a book.”

Grian stares. “What?” he says hoarsely.

“Finish namin’ it and don’t worry so much about me,” Death says, gesturing back at the world Grian had been setting up to play in. “Go on. Trust me; I can wait. You’ll know when I’m done readin’.”

“No, you—you have to explain. Why are you here? It’s not—it’s just a game. Why are you here?” Grian exclaims.

Death doesn’t respond. He just turns another page in the book.

Grian tries to speak again, but before he can, he hears someone at the door. He panics. “No, don’t come in!” he shouts, turning to the door, heart racing but certain he can’t let anyone else into the room with—

He turns back. Death is gone. There is a feather on the chair; it is white.

Grian’s heart is still pounding.

“I’m putting too much work into this,” Grian says, finally slumping against the wall to the ground. “I’m hallucinating about it. You know, no one’s going to let me hear the end of it. At least it’ll be perfect.”

The words echo back oddly, like three more distorted copies of themselves, all layered on top of it. His voice sounds different in each one. Grian’s hands are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white and his palms are bruising.

“I can name it later,” he says quietly, and this time, there’s no echo at all.

#a bee fic #grian #third life smp #last life smp #double life smp #<- will give it the appropriate tag when it happens #anyway: not too much longer now right?#only about a month right?#anyone else getting excited?

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milks-thoughts · 11 months

Note

Futuer Leo with apprentice reader?

like reader was made his apprentice alongside Casey Jr and people keep comparing the two, how Casey was more mature, how he was stronger physically and emotionally

thankss

I warned y’all, i warned ya it was coming

(shout out to @yanteetle who makes me chuckle every time they react with my angst posts)

summary: Reader just wants to make him proud

TW: death, in detail character death, meaning the POV is dying, murder, reader runs away, reader has a breakdown, the dove is dead. why? cause I killed it, reader just wants to make him proud :(

It Was Not Your Fault But Mine

When Leonardo became the leader of the resistance he expected many things, war? mhm, death? absolutely. it came with the territory. being placed in charge of two preteens, to train them to be able to live in this brutal world? no, he was never expecting you to become his apprentice. He trained you both, but…he couldn’t help but see himself in you. the self he hated. his past, a cocky teenager that thought his older brother would carry everything for him.

You couldn’t help but resent Casey. Why did he get special treatment? You two were on the same patrol where you watched half the patrol get wiped out…and yet, you listened to your mentor, Leonardo, comfort Casey… why didn’t he also comfort you? His gruff voice broke through your thoughts “ You're okay, You're alright. I'll never, ever leave your side- “ you gripped your elbows as your buried your head in your knees “ -I will stay and I will fight. “ his humming filled the space he and Casey were sharing, you weren’t even supposed to be here “ With you, you're okay, you're alright. I'll stay here through the darkest night. All the way, I will fight….with you “ when you heard Leonardo start to leave the space, you quickly left the surrounding area. collapsing onto the floor and sighing, nothing but harsh memories being your company.

When you and Casey were allowed out on serious patrols, you were exploring a apartment building. You entered one door and recoiled at the dead person in the room, you backed up and knocked over a pot which caught the attention of a kraang dog nearby…which alterted its friends… which had them chasing after you and Casey. You both narrowly avoided them by closing yourselves in a apartment, you sheepishly grinned at Casey and he looked down at you with a unimpressed face. You two had waited two hours before Leonardo and a patrol could rescue you two, when he found out what happened…he sighed and walked off. You and Casey followed him back, being able to tell he was going to yell at you two when you got back. You dreaded it, you always ended up crying when Leonardo shouted at you, or, whenever anyone shouted at you.

You sniffled in your room, you didn’t miss how Leonardo’s frame was exhausted looking. He walked past your area and into Casey’s room. You suddenly shot up. “ I’ll make him proud of me. I’ll- I’ll do something impactful. I’ll bring back so much material that he can’t help but notice me! “ pushing out your room, grabbing a bottle of water and a nutrition bar, you left the resistance camp behind. Your eyes hard as you held your weapon tightly. You were going to force him to see you.

It was a horrible mistake. You were doing so good! Being stealthy! but a building crashed over top you, leaving a metal beam through your leg. You collar bones were broken as your weak arms tried to push off the large slab of concrete. realizing you couldn’t…tears started rolling down your face. you didn’t want to die alone…you didn’t want to die here. In the darkness your only companion was your emergency button, it’s blue color that it glowed was illuminating your face. You felt like a old dog, a dog that stopped being useful to your farmer. You whimpered and cried, whispering a small lullaby to yourself “ You're okay, You're alright. I'll never, ever leave your side- “ you gripped the concrete slab as you buried your head in the sand like floor behind you “ -I will stay and I will fight…. “ your humming filled the space, you weren’t even supposed to be here… “ With you, you're okay, you're alright. I'll stay here through the darkest night.- “ your sob echoed through the rubble “ -All the way, I will fight….with you… “ your body started hyperventilating to the best of its ability, the concrete slab feeling so..so heavy. You didn’t want to die alone with your thigh pinned down by a metal bar, by concrete holding down your chest…you wanted your mentor…you wanted…you…

Leonardo’s patrol finally got through the rubble, his hands scrapped and bleeding as he found you, a wail escaping him as he rushed forwards. Pushing the concrete slab you so clearly tried to push off, your scrapped and bleeding hands being a painful reminder how you both struggled with the rubble. He leaned his head down and sobbed when your chest never thudded with a heart beat. He pushed the hair out of your face so carefully and took in your tear streaked cheeks, still damp. Some may say that your death was your own fault. That you should’ve never left because you were jealous. But it was not your fault but his instead. He neglected you and he’ll defend your death and your name, and everything you stood for with his life, because he failed you, like he failed his brothers, like he failed New York…like he failed the world. He’s Icarus and he flew way too close to the sun.

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #ask response #this is all purely platonic #angst #fluff #rottmnt leo #<3 #i warned yall #rottmnt casey junior #reader and Casey’s relationship is sibling and brother goals #save rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #no future leo bashing #he’s depressed guys #and can’t help it #but also he’s kinda shitty until he realizes what he’s done

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