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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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TAGS:

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brewed-pangolin · 28 days

Text

There is just something so endearing about Soap MacTavish in the morning.

The soft golden light of the sun playing along the tips of his disheveled mohawk. Its bright honey color accentuated the stubble along his chin, dabbling it in crystalline sunlight flecks that glisten with every movement of a dreamlike breath.

Yet, somehow, despite the glowing aura that currently surrounded him, it was his eyes that always seemed to pull you in the most in the early hours of the day. Still hidden from view underneath heavy lids and caged behind thick lashes that never ceased to tear a jealous groan from the depths of your chest.

Slowly, as to not outright disturb him from his much needed slumber, you inched yourself closer until your chest pressed against the flesh of his arm. Dipping beneath to place yourself between his muscular reach and the density of his torso. Laying your head just below the cusp of his underarm as your hand delicately laid out atop the flesh of his chest.

A subtle twitch to the corner of his mouth is the first indication that your gentle measures are quickly culminating to the desired effect.

You feel the muscles tighten beneath his taut skin as he expands the bulk of his chest to inhale a heavy breath. Dense fibrous tissue rippling underneath his flesh to the flexion of his limbs, stretching his stiff form from the tight grip of sleep to pull you closer against him as a breathy growl rolls over a lengthy exhale.

"Mornin', bonnie," he mutters. Voice groggy and thick with Scottish brogue while his eyes still hide behind the curtains of his lids.

"Good morning, mo cridhe."

And likes Moses with the Red Sea, that simple term of Gaelic endearment uttered so sweetly from your lips finally parted the veil to his soul as he cast down his celestial gaze upon you.

"Hmm. Yer learnin', hen."

"I do what I can, Johnny," you breathed lowly. Catching a lump in your throat as your thoughts bottle between the walls of your windpipe.

"Besides, I love waking up to those beautiful blue eyes of yours."

"Jus' me eyes, lass?"

The sun's light trickled at the edges of his cerulean maelstroms, igniting a golden blaze that licked towards the flexing obsidian and tugged you further into the gravity that was him.

Words dissolved on the tip of your tongue as you lost yourself within the immensity of his stare. No other could make you forget the simplicity of language and the necessity to breathe like John MacTavish. Only with the gentle feel of his thumb against your shoulder did you ultimately fall back to Earth. Landing in his bed of unending affection to nestle yourself forever into the deep crevices of his heart.

"Not just your eyes, Johnny."

Your admission falls on a gradual exhale, fingers traversing along the middle of his torso between the deep grooves of his abdomen. Guided by a trail of perfectly dusted hair beneath his navel, only to halt your descent and place the palm of your hand along the curve of his Adonis belt.

"Then wha' is it, bonnie? Wha' is it about me eyes tha' makes ya go all dopey?"

You contemplated your answer for a moment. Running your fingers along the length of his pelvis to feel the tightening tension beneath his skin.

"They're like a second dusk before the blinding brightness of the sun washes them away. A last glimmer of twilight peaking through the ether, only to succumb to the glare of breaking dawn."

"Steamin' Jesus, lass. Ya jus' come up with tha' one? Or have ya been holdin' on tae tha' fer a while?"

"Little bit of both."

Your confession rolled over your trembling bottom lip like fog on a pebbled shore. Embedded with a hint of humor that never went unnoticed as Soap responded in kind by gently shifting you onto your back.

Bringing your hands to rest along the dense curvature of his neck, hovering above and caging you against the mattress as he lowered himself between the spreading valley of your open legs.

"Ya keep talkin' like tha', bonnie, an' yer gonnae find these eyes between a pair of very familiar thighs."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Wonnae be tha' last either."

Soap's eyes lit up like glistening orbs caught in a raging firelight. His smile etched across the entirety of his mouth, only further accenting his paradisical demeanor as he graced your lips with a kiss that breathed new life into the dawning of your groggy soul.

Immediately granting him entry into the warm chasm of your mouth. His exquisite tongue carrying the remnants of last night's whisky with the subbtle smokiness of tobacco etched along its fragrant border.

The mind-altering concoction seeping into your bloodstream like a substance not meant for the frailty of this world. Tearing away the cemented walls of reality as you fell like a heavy stone into the sunken fabric of the mattress beneath.

"Wha- what about me, Johnny?" You crooked when his lips tore away from your mouth, moving across your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

"You? Wha' ya mean?" He questioned between gentle, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. Voice subdued and muffled as his tongue lapped at the divine saltiness of your skin.

"What am I to you, Johnny? Right now."

Soap reluctantly pulled his mouth away to stare into your fluttering depths once more. Minding the growing fluster behind your eyes, taking note of your change in breath and the deep flush emanating from the valley of your chest.

"You, mo ghrádh," he started. Accent thicker than molasses and collapsing like time hardened lumber.

"Yer like the first sip of scotch on a cold winter's mornin'. Hot, heavy, and so damn addicting."

The air in your lungs froze, leaching their life giving oxygen into your pleading bronchioles. Halted by his unapologetic sincerity as your blood purged from your chest to pool within the deep chasm of your core.

"Jesus Christ, Johnny. You just bought yourself a one way ticket to Poundtown for that one."

"Aye? Complimentary in flight meal?"

"Of course. Only the best for you."

"There's a good lass."

He pressed his lips to yours for one final union. Only to begin his methodical descent, traversing over the curve of your neck and into the deep vale between your breasts. His calloused yet tender hands following in their wake, gliding over the perking flesh of your nipples while his mouth ghosted over the undulating skin of your stomach. The sporadic movement of your diaphragm creating a constant wave to your torso, tugging a smile to the corners of his mouth as he breathed a muffled chortle against the suppleness of your skin.

"Didnae expect so much turbulence, bonnie."

"Shut up, Johnny."

The bed shifted beneath your trembling frame as he repositioned himself between your thighs. Only now, with heat of his body pulled away did you feel the wetness embedded within your folds. The cool air causing a shiver to run up your spine as he cradled your knees over the sculpted broadness of his shoulders.

"Fuckin' hell, lass. Yer soakin' fer me already," he muttered against the sensitiveness of your inner thigh.

Prolonging the inevitable. Torturous intent with an impish furrow to his brow as he patiently waited for that simple utterance to give him the verbal go ahead.

"Johnny, please.."

"Aye. There it is."

Tagging the Soap Sqaud, as this will be my last post for the season.

@deadbranch @ohgeesoap @writeforfandoms @efingart @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @mini-metal @shotmrmiller @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @ghosts-goldendoodle @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @crashtestbunny @greatstormcat @crashandlivewrites @glossysoap @soapsgf @devcica @gazs-blue-hat @tacticalanxiety @chamomiletealeaf @thetrashpossum @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @weebumochi @dustycrusty09 @sadstone-s @foxface013 @lily-ilo @slutweeds

#soap squad™️#morning glory #soft!soap #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x f!reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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solbaby7 · 3 months

Note

Holy mother of pearl I need a part 3 of blurred lines like I need air to breathe

as you wish. but this lil blurb is it y’all 🤣

[ part 1 ] [ part 2 ]

Rhysand was being obnoxious.

Unreasonably jealous and filled with a need like no other—almost comparable to the one induced by the powder that still burned in your system—his mouth wouldn’t stop latching to the marks Azriel had sucked into your neck. “Don’t get all quiet on me now,” Rhys huffs out, teeth nipping at your ear from behind.

Water sloshes over the edge of the tub, soaking the floor and the clothes scattered in it but neither of you can find it in you to care. Not when Rhys’ cock felt so deep, fucking into the swollen mess of your pussy like it was the first time all over again. “Azriel’s still here. It’s rude.”

“Don’t,” He’s vicious in his reprimand, guiding you up and down the girthy length of him with ease. Nails bite into already bruised flesh but the relief overrides the temporary discomfort. “—ever say another males name while I’m fucking you.”

A low hum dips in your throat. “Jealousy’s sexy on you, High Lord.” The soft fat of your breasts drag against the rising muscles of his chest, manicured nails raking through strands of silky obsidian. “Worried he did a better job? Lived up to the rumors about those great, big wings of his?”

The hand that splays across the length of your neck is unforgiving when he pulls you in closer, noses touching and breath mingling when a growl grows in his chest. It should spark fear, force your heartbeat to rise but all you feel is the electrifying tingle of anticipation. “Did he?”

“Maybe,” You shrug, feigning nonchalance but you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside you. There’s no friction, just fullness as your arms remain looped over broad shoulders, cool air nipping at wet skin. “Can’t remember—was a little out of it.”

“Is that right?” Rhysand’s eyes glaze over a moment, a dark smirk forming on regal features. Through the drug induced haze, you have half the sense to notice the shift in the air. Gone is the mate willing to offer endless coddling and comforting words crooned into the sensitive spot below your ear. Sweet touches are replaced with the all-consuming power that made Rhys the most dangerous of all the High Lords; dark magic cloaking the bathing chamber in pitch black, cutting off all sense of sight and distorting sound. “Shall I give you a refresher?”

Familiar talons tease at the barrier of your mental walls, itching to sink in and take the reins. Goosebumps swarm your skin despite the warmth of the water lapping at your legs. “Do as you please—take notes if you must.”

Your mates leniency towards your steadily growing snark seems to dwindle with each sentence spoken and he’s less than gentle when breaching the boundaries of your mind, rooting around as if he owned the place. Rhys yanks the offending memory forward, his presence lingering at your back, breath tickling at your neck as you’re forced to watch with him.

Watch you and Azriel—the fucked out glaze in your eye. The moans and hoarse screams for it harder. Deeper. “It surprises me that you could’ve forgotten this,” Rhysand taunts, chuckling to himself at the pliant lean of your body when his hands mimic Azriel’s. Fingers pinch at hardened nipples, copying the cruel pace set until witty remarks fizzled away; all the spark snuffed out by alluring darkness and the delicious drag of Rhysand’s cock inside of you. Your eyes begin to flutter closed when a hand curls around your jaw, face forcefully raised to keep watching. “Pay attention,” The rasp in his tone shoots right between your thighs and it’s impossible to resist wiggling your hips, meeting every thrust until you swore you could feel both of them at the same time. “Don’t look away,” He commands, barely winded. “Or I’ll stop and leave you here to ride this out on your own.”

Thank the Mother he was standing behind you, unable to catch the harsh bite of your lip and the pitiful wobble of your chin. But still, you obeyed. Never tearing your eyes away for even a second as Rhysand fucked into you, hands gripping at your hips and wandering the length of your body before the touches began to lose its synchronicity. “It’s so deep,” The whine is abruptly cut off, a palm pressed against your lips as he manually silences you.

“That’s not what you said to him.” One finger raised from your face to point at the memory, Azriel’s gruff words muffled by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Every nerve burns, muscles screaming with tension as that coil tightened more and more and more in the pit of your belly. “I thought you were worried about Az hearing you, pretty girl?” Your neck cranes as he pulls your back flush to his chest, resting your head on his shoulder but the devastating thrust of his hips don’t stop and the angle threatens to force your eyes closed. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

It’s torture; trying to remain quiet with so much happening. You swear you can feel Azriel’s hands on your body, skipping past Rhys’ own while twin tongues taste at your neck. Your sounds muffle against his palm, water splashing and skin slapping until four hands became too much for one body.

“He didn’t fuck you like this,” The High Lord all but snarls in your ear, two strong fingers rubbing at your clit in firm circles. “Say it.”

“He didn’t—“ You stammer over the words, garbled syllables rumbling against the hand that slides back down to your throat and the memory is shoved away; tucked in a box and lock deep within the corners of your mind. “He didn’t fuck me like this. Not how you do.”

Plush lips kiss at sweat-slick cheeks, tongue claiming at the line of your jaw and teeth sink into the already bruised expanse of your neck. “Now say it like you mean it.”

It’s too much, the teasing and that possessive bite in his grip. “No one does it like you, Rhys.” You’re so close, fingers digging into the edge of the tub, back arching into him as you teetered that line—coil threatening to give at any second. “No one ever will.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #azriel #high lord rhysand #acotar azriel #rhys x reader smut #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand #rhys smut #azriel x reader #acotar x reader smut #acotar fics #acotar smut

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kingofthe-egirls · 3 months

Text

SAY IT: LUFFY x Y/N

(cw: sex, luffy asking you to say dirty things, breeding kink, spoilers post wano)

(a/n: i am giggling like a maniac)

words: 1.9k

****

Luffy loves hearing the sound of his name.

It’s usually in distress or anger, that someone calls his name after he’s done something wrong. But when you say his name, all whispered and broken, his hips pounding into yours as he does something right for a change, over and over again…it’s addicting.

No sarcasm, no hits over the head.

Just your arms around his shoulders as he makes you squeal his name in pleasure.

“Again,” he pants, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, “Say my name again.”

“Luffy!” You yelp out, after a particularly sharp thrust. He’s got your legs draped over his arms. He growls, something deep and low in his throat, before slowing down. He hits it slow and deep, staring down at you with his jaw jut forward.

“Again.”

Luffy has gray eyes—black in the dark—and his pupils are blown. He has sharp clavicles and broad shoulders, scars on his forearms and bruises on his knuckles. His hands are strong and wide.

He sinks his fingers into the flesh of your thighs, holding your legs open as he sits on his knees. You reach up to run your fingers through his dark, sweaty hair. You push it far back enough to reveal his sharp widow’s peak. Luffy is an art piece.

“Say it, slut.”

He’s staring down at you, slowing his pace to a stop. You whine, missing his movements, the massaging of his cock inside you, and you kick. He wraps a thick hand around your knee, forcing your legs open wider.

“Say it.”

His eyes are burning with a fierce passion, the gray sparking obsidian in the blue dark of his cabin.

Your voice is stuck in your throat, suddenly so aware of his strength. He’s Mugiwara no Luffy. He’s the captain of the Straw Hat pirates. He has a fleet and a three billion berry bounty.

He beat Kaido.

He’s liberated countless lives.

He’s eaten the human-human fruit, mythic type, Nika.

He’s a god.

And he’s asking you to say his name.

Luffy swallows, suddenly dropping to his elbows on either side of your head. He buries his face in your neck and shudders out a heavy breath.

“Please, baby,” he moans, “Please say m’name, sounds so good when you scream my name, your voice is so pretty baby, please say it~” He whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your skin as his hips start to shallowly thrust into yours.

You wind your fingers in his hair, lips at his ear, as you whisper what he wants to hear. “Luffy,” the first breath of his name is barely audible, “Luffy, Luffy, Luffyyyy~,” you drawl out his name as he groans. His hips speed up.

“That’s it baby, lemme hear ya,” his arms circle your shoulders and upper back, holding you to him in missionary. He rocks against you. “Don’t stop,” he whines into your neck, “Please keep goin’, wanna hear my name when I cum, please baby?” His words are dirty, slurred out and drunken. Luffy’s always like this: demanding one minute and pleading the next. He’s everything to you.

“Luffy, yes captain, Luffy fuck yes—!” Your whispers turn to cries, turn to prayers, turn to whines.

“Luffy Luffy Luuffyyyy~!”

“That’s it, babygirl, just like that,” he croons as his thrusts turn hard and fast. “Take it f’me baby, take it~”

So you do.

You cum around Luffy’s cock with a wail, a shudder, a release. He giggles as he sits up to feel the wetness on his abdomen. He examines the squirt on his palm with a raunchy smile.

“So good f’me, squirtin’ like that,” he mumbles, grinning at your blush.

He crawls back over you, softly laying his weight down on top of you. He presses soft little kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “Hm?” He whispers, making sure you’re okay, “Like that, hm, baby? S’good, isn’t it?” Luffy’s voice is low and cloying. You whine, nodding as you wind your arms around his shoulders. He’s always so sweet to you in bed.

Luffy snickers a little, speeding up.

The feel of his cock is heaven.

“What if—ah—what if I wanna fill ya up?” He hides his face in your neck, licking a stripe up to your jaw. He smooches beneath it, behind your ear, along your chin. His voice rasps low as he dirty talks you into oblivion. “Wanna pump ya full of my cum, wanna see it pourin’ outta ya…” He speeds up a little, “Wanna fuck a baby into ya,” he presses his forehead to yours, his hips snapping in place. He’s got you on your back, legs splayed over his arms as he crushes you into the bed. “Ganna fuck ya full of my kids, hm, sweetheart? Wan’ captain’s kids?”

His words burn holes into your sanity: fully sending you over the edge of desire. You cum around his cock with shudders and a gasp that makes Luffy giggle to hear it.

He slows.

“Say it, baby~” He whispers in your ear, his body pressing hot and heavy against yours. You’ve melted into the bed. His hips are now lazily thrusting against yours in a slow, arrhythmic pace. “Say it or I won’t speed up,” he giggles, pulling back to stare at your face. “Say how bad ya wan’ it,” he murmurs, tracing your face with careful fingers. He’s staring down at you in awe, hips all but stopped as he waits for your answer.

You squirm, the covers all sweaty and tangled beneath you. Luffy’s breeding kink only comes out when he’s really riled up. His sweet face is flushed, all amber gold with strawberries. He’s smiling, even as he starts to pull out.

“Want it!” You squeak, not wanting to lose even an inch of his cock inside you. He slows, pushing back in with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Want what, baby?”

You pout.

“No fair…,” you mumble, squirming around. He giggles, sitting up on his knees so he can hold your hips in place. “S’embarrassing…,” you whine. He arches an eyebrow.

“Embarrassed to say how bad ya need captain’s cum? Dontcha need it, though?” He asks curiously, tilting his head. As if he actually didn’t know the answer.

You scoff.

“Fine, I need it,” you whisper, lips pouting as you turn your head to the side. Luffy grips your cheeks in one hand, suddenly rough as he forces you to look at him. His eyes are a sharp black as he stares down at you with a cold curiosity.

“Not good enough,” he states. He sits up, and pulls out halfway. His abs shudder with heavy breaths. He pins you to the bed with his gaze. “Say how bad ya need it. I know you’re a slut f’me,” he pulls out a little more, and you whine for the lack of him. He grins. “See?”

Fuck.

You don’t know why you hesitate, something about the intensity Luffy gets when he’s like this…it’s electric.

Luffy pulls out all the way.

“Guess ya don’t want it,” he says with a shrug. He reaches for his hat on the foot of the bed, placing it on his spiky black hair. Just as he’s about to stand, you kick a leg out to stop him. You sit up, grabbing for his arm. Your fingers squeeze around his rock hard bicep. Fuck.

“Need it.”

Luffy looks at you the way he looks at food. Ravenous. He’s over you in an instant. He doesn’t need to ask you again; you’re babbling for him.

“Need you so bad, Luffy! Need your cum inside me,” he’s positioned himself over you, sitting on his knees again, “Wanna feel it, wanna feel—,” you hiccup, stumbling over such dirty words, “Wanna feel you pump me full—of your cum,” you whisper, as Luffy lines himself up with your entrance. He tsks, shaking his head.

“Louder.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Luffy! Want it so bad!” Your voice is cracked, almost foreign with how lustful it sounds to your own ears. “Want—want your kids, Luffy, wanna feel you fuck a baby into me!”

Luffy smiles, and finally, finally pushes all the way back in.

“That’s a good princess,” he says, low. His hands sear into your hips, as he pulls you flush against him. He’s big.

He smirks. “Now, was that so bad?”

You huff, still hot from the filthy words he’s made you say.

Luffy starts fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place where you connect. He drags his cock in and out, savoring every moment. He licks his lips. Head tilted back, he moans.

“Say my name, princess~”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. He hooks one leg over his shoulder, lowering down to kiss you. You whisper a broken Luuffyyy into his lips.

“That’s good,” he pants, speeding up. His thrusts are smooth, languid. “Say my name til I tell ya ta stop. Don’t wanna ask anymore.” His voice is low, growled against your lips. You swallow his words like honey. You start speaking, and don’t stop.

“Captain Luffy, please Luffy please don’t stop fucking me, I need it so bad baby I need captain’s cock!” You heave in a ragged breath, pleasure clouding your senses until there is nothing else but him.

And that’s how he likes it.

Luffy overwhelms you, speeding up as he smothers you with his weight. It’s all you can do to hold on.

“Want your cum Luffy want it so bad,” you start rocking your hips upward to meet his thrusts. It’s still slow and sensual, as Luffy enjoys every minute of it. His eyes are closed in bliss.

“Luffy, captain, you’re so sexy baby you’re so good at sex, Luffy, don’t ever wanna stop Luffy Luffy Luffy!,” your voice starts rasping, gone pitchy with pleasure. You start saying his name over and over, all Luffy, Luffy, Luffyyy~

Luffy is starting to get close to his edge, you can tell by the way his eyes squeeze shut and his hands tighten on your waist. He pulls out for a second, flipping you over onto all fours before you can protest.

He shoves his way back into your pussy, hard and fast as a jackhammer.

“Fuck, sweets,” he pushes your head down into the mattress, finishing inside you with a rough thrust and a strangled groan.

He pumps you full, all white hot and gooey. Your pussy twitches as pulls out, as he watches it spill down your thighs. He swipes a finger through it, before bringing it up to your lips. “Suck,” he commands, so you do. His spunk tastes awful, but it’s his so you love it, no matter the taste.

Finally, Luffy sighs.

He flops backward on the mattress, while you stay bent over on all fours. You’re blissed out, happy as a satisfied cat. You see Luffy drag a hand down his face, before you poke his thigh with your foot. “Captain?”

He lets out a loud groan.

Luffy sits up on his elbows, all flushed and sweaty. “Say I did a good job?” he commands, suddenly shy as he asks for reassurance.

You sit up, crawling over to him even as his spunk still drips out of you.

You bring his hand to your face, his palm on your cheek, before you kiss it. “You’re the best.”

He smiles, and thunks his head back into the mattress. “So are you.”

You smile, and lean down to cuddle your captain. He’s soft and sweaty, all warm from exertion. Your bodies melt together, made perfectly for each other, as you both fall into a deep, pleasurable sleep.

#dumpster dive #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy smut

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seiwas · 5 months

Text

₊˚⊹｡ —let's play it again | geto suguru

wc: 1.6k

summary: you don’t see why this good thing should end, so you negotiate.

contains: implied f!reader but no pronouns used, non-curse!au, fuckboy!suguru, vague descriptions of sex

a/n: a part 2 to fuckboy!suguru inspired by those reels/tiktoks of couples capturing confessions in photo booths 🥺 + an early birthday gift for @irisintheafterglow!! he's a lil softie in this one 🥺 i hope you like it my dear iris!!

part 1 <- you are here

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There’s a reason why Suguru always wins—

At the slightest indication of a loss, he withdraws, slipping out at just the right time before it’s considered a forfeit.

In this game with you, he removes himself quietly, like a ghost haunting your memories. It’s the day after the seventh time he’s spent the night when he cuts contact. Calls, texts, everything.

You don’t understand any of it; what you had was good—messages you can’t stop replying to, scratches down the length of his spine, fingers threading through the silk strands of his hair; that kind of good. You don’t see why it should end, don’t want it to.

So you negotiate.

Bundled up in your favorite coat and the scarf he never returned for, you corner him in the crisp chill of an autumn afternoon. He’s wearing that damn leather jacket again, black turtleneck high to hide his skin from what you hope is the cold and not from you.

His gaze continues to reel you in, obsidian pools you could sink into. He still smells of apple and tonka bean; you know the cedarwood won’t hit until he’s walked away, trailing the air he passes through.

There is so much you know about the man in front of you, how he hides his surprise by clenching his jaw; Suguru’s tell is never his eyes, it’s his lips—its sudden movements, the lift of a smirk down to the constriction of his throat.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, brows furrowed and arms crossed, a little anxious.

“Not at all.”

He swallows his lies every time he utters them, does it twice when he’s nervous.

His Adam's apple bobs two times.

(He doesn’t tell you your mistake: that you made it so easy to want mornings and nights spent entirely with you).

So, you negotiate a rematch; a deal to go back to the way things were.

If by the end of the next six months, neither of you want anything to do with the other, he wins and you’ll never speak to him again. But if you win—

He agrees.

(If he nips it at the bud, proves there isn’t anything more to this feeling and gets over you before he ever has to, then it’s a whole world of pain he’s avoiding—a whole web of attachment he’s never been used to making).

The rematch finds you learning a new side to Suguru.

He’s still charming, eyes dark and voice honey smooth when he speaks. His hands still know you best between your sheets, grabbing hold of your hips and molding you as he squeezes the flesh when you reach your peak.

There’s still freshly made tea sitting on the kitchen counter when you wake the morning after, its temperature the perfect warmth you know he’s mastered. Dinners are still your favorite, and he continues to lean in instead of asking you to speak louder.

Your contact is in his favorites, everyone else unanswered.

He’s still the same Suguru, except—

The apples of his cheeks flush warm pink when you call him cute instead of handsome; he stutters the first time he sees you dressed up for the new year countdown. And when he lingers those few seconds before kissing you, you swear you catch the corners of his lips curve up into a small smile.

He stays awake for a bit after sex. You know because you feel him next to you, finger feather light as it trails down the slope of your nose to your lips; then he kisses your forehead, completely innocent, pure, as if he wasn’t just inside you.

It’s a softness to him he’s never shown you before, less mysterious and more genuine.

You learn that he keeps mementos and photos all over his room, either aesthetically displayed or safely tucked inside boxes; that he holds onto the things that remind him of the people he’s let in his life, even when they’re gone—especially when they are.

He loves snacking, biscuits with tea especially, nuts second, and fruits third. When he reaches over one afternoon, cracker pinched between his fingers to feed you so casually, you freeze momentarily.

But you shake it off quickly, biting it from his fingertips while you smile brightly. The Suguru you know always looks at you directly, but this one coughs before blinking one time too many.

He swallows twice.

(The voice in his head tells him this’ll do the trick; he’s bared himself to you, mr. mysterious and cool signed out and replaced with none other than just plain Suguru).

—you like him even more now, you think.

On the fifth month of this whole ordeal, you bring Suguru to a photobooth.

You figure that if he wins, at least he’ll have this remembrance of you.

It’s old fashioned, one of those booths that only print in black and white—a time capsule of nostalgia, a place that feels of love captured through stills in time.

You tell him it’s a late birthday gift from you, a last hurrah for your cutest winter outfits. The end of a season before a new one begins.

Velvet slips through your fingers as you push the curtain to the side, and you bow your head to step in with Suguru close behind. The set-up is fairly simple: a bench, the camera, a touch screen to keep it modernized. You can take a total of eight shots, to be printed later into two strips of four—one for you and one for him, you figure.

It’s a bit cramped when you settle into the seat, soft cushion sinking further once Suguru follows next to you; for a man over 6 feet, dressed loosely in wide pants and layers of blazers, you’re surprised he even managed to squeeze himself to fit in this tiny space.

You zip your jacket up until the collar, fleece tickling the corners of your fingertips. The earmuffs you’re wearing act as a perfect statement piece while simultaneously keeping your hair from flying.

It’s a bit unsettling, but Suguru’s been quiet since you got here—watching, observing.

(Even while you’re setting up the timer, suggesting poses he’s nodding off to, he focuses on you entirely, tilting his head subconsciously.

You’ve been heavy on his mind lately—all the little things about you he can’t help but notice more intently.

You must be the sun’s lover, how your eyes seem to reflect every beam of it, warming him even in the winter. He’ll never understand what you mean when you say you hate how your hair looks in the morning, baby hairs sticking up and curling around the edges of your forehead; to him, you always look lovely. There’s honesty, in every breath and word you give him—something he’s not used to, something he isn’t well versed in.

Since giving this another shot, he’s tried to shake you off, put down his front to show you a Suguru so far from the one you know, from the one that first attracted you—all in the hopes of you dropping him.

Of you conceding to make him win.

But he’s realizing—

You call him cute when he’s only ever been handsome. And you laugh at his jokes, all the good but especially the bad ones too; you’ve been complicit to one or two pranks on Satoru. Sometimes at night, he clings onto your body, tucking you within him and draping his leg across your hip bone—he’s a human furnace but you let him engulf you entirely.

He doesn’t expect you to remember that he loves soba, that he’s dreamt of perfecting all forms of martial arts since he was seven. He doesn’t expect you to remember that he prefers hot showers, so he can step out on the tiles to feel contrast so strikingly cold.

You shouldn’t know this much about him, and yet you do.

—there’s no one else he’s been this genuine with.

So when you peer at him smiling, earmuffs resting cozily by your ears, his eyes soften, face relaxing as the corners of his lips curve up into a small grin.

Flash!

He says it, mouth forming the syllables around his words. You tilt your head, confused, eyebrows furrowing because you can’t hear him.

Flash!

His hand reaches for you, pushing your earmuffs to slide down the back of your head. It lands to rest around your neck.

Flash!

“You win.” he says, loud enough to fill the space of the booth.

You still don’t quite get it, brow raised in puzzlement.

Flash!

So he grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before he repeats himself again.

“I said, you win.”

And the look on your face when it registers, how your eyes glisten like glints on a sunshower; how you give him the prettiest smile that has his heart running for miles.

He’s confident he’ll always remember this version of you, thankful that he has evidence of it as the camera goes off into another—

Flash!

Tears well up in your lash line; one blink and they’ll fall. You’re smiling so hard he wonders if your cheeks are hurting, if you’ll want him to massage them the way you smooth out the knots between his shoulder blades.

Your hands remove themselves from his, only to replace the heat on his face.

Flash!

Then you kiss him, lips crashing onto his. you taste of pomegranate—the lip gloss he can’t resist.

His hand finds its way around your waist, spreading itself to support your back as he dips you, pressing against you harder. While his fingers slot themselves in the junction between your ear and jaw, your hands fall to his chest, gripping the lapels of his blazer.

Lips smacking, sliding. A breathy smile.

Flash!

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, the proximity holding you nose-to-nose.

Suguru’s never felt this kind of peace—he hopes the camera captures it, how contentment looks on his face in moments like this with you.

Flash!)

You step out of the photobooth hand-in-hand, collecting the photo strips from the dispenser; it’s your souvenir after all, a tangible evidence to remind you of the deal you made—

—if you win, he’s yours.

thank you notes: @mididoodles for helping me through this 🥺 + @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for all the support always!! + @mysugu @soumies bc when i think of sugu i think of u both... 🤧

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru x you #suguru x yn #suguru x y/n #geto x you #geto x yn #geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #geto suguru x you #rated #suguru #jjk #shotorus.workbook

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daddyhausen · 1 month

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｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 PENTAGRAMS IN THE NIGHT SKY 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 BAND/MUSICIAN MASTERLIST 」 | 「 VESSEL MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 SUMMARY 」 — he waits in the shadows for your nightmares to paralyse you, to claim you body and soul all for himself.

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+ [ MINORS DNI ] smut, somnophilia, dubcon, cnc, dom!vessel, sleep paralysis, demon!vessel, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, breeding kink, oral sex [ female receiving ] nipple play, biting, blood, fingering, multiple orgasms, male + female orgasms, internal cumshots, rough sex, unprotected sex, squirting, vaginal creampie

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 3k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x vessel

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @bayleymania @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwriter @alyyaanna @nightmare-viper

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

you could feel it, the burn, flames sticking to your skin, melting the flesh and surfacing the bone underneath. the ache, the red of the fire, how it burned angry, vengeful against your fragile, weakened body. in between the flamed streaks laid the remains of what you’d once called a home, only mere smoke and ash now, and in there laid your burning body, trapped underneath rubble, blackened with soot. you could see yourself, outside of yourself as a third person looking in, a most ungodly sight to behold. and the wisps and crackles of the flames did nothing to quell or soothe your panic, only heighten the vicious sight before you.

your eyes shot open in a daze, a shaky gasp parting from chapped, dry lips. trying so desperately to quiet your mind, remove the nightmare from your thoughts, your skin still heated but was not burned, flesh and bone still intact. you let out a small sigh of relief, upon the realisation that you were unharmed, attempting to wipe the sweat that accumulated on your brow, only to find your arm numb, stuck to its position on the bed beside you, no matter how much you jolted and twitched it remained the same. your heart began to race, thumping hard against your chest like the crash of thunder that rang ever so often outside your bedroom window. you were asleep still, you knew that, put something about this predicament seemed far too real even for your standard of dreaming.

the left side of your bed dipped with a foreign weight, a hand came into view. inky jet black fingers met your viewline, palms rough and callouesed, intricate veins flowed like rivers on the back of the palm and up the forearm, pulsing softly as fresh blood flowed through them. it was a strong arm, masculine no doubt. rings adorned the slender fingers of the strange hand, ones of silver that shined against the black obsidian of the skin. you felt them, so gentle as they traced delicate lines across your skin, almost hesitant in their touches, you lay there, numb and unmoving, watching them shake and twitch as a thumb swiped the sweat from your forehead.

“don’t fear little dove, it was only a nightmare”

the voice was deep and coarse, the twinge of a british accent on the end of his words that made your stomach churn with worry. the words rang sinful from his lips, as his hand ran down your cheek, caressing the warm, mortal flesh. a face came into view…more so a masked one. one of pearly white, traced with gold and rubies that of blood red adorned around the maw. slits in his mask covered his eyes, three to be exact on each side, obscuring them from your vision, only the lower half of his face exposed, soft pouty lips outlined a row of sharp teeth, the canines the most prominent. he smiled, showing them off, looking as if he was about to take a bite out of you at any second.

he would notice the subtle twitch in your movements, how your fingers would shudder every few seconds trying to get a better grip on reality, while the remainder of your body laid frozen in place, paralysed by the weight of your own dream, or was this still your nightmare? his hand remained stagnant on your cheek, every few seconds, taking the time to swipe his thumb across the flesh gently, in soothing circles. your eyes welled with tears, in obvious fear, unsure exactly who or why this strange man… or whatever he was, was looming over you so omnipresently, so…domineering.

“now i know you're afraid, little dove, but i can assure you i bring you no harm” he noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks

“no no…do not cry…”

you could see his pupils dilate behind the slits of his mask, how the shroud would fall over the top if it, shielding them from your gaze.

“relax little dove. the paralysis is only temporary”

his eyes darkened momentarily, keeping the outstretched hand stagnant on your cheek, his thumb adjusting itself only to wipe away stray tears, an inky streak leaving stains in the corners of your eyes from where his flesh made contact.

yet you could not relax. how could you? your mind was wide awake yet your body frozen in time, and to make it worse, this large domineering…thing… you could hardly call him a man despite his corporeal form being akin to one, practically levitated above you.

he noticed the ink smear across your cheek, a primal sensation grew in his belly, something about it felt so primative, so raw to him, a piece of him left behind on your mortal flesh. he was only supposed to provide comfort in your weakest hour. to comfort your mind when your body could not. yet…he wanted to provide more, relax where your fingers could not reach, soothe with words your tongue could not provide.

“little dove…forgive me…”

his body ever looming over yours, growing closer as he brought himself in. his lips painfully close to yours, tongue teasing your cupid’s bow with the words he spoke.

“but i must..i need to”

his lips fan over yours before meeting. your eyes widen with the sudden contact, flickering wildly, still trying to adjust the the sight of him under the dull moonlight, just the flicker of his mask, a milky pearl in colour, even more so up close, and the reds like garnets and specks of gold leaf reflect in your eyes.

his maw opened, revealing sharp canines that prodded at your bottom lip leaving indentations in their wake as they parted, tasting the cherry and cream of your lip balm with a shudder. despite the interaction, despite your lack of say or movement in the matter, you couldn't help but melt into the kiss, the stubble wafts of his breath fluttering against your skin as he pulled away, observing the swollen red petals with lustful adoration. how despite parting, your lips still connected by a thin lips of spit. he hummed at the sight, licking the inky blacked-out curve of his cupid’s bow, savouring the subtle cherry flavour on his tongue.

he shifted his weight. his thighs resting dangerously close to your cunt, nestled against your inner thigh. despite your warmth being shielded by your panties, you could still feel the coolness of his skin, touch featherlight, feeling like light snowflakes against your flesh. you let out a small whimper, it was the only thing you could do in your semi-stasis state. vessel’s ears pricked up at the sound, with a soft hum.

“hmm? you like that my little dove?”

his words like velvet in her ears, drawing out any semblance of rational thought you had left. he left you entranced, enraptured, entwined by the silk ropes of his tongue. he pressed his knee against your clothed cunt, swirling against it slightly. your cunt pooled with warmth, slick with arousal for the strange demon that resided above you.

“oh…so wet already…mmm, didn’t think you’d submit so easy, my sweet”

his voice rumbled deep within his throat, evident by the way his throat contorted with a goan. his cock growing hard behind the confines of his shrouds, the appendage pressing, throbbing against the thin fabric. your stomach swirled with desire in spite of your mind resisting, failing to miserably.

“need to feel your flesh on my tongue…” his fingers raked down from your cheek, a hand shaky in their movements. trailing cautiously down, featherlight touches only separated your skin from his by your shirt. he let the fabric mingle with his skin, savouring the sensation as his palm ghosted across the peak of your breast, feeling the supple mound, groping it, squeezing it, eventually revealing them from beneath the fabric.

“so divine…” he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to stifle a moan as your breasts became revealed before him. your nipples perked and stiffened as the winter chill graced them. behind the mask’s vessel’s eyes widened, he’d never witnessed a woman reverared with such beauty before. he felt the need to fall to his knees before, worship your body with his tongue, repent and relinquish himself solely to you.

“a goddess baring herself before me…”

vessel’s throat tightened with a gulp, his breath teased your nipple, tongue barely jutting out to hesitantly lick at the peak, the bud glistening with his spit under moonlight. he noticed the subtle eye roll on your behalf, noticing you could not do more than moan and whine. he smiled. a devilish one at that, one that boarded on the like between endearing and threatening, one that showed his canines on full display. he had you firmly under his tongue.

“my dear…i shall revel in your flesh…i shall show you no mercy”

he gave another lick to your nipple, wrapping his lips around the perky bud, sucking greedily like a fawn feasting at its mother’s teat. his tongue swirled around the bud, a hand wrapped around the mound of your breast, massaging the soft flesh, his cock hardening, standing fully mast in his shrouds, throbbing against your inner thighs.

“i shall not adhere to your cries…and you shall enjoy it”

his free hand was quick with its movements. shuffling past the barrier of your panties, a evident wet spot present. it did not surprise him, you’ve already proven submissive enough already. his inky digits part your folds, slick with your own wetness as he explores deeper.

“mmm” he hums, feeling the stretch of your cunt around his fingers.

“so wet… so warm…”

your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion, your cunt clenching instinctively to forcibly eject him out, although your attempts proved futile, it only aroused vessel further. in response, he sunk his fingers deeper, thumb drawing rough, rigid shaped against your sensitive clit.

“you dare reject me…? oh little dove…” his words mutter against your breast, the flat of his tongue rippled against your nipple with every syllable.

“your rejection only fuels my desire”

he bares his teeth, clamping down around your breast. enough to cause a substantial amount of pain, yet your body’s lack of response and overall paralysis only emphasises his statements. he pulls away with haste, removing his teeth, indentations litter with small specks of crimson in their wake, his teeth stained with that same iron-flavoured sweetness, he licked them clean, savouring the taste.

“you’re lucky, sweet thing, that i did not split your pristine skin more…” he was breathless from the sudden blood-rush.

“but oh gods i wish i did…you’re so…intoxicating…”

his teeth bared again with another sinister smile.

“but i shall hold my tongue…i have plenty of time to sample you again”

the lanky digits of his right hand hooked into your panties, shuffling them down your motionless legs with intense vigour, grool clinging to the fabric, cunt soaked in wait for him. vessel stifled a grunt, his lips parting as his tongue spread across his bottom one.

“gods…” his voice barely above a whisper, muttering subtle curses and praises simultaneously. how you tease and tempt him with your luscious thighs and dripping void, yet he’s so willing to accept the offer, inviting himself into your warmth, drowning in your wetness. he could die happy, your mortal flesh consumed by him.

“now i claim you, for you have presented yourself so willingly to me…”

vessel monologues, the sound of his voice drowned out by other senses. fear and panic overriding your being. he spoke so surely that you were willing to engage with him so frivolously, when in fact he was the one manoeuvring your figure, oddly gentle yet careless at the same time.

“oh and i will enjoy tainting your flesh, my love…” he began to free himself from the confines of his shrouds.

“every waking moment, every dream-filled night, you let your mind drift and you shall warm your loins to the thoughts of me”

his voice, a growl, animalistic and primal. his cock now freed, blackened by the same ink that stained the rest of his body, it prodded at the supple meat of your inner thigh, moving towards your folds, gathering your wetness on the tip of it. he shuddered, the sight almost too much for him, his cock twitching with primal desire. in an instant you felt so full. vessel made no attempt to ease himself inside. the stretch burned, your cunt not fully lubricated to take him with the force and speed he provided. you went to scream, however the paralysis reminded you that your throat had been forcibly shut, vocal chords shredded.

“fuck…” he growled, almost buckling under the weight of the pleasure, your tight cunt clenching around him, once again, trying to force him out.

“oh no… no you don’t little dove.” he panted, already beginning to thrust at a voracious pace. “you let me in now…you just lay there…and take every inch of me”

he bottomed out, his entire length sinking deep within you. his cockhead forcing itself through the meaty ring of your cunt, prodding harshly against your cervix with vicious movements resembling that of a dagger.

“you feel like sin, my love…” his tongue lopped out past his lips, licking hot stripes against your flesh, burying his head into your neck.

“so fucking perfect…so tight…” he gasped in pleasure… “i may not last long if you continue to clench around me like this…”

vessel’s moans ring around your bedroom, his robes now discarded by your bedside, the glow of the moonlight illuminated his obsidian skin, you could not take your eyes from him, not that you had a choice to look anywhere else, he practically eclipsed your figure, manoeuvring your limbs like a ventriloquist would his puppet. allowing you to bend and break, submit to him all at his free will.

“let me position you better…so you can feel me entirely”

he repositions your legs so that they rested atop his shoulders. he lowered himself, pressing his hips against yours so he could fuck you deeper. he had you folded in half, his meaty cock driving into you with full force.

“going to fill you…your womb shall home my spawn”

his grunts grow more feverish by the minute, you could feel the visceral throb of his cock increase.

“would you enjoy that? forced to birth my spawn? to be my subservient queen? to rule the underworld together?”

he paused, giving a rough thrust.

“oh i know you would, little dove. i could tell by the way those eyes bore into mine”

he gave another thrust.

“by the way that pretty cunt clenches around me…you want to be mine…”

vessel grows more feverish at the thought, to watch your womb round and swell, to have to be barefoot and pregnant roaming the halls of his hellish estate. you his queen, subservient to only him. he noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks, his gaze softened slightly, his lips curling downward into a small frown.

“no tears my love…shh…” he whispered against your cheeks. “i do not deserve to have those tears wasted on me…”

in what felt almost heartfelt on his behalf, when you thought the dominant facade was beginning to slip, instead of peppering your cheeks with sweet, reassuring kisses, his tongue lips out of his mouth once more, licking your tears in a final attempt to mock you.

his cock throbbed deeply in your cunt, no revelation that his release was upon him. he was not one to simply let his orgasm arrive unannounced. he increased his speed, the force of his thrusts was almost enough to shatter your pelvis…and you could feel him holding back from doing so.

“little dove…you’re going to take every drop and savour it…”

his grunts grew more animalistic as he progressed, the clench of his abdomen was indicative of his closeness, how it quivered as it slammed into you the close he got.

“mmm fuck…”

he gave a final thrust, your belly immediately swelled with his warmth, so much so that he was dripping from within you. he grew ravenous, blinded by lust and need.

“you’re mine…all mine!”

he pulled out of you, his cock still leaking with cum in the process. some of the feeling begins to return to your limbs as you hesitantly, weakly attempt to move. your toes and fingertips twitching slightly.

“no no…i’m not done with you yet, little dove” he pulled you back by the ankles, positioning himself between your thighs once more. his breath fanned against your clit, as his tongue made teasing movements towards it.

“need to taste myself in you…” he mewled. “need to make sure you don’t waste a single drop of my seed”

vessel’s lips wrap around your clit, the aching pearl overstimulated from the previous abuse of his fingers. he hummed into you, sucking greedily at the nub.

“you taste so good mixed with me, my love…” it wasn’t just lust in his eyes, but pure obsession, one that you would not hesitate to threaten him over. but as he lay face buried between your thighs, devouring you, you could not help but lay back and enjoy it, the wonders he provided, the spells of pleasure he cast with his tongue was nothing short of marvellous.

he let two fingers spread your dripping folds, pushing his seed back into your void in a greedy attempt to secure you all to himself. you heard a low chuckle rip through his throat, the rumble vibrating against your swollen clit.

“mmm…” his. breathing quickened as he felt your cunt begin to pulse around his lanky fingers ebbing closer to orgasm. his words came out in harsh, unintelligible whispers, coercing you to savour his seed. he’ll let you cum eventually, but not until he’s certain that he’s filled your womb. his slender fingers pumped into your void at a rapid pace, curling upwards as he forced his cum deeper into you.

“accept all of me, little dove…that’s it…”

his tongue drew shapes against your cunt, tasting himself. the sweetness of your skin mixed with the vile concoction of his seed did not deter him. if anything it made him more enamoured. he grew feverish, his cock hardening again. his lips clasped around your clit, teeth lightly grinding the sensitive nub between them. his large hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling you onto his tongue, letting the appendage sink deeper into your already full void. he moaned into you, devouring you with such violent intent.

“oh?” he mumbled into your cunt. “you enjoy this?”

his arousal spiked, his hips grinding languidly against the mattress, noticing the way your cunt clenched with desire around him, so desperate for your own release, you were chasing it, in hopes he would allow it.

“you enjoy the idea of being full of my seed?”

you could not help but mewl at the idea, despite your current predicament, the paralysis on your throat and voice wearing off slowly, allowing you to make small utterances of pleasure in response to his touches, now featherlight, slowly ebbing an orgasm from your walls. vessel smiles, pearly whites flashing in between the shadowy corporeal buds of his lips. feeling the movement of his mouth between your thighs.

your walls began to throb around his fingers, feeling them curl upward, allowing your arousal to spiral out of control. vessel marvels at the sight, the numbness in your thighs begins to subside with soft trembles, the familiar pulse of orgasm rising, feeling it tingle up your spine, feeling the breath catch in your lungs as you teetered on the edge of pleasure. his voice was soft yet his intention remained the same. he wanted to feel you unravel before him.

“your tainted flesh is mine to consume, mine to control…and i command you to release”

his fingers dug into your core with vicious pumps, controlling and commanding the instinctive clench of your cunt around them. your skin burned, like white hot flames of desire for the strange being, who’d effectively ruined your body for his own pleasure. the bite mark on your breast, the depressions of his teeth circled your nipple already beginning to swell and bruise in splotches. your orgasm hits you like a wave, building and building before finally crashing, your warmth cascading down your trembling thighs. vessel admired the sight, how your skin glistened with your sweetness under pale moonlight, how his taste buds danced with the taste of you. he lets out a guttural moan in response, his cock aching with release as he wastes his seed on your bedsheets, the appendage throbbing and swollen, a fiery red upon orgasm from grinding against the mattress.

he savoured your taste, enjoying how well you mingled with his. his head rested upon your inner thigh while he regained his breath, the intricate spirals of his mask poking the flesh. he sighed contently, placing chaste kisses to the skin, an odd sensation considering how relentless and unforgiving he was mere moments ago. you welcomed it, welcomed the feeling of his tongue swirling hot shapes into the skin.

you finally came to, your muscles still ache from paralysis, the weight of him heavy on your chest as he repositioned himself above you, his head now buried in the crook of your neck, peppering soft kisses to the tops of your shoulders. you felt oddly comfortable beneath him, listening to the shallow wisps of his breath, the dull throb of his hellish heart beating within his chest. his fingers draw shapes in the valley between your breasts, almost as if he was inscribing his name into your skin.

“i shall return tomorrow evening” his words separated by small pants of breath.

“i will not relent until you accept me, my love”

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#vessel #vessel sleep token #sleep token #vessel x reader #vessel smut #vessel imagine #sleep token smut #sleep token imagine #sleep token fanfic

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slytherinslut0 · 7 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

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

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

Tags: 18+, Jealousy, Angst, Possessive Behaviours, Syltherin!Boys, asshole!Berkshire, Kissing, Threats Of Violence, Weaponizing!TomRiddle, Dirty Talk.

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

As darkness shrouded the castle on the overly-anticipated Saturday evening, Tom guided you into the lively heart of the Slytherin common room, a space pulsating with carefree energy and laughter. Students adorned in their finest attire swirled around you, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices mingling in a chorus of revelry. The air crackled with the tang of burning embers, and the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow emanating from countless floating candles overhead.

Amidst the joyful chaos, Tom's friends sat at a secluded table, an oasis of calm amidst the storm. Their demeanor was poised, their laughter soft and controlled, setting them apart from the exuberant crowd. As you stepped closer, you felt like a solitary figure navigating the maze of social intricacies. Emily, who had promised to join you shortly, was notably absent, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

Tom's hand in yours provided some semblance of comfort, grounding you in the midst of the lively chaos as he introduced you to each one of his friends individually. Every introduction was a meticulously choreographed ritual, marked by the graceful dip of heads and the soft rustle of silk against polished leather. Their smiles, though polite, held a hint of calculated charm, concealing a labyrinth of secrets beneath their composed exteriors.

In this enclave of refinement, Tom's circle stood apart from the rest of the common room. The casual revelry of the other Slytherins felt distant, their laughter and chatter forming a separate backdrop to the sophisticated symphony of Tom's world. The room seemed to bend to the will of this select group, accentuating the stark contrast between their cultivated refinement and the more carefree atmosphere of the rest of the room. Here, every gesture and word was carefully curated, preserving an aura of exclusivity. You could tell this was not something they did very often, so when they did, it was absolutely noticed--the rest of the room seemingly more tame in response, a stark comparison to the last party you had ventured in on.

This group represented everything you had ever dreamed of being a part of, all the aspirations you had ever hoped to achieve. Yet, your focus--or rather, your entire fucking mind--was elsewhere.

And the very reason it was elsewhere was seated amidst a circle of his elite friends-- Nott, Berkshire, Black, Zabini, and Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson at his side--Mattheo's intense gaze bore into you from across the room. His dark eyes, like orbs of obsidian, were sharp and penetrating, dissecting the scene meticulously, and no matter what the fuck you tried to do, there was absolutely nothing that could distract you from the feeling of his gaze, burning flesh wounds into your skin with each passing second.

While his friends engaged in lively conversations, Mattheo's attention was solely fixated on you and Tom. His focus, both laser-sharp and predatory, traced every movement, every touch, every nuance of your interactions with his brother. The air around him crackled with an unspoken tension, his lips pressed into a thin line, a manifestation of the restrained emotions churning beneath his composed facade. It was as though he was dissecting the scene before him, his mind processing every detail with the precision of a master strategist, all while his dark eyes remained fixated on you, as though he was scared that he'd miss something if he looked away.

As the night bore on, you began to grow more comfortable amidst the sophisticated chatter--getting to know a few of Tom's friends fairly well, discussing ambitions and graduation plans without even being offered a single drink. You honestly thought things had been going well, almost far too fucking well--until Tom excused himself momentarily, his eyes meeting yours from the seat next to you as he prepared to make his exit.

"I need to handle something," he said, his voice low and confidential, his eyes flicking to his brother across the room, before returning to you. "I noticed Mattheo watching you...why don't you go say hi? I should only be a few moments, I'll join you when I'm finished."

"Oh, no-uh..." you hesitated, knowing that Berkshire was present, a fact you couldn't ignore. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom, me and-" you began, attempting to voice your concerns, but he cut you off with a soft, reassuring kiss.

His lips pressed against yours, brief yet meaningful, before he pushed up from the table, leaving you in the midst of the party, alone.

As Tom's figure disappeared from view, you caught another glimpse of Mattheo from across the room, his gaze intensified, his stormy eyes ablaze with a potent mix of irritation and complete fucking fury--something you've seen in his eyes a few times before, but never like this. He sat slumped in the chair, his form swallowed by the shadows, his tousled curly hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The dim light caught the sheen of frustration on his sharp features, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his mouth. His fingers tightened around his drink, the muscles in his hands flexing with the effort to suppress the simmering anger bubbling within him.

You knew him all too fucking well at this point to know that he was not bloody happy, and you weren't entirely confident that approaching him was at all the right move at this moment. Yet, you weren't sure what else you were supposed to do.

But before you could dwell any further, Blaise's eyes, a glimmering shade of obsidian, met yours from across the room. His lips curled into a playful smile, beckoning you over to his group with a subtle yet irresistible gesture. Despite your inner turmoil, the unavoidable feeling of dread pooling in your stomach, you excused yourself from the table and began to hesitantly make your way through the crowded room, every step feeling heavier as you approached the circle of Slytherin boys.

Mattheo's presence never relented, slouchily seated in the love seat, legs spread far too fucking wide, his intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes, like twin storm clouds, seemed to dissect every movement, scanning every inch of your body as you moved, as if he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, and you fought to maintain your semblance of composure.

As you drew closer, Berkshire, always the instigator, couldn't resist the opportunity to unleash his venomous tongue. "As if you're going to call her over here," he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Didn't know our circle was open to charity cases."

The rest of the Slytherin boys, visibly inebriated and riding the wave of arrogance, chimed in with smirks and condescending remarks, reveling in their camaraderie at your expense. It was a calculated display of power, a reminder that you were the outsider in this exclusive circle, a pawn in their powerful game.

Suppressing your frustration, you took a seat next to Blaise, your eyes darting briefly to Mattheo, who watched your every move with an intensity that sent your heart racing. The air crackled with tension, and you felt like a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves, each one waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Yet, amid the arrogance and hostility, Blaise's charm provided a temporary shield.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody amidst the discord. "They're always like this. Besides, you look stunning tonight, little raven. Don't let them get to you."

Despite Blaise's efforts to calm you down, to deescalate the situation as best as he could, Berkshire persisted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"I hear you're quite the favourite of the prodigy," he sneered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Must be thrilling, being the chosen one for a night."

Malfoy, ever the arrogant asshole, added his own twist. "Or maybe she's just a distraction," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "You know how Tom likes to keep himself occupied, especially when the stakes are high."

You parted your lips to say something, to defend yourself in any sort of way, when another voice cut through the air, cutting you off before you could even attempt to force out a syllable.

"Tom's little plaything, isn't that right?" Regulus’ words were laced with arrogance, his voice like a low growl. "Who would have guessed."

Blaise shot Regulus a warning glance, his eyes urging him to rein in his hostility, but the damage was done. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their words pressing down on you, threatening to crush your resolve, and you couldn't hold your tongue any further--if they wanted to play with fire, you were going to make sure you were the one holding the matches.

A derisive chuckle escaped your lips as you assessed the Slytherins before you. "Jealousy, gentlemen, is a rather unflattering shade on anyone," you remarked, your gaze settling on Berkshire. "I'd refrain from it if I were you, Berkshire, you're already hard enough to look at as it is."

Berkshire's lips curled into a sneer, his arrogance on full display. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a little spitfire, haven't we?" he retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone really needs to fix that attitude of yours...perhaps I'll let Tom know, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to fuck it out of y-"

Mattheo's eyes turned icy, his rough voice slicing through the air like a blade of frost. "Berkshire, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut before someone decides to shut it for you," he said, his tone frigid and devoid of any warmth. "Let's start the fucking game, yeah?"

Mattheo's attempt to restrain his anger only made his words sharper, emphasizing the dangerous edge lurking beneath his composed exterior--Blaise, seemingly sensing the danger rolling over the horizon, nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat as he scanned around the circle.

"Absolutely, let's get on with it," he chimed in, his tone more playful now. He turned his attention to Nott, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Nott, truth or dare?"

Nott, appearing unfazed by the tension that had just unfolded, raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Blaise.

"Dare," he replied confidently, his demeanor cool and collected.

Blaise's grin widened. "I dare you to snog the next person who enters this common room."

Nott chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the challenge. "Piece of cake," he said, leaning back casually, his eyes scanning the room for potential targets.

You caught yourself smiling at his causality, but when you noticed a familiar blonde haired girl walking in, her eyes scanning the room as though she was looking for someone, your heart stalled.

Blaise's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." You said, raising a hand to wave her over as her sight finally landed on you. "It is..."

Emily hurried over, her eyes widening in curiosity as she settled into the seat next to you, giving you a small greeting. The room seemed to hold its breath as Theodore stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," Theodore said, his voice smooth and confident. "Emily, was it? Lovely name. I've been dared to kiss the next person who enters the room, so I must inquire, do you have a boyfriend, and would you be amenable to participating in this little game?"

Emily blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Um, no boyfriend," she stammered, her gaze shifting nervously between Theodore and the expectant faces around her. "I guess...I mean, if it's just a game, sure, I guess that's fine."

The tension in the circle seemed to heighten as Theodore closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips. The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath as he leaned in, his hand finding her chin, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. The atmosphere crackled with a strange mixture of anticipation and awkwardness, your eyes meeting Mattheo's for a fleeting moment--one that felt as though it lasted forever, noticing his jaw tense and his eyes darken as he glimpsed your mouth, and then, as Theodore pulled away, a sly smirk played on his lips.

"There we go, a perfect dare fulfilled," he said as he reclaimed his seat, leaving Emily looking slightly dazed. "And that's how it's done, boys."

Theodore's triumphant tone hung in the air, echoing his satisfaction at successfully completing the dare. Emily, looking slightly embarrassed but surprisingly amused, exchanged a bewildered glance with you. It seemed like Theodore had a natural talent for both charm and mischief, a combination that made him rather unpredictable.

Blaise let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well played, Nott," he said, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and approval. "I think we could all take some fucking notes."

Theodore's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat back, looking unfazed despite the intensity of the situation.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" he asked, his voice dripping with calculated curiosity.

Malfoy, never one to back down from a challenge, arched an eyebrow. "Dare," he declared, his confidence unshaken.

"I dare you to serenade the group," Theodore proclaimed with an impish grin after a few moments of thought, his eyes flicking toward Pansy. "And Pansy here gets to pick the song."

You couldn't stifle the smile that crawled its way across your face as Malfoy's expressions dropped, Pansy sitting up straighter against the back of the couch as though she'd just been abruptly woken up from a slumber. As she pondered her thoughts for a moment, a sly smile crawled across her lips while she turned her attention to Malfoy.

"I heard this charming Muggle song recently. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' by Elvis Presley, do you know it?" When Malfoy groaned, reluctantly nodding, her grin widened. "Perfect. Sing it, Malfoy, let's see if you can capture the essence of a true romantic."

Malfoy, never one to shy away from a challenge, dropped the grumbling act and accepted the dare with a smirk. He stood up gracefully, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with an air of confidence. The room fell into a hushed silence, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a deep breath, Malfoy launched into the Muggle love ballad, his voice slightly off-key but filled with an unexpected sincerity. Each word spilled out in an earnest attempt, and despite the imperfections, there was a genuine effort in his performance. The room was soon filled with laughter as Malfoy's melodramatic rendition took an unintentionally humorous turn.

His eyes, though, couldn't escape the challenge in Pansy's choice of song. As he sang, they occasionally flicked toward her, acknowledging the audacious choice. The laughter and amusement echoed around the room, mingling with the bittersweet undercurrent of emotions that danced in the air.

Amidst the laughter, Mattheo remained as serious as ever, his eyes continually locking onto you. For a brief moment, your gaze met his, and in that exchange, a torrent of memories flooded your mind--past moments shared in secret, a connection that had once felt unbreakable. The juxtaposition of Malfoy's performance and Mattheo's unwavering stare stirred something deep within you, a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and an unspoken longing that lingered in the pit of your stomach, leaving you both captivated and unsettled.

As his show finally came to an end, Malfoy took a bow, the circle erupting into a laughter-filled applause. As he returned to his seat, Pansy wore a satisfied grin, clearly happy with her choice, and Theodore looked especially pleased, reveling in the success of his dare.

"Quite impressive, Malfoy," Theodore remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Your secret talents never cease to amaze us."

Malfoy simply shrugged, his usual arrogance back in place. "Naturally," he replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a subtle smile. "Now, who's next? How about you, Ravenclaw, truth or dare?"

You felt a sudden knot tighten in your stomach as Malfoy turned his attention toward you, his silver eyes sharp and calculating. The weight of the room seemed to press down on your shoulders as the spotlight shifted onto you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more precarious than the last. Truth might lead to questions about Tom or Mattheo, both topics you desperately wanted to avoid.

So, with a forced nonchalance that barely masked your anxiety, you replied, "Dare."

You hoped against hope that the dare he gave you wouldn't plunge you into deeper waters, although the mischievous glint in Malfoy's eyes suggested he had something particularly devious in mind--and of course, you most definitely were fucking right.

"I dare you to go into the broom closet with Berkshire for fifteen minutes."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at Malfoy's audacious dare, your voice laced with incredulity.

"Are you completely mental?" you scoffed, glancing at Berkshire, who seemed equally stunned. "There's no way I'm voluntarily locking myself in a broom closet with him for fifteen minutes. We will undoubtedly end up tearing each other's heads off."

Berkshire, never one to miss an opportunity to mock, chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not signing up for a murder-suicide pact tonight, thanks."

"What's the matter, Raven? Afraid of a little close quarters?" Malfoy, clearly enjoying your discomfort, taunted, "you two certainly have no problems running your mouths at each other in public. I think a little private meeting might be good for you."

You clenched your fists, trying to rein in your irritation. "I promise you, I'm not afraid...I'd just prefer not to be expelled a few months from graduation."

"Fine, fine...you're a bloody baby," Malfoy retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you're so picky, how about Mattheo instead. He's not scared of a little closet, are you, Riddle?"

Your eyes darted to Mattheo, his expression stoic, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. The room seemed to tighten around you, a sense of foreboding settling in your bones as Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his eyes glittering with concealed anger as he put down his cup and stood up. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken hostility. His voice was low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Fifteen minutes," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the broom closet. "Knock when it's up."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his determined stare. There was a whirlpool of something in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher--anger, frustration, or maybe something entirely different. As he gestured toward the closet, you felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

With a deep breath, you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. You walked toward the closet, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back. The door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the darkness enveloping you as it closed shut behind you with a soft click. Inside the closet, the air was close, your breaths mingling in the confined space as you stood facing each other with hardly enough room to turn around if you tried to.

The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the tension between you almost suffocating. It was a daring game, one neither of you had expected to play, and now you were trapped together, the world outside the closet slipping away into nothingness, the tense energy in the room vibrating through your bones as the silence grew to be unbearable, neither of you daring to speak.

Finally, Mattheo spoke, his voice rough like gravel underfoot, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. "You let him kiss you."

His words weren't a question, but weren't really a statement either--it was as though he was repeating something, reading something off a sheet of paper, trying to make sense of it, each syllable carrying a weight of disbelief, as if he was grappling with a reality he couldn't quite accept. Your pulse increased, your lungs stalling, his tone laced with something you couldn't quite place--accusation, curiosity, or maybe a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," your throat felt tight as you admitted your actions. "I did."

It was a confession, a truth you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to. The darkness seemed to amplify the weight of your words, and you could almost feel Mattheo's gaze piercing through the shadows, seeking answers. And even though you could hardly see Mattheo's face in the darkness of the closet, you could smell the hint of alcohol radiating off of him, not as strong as it usually was, but still enough to make your head spin. Mattheo's breath, warm and laced with the remnants of the party, washed over your face. His next question sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, echoing with frustration and confusion. "You said you don't-"

"I don't." You cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Not at fucking all."

The words spilled out, tinged with defiance, but beneath that was a current of vulnerability. You knew the truth of your feelings, but convincing Mattheo seemed like an insurmountable task in the darkness.

"Then why?" he pressed again, his tone more insistent, as though he needed you to unravel this mystery for him. "You're playing him...you're playing him like a fucking flute, yeah?"

His accusation hung in the air, a challenge, a plea for an explanation that made sense of the tangled web of emotions between you, and for some reason, all it did was further your anger.

"Does that bother you, Riddle?" you hissed, your voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. You shifted your weight, locking eyes with him, your gaze narrowed and intense. "Did you think you were the only one capable of playing games? Or maybe you think it’s only okay when you do it?"

The words carried a raw edge, a blend of defiance and accusation, challenging him to confront his own actions and hypocrisy. Mattheo's throat worked as he swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raven, you're playing with fire-" he began, his voice a low warning.

"Don't even go there," you cut him off, your words dripping with venom. "I am the shape you made me, Mattheo...filth teaches filth..."

Your voice trailed off, the darkness of the closet adding weight to your words. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of his parted lips and furrowed brows, a mix of frustration and barely-restrained anger etched on his features.

"And even still," you continued, your tone biting, "I could only dream to be as skilled at it as you are."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite place, as your words hung in the air like a heavy fog. The anger and dread that had gripped you moments ago seemed to dissipate, replaced by an almost palpable tension. His energy shifted, seeping out of the closet through the cracks in the door, leaving a lingering, painstaking atmosphere in its wake.

You stood there, anxiety coiling in your chest, completely unaware of how close the two of you were until this very moment. His presence loomed over you, a silent force that you couldn't escape, and yet, a part of you didn't want to. His chest rose and fell with each intense breath, the confined space amplifying the weight of his proximity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there were, you found yourself rooted to the spot, knowing that not even a fucking fire could force you to move.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either." He whispered.

You paused. “You-“

"You haven’t left my mind…not even once." His words hung in the air like a sinful confession, catching you completely off guard. “Do you know how fucking annoying that is, Raven? Having to act like you’re not haunting me at all seconds of the fucking day?”

Utter shock seized you, your body tensing involuntarily. You stared at his face, desperately searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.

“The mind works in funny ways,” he said. “Memory…memory taps a fucking gun to your skull and demands you bring back the dead…meanwhile, the dead is out kissing my fucking brother in front of me…”

His gaze bored into yours, raw and unguarded, leaving you utterly defenseless against the truth he laid bare.

“I know we called things off, I know I used you in the beginning, I know I was a fucking asshole to you, and I’m…I’m fucking sorry..." his body seemed to vibrate with restrained emotion, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he was waging a war within his mind. "There’s so many girls out there, Raven...so fucking many that I could distract myself with, but it would do nothing...it's your body, it's your fucking pussy on my mind..."

Each word hung between you, heavy and charged with unspoken longing, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. "Matt-"

Mattheo stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his chest almost brushing against yours but not quite daring to touch. The tension between you crackled in the air, your every nerve on edge. His eyes, dark and searching, drilled into yours, seeking answers to questions you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

"Were you thinking of me?" His voice was a low rumble, an undercurrent of intensity underscoring his words. "When you're with him...every time you close your eyes, who do you see?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembling at your sides. The room seemed to spin, the air growing thin as your lungs struggled to draw in oxygen.

"You." The word escaped your lips, a fragile admission that hung between you, heavy with the weight of truth. "Always, always you."

Mattheo exhaled, his breath rushing out like a dam breaking, as though he had been holding it in, afraid of your response. His lips parted, wetted by a tongue that seemed to have forgotten how to form words.

"That's right..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the racing of your hearts. "You know I'm your best-kept secret, Raven...why don't you show me like you know and believe it..."

His words lingered in the charged atmosphere, a challenge and a plea, leaving you suspended in the moment, torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could be.

Your voice wavered with a mix of concern and disbelief. "You're drunk, aren't you, Mattheo..."

"I'm not drunk." His reply was swift, like a crack of lightning. "I've barely had one fucking drink, I'm as sober as I've ever been...and even if I hadn't quit all that shit, there'd be no way I could drink tonight anyways."

Your breath hitched, your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. "Why?"

Mattheo emitted a low chuckle, but it lacked any warmth, carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down your spine. "Because, if I was drunk, I wouldn't have been able to control myself...I would have knocked my own brother out fifty fucking times over without even a second thought…not a fucking soul in that room would have been able to stop me..."

His words hung heavy in the air, an ominous promise that draped over you like a suffocating cloak, leaving you with a chilling realization that the tangled web of your past was far from unraveling.

"You fucking ruin me, Raven..." his voice was a low, guttural whisper, dark and haunting, sending a shudder through your limbs. "That stare...it makes me fucking want things..."

Your eyes widened, his words wrapping around you like a vice, constricting your thoughts.

"Things...like what?" you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible.

Mattheo ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, the veins in his hands standing out in stark relief, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were now clouded with a raw, primal desire, a longing that had been hidden for far too long.

"Things like my fist in your hair and my cock in that pretty fucking mouth..." he growled, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Things like bending you over in the middle of that party just to show every asshole out there who you belong to..."

Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning out of control, unable to comprehend anything except the burning desire that consumed you.

"Holy fuck..." the words escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. "Mattheo, I...."

Mattheo's eyes, darker than you'd ever seen them, searched yours desperately. "Can I touch you, Raven?" he pleaded, his voice a raw, heartfelt plea. "Please, let me fucking touch you."

In response, you barely managed to nod, your throat tight with anticipation. And then, his lips crashed onto yours with a fervor that made up for all the lost time, all the weeks of distance and silence. His kiss was passionate, demanding, a fiery reunion of lips and souls that ignited a wildfire between you two. His hands, warm and possessive, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, sealing the gap that had kept you apart for far too long.

In that moment, every wall you had built around your heart crumbled, the fragments falling away like ash in the wind. You surrendered to the storm that was Mattheo Riddle, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his kiss a tempest that swept you off your feet. He was your drug, your haunting addiction, an irresistible pull that defied reason and logic. No matter how far you tried to run, no matter the crazy measures you took to stay away, you always found yourself right back where you started--entangled in his arms, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of his presence.

Mattheo broke the kiss, his hands gripping you as if he feared you might vanish into thin air. His lips trailed down to your jawline, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. "I can taste your fucking pain, Raven...is that because of me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you admitted, your vulnerability laid bare before him. "Having experienced both, I'm not sure what hurts more...intense feeling, or the absence of it..."

"The absence...without a fucking doubt," he whispered, his touch on your skin sending electric sparks through your veins. His presence felt overwhelming, his breath warm against your neck in the dimness of the closet. "I know he's good for you...I know he's every fucking thing that you need...but I-"

"No." Your hands tightened around his neck, nails digging into his skin. "He could be fucking everything and more...he's just...he's not you."

Mattheo's teeth grazed your earlobe, a shiver running down your spine as your words spun in the silence between your bodies. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Better men could have you, Raven...I won’t deny that," he admitted, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. "But they'll have to get through me, now...I will leave such a fucking imprint on your soul that anyone you entertain after me will have to physically know me in order to fucking attempt to understand you..."

His declaration felt like a promise, an unspoken commitment that bound you to him in a way that transcended mere words. In that moment, you realized that you were not just giving in to desire; you were surrendering to something far more profound and all-encompassing. Mattheo wasn't just another flame to be extinguished; he was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and a desire that defied reason.

You pulled him closer, sealing the unspoken pact with a fervent kiss, letting the intensity of your emotions guide your actions. In that dim closet, amidst the whispers of Slytherin secrets and the echoes of your tangled past, you found solace in Mattheo's arms, embracing the chaos that came with wanting someone you shouldn't, knowing that in the end, the heart wants what it wants, regardless of the consequences.

The air in the closet felt charged with a potent blend of desire and desperation as you pulled away, gasping for air. The intensity of the moment coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. Your eyes locked onto Mattheo's, your voice raw and unsteady, yet laced with conviction.

"You might be bad…so fucking bad for me, Mattheo," you whispered, your words hanging in the small space between you, "but I fucking want you...there's no one else..."

“Fucking hell, Raven…” Mattheo let out a low, guttural groan, his hand slithering up to grip your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His stormy eyes bore into yours, his voice a gravelly murmur, carrying the weight of his emotions. “You’re my little devil, aren’t you?”

You smirked. “Yes…I am…”

"I'm in deep, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm and sweet. "Merlin knows we both feel it...you hold my fucking fate, so seal it…”

With those words, you closed the distance between you yet again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, his hands slithering down to grip your backside with enough force to make you groan into his mouth. And just as things began escalating, just as your hands were trailing their way down the front of his body, reaching for his belt, there was a knock at the door.

"Fifteens up."

————————

Find seventeen->

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mandowifey · 1 year

Text

Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, P in V sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, lots of priest play, biting, pining, dom!Paul, semi established relationship, cum play, mentions of cervix, mentions of bite wounds.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

It's a storm to end all storms.

That was what Beverly Keane proclaimed at yesterday's service. The woman had a penchant for dramatics and often spoke with puritanical judgment. Folks were accustomed to the devout woman's manic ramblings, which meant she was never taken literally. However, when the Coast Guard reached out to warn the town to evacuate not but four hours before the storm was due to impact, Bev Keane stood, smug and proud.

"I had warned you, all of you."

Towns folk rushed towards the docks with their families, arms full of the few precious belongings they had. Sturge was helping them up the ramp and into the ferry, trying to explain that there was no need to panic. Dark waves sloshed and rolled under the boats. People were gasping and crying out below the blackening sky. Hysteria at its finest.

"You lot wrought this upon yourselves," sighed Keane, who stood on the dock, hands linked together. "Those of us who remained loyal to our faith, who filled the church every day and lived our lives devout and holy have no reason to fear. The Lord recognizes his own and will shephard us unto his raft to guide us through the storm."

Over half the population fled Crockett that dreary afternoon. Those who remained boarded their windows and hunkered down to ride it out. While the last ferry departed, Bev Keane smiled and turned to head back up the trail. Confident in the hopes that God would sort things out in the end.

° ☆ ° ☆ °

Candles warmed the room around you, while flashes of lighting illuminated the windows and caught your eye. When thunder clapped and shook the wooden frame of the rectory, you would suck in a sharp gasp and tense, which drew a low chuckle from the man above you. Rain impacts noisily against the glass windows, causing a steady hum.

"Relax."

A hand closes under your jaw and tips your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. Lips press against your skin, making you rumble and start to smile. "You are so strange," the words leave your mouth in a breathless sigh. "How can you not be at least a little afraid?"

He chuckles again, and you feel teeth graze your flesh. "I have much more important things on my mind." There was a pull to his words that brought moisture between your legs. Heat consumed you, twisting through your limbs and fogging your thoughts.

"Looks like you do too." His palm cups your mound. Embarrassment overtakes you as you realize you had soaked through your underwear. "Messy little lamb." Lips slotting together, the man kisses you with intensity. He parts your mouth with his own and scoops his tongue between your teeth. You can feel the way his nose pushes to your cheek and taste the remnants of the tea he had earlier.

Words fail you as you cave below him. The bed moves under you as he shifts your bodies and lays himself between your legs. Another flash of lightning, another gasp, this time it's for him. He presses the aching bulge against your core and leans his weight into you. You feel so small with his body caging yours, and the contact makes you simper.

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

Paul's voice was lile velvet in your ears. Candlelight flickers in those obsidian eyes of his, and you watch his angular brows start to vex. Heat burned in your stomach, and you paw at the blankets beneath you.

"F-father, p-please."

A smile breaks the tension, and he drops his head down to gently kiss the middle of your forehead. He rumbles his praise against your skin, balancing himself on his knees and one hand while the other pulls your leg around his hip. You tilt and groan unabashedly as Paul starts to grind into you. The friction of his clothed cock pressing and sliding over your crease had your clit engoring with blood.

Head tilting back, your mouth hangs open as soft groans waft out. Paul was watching you, admiring every line in your face as he began bucking into you. Your body bounces, your cries coming out louder as he thrusts as though he were fucking you. The impact had you soaking more than before, leaking a spot on the blankets.

"U-uhn, hnn, p-please-" You felt frantic, desperately craving the Priest to bury inside and claim you as his. To carve through your insides and nestle himself in the furthest reaches of your cunt. The ache within your body called to him, your scent nearly driving the starving man mad.

"Patience is a virtue." Paul sat back against his legs before placing both large hands on your hips. Fingers gripped bruisingly tight as he hoisted you upwards against him, locking your pelvis to his so he could continue rutting. The man sighed, his eyes closing as he grunted and panted softly. Both of you mutually wind your bodies together in a frenetic desire.

Panting fills the empty space, and you're using the massive bulge between his legs to chase your release. Paul used you, too. His hands greedily squeezed and pulled you while his hips bucked to yours. "T-that's it." He gasps, his large thumbs pressing down into the front of your pelvis, causing a pleasant pressure inside of you that made you mewl.

Ravenous, the holy man watches as you fall apart. Chest heaving, skin flushed, and nipples showing through your tank top. "Look at you, little lamb," His voice purrs. "So beautiful, a spectacle to watch unfurl." Rolling his hips forward, Paul grinds his cock into your core and makes you whine. You are gradually rising now, the friction pushing you higher and higher. Smiling, he smoothed one large palm over your stomach as he moved it onto your breast. "Let me hear you." He pinches your pert nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to arch and cry.

"That's it, good girl."

Your face burns. Sweat builds in a thin layer on your skin as the sensation of bursting swells inside of you. Paul lifts off his legs to get a better angle and alternates slow grinds with firm, steady rocks of his hips. Each impact jostles your smaller frame, bouncing you under him and pushing cry after cry from your parted lips. "I-im g-gonna-" It was hurtling towards you full speed. You knew there was no use in trying to fight it. You could feel the burn of his eyes on your face, watching you as you fell apart.

"It's alright, my angel, let me see you."

Paul leaned over you, bucking himself against you just right. Your clit throbs, slick soaking through your panties and onto him as you gasp and jerk. Fireworks spark in your belly as the rush hits you. Your cunt clenches sporadically, your body shaking as you cum. Reaching your hands up, you curl your fingers into his arms, thighs shaking as he continues to grind against you. Paul coos, mesmerized by your face. When you rest back and relax, he leans and opens his pants to spring himself out.

With your head still spinning, you hardly notice him fist his cock. Eyes transfixed on your soaked underwear, the Monsignor inches closer and strokes himself against you. "S-such a messy lamb," his voice shudders with pleasure as his palm slicks across his length. "S-so beautiful." He sounds like he may cry, his dark eyes heavy with lids and lips parted. You look up at him, feeling your heart race at the sight. "P-please father, I need you to cum." Paul jerks, startled by your words and breath stopping in his throat.

That undid him. He bucked against his fist while you pulled your panties to the side. Whimpering and looking down, he groans as he cums. Hot, thick ropes spraying across your folds and fingers. You feel the heat as he drips inside your crease. "O-oh." He bucks one last time, a final spurt landing on your clit and dribbling downwards. Paul looks disheveled, breathless, as he settles down from his own high.

You were ready to speak when he dropped over you, impacting your lips with his own. Paul slips his large hand between your legs, using his nimble fingers to collect his cum and push it into you. You gasp, groaning into his starving mouth as he sinks inside your cunt to the knuckle. "Mh, p-paul-" He kisses your words and swallows them whole, adding a second digit which causes you to shriek into him. He pumps them inside of you, trying as hard as he can to reach your end with his seed.

Mouths and tongues lashing together, Paul slows his fingers right as you begin to buck against him. "So needy tonight," remarked the holy man as he licked over your kiss swollen lips. "I suppose you have been good enough to earn a little more. What do you say, my lamb?" His fingers curled inside of you, applying pressure to your gspot and bladder. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and your back lifts off the blankets. "Y-yes, p-please father Hill." You gasp, struggling to bring your eyes to his. The man flashes his teeth, and his eyes crinkle along the edges. His digits squelch inside of you as he begins to pump them faster.

"Since you asked so nicely." Paul nods, drawing his fingers out while you whine.

The loss of him makes your cuntache. Feeling no need to rush, Paul takes his time removing your sodden underwear and his pants. Carefully, he lays beside you and shifts you on your side, facing away from him. As he closes the distance between your bodies, you feel the cold press of his skin behind you. Paul lifts your leg and kisses behind your ear. "Keep this up for me, please." The delicate tone in his voice makes you throb, and you obey.

You feel the familiar prod of his cock and angle your hips back to make it easier for him. Paul guides his tip to your sopping opening and grunts with you as he presses inside. With a sudden snap of his hips, he submerges inside your heat and bottoms out. The stretch is immense, and you can already feel the tip nudging at your end. "G-god!" Your lip quivers and leg shakes, the muscle burning now.

As if he knew, Paul curls his frigid hand under your knee and holds your leg. Lips kiss at your shoulder as he starts liesurely rocking inside of you. The drag burning your cunt and making you whine. Eagerly, you shove yourself back against him, nearly sobbing each time he pushes fully inside and reaches your furthest depths. You're keening, whining, noisily falling apart for him as he rocks. Paul smiles against your skin, peppering you in soft kisses as he takes his time.

Thunder rattles the wooden frame of the rectory, but you hardly notice. Paul drives himself inside you faster now, spearing every inch of his aching cock deep inside your heat. More sparks are flying now, he's brushing everything right within you. You can hear him grunting and gasping behind you, his breath fanning your skin as he bucks his hips. His fingers dig into your skin as he plaps noisily against your ass. Paul grunts, his movements stuttering and becoming uneven.

It spurs something in you, and you fuck yourself back against him. "P-please, please!" You cry as he desperately stuffs himself inside you. Paul bites your shoulder, muffling his groan as he sinks to the hilt. You flutter around him, your abrupt orgasm taking you by surprise as you clench on his throbbing cock. Groaning louder, he bruises your skin as he empties directly against your cervix, the hot flood of his cum making you whimper and grind into him.

As he calms, he lowers your leg and pulls you into him further by wrapping his arms around you. Paul enjoys the rapid patter of your heartbeat, and he licks over the bitemark he left. You were melting, sinking back into him and closing your eyes as you smiled. "Thanks," you giggle, feeling him pause in licking you. "For distracting me from the storm. I think it helped quite a lot." His chest rattles with a soft chuckle. The two of you remained embraced while it continued to pour outside, safe and warm together from the storm.

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catopoliscat · 2 months

Text

absence / suguru geto/fem!reader

suguru's been working away for a few days. time apart always made your boyfriend a little insatiable. sometimes he couldn't even wait for you to wake up before he had a taste.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. (consensual) somnophilia. established relationship. canon!verse but slight au!suguru (not a cult leader/normal sorcerer). cunnilingus. fingering. one pet name, ‘my sweet thing’. spitting. suguru knows how to EAT. he’s also very, very into it if you catch my drift. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 1.9k.

a/n: is this a drabble? how small is a fucking drabble idk - but a lil smth small while i work on a lil smth fatter ehe

mdni.

It’s the throbbing between your legs that eventually wakes you up.

Your head is thick, still dusted and clouded with the heavy remnants of your disturbed dreams. There’s a cool breeze against your skin, and you vaguely become aware of the lack of covers on top of you… and yet your skin feels hot, prickly. You palm at the sheets, go to roll from your back onto your side but a firm grip against your thighs keeps you planted. The feeling of restriction rouses you more, your eyelids fluttering, squinting against the darkness of your bedroom—

—and the long, hot slide of something wet against your clit has you snapping awake.

Your eyes blink open as a breathless sound leaves your lips. Your hips buck up involuntarily against the unknown source of pleasure, a hot flush blooming across your skin. You go to rise up on your elbows, only to fall back again a breath later as you feel a strong suction against your swollen bud.

A soft moan falls out of you, the sound snapping through the silence of your bedroom, filtering with the lewd wet sound coming from between your thighs.

Looking down, you’re greeted by the mess of ink-black hair spilling over your lower stomach, untied and untamed, tickling your skin with every movement. You can make out a single ear and black gauge amidst the dishevelled locks, the soft moonlight catching on its obsidian surface.

Even if you couldn’t see, you could tell it was Suguru by the sounds of his deep groans alone.

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you gasp as those tight lips clench harder around your clit. “Couldn’t… ah, couldn’t wait until the damn morning?”

Something like a grunt and a moan is all you get in reply. Your hips go to roll again, but an arm is winding around your thigh—and a large hand presses down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Those sinful lips pop off of your clit with a wet smack.

“Missed you,” you hear Suguru murmur, the words muffled against your hot flesh before he gives one long lick from your entrance upward. He moans as if the taste is all he needs to sustain him. “Missed this.”

You bite your bottom lip, teeth dragging against the skin as your arm snakes down your body. Your fingers wind into those untamed locks, gripping the strands tightly at the root–and a rumbling moan vibrates against your hot, sensitive flesh in response. Suguru was always weak for having his hair pulled.

You rise up on one elbow. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your grip almost severe, but Suguru only groans again, his wet tongue sliding against your pussy messily. His head tilts up a little, two dark eyes looking up at you from underneath his lashes and the hair spilling across some of his face. Your own arousal glints against his lips and tongue, even his nose. A light flush blooms across his cheeks. He looks almost drunk.

He pushes against your grip easily, face diving back down an inch between your thighs. His tongue circles the slick rim of your entrance once again before sliding inside, a wet slurping sound filling the air—drinking from you like a man parched. A sharp nose bumps against your clit and you clench around his tongue tightly.

“A-ah,” you roll your hips toward his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deeper, and Suguru makes no move to stop you this time. Instead, his large palm slides up across your stomach, dipping under your shirt to grab greedily at your breast. “You’ve r-really missed me, huh?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes out between thrusts of his tongue, voice muffled by your slick heat. Suguru wasn’t one for cursing often, but when he did, it never failed to make you clench, that coil in your gut winding a little tighter. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

Suguru pulls back his tongue, purses his lips, and a trickle of spit falls against your pussy, wetting you further. He smears it with his tongue, his grip on your breast tightening. His ministrations are sloppy, a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal coating his lower face, strands of his untied hair, your thighs and ass.

“So fucking messy,” he groans, pinching at your nipple harshly almost as if you were to blame for all this.

Suguru was typically methodical and precise when it came to your pleasure… that was until distance separated you. Then he became like this–wanting, hungry, filthy. Almost insatiable.

Typically, however, he had the patience and restraint to wait until morning. It seems tonight he had been in a rush—not even bothering to remove take off his own clothes or even your underwear fully, instead tugging them hastily to the side. They were damp too, you could feel it, and you wondered how long he had busied himself licking against the fabric until his impatience had pushed him forward.

Your moans rise in both pitch and volume as he busies his tongue against your clit again, stimulating it in sure, quick circles with the tip. He lets the drool fall freely from his mouth until you feel it drip down between your cheeks to soak the bedsheets below you. You continue to tug and pull at his scalp, your hips twitching and your breathing growing increasingly ragged.

Suguru can tell you’re growing close—he knows your body well enough by now to recognise the signs. Laboured breathing, moans turning to pitchy gasps, the grip on his hair that’s almost painful. He doesn’t waste any time in sliding two thick fingers inside you, the passage barely felt with how slick you are. The pads of his digits pressing against the soft part inside your walls that has your hips nearly flying off the bed; not thrusting, simply curling. Insistently.

A guttural sound leaves Suguru’s lips in response, something like a growl.

“Fuck!” You gasp, the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers massaging your spot sending you dizzy. Your lips are dry, parched, as you pant into the cool air. “I’m gonna’ fucking cum-“

Suguru’s fingers rub more firmly against your spot and that coil in your gut is winding so tight you fear you’ll ache in the morning. You know you’re going to crash. Hard.

“Come on, come on,” Suguru is chanting against your pussy in breathless gasps. “Give it to me, my sweet thing, goddamn, give it—“

You glance down between eyelids that seem determined to clamp shut. You see Suguru’s face buried against you, hear the wet squelch of his fingers massaging you from the inside and you’re so close, so fucking close—

Then you see the movements of Suguru’s hips; small twitches and slow grinds as he ruts his clothed cock against the mattress—the thought that he’s as aroused by this as you are, as he always is when he brings you pleasure like this—sends you careening over the edge.

Your back bows, a harsh cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. Eyes scrunched tight, you’re throbbing, crying out his name you think, but it’s hard to tell. Suguru’s groaning against you, whispered curses and praises falling from his lips like a symphony.

The pleasure is blinding, seemingly infinite—Suguru’s tongue and fingers working you even now, pushing you further and further until you can’t take it anymore. When it gets too much, even for you, you tug his lips away from your oversensitive core by his hair. He removes his fingers of his own accord, a slick sound accompanying the movement.

Your eyes are hazy, clouded, as you look at him, your breaths coming shallow and stilted. His face is soaked with you, his shining lips still parted, his tongue darting out to collect every drop as he stares back. The flush across his cheeks has darkened, and his breathing is shallow, too shallow—you recognise that look, it’s when—

A breathless laugh falls past Suguru’s lips. He seems sated, yet drained. With a breath, he pulls his hand from your shirt and rises up onto his knees, his movements languid and sluggish. As he sits back on his haunches, his knees slightly spread, you get a clear view of the swell in his pants—and the large dark spot blooming around it.

He had cum. Without touching himself.

Suguru’s lips tug to one side as he looks down at you spread out before him. He doesn’t seem sheepish or embarrassed, only vaguely surprised, yet satisfied. His hair is a mess, strands clinging to his damp face and neck. His hand drifts down to his clothed, softening cock, giving it a small squeeze. It twitches in his grasp, and a small ‘hah’ leaves his mouth as his hips twitch.

“Fuck,” he exhales as his eyelids flutter shut. “You made me cum.” He opens his eyes after a moment, letting his hand fall back to his thigh with a small sigh. “Couldn’t hold back. Not when you sounded like that.”

You chuckle weakly as your heart calms down in your chest, feeling exhausted in the best possible way. “Not like you to lose control,” you murmur, a lazy smile on your face.

“No?” He slowly crawls over you, two forearms bracing near your head, his hair tickling your collarbones. He dips down to press his lips against yours in a wet, unhurried kiss. You sigh as you taste yourself on his tongue, the taste of both him and you making you melt against the mattress beneath you. He pulls back after a moment too short, settling his weight down against you, but even in his tired state he’s careful not to press fully. “I think you seem to be the best at making me lose my sense.”

A nose brushes against yours, his eyelids fluttering shut in contentment. The weight against you grows a little heavier, and you imagine he must be beyond exhausted.

But still, you’re both covered in fluid, sweat and spit. It’s a little gross.

“We should shower,” you murmur, and Suguru hums in agreement. He makes no effort to move just yet, though. “And probably change the sheets.”

Suguru exhales through his nose sharply in amusement, his eyes blinking open to look at you through a hooded gaze. “Who said we were done?”

You raise an eyebrow and glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.

“Sugur-“

His hips roll against yours, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your tender heat. You jolt a little, a small gasp leaving your lips in response to the stimulation—and the fact that Suguru is still very much hard underneath his trousers.

You look up at him with a huff of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You need to rest—”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he cuts in, the words deep in tone as his lazy gaze bores into yours from above. There’s an undercurrent of need in his voice, something damningly close to desperation. “Badly.” His hips roll again, more firmly this time. Despite your reservations, you moan at the hard pressure of his cock against you–and the fact that Suguru, composed Suguru, always seemed to be insatiable. Only for you.

His smiles, something frayed at the edges as his grinding becomes more insistent, fervent. “Did you miss me too? Hah, fuck, go on. Tell me.”

And you do.

You tell him how much you missed him many, many times that night—until warm sunlight filters into the room and you both fall asleep tangled together–amidst the very soiled sheets.

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk x you #geto x you #suguru geto smut #jjk smut #suguru x y/n #geto x y/n #geto smut

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Text

NOBODY'S SON, NOBODY'S DAUGHTER (VI)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.0k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, creepy men, talks of death, weapons, toxic modeling standards, food issues, dead animals, talks about gore, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scars and mentions of intense medical procedures, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you.

Nikto stands in the bathroom connected to the library—at the very end of that train car-like set-up of your loft rooms. His fingers move to the straps of his Kevlar, peeling them off as the loud tearing sounds echo in his ears.

He can hear you stumbling about in your room, too. Getting ready for bed. Blinking, Nikto grunts as he thinks over your comment from when you first showed him around. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his head since you’d said it.

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you.

The man’s vest is taken off, hitting the floor in a heap. Next follows the clips of his thigh holster, and the belt buckle in the loops of his pants. Each joins the pile with a slap of material.

“Brain damage,” Nikto grunts.

It wasn’t something he should be worrying about—in fact, it was at the very bottom of the long list of things that even mattered. First was your safety, then the identity of this pathetic individual who was infatuated with you. But it stuck with him nonetheless.

He’d never had to look after someone with this affliction before. The stumbling; the shakiness. But he’d gone through worse. Yet, at the same time, it was far larger than just his assignment. In his own way, Nikto was…appreciative that you seemed to at least listen to him most of the time. And you were easy to talk to.

There was a sort of kinship there, as well. In broken things. Maybe that was why he felt himself growing to you.

Striped down to nothing but his mask, the Russian glimpses himself in the mirror and stills. He was always struck by it.

How something could be so brutally ugly.

Scars ran so tightly over his skin that it was indented like a fissure in the earth. Pieces boldly sliced away and chunks missing. The muscled bulge of his stomach was cut up—thighs with such horrors as cigarette burns and the remnants of tattoos that were carved away like hog’s flesh. That’s what he was, Nikto knew. A hog tied to the ceiling and ready to be butchered.

He looked at himself now like he was through the lens of a movie, like the ones he would watch as a child—it was far away from him, the edges blurred as his reflection shifted; another being entirely.

A hand comes up—his hand—and it presses into the material of his mask, large fingers shifting over black coloring as the pale blue of his eyes stares back. None of it felt real. Nikto’s head tilts, but he does not feel the bones in his neck move, only the acknowledgment that they had to have.

The dark ink of the tattoo over his back peaks itself into existence, the starting of obsidian over his shoulders. Nikto shifts his top half as if seeing it for the first time, unblinking eyes taking in the visage of a snarling bear locking gazes with him. At the side of his left shoulder, the sigil of his old unit burnt his skin.

“New,” he utters, voice tiny and hoarse. “Gotten after.”

He already knew that…why was he repeating it like he had forgotten sitting in that tattoo shop’s chair? Nikto’s eyes clenched shut, hand coming back up to his masked head and pressing over it.

He was not beautiful, and no one would ever call him such. He didn’t want them to because it would always be a lie.

With a low growl, his fingers grip his mask and rip it off of his head.

The thing slaps against the marble of the counter, hitting with a hard clack of the coated synthetic fiber, sliding over the top until it hits the toothbrush cup and causes it to fall on its side.

Nikto can only stare at the person in the reflection as the sounds swirl in his ears—a world away.

There’s so little of him left that he recognizes that it scares him.

Grinding his jaw, Nikto’s pale eyes slip down the length of the damage. His dark hair is cut close to his head, strong bones in his nose and brow above the deep sockets of his eyes—the glare of black and blue bags gives way to his lack of sleep. The wideness of his cheeks leads to a sharp chin; a square face overall.

But the marks.

The hyperpigmentation.

Half of a Glasgow Smile peels the flesh back like a tear in paper, and a line is sliced staring at his right ear and curving in a half-circle down to his jaw. Into his hairline, three ragged cuts that had been very badly cauterized to stop him from bleeding out, the hair never able to grow back properly. His neck is the same—a red scar the size of his forearm wrapping from behind and crossing it, little slivers breaking out like a tributary.

He still wasn’t sure how he survived that one, but then again he hadn’t in the long run.

Nikto’s heart had stopped after all.

There’s a knocking at the door, and the man flinches violently—head twitching to the side.

“Nikto?” Your voice is muffled by the wooden barrier, and the Russian’s breath is ragged before he blinks away the distance in his expression. “...Are you alright in there?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting over the plush purple rug you had on the floor as his fingers twitch with tight nerves. But your voice distracts him, fractured brain slowly coming back into focus.

“We are fine,” his voice is harder than he intends. More snappy.

Nikto’s eyes find your shadow under the bottom of the door, your feet moving and re-setting as they usually do. He sees you pause.

“Alright,” your voice calls. “If you need anything, just ask me.”

He watches you stand there for a few seconds longer before your shadow moves back and disappears. Torn ears twitch to your receding weight, eyes beady like a feral dog’s.

Nikto’s bare body is frozen until he finds himself moving to turn on the water to the hottest setting, stepping into the stream with a hiss and a snap of teeth at the burn. He only turns it hotter. Thinking. Wondering.

Brain damage.

—

“I can never see color,” you say into the air bluntly, watching the man tie his shoes. He freezes. “Just thought you should know.”

Your eyes see Nikto blink, a silent moment passing between you two before he looks up slowly, brows pulled in and lids crinkled.

“...Что?”

Something swirls in his vision, a deep intrigue and another that’s harder to name. Hidden. Kept under lock.

“I can never see color,” your voice reiterates, trying to put on a show that the only reason you were saying this was because you wanted to—a sign of trust.

In reality, it was a stepping point.

A small test even if you felt your face heating—growing hotter by the second. “Same accident that caused my brain damage.” You smile softly, motioning a hand to your head. “Even if I find my soulmate, I won’t be able to tell. Weird, huh?”

It was two hours after your phone call with Yaromir and Galina, and there wasn’t much to dwell on from the two. You’d talked about DNA, Sergi, and why no one was taking your claims seriously.

All they chose to tell you was that they needed more to build a case off of. Galina was still trying to get DNA samples, and without that or a large break that gave you any idea about who could do this, you were in the dark. All they had was a partial fingerprint on one of the plastic bags.

Excuses were all you got by the very frustrating end, and your hope had dwindled on every pause over the line, your phone on the coffee table and Nikto watching silently as he placed breakfast in front of you with a firm hand. He’d been quiet today, even more so than usual. You’d even given him more tea last night, though the cup was once more washed and set back by morning.

And he was stiff too. Tense.

Today, you made a firm decision to go back to AMA—not because of your shift. You had no intention of staying in that building even if you knew you should; this was a quick visit. You needed to discuss a large gap in your schedule with the CEO, one that had only shown up in the small hours of this morning.

You really hoped the explanation wasn’t because you were being fried.

Nikto is still, watching every beat of your pulse and how your fingers play with themselves in front of you. His chest is frozen, eyes unblinking as the paleness of them is similar to a knife’s edge. In your internal fight, you hadn't noticed how long he’d just been watching you…dead to the world of the living. His gaze was so intense once you did realize, that you cleared your throat softly as an awkward uncomfortableness built on your expression.

Perhaps today wasn't the best time to test your theory.

The man’s fingers twitch, he stands up to his full height, and then moves into the elevator without a single sound.

Your heart gets stuck in your throat, blinking as you make a confused noise.

“Nikto?” You turn after him. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Calling, your feet shift over the rug of your entrance, seeing the void of white as he stands with his hands behind his back and his covered face diligently forward. No words. “I thought we were past the whole lack of speaking thing?”

A chill moves up your spine slowly, and it’s enough to hide away the reason you’d mentioned your affliction in the first place. He was…so stiff again. Enough so that you partially wondered how this person could be the same that had cooked you dinner last night and barked his feral laugh into the chilled air.

What had changed in one night?

Nikto’s eyes were more of a void than the blackness of his Kevlar.

Apprehensiveness growing, you move and grasp at your jacket with a twist to your lips, slipping it on softly. No sentences being spoken, you shift into the elevator and stay to the far left of him, taking out your keys from your purse and slipping them into the metal.

With a jolt, the thing begins moving slowly.

“Y’know,” you awkwardly laugh. “It would be nice if you responded. I just told you something important to me. I mean,” your anxiety makes you backtrack with a very fake laugh, eyes glancing to the side. He hadn’t moved; was just staring at the space ahead of him. “It’s obviously none of your business,” you wave a small hand, being sly in your word choice. “But I want to be transparent with you about everything going on, especially with how I don’t know if you see color or not. It’s a disadvantage on my part and I—”

“I see color.” Is the monotone, dead response.

I know that.

“Oh. Good,” you try to smile shakily, hand jerking as it hangs at your side with a low simmer of a pounding pulse. A shimmer of excitement runs through your spine. “That’s good, Nikto, I’m glad that you do. So, if you don’t mind me asking, who’s your s—”

A low growl. “I do not want to.”

Tension overtakes the small area and your wide eyes stare unabashedly in shock. All eagerness utterly ceases to exist.

“Excuse me?” You push out your utter confusion, shoulders moving higher.

Surely he didn’t mean he doesn’t want the gift of seeing color.

No one would ever say something like that. Ever. Even those who’ve gone through Soulmate Psychosis have never stated they didn't want to see the shades and hues of the leaves—the sky or the earth. How the clouds looked when the sun was getting low. Purples and blues, colors you’d only ever be able to try and understand knowing that it would be impossible.

And what did this mean for you? You’d been banking off a confession, but this wasn’t the kind you’d expected.

“It is useless to me,” Nikto avoids your gaze. “Неуместный.”

“I have to disagree,” you stutter, slightly shifting your body to tilt his way. The crafted plan in your head is thrown to the wind. “Nikto, we’re talking about color here. Soulmates. The…the person you’re supposed to be destined to be with—how can you say that? Don’t you remember how the world looked when it was all black and white?”

A low snarl echoes, pale eyes jerking your way as a head snaps.

“Достаточно!” You suck in a fast breath as the elevator dings, both of you arriving at the ground floor, doors rolling back to the open lobby. “We do not need you speaking to us on such things.” Nikto moves forward, your nose almost bumping into his chestpiece as the scent of rotten wood infects you. Your body takes down a swift breath, head snapping up to watch. “You know nothing!” His face is right above yours, looming, nearly bending your spine over. “Spoiled girl with pretty face—thinks she knows what she wants, yes?” The Russian scoffs, speaking low as your hands clench at the assumption. “Keep this to yourself.”

He turns and stalks away with a hostile grunt, leaving you blankly staring at where his face used to be, the image of his Kevlar mask burning in the back of your mind. A knife of hurt gradually takes place between your ribs, breeding until your lungs are ruthless in its clutch.

This wasn’t what you had expected.

Nikto glares at Isaak, who had watched with wide eyes and a loose jaw, and not moments later, the doorman quickly averts his gaze to stare at nothing on his desk. The Russian’s pulse is roaring inside of his breast, mind troubled.

Brain damage. Can’t see color.

Halfway to the parked car, Nikto’s mind returns to him and he slams his fast feet to a stop. Blinking, as if something in him had changed at that moment, a second of confusion leaked into his hidden expression as he said nothing. Waiting.

At the small, hesitant movement of shaky feet coming closer, his shoulders slowly tense.

You come up behind Nikto and shift past, taking the car door in your hand and opening it. Moving inside, you close the barrier to the chilled outside morning with a definitive slam. Darkness, for a moment, enshrouds you.

Face unyielding and pulled with guilt, you get a small queasiness in your stomach as the seconds pass in the vehicle.

Maybe you’d been too forward, but Nikto’s response had been…well, explosive. And his comments about color? Who in their right mind would say that?

“That makes no sense,” you whisper, hand coming up and rubbing at the scar on the back of your head. The one you dreamed would disappear in the small hours of the night as a teenager, remembering the beep of hospital machines and the plastic taste of the tube shoved down your throat.

Doesn’t want to see color? Your mouth sucks down a shaky breath. I’d trade anything for only three seconds.

The world outside of the windows is gray as Nikto pops the driver's side door open, bending low with a grunt before sitting into the seat. He doesn’t apologize as he shoves the keys into the ignition—starting the engine. The car rumbles to life.

Maybe you’d been too forward.

“You think?” You whisper to yourself under your breath, tearing your eyes away from the Russian man, grabbing and clicking in your seatbelt.

Socially, you had grace—were used to carrying it to those horrible parties and events. But talking about more personal matters was another thing entirely from work-life. From designer clothes and when they came out, shoes, and makeup. Sex and alcohol. Everyone at AMA speaks with vanity, and you were included. You knew you were beautiful, you’d been told and retold with every pluck from your eyebrows and spread of lipstick over your mouth; ruthless petting like a cat or a doll—there was never any doubt about that.

You could speak beauty, but you can’t speak about real love. Call you hopeless, but that was really all you ever wanted.

Love. Romance. Care and concern. It was addictive to you in every sense—and you just kept coming back for a hit of what you couldn’t have. You’d warned yourself after Yefim, but it hadn’t even taken a month before you had found another man to fixate on; the body of the previous stuck still in your nightmares.

But there was that sliver of something in your gut every time you stared at Nikto; something that didn’t add up. You weren’t deterred—weren’t put off. There was something deeper there that you just had to get to the bottom of first.

There had to be something he wasn’t telling you about why he can see color.

“If I upset you,” you ease out, tongue like lead and your eyes stuck outside the moving vehicle. Your hands tighten over your seatbelt in small intervals, for a moment mute of what to say. “I’m sorry, Nikto. I was just curious, I won’t pry into your personal matters again; you have my word. Just like talking about your mask.”

“Good,” Nikto’s hands flex over the wheel. It’s all he says, and even then it’s curt.

Small-like, you mutter, “Also…thanks for breakfast.”

It had been a small and incredibly healthy—buckwheat porridge. You’d eaten the entire thing with fruit on top and never even glanced at the yogurt in your fridge. The man’s eyes had been sneaking glances the entire time you had brought the spoon back to your mouth, but you weren’t sure if it was to make sure you were liking it, or if you were eating in general.

It was his job to hover, though.

Nikto doesn’t respond to your thanks, but his shoulders slightly loosen a bit, eyes blinking from the view of the mirror.

With a sigh, you keep your mouth shut and sit in silence for the rest of the ride, pulling at loose threads from your jacket pocket. Your fingers tap something firm from the inside, and you pause, blinking down at the dark fabric.

Your brows furrow, but whatever’s inside will have to wait, because Nikto pulls up to the sidewalk and parks the car with a huff. Like before, he opens your door when he’s outside.

“Your investigators will come for any package,” he explains as you shuffle and stand, fixing the collar of your coat and glancing his way. It’s like he hadn’t just snapped at you minutes ago—that numb sheet was over his head once more. “You will not take them.”

There seems to be a moment where he waits for confirmation, raising a brow into the cold air that you can only partially see.

You clear your throat and look away down the street.

“Sure,” you say.

…Had he really called me spoiled?

Nikto glares at you, jaw clenching under his mask. He looks you up and down quickly without moving his head, skin tight and scars pulling. Your words in the elevator had… aggravated him, even if he can’t pinpoint why.

You were messing with his head—and that is an already very broken thing. Yet…your questions weren’t pointless. He knew you’d ask them sooner or later, like a fox to a trap, it was only a matter of time.

He should have expected this, and while cruelty is his nature, he can’t be that to you. The Russian had snapped too violently in the lobby, and it wasn’t your fault. Even with moments of relative calm, he knew that to be fact. But Nikto was a brooding creature—he picked only between missions and guns to be his avatars. Emotions were a loser’s game, and he would not lose at anything so long as he was living. Nikto was a bloody victor holding the remnants of a fresh kill. Nikto was as much a bear as the one printed on his back.

Pale eyes close, a low snarl stuck in the back of his throat.

You blink at the arm that gets held out to you.

“Grab it,” the man doesn’t give away anything; his eyes are ahead and his voice is low like your ability to understand his sudden change.

Every five minutes this Russian was switching between anger and relative tolerance of you. Your brows lightly rise on your forehead, wrinkles forming on your flesh.

Your quivering hand raises and slots itself through his left arm softly, head tilting.

“As much as I appreciate it,” you speak as he helps you up the curb with a firm pull, side-eyeing you. “I can manage. I’ll ask if I can’t.” A tentative smile. “Last-minute mascara is most of what I trust you with besides the food.”

“There will be less of the former in our future.” He grunts as you shut the door behind you. “We have no plans to do such things.”

“You said that about cooking,” you tease, falling back into seamless flirting, trying to get the man who had cooked you supper back into his skin. “I didn’t know you’d be such an attentive roommate.”

Those light orbs stay pinned to you for a long moment, twisting in like a knife with only a glint in the circles of his blackened pupils.

There’s a click of the car locking, and the Russian is all but dragging you forward. Chuckling under your breath, you follow as well as you’re able through the front, feet only stumbling for a moment before you can lean your weight to the side and rely on Nikto to keep you straight. It helps, you admit, though he’s a bit more stiff than Aly.

Your hand rests on his bicep, fingers moving to spread over the hard material and sensing the sinews of his flesh writhe at the action. Nikto huffs under his breath, rolling his shoulders to dispel tension.

Your scent is wafting into his nose like he’d put his head into a tank of ambrosia—your perfume addling his senses, shaming him like a venomous snake being held by a dove.

By an angel.

“Останови это.”

You blink and turn to him, humming. “What was that, Nikto?”

The man is tense again, eyes snapping about as he pushes at the front door to AMA, your own nerves becoming apparent, yet, having your distraction here to pull you away from that.

“Nothing,” he monotones. “Where are we going.”

“Upstairs,” you sigh, walking past the front desk as the women look on in confusion when you don’t stop by. They hadn’t expected you to come in, apparently. It was your job. As you pass pictures and paintings in the hallways, you slowly begin to speak.

“What color is that one,” your finger points to the frame on the far left. It was a dark shade that moved into a lighter one—Ombré.

Nikto’s feet slow, his attention moving from ahead of you to the side for a fast flash. Gruffly, and feeling his chest tighten at the sensation of you freely touching him above the corrupted flesh, he responds in a clipped fashion. “Blue and Green.”

You hum lowly. “Light blue?”

“Нет. Light green to dark blue.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head at it as you pass, peeking over your shoulder. It wasn’t like you could really understand that, but…a small smile pulled at your lips as you turned back forward.

Nikto blinks at it from the corner of his vision, narrowing his eyelids momentarily like a wolf.

“... We do not understand the fascination with it,” he grumbles. “Color.”

“I don’t want to upset you,” your head shakes. “We don’t have to talk about it—”

“I do not like losing my temper at pointless discussion.” You’re interrupted, and you feel your lips part not at the behavior, but the tone at which he takes. A strange firmness that bleeds into conviction. “It was an…error in my judgments.”

It’s only when you steer him lightly to the right hallway to the elevator that your lips move into a smirk, leaning into him even more. Nikto’s eyes flash with surprise, darting down.

“Was that an apology, Big Guy?”

“No,” he scowls under his mask, but his body is gaining heat to it. “An observation of character.”

“I think you just apologized to me and don’t know how to admit it,” you move your face close to his just as he had to you in the penthouse, nose brushing the canvas of the lower half of his face covering. You hear his breath hitch, his large frame going still and yet not pulling away. Your matching feet continue to move.

He seems to lean closer, even, or was that just a trick of the light?

Your lips release a chuckle, your face begins to burn and your veins pump oxytocin that Aly would be intrigued to learn about.

You pull back after a bit too much staring into his eyes, saying breathlessly, “I’m more flattered that you think I’m pretty, Nikto.”

His large sigh is all you hear, hand releasing his arm for a moment to push the elevator’s button to the top floor of the building, chuckling under your breath.

Nikto grumbles but responds with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers when your heat leaves him, motioning his arm again when you come back over. The sudden lapse in your pressured fingers made his spine straighten.

Kliment Fedorov’s office floor is large—very large. It takes up the entire top of the building and his influence seeps down to the very bottom like blackened oil. You’d been here before, as well as seen it from video calls, and while you could have talked to your manager about the gap in your schedule, the fact was that the man was quitting on you.

Dead birds in plastic bags were a bit too much.

It left you only able to go to the top for any clarification until a new manager could be hired.

“When we’re in there,” you comment to Nikto, hand going back to touch him. The Russian blinks slowly, fighting how his body wants to sag. “It’s probably best if you don’t speak, okay?”

Pale eyes narrow, head tilting to the side.

You sigh at the movement, placating him with an explanation. “It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment, but Mr. Fedorov is,” your voice trails off. “He’s very lofty if you get what I mean.”

“Lofty?” Nikto prompts as the elevator continues to move upwards. He seems confused by the word in English.

Your free hand raises and gestures vaguely before you twist your lips and end on a simple, “Arrogant.”

“Ah, да,” the large man utters. “I am not a stranger to such, yes?”

It’s strange how the two of you can just slip past the small arguments that pop up—or, more of the one-sided breaking points and the prodding comments. His words didn’t bother you, and that was different; if your mother had snapped like that, it would be a different story entirely even if you, ultimately, would have let it pass like the rest.

“Do you really think I’m spoiled?”

But you did tend to linger on things.

Before there’s an answer from Nikto, who grunts under his breath, the main door opens with a small ding. Sharing a glance, you shake your head with a quirk of your lips and walk out with a tiny pull at his arm.

You lean and whisper, “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

Nikto doesn’t like how his heart constricts like there’s a vice around it—eyes snapping back. He holds back a flinch.

From there it’s checking in with the secretary and being waved in by her hand, already talking to someone else on the phone and typing away on her computer. You hum under your breath, and Nikto feels your hand jerk. He glances over as the doors get closer, calmed down at least for now.

“You are worried.”

“Only a little,” you mutter, brushing down your jacket, feeling that bulge of something in the pocket.

“Do not be.” The masked man looks forward after studying the layout of the floor—where the emergency exit was and the most efficient places to take cover.

Easy for you to say, you huff. Nikto had a very stiff way of comforting people.

And then you’re knocking on the door, and a voice is telling you both to enter.

—

“Lovely Seraph!” The CEO’s bald head is as shiny as you remember it, and those fly-like eyes are beady enough to make it seem like they move through you instead of at you. “Welcome, come, sit!”

A hand is waved from behind a large mahogany desk, a round face nodding quickly as you smile although it’s not entirely real.

“Mr. Fedorov,” your voice is light and airy—a fake tone of elegance. It comes easily. “It’s so good to see you again. I hope everything is well?”

“Ah,” he laughs, Nikto helping to guide you along even if the room is sparsely decorated beyond potted plants and a large rug. “It is going well, my dear. Very well.”

Eyes slip down your body, past your modest clothes. Something moves behind Fedorov’s expression, shifting. Nikto is a firm brick beside you, only letting you leave when the chair is in front of you. You slide him a thankful glance and slip away, grasping the side of the seat and moving into it with little trouble.

“My dear, I hadn’t expected to see you in last year’s collection.” You blink, eyes darting down to stare at the shirt you wear—it isn’t anything fancy or eye-catching. But it was expensive.

“Oh,” stuttering a moment, you try to play off a suddenly tight laugh. “M-my apologies, Sir. It must have slipped my mind this morning—”

“I will send the newest to you, don’t fret,” Fedorov smirks. “We can’t have one of our best ladies wearing rags.”

A spike of anger levels itself at your throat like a knife, and Nikto, who had moved like a shadow to stand at the far wall with his hands behind his back, feels his pupils constrict.

“You don’t have to do that,” you clear your throat lightly, looking to your guard quickly. “I don’t need any more presents, Sir, I promise.”

“Nonsense.” Kliment dismisses you, splaying his hands from where they rest on the desk. “You’ll enjoy them. Very nice collection this year. My gift to you for your success here.” You shrivel in at his next comment. “Your last photoshoot was…just exquisite, my Dear. Those white tones look heavenly on you.”

Swallowing down saliva slowly, you shift your thighs and let your arms circle your waist, feeling naked as gray eyes move your frame.

But you can’t say anything.

“Thank you, Sir,” you push out tinily. Nikto’s temper flares from across the room, eyes sparking up in a deep display of rage. He goes to take a step forward, not even knowing what he’s going to do, but, as if sensing this, your eyes snap over and you level him with a mute command.

Nikto’s boots still, the heel only half raised.

You twitch your head in a fraction of a shake, and he’s settling back to the wall with a glare and a hard clench to his hands. A growl is trapped in his esophagus, and you’re surprised that Kliment hasn’t gone up in flames because of it.

“Of course!” Fedorov laughs. “I personally arranged your schedule. I know what’s best, hm?”

“I was here to ask about that, actually,” you try to move the subject on, feeling dirty as Nikto silently fumes. “The gap starting in two days? I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure what that meant and I wanted to come in personally and ask.”

Fedorov’s expression sours, scowling. “Those investigators. Messing with my work—won’t let you come in, Seraph, see. Horrible people think we can’t put up with silly little boxes and mail.”

You shakily take an inhalation and chuckle, lips twisting down and eyes dead still.

Silly little boxes. What would he do if he got a box full of dead birds or a bomb? Then again, he never would—he’d have someone else open it for him.

The CEO continues with his hand moving to grab papers from his side, sliding them to you slowly as you look down at the material with curious eyes, seeing shiny gray signatures and large looping words. The realization is as rapid as a knife to the neck.

Party invitations.

Your heart drops, bones like steel inside of your flesh. The room is suddenly far too small.

Not this again. Fuck no, not this.

“I took the liberty of confirming your attendance since you can no longer be here all the time—you’ll be doing,” fly-eyes glint. “... crowdfunding, if you will. You remember what to do. You used to be our best seller for investments.”

“Sir…I,” you fight the bile in your throat, the world swirling. Not again. I tried so hard to get out of it. Fedorov doesn’t care.

“It will also get you out of the main city spotlight!” He smiles. “I’ve emailed you the bookings and hotels—clothes to be sent.” Arrogant lines on his face. “The dresses.”

Fedorov smiles as you stare blankly, lips slightly parted; your fingers curl in to try and stop the shaking.

“But!” You flinch at the loud exclamation, and this time, Nikto does take a step forward, hand brushing his Beretta without your knowledge. “That’s all I have for you today. The two days you have to yourself to pack and get ready, yes?”

What could you say to this?

You can’t say you won’t do it—you’d be out of a job and out of a stable income. Your mother would only say it was your fault, and that would be the extent of her help; with the stalker…you had to admit being away was the best, but doing parties again…

It made you want to shrivel up and die.

“If that’s what you think is best, Sir.” Fedorov shakes his head, chuckling and sending a layered smile that peels his skin.

“I do. I know what the company needs—and what it needs is you, my lovely Seraph. Our angel from the heavens,” he smirks vilely. “Sending us down precious money instead of bread. You’ll do well away from the building for a while. Let things cool down, you see.”

And thus it’s settled with a meaningful look and a passage of papers, your quivering hands taking them up, not missing this time, and trying not to strangle them in your palm.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper, not at all thankful. Your mind already runs to times and dates—small talk and comments about your ailments. The explosion and the stalker are going to be hot topics. You would be mobbed.

But that was exactly what the man wanted.

“Quickly now, go home,” Fedorov motions. “Be safe—remember to limit your food, Seraph.” A glance is sent to your stomach. “Have you been following your diet?”

“We need to leave,” Nikto speaks up in a sharp bark. “Сейчас.”

You see the CEO look over quickly as if forgetting someone else was here when looking at you. His face moves into a hard sneer at the sight of the large man.

“And who is this?”

“Nikto,” you explain quickly. “He’s my—”

“Yes, Girl, I know who he is.” Kliment’s voice is low. “Keep him on a tighter leash. Dismissed.”

You nearly stumble when getting out of the chair.

A hand grabs at the small of your back, pushing you forward quickly, though not unkindly. Nikto’s face is rigid under his mask, lines hard and eyes narrowed. Over his shoulder, he throws a heated glance at the man at the desk, but all he does is smirk like a crocodile. If he were any lesser, he’d have no problem getting into Kliment’s face—Nikto knew the man would pose no challenge to him, he couldn’t even shine a light.

“Nikto,” you utter, putting a hand to his side.

The Russian re-focuses, attention returning.

Your feet skid, shoes slipping at the force he guides you along until you’re back out the door and walking back to the secretary. “Slow down.”

Immediately, Nikto’s hands leave you, and you come to a swift stop with a deep breath in your mouth. Hands out, you shake them for a moment and try to calm your heart.

“Thank you,” you say under your breath, hand moving to rub the back of your skull. “You, uh,” trying to lighten the suffocating air, you blink at his chest. “But I told you not to speak.”

“What was that?” He growls. “You let people speak like that to you?”

“It’s not that serious.” It wasn’t anything he could change. “He’s arrogant, I told you.”

“He’s—”

“Why do you care,” you stare at him, suddenly defensive. “It’s my job—just like yours, I can’t lose it.”

Pale eyes sizzle. “That is different.”

You laugh despite yourself. “It’s really not.” Shaking your head, you brush past him slowly, gaining back your senses. “Even if I want it to be, this is all I’ve got going for me.”

Shadows walk beside you, keeping a close eye as the secretary doesn’t look up from her work as you both pass. “It is causing you to be stalked, Whelp. It is not sane to stay.”

You’re silent at that, taking Nikto’s tactic of steel lips and a dead stare ahead.

Beauty was all you had. He could never understand that.

“We have two days.” Uttering in the elevator, you sigh. “Even if I don’t like it—it’ll get us away from AMA. That’s the most important part, and one that even I can’t argue with.”

You don’t want to go to the parties. Not even an ounce of you was eager for it. For what was expected.

Nikto’s hands go to grasp the top of his vest’s collar, hanging as he thinks. The Russian can’t snap at you for that, it was true. Getting away was good, but it meant he had to memorize more floor plans and re-learn routines. No matter, he could adapt if it came to that.

He hums to himself, blinking.

“Very well. That I agree with.” Nikto pauses. “But I do not like that man. Like…” he snarls, “bald snake.”

A shocked snort exits you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. Silence settles for a bit between you two as you process everything. Your teeth bite at your lip, leaning toward him delicately.

“...I was thinking frog.”

Nikto’s eyes spark, looking down at you from behind the black smudge of his sockets.

“That is better.” He comments. “Да. Frog.” You both lock eyes and you feel your lips pull in a small smile, your face losing a sliver of that fear that moves in your DNA as of late. The truth comes out as vulnerability.

“...Do you think it’ll work?” Your question makes him stare, head tilting.

“What?”

“Leaving.” The elevator nears the ground floor. “Do you think it’ll stop him?”

Nikto had said he would never lie to you.

“I do not know,” he speaks slowly, feet shuffling as his shoulders roll. “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I need to worry about the stalker more,” you chuff without any amusement, “or the parties I have to go to.”

Curiosity moves in his pale orbs, swirling at your confession to him. Nikto stores it for later, humming as the door opens and he moves—sticking out an arm that you easily loop with your own.

He walks slower, now, lips open as he hesitates for a moment. As your face is far away, expression open to the world, the Russian eases out, “I do not think you are spoiled, yes? I should not have said such things about your character. Do not apologize to me for it.”

“Everyone loves apologies, Nikto,” you joke even as your heart swells—heat coming up your neck. “It’s human nature to believe you’re not in the wrong. There’s no need to—”

“I do not like when you apologize. So do not.” He walks you forward. “Stand your ground. Speak freely.”

“That usually hurts people’s feelings,” you state in an utterance.

It’s a good while before Nikto answers you, and when he does you glance over to find his eyes already looking at you—but the makeup is wrong, it isn’t as dead as they always seem to be.

They were nearly soft if that was even possible. Hidden behind a half-lidded layer of darkness. You blink, feet almost stumbling as you lean into his arm.

Tell me, your mind begs this beast. This monster who never shows a sliver of his face—who holds scars more numerous than you can even imagine. You don’t even know why you want him, and that scares you. Tell me I’m yours.

“Then those people are not worthy if they can not handle the truth,” Nikto grumbles, shifting his head away.

The connection is broken.

You focus on the way you hold his arm as you both walk past the front desk, taking the weight and heat of it in little by little until you have to hold back a shiver. Even stretching your fingers, you couldn’t grab around the entire thing—much like it would be fruitless to try with his thighs. Even his waist would be difficult.

So consumed in the thoughts of Nikto, slowly taking you over, you both walk past the front desk swiftly.

Only when you see the flash of a square object do you begin to slow—Nikto was having none of it.

“Do not.” His arm shifts out of yours, and you startle before his limb loops your waist, nearly stapling you to his side.

“I didn’t even move to it,” you huff, looking up at him, frown over your lips.

“You were thinking it,” he grumbles, pale eyes sliding like water over your face. “Stay.”

“Woof, woof,” you sarcastically utter.

You can feel the tension in him—in you.

And then you push open the front door, and the box is left on the counter without another glance.

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b00kdiary · 3 months

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Can we please please please get a part 3 for stay with me where they actually fuck? Love your stuff btw absolutely amazing ❤️

Stay With Me | Rhysand (III)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

It's been a week. Rhysand's patience has worn thin. So has Y/N's.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE PART TWO

Are you awake, darling?

I stared at the note that appeared on my nightstand fifteen seconds ago, the luxurious, broad sprawl telling of who had sent it. The word darling made my stomach coil – like I could hear Rhys purring it in my ear.

I fought my smile as I turned, dropping my bare legs off the side of the bed, and grabbing the quill that had appeared with the note. It was slightly warm, and I envisioned Rhys holding it, smirking like the fiend he was.

I am awake.

Missing me already?

I could feel my anticipation thrumming in me as I sprawled the words before neatly dropping the pen beside it. It vanished the moment I released it, wisped away to wherever Rhys lounged and for some reason, I could practically hear the rumbling laugh that would escape him the moment he read my teasing response.

My smile grew when the note reappeared not even thirty seconds later. I grabbed it with shaking hands, and I could feel the heat blazing through my blood and bones and veins at his words.

I always miss you; you know that.

And while I usually am the most patient male, that patience is starting to wear very thin.

I want you, darling.

He had been patient. So had I. One week since the Hybern attack, one week since I had sustained that injury and Rhysand had taken care of me – in more ways than just my leg. One week of stolen touches and yearning glances and pleasuring myself to quell the urge to seek him out.

I didn't want to be patient anymore. The ache between my legs wouldn't let me be.

Then why aren't you here?

I'm waiting, High Lord.

The note vanished and not even a second later, I heard the distant sound of wings thundering. I felt Rhysand's dark, obsidian power misting over Velaris stretching from the Town house to the House of Wind.

Call it impatience, call it confidence, call it whatever you want but my body was alight at the power of him, the need of him. And as Rhys thundered closer and closer, I took off piece after piece of clothing. My socks, my nightshirt, my underwear, my bra, everything, until I was bare sat upon my bed desperately needing to be touched.

My thighs clenched when Rhys landed on my balcony, the ground and walls shaking with the impact of his arrival. I could see his silhouette outlined by the moonlight and sheet of stars above as he stalked on silent feet toward my door, looking like a God that shouldn't exist.

The curtain parted with a phantom wind, and I felt my nipples pebble and my core soak as it danced into my room, brushing my skin like a lover's touch. Rhys ducked under my door, powerful wings tucked close to his back and violet eyes gleaming like midnight constellations.

"You beautiful, wicked thing," Rhys groaned as he slid into my room, eyes latching onto my naked figure sitting patiently atop my sheets. I felt his magic thrum at the sight of me, eyes razing across my bare flesh. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"I waited one week, Rhys," I lifted my chin defiantly, feigning arrogance. Even as every long step he took toward me made me tremble. "I'm a patient female but not that patient."

"Tsk tsk tsk," He clucked his tongue tauntingly at me, his thick brow raised in a challenge. I traced his long, lean angles, the broad muscles of his shoulders, and that infuriating smirk as he came to a stop before me. "As much as I love your eagerness, darling, I didn't say you could undress."

I moaned when his ringed hand came forward, cupping my aching breasts and squeezing it in his palm. His chest rumbled appreciatively as it spilt from his hand, another moan slipping from me when his thumb brushed over my taut, sensitive nipple.

"Perhaps I should punish you?" Rhys mused softly, eyes transfixed on my breasts, his forefinger and thumb clamped around my bud, abusing it, and watching me gasp. I craned my neck up to meet his towering form, cruel amusement in his eyes. "Unlace my breeches."

A firm, powerful command – his High Lord's voice. Gods, it made me wet. Rhys smirked at the spike in my pulse, the pleasure that coiled through me at his authority.

I was more than eager to follow his command, my hands moving to his slacks, tugging furiously at the laces. I could feel his hard length under my fingers, twitching and straining against the material, begging to be let free.

Rhysand released my breast, and I would have whined in protest had he not begun tugging the ties at the back of his shirt, striping the material from his wings and chest, revealing acres and acres of beautiful tan, tattooed skin as he discarded it.

I whimpered as I tugged the last lace, my pussy clenching around nothing as Rhys's thick, hard length slipped free from his pants, slapping back against his stomach, nearly hitting my face in the process. My mouth watered, actually watered at the sight of him.

"This is meant to be a punishment, darling," Rhys chuckled darkly, fingers gently folding into my hair and tilting my head to meet his eyes. He grinned at the heady intent on my face. "You shouldn't look so happy about it."

"You’re about to let me suck your cock, Rhys," I breathed, my voice rasping and hoarse. His hand tightened in my hair, fisting the root as I purred the word cock. I eyed his length, the red angry tip, the small pearly beads of pre-cum, the strong veins that danced on the sides. "How is that a punishment?"

"You're not sucking my cock, my love," Rhys smiled – it was not a comforting sight. No, it was dark and terrifying. I gasped when the tip of his cock traced my lip, his eyes glinting as he pushed it slowly into my warm mouth. "I'm going to fuck your throat."

He slammed the rest of his length into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, and I was gagging and moaning and choking for air.

"Good girl," Rhys moaned, his cock stretching my mouth until my jaw ached and he seated so far down my throat I could feel every twitch. He pulled out after several seconds, beads of spit and cum lacing my lips and down my chest as I gasped for air. "Such a good girl."

I hummed at the praise, even as I felt my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. But Rhys tasted so good, and he was moaning so loud as I slipped him back into my mouth, my throat going lax as he shoved his length in until he maxed out.

I gagged, desperately breathing through my nose as his hips rolled, every stroke dragging his pulsing cock in and out, hitting the back of my throat again and again. Rhys growled, a pure sound of pleasure, one of no control as he truly fucked my mouth raw.

Tears streaked down my face, drool dripped down my chin and onto my breasts and Rhys's hand fisted my hair brutally, keeping me in place while he drove his hips into my mouth. I moaned at the feel of him, every ragged breath he took making me that much more eager.

"That feels incredible, darling," Rhys hissed, his voice shaking as his climax neared. His cock twitched in my mouth, and I let my tongue graze along his shaft in a way that had him cursing. "This mouth is better than I had imagined."

I could feel my arousal leaking down my thighs at his words, and my eyes rolled when Rhys bucked his hips forward, burying himself so far, that my nose brushed the trail of hair at his navel. I could smell his sweet scent, addictive enough that it distracted me from the burning in my lungs, the full feeling of him shoved down my throat.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, and I whined as he tore my head back, his wet, angry cock slipping out. Air rushed into my lungs, spit dribbled down my chin and then Rhys was upon me, his head ducking down and crashing his lips to mine.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, could taste the possession on his tongue as he shoved it past my swollen lips and into me, battling and furious and needy. My fingers clawed and scratched along his marble skin, tracing the hard muscles and rippling abs, memorising the perfect feel of him.

"Rhys," I whined against his lips, breathless as his large, ringed hands kneaded along my body, grumbling in approval as he palmed the flesh at my hips and back and thighs, his eyes stark with lust as he pushed me to lie on my back.

"I know, I know," He crooned, a tint of arrogance and appreciation in his voice as he settled onto the bed, his arms bracing his towering figure over me, his hands guiding my thighs around his lean hips. "I'm impatient too, darling. I know you need it; I've got you."

My back arched as he grazed his nose along the side of my neck, his magnificent wings erecting high behind him as he inhaled the sweet, sweaty scent of me. I was breathless as he touched my skin, touched my flesh like I was a dream come to fruition.

"Cauldron, I wish I had time to get my head between these soft thighs," His teeth scraped my nipple, his hands parting my thighs as he rubbed his tip through my soaking wet folds. "I'd have my tongue fucking your sweet hole until you came all over my face. Until you were begging me to stop."

For a second, I nearly begged him to do exactly that, nearly begged for the feel of his tongue and teeth, for the burn of his skilled fingers slipping inside me. But then he rubbed his hard length against me again, smearing my wetness and I couldn't wait another moment.

"Stop talking Rhys,” I snarled, my fingers curling around his short raven hair, dragging his face up to mine. He chuckled at the ire and frustration behind my words, behind my touch as I pressed desperate kisses to his lips, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth,” Rhysand laughed against my lips, a hint of violence tinging his tone, his touch, as he toyed his tip against my swollen clit. “I’ll have to think of a better punishment to remedy that. But right now – “

I screamed as he drove his hips forward, shoving his hard, pulsing length into me in one forceful thrust.

“Rhys!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure, like stars erupting through my core as Rhysand forced his way into me, stretching my sore walls, languishing in the wetness of my arousal until he maxed out. Pain and pleasure – it was all I knew.

“Cauldron, you’re fucking incredible,” Rhys growled into my ear, his hands bruising against my waist as he forced my flailing body against the bed. He pulled out to the tip, the sound filthy as he pushed back in, moaning as he did so. “So fucking incredible.”

“Rhys, oh Gods –“

I was crying out for him as his pace picked up, my walls moulding around him perfectly as he fucked me, that pain fading into pure, unfiltered pleasure. He grunted with every roll of his hips, his lips suckling my pulse point and reverberating his noises against me, through me.

Rhys scraped his canines against the junction of my throat possessively, marking me as he fucked his hips against me again and again, tits and body jolting with every stroke. I keened when he threw my leg over his shoulder, kissing my knee before he sunk so deep, I thought he’d tear me in two.

“Right there,” He panted, sweat coating his forehead as he grinned down at me. I gasped, breathless as he pressed a hand down on the stomach – pressed down on the imprint of his cock shaped there. “You feel how deep I am, darling? Feel how far my cock is inside you?”

“S-so deep,” I blubbered, my words half caught between a sob and a moan as my walls fisted tighter and tighter, that familiar pool filling within me, filling more and more as Rhys whispered those dirty words and fucked me raw. “It’s so deep, Rhys.”

‘Look at you’ Rhys’s rumbling, arrogant voice filled my mind, mixed in with his stark arousal and overwhelming praise, ‘Crying for me, all fucked out and ready to come around my cock.’

His lips slammed against mine, all biting teeth and furious, exploring tongue and I could feel my orgasm ripping down my spine, feel it building at the apex of my thighs as he hit a spot within me, again and again and again. Something that felt so fucking good.

‘Come for me, darling,’ Rhys commanded through my mind, a bolt of obsidian power sparking along my nerves and through my whole body. I yelped, crying out at that feeling.

He sent another bolt, in tandem with the sweet, brutal roll of his hips and suddenly I was coming.

“Rhys, Rhys –“

White hot power splitting my core in two, strong enough that all I could do was arch my back and curl my toes, letting my body turn stiff and hard as Rhysand rocked into me, longing out the pleasure for what felt like hours.

I was coming and coming and coming. I couldn’t fucking breathe as Rhys ruined me.

“That’s my girl,” He gritted out, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck, teeth and spit and tongue as he fucked erratically into me. His climax was close, I was fluttering around him so furiously, that I knew he was close.

“Fill me up, Rhys,” I begged him, my orgasm dwindling and all my nerves endings on fire as he stroked and stroked and stroked. Rhys whimpered – actually whimpered, as I dragged my hand through the inner part of his wing, trembling behind him from the contact. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

I touched his wing with a whisper of a caress again and again, until Rhys was cursing, until his beautiful body was trembling against me, and he was making noises I would kill, actually kill, to hear again.

“You beautiful – “ Thrust. “Cruel – “ Thrust. “Wicked –“ Thrust. “Thing –“ Thrust.

His hand brushed my clit as he rocked his twitching cock into me, harder and faster now. I felt the dwindling tendrils of my first orgasm before they began erupting like flames as a second barrelled into me.

“Rhys – “ I sobbed his name, scratching my nails along the talon atop his right wing. And as my core exploded with another all-consuming climax, Rhys reached his peak too.

He reached that peak roaring.

“Fuck –“ He curses as his climax hit him, obsidian mist erupting from him and blanketing the room as he halted inside me. I moaned, my walls clenching and unclenching as I felt him spill endlessly inside me, his wings and body tensed and shaking under my hands.

Our moans and releases were furious and strong enough that I felt the posters of my bed shaking, Rhysand’s face buried in the crook of my neck, moaning, and panting for breath as his hips came to a total stop. My walls pulsed, and his cock twitched in response as if our orgasms had become one.

Rhys laughs roughly against my throat, his canines grazing my sensitive skin as he collapses against me, both our chests rising and falling in shattered waves. It reminded me of that first day in the cabin, how he had been so euphoric as I ground against him until he came.

“That was a good day for me,” Rhys sighed, head lifting so his violet eyes met mine. So bright, so happy. “Almost as good as last week when you came all over my hand.”

I blushed, his grin broadening at the sheepish smile I gave him. He dipped his head, kissing my lips sweetly, a satisfied groan rumbling through him as his tongue gently explored mine.

“I hope you’re aware that this means you’re stuck with me, darling,” Rhys smirked, forehead resting against mine. He was still inside me, and it felt more than right. His eyes glinted, daring me to challenge him. “No male will ever touch you again.”

“Is that a decree, High Lord?” I gnawed on my lip, giggling at the way his eyes narrowed. My giggle erupted into a laugh as Rhys began peppering kisses against my cheek and jaw.

“Yes,” He growled, nipping my skin with his teeth, “That’s an order. With the penalty of death for any male who does otherwise.”

“Good,” I grinned, my heart skipping at his dark, tempting words. I cupped his jaw, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Because if another female so much as looks at you, Rhys – I will pluck her eyes out.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get violent,” He groaned, fingers digging into my waist possessively. “It makes me want to do very filthy things to you.”

“I’m all yours, Rhys,” I smiled, a hint of sincerity mixed with lewd intent in my eyes. “Do with me what you will. Unless you plan to be somewhere else tonight?”

His eyes flashed, stars exploding, shadows coiling, and I felt him harden in me again, my walls stretching inch by inch until I was soaked around him.

“I’ll be here, with you,” He whispered, his nose brushing mine and I whimpered when he rolled his hips, stroking his cock inside me slowly. “I’ll always stay with you.”

----------------------------

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