#what if to prove to you i was alive you had to slide your fingers under my skin and feel me bleed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegnomelord · 3 months

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Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

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confused-pyramid · 2 years

Text

Derailed

pairing: tangerine x assassin!fem!reader

summary: When Tangerine spots you in the middle of his mission on a bullet train, he gets entangled in your plans and loses track of his own...

word count: 2.8k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, fingering, hair pulling, slight marking, dirty talk, canon!typical violence, drinking

"Got it, sir," you say before hanging up the phone and stepping onto the train. This was your first mission since you left the White Death's payroll and you had to prove yourself to your superiors if you wanted to rebuild your reputation.

You have no idea what is waiting for you on this train, but you can imagine a mission as straightforward as retrieving a briefcase will be anything but simple.

Straightening your bartender uniform, you push through the throngs of people exiting the train and strut down the aisles as you search for the package you were assigned to find.

***

"Enough with the Thomas the train shit," Tangerine groans to Lemon as the bullet train finally leaves the station. "I don't give a flying fuck if you think I'm a Thomas or Diesel or whatever."

"Well, first of all," Lemon interjects, lifting a finger, "it's Thomas the Tank Engine. And second of all, I never said you were a Diesel. I made that very cle-"

Tangerine stops listening when he notices your figure pass them down the aisle, your gait tantalizingly familiar.

What the fuck are you doing here? he thinks before standing up abruptly.

"Lemon, hold that thought."

Tangerine grabs the briefcase and slowly follows you down the aisle, making sure to keep a safe distance so as not to alert you of his presence. He's skirting around the other passengers trying to put their luggage away, and he's about to catch up with you when a person in a large Momomon costume steps in front of him.

"Get the fuck out of my way," he grunts irritatedly, shoving the figure into one of the seats, before noticing all the children around him. "Apologies for my language."

He leaves them with a small wave, but it's only then that he notices you are missing.

"Fuck!" Tangerine exclaims again, kicking the seat next to him. He doesn't waste any more time and rushes down the aisle, waiting as the sliding doors take their time to open in front of him.

When the door finally slides open, he steps into the corridor, only to feel a lithe hand grab the back of his neck and push him forward. He spins around, but is pushed to the floor before he can register what is happening.

The next thing he knows, he is kneeling on the ground, looking up at you, as you press a small gun to his temple.

When did you start using guns?

Tangerine immediately puts his hands up, knowing the only way to diffuse this is to play to your soft side (okay, softer side).

"Hey, hey," he urges you in a charming tone, "I just wanted to talk, sweetheart."

"Yeah?" you challenge, pressing the cold metal harder against his head. "Let's hear it then."

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the soft curls back from his face. "It's been too long, doll. I wanted to catch up, see how you've been."

He can't imagine that any of this is working on you, but he has to try if he's going to finish this mission in one piece.

You smirk, finally taking in Tangerine's kneeling form before you. If your employer had told you that this mission would involve beautiful men on their knees, you would have signed up ages ago.

You met Tangerine six years ago at a job that ended up going completely awry...for him at least. The White Death had sent you to Japan to kidnap the son of one of the remaining Japanese crime families, and when you arrived, Tangerine and Lemon had already been walking him out the front door. They were nothing if not punctual, but back then, that was about the only thing they were good for.

Your weapon of choice had always been tranquilizer darts -- but you never said no to good ol' hand-to-hand combat -- and your lack of real weaponry eventually become a calling card of sorts. Especially because you always made it out alive, and with the job completed to perfection.

That day, Tangerine and Lemon clearly hadn't been expecting anyone, because upon spotting you, they didn't even bother to blink. You had played into their naive mindset and when you got close enough to grab the kid, they were each left with a tranq dart to the neck and a nice, long nap to recover from the shame of losing their asset.

Since then, you have been on opposite sides of many more missions, but the retrieval of this briefcase is the closest encounter you two have had in years.

In your reverie, your gun loosens in your hand and Tangerine must have noticed, because he shoots up, pushing your hand to the side and yanking his gun from his waistband. You aim your weapon at him again, and you are both left pointing your guns at each other, your grip tightening as your heart rate quickens slightly.

"Alright, darling, give me one good reason not to kill you right now?" he threatens, his jaw tightening by a fraction. "You fucked up our entire operation in Bolivia when you knocked out Lemon and got the White Death's men out before we could kill them all."

"Oh, honey, I've done much more than that," you smile, cocking your head to the side. If this was the game he wanted to play, then you would play along, but only as long as he kept it interesting.

"And as for why you shouldn't kill me," you continue, your eyes glinting with amusement. "It's because you need me."

Then, before he can react, you whack the side of his head with your gun and grab the briefcase from his hands. He grunts, clutching his temple, and you use the moment of distraction to dart out of the corridor and down the train cars, sprinting past the passengers and the angry ticket collector.

When you reach the bar compartment, you pull open a random cabinet and stuff the briefcase in a garbage can. It's not a moment too soon, because a second later, Tangerine bursts through the doors, his chest heaving and expression getting more agitated by the minute.

Reaching down, you grab a cocktail shaker and pour in the ingredients laid out on the counter, preparing a drink for yourselves.

"Where the hell is it?" he demands, stalking towards you.

You shrug, fighting the curve of your lips. "You'll get it when I've gotten what I need from you."

Your gun is sitting idly on the counter, so he tucks his own into his waistband and shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it to the side. He starts to roll back his sleeves and you lick your lips as you shake the cocktail.

If nothing else went right on this mission, at least you'd be getting some eye candy for the evening.

Along with all of the times you've screwed up his missions, there have also been a multitude of other close encounters. Whether it was his hand around your throat as you stole his asset right from under him, or his breath against your neck as he snuck up behind you during a stake-out, his presence always entranced you.

Tangerine's seemingly magnetic hold on you has never escaped your notice, but it has also never gotten in the way of you finishing your jobs.

He sees the glint in your eyes, but doesn't say anything, deciding to use it to his advantage.

"Come on, sweetheart," he smiles sweetly, placing his rough hands on the counter in front of you. "Where is the briefcase?"

"Why do you need the case anyway?" you ask him, your eyes imploring his with something akin to genuine curiosity.

"It's the ransom money for the Son of the White Death," he responds honestly, watching your movements carefully as you grab glasses from below the counter.

You seem to ponder this. "Intriguing. On a separate note, how is Lemon these days? I heard they're calling you two the fruit twins now."

Tangerine rolls his eyes, his hands slamming down on the counter as he loses his patience. "He's fucking fantastic. Now where is the case, y/n?"

You don't respond, and instead pour out two drinks before sliding one towards him.

He doesn't bring his lips to the glass until you gulp down your whole drink and even then, he only takes a few sips.

He sees you watch his throat bob and he feels an unfamiliar pleasure at the thought of you finding him attractive.

"Look, Tangerine," you say with a resigned sigh, "I'm not working for the White Death anymore, but I still would like that briefcase. You know, for leverage."

He's not sure how to respond but then you start unbuttoning your blouse and, even after that drink, he feels his mouth go dry. His mind goes blank and he can't formulate any thoughts as your long, smooth neck becomes visible. Only when the first few buttons pop open does he realize that you're showing him your bullet proof vest.

Running a hand down your padded chest, you shoot him an amused look. "In case you try anything stupid." You pause, your hand sliding down your thigh. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you never liked these anyway, did you?"

This time, he anticipates your movements, and when a knife goes flying out of your hand, straight towards his chest, he manages to dodge at the last second, watching as it sinks into the hard back wall of the compartment.

When he turns back around, you're gone.

***

That was a lot closer than you would have liked, and you slink down the train cars, gripping the handle of the briefcase between your fingers.

It feels like everyone's eyes are on you as you walk down the aisle, slipping past the economy cars. When you reach the first class car, you stash the briefcase in the luggage compartment and are about to wait for the next stop to arrive when a man in a white suit takes a seat across from you.

"Can I help yo-" you begin before he cuts you off.

"You will pay for what you did to my family."

"Listen man, I don't know who you are," you try to tell him, but he pulls a massive knife from his belt and you know you can't just sit here any longer.

Swinging your legs out of the seat, you shove him away and grab the laptop of a sleeping woman a few seats over. Using it as a shield, you block a few of his jabs and slices before his knife finally starts to pierce through the metal and glass.

Chucking the laptop at him, you run in the opposite direction, back towards the briefcase, but he's right on your tail.

You push your way into the corridor, but the man grabs you from behind, shoving you forward and slicing down with his knife. The edge grazes your bicep and you wince, but right before you can brace yourself for the next swing, a gunshot rings out from behind you and the man falls to the floor, a shocked look plastered on his face as the life leaves his eyes.

You immediately jerk your head back to see who your savior is, and you admit that you're surprised to see Tangerine lowering his gun.

"Thanks," you gasp out, not wanting to waste another moment. He's tucking his pistol away when you reach towards the luggage to grab the case, but he sees your intentions and acts quickly.

His corded bicep locks around your neck from behind, pulling you back with an extraordinary strength that has you flying off the ground.

You gasp, struggling to breathe, but then you manage to lift your legs and kick out at the wall, pushing the both of you back. His grip loosens slightly, but it's just enough for you to spin around, sending him a kick to the shin that makes him grunt.

Tangerine strikes out at you, his fist narrowly missing your jaw, and you knee him in the groan, making him double over in pain for a few moments.

"That was low," he groans, his face turning red, "even for you, doll."

You chuckle, backing up. "It's a man's world, Tan."

Nevertheless, he's stronger than you remember and he recovers quickly, locking his forearm against your neck and pushing you back into the bathroom. You press up against the wall, facing him, and you can't help the smirk that reappears on your lips.

Well, this is certainly interesting.

"You're better," you huff, your voice straining from the weight of his arm, "than Bolivia, I mean."

You dig your fingers into his hard muscles, trying to pry him off. "You two were absolutely miserable back then, but you've got some chops now."

Tangerine smirks, leaning forward so his breath tickles your nose. "You haven't seen the half of it, darling."

Your eyes dart down to his mouth for a split second, but he's just as fast and he notices your hitched breath. His eyes darken immediately, and before you can utter a word, his mouth is on yours.

His arm lets you go and his large hands grasp at your waist as you press into him, clinging to his body for support in the small bathroom.

His calloused fingers on your skin send a shot of heat down to your core and you bite his lip harshly. He pulls back for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise and lust, and you notice the drop of blood a second before he wipes it away.

Your lips crash together again and he doesn't take his time while grabbing your loosely hanging hair and tugging back, exposing your neck to him. Tangerine licks a line up the column of your throat and your fingers split open his vest and button-down in one go, sending the buttons flying to the floor.

You gasp when he tears off the velcro of your bullet proof best, chucking it to the floor, before kicking the bathroom door closed with a loud click.

Thankfully, your skirt provides him easy access, and he doesn't hesitate before yanking your panties to the side and sticking a thick finger into your pussy. You cry out, your head falling back against the small mirror as he hoists you up onto the sink.

He doesn't warn you before adding another finger, his quick pumps hitting the walls of your cunt with a harsh precision that has you getting close embarrassingly fast.

"Look at you," he smirks, watching your eyes roll back, "whimpering like a school girl from just my fingers."

You are about to finish, and he must feel the tightening of your core, because he pulls away, leaving you impatient and unsatisfied.

"Bastard," you groan as he chuckles, bringing his fingers up to your lips.

You suck them into your mouth, and he almost moans at the feeling of your hot tongue around him. When they're clean, he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop and reaches down to undo his buckle.

Tangerine pushes his trousers down to his knees and angles you back before sheathing himself fully inside of you in one movement.

He groans from the wet heat of your cunt and the tightness of you squeezing around him has him gripping the counter for support. He doesn't wait before thrusting up into you at the pace of a bullet train, his rhythm never faltering even as your head falls back in pleasure.

Tangerine leans down and sucks a bruise into your neck, enjoying the way the purple and red blossom against your skin in a delicious mark.

You start to tighten around him and he knows his release is imminent, so he lifts you up off his cock and turns you around so your elbows are on the counter. He starts to fuck you from behind, one hand on your waist while the other grips the back of your neck, holding you to him.

You arch your back, changing the angle in a way that has both of you moaning with pleasure. You come apart a moment later, and he follows close behind, relishing the sound of your whimpering as his body slowly relaxes.

He pulls away from you, grabbing a paper towel to clean you both up, when he hears a light hiss from the ceiling.

He looks up to see a thin green snake slithering down from the vent, its teeth bared and ready. Both of you shriek as the snake shoots down toward Tangerine. He smacks it away and into the toilet, but not before it takes a sharp bite out of his shoulder.

His vision starts to blur and you grab his arms, leaning him back against the counter before you move to open the door.

"Please tell me you spiked those drinks from earlier with the antidote," he groans, his face growing hotter as the venom spreads through his system.

"Well," you whisper, your voice fading as he loses consciousness, "I guess today was your lucky day."

#bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine smut #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #assassin!reader #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson x reader #fanfic #aaron taylor johnson fanfic

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astrayas · 3 months

Text

Reheat (Pt. 2)

Read Part 1 Here

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem reader

Summary: Nanami's stellar work ethic shines when he proves just how dedicated he is to reigniting your sex life.

୨୧𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄୨୧ Read Part 1 Here ୨୧𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄୨୧

Warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (both receiving), spanking, toys, vaginal fingering, soft dom Nanami, mild bondage, vaginal sex, aftercare

18+!

Ao3 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

The heat rises and simmers on your skin when you see him. Nanami had taken his glasses off at some point while he was behind you. His heavy-lidded eyes are so full of desire, so ravenous that you almost fear he’ll eat you alive. He drags you to the edge of the table and pushes your legs apart.

And then he pulls out a chair.

You watch him with a raised brow as he sits down, scoots forward, reaches down toward the suit jacket he left on the floor…and pulls his handkerchief out of it. He sets it next to you on the table and pushes your dress away again, admiring the sight before him and spreading you open between his fingers.

Then his mouth is on you, kissing one thigh and nibbling the other, pushing so slowly toward your aching core. Then his lips finally envelop that sweet bud, and your brain short circuits as you try to remember the last time either of you did this for the other. But when his tongue drags itself from the other end of your pussy all the way back up to your clit, another thought crosses your mind.

“Wait. Right here?” you squeak past the pleasure, sitting up as much as the hands bound behind you allow. “On the table?”

“Well, yes,” he answers, his voice so matter-of-fact. He pushes you back down. “The table’s for eating.”

You huff out a laugh and let your head fall back. Fine. If he wants to make such a mess right here, you won’t stop him. Not like you’d want him to, anyway, when his mouth finds you again. He plants his hands on your thighs, holding them apart while he eats like a man truly starved. Every swipe of his tongue, every movement of his head suggests he’s been craving this taste, your taste, for ages.

And yet, that control never wanes. When he sucks on your clit, he doesn’t suck too hard. When his fingers slide back in, his tongue doesn’t slow. It moves in perfect circles, with perfect rhythm and perfect pressure. Meticulous and detail-oriented, like the proper businessman he is.

A familiar ache, a tantalizing pressure builds between your legs, and your hips start to jerk. You whine and groan, clenching around his fingers, ready to surrender to the flames all but raging inside you.

And he stops.

“What—” you start to protest, but he’s already pushing himself up.

“Did I say you could cum yet?” he chides. He pulls his fingers out, leaving you whining in a far less pleasant way.

“...No,” you mumble. “But—”

“Be good for me, darling,” he urges you, strolling over to the other end of the table. Gently, his hands slide under you again, and he pulls you toward him until your face is level with his groin. You swallow a faint gulp. If only you could reach for it…

“You’re doing as I say tonight, remember?” He cradles your cheek in his hand, his thumb running across your lower lip. “And I don’t recall saying you could cum. Wait for permission.”

“Fine. Fine.”

Your pouting lip pushes against his thumb, but he pulls that away, too. He crosses his arms and steps back, his voice a low warning when he speaks.

“I think you misspoke.”

You sigh, but even those words excite you. As long as it’s been since he’s used that tone, you remember it well. It means he’s serious.

“...Yes, sir,” you concede, casting pleading eyes up at him.

He uncrosses his arms and leans over you, rewarding you with a kiss. He even nibbles your lip before he pulls away. Just as an extra prize.

“Very good,” he coos, brushing your cheek one more time. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

He steps away and walks into the bedroom before you can ask him where he’s going. Soon enough, though, you get your answer.

“God, they’re dusty,” you hear him groan from the other room, and you stifle a snicker. At least you know what he’s doing now. So you busy yourself with thoughts of whatever toy he might have settled on as the bathroom faucet starts to run.

“We’ll ease back into the really rough stuff over time,” he announces as he walks back in, holding a vibrator in one hand and a pair of your panties in the other. “Tonight, I think we’ll have plenty of fun with just this.”

He waves the pink vibrator in the air. It’s a standard, simple toy. It’s shaped to stimulate you on the inside and the outside, but that’s the only notable thing about it. Not very big, not very powerful.

It’s just enough to make you ache for him, instead.

“Fine with me,” you hum, and your eyes flutter shut when he pushes it inside you. When it’s all the way in, he slides your panties over your ankles and up to your hips.

“Hmm. Let’s see if that keeps it in,” he muses aloud. The moment he flips it on, you can’t stop the sounds from fighting their way out of you. But it seems like Nanami was onto something. With your underwear holding it in place, no matter how much you clench and squirm, that vibrator’s not sliding out.

He chuckles as he unbuckles his belt. Your eyes fly back open, and you watch with unabashed hunger while his pants fall to his ankles and he pulls his underwear down, letting his thick length spring free. It’s standing hard, already dripping with anticipation, practically twitching. Your mouth waters just looking at it.

“Do you want this?” he asks you softly, bringing it closer to your lips. “Do you want to taste me, too?”

“Yes…” you murmur. He answers first with a faint smile.

“Then open wide.”

Immediately, your lips part. He’s already groaning when the head slides into your mouth, your gratified hums pulling him even farther in. Your tongue runs across every ridge, every vein. It’s sweet and salty at once, filling and fulfilling, a delicacy only you get to enjoy.

He leans forward with a hiss, sliding his hands under the neckline of your dress. He caresses your breasts under the fabric, flicking his thumbs across your nipples, waiting until you’re whining around his shaft before he pulls them free.

He pushes himself a little deeper into your mouth as he leans even farther down. Your whimpers grow into avid moans when he draws a nipple into his mouth, flicking it over and over with his tongue, biting it, sucking. He steadies himself with one hand glued to the table while the other explores your free breast, kneading it as he starts to thrust.

You writhe beneath him, desperate to fight that pressure rising again. Because how can it not? With your vibrator stuck inside you, with his mouth on one breast, his hand on the other, how can you not—

“You can cum now,” he says, his voice a little strained. His hips jerk for a moment. “I can tell you’re dying for it. You’ve been so good, baby, so go ahead. Let go.”

Your sigh of relief comes out as another deep groan buzzing against him. It sounds like he nearly chokes on the breath hitched in his chest.

Thank God. The flames were about to consume you. Now you can let the pleasure come to you as it may, focusing your attention on the thick cock in your mouth. But even now, his control is unparalleled; he’s only about halfway in. He must have really meant it when he said he’d ease back into the rough stuff.

But you’re hungrier than that. So you decide to do some easing yourself.

With what little dexterity you can manage with your hands bound, you shimmy toward the edge of the table until your head is hanging off of it. His cock slides farther down your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, his voice dangerously close to cracking, another momentary slip in his composure. But he doesn’t pull back, and he doesn’t stop.

Your eyes water, your throat spasms, your hands ball into fists beneath you, but it’s bliss. Being at his mercy like this, his overflowing mercy, is heaven. You savor every slow, deliberate thrust. You relish his lips on your chest. You revel in every vibration from the toy inside you, your core squeezing tighter, your fire lighting an irreversible fuse, burning brighter and faster until—

You explode. You cry out around him, your hips bucking and your toes curling and your muscles tensing. Your walls convulse over and over around that damned vibrator, a cruel little toy capable of so much less mercy than the man who put it in you. It keeps on even as the waves of pleasure twist into cramps, and your cries fall back down to whimpers.

Nanami pulls himself out of your throat, dragging a string of thick saliva with him. Not the prettiest picture, you’re sure, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You came, did you?” he coos, his tone dripping with cool satisfaction. You nod and angle your head back toward the vibrator.

“Please…” you rasp, aftershocks still rattling you. He hums and wipes a strand of drool from your cheek, taking his time as he walks back to the other end of the table.

“Hmm…should I turn this off?” His finger drags itself up and down the base of the vibrator before pushing it a little farther into you. You squirm and groan. “Has it done enough?”

“Yes,” you start, but you fall silent under the hand he holds in the air.

“I’m not so sure,” he drawls. “See, I haven’t heard you beg for anything yet. Seems like something I should have gotten out of you by now.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you gasp.

“Aww, you’re tense,” he murmurs. His hand slides up and down your thigh, every movement compounding the tortuous vibrations hurling you toward another shallow climax. “Why’s that?”

“Because of this stupid fucking—”

“Language,” he tuts. Now both of his hands are in the air, too far from your toy, a warning that he could rip your relief away if you don’t play nice. So you redirect. Quickly.

“Please, Kento,” you cry out. “Please, turn it off, please—” You screw your eyes shut and groan. A new climax is approaching, whether you’re ready for it or not.

Until you say the magic words.

“I want you instead!”

You can just barely hear his responding hum, low and smug, reverberating in his chest below the drone of your vibrator.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He gives you one more half-smile before he flips the vibrator off, finally granting you repose. Your head falls back, and you let out a long sigh. You don’t even bother to look up when you feel his hand rub up and down your leg. You’re too focused on the warm tingling spreading through your body, the heartbeat pounding in your ears, the relief, the relief.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sweet consideration back in his voice. “Do you need a break? Do you need to stop?”

Just the way he’s speaking to you ignites a new flame.

“No…” you mutter, still lying flat on the table, but a smile is creeping up your face. “But I don’t want to use that thing anymore.”

He squeezes your leg. “What do you want, then?”

“Do I really need to say it?”

“No, but I sure would like to hear it.”

You chuckle, letting your legs fall and dangle over the table. The change in position makes you realize just how thoroughly you’ve already soaked through your underwear. And that’s all the confirmation you need. You’re ready.

“I want you to fuck me, Kento,” you say plainly, using your barely-free fingers push yourself up. Nanami helps you up to a sitting position and holds you steady. “No between-the-sheets bullshit or routines. I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Hard and fast and rough.”

The more you talk, the more his hands roam. By the time you’re done, he’s reaching behind you, untying the knot that held your wrists so secure. His tie falls limp onto the table, and you stretch your arms above your head before bringing them back down to rest on his chest.

“God,” he murmurs. His thumb has found its way back to your lower lip, pushing past it, holding your jaw open like he’s inspecting a prize. “Such a good answer.”

He lifts your dress over your arms and tosses it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He guides you back down with a firm hand and pulls your underwear right back off again, leaving you completely exposed on the table. Nanami takes a minute to explore your body, truly explore it, his fingers caressing your cheek and grazing your neck and massaging your breasts. They slide up and down your waist, sink into your hips, squeeze your thighs before he settles between your legs. Then he leans over, his cock pushing against your dripping cunt, his lips brushing yours when he speaks again.

“Such an addicting taste.”

He captures you with a greedy kiss, a hungry kiss that lets him sink his teeth into your lower lip. You coax him closer with a needy moan, your nails digging into his muscled back as you taste one another. He leaves you wanting for more, though, when he grabs your hips and uses them as an anchor to push himself back up. And when he hoists your legs over his shoulders, when he starts to push in, he bares his teeth with a full smile.

“Such a good girl.”

He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t need to. You were ready the moment he tied your hands behind your back. And now that they’re free, they plant themselves on his forearms, urging him forward and begging him to grant you satiety. His fingers weren’t enough. The toy wasn’t enough. You need him, his touch, his voice, his control to feel full.

And, mercifully, he understands. He fills you to the brim in a single stroke, leaving you trembling and gripping him tighter as he stretches you out. Your eyes roll back and you sigh, a wordless thank you for granting you that delectable wholeness.

Nanami closes his eyes and presses his lips to the inside of your thigh, his pleasure all too evident on his face. And you allow yourself a moment to gloat. Why wouldn’t it be? Why wouldn’t the tight fit, your legs on his shoulders, your complete and trusting submission taste as good to him as it does to you?

But his statuesque composure returns, and he gives you all of one second, maybe two, to adjust before he starts thrusting in earnest. Your walls hug him as he drags himself in and out; your core simmers with roiling pleasure, threatening to boil over. You burn a little hotter every time he buries himself to the hilt.

Your whimpers grow into whines, which rise to needy moans, each one spurring him to pump a little faster, a little harder. His lips are back on your thigh, kissing, praising, encouraging, lifting only to fall to your other leg, biting, ordering, demanding. Demanding that you look at him. Demanding submission to his pleasure and yours. Demanding full and complete satisfaction.

Sections of his blonde hair, generally so tidy and immaculately styled, fall forward in one piece after another as he thrusts harder. Sweat beads on his forehead, neck, and chest. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted and slick, his eyes hazy and full of lust. It’s all so…messy.

What a good look on him.

“What a perfect—fit—” he rasps. His staggered breaths fall into syncopated beats behind every snap of his hips against yours.

“It always—” Your stomach flips when he lifts your hips a little higher, letting him reach even deeper inside of you. “Fuck, fuck—it always was.” Nanami looks down at you, his eyes deep and soft and free of any of those silly creases, as he kisses your thigh and nods. A wordless request to hear more.

“We were always a perfect fit,” you continue, though your voice wavers under the boiling waters within you. “Like—ha—like peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Like strawberries and cream,” he chuckles. He grips both of your legs on his shoulders before driving himself into you especially deep, leaving your hands trembling and your toes curling, as if to really punctuate his next claim:

“Meant to be.”

You smile at each other, content with your sweat and scattered clothes. His eyes melt into mousse as they take you in, scan your form, study your face, glint with every movement of your flushed lips. You’re so enamored with his silent worship that you barely notice he’s slowed to a stop.

You do, however, notice when he pulls out.

“Aw, what—”

“Back over the table, love.”

The new sheen in those chocolate eyes tells you everything you need to know. So you grin and hop onto your feet, just to turn around and bend right back over the table. Goosebumps claim your skin when he settles behind you, picking up your left leg and bringing it onto the table with you. Just to make sure you can still feel everything.

“Still comfortable?” he whispers above you, but the strength of his grip on your hips, the twitching cock he’s already started pushing back into you suggests comfort isn’t really the goal anymore. For either of you.

“Comfortable,” you urge. You push yourself back and clench around him, relishing his reaction as you rock back and forth, back and forth, fucking yourself while his fingers dig into your skin. The hiss he lets out tickles your ears like whipped cream.

“I got it, I got it,” he chokes out, securing his hold on you before he’s back to thrusting into you properly. But his rhythm is already missing that measured control he’s kept on such a tight leash all night. No, as he groans and curses and sings your off-beat praises behind you, you know his pleasure is close to boiling over, too.

But you have a feeling you’ll still cum first, if your heated flushing, your parted lips, your quivering legs have anything to say about it. And when his hand meets your ass, when he leans forward to rub at your clit, when he tells you you’re perfect, baby, don’t stop, he can feel you getting close, and so is he, so be good and cum again, baby, he knows you can do it—

You boil over in a monumental display, keening and crying and convulsing as scalding water cascades over the edges and licks the flames below, leaving you in a heavenly state of steam and satiety.

Nanami doesn’t take long to follow. He pushes out a few more forceful thrusts before groaning against your ear and twitching inside you, signaling that his climax overtook him, too. So you allow yourselves a few seconds to simply lie there, exposed and breathless on your well-lit kitchen table. Your eyes close when you feel gentle kisses across your shoulders, and you smile when he quietly scolds himself over the mess he made.

“Aw, don’t worry about that,” you purr, and you will yourself to sit up. You find him standing at the edge of the table, counting the pieces of clothing he’d left on the floor. But when he looks back at you, a warm smile rises on his face again.

You shimmy to the edge of the table and hop onto wobbling legs, catching Nanami for balance as you try to adjust. He really turned them to jelly this time. He only regards you with a sympathetic look and a sigh.

“Hold on,” he says. He scoops you up from where you stand, one arm looped under your knees while another holds your waist, and carries you to the bedroom. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck, still clammy with sweat.

“Kento, you don’t—” You clear your throat. After all that, after being eaten and fucked on a kitchen table, you can feel yourself…blushing. “I can walk. You don’t have to carry me like a…” A new flutter of your heart spurs you to hide your face in his chest. “...princess.”

“And what if I want to?” he answers in turn, drumming a few fingers against your leg. He pauses to cast chiding eyes at you before he gently lets you down on the bed. “What if I want to treat you like a princess? What if I think you deserve that royal treatment all the time?”

You blink a few times as you sit up in bed, your hands running across the soft sheets.

“Well, I guess I could oblige,” you chuckle. He answers with a smirk and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Great. Then princesses need to hydrate,” he remarks, stepping back. He grabs a water bottle he’d already opened and set on your nightstand, and he hands it to you. He crouches down in front of you and combs through your hair as you gulp it down.

“And how are you feeling?” he asks, running soft, protective fingers over your neck, shoulders, and thighs. All the spots he bit and squeezed. Finally, when you set the bottle back down, he takes your hands in his. “Anything you need? Any bruises kissed? Shoulders rubbed?”

You lean into him, melting at his words, sighing with relief when your face meets his warm chest. The hum that rumbles in his throat is so soft, so comforting when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight.

“I’m all good,” you murmur into his skin. You wrap your arms around him, too, and notice a shift. As you sit together, bare skin against bare skin, breaths mingling, you realize the embers you rekindled tonight are still burning bright. They lick at your stomach, urging you to feel him all over again.

Maybe you’re still hungry.

“I think, if you’re up for it…” you whisper, tracing lazy circles in his skin, “...I might even want more.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He simply keeps his hold on you and hums again. But it’s a deeper sound this time, and you swear you can feel his nails drag across your back before he pulls back and looks into your eyes.

“Is that so?” he finally returns, his low voice lighting sparks in your chest. He waits until you nod fervently at him before he pushes himself up to his feet.

“Good,” he says. And that’s all he says before he strolls over to the closet and starts to rummage through it. When he turns around, you see he’s carrying that old box of neglected toys in his arms. He crouches before you again, his eyes glimmering with new ideas, one hand settling on the edge of the box while the other cradles your cheek.

“Because we’ve got more flavors to try.”

#fanfic #nanami x you #nanami kento #kento nanami #jujustu kaisen #jjk #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk nanami

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blindmagdalena · 7 months

Text

Devotion

18+ 1.6k homelander x reader. no pronouns, p-in-v sex. blood play. excessively sentimental. love as a kink.

Certain there is a threshold to be reached when it comes to your love for him, Homelander comes to you fresh from a gruesome slaughter still dripping in blood. Your response surprises him.

written for this prompt from @mari-thesimp 💕🩸

It’s late when you wake to the sound of a door slamming shut. You sit up so sharply it makes you a little lightheaded, half delirious with sleep. The digital clock, reflected endlessly in Homelander’s assortment of mirrors, reads 2:33am.

In the dark, you hear his footfalls heavily approaching. You know instantly that something’s wrong. He never crashes home like this. Any time he came home late in the past, he slipped silently into bed and embraced you until you woke in his arms.

You climb out of bed and put a hand out, walking blindly in the dark. “Homelander? Are you–” You move to turn on the light, but a gloved hand snatches your wrist so suddenly that you scream, yanked into his solid chest.

“Ssshhhh,” he hisses, uncharacteristically breathless. He’s panting. You’re as confused as you are alarmed, bracing your free hand against his chest, where it slips in something wet. You recognize the smell almost immediately–blood.

“Are you hurt?” You ask frantically, the worst possible scenario immediately clouding your thoughts. “Oh god, please, let me–” He kisses the words from your lips, grip on your wrist tightening to a pressure just shy of painful. His tongue pushes the taste of what you smelled into your mouth and you keen against him, your free hand sliding up his chest, blood collecting thickly on your palm, your fingers.

“It’s not mine,” he says, voice little more than a rasp against your lips. You make a sound of relief that he eagerly swallows up, though your heart continues to pound. His lips trail from yours to your cheek, then your temple. He must hear it in your heart, smell the adrenaline in your veins. “Y’scared of me?” He asks, the heat of his breath rolling a chill down your spine.

You could almost laugh. You’d open your ribcage for him to crawl inside if ever he needed shelter. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

“No, no. Not if you’re okay,” you tell him, turning your head away to offer your neck to him in both submission and invitation. He takes it eagerly, bending in to graze his teeth along your pulse point, ending on a kiss that shifts into the pull of his lips sucking a mark into your neck. “I was only scared when I thought it was yours,” you say, the words melting into a soft moan.

“Do you care whose it is?” He asks, wrapping his other arm around your waist, pulling you sharply against him.

You shake your head and breathlessly admit, “No.”

You feel the slow spread of his smile against your skin. He gets off on this, you know. Testing you. Pushing the limits to see how far you’ll stretch. It never fails to work him up into a frenzy when you match him move for move. “So long as it’s not yours.”

If he wants to bring the violence that lurks within him to your lips, you’ll swallow it whole to prove there’s a place in this world that he belongs. You touch his jaw and turn your head, bringing his cheek to your mouth. He’s pliant in your grasp, anticipating the press of your lips, but you feel him tense as you drag your tongue from his jaw to the high of his cheek, collecting the sickly sweet spray of blood from his skin. It tastes coppery, like how you imagine sucking an old penny would. It would be repulsive if this act weren’t so wholly for him.

And then he moans. Before Homelander, desire had always been something of an abstract concept to you. The poets of the world write it as something alive, something palpable. A longing for something so intense that it chokes you with hunger until you either have it in your jaws, or are driven mad for the lack of it. It had been romantic hyperbole like any other.

Now, finally, you understand it as the poets wrote it.

You lick him again, this time from his chin to his lips, and he eagerly twists it into a kiss, suddenly relinquishing his hold on you so that he can take you by the backs of your thighs and hoist your legs up around his waist.

Your stomach flips with the effortlessness of it, the novelty of his strength never dimming. You catch your arms around his neck and kiss him as he carries you towards the bed.

He drapes himself over you, pinning you to the mattress like a flower between the pages of a book, and kisses you senseless, his hunger tangible in every little press of his lips. He kisses you like he means each one as a bite, devouring you piece by piece until there’s nothing left between your bodies but the taste of blood.

“You never cease to fuckin’ surprise me,” he murmurs, lifting himself just enough to rip his zipper down with a distinct hiss. “There any part of me you don’t love?” He asks, and though you think he means it coyly, rasping it the way he does while he rips the fabric of your panties clean from between your legs, you know his sincerity when you hear it. You understand his yearning to hear your love confirmed.

“No. There’s no part of you unloved by me,” you swear to him, whispering it like an oath. “Whether I’ve seen it or not. If it’s you, then it’s loved.”

He pauses. Your eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and in it, you see him staring down at you. Though his handsome features are smeared dark with blood, you see him as he is beneath it–wounded.

In his eyes you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over his scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this madness. You have seen the beast in him, but so too have you seen the fragile man it protects.

When the beast shows you his teeth, you can’t help but put them to your throat so that he might taste how your heart beats for him.

Even now, as you look into the eyes of a man, you feel his claws sink into your hips through his gloves. “I love you,” he whispers in turn. Your brows furrow at the first press of his cock, a breathy little noise escaping you while he savors grinding the head of it tantalizingly against your clit. You’re already wet for him, so ready to take him. He presses his chest down against yours and your nightgown soaks up the blood on his suit, turning it wet and sticky against your skin. You hardly notice it compared to the feel of him sliding into you, splitting you open so slowly it makes you want to scream.

“Take me,” you say fervently. “I’m yours, but take me like I’m not.”

Ever determined to be all to you that you are to him, he drives into you at that, knocking the wind from your lungs with a sharp thrust that brings him to the core of you. Instantly you’re craving more, already anticipating the dull ache you’ll feel in the morning from how good he fucked you.

“Harder,” you gasp, pushing your hands into his hair, slicking it back with the blood on your hands. He moans sweetly when you tighten your grasp, and his thrusts become sharper, deeper. He hikes both of your legs higher over his hips and adjusts the position until he’s pounding you properly, angled so perfectly that every thrust sparks behind your eyelids like fireworks.

“I love you,” he says again, voice fraying around the edges, thrusts growing more erratic, “I l-I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, chanting it like a mantra, as if it’s the only thought that matters to him right now. You, here, with him, loving him as he loves you.

You come first, your voice stolen by a crash of sensation so intense it renders you immobile, muscles locking up in a spasm of pleasure. Homelander doesn’t last much longer, thrusting through and into the aftermath of your climax until he, too, stills, seized by the magnitude of his own release. He floods into you at the same time he kisses you, body sinking down atop yours. It’s likely the only thing that keeps you from floating away, riding the high of your euphoria while the two of you both catch your breath.

The whole room smells of blood and sex, and there is an undeniable carnality in that. It brings out something beastly in you, too, and even as he lays against you, your point made and your love proven for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but drag your tongue once again from his bloodied skin to his lips, pushing more blood into his mouth and kissing the iron taste of it from him.

He groans softly. You feel his spent cock give a valiant throb inside the snug velvet walls of your cunt.

“You make me crazy,” he says, voice utterly fried.

“Love does that,” you say with a smile, your own voice slightly hoarse.

He smiles against your lips, relishing how you find any and every excuse to remind him of your love. “Gonna have t’shower,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, erupting goosebumps from your head to your toes. You thrive on how addicted he is to you.

“Soon,” you giggle, carding your fingers through his hair, though it’s slightly matted with blood. “I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

Gladly, he rests his head on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh as your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the fill of him inside you, the weight of him against you, and the warmth of him that seeps beyond your body and into the depths of your very soul.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #apologies in advance i wrote this in an absolute haze today haha

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mind-player · 6 months

Text

Purge

Durge is beginning to wonder whether it matters if they make it to Bhaal's temple and if it would be better for the others if they didn't.

And Astarion, despite your constant protests, cannot helplessly stand by and watch as you pour out the contents of your stomach and then eventually all of your questioning thoughts along with it.

Warning! Suicidal thoughts/questioning

Words: 2,040

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Astarion was quick to wake from his trance just from the absence of your presence at his side. He felt the place with cold fingers, realizing the blankets still had some of your warmth. The fire everyone circled around in their bedrolls was freshly tended, alive again with a new log added to the flames.

The vampire quietly got up to avoid disturbing the other companion's rest and began to sense where you might've run off. He strained his ears, and it didn't take long for him to pick up the sound of a specific someone retching in the distance of the forest. Astarion made haste, not wanting to let you suffer alone for a second.

A selfish part of him wanted to tell you again that it was alright to snap him awake whenever this happened, but he was fast to conclude that the morning would have to do. As much as he's gently brought it up, he did also understand your discomfort at the thought of him seeing you throw up last night's dinner.

But still, they were in this together, Bhaal be damned. And he knew you wouldn't hesitate to do the same for him. Hells, you've asked him for a kiss even when he was covered in blood and viscera, his hair more than just slightly askew, and his face sore with cuts and bruises. Sure, he couldn't look into a mirror, but he could still feel that the grime and exhaustion were evident to anyone at camp.

Didn't matter to you, though. You would call Astarion beautiful every time, and he'd readily call you a liar. And you'd say with a smile as golden as your heart, "Prove it."

He never could.

Astarion finally came upon the vision of you keeling over on your knees. Your hand was your only leaning support, pale and clammy from the night's cold on a tree stump. The only contrast was the red and scabbing marks around your wrist from being tied up every other night.

"Don't look," you croaked, your voice hoarse and tired, ready to deny his help.

It was rare that you would let yourself sleep sometimes, especially after what happened to that poor bard you so eagerly let join camp without even a hint of suspicion on your mind. Astarion was irritated by your being so open and careless, and all you had to say was that you missed the sound of a bard's music.

And you were punished for it.

Astarion remembered the last day you would ever trust your body around anyone. Not even your thoughts were safe in your mind, for fear of them crawling out and unleashing murder upon your companions and, God's forbid, on Astarion. Even the idea of that happening made you ill, but your mind would force you to see it in your dreams, and your slinking Bhaal butler would provoke the strength of your will.

It was only inevitable and natural that you'd be sick to your stomach with all that on your shoulders, your mind.

"You think this is the worst I've witnessed in my two hundred years?" the elf questioned, and he chose not to move forward, not without further consent.

"No," you answered truthfully, letting your hand slide down the rough bark for you to fall back on the balls of your feet.

"Then please let me help you."

"I," you started, taking a shaky breath. "I don't think you can."

Astarion could tell from your voice alone you were on the brink of tears. And as much as the vampire just wanted to take all of that pain away and rip it to nothing but shreds, kill any God that causes it, and ascend himself victorious so that it could never happen again, he couldn't. Not yet. He remained where he stood.

"What do you mean, my love?" he questioned softly when you didn't continue. He could always be sincere with you when you so effortlessly were, especially in such moments.

"I just hate this," you responded, nearly crying aloud. "I know you said we can fight this together. And I want to. Gods, I want to. But sometimes, I just wish my mind would stop for a second. Just to let me be me around you. The me that you know and the one I want to be. But I don't think I ever will."

He didn't say anything, letting you say what he couldn't bear.

"I'm going to die," you whispered, giving out and leaning onto your side. "And if my body doesn't, I know whoever was on this journey with you definitely will. So what does it matter if it all just stops now?"

Astarion almost couldn't believe his ears. Such a dreadful question slipped through the lips of an angel who soothed everyone's worries and selflessly promised devotion to countless others regardless of their own self-preservation.

Some say vampires are unfeeling creatures with no heart, none that craves to beat for anything other than the thrill of power. But, of course, if anyone ever proved them wrong, it was you.

And if there was anyone to tell Astarion he was worth more than his looks, his body, and his charm, that he was a person just like everyone else who could be valued, trusted, and loved so readily, it was most certainly you. You were the only one to give him even the slightest hope of defeating someone he had revolved around for two centuries. You were the only one to tell him he could finally stop surviving and start living.

You were the hope of every tiefling, your companions, and him. Hearing you, seeing you finally break, was enough to bring him to his knees, and the thought of genuinely losing you made his heart fall. But not for one second was this only about him.

A silence fell over the two of you until he finally gathered his words.

"When I discovered you, I remember being so furious. After all, how could there be people like you out here all this time? Just waiting to save someone's life, end their torment, their worries," he tried to explain without his voice trembling.

"You were so naive yet so relentlessly kind, constantly worrying about right and wrong, weighing every decision and then being the one to bear the consequences of them, all on your shoulders. And not once did you expect anything in return from anyone.

"So, please, consider when I hear you ask if it matters if you keep existing in this world, even if it's for a moment longer, that it does. Gods, it does. It's indisputable. Because this world is already so starved of people like you," he said, his chest aching with every word.

Hot tears threatened to well in his eyes, tears he hadn't known since he was still in that wretched dungeon being tortured alive.

Astarion couldn't stop thinking about you being lost forever compared to so many other evils they've slain along their journey. There were so many in this world who no one would miss, who no one would even consider a moment to remember, and Astarion thought that, with all his faults, he might as well have been on that list, too.

But everyone would most certainly miss you. Probably would throw thousands of flowers on your grave each year, speak exciting stories of your adventures with all you've done, put up a statue of you, and honor you for centuries to come.

He would so desperately miss you. When the others finally abandoned him and left him to his own devices or back with Cazador, he would have forgotten how to love again, knowing that you were the only one he could care for.

Astarion watched as the hand that supported you on the ground clenched, intertwining your calloused fingers into the grass. You turned your body to finally face him, shining tears from the firelight staining your cheeks.

And all of that and everything else he could've said to convince you otherwise must've been conveyed in just one look because he was finally seeing you. Your sweat-damp brow was furrowed in pain, your white-knuckled grip released the delicate blades of grass, and all your pain from your stomach to your head and mind was brewing behind your reddened eyes. Tired eyes.

"I'm sorry," you eventually cried with shoulders quivering, and it was all Astarion needed to come crawling over to hold you in his arms. "I didn't– I shouldn't have–"

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all," Astarion vehemently told you, shaking his head. "Everything that's been asked of you forced onto you, would test anyone."

You wept, sniffled, and apologized, and the cycle repeated, but Astarion never once ran out of quiet, comforting whispers.

It continued until it eventually came to a slow end, with you resting your head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing against yours. Your legs were numb from how long you both had sat there in that forest and if you could feel, maybe even a little cold- not because of Astarion. Never because of him.

While basking in the comfortable silence that befell both of you, you still couldn't help but sigh and shake your head.

"What is it, my love?" he asked so gently as if the words alone would make you fall apart again. You never hated yourself more for dumping your doubts, worries, and dreads on him.

"It's stupid," you said, actually meaning that you were stupid in a sense.

"Try me."

You hid your face further into the crook of his shoulder, feeling that familiar warmth spread across your cheeks.

"I just remembered how much I didn't want you to ever see me throw up... and you get something ten times worse."

Astarion laughed and said, "Compared to the monstrous atrocities we've seen throughout this journey, this is more akin to sunshine and a bed of fresh roses. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Yes."

You squinted in suspicion at him and persisted, "Not even a little?"

Astarion quirked a brow.

"Well, I could do without the snot on the only shirt I possess," he joked, earning that gorgeous smile he missed so dearly, "but if it means you're still here, together with me, then no, I genuinely don't mind. I'm not going anywhere."

The latter part of his words sounded so irrefutable and clear to your ears that you almost forgot everything ahead.

"Even if I turn into a monster?" you asked him.

"The day you turn into a monster is the day that bears will fly," he answered, silently thinking about how different you were compared to him. "But if that still somehow manages to happen, then what's the harm of being monsters together?"

"That'd be so terrible," you told him, shaking your head with a smile.

This was nice. Your dark thoughts were quelled and momentarily replaced with the idea of you and Astarion, the future you two could have if you somehow managed to live through all this. What would it be like, you wondered.

You imagined a house somewhere in the city, perhaps a townhouse. You'd both live messily; all the treasures you hoarded over this journey would be scattered everywhere when first moving in. Curtains would be closed, but you'd like to imagine them open with a smiling Astarion basking like a cat in the sun he adored.

Alive again. With your love's heart beating so strongly with your ear pressed up against his naked chest as you both lounge in bed, doing nothing in particular.

Then it crossed your silly mind that you wanted that. You wanted to see that someday, even if it might not have been in the cards for you. But when have the chances ever not been slim? And how many times did you beat them until now?

That future, that hope, was enough to fight for.

That acquainted quiet settled once more before you finally whispered a vow only to him, "I'll defy him. Whatever it takes."

Even if it meant dying.

"As will I," he answered, and you knew who he spoke of. One day, both of you might be free- truly free.

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #astarion x dark urge #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #bg3 dark urge #bg3 #dark urge tav #fanfiction #fanfic #comfort #tav #durge

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 7 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: Yes I reworked this piece because I liked the concept of forbidden attraction, but wanted it slightly different cause I didn't like how I executed it the first time. I think this works much better! Also stay tuned for Tuesday, October 31st cause we have a real treat for Halloween coming!

Joining the 141 had one hard rule: no relationships of any kind between members, but that is something proving to be too much the closer you and Simon get.

You weren’t meant to be here, panting like an animal in heat, nearly naked in Simon’s bed as his fingers traced burning lines down your abdomen and over the curve of your hips to tug playfully at the seam of your panties. Yet that's exactly where you found yourself.

You were pure temptation, forbidden fruit, the most delicious type of sin; you were not supposed to be doing this, but from the moment you first met when you joined the task force as their medic he knew he had to have you and nothing could sate that growing, gnawing hunger in him until he possessed every last inch of you for his own.

It had started innocent enough: chaste glances whenever you came into contact, friendly quips and pleasantries, guiltless touches that never lingered more than need be… until that just wasn’t enough. That nagging ache was just too strong to hold off the closer you both got, the attraction clouding all judgment that told him this was wrong and that he should leave it alone; coworkers couldn't get involved, that was the one rule that was strictly upheld when you joined the task force.

This wasn't like him to risk his job, but he just couldn’t let these feelings go.

How could he when you made him feel alive for the first time in years? Even just being in your presence left him giddy like a fucking teenager again, full of raging hormones and excitement for days after. Why would he not want to have that all for himself?

You weren’t much better, not once you realized what was happening between you. “We’re just friends,” you’d repeat over and over as if the very utterance of the phrase could alter what was slowly creeping its way inside your mind, but the more Simon found reasons to come visit you in the infirmary, the more you knew what not nipping this in the bud would lead to.

And yet you didn’t want it to stop.

He was more than the stoic killer, the man cloaked in the face of death; he was passionate and smart and he looked at you as if he would burn everything to the fucking ground and salt the earth just to have you. To be coveted in such an all-consuming way, having never experienced something so intense before, that was euphoric. How could you possibly let that just walk away?

It was just drinks, it was just staying out a little later than usual, it was just a little crush that’ll pass; that was your excuses for him time and again. And yet you could not help the way you began to imagine coveting such intense passion for your own or what it would be like to have such a strong, virile man take you rough and exasperatedly. To belong to someone who was so obviously obsessed he could not help himself that he was willing to risk it all, put his entire life into jeopardy, it was hard not to get sucked in.

No, not just anyone. Simon. Only Simon.

So that was how you found yourself in his room after hours by some flimsy excuse made that you couldn’t even remember now. And the low light of the room, the tension permeating the space like a heavy fog, the closeness of that beast of a man as he looked down at you with those eyes that screamed he was being swallowed whole by his desire was enough to make things start.

Calloused fingertips sliding across your bare arm were then suddenly around your waist and then your hip. Not once did you try to swat his hand away; you didn’t want that feeling caused by his touch to stop, the one making your mind fuzzy.

Then his shirt was off along with your own and Simon found himself struggling to breathe. Inhaling deep and exhaling just as heavy, he could only stare back at all that soft, supple skin. “Goddamn,” he stammered out the breathless word as those fingers traced patterns on your palms hanging at your sides. “You’re more beautiful than I coulda fuckin’ imagined, sweetheart.”

You’d patched him up so many times, seen more of him than anyone else, and yet here and now it was like experiencing the sight of him bare before you for the first time. Pupils dilated, breaths hitched, nerve endings exploded to life and the overwhelming urge to explore each other until you both knew the other by touch alone filled the space between you.

Those same fingertips played with the button on your jeans, testing how far you were willing to let him go. At any second there was an unknown fear your hand would push his away and you would stop this right in its tracks, but as you gave him a nod and he undid your jeans and slid them down your legs, he allowed himself to hope that this wouldn’t end at all.

Suddenly he grabbed your hand and brought you over to his bed, sitting you down to sit beside you so close he was pressed into your side. Being this close, everything became so clear and even though the room was anything but cold, a shiver went up his spine a the weight of his decision.

"Take it off," he murmured near the side of your head as he filled his nostrils with your scent, that natural musk that was specific to only you, the one that made it near impossible to function whenever you were close. "The mask. I want ya to take it off."

You couldn't be stopped. With unsteady hands you reached up to his face, gently sliding your fingertips under the thin fabric covering his face and slowly you pulled it up and over until all of his visage was revealed to you. It wasn't the first time you'd seen him, but this time was so much more important.

Copper eyes sparkled now that they were released from the bounds of the mask, shifting colors in the pale light as they were so full with emotion. Lust, yes, desire, of course, but so much more and you were caught in their penetrating gaze.

His hand moved up to cup against your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek as his eyes flitted to your lips where he watched the moistened, full bits of flesh call him to embrace. Instead of connecting those yearning bits of flesh, his hand wandered to the back of your head to pull it towards him so that he could rest his forehead against yours.

"I need ya," he said, that gruff voice unable to hide the begging lilt in his tone, "so fuckin' bad."

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered the half-hearted objection with eyes closed as he leaned in and ghosted his lips over your own, so close he could taste your muggy breath.

Risking more, your fingertips glided across the bulky muscles of his abdomen, called as if by a siren’s song to stroke along all that beautiful skin available for you alone. They danced over the sparse covering of hair that led down into his pants and the sound of him trying to gulp down air to fill his lungs as his breath got caught in his chest caught your attention.

The unbearable need to shove you down onto your back, spread your legs to slip in between, and fuck you until you were too exhausted to move flooded his veins; it was a monumental task to keep himself from giving in, but he had to be sure you wanted this just as bad, that he was not taking something that was not his to take.

That you were willing to accept the risk as well.

“Then tell me ta stop,” he breathed back onto your parted lips, rough fingers taking your chin firmly into his grasp to pull your head up so that he could place his lips along your jawline. Each caress of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, tiny pricks of electricity that had you reeling in agony for more.

Under your chin and down the side of your throat he went, scourging the flesh for anyone else that would dare come after him. “Shove me away, tell me to get the fuck out so ya can get dressed and leave,” he groaned into your skin. “Tell me ya don’t want this and we’ll never fuckin’ speak of it again. But…I want ya to stay; I'm tired of pretending you're not in my goddamn veins and that I don't dream 'bout all the ways ta make ya mine.”

You swallowed hard, sanity slipping violently away the longer his mouth left those euphoric trails of tingles down your neck until your cheeks flushed crimson while that damp heat continued to gather between your legs. Bodies molded into one another, desperately begging to become one in that lust-fueled connection that would send you both straight to hell, the air thick with unrequited desire that had built to its breaking point, you knew there was no way you could leave him now.

Your choice had already been made the moment you stepped inside his room and he shut the door.

Opening your eyes, you waited until he felt you move and pulled his head up so that you could look directly into those copper eyes nearly black now in the dim light. “No,” you shook your head, “I can’t leave, not now. I need you Simon; fuck, I need you so bad it hurts.”

What more was there to say to that? He had wanted to hear you say those words for so long now it almost didn’t feel real, as if at any moment he would wake up alone in his room with a wet spot staining his boxers and the cycle of agony would continue.

Harshly he moved his hand back to where it was wrapped around the back of your head and taking a deep breath he pulled your face to him to crash his yearning mouth onto yours. Fiery and aggressive he captured your lips over and over, greedy to make up for all the lost time he had spent pining for their embrace.

Simon needed you like air in his lungs, like a man dying of thirst needs water, and in that moment nothing existed in the entire world outside of that bed: not consequences or repercussions for his actions, not reprimands or disciplinary actions, not court-martials or anything else the higher ups could threaten him with. The ecstasy of you was worth all the goddamn bullshit he may face for the crime of needing you.

Advancing on top of you, he pushed you down onto your back until you were pressed into his mattress beneath him, his body buzzing from the high of finally unleashing the monster that had kept him suffering. Torsos pressed firmly together so that you could hardly breathe, limbs intertwined as he easily slid between your thighs, hips grinding into one another, he completely lost himself.

“Never thought I’d hear ya say those words,” he groaned into your mouth, making you swallow down his desperation. “Needed ya for so fuckin’ long, thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind, luv. It’s been so hard tryin’ to keep distance between us. I'm fuckin' dyin' wantin' you and not being able to do a damned thing 'bout it. I don't care what the fuck the rules say, I have ta have ya.”

“Then take me,” you moaned as your hands slipped between your burning bodies and rushed to his belt to loosen it so that you could undo his pants and pull them down. “Please, Simon. Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Simon shimmied to help you until they hung around his ankles and he could kick them off, that same he did with his boxers, never letting up on his assault of your mouth. Fuck, he was so hard it was nearly painful and he hissed as the head of his cock brushed up against you. His large hands pulled at the crotch of your panties, sliding them to the side and out of the way.

The excitement of the moment had gotten to your body and what met his fingers was that sticky moistness that meant you were ready for him. Sitting up on his knees he aligned the tip of his cock so that he could slip through your delicate petals to coat himself in your juices, adding lubrication to make this easier.

You got the first feel of what he had to offer and fuck was more than you could have imagined as it throbbed and pulled near your aching hole. Grabbing onto your hips, he pressed his swollen tip directly onto your entrance and thrust until it slipped inside. Instantly you were filled with him, fuller than you had ever been before, and your head flew back as you mewled loudly at being stretched to capacity.

The agony was finally over.

"N-nh… mmm…" Simon groaned behind closed lips as he jerked. So fucking tight, so soft and warm and wet, it was more than anything he could have hoped for and he had to pause a second to collect himself.

Right and wrong didn't exist anymore, it was only you and him now, reveling in that thrill of experiencing each other for the first time in that most intimate way. As he began to thrust back and forth through your pussy, he knew he would do whatever it took to have you like this over and over again, fuck the rules.

And as his body meshed perfectly with yours as if you were created for one another, cock pounding into you to make the desperate moans escape your lips like quiet praises, you knew that from that moment on no matter what came you were his.

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justaaveragereader · 7 months

Text

10.26||GrimReaper!HongJoong

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: MeanDom!Hongjoong, Sub!Reader, Scythe Play, CNC, Rough Sex, Degradation, If I Missed Anything👀👀Lemme Know!

A/N: Can yall believe we are damn near done with kinktober😭?! One more left and it’ll be finished🥹😭.

Kinktober Masterlist

“Plea-please..” you whisper out, sprawled on the stone path beneath you. Body riddled with sweat from the ungodly heat.

Hongjoongs eyes twinkle, hearing your pretty voice beg for him was enough to have him bricked up underneath his cloak. You had been escaping him for a while, constantly cheating death, forever out running him, but not today. He had finally caught up with you, and he was going to take whatever he pleased.

“Please what?” Hongjoong says with irritation, lacing his voice. Dropping the pitch of his tone. His pitch black eyes take over your body. The way the sweat drenched clothes cling to your body leave very little to the imagination.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong plea-please.” You end your sentence with a hiccup, tears beginning to fill your eyes. Pulling his scythe out, he swings the blade swiftly down, shutting your eyes tightly you take a deep breath, accepting the fate that he was going to reap your soul. The soft zipping of the blade can be heard. Your skin immediately feels the heat from the fire pooling around you. Opening your eyes, you see Hongjoongs body covered with skin, he had morphed into his human state. Your eyes bore up to him, his eyes still pitch black, staring holes into you. You see his head slightly tilt down. Your naked body is on display for him.

Slicing your clothes clean in half. The heat from the ring of fire that you are in the middle of heats your skin even more. Slowly walking towards you with his scythe scraping against the stone. Causing small sparks to fly in every direction. He brings up his scythe swinging it toward your neck, stopping the blade right below your neck, standing still at your collar bone. Your hands slowly come to cover your top half. Just as you get closer to your skin, Hongjoong shoves the scythe further into your skin, pushing the flat slide of the scythe so it digs into your skin, avoiding your skin touching the edge of the blade. Not wanting to slice your skin.

“Take it off.” He whispers out, with his lack of pupil it’s hard to tell where his eyes are looking, yet just knowing he’s soaking in your body spreads a heat to your core. Moving your hands slowly you remove your shirt, refusing to break eye contact with him. Moving your hands down to your pants you peel the soaking fabric off your body, your panties are split down the middle he has an eye shot view of your wet cunt. You weren’t sure if you were just pooling with arousal by his authority or if you were just drenched in sweat.

Wanting to entertain the thought of proving it is just sweat glistening off your folds, you run two fingers through your folds, letting out a gasp you are shocked to learn it’s arousal and not sweat. Feeling the heat of embarrassment burn at your insides, you spread your fingers in disbelief, watching it stretch between your fingers, looking up at Hongjoong through your lashes, you feel heat spread across your face. Letting out a small chuckle, not believing what he’s seeing before his very own eyes. Removing the blade from your collar, he drops to his knees letting the scythe hit the floor with a loud thud, the tip of the blade right next to your head. The fear of it slicing your skin runs through your veins yet the excitement of seeing Hongjoong kneeling before your parted legs takes over your body. His cool, pale hands run over your burning body. Letting his finger tips brush over your inner thighs, he inches lower, your breath hitching in your throat.

Your eyes drift down to where his fingers are touching, while his eyes never move from your body, soaking in your desperate form. Desperate to stay alive, desperate to get fucked.

“How desperate are you?” He says while toying with your clit, your head falling back against the stones at the feeling of him on your body.

“Very.” You pant out, not even trying to figure out in what way he meant when he said desperate. That was your favorite part about cheating death. While he viewed this as a punishment, you viewed this as a reward. Moving his oversized cloak out of the way, lining himself up with your entrance. He wasn’t here for foreplay, nor did he wanna be sweet and take his time with you. Slowly bottoming out in you, your eyes slightly roll back, the mixture of sweat and arousal making it easy for him to slide into you.

“Fuckkk..” you moan out as he slid in, your hands coming up to grip his black cloak, stilling him in place. Grabbing his scythe from the ground, placing the blade against the pulse point in your neck. Your nerves shoot up, yet you can’t decipher if it’s the thought of him having the upper hand, or the fear of him being able to snatch your soul with one swift movement. His hips start out at a snail pace, as he pulls back you can feel every vein drag against your warm, snug walls. You can feel his cock pulsate in you. Digging the scythe further into your skin, you feel your heart start to race. As your heart quickens he picks up pace, the feeling of his cool skin continuously brushing your heated skin only makes you want him more.

With each quick thrust he delivers to your cunt, the ring of fire grows taller, burning hotter, blue flames engulfing the bottom where the fire started. The sound of wet skin slapping is ringing out in your ears. Pushing the scythe under your chin, the sharp blade nips at your skin, he lifts your head with the blade so you are looking at him, your mouth hangs open, panting as he’s hitting your spongy spot over and over again. Trying your best to keep eye contact with him, you can’t help but let your eyes roll back at the pleasure he’s bringing you.

“Ah, ah, ah, eyes on me.” He grits out, shoving the blade further in your skin. Biting your lip, you look up at Hongjoong through hooded eyelids. The way he towered over you, you could’ve assumed he was God. His head is always held high, with a firm look always on his face. He looks down at you like you are beneath him. Like you are absolute scum, yet the way he’s pistoning his cock in and out of you it’s hard to believe that you are on a lower level then him.

“I’m starting to think you only like to cheat me because you like when I’m balls deep in your tight cunt.” He says through a smile, that signature “know it all” smirk is constantly plastered on his face. Biting your lip, your toes curl slightly, trying your best to keep your eyes locked onto his. Letting out a fake coo at you. He shoves the scythe further into your skin, letting it sit dangerously close to your pulse.

“Go ahead and say it. Tell me how much you love the chase because you know it’ll end with me balls deep in you. Go on.”

Biting your lip, you feel your orgasm cutting close, yet your pride will not let you admit that you love when Hongjoong is rearranging your guts. You enjoyed this cat and mouse game with him. Letting out a low whine you cut your eyes at Hongjoong, refusing to stroke his God complex.

“Over my de-dead body Ki-Kim Hongjoong.” You stutter out as his hips continue to speed up, folding your body in half with his hand, your knees are practically kissing your shoulder. A smile so wide takes over his face, you’ve never been afraid of Hongjoong until this very moment. Removing his scythe from your neck, he effortlessly swings it back behind him. With eyes as dark as midnight, and a smile so dangerously sinister, his choice of words match his actions.

“Don’t you know darling, you always reap what you sow.”

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DO NOT REPOST.

#ateez kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist #ateez x reader #ateez smut #dom! ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez fantasy au #ateez fanfic

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lixie-phoria · 3 months

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[ 18.0 epiphany ] BETTER THAN REVENGE !

◂ previous | masterlist | next ▸

warnings - a little suggestive

an - I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy it too 😋

"you seem distracted."

jeongin snaps from his daze, eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to focus on your words.

"sorry," he mumbles sheepishly, sitting up straighter as he pulls his laptop closer to his face, purposely avoiding your eyes.

"are you sure you're okay? you've been acting weird all week."

he really wishes you wouldn't ask him that.

not when a) you're the reason he's been so out of it, and b) you've barely even seen him all week - too busy doing god knows what with yeonjun.

he shrugs, flashing you a small smile from across the table before bending over his laptop, reading the same one line from his notes over and over again.

but it was nearly impossible to concentrate when jeongin was uncomfortably aware of your shoes brushing against his under the table every time you moved or the way your perfume wafted towards him every time the breeze blew.

he was downright enraptured by the way your baby hair framed your face and the way one strap of your top was ever so slightly sliding down your shoulder and the way your lips would fall into a small pout every time you got stuck over a concept and the way your fingers would wrap around your coffee cup every few minutes to take a sip - pretty fingers he couldn't help but imagine wrapped around something else.

oh gods.

he was down so horrendously bad he wanted to face plant into a solid tree and hope for some sense to be knocked into him.

after his conversation with chan last week he had been so determined to prove he didn't like you that way. he only saw you as a friend.

he scoffed at the last thought. he had done nothing but prove himself wrong over the last week. he definitely did not think of you as a 'friend' the same way he thought of the others. and he wanted to jump off a cliff for letting it get this far.

he hadn't even anticipated actually falling for you when he first texted you. he had done it in the heat of the moment, and you had agreed, and he thought all his problems were solved. he did not, however, know what he would be getting himself into.

"ok innie you're worrying me now, what's up with you?"

the way you said innie. the way it rolled off your tongue so prettily, every syllable sending a torrent of butterflies in his stomach.

and the way your tongue flicked in your mouth every time you pronounced the nick name actually drove him crazy.

"jeongin!"

he nearly falls out of his chair as you snap your fingers, brows furrowed in worry.

"sorry you were saying?"

he sounds so shaken up he wants to bury himself alive and never have to face you again.

"you're worrying me jeongin. is something wrong?"

no. don't call me jeongin!

he shakes his head, giving you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"ah nothing, just a little worried about our test today."

the test. right. of course.

the test he was supposed to be revising for but could barely concentrate every time he came across a point you had specifically written for him to remember and his thoughts jumped to you and how concentrated you had looked when you explained it to him.

"oh," you shook your head a bit, and his soul nearly leaves his body when you place your hand reassuringly over his. "don't worry about that, I know you'll do well!"

his soul definitely leaves his body when you smile at him and your touch lingers for a bit as you pull your hand back.

"thanks," he tries saying, but his mouth is so dry when he notices you run your tongue over your lips.

and then you go back to studying, but his eyes dart to your collar bone, most of which is covered up by your top but he can see - very faintly - the hickey yeonjun had probably given you and his blood boils.

but it does help him ground himself.

you have a boyfriend. you're not even single. he should really just give up.

but he can't. not when you're so nice to him. not when he has to spend so much time with you. it's nearly impossible.

he watches - or rather stares - with lips slightly parted as you tilt your head to the side, oblivious to his gaze, tongue poking at one side of your cheek.

it takes him back to the night of jackson wang's party - you pushed up against him, your body fitting so perfectly in his arms, and the shiver that ran through you every time he leaned down to whisper something.

it takes him back to the day of the soccer match - how your ears had burned when you accepted his jersey, how it had fallen over your figure, and how his name and jersey number flashed proudly at the back.

fuck.

it hits him like an epiphany - chan had been right.

you definitely weren't just a friend.

©lixie-phoria, 2024

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vex91 · 2 months

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Ahn Yujin - I don't want to lose you

Pairing: Ahn Yujin x Female Reader (Apocalypse AU)

Fandom: IZ*ONE / IVE

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: STOP I HAVE A NEW IDEA!!! ‼️‼️

All of us are dead Yujin AU 🧎‍♀️

i literally just remembered that she has a advertisement for it i think im not sure tho but you got the idea.🥰🥰

- 🌙

Summary: When the apocalypse struck you get stuck with your friends at school full of zombies. In the middle of that Yujin finds a moment to comfort you.

Warning(s): Blood, Mentions of deaths and zombies basically

A/N: I'm all for any Yujin ideas 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

3rd's POV

Everyone was dead.

How did everything became so bad? One second you all were going through your day like normal at school, waiting for the day to be over so you could go and hang out with your friends and the second you were running away from people you used to pass by, now trying to eat you. Truthfully you would have been dead a long time ago if it wasn't for Yujin being by your side.

Yujin was a true blessing in your life. She stuck by you through everything, always so ready to help you with anything or to save you from anyone. Even now she didn't hesitate for a second to jump in front of you and save your life. She hit the zombie with her backpack before pulling you in another direction. She dragged you through the hallways but your mind was a blur. You watched everything unfolding, the teachers that were supposed to help you all were hiding while the students were dying everywhere.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the true fear finally struck you, Yujin didn't noticed anything until you both hid in some empty room. She started mumbling and thinking of what to do but she stopped talking when she noticed your teary eyes and red face. She hated seeing you like that and never wanted to see you like that again.

Right then while holding you she promised to protect you with her life no matter what.

She continued keeping that promised and stuck by your side like a glue, it was hard to find you without Yujin somewhere around you. She thought she managed to support you despite the obvious despair hanging around the world but she was proved wrong one night.

Yujin woke up in the middle of the night due to some sound, you all already had a few zombies managing to get in so she was very alerted to that sounds. Seeing a bat laying close by she took it and started looking around, trying not to wake anyone up. That's when she noticed you in another room, curled up against the wall hugging your knees. Your face was hidden in your knees but it was obvious you were crying.

Her heart ache, she felt like she failed you. Failed to be there for you and help you.

"Y/N?" You looked up surprised, despite the quiet tone she called you, you still got startled - one of the habits you get when you get used to everyone around you trying to be quiet to survive. She noticed the redness around your eyes, another proof of her failure.

"I'm sorry" She mumbled quietly, her body sliding down the wall next to you. You studied her expression, full of guilt and regret "Why are you sorry?" Yujin looked at the floor, silence was suffocating to the both of you and you hated that. You hated the life you all had to live right now.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you lately, you're sad because I failed to keep my promise" Tears welled up in her eyes as she couldn't look at you. Soon she felt you sneaking your hand and intertwined your fingers together. Slowly she looked up and saw you smiling sadly at her "It's not your fault, you've been busy making sure we're all alive, I should be the one feeling sorry for not doing much to help you... things just have been... hard" A tear slide down your cheek and Yujin quickly wiped it with her thumb.

"We've lost so many people... I'm scared we'll lose more before any help comes. I... don't want to lose you too" You whispered sadly and Yujin's heart speed up. Her thumb caressed your cheek as she looked at you gently "You won't lose me" You shook your head "You can't guarantee tha-" Yujin quickly cut you off.

"I can't but I can promise you that I will do anything to make sure both of us are safe so that you won't lose me" She watched as you quietly broke down and pulled you into a hug, her arms keeping you close so you could feel her warmth and hear her heartbeat.

"I'll make sure you won't lose me... I'll never leave you alone"

And this promise she was gonna keep no matter what.

#vex writes #🌙 anon #ive x reader #ive reactions #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #iz*one reactions #izone reactions #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin

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k8luvsu · 3 months

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“eyes on me.” - Tsukishima Kei

insecure f!reader x Tsukishima Kei

warnings: used the words ‘love’ in one part, there’s physical affection

author’s note : first fic idk but uhm i hope ya’ll enjoy it hosoekfkcksso

fluff and angst (?)

Tsukishima Kei hated it when you’d cry over your negative thoughts about yourself— you felt like you were not enough for him, you felt like you were just a distraction to him. But he didn’t think so, you weren’t convinced, now you’re crying in his arms for the nth time this week, sobbing and sniffling as you clung onto him like he was all you needed.

“I don’t understand how you can ever fall in love with someone like me..” You hiccup, too ashamed to even show your pretty face to him. He frowned. Not the frown that he’d give to Hinata and the rest, but the frown that wants to prove you wrong right then and there.

He paused and breathed, his fingers fiddling with each other anxiously, “…N-No, no, I don’t love you,” his breath hitched, looking down on you. Your eyes widen in surprise, hurt, and confusion for a few moments, before he continued. “I’m obsessed with you,” he declared. “Look at me, eyes on me, Y/N,”, Tsukishima mutters to you softly, taking your hands in his, “The day I laid my eyes on you was the day I felt like I was saved from the darkness..” He paused, trying to find the right words, “Y/N, you’re who I love, you’re all I need and all I want. The day we started going out, I made a silent promise to love you forever and always, you’re beautiful— no, divine, even. You’re the one I want, need and cherish. I couldn’t ask for anything more, my love. I don’t care about the other girls in our class. I want you. Can’t you see it? You make me feel alive, loved, seen, and important. You’re everything I want in a partner. You’re my prayer, you’re my girl, and you’re my soulmate.” He tells you softly and quietly, but enough so only you can hear it. You stopped sobbing, now happy tears are rolling down your cheeks.

Tsukishima Kei was dedicated to make you believe in yourself. He loves you too much to let that slide.

While you were being comforted with the warm embrace of your lover, you felt safe, content and loved.

BONUS :

“I never knew you had a cheesy side to you, Kei,”

“What? No I don’t.”

“Lying’s bad.”

“Just go to sleep already, Y/N.”

“Can you hold my hand while I sleep?”

“…Fine.”

“Can I wear your shirt?”

“…For what?”

“Your scent calms me down.”

“Tsk, yeah, whatever,”

“Where’s my good night kiss?”

“..*mumbles incoherently while pecking your cheeks and lips*”

“Good night, Kei, I love you,”

“Good night, Y/N.. I love you more.”

THE END

#tsukishima kei #hq tsukki #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu tsukki #tsukki x reader #tsukkishima kei #insecure reader #f!reader #tsukishima fluff #hq tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x y/n #haikyuu tsukishima

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stuckysbike · 11 months

Text

His Prize part 3/3

A/n: All mistakes are my own. Written on my phone.

Bucky x Reader

AU: Bucky takes you on honeymoon.

Warnings: author overindulged in their own travel fantasy, p in v sex, Bucky is a sexy menace, happy ending. This is just sex folks, if you’re under 18 please don’t read!

———

“-and we just decided that we’ve been engaged long enough and want to get married.” Bucky finished.

The office in the courthouse was small but the harassed guy behind the desk recognised Bucky and his grumpy demeanour brightened right up after he explained he’d won the office betting pool after Bucky’s last fight.

“How long have you been engaged?” The clerk behind the desk asked as he noted your names into his system.

“About fourteen hours.”

You bit your lip to keep a giggle inside. The clerks eyes flew over both of you then back to his documents.

“We’ve been friends for years,” you added, concerned he would think you were a gold digger or an obsessed fan. “Been idiots in love just as long.”

Bucky squeezed your fingers and you smiled up at him. He couldn’t resist pecking a kiss to the tip of your nose. His eyes were shining bright and he looked relaxed and carefree. And happy.

Four hours later you were on a plane to Paris. Being your best friend you had always shared your dreams and quirky obsessions with Bucky. He had listened to your crazy ramblings, what’s more he was taking you on the trip of a lifetime. You didn’t think it was possible to love him more but he proved you wrong with his travel plans for the next three weeks.

The cabin lights were dimmed, seats reclined and Bucky was already asleep. You held his hand as you followed him into the land of nod.

—————

“Buck- James,” you breathed.

You felt chocked up, and tears threatened to spill.

“You okay Sugarplum?” Bucky pulled you into his side.

“I can’t,” you squeezed your eyes closed, but when you opened them, the view hadn’t changed.

The train sat idle but boarding. The rich blue carriages were elegant and you could feel the history and magic as you gazed at them as they hummed, awaiting their passengers.

“Welcome to the Orient Express my love,” Bucky sounded smug. You couldn’t even be angry at his cocky attitude all you wanted to do was kiss him. “We’re priority boarding, we’re in the Grand Suite.”

“Bucky,” you chocked out and he hugged you close and kissed your head.

“Come on Sugarplum, let’s get onboard,” he said pulling you along behind him.

The Orient Express was everything you had imagined. Your suite was perfect, compact yet elegant and not cramped. Crisp white linens covered the bed, and a small table complete with comfortable seats was placed a few feet away. The bathroom was neat with everything you needed and just enough room to move.

“Welcome Mr and Mrs Barnes,” your private butler said bowing at the waist. “Anything you need at all, just call.”

“Bucky,” you sighed looking up at him. He pulled you into his chest and dropped his lips to yours. You kissed him back, melting into his strength and sliding your arms around his neck.

“You know,” Bucky said pulling away, “I’m the happiest guy alive right now.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked.

“Got my best girl here in my arms, got a wonderful trip planned, got the world at my fingertips,” Bucky rested his forehead on yours. “I’m so in love with you.”

“Oh Buck, I love you so much.”

Bucky had showered and changed for dinner and had headed off to the bar for a drink whilst you took your time pampering yourself. By the time he returned you were putting the finishing touches to your makeup.

You stood as he entered your suite and he gasped. “Wow,” he murmured. The dress hugged your curves and set off your eyes and the heels lifted you a little closer to his lips. “What a wife.”

You giggled and took his hand, letting him lead you to the dining car. It was as beautiful as the rest of the train with carefully laid tables and soft comfortable seats.

The food was divine, and Bucky spent the entire time flirting with you and being his usual charming self. His eyes barely left you, and his feet were tangled with yours the entire evening. By the time you finished your cheese board and wine you were buzzing comfortably.

As you stepped back into your suite your heart was thumping in your chest. Bucky’s wide hands cupped your waist and he pulled you close, swaying on the spot. You rested your cheek on his chest and sank into him, letting him lead.

Bucky’s chin was resting on your temple, and as he pulled back his breath was warm on your skin. You glanced up at him, suddenly nervous. You had never been nervous with him before, not even your first time, but you were tonight.

“I want to make love to you Sugarplum,” Bucky growled. You could only nod, your voice lost.

His kiss was soft, but he rolled his tongue into your mouth seeking yours. You sighed against him as his hands travelled all over your waist and hips. You undressed each other slowly, and as Bucky got to your lace lingerie and stockings he groaned aloud.

“Fuck baby you look absolutely stunning,” he said as he eyed the plump swell of your breasts and your soft thighs. “I want to taste you.”

As you fell onto the thick duvet you bounced slightly but Bucky was over you, his mouth on your chest. He kissed his way down your body and hooked his fingers into your panties, trailing them over your legs.

“So goddamn wet,” Bucky moaned as he latched his mouth over your mound. He dragged his tongue through your slick folds then fluttered it against your swollen clit. Two thick fingers slid into your cunt and he sucked on your clit. You moaned as his pinky brushed your asshole.

Bucky wrapped his thick arms around your thighs and before you knew it he was on his back and you were hovering over his face. He pulled you down, his tongue pushing through your pussy to circle your clit. You cried out and buried your fingers in his hair.

You couldn’t take your eyes off his, and he didn’t look away, his eyes flicking over your body. You brought one hand to tug at your lace covered nipple, crying out as Bucky sucked harder on you. “I’m going to cum,” you warned him. Bucky doubled his efforts, the tip of his finger pressing into your back hole.

Your orgasm was intense, licking up your spine as you shuddered through it, and Bucky only stopped when you pushed his face away. He moved to kissing your thighs and even that had you jerking and tingling under his mouth.

You slumped to the side and Bucky followed you his mouth covering yours. You could taste yourself as you sucked his tongue, nipping the tip playfully. Bucky moaned and rested his weight on your body as you wrapped your legs around strong hips. You pushed your hands into his black briefs and Bucky rocked against you, his mouth not leaving yours.

“Babydoll, darlin’ please,” Bucky said as he kissed your cheeks. You squeezed his ass and nipped his throat as Bucky lined himself up. He pushed into you, his thick cock splitting you open.

“Oh,” You turned to find his lips. “Oh Bucky,” you threaded your fingers through his hair.

“Mrs Barnes,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smile. “My beautiful wife.” He used his thick arms to cage you in, them resting on either side of your head and you preened under his possessiveness.

You rocked together, his hips snapping into yours, a wide hand squeezing at your soft tits. He slipped his other hand behind you to remove your bra and soon his mouth was covering your nipple, teeth grazing the hard bud as you arched into his mouth.

You were startled when he moved suddenly, rolling into his back. Warm hands helped steady you and his thumbs grazed the tops of your stockings. “Ride me Mrs Barnes.”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him, and then you sat up. Bucky tried to reach for your tits but you pushed his hands away.

“I’m going to give you a little show Mr Barnes,” you smirked. His lust filled eyes gave you confidence and you plucked at your nipples and squeezed your tits. The train rhythm helped you to rock on Bucky’s cock, and you matched the steady pace.

“Fuck Love, look at you, babydoll,” Bucky babbled. “Such a filthy wife I have.”

“You do have a filthy wife,” you promised him quirking an eyebrow and giving him your most salacious smirk. You slipped a hand behind you and let your fingertips graze his sensitive balls. Bucky cried out and bucked into you.

“You’re killing me darlin’,” Bucky huffed as you changed tactics, rolling your hips in figure eight shapes. You could feel your pleasure buzzing low in your tummy. You laced your fingers with Bucky’s and pushed his hands above his head. Your breasts were swaying in his face and his mouth was slack as he took you in. “I love you so much.”

You dropped close to kiss him and you felt that burn in your groin as your clit bumped his hard pubic bone. You came like that and Bucky wrapped his arms around you guiding you through it.

He flipped you, hooking a leg over his arm and a few pumps of his hips had him spilling inside you. The sensation triggered a further orgasm and you trembled underneath him.

“Sugarplum, baby I love you so much, I’m such an idiot,” he murmured.

“Shush,” you pushed at his shoulder. He rolled back taking you with him and then you eased yourself off him. “Wanna’ taste us Buck,” you said as you slithered down his body to clean his cock off.

Bucky watched you with wide eyes and you didn’t miss his cock twitching in your fingers. You giggled and pressed a kiss to his shaft.

“Come’ere darlin’, come kiss me,” Bucky said pulling you to him. You slid hands underneath his head and kissed his slow and deep, both of you moaning at the sensation.

Later, as you traced patterns on Bucky’s chest you felt more security in his arms than ever before. You fell asleep easily with the man you loved, with the man who loved you and dedicated his life to you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut #boxer!bucky

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yukimiyaz · 1 year

Text

COME INSIDE (AND HAVE A BITE)

isagi yoichi x gn!reader

inlcudes: vampire isagi. boyfriend isagi. reader being a little shit for like the first half lmao. mentions of blood/drinking blood. suggestive. use of the word pretty once. probably ooc isagi i’m sorry :’)

notes: idk. this idea has been eating me alive. needed to share

Sometimes, as the sun is setting and you are finally slumping into the soft—arguably run down—cushions of your couch, you like to reminisce on the past you, who had the luxury of experiencing simple, relaxing nights after a long day of work.

When you would come home and kick your shoes off in the doorway. Slide your tired feet across the semi-stained hardwood (that you’re still convinced is fake, despite your landlord’s promises) to the bathroom to scald your skin in the shower for however long you felt like. Not caring for how you looked, throwing on the first article of clothing you’d find, and traipsing your way into the kitchen. To find dinner—or sometimes give up on that endeavor and eat the freezer burnt ice cream, or just order in cheap takeout instead—and plop yourself where you are now. Watching some old drama or drowning out the news until you inevitably pass out on your worn out couch. And you were content with that, honestly. It was fine. It was—

“Aaghhh!”

It was peaceful bliss, compared to the torment you now face per diem.

Everyday like clockwork, as soon as the sun sets over the horizon and dusk seeps in, the neighborhood stray comes to your doorstep for a visit. Wailing, baying; clawing at your door like he’s demented and disturbed.

As you blow out a sigh and heave yourself off of your cushions, you conclude those two words are actually perfect in describing him.

It only takes a few seconds for you to stride to your front door, and only half of one for you to sling it open. The sight you’re greeted with is familiar—near identical to yesterday, and the day before that (and the day before that), save for a different pair of clothes—and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at it.

Isagi sits on his knees, hands suspiciously close to your threshold and fingers obviously charred. His head snaps up at your appearance and he wipes the ash off his fingertips, revealing pristine, flawless ridges once again. Peering up at you through his eyelashes, timid smile twitching his lips, you almost forgive him for his disturbance on sight.

Almost.

“Isagi,” you greet, making sure the exasperation is obvious in your tone, even if your chest swells with endearment. “Evening.”

“Good evening,” he addresses, immediately, and his smile beams out now. Fangs peeking over the plump of his bottom lip and gleaming in your warm porch light. “You look tasty—I mean pretty.”

“Strike one,” you deduce. “Wow, not even a minute in and you’re already soiling your case.”

His smile cinches into a pout, but it isn’t primarily dejected. “Hey, no fair! There’s nothing wrong with honesty. And you do look so…”

His voice trails off as his eyes trail down you. From your bare face to your socked toes, then back up again; pausing at your throat that is freshly exposed due to your shirt’s stretched out neckline. At the fading marks that prove his twisted existence in your life. This time you don’t fight the urge to roll your eyes, and follow suit by snapping your fingers inches in front of his face. He must be extra desperate tonight, he’s usually off of his knees by now.

“Sorry,” he breathes as he comes to, “What were we talking about?”

“Strike two,” you sigh, and take a lean against your doorframe. “You’re just determined to strike out early tonight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’d be more inclined to win if you didn’t use fucking baseball..” he grumbles, but stops himself from continuing when he sees your eyebrow raise. “I mean, you know soccer’s my favorite. Why can’t you use that?”

You consider him, mull over this fact that you are well aware of (if the endless documentaries he’s bored you with in his living room or games he’s shushed you for on the bar television are anything to go by), and hum. You suppose you could grant him this, just this once. Give him a little bit of leeway in this perpetual cat and mouse game. Tipping your head to the side, you slant a shoulder in half of a shrug.

“Alright,” you concede, “You have a yellow card. One more, you’re out of the game.”

And it’s almost sick, how his fangs catch on his crooked grin. How you can practically see the saccharine venom swirling behind those deep blue irises. A lesser person might have already fallen for this by now; would have given in months ago when he first showed up on their doorstep begging for entry with those glossy eyes and sweet preens.

A lesser person might join him down on his knees, but you’ve come to take quite a liking to this view.

“How was work?” he asks, like he cares. Like he doesn’t already know by the slump of your posture against the entryway. “Rough? Draining?”

“Hm. You could say that.” And you indulge him, don’t poke notice of his word choice like you aren’t aware it’s deliberate. There’s something different about him tonight, something… enticing.

“Ah, draining,” Isagi nods, leans back on his hand. His eyes shift downwards, to the welcome mat that cushions below him, to the worn out divots he has slotted himself into. “I know all about that feeling, you know. Draining is…”

A glint, a gleam, there’s something damn near chilling that flashes under the delicate shade of his lashes as he flicks his gaze back up to you. Your stomach swoops, you shift on your feet. The need to shut your door scratches at the base of your neck, and you aren’t entirely sure why.

What is so different about the stray cat’s baying tonight?

“Draining is my field of expertise. But you’re well aware of that already, aren’t you?

How uncouth of him, how taunting. Your throat bobs with a discreet swallow but it’s so hard for things to go unnoticed under such keen vision. It’s like the side of your neck is searing, like those faded marks littering your skin aren’t so healed after all.

“What’s wrong?” he presses, and he finally rises off of his knees now. Stands to his feet in such a fluid motion you wonder if he’s floating. (A possibility, technically, but you think Barou’s gotten on his ass enough that he wouldn’t try it in such a public place). “Bat got your tongue?”

He’s so close. His cool breath fans against your cheeks and you just now realize how chilly it’s gotten with the lack of daylight. Suddenly your sleep shorts seem thinner than you remember. You wrap your arms around yourself to rub at the bumped flesh and do your best to seem unbothered—unperturbed.

“Funny,” you scoff, but you’re starting to lack your bite. Maybe you can blame the long work week, the fact you had to stay up later than normal last night to finish some things up for your boss.

One glance to Isagi’s face tells you that no matter what explanation you try to pass off, he’s already calculating that the probability of its truth is zero.

How unnerving.

“I know.” And he smirks, now. Curls his lips up in the way he knows drives you crazy and leans his arm beside your head; careful to avoid getting too close to the dreaded threshold.

(You don’t miss the subtle glare he throws down at it, though).

“Hey, you know what else is funny?”

“What?” You mumble, half-irritated and half-enthralled. You know he knows both sides of that, you know he indulges in it.

That’s what you’re counting on.

“Chigiri thinks you’ll invite him over to watch the new Scream when it comes out on rent. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“I plan to.”

“He’s been talking about it all week and he even said he was bringing snacks. I told him it was pathetic how he—Wait, can you run that back by me?”

“I said I plan to,” you repeat yourself, plainly. “We’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

Isagi blanches. “But he’s a vampire.”

“Obviously.”

“He drinks blood. Human blood.”

“No, really?” Feigning a gasp, you place a hand over your heart.

“He—he’s a life draining monster!”

“Please, the only life he’s draining is his social one by staying home and babysitting you all day.”

“That’s—“ He puffs up, like he wants to spit out a rebuttal, but stops himself. He redirects; steers back to his initial point. You’re impressed with how quick he collects himself, honestly. “That’s unfair! You say I can’t come in on ‘mortal safety principle’ but invite the count? He’s killed way more people than I have!”

“I thought body count didn’t matter, Yoichi,” you tip your head at him, bat your eyelashes like a porcelain doll, “Isn’t that what you used to always tell me?”

You know you’ve got him when he starts to sulk. It’s never in a normal way—nothing about Isagi Yoichi is normal. His jaw is clenched and his lips are jutted but his eyes are dancing like he’s enjoying this.

“Let me in.”

You feel the tug, the tingle inside your brain. The asshole is actually trying to use his mind games on you; the fucking jerk. Not that it works with a threshold in the way, Chigiri told you that early on. Learning the rules and lack thereof was crucial upon discovering one of your closest friends was a vampire. And became even more so when you started dating—courting—one yourself.

“Mmn, don’t think so,” you shrug.

Isagi hisses (not necessarily at you, but just in frustration) and you don’t even flinch. It’s hard to be caught off guard by a daily routine—even if this one is beginning to fall off kilter.

“Lemme in,” he slurs, and the pressure inside your skull dissipates.

No tweaks, no tricks, no compulsion. Just wide eyes and slumped shoulders and a whiny voice that he thinks will help him get his way. He’s strategic, he always has been. He’s playing you even when he’s innocent.

There’s always a millennia old card up the tailored sleeve of Isagi Yoichi.

“Why should I?” The question isn’t new, you’ve been known to prick and prod at him to draw this out. To keep things exciting. To make him think he has a chance of being let in for the very first time.

But tonight, you’re genuine in your delivery. You just hope he can pick up on it.

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh? So I’m just a meal ticket for you?”

An imaginary yellow card weighs heavy in your hand, you wonder if you should go ahead and hold it up.

“You know that’s not what I—“ cut off by his forehead slamming into the invisible barricade as he tries to lean in closer to you, he draws back with another low whistle of air slicing through his fangs. “Fuck.”

It’s instinct, how you reach your hand forward, across the security of the threshold, to swipe your thumb over where he’s been singed. It’s already healed (it was within a second of him pulling away) but you’re kind enough to swipe the char away regardless.

“Then what, Yoi?”

He softens under your touch, grabs at your hand before you even have the chance to pull away. He keeps it close, slides it along his temple, his cheek, his lips. He pauses there; falters. Mouth slotting open, the tips of his fangs skim the plump of your palm then dip—down to your wrist. To where the rhythm meets the surface.

“I miss you.” He just saw you yesterday. “I want you.” He tells you this diurnally. “I need you.”

He yearns, in a way that is new to you.

Your boyfriend must be evolving before your very eyes. He’s delicate in his demeanor but deliberate in his delivery. Even now, as his fangs skim across the thin skin of your inner wrist, they do not press in. They do not break and they do not prod. They retract, and are replaced by the plush of lips as Isagi peers at you with a zealous gaze.

It is mindful, and not hasty.

“Will you invite me in?”

He’s asking like he already knows the answer. Like he has no doubt of what will come. You wonder when such an ego filled him—or maybe it has always been there. Maybe, he was simply waiting for the right moment to release it. Maybe, he was hiding it away, to use it for his advantage when the time proved to be right.

Maybe, you find that hopelessly endearing.

“Yoichi.”

“Yes?”

He’s hanging onto your every word with pleading eyes and fervent apprehension. But his confidence is still oozing. You wonder how so much essence can inhabit a single man. You discern it must be all the centuries he has under his belt.

“Would you like to come in?”

The answer isn’t verbal, it isn’t spoken. No, the answer is brash and boorish and downright primitive. But for once you don’t think you can find it within yourself to mind all of that because in response to your invitation Isagi is shooting forward. Stumbling you backwards a few steps and cupping a hand on your hip and the other at the base of your throat. Thumb pressed to your jugular, he wastes no time in surging forward.

But not for a bite.

His lips hit yours and you gasp. It dusts you with chagrin, especially as you feel a toothy grin mold to your mouth and press deeper. Isagi is not one to waste time, is not one to lag unless it plays into his schemes. And that proves true even now as he wastes no time in drawing your mouth open. Squeezing at your side and humming into your touch until you give in. Not that you ever need much convincing, in times like this.

Your arms find their way around his neck. Your hands find place slotted into his hair. It’s unintentional, how you tug, but it rewards you with a throaty groan regardless. Isagi’s lips part from yours and you think it’s because he’s taken into consideration that one of you still needs to breathe. Instead, it’s to bark out an order.

“Fuck, do that again.”

You hearken to him and obey with a tug. Not because he forced you, but because the heaviness of his eyelids makes your stomach grow hot. He slams his lips back to yours and he kicks the front door shut. You forgot it was even open still. You forgot the part of you that cared. All that mattered now was Isagi, inside your home. Isagi, pressing his lips to yours like he wishes he could suck wine right out of them. Isagi, slamming you up against the hardwood he just closed.

“Shit, sorry, I—“ he isn’t, sorry that is, but he is breathless. And hot. And mind numbing. You nod your head—you’re not sure for what (to dismiss him? Say it’s okay? Just because you’re already out of it?) but it doesn’t seem to matter to him regardless.

He takes heed to your every move. Your every twitch and hitch and cinch of breath. He’s so plotting, so inceptive. His hand finds its way from your hip to the back of your thigh as he hoists you up. And you let him. Let him slide you up the door and wrap your legs around his waist and press himself into you because it feels good, to have him here.

His lips leave yours again and you nearly whine. What the fuck has gotten into you, you don’t know, but you don’t think it’s all that relevant at the moment either because Yoichi’s lips are trailing across your cheek, down the ridge of your jaw. He makes it to the meat of your throat and his hand shifts, slides to cup your chin and tilt your head to the side. You follow his lead, melt into his grasp as he presses hungry kisses to your heavy thumping vein.

“Can I?” He asks, and you’re already nodding before he can even finish. You aren’t even entirely sure of what he’s asking, what he’s wishing for permission for, but you know you want to give it to him.

“Ah,” he hums, sucks a drawn out open mouthed kiss to where his thumb used to reside. “You’re so fucking hospitable.”

A sharp sting rips into the side of your neck as Isagi’s teeth sink in. It is a familiar feeling, one you can never truly get used to but you love the magnetism of. After a few seconds the initial pain wears off—grows dull into a periodic throb. And as Isagi keeps sucking, pressing himself into you like he wishes he could simply crawl inside your skin, it begins to feel good.

A pinched whine finds its way out of you and you don’t even try to stop it. You know better. Know that Isagi likes you to take over every single one of his senses when he gets like his. Wants you to immerse him fully. And you have no intentions within yourself to deny him of that pleasure.

Your fingers thread tighter in his hair as he preens. The vibration against your throat is soothing in a riveting sort of way and you forgot how addicting it is—the high this brings for both of you. If done right and in moderation, the effects are limited, minimal. Maybe some drowsiness for a few minutes and then you’re through.

But your lover is not known for his restraint.

He takes too much and gives too little. It is fine and it is well but you always know that he’s pushing his (your) limits when your grip begins to loosen and your moans become more frequent. You can never tell him to stop—you never want to when it feels so damn good—and tonight is no different.

Especially not when you come to terms with the heat of Isagi’s palm drifting past the crease of your hip. Skimming underneath the hem of your faded t-shirt and pressing into the plush of your abdomen. Dipping lower, toying with your waistband, teasing you like he’s playing out a game strategy.

“Yoi,” you drawl, let your head droop into his grasp just underneath your chin. “Yoichi, fuck—Please—“

Your request, whatever your cloudy mind was going to produce, does not get the chance to acclimate due to a bang on your front door. The vibration it causes has Isagi’s fangs jerking at you, pulling a wince from your lips before he has the chance to retract. He does, a second later, and lauves his tongue over the fresh bite mark that has joined the mirage he has already created.

“Who is it?” He asks you, still cupping your droopy head in his hand. You mumble something incoherent and he presses you again. “Hey, who would be knocking at your door right now?”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. Getting your groggy brain to work right now is a monumental task, but as another bang thuds against the hardwood pressed against your back, you’re able to shake your head just clear enough to process one thought.

“Oh, takeout,” you deduce. “I didn’t wanna cook, so I.. Here, I’ll get it. Can you grab my wallet off the couch?”

Isagi blinks right back, lids heavy, and swipes his tongue at the crimson smeared on his lips. He’s almost blood drunk. “You think you can stand?”

You nod your head even though you’re about seventy-five percent sure your knees are going to buckle out from underneath you the second he sets you back down on your own two feet. Sensing your apprehension, he takes it easy, keeping his hands on your hips until your swaying gets (semi) under control. He turns right after to retrieve what you told him and you open up the front door, painting on a nice grin in hopes that your delivery guy isn’t as angry as he sounds.

But it isn’t a delivery guy at all. Rather, a man in a security uniform, who looks anything but pleased.

“Uhm, can I help you?” You question, halfway leaning against the door to hold yourself up. You probably sound half high to hell right about now.

“Sorry to bother you. I got a call from a concerned neighbor about a neighborhood disturbance to this address. Something about a strange man lurking on the front porch and harassing the owner.”

“Oh,” you cinch up your eyebrows, tip your head to the side. Strange man? Harassment? You don’t think—

“Here’s your wallet,” Isagi announces as he finally makes it back to you. The second you feel him skid to a halt behind you, the dots clear up and connect in your foggy mind.

“Strange man,” you equate, as you glance over your shoulder at him.

“What?”

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” you dismiss as you turn your attention back to the man standing outside your door. “The man—this man—is my boyfriend. He is a little weird but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just an odd one.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean—“

“Ah, understood,” the security man nods, and you swear you can see a faint smile on his lips. “You know old neighbors, nothing better to do than stick their noses where they don’t belong. Again, sorry for the inconvenience. You two have a nice night.”

“You too,” you nod, send him a smile to be polite as he goes to walk away.

Just as you’re starting to shut the door back he turns back around, “Oh, and you have a little something..”

His gesture to his neck has you slapping a hand over yours. You wince a second later—too tender, and too harsh—and pull your hand back to reveal tacky red coating it. By the time you look back up, the guard is gone. You shut the door and turn back to Isagi.

“Oh no, don’t let the strange man get you,” he taunts, and you simply shove your hand over his mouth to shut him up.

His tongue presses to it a second later, swiping at the blood and humming like he hasn’t an ounce of shame within his body. You let him as long as he pleases (not really having the energy within you to put up much of a fight now) and try to bite off the smile that toys at your lips as he grabs your wrist to tug you in closer again.

“I don’t think I was finished.”

“Then pick back up where you left off,” you chuckle, letting it turn into a string of giggles as Isagi’s lips place feathery pecks around his claimant.

He pushes your back against the door again, leans his weight into you and breathes you in. Allowing yourself to relax, you give in to his whim. His kisses turn languid and his grip tightens up. Your brace yourself for what is coming with an anticipated smile.

But just as you feel cool breath fan against your fresh wound, another (much softer) bang rattles your back. Isagi lifts his head up to peer at you, meeting your gaze in an instant.

“Takeout,” you both say in unison, one of your voices laced in amusement and the other in disdain.

likes & reblogs appreciated : )

#i don’t know why i’m so sick nervous over this LAMOSDHDB #prolly cuz i’ve never written him before #ahhhh maybe it’ll be ok KSHSJDB #yukimiyaz writing #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk fic #isagi fluff

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darkwolf989 · 2 months

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Outside The Office Part Nineteen

Hi all,

Some voted for an exploration scene between reader and Val, so here it is! I have to say, it was fun to write and for sure helps solidify their relationship. If anyone has any suggestions for things they should explore together, please feel free to DM me or leave a comment!

Mature content warning! As always, thoughts, comments and feedback are appreciated!

I felt myself shiver at his words. I watched him drape the stethoscope around his neck and he pressed his lips against mine. Butterflies fluttered. Just the sight of him wearing it, another position of dominance, had me dripping. God, he could listen to whatever he wanted if it meant putting me in that submissive role. Why was this such a turn on? I wrapped my arms around him, the fire ignited in my belly. Questions. I needed to ask them.

“I need a little more information about this one, Val.” I said as I reached up and touched the stethoscope around his neck. His grin gave away just how pleased he was that I was asking. A desire to learn myself with him as my partner.

“It’s called cardiophilia, my princessa. Quite simply, it's when a person is in love with the sound, sight or…” he paused and pressed his hand against my chest, “feeling of the heart- more specifically, the heartbeat.” He ran his hands up my neck and pressed over the pulse point, “oftentimes, it’s combined with a love for feeling the blood rushing through the veins or arteries, but not always.” His fingers pressed ever so slightly harder and his grin widened. “More questions?”

I shivered at his touch, certain he could feel my heartbeat speeding up. “Is it…just heartbeats that turn some people on?”

I honestly didn’t think he could look anymore thrilled and he pulled his hand from my throat, sliding his hand down my side, all the way to my belly. He pressed my stomach gently as he leaned in closer to me.

“No, princessa. It isn’t. It falls under a much wider umbrella. An auscultation kink- when one enjoys the sounds a body makes. Your belly rumbling, for example.” He kissed down my neck again and paused. “I wonder, my princessa, by how often you cling to me and bury your face into my body if this is a kink of yours?” His lips pressed against my neck again and held in place, just at the pulse point.

I swallowed.

“There is a kink for swallowing too, mi amore,” he breathed. “But let’s explore one at a time, shall we?” With a firm movement, he pulled me upright into his lap. I wrapped one arm around him for balance and leaned into him. He took the stethoscope from around his neck and placed it in my ears. His hand covered mine and he guided the stethoscope to his chest, holding my hand in place.

I felt his hardness underneath me as I listened to the frantic beating of his heart. The feeling of security, of safety, of what Valentino offered coupled with the sound left me squirming in his lap. With his other hand, he reached down, his fingers found my clit. He toyed with me, gentle motions until I came around his fingers to the steady thumping in his chest.

He gently removed his hand from mine and took the stethoscope from my ears. He draped it back around his neck as he shifted me so that my head was against his chest. I struggled to catch my breath for a moment, and his fingers fell against my neck, again finding that pulse point. I could feel his cock twitch under me and I waited for him to speak.

“I enjoy both feelings and listening to the inner workings of your body, mi amor,” he said softly as he held me. “To feel the rise and fall of your chest against mine, the frantic beating of your heart after I make you come. The sounds your body makes that prove to me you’re alive.” His hand pressed against my chest and slowly slid down to my belly. He laid back and cradled me to him, toying with the stethoscope, almost hesitantly. “Tell me your thoughts, princessa.”

“I feel safe in your arms and when I hear your heartbeat Val I know that you’ll protect me. I think that turns me on more than the actual sounds. The position of power you have over me, and sort of the doctor thing, but Val…” I intertwined my fingers with his. “If it turns you on to hear my heartbeat, or my belly grumbling, or the feeling of my chest moving, my body is yours to explore.” I leaned up and kissed just under his chin as I reached down and rubbed my hand against his cock. “I mean it, Val. My pleasure is just as important as yours. I know you’ve seen it all in your studio, but I want to explore these kinks together, and find what feels good for both of us.”

He groaned as I toyed with him, and allowed me to do so for a few moments before he sat up and rolled over so that I was pinned under him. He reached as if to grab my wrists but pulled back at the sight of the bruises. His face reddened and for a moment, I thought he was going to pull away.

“Val, my neck, my chest, my belly,” I pleaded under him, “my body is full of…”

He pressed his lips to mine, effectively cutting me off. One hand fell lightly to my throat and I felt him push into me. I left out a soft moan.

“I want to fill you up until your belly swells, princessa,” he groaned softly. “Hard and round under me. Listen to your heart beat frantically as you try to manage the pain and pleasure that comes as I exert that control over you. And there are so many fucking ways to do it. A tummy filled to bursting with toys…air, water, cum…” he paused for the briefest of moments and his hips thrusted quicker against me and he pressed his thumb deeper into my neck, “my babies…fuck the idea of your tummy swollen with my….fuck!”

I felt him spasm deep inside and let out a soft moan of my own. Valentino’s babies? My stomach round? I had never given it a thought, but god he was right- that was a turn on. He held himself inside me until he was completely spent, and slowly pulled out, laying next to me.

“Fuck,” he panted softly. “Fuck.”

I reached over and pulled him to me as I guided his head to my chest. His breathing was quick as he tried to catch his breath. His hand fell to my abdomen and he gently rubbed my belly as he closed his eyes. Under the weight of his head, I could feel my own heart thundering.

“Did you mean that Val?” I asked after a few moments of nothing but the sound of thundering hearts and quick breaths.

“I meant everything I said,” he answered, exhaustion in his voice. And then, something else crept into his tone. Vulnerability. “Please don’t let that frighten you. I would never…”

I pressed a finger to his lips and he fell silent.

“Do you mean my actual stomach or do you mean my…”

“Both, princessa,” he replied tiredly. He pressed his head harder against my chest. “We can talk about the stomach kinks another night, but to the other you need to know I mean what I said. And I’ve never thought about having kids before, but just the idea of you carrying them in your belly makes me absolutely feral.” He exhaled slowly, his voice starting to fade as he drifted to sleep. “If I’m being honest,” he mumbled, “just the thought of making your belly round turns me the fuck on, almost as much as laying here listening to your heart does. If I wasn’t so spent I would…”

He went silent, his breathing slowed and evened. I wrapped my arms around him and settled back against the pillows. His words left me both curious and intrigued. A rounded belly. Frantic heartbeats. Valentino’s babies. My own exhaustion swept over me, and with him cradled in my arms, I allowed myself to succumb to sleep.

#the vees #valentino x reader #valentino x wife #valentino x you #vox x reader #valentino #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino x female reader #hazbin hotel velvette

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

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Wash Away the Pain #5 - Crosshair

After being rescued from the Empire's clutches, Crosshair is struggling to heal and adapt to life on Pabu.

Pairing: Crosshair x gn!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: whump, guilt, angst, Cross is prickly (what else is new), reassurance, hopeful ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is the last installment in a mini-series where each of our boys get their angsty shower time.

Each can be read as a standalone or as a continuation. Check out the whole series: Echo, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker.

I'll die on the hill that Cross is still chipped and was lied to by the Empire that it was removed. And that it's effectiveness was all but worn out mid-way through S2.

The cold water hits him, and, for a moment, Crosshair forgets how to breathe. It feels like thousands of icy pinpricks piercing his skin. The pain, the cold, they remind him that he’s alive.

He escaped.

He was rescued.

Like a lost child. Or an abandoned tooka. He’s not sure which is worse.

For two months, he’d been free. Two months ago, he’d opened his eyes, still strapped to one of those Maker-forsaken tables in that Imperial hellhole, expecting to see Hemlock or Karr hovering over him. Instead, he’d seen you. Wide eyes that had crinkled with delight, his name falling from your lips.

You shouldn’t have come for him.

The kid? Yes. But him…

He doesn’t turn at the sound of the fresher door opening. He doesn’t need to. Only one person would have the guts to bother him this early in the day.

The warm hand on his back makes him want to flinch, makes him want to pull away. He doesn’t deserve the softness, not after everything he’s done.

You step into the shower, not caring to discard your clothes or bothered by Crosshair’s nakedness – after so long with him and his brothers, nothing was sacred anymore. The cold water makes you hiss, but you push through it. “I can hear you overthinking again.” You murmur, fingers leaving a feather-light trail down the curve of his spine. He’s still too skinny; the few pounds he’d once had took him much longer to regain, no matter how many meals you presented to him.

“Then stop listening.” Crosshair’s reply slides out quickly but lacks the bite it once had, the snark and sneer that had sent countless others running. But never you, the plucky medic assigned to him and his brothers early in the war.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Where’s the fun in that?” You tease softly. A low grunt is all you get in return, but you don’t take it to heart. Your gaze flicks up from his back to the scars on his head – the messy web of scar tissue from Bracca and beside it, a thin, straight one, a recent addition from where you’d pried the inhibitor chip out of him.

You’d known none of it was his fault. Known he’d still been under their control.

Crosshair can feel the weight of your gaze on him, and he’s uncomfortable with the attention. “Picture will last longer.” He huffs, knowing he won’t get rid of you easily.

You haven’t said much over the last two months, letting his brothers try and rebuild their relationships with him. It had been rocky at first; a few times, you’d had to physically put yourself between him and Hunter so they wouldn’t start scrapping. You knew they loved one another dearly, but there were a lot of problems to unpack and work through. They were making progress, though, learning to admit they were wrong, compromise, and apologise

But you’d noticed Crosshair was still withdrawn. He’d never been chatty, but he’d never hidden away either - he’d spend days in his room in your shared house on Pabu.

Even sending in Tech – who’d by some miracle survived his fall on Eriadu and had been taken to Tantiss on Hemlock’s orders – hadn’t proved very fruitful.

Now, you suppose it’s your turn. “None of it was your fault.” You start, tone gentle but firm.

“Don’t placate me. I’m not a child.” Crosshair grumbles, rolling his eyes as he draws his arms around himself as if he could shield himself from the conversation.

“No, you’re not.” You sigh. “I get it. I really do. Maker above, Cross, I don’t know where to begin with everything you’ve been through over the last year. But bottling it up, locking us all out, withering away. It’s not healthy.” You feel Crosshair tense under your touch, his shoulders stiffening. The water continues to cascade down, a constant drone almost drowning out the tension in the small space.

“I don’t need your analysis, medic.” He mutters, his voice low and gruff.

You wince at the name. When you’d first joined them, he’d used it mockingly. It was only when you’d persevered and formed a quiet friendship that he’d stopped using it. Choosing not to focus on the little stab of pain from the barb, you press on. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Crosshair. We’re here for you. Your brothers... and me. You don’t have to carry the galaxy’s weight on your shoulders.”

He scoffs, a sharp edge to his voice. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one pulling the trigger on innocent people.”

The fresher has a bit of room, and you use it to your advantage. Shifting your stance until you’re standing at his side, body pressed to him, you reach out and snag his chin with one hand, turning his face to meet those hawkish eyes that have recently lost their lustre. “And you weren’t the one doing it willingly. There’s a difference, Cross. The inhibitor chip controlled you. You’re here now, free from its influence.”

He doesn’t protest, so you continue. “You’ve been through hell and come out on the other side. But healing isn’t just physical; it’s mental, too. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retort immediately. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of water droplets hitting the floor. “I don’t deserve it.” He finally admits, his voice barely audible over the shower.

The vulnerability in his words tugs at your heart, and you realise that breaking through the walls he’s built around himself will take time. You’ve seen him at his lowest, physically and mentally battered, and now the scars on his body are mirrored by the ones etched into his soul. “You’re not some burden we’re shouldering out of obligation, Cross.” You say, your tone unwavering. “You’re family. And family sticks together, no matter what.”

He grunts, the rough sound echoing in the confined space. “Family? I hunted you across the galaxy. No wonder you all left me.”

“That wasn’t you.” You assert, your voice steady. “You were manipulated, controlled. We know that now. Blaming yourself won’t change what happened, but we can work through it together.” You still regret leaving him behind on Kamino twice, not stunning and dragging him onto the Marauder.

He averts his gaze, fighting back the emotions threatening to surface. The vulnerability you’ve glimpsed in him is a crack in his armour - you just need him to remove the rest of it and let you all in.

“We’re not giving up on you.” You declare, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. His eyes close at the contact, subconsciously leaning into your palm, and your heart aches for how touch-starved he is. “And you shouldn’t give up on yourself either.”

“Accept that you deserve to heal.” You suggest. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. Let your brothers in, let me in. We’re not here to judge you but to support you.”

The water begins to lose its icy bite as your body becomes numb. Crosshair doesn’t respond immediately, but the tension in his shoulders begins to ease, and you take that as a small victory.

“Maybe.” He concedes, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he opens his eyes to meet your gaze again.

You smile, a mixture of relief and determination coursing through you. “Maybe is a good start, Cross.” You keep your hand on his cheek, offering silent reassurance. “It’s okay not to have all the answers right now. We’ll figure it out together.”

Crosshair takes a deep breath, a shuddering exhale escaping him as if releasing a burden he’s carried for far too long. “I don’t want your pity.” He mutters, his gaze dropping.

Your thumb brushes along the edge of his tattoo, your touch a grounding force. “You’re not getting pity. You’re getting understanding, support, and a second chance. You’ve been through enough; it’s time to let others in to help you navigate the aftermath.”

He doesn’t argue further, and you both simply stand there for a moment. The silence is no longer heavy with unspoken pain but holds the promise of a shared journey towards healing.

“Come on.” You say, finally breaking the quiet. “Let’s get out of this shower and get some breakfast. Tech is attempting a new recipe, and Wrecker claims he’ll out-eat everyone.”

Crosshair arches an eyebrow. “I’m unsure if that’s a threat or a promise.”

You chuckle, the sound echoing in the fresher. “Knowing Wrecker, probably both. But it’s a distraction, and distractions are good right now.”

He nods in agreement, and together, you step out of the shower, the air hitting your damp skin. As you reach for towels, you catch Crosshair stealing a thoughtful glance in your direction.

“What?” You ask with a slight tilt of your head.

Crosshair hesitates momentarily, feeling a little stupid but wanting to ensure you understand how much this means to him. “Thanks... for not giving up on me.”

You meet his gaze with sincerity. “Never have. Never will.” You state.

Your words touch something in him, a little more weight lifting off his shoulders. “And I’m sorry for…” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.

Amusement curls at your lips. Crosshair’s apologies were new, and while he wasn’t particularly good at them, you saw it as growth. “Apology accepted. Call me that again, though, and I’ll snap every toothpick on the island.” You reply, tossing him a clean set of clothes from his cubby with a small smile.

Relieved at your acceptance of his admittedly poor apology, Crosshair notes to keep working on them while gracing you with a small smile. “I don’t doubt that, doll.”

You roll your eyes at the familiar nickname, a sign that perhaps, despite the struggles, a sense of normalcy is slowly returning. As you both start to dress in clean, dry clothes, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that this small breakthrough might be the turning point he needs. The scars may run deep, both physical and emotional, but the shared understanding and unwavering support from family might just be the key to helping him rebuild.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

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chaotic-orphan · 2 months

Text

The Heretic (4)

It has a name! Previously june of doom day 9~

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Shaw woke with a groan, his head too heavy for his neck to support it. He wanted to open his eyes, but as soon as he did his eyelids shut and Shaw groaned again. The dim lighting igniting a fire of a headache in his brain. He just wanted to sleep again. The fight with Olen had taken a lot out of him and his mind was miles away.

Wait…

His fight with Olen.

Shaw’s eyes snapped open again as he jerked forward in the chair. The clack of chains pulling taut. Shaw didn’t get very far and he cursed… or he would have if not for the fucking gag between his teeth, locking his tongue to the bottom of his mouth.

Shaw’s eyes went wide, glancing down his nose trying to see what it was but even he couldn’t see past his own nose.

Fuck. He needed to get out of here… wherever here was, probably Olen’s villain lair or something stupid like that. Shaw pulled his hands forward again. Both his wrists were locked in different sets of handcuffs keeping his hands apart. Olen probably didn’t know that Shaw couldn’t activate his runes without his voice which… well, fucking sucked because the bastard had covered all his bases with Shaw.

But if Shaw was here… then… Shaw’s heart sank into his stomach. Hero. Nobody was protecting Hero! Superhero could do whatever he wanted, Olen could have already caused a scene and killed them while Shaw was unconscious.

Shaw didn’t care. He started making as much noise as he could, screaming Olen’s name or something that vaguely resembled Olen’s name into his gag. After a solid minute of causing a fuss, Shaw was panting for breath. The gag not helping his breathing situation, as he sucked in air through his nose with a painful grunt. His ribs hurt.

Everything hurt.

God, Olen really didn’t pull his punches.

“Tch.”

Shaw looked up to see Olen standing at the top of the concrete staircase — directly in front of Shaw’s chair —silhouetted inside the doorframe, cigarette in hand. Olen turned his head to face the hall and said: “hey. The brat’s awake.” Before he descended the steps towards Shaw.

“Olen! You bastard let me go,” Shaw said, or tried to say, the gag muffling his words beyond recognition.

Olen waved his hand, batting Shaw’s mumbling away. “I can’t understand you with that thing in your mouth. Save your breath.”

Shaw had so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to ask. He had to know.

Where’s Hero?

Are they safe?

Did you hurt them yet?

Are they… are they still alive?

All questions died on Shaw’s tongue when he saw the second silhouetted figure in the door frame at the top of the stairs.

Superhero.

Shaw’s eyes shot to Olen in accusation, not pleading, more like hurt and betrayed than anything else. Shaw pulled forward in his restraints, cursing under his gag as Superhero came closer towards him. Shaw couldn’t just sit calm and take it, not with Superhero here— he had to do something. Even if it was only struggling futilely against his restraints.

Superhero stared dispassionately down at Shaw, stopping in front of him. Shaw swallowed, glaring back.

“God, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Superhero said reaching down. Shaw jerked his head back out of reach but Superhero caught his jaw all the same, squeezing the pulse points on Shaw’s throat as he tilted his head up. “You’re still useless at fighting.”

As if to prove his point Superhero pressed his finger into Shaw’s cheek until Shaw cried out, cursing Superhero behind the gag.

Superhero’s face didn’t change from the disgusted look he wore when he first saw Shaw, unemotional and inhuman. Superhero let go of Shaw’s jaw and stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“As much as I love not hearing him talk, we need information from him,” said Superhero casually.

“Are you sure about that?” Olen asked, exhaling smoke into the air.

Superhero’s shark like stare was as dispassionate as ever when he ordered: “remove the gag, Olen.”

Olen obeyed quietly. It felt wrong. Back in their academy days you followed an order from Superhero with yes, sir. Olen moving without the mark of respect was strange. Almost eerie.

Maybe Olen had changed as much as Shaw did.

The moment Olen removed the gag Shaw spit at Superhero. He only had a fraction of a second to enjoy it before his head was whipped to the side, his cheek stinging. Shaw hissed, bringing his head back to face Superhero. He met Superhero’s gaze with hatred fuelled eyes and then his head snapped to the side again, this time Shaw biting back a groan.

His jaw hurt enough from the gag, he didn’t need Superhero’s knuckles aggravating it more.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Shaw said, his voice coming out too high, raspy and croaking. He faced Superhero again, glare a little less fiery, a little more cautious.

“Nice to see you too, Shaw.”

Shaw met Superhero’s eyes, raising an eyebrow at the civility. Superhero inclined his head. “In bruises. Nice to see you covered in bruises.”

Shaw huffed a breath out his nose, then started muttering a spell under his breath. He barely got three words out before Superhero’s hand was on his throat, slamming his head back against the chair. Shaw gasped but no air could enter his lungs with Superhero crushing his windpipe.

His lethal eyes burned with a cold fury down at Shaw. When Superhero spoke his voice was low, dangerous, sending ice down Shaw’s spine. “Try and use your dirty spells again, Shaw, and I’ll knock you out cold. Just so I can wake you and make you watch as I murder Hero in front of you, are we clear?”

Superhero let Shaw’s neck go enough so he could answer. “Yes—” Shaw choked out with a slight wheeze.

Superhero’s eyebrow raised a fraction. It was the only warning Shaw had before Superhero’s hand was on his throat again, face far too close to Shaw’s, eyes far too terrifying and it felt like Shaw was a teenager again under Superhero’s command.

“Come on Shaw,” Superhero chided lightly, his voice like the edge of a dagger. “I know I taught you your manners, or have you forgotten and need a reminder hmm? Tell you what, because I’m generous, I’ll give you one last chance.”

This time, Superhero only removed his hand slightly from Shaw’s throat, leaving his hand there lingering like a promise.

Shaw sucked in a breath, unable to look down or away from Superhero. Shame curled up in his chest like a cat trying to soak up heat— Shaw told himself he’d never bow to Superhero again and yet…

“Yes… sir,” Shaw whispered.

Superhero’s smile was anything but kind. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Olen, did you catch that?”

Shaw didn’t know what Olen did behind him, but he knows he didn’t reply. Maybe a shrug or a gesture or something, but to Shaw it felt like insignificant.

“Me either. Louder, so we can all hear.”

“Yes sir,” Shaw croaked, forcing his voice to be louder, even as his vocal chords screamed at him for pushing them too much after being choked.

Superhero’s lips twitched as he lightly slapped Shaw’s cheek. “Good boy. Look at you, you haven’t forgotten your manners at all. You just needed a little encouragement.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Shaw asked, not caring that his voice was weak as he spoke. Superhero straightened again, allowing Shaw a little extra breathing room that he was grateful for. At least putting some distance between him and the devil himself.

Olen walked around the chair into Shaw’s view, leaning against the wall beside the stairs. His cigarette was gone and he just crossed his arms over his chest, eyes fixed on Shaw. Shaw could see the tension in his shoulders from here, which means Superhero must’ve been pissed when Olen told him he couldn’t kill Hero.

Shaw almost smiled at the thought of pissing Superhero off.

Almost.

“Since when are you a Heretic, Shaw?” Superhero asked, drawing Shaw’s attention back to him. The question kind of stunned him. Superhero tilted his head to the side.

As in… he wanted an answer.

Shaw swallowed before he spoke, licking his dry lips that were chapped from the gag. “I was born a heretic.”

The answer got him a swift slap across the face. Shaw grit his teeth but thankfully it wasn’t hard enough to turn his head, so small victories.

Superhero’s smile was wan. “When did you pick up your practice again? Did Hero know?”

Shaw tried not to give it away. He tried not to react. He didn’t succeed, because the mere mention of Hero’s name and possible threat and danger caused to them by Shaw well… his cuffs clacking against the chair said everything Shaw didn’t want to.

Superhero let out a scoff. “Of course they did. No matter, I’ll make sure they learn the error of their ways.”

“Don’t fucking touch them!” Shaw all but growled. Superhero’s humourless smile stretched into a teasing grin.

“Or what? What will you do, Shaw? Threatening me from your position… I don’t know if it’s brave or stupid.”

“Why do you even want to kill Hero?” Shaw demanded hotly. “They’ve only ever followed your orders. Done as you asked!”

Superhero rolled his eyes. “Is this the part where I reveal all my evil plans to you, Shaw? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Shaw’s eyes went from Superhero to Olen’s, then back again, squinting a little. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I don’t think it would say a lot coming from you. If we want to talk about stupidity, at least I’m not handcuffed to a chair,” Superhero replied smoothly.

Shaw grit his teeth, pulling slightly on the handcuffs, more to do something than actually trying to escape.

“When did you find your faith again, Shaw?” Superhero asked. Shaw looked down, away from Superhero’s harsh gaze. He could feel the hatred in the room emanating from his captors. Heresy wasn’t something that would win you popularity among normal people.

“Recently enough.”

“How recent?”

Shaw click his tongue against his teeth, shrugging. “I don’t know. The last couple of months?”

“What is the church planning?”

Shaw stared at Superhero, brows knitting together. “I’m not back in the church.”

Superhero blinked, expression unreadable. Shaw looked from Superhero to Olen, eyes a bit desperate. Though, with the look on Olen’s face, Shaw knew he was searching for a friendly face in vain. His glare returned to his eyes as he turned back to Superhero.

“I’m not with the church, Superhero. I told you about what they do, what they did to me. I would never—”

Superhero didn’t say anything. Just stared down impassively. Shaw scoffed, reclining back into his seat with a shrug. “Faith and religion are two different things, Superhero.”

“Fine. Then who helped you find your faith again?”

“What does it matter!” Shaw yelled. Superhero punched him again, his knuckles cracking against Shaw’s cheek and Shaw cursed as pain flamed hot across his face. He didn’t turn his head to face Superhero again. Instead, stupidly, naively, his eyes met Olen’s in a desperate plea.

“It matters because I say so. You had so much potential, now look at you. Wasting it. Squandering all of our hard work with your filthy, blood drunk love of ambivalent gods. Pathetic.”

“Honestly? Their magic is pretty handy. So is their blood, but I guess Olen could tell you all about that. After all, it did stop you in your plan to kill Hero,” said Shaw with a shit eating grin as he turned back to face Superhero. “At least I have something while you godless, carnal fucks just languish here useless.”

Superhero blinked, entirely unimpressed. “You forget your beloved Hero is one of those carnal fucks.”

“No, Hero’s different. They’re good. You know, like what heroes are meant to be.”

“The strong survive, Shaw.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaw snapped. Superhero let out a sigh, as he started walking in a slow circle around Shaw’s chair.

“There’s a reason that Hero’s goodness is the exception and not the rule, but you already knew that didn’t you? It’s why you waited there in the alleyway. How can a hero who needs protection survive in a world like this?”

“Hero doesn’t need protection—”

“You seem to think they do. Their naivety of how good the world is and how good people inherently are, well…” Superhero said with a smug smile as he came to stand in front of Shaw again. “Let’s just say, it will kill them before I get the chance to.”

Superhero’s words hung in the air thick and dense. He didn’t elaborate further, and after a minute or so the words took on a life of their own and started crawling under Shaw’s skin.

“As long as I’m alive I won’t let anything happen to them,” Shaw told Superhero. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs, hoping that he could rub his wrist hard enough to draw blood from the metal.

Superhero stared at him for a long, drawn out moment. Then he turned his back on Shaw to face Olen. “He’s not going to tell us anything right now. Gag him and we’ll try again in a few days.”

“Wait!” Shaw cried. Shit shit shit. If they gag him he won’t be able to get out of here but then— he doesn’t even know what they want from him?! He pulled at the cuffs harshly, praying that he’d bleed. Come on! He has to stall them longer. “What? You want to know how I got my faith back? I’m telling the truth, it doesn’t just go away.”

Superhero glanced at Shaw over his shoulder. “It doesn’t just come back either, Shaw. Who encouraged you to practice heresy again?”

Shaw set his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into Superhero’s dispassionate eyes. “You’re protecting someone,” Superhero told him, his voice light and airy. “Friend, family, preacher? Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to give them up today.”

“Why does the heresy even bother you? You’re Superhero the city loves you!”

“As long as the black church still operates from the shadows and has their secret heretics practicing their magic, they will always be a threat Shaw. You know this. Isn’t that why we worked so hard to beat it out of you in the first place?”

“No you tortured me! There was no hard work on your part,” Shaw hissed.

Superhero’s eyes glinted cruelly. “I mean, you didn’t restrain yourself. There was some work on my part. Or did the whippings leave such a fleeting memory? We can start them again if you need a refresher.”

Shaw glared up at Superhero, lips curling back in hatred. “My people are peaceful, Superhero. Most of us are peaceful. Of course there’s some bad people but you can’t kill us all for a few bad people!”

“Who’s going to stop me, Shaw? You?”

“You can’t just go on a witch hunt and eradicate us all! That’s— that’s,” Shaw’s breath hitched as he felt blood slide down his wrist onto his thumb. Yes! Fuck. “That’s madness, Superhero.”

Superhero shrugged. “I guess I’m a little mad then.” That was the end of the conversation. Superhero turned and nodded at Olen before walking to the staircase. Olen had just pushed off the wall when Shaw clicked his fingers and quickly muttered the spell under his breath.

Superhero turned back, rage and murder in his eyes as Olen lunged for Shaw. Shaw grinned at them both, his skin glowing the strange silver and then he was gone.

He collapsed back into his bedroom in his apartment, stumbling back against the bed before lying down on top of it. He felt nausea climb up his throat but he wrestled it down with a groan. He pulled his hands in front of him, staring at his bloodied wrist. His hands were shaking, his body exhausted, his mind spent. He should really have a shower and clean himself up, but instead he kicked off his shoes and curled into a ball on his bed.

Hero’s alive.

He can rest.

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