#cw rapid switching
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Drabble about the whole mikotosys-night-terror chronicles cuz I don't get to write much.
Post trial 2: Mikoto, still deep in denial (although deep denial doesn't mean ur as unaware as you let on/feel all the time), cries himself to sleep again. He hates the long-time habit, but thinking about his life up to this point, especially now... It makes sense, and unfortunately a lot more starts to make sense too.
It was happening again.
Mikoto was laying on the bed in his cell, staring at the ceiling. It was the only time he knew which way was up these days.
And today had been long, and stressful.
Why must he be this kind of person?
Chained up and interrogated.... Es trying to explain why the words "I saved you" echo in his mind.... a fuzzy ringing in his ears overtaking seemingly every conversation he had with the warden; Mikoto did his best to be attentive but was purely pretending. He was sure he dreamed the crime he was accused of, sure of it. It wasn't real, he couldn't do that! He had a future to look toward, and even if some people in his life were holding him back, his urge for quick relief had been but a horror-movie fantasy. A place for his brain to put his anger so he couldn't find it.
He had always wondered where his emotions went when he made them disappear. It didn't look good that nearly every moment now felt like a dream, either.
Answering questions with pen and paper had been particularly difficult. He didn't remember much of that either. He remembered the first couple questions. He remembered waves of frustration flooding his train of thought. He remembered feeling sick when he realized it was over and he thought he had only answered two or three out of the twenty questions.
Mikoto had started off this strange "Milgram" experience intrigued, but the more he thought about the events that led up to this "reality show," the more scared he got. He had always been a forgetful guy, but felt confident enough in his ability to keep track of important things. School, work, home duties, everything was always nearly lined up in his thoughts. Sometimes he had strong feelings about a task, but he was easily able to power through. He was oddly proud of that ability, from his adolescence up to his office job.
Sure, he had been picked on for living outside the city and never going anywhere. But he was reasonably popular with girls and very on top of his grades, which made other students like him well enough he supposed. No reason to feel lonely with how busy he was anyway. Taking care of home with his mom and sister, making sure he remembered to eat and study before shifts, and cramming for tests had all paid off, hadn't it?
He had a career he was passionate about, an end goal, and a stable job at a famous company. Although this job was... Not as glamorous as he had hoped. Nonetheless, he had worked so hard for it. He wouldn't just throw it away.
Not even when his meal times got shorter and shorter.
Not even when his boss made him redo weeks of work on a whim.
Not even when 60 hour weeks turned to 80 hours.
Not even when he broke down and cried after coming home to an onslaught of texts informing him of a deadline being shortened yet again.
He needed to sleep. Without sleep, he became irritated easily, and hiding it with a polite smile always left him with a permanent lump in his throat, as if he could burst into tears at any moment but wouldn't let it happen. When it all got too loud, Mikoto knew how to put it away for later.
Now was later, and he was crying.
He wished people listened to him. If they got to be cruel with no consequences, chain him to one thing or another, tell him to come and sit and stay until 3AM doing paperwork, he should get a say too. A say in how he was spoken to, in his rest, in his mind, anything.
But he second-guessed himself every time, coming up with nothing and doubling down on his polite diligent worker persona.
His chest heaved as he sobbed. How pitiful and pathetic, if they saw him like this. And to think everyone was scared of him now, not only because he apparently really killed people, but now more things he didn't remember were coming up. Torn up clothing he had tried so hard to laugh about reporting to Es; but all the morning he couldn't stop himself from crying, even through his mask. He had heard from others in the past that he talked in his sleep, but the noises? The shredding and screaming and destroying?
That was all new.
And embarrassing.
And mortifying.
Mikoto had no memory of any of it. He thought and thought, but only recalled feeling overwhelmed, perceiving the stares and the body language around him as tense, and the rush of anxiety which was renewing itself again. Out of habit, he searched for the smile he always tried to force through the tears, even now that he was alone.
Another sob.
Alone.
And everyone knew it. His boss, his mom, his baby sister, his peers EVERYONE watched him go it alone, pushing and pushing and succeeding at any cost to himself. But that was the goal, too, to be left alone. Not screamed at, following the rules in place, breaking them if it meant a more pleasing outcome for his current audience. His breath picked up as he remembered every comment, every stare every sneer every nitpick EVERYTHING others did to belittle his hardest work. His sweat, blood, and tears turned into a cycle that kept piling more on his back.
He held his hands against his ears as his sobs turned to a choked wail. Again tonight, he felt like he couldn't stop himself. "I HATE THIS! I'm not smart enough to even remember what I do, not strong enough to even control myself! FUCK!"
Again his uniform shirt felt far too tight. The restraints he had become more used to were suddenly like snakes whose every movement he could feel through the fabric, writhing on his skin. Mikoto screwed his eyes shut and begged to disappear, pulling at the jumpsuit.
Then John screamed.
He tore, he ripped, he fell off the bed and threw himself against the wall as if it would give him more force against the restraints. He couldn't stop. He knew it was his fault, and he knew why it was his fault, but they were hurting Mikoto all the same.
John forcefully wiped the tears from his face. His breathing was ragged as he felt himself grabbing at his hair. This was bad.
He couldn't calm down. Mikoto was beyond upset, he was terrified. John's own anger and Mikoto's fear had them in a frenzy, their hands pulling at anything they could grasp. What could he do? He had to help Mikoto. After all, it was John's fault, John's anger, John's actions that caused him this agony. Mikoto wouldn't hurt someone like that. He couldn't!
"I COULD. I DIDN'T WANT TO!" A shriek escaped his mouth. John didn't feel like that words were his. He took a deep breath, one hand still keeping his hair in a death grip.
The other was over his mouth. John had heard enough of what the other prisoners were able to hear. He was sure that they would be punished if they were any louder; or maybe Mikoto was sure.
He just didn't know anymore.
"They were killing you," John whispered, voice strained. "Even if you didn't do i-"
The words caught in his throat, and John's breath hitched as he felt the world start to blur around him.
"I do remember that I wanted to," came a choked whisper from Mikoto. "I wanted nothing more. Those people - those men... My life was hell. I was too slow with turnarounds no matter how long I submitted before the deadline. They called me day and night like a dog to their side. And th- the way they spoke to me and my coworkers - realizing their contempt toward the working men alone but god the WOMEN-" He sobbed loudly, burying their head in his hands. "The- these are the people our baby sister gets to meet next. The ones our mom married, the ones who lie and cheat and demand and force- they should be GONE they SHOULD. BUT- but I never thought-" he trailed off, curled into a tense ball. He could hardly feel John anymore -
Oh god.
He could feel John.
Like another person in the room, he felt another presence almost by his side. Another sob turned into a laugh at the absurdity of it all. The warden had no dog - Mikoto did.
And it was himself.
And that's why there was another "him," blaming his newfound self for Mikoto's plans and actions.
He felt terrible, in a hundred different ways. "John, it wasn't your fa-" Mikoto stopped mid-sentence, torn between guilt for his other self and the terror of realization hitting. He pressed himself against the cold wall and breathed slowly as he could, suddenly overcome with a clammy, nauseous feeling.
It wasn't a dream.
Mikoto had been sick in his cell once before, during a particularly bad panic episode. He had cleaned it up well and told no one, but somehow he was still met with looks of concern and pity and fear ten times over the following morning. Damn thin walls. The already isolated prisoner was not about to let that happen again. He slumped against the wall, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth as the room spun, wanting only to sleep. If only he could shut down, wake up in his apartment and cry about his shitty day at his shitty job surrounded by shitty people that his shitty singular self did not kill.
The weight of that possibility leaving forever made him feel like he would never eat again.
John felt the pressure mounting in their head and body, powerless to help. Just behind front, able to listen to the perspective he'd been wishing to hear for so long, and unable to do a damn thing. After all the begging to be acknowledged, he still hadn't saved Mikoto. Not by a long shot.
They were both stricken with panic by now, John beginning to pace around the cell and breathing deeply to the point of pain. Anything to keep from spiraling, from causing a mess, from snapping again, from hurting someone or even needing them.
And then they froze, a third voice that felt equally unreal catching their attention. Difference was, she and another were outside themselves , and outside the door to their room.
"He's at it again..." John heard Kotoko sigh faintly, breathing shallow as he stood at a standstill. He was so at a loss that he forgot to be angry at her treatment of Mikoto. Mikoto wasn't a killer. John was. Leave Mikoto out of it, let him live without this pain. It's why John was here to begin with! Did he fail? Did he drive any other help away?
"Ugh. I'll wait here, as you requested. Give him this." John heard a small acknowledgement from Es as they took the mystery item. He flinched, bracing himself.
Were they chaining him up again? Drugging him? What did he get Mikoto into now??
Whether he knew it or not, Mikoto was feeling the same guilt towards John, ashamed for not having noticed and feeling cowardly for running from him.
"John..." Es brought the protector to attention, gently holding out a water bottle. He hadn't even registered that they opened the door. He stared for a second, feeling shamefully and ridiculously dog-like, but took the offering. "How did you know..."
"Because Mikoto puts on airs," Es replied plainly. "He would have forced a posture that was more relaxed, perhaps greeting me as 'Guard-kun.'" Their voice went up a tad as they imitated Mikoto's tone, first amusing and then startling John. Was the switch that obvious? Had he ruined any chance of Mikoto being normal again?
"So you can... You can tell. We really are that different?"
"Afraid so," Es replied. "John, do you two... Do you know how DID happens?" They stood across from him, gauging his reaction. John seemed to be struggling to stay grounded as he explained.
"We never thought we had any sort of amnesia... We once read that it happens when... Oh," John sighed. "I have no idea what happened. But I know... I know..."
"When a child is hurt badly over a period of time, in their very early stages-"
"Yeah I know how it goes." He snapped like John, but John felt the words come from elsewhere. The voice also sound absolutely defeated, the truth having come to reveal itself.
"Mikoto...?"
"..."
Mikoto felt.
He was aware, he knew what he was saying, but his voice was bitter and monotone. He didn't know what to feel. He just felt.
"I don't fuckin know anymore," he sighed. Es was not entirely convinced it was only him - his voice was cold, and while quieter than John's, Es wasn't even sure they had heard Mikoto curse before. Of course, Mikoto was subject to change as any other prisoner, and his demeanor almost reminded them of Fuuta's current state.
Mikoto took a deep breath, standing a little straighter. "I... Suspected it, when I heard about it from some class, and then forgot about it. But yeah, when a mother and a father hate each other, and possibly you, very very much... I know how it happens." His eyes darkened. "Life got better, I think, when Dad left. Mom wouldn't talk about him, and she'd get mad if I even said something that she thought he would... But I could tell she missed him. My baby sis seems okay for her age, on track development and all, but despite all the responsibility I could handle I could never quite get it right."
Es nodded thoughtfully. "So you were ridiculed and blamed for things you weren't even aware was upsetting to your parents? Did they take things out on you, because you were older?"
"I... I guess. I never thought it was that bad," Mikoto sighed. "But living on my own, I started to feel more and more disconnected. More angry, more paranoid... And I started having nightmares. I forgot about those for awhile too. When it started affecting my work, I even tried to forget I was stressed at all."
"Or rather, your mind helped you forget," Es mused.
"It should have stayed forgotten," the prisoner growled. "I can't believe I ruined everything, and I didn't even know it. John wanted to protect someone who forced him to exist because I COULDN'T protect me!" He pulled at the strap over his chest, struggling to keep composure. There was no trace of his fake smile.
"You didn't force anything," Es corrected him softly. "The brain is an organ that adapts to survive. Even had you known, it's not something that can be harnessed and commanded. It's adaptation." It was a simple matter-of-fact, complex as it was. Es hoped they had their facts straight now, anyway.
"So how do we go back to normal?!" Mikoto cried. His hands were shaking now and was sobbing again; he quickly realized how dizzy he was becoming. "I-I need to sit." He lowered himself back to the floor and slumped against the wall, arms childishly wrapped around his knees. He felt nothing but shame presenting himself this way. He was 23, he was a graphic design agent, a working man! He couldn't break down like this! He couldn't have it this bad! Even if he didn't even feel like himself at the moment, even if reality felt completely made up... "There's got- there's got to be a way to fix this."
To his surprise, Es didn't look at him with judgement or pity. The only thing that stood out was curiosity, and they gently sat beside him as they gathered their words. "It's not a matter of fixing, Kayano-kun. You all need... Healing," Es spoke carefully. They figured the nickname would do for now.
"Can't heal from a murder charge," the prisoner scoffed. Mikoto felt reality spin as John spat out his remark. John ran a hand through his hair, smoothing some parts and causing others to stick out awkwardly. "It's still my fault. Those urges, those feelings... They're mine to carry, to protect him from."
"John... maybe you can protect each other. Share the burden. It was one body and, according to Milgram, one prisoner. Maybe if you can forgive yourselves... Milgram will show me a better outcome for you both." That was the best Es could think of to help right now. To think it was upon them to say whether this man was forgivable; he had seen so much of the real world that they themselves had yet to remember, and they couldn't even imagine the stress of his perfectionist lifestyle on top of it all. They wanted to cry from how unfair it all was, but prisoner 009 was the priority right now.
As the warden... They had to do what they thought was best. They almost felt guilty for having Kotoko on standby, even though it was she who insisted. But that didn't mean Mikoto, or even John, was dangerous.
"I know I didn't do the right thing," Mikoto sighed, sitting up as he regained composure. "And it still doesn't feel real. I can almost feel the memory slipping again. It hurts, Guard-kun!" He gripped the sides of his head. Es instinctively reached gently for his hands to discourage him from pulling his hair out, and Mikoto flinched. He hit the barrier between them with his hands as he automatically covered himself.
"Shhh... Mikoto..."
"I'm sorry!"
"You didn't hurt me. I startled you," Es said. "Mikoto, you don't need to remember all the time. That's what your alter John, and any others there may be... Are for," they looked away, thinking bitterly about what may lie in their own memories. "It can hurt to remember, Mikoto. Sometimes it's even dangerous."
"I was dangerous when I didn't remember, too," Mikoto sniffed. "John... He wanted to protect us - protect me - so badly that we hurt a lot of things. Even you."
"Well as for me, Mikoto, my physical health is no worse for wear," Es replied. They were only partly lying - they were exhausted constantly, but John's outburst was long down the list of incidents by now. "I forgive you. Do you... Forgive you? Forgive John?"
"John... I barely know John..." Mikoto sighed, feeling defeated as the words he tried to form seemed to fade from his mind. "But I... I forgive his mistakes. I hope he can forgive me too." Mikoto then felt lightheaded again, but although his throat felt stuck and his chest was tight, his left hand gave a small thumbs up.
Es couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "Well, there you go."
Mikoto heaved a sigh, suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever. "Thank you..." He whispered. He began to cry again, but smiled a smile that seemed to come more from genuine gratitude than fear. "Thank you, Guard-kun. I know... John will be happier now. I'm... I'm really scared. But we don't have to be lonely."
Es stood up slowly, offering a hand to help him to the bed. 009 sat still on the floor for a moment, a small frown forming on his face as he took their hand. "It's... It's John." He whispered, although they were partly holding him upright, Milgram ignoring his presence and giving him away. It felt strange, announcing himself like that, but comfortable too. "I know we can't undo what we did... Thank you for helping Mikoto."
"You deserve help, too, John. Mikoto wants to be there for you, too," the small warden looked up at him with almost a sense of urgency, praying John wouldn't try to take it all on himself anymore.
"Well he can start..." John mused, "by not giving away my cigarettes anymore. How's that?"
"Oh yeah, he did tell me to stop giving those to him even if he asks. I think..." They almost didn't suppress a laugh as they walked the system to their cot; although the situation wasn't funny itself, it was an interesting process. "I think finding those over and over is when he knew he forgot more than he knew."
"Damn right..." John sat down on the bed, the body falling over nearly instantly.
"Goodnight, John-kun, Mikoto-kun," Es said softly, heading towards the cell door.
"Goodnight, and thank you again," John's low voice replied.
As they went out the door, they heard another.
"Oh! Goodnight, Guard-kun!" A soft whisper said from across the room. "...And thank you."
That night was the most restful sleep Mikoto's body had gotten in years. He almost felt like he could finally get used to this. He would never get used to "being a killer," though. He didn't know much about the social perception of DID, so he sure hoped that wasn't a general stereotype.
End.
#milgram#mikoto milgram#john milgram#milgram fanfic#character study#cw vomit mention#cw panic attack#cw rapid switching#?#idk if anyone needs that but it's there lol#cw mild self-injury (unintentional)#switching my be written confusingly but we did our best lol it's confusing on this end too#ambiguous third mikoto#longer than i intended but wasn't sure where it was going anyway lol#freeform yaaaaay#Es 009 siblings for life
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more rich boy alhaitham pls🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽i love the concept and how u wrote it😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🖤
cw. ⪩⪨ fem! reader, rich boy au, rich boy alhaitham, process of falling for you HARD, a little possessive again because I cannot help myself, rough sex & very messy
whether you believe it or not, rich boy alhaitham has never been in love before— and the scribe thinks about one specific kind of love here, one you read about in books, one you can evidently witness between two strangers while crossing the street.
essentially, he was attractive and he knew it, a man blessed with extraordinary intelligence and talent, bringing to mind that he was exceptionally wealthy as well.
so, speaking from an outer perspective, those factors certainly couldn't be the reason as to why he was unlucky on finding his perfect match— in fact, no one could ever deny how greatly alhaitham was being admired by the people of sumeru.
or was he?
or perhaps, they really don't often pay attention to him, because you see, he doesn't want them to.
he purposefully keeps a low profile, with a veiled identity and ulterior purposes hidden right beneath, so that he could rest easy and indulge in a comfortable life— with his wealth continuously growing, yet no specific target on what to do with it, or on who to spend it on besides himself.
yes, it was true, he sometimes catches himself getting lonely.
but in spite of that, after he meets you it's different, because suddenly alhaitham finds himself in trouble without noticing how the feelings of love were already coursing through his veins.
how unnoticeable falling in love was, snap and it's over, it's astonishing how he just needed to get closer to you.
you swallow thickly, and it was foreseeable that you ended up in his bed again, it's on the point of each night that it ends the exact same way now.
both of you knew why you were sharing a bed again— lewd and lustful traces curving over the slopes of your body and stimulating your needs— how utterly interesting how fast someone's mind could simply switch off and decide that you were in love now.
just from a simple look, and alhaitham was yours.
and he never would've let this happen to himself— the stress on how to navigate through an emotion such as love, especially since there wasn't a rational answer behind the multiple explanations he read about in the past, nor could you buy real, pure love with money.
if it were for anybody at all, he would just brush it off or at least try, but you just had to be so cruel and invade his mind.
you feel his gaze on you now, and it's the way his breath tumbles over your parted mouth that you know he's done for— his tongue driving between your lips before lapping over your pink muscle as his hips leisurely push into you.
it drives alhaitham insane, no amount of money could even come close to this feeling of pleasure and genuine lust, it's like a heavy drug someone would grow addicted to in the twinkling of an eye.
you squeal when he bites down on your bottom lip, your trembling frame teetering on the edge of a rapid sensation while every slap of skin turns the bedroom aflame, until the pleasure goes straight to your puffy clit, overflowing your belly with butterflies.
a burning pressure pricks at your spongy walls as his cock repeatedly crowds you, giving your hips a good squeeze as alhaitham presses you back into his length, making sure you're taking him all at once.
your arousal was clinging to his toned abs and turned the view before you all the more sinful, your soft pussy glistening with your slick and his pre when he uses it as a natural lubricant to make it pleasurable to the both of you, hitting your aching spots just like that.
alhaitham can hear how much you're enjoying this and he hopes he doesn't give away how much he has been enjoying this as well. of course, it's much more evident in your case, precisely from the way your moans trembled and your hips stuttered and flinch into his dripping dick, your body attempting but ultimately failing to meet his thrusts half way as you're struggling to find any strength to lift your hips up.
alhaitham sees it's too much for you by now, he can also feel it in the way you're clamping around the base of his erection with dripping heat, until he was all soaked and wet in your oozing arousal.
needless to say, the wealthy man placed a mental note into the deepest depths of his brain for later— to, as one might expect, treat you to a glorious shopping spree with a luxurious dinner waiting for you afterwards.
basically wherever you wanted to go to, he would make it possible, because obviously he will make it happen just for you! and wether the feelings he was encountering right now were pure and good ..
.. alhaitham would do anything to keep you, and he won't ever lose you.
©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham smut#al haitham x reader#al haitham smut#genshin x you#genshin Impact x you#alhaitham x you
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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader
Chapter 8
Word Count ~ 4.6k
Rating ~ Explicit
CW ~ sexual content, slight breeding kink, body horror, minor violence
Also available on AO3
taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp
Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok
You always have to be extra careful when one of the Sverchzt sisters is asking to enter the building.
Twins, and both of them nearly identical, save for the location of the mole on the cheek: on the right for Selenne, the left for Elenois. Both employed as models, with the same hourglass figures, full, painted lips, long lashes, and breathy voices accented with something exotically European sounding. You always feel very plain and lacking around them; it was like being back in school again as the shy, unpopular girl, envying the pretty cheerleaders that seemed to have it all.
But you don’t feel inadequate today, still buoyed up from your feelings of being with Francis’ doppelgänger all weekend. You look over the identification card and entry request, finding everything in order. The elegant woman is on the day’s list of expected entrants, too. You’re nearly ready to hit the switch to grant her access into the apartments, still reminiscing about your fiancé, when something in you, some sixth sense kicking in, cautions you that you should probably call the apartment, just to be certain. There is nothing visually you can identify that is incorrect about the haughty woman on the opposite side of the glass, who is now folding her arms across her ample chest, the polished nail of an index finger tapping against the porcelain skin of one slender forearm. An impatient gesture you’ve seen Selenne make before, dozens of times. Nothing suspicious about the documents, either. But still, you feel it is better to be safe than sorry.
You already know all the residents’ phone numbers by heart now, the quick four digit extensions granting you rapid access.
“Hello. Elenois speaking. My sister and I are both at home today. We are not expecting any visitors.”
“Thank you.” You keep your expression calm, hurriedly flipping the plastic shield down and depressing the button to sound the alarm, catching one last glimpse of the doppelgänger, the crimson polished nails now scratching at the glass pane, the eyes with the lids shadowed in lavender streaked and bloodshot, the plush lips parting to expose yellow fangs dripping spittle before the shutters finish descending. You phone the disposal team, still maintaining your composure.
Close. That had been too close. You had to concentrate. Focus.
The day progresses and you find yourself getting back into the rhythm of things. Wondering how your pretender beau had decided which members of his squadron to sacrifice, sending them to the building to meet their doom to throw the DDD off the trail. What would happen when the numbers dwindled, when there were none left to send? Did the faded mark he’d left behind still shield you? Or did it only make you more desireable, like what had happened with the replicant who looked like Izaack Gauss?
You’re picking at the peeling varnish of the battered desk during the afternoon lull when someone walks into the building and your heart stops.
Francis.
Not the original, and not your doppel, either. This one is nearly a dead ringer, except for the nose that’s not quite right, the tip slightly larger, the nostrils a little more flared.
It had never occurred to you that there would still be other versions of the milkman walking around. Where has he been all this time?
“Mmm…hello.” The customary greeting the genuine version had always adopted. He slides an ID card through the slot.
“Entry request?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot. Here it is.” The smile breaks your heart. His smile. Only not.
You stare at the document for long moments. Everything looks correct: the document expiration date present and set for the future; the serial number identical to what you have on file; the logo of your organization in plain sight; the stated reason for the alleged milkman’s absence logical. All of the elements appear as they should, save for that slightly mismatched nose in the photograph and entry request.
“Is there a problem?”
Your eyes lift to meet his. Why are you drawing this out?
“Your appearance,” you answer distractedly.
“Yes? What about it? Doesn’t it match the picture?”
You shake your head, reaching for the alarm button. “I’m sorry.” It’s foolish, being this sentimental. No reason for it. You know the real Francis is gone. You know it’s not the invader you’ve fallen for.
Alarm blossoms on the fake milkman’s features. His hands clasp together. “Wait, please…I’ll leave. Just…I don’t want to die.”
You freeze. This was new. The doppels always reacted with anger when their cover was blown. You’ve never had one beg for their life before.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Was it true? Were there others that were willing to coexist peacefully? Had you incorrectly assumed they all sought the same goal, replacing humans and ruling over the planet, the one remarkable exception being your lover?
Or was this just a new tactic that they’d adopted, evolving, learning, adapting better to human weaknesses?
You had no way of knowing which it was.
“I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry.” You slam your fist against the alarm switch before the replicant tries to escape, that same soft, pleading look haunting you as the shutter descends. The cleaners arrive and you cover your ears with your hands. You don’t want to listen to it. You can’t.
There are tears in your eyes when the figure in the yellow hazmat suit declares you are now able to return to your job.
***
The replicant milkman—yours, you note with relief—arrives later that afternoon, hastily adjusting the cap on his head, offering a brief glimpse of the perspiration from the heat outdoors lining his brow, his tousled brown locks damp, plastered against his forehead. He’s already smiling before he’s even reached the window, hurriedly thrusting his document and ID card through the slot, and something else, something that sounds metallic against the shallow stainless opening at the bottom of the window.
You reach for it, realizing what it is the second your fingers close over the object: your engagement ring.
The DDD had ceased its surveillance of the security booth, the resources and manpower needed elsewhere, apparently, so their is no longer the camera or the person watching it to worry about. You stare at the solitaire diamond, at the pretty filigree decorating the band on either side of it, and the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier come pouring out of you, a messy amalgamation of guilt and fear and relief releasing in that sudden cascade.
“Sweetheart, you like it that much? I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure…” His voice trails off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
You shake your head, absently hitting the buzzer to let him in, then hitting its partner to shut the door behind him.
The door to the security booth opens. “Oh, Francis.” You throw your arms around his neck, burrowing along his shirt collar while he rubs soothing circles on your back.
“What is it, love?”
“I’ve had such a terrible day. I almost let in a doppel by mistake this morning, and just a little while ago there was a doppel that looked like Francis.”
“Sweet girl.” His arms tighten around you.
“He begged for his life, Francis. I’ve never seen that before. It was so difficult to call the team. But I had to. I had to do it. I didn’t know if he really meant he wouldn’t harm anyone, or if he was lying. I couldn’t risk him hurting the residents inside.”
“Of course you did, love.”
“How many copies of him are there? Just roaming around the city?”
“I don’t know. But it wasn’t Francis and it wasn’t me. They were just trying to trick you, and you didn’t fall for it. You did the right thing. I know it was difficult for you. I know why, love. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”
You remain in his arms, letting the comfort he’s offering seep into you. He does understand, better than anyone else ever could. After a time you draw back, sniffling. The ring is still clutched tightly in your fist. You relax your palm, spreading your fingers so you can admire the piece of jewelry again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. It’s lovely, Francis. Perfect.”
The imposter smoothes the last of the tears away and kneels down, gently plucking the ring from your right hand, then reaches for your left one, sliding the diamond band onto your ring finger and kissing the back of your hand.
The sound of a throat being cleared at the window interrupts the moment. You jump, startled. It’s the pilot.
“Dropping off more paperwork, doll?” Steven Rudboys grins, sliding his card and request form towards you.
You blush, aware of your fiancé rising to his feet beside you, frowning. Of course he doesn’t understand the reference, from that day when you’d visited the doppel so early on, when he’d slipped you the invitation to come to the apartment.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the man with the Mohawk says, his eyes lingering on the ring. “I always knew you two would end up together. Took you long enough, Mosses,” he adds, shooting the imposter milkman a sharp glance. “Don’t know what Afton and Stone are waiting for. I thought for sure they would’ve set a date by now. Bet you two don’t wait that long to tie the knot.”
Your cheeks are scarlet, your eyes focused on the documents, checking the day’s schedule. On the day’s list. A quick phone call just to confirm what you already know, allowing the man to enter the apartments once you’ve spoken to his father, heaving a sigh of relief when he’s finally gone from sight.
“I don’t like him,” the pretender says, his voice nearly a growl. “I don’t think Francis ever did, either. Too intrusive.” He turns his attention back to you. “Maybe not the best timing for the ring,” he observes ruefully.
“I’m sorry. I love it. Truly. It’s just been a very hectic, stressful day.”
“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be feeling that way. I think…I hope…I can help with that. Come see me as soon as you get off shift, okay? And be careful. If you need me, call.”
You nod, kissing him before he exits the booth and heads towards the elevator. You stretch your hand out, turning it slightly, watching how the light plays over the facets. It was official. You were engaged. You doubted it would take long for the rumor mill of the apartment building to circulate the news. Poor Francis. He’d be bombarded with well wishers and busybodies. Rudboys was probably going to keep at him mercilessly.
The rest of your shift passes by blessedly uneventfully. It is nearly time for your workday to end. Time to return to your lover waiting for you upstairs, the doppel you’re betrothed to.
***
You tap your knuckles on the door of apartment 3-02, greeted by the copy of the living space’s former owner.
He’s shed the troublesome cap, the ebony bow unknotted and draped around his neck, the first pair of buttons on his shirt undone. He smiles at you. “Hello, future Mrs. Mosses.”
“Hi. Can I come in?”
“Do you have proper identification?”
“I seem to have forgotten it.”
He clucks his tongue. “Then I can’t let you in, I’m afraid.”
“Do you accept bribes?”
His lips twitch. “Maybe.” The opening widens. “Come in here.”
You enter and the door closes behind you. “That was easy. I don’t think you’d make a good doorman,” you tease.
“No, but I make up for it elsewhere, don’t I?” He murmurs and you hum in agreement as he slides a hand around your waist, dragging you against him. “It’s torture being away from you. To go from having the weekend together to this long absence all day…” His lips touch yours, traveling to your neck.
“I know. I thought about you all day long.” Your hand rests on his chest. He covers it with his own, toying with the ring on your finger. A little room to move the band, but still secure around the digit. You didn’t wear jewelry often, but the size you’d told him had been the correct one. “I love it, Francis.”
“I’m glad.” Another kiss on your mouth. “I’m hungry for you, love.”
You feel it in his kisses. No longer gentle. Tongue stroking yours roughly. Teeth nipping. You cross the hallway to the bedroom with your fiancé. Unfastening clothing. Yours. His. Impatient to be naked. A button tears from your blouse. “I’ll mend it later,” you say distractedly.
Your back is tucked against his chest, the pair of you standing before the dresser mirror. Your breathing is loud, nearly as loud as his. You would have been mortified to be making so much noise even a month ago. But you have no reason to hide it now. You’re engaged. No one on this floor was going to pretend they didn’t know what goes on with young couples behind closed doors. You’ve heard Afton and Stone going at it before. Not nearly as often or as loud as you and your doppel, though.
You’re about to bend to slide your thigh high nylons off but the copycat halts you, his hand clasping yours above the scalloped lace edge that clings to your leg.
“Leave them on for me? I like them.” He snaps a garter belt playfully, dragging a hand over your lace panties. Something else that was new. You normally wore sensible undergarments beneath your work clothes. But now you had someone to admire what clung to your intimate places. He caresses the space between your legs through the delicate fabric, dragging his hand up to begin massaging your breasts encased in a matching brassiere. “Gorgeous. So beautiful, love.” His mouth worries along your shoulder.
“Are you going to mark me again?”
A pause, his hands and lips freezing. “Do you want me to?”
The low pitch of his voice drags across your core. You’re still frightened of it. But you want it, all the same. You want this creature to claim you. “Yes. Do you?”
The doppelgänger’s lips are by your ear. “Yes, love. But you shouldn’t watch…”
Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “I want to. I want to see you…”
“Sweetheart…” Hesitant. Perhaps more afraid than you are. To be seen. Exposed. To let the monster off the leash, as it were. Allowing the demon within out to play.
“I trust you.”
He moans softly against your hair. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”
“I love you.”
A whimper. The thing inside anxious to be let out, scratching and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, that barrier of human flesh that had once belonged to Francis Mosses. Nails raking across your abdomen. Not enough to puncture the skin, still careful, the barest scrape of the unsheathed claws you can just see emerging now. Tearing at the fabric covering your sex, the material fraying, the embroidered threads coming loose. The crown of chocolate hair lifts and you see his eyes: the doppel’s eyes, peering at your from behind Francis’ sleepy dark ones. Red like blood, like the vessels that burst in surrender, like the lining of those shadowed lower lids. The white sclera of the orbs iridescent, shimmery, identical to the outline of the alien creature clutching you, an unsteady shift in the very particles and atoms that comprise him, things unseen, things not meant to be viewed by a mortal eye. The neat ivory teeth no longer tame incisors and molars, but transformed, sharp like the cuspids of a vampire, ravenous, the drool dripping from them onto your skin.
It is still not what he truly is; that monster well concealed, struggling to maintain control in this tenuous bridged state, not quite one or the other, partly human, partly doppel. What remains of your panties are shoved down, his leaking cock pressing against the curve of one cheek of your buttocks. He pushes against you and you grasp the edge of the dresser, the stained and varnished wood supporting you at a slight angle as he guides his erection inside of you.
Your body is already gushing arousal, welcoming him in. You catch sight of your heaving chest in the mirror, your lingerie encased breasts lifting and straining to burst free, much like the replicant thrusting into you.
He says your name, and it is not Francis’ voice at all. This a summons from deep within, heavy, full of gravel, dragging across your flesh like sandpaper. The wavering, mirage-like border of his pulsing frame feels hot, sticky. Your lashes flutter. The bottles of cologne lining the dresser’s surface tumble down. So deep. He’s so deep inside of you. Shoved in to the hilt each time. And still you want him even further. Impossible. But you crave it. That complete violation. Was this what it felt like to be taken over? You’d imagined it to be painful, terrifying. Instead it was sheer bliss. Your eyes link with his through the oval shaped looking glass once more.
“More, please, Francis…”
He jerks you away from the dresser, still impaled on his cock. Here is the pain you’d anticipated, that searing kiss of teeth piercing your shoulder, sucking the skin over the bone, a burst of stars in front of your eyes, fireworks ricocheting within you as you come undone, your insides splashed with something molten, soaked with your lover’s release. Wet skin, wet pussy, drenched prick, sweat and cum and that thin trail of blood seeping from the wound he’s created, laving rapturously at the taste of you, that very human taste in his very inhuman mouth.
His body shudders against yours. Aftershocks, not from orgasm but the shift back to how he appeared before, the glow dissipating, eyes cleared and gentling, the sharp hooks tipping each finger a replica of Francis’ blunt edged nails once more. Only a few red welts betray those nightmare claws’ existence, where he had become a little too lost in the passion, tattooing the soft flesh of your abdomen. The door to the invader’s cage is sealed shut once again. You hold him upright as much as he holds you steady, slipping free from your entrance, the hot spill of seed leaking down your thighs, seeping into the stockings. You can feel the tremors still spasming, your own nerves quivering with the remnants of pleasure, echoing against you as your lover’s body shares the same sensation. The panting breaths grow quieter. The sound of the Rudboys’ television next door disturbs the stillness. You’d completely missed the audio cue of the curfew horn.
“Sweet girl.” It’s all he can seem to manage, this whispered into your hair. It’s the milkman’s voice again, but it sounds raw, raspy. The vocal chords had been strained, never meant to produce the sounds they had earlier.
You rest your hand on the one clutching your abdomen, the glint of your engagement ring winking, a stubborn sparkle in the glow of the lamp, struggling against the growing darkness in the room as the day’s natural light fails beyond the curtained window.
***
The blackberry jam, pulled from the refrigerator several hours later, is perfect.
Perhaps one of the best batches you’ve ever tasted. You’ve snuck a sample from the unsealed mason jar, unable to wait. You’re already imagining how good that flavor will be when it’s smoothed over the biscuits you’re making with your doppelgänger, his fingers kneading the dough mixture you’ve just created. There is a stray bit of flour dusting his nose where he’d absently stroked an itch along the bridge and you wipe it clear, the touch becoming a lingering caress. He pauses, fingers still dug into the dough, looking at you with that same kind of wonder as he had earlier, after the incident in the bedroom.
As if he cannot believe what you’d asked for, accepted so willingly, eagerly; of the control over his true form he’d been able to maintain, keeping you safe.
Pats of butter melt quickly on the sliced biscuits pulled from the oven. You’re sweating. You need a shower after this for certain. You slather on a generous layer of the sweet fruit spread, offering a bite to your fiancé. He chews, nodding approvingly. There is a stray bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. You cannot resist lapping at it. Licking his mouth open. Tasting the sweetness there. Marveling at how quickly the desire is rekindled. Perhaps you would never be sated. Always this ache, this gnawing want in your center.
Drenched in the shower together. Back out again. Night sounds through the open window. The measured footsteps of a patrol. Soft chatter. A dog barking. You miss your farmhouse. The crickets and the scent of lilac blossoms and your lover in your bed, on cotton sheets that smell like the outdoors, hung on the line to dry in the clear air.
“Francis,” you murmur, your mouth tracing the outline of the crest of one hip, you hand curled around the other. Tasting the soap on his skin, the slight masculine musk as you wander along his groin, swiping your tongue across his cock.
Your shoulder throbs, pulsing in time with the neediness within. You want it again already. Not just the sex, but the other. A strange kind of addiction developing.
Your pussy aches to be filled again. You suck his erection and moan, hastily tucking your hair out of the way. Ravenous. An animalistic slobber. Lips loose. Shoving down as far as you can tolerate. Past it. Insistent, fucking your throat with his dick.
A little gasp of surprise from the doppel. “Easy, love. Don’t waste it. Want to…”
You release his spit soaked member, planting wet kisses back up his stomach, his chest. Crawling over his body until you reach his mouth. “What do you want, Francis?” Your voice a whisper, matching his.
“Oh love, you know what I want.” This huffed beside your cheek. You’re teasing kisses along his jaw, nipping at an ear lobe.
“Tell me. Tell me how you want to fill me up. With your cock. With your cum. Breed me, make a baby…”
You don’t know where the words come from. Another gasp. A growl. You want to impale yourself on him but it’s not the ideal position for getting pregnant. You allow him to shift, moving your body with his, pinning you beneath him.
“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” His hands press into the pillow beneath your head. There are a proper quartet of them now, piled plush cushions for you and your alien lover.
“Yes. Please, Francis…”
His knee parts your legs. Pressure. He’s inside you.
Your head lifts off the pillow and he captures your lips, pressing you back down. Working inside of you slow and steady, fucking you back open.
“There you go, love.” His mouth gentle on yours.
“I need…”
“What? What do you need?”
Your shoulder is on fire. “I want you to mark me again.”
“No, love. It’s too soon for that.” You feel him shake his head, the faint stir of air beside your cheek with the motion.
“It felt so good.”
“I know.”
“Put the light on, then? Let me see you. Let me see what’s inside…”
“No.” His voice loud now, his hips still against yours. “No, it’s too risky.”
“You can control it. I know you can. I trust you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me.”
“Sweetheart, I can’t. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
“Because why?”
“Because I’m afraid,” he confesses against your neck. “You’ve no idea the strain. The desire to tear free. It would destroy Francis’ body. The urge to devour you…” He kisses your throat softly. “Let me love you like the man I appear to be.”
“I love you. You, what’s inside.” You touch his cheek.
“I know, love. And the way that makes me feel is indescribable. I don’t need to be out of this body to experience it. I adore you, sweet girl. Let me show you how much. Like this,” he says, his hips lifting and pressing, guiding his cock back into your hollow.
Your pelvis arches to receive him. It scares you how much you want him. Your body shakes with the intensity of that desire. Craving that violence, that feeling of teetering on the brink of destruction. His, yours. The human mouth on your shoulder. Sucking. Kneading with teeth that aren’t nearly sharp enough. But it stirs whatever he’s injected you with. A venom, a toxin, not poisonous, not lethal, but a chemical that you need more of. Bringing you closer to what you’re so desperate for. It doesn’t take you long to climax, the doppel’s own release close behind. He lifts your hips and legs, propping them against his chest, keeping his seed deep inside you, stroking along your stomach.
Willing there to be a spark of life there, the way all life has begun, according to the words in the holy book still sitting on the nightstand, a burst of light in the darkness.
***
Another day at the DDD security window.
The doppelgängers have been clumsy so far. Woefully inept at replication. You didn’t need specialized training to recognize the imposter for the shoemaker with a mustache as a fake, a single eye in the center of his forehead making Albertsky Peachman look like a cyclops. The clone of the mother of the student living on the second floor had correctly replicated the placement of the blue and green irises, but the phony Nacha Mikaelys’ jaw was strangely formed, the flesh pulpy and uneven, making it appear like oatmeal.
The best part of your workday arrives on schedule, slipping a new gift into the slot this time. “Tickets to the theater for this Sunday. I know it’s not the movie you mentioned, but…”
You grin. You can’t even remember the last time you’d gone to see a movie. And now you’d be seeing it with your fiancé. “Casablanca! Oh, it’s wonderful. I have something for you, too.” You exchange an open envelope with the doppelgänger.
He slides the contents free, unfolding the letter and scanning it quickly, a smile lighting his features. “They’ve invited us to see them.”
You nod, still beaming, watching the invader tuck the letter from your parents back into the envelope. “We’ll visit the following weekend.”
“I look forward to it. Still nervous, but looking forward to it. How was your day, love?”
“It went well. Yours?”
“Better now.” Another smile. “I’ve got another surprise, too. Left it in the truck because I was anxious to see you. I’m making dinner tonight. Well we’re probably making dinner. I’m not optimistic about Francis’ cooking skills,” he adds, lowering his voice.
You couldn’t blame him for doubting it. The man’s pantry and refrigerator had been nearly empty, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because he’d been overdue for a trip to get groceries.
Thinking of the solitary, simple life of the milkman rinses the joy from your features. No real family to speak of, either, according to the doppelgänger, save for a cousin that he’d had little to no contact with. He really had been alone in the world. Isolated. You could have done something about that. You should have. But it was too late now. And you had your doppelgänger instead. The being your heart was so full for.
“Love?” The replicant sees the change in your expression, frowning now.
“I’m okay. Yes, I’ll help you cook. It sounds fun.” You’re not relishing the thought of working over a hot stove in that stuffy third floor living space, longing for the upcoming change in the weather. But you like the idea of working beside your partner. Preparing a meal. And what would come after.
The bite on your shoulder throbs, reminding you.
#francis mosses#francis mosses x reader#francis mosses x you#milkman#milkman x reader#milkman x you#thats not my neighbor#doppelganger#that’s not my neighbor#the milkman
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Flickering Candlelight
yandere alhaitham x f!reader
cw: yandere, forced proximity, mentions of past confinement, manipulation, skyrocketed self-indulgence.
wc: 1.5k
loosely connected to this piece but can be read on its own!
If there was anything you despised more than Alhaitham himself, it would have to be staying beside him while he works at night.
After an entire day of tending to tiresome household chores and little to no recreation, when the bed calls for you so alluringly, the pillows promising sweet sweet dreams — you're instead forced to be strapped (not literally) on a rigid wooden chair and beside an even more rigid man who you have the misfortune to call husband.
You're yet to fully memorize all the rules penned down by said man and the short meantime you had been performing these duties do not help in comprising an understanding either. Still, you follow through all his demands requests compliantly for the most part ; even then you cannot help but question the logicality behind this particular ‘duty’. Should you, with extreme boldness, conclude this need for company a result of the Scribe's loneliness? Or, is it something as simple —and borderline sweet— as your presence being comforting? The possibilities are infinite and with a man such as Alhaitham, you could only keep theorising to pass time in such nights. The wooden chair is as close to comfortable as Celestia is to the Abyss but what you cannot comprehend is, how sitting on his lap would make this situation any better.
The entire room is dimly lit by a single candle that sat upon his desk on a silver stand, so only the surroundings close to it was visible. The candlelight occasionally dances due to the beckoning of the night wind entering through the window, some of it briefly brushes against your skin ; making it even harder to keep your eyes open.
The calling of sleep could've been muted if, oh you don't know— there had been more entertaining things other than the moving of Alhaitham's quill or the view of your dangling feet to see ; you'd already passed two something hours switching between the two after all. And it's even harder to keep your body straight as it begs to lean unto something — not a wise decision in this case as the only thing to lean onto here is the Scribe's abdomen.
Despite the duration of you two being ‘together’, you're still quite easily flustered by physical proximity (Alhaitham sometimes uses this against you, very much to your dismay). Not like he is well-versed with displays of affection either but unlike him, you have some dignity left. A yawn involuntarily escapes your lips and your hand raises to cover your mouth, the corner of your eyes dampen and your body slouches but you keep fighting your primal urges.
Alhaitham finally takes notice of your struggles, without moving his attention from his work, he says, “I have told you already, you can lean on me instead of being stubborn. You should be well aware that adequate rest is necessary in order to perform your duties.”
Hypocrite. You are the one who's not letting me rest.
Despite his borderline enticing offer, you appear to shrink even further — or, as far as his pinning hold on your waist would allow you to. Here's the thing, you'd never refute to Alhaitham through words (not anymore) instead, your defiance subtly seeps through your actions ; how you flinch or try to create as much distance from him as possible. Your abhorrence for the Scribe is not lost on him either, it pains his stoned heart at times, how your eyes seem to only dull by his presence and how his name is never uttered with the same sentiments.
However, Alhaitham is no less stubborn himself. He knows you'll break and one day, you will reciprocate, too. He would not stop until he sees you smile only for him but a certain inconvenience needs to be mended for now.
A ticklish feeling engulfs the skin of your nape, black dots appear and disappear in your vision within rapid blinking. The Scribe's attention is fixed wholly on you but you cannot quite find that any more pleasing.
“Tell me, [y/n], what was the 22 rule from page nine?”
His voice is dangerously close, your skin flushes by instinct as his breath fans against it. You mentally scramble to search for the answer amidst all the distractions, now, despite your loose remembrance of Alhaitham's rules, you remember this particular one vividly — the Scribe made sure you would. However, the query of it at the moment stirs unsettlement.
Despite the rising apprehensiveness you mutter, “An ideal wife must have no doubts in her loyalty,”
The Scribe hums, the vibration of it travels through your skin, his fingers are faintly tapping the curve of your waist ; a chill runs down your spine. You do not like where this is headed.
“In that case, tempered door locks, sharp objects hidden beneath the bed mattress and attempts to shatter the window glass disguised as wild animals accidentally trespassing should also fall under that rule. After all, if the wife was undoubtedly loyal to the husband, she would not take such measures, no?”
Whatever sleep and tiredness that had clung to you before disappears like it had never existed. You straighten in alert but any further action is halted as Alhaitham's teeth nibble on your neck — not as forceful as to enact pain but enough to retrace memories. The serene rhythm of your heartbeats are sent askew, your hands clench on your lap.
H-how...?
A cool breeze waltzes through the open window, the panes rattle ever so silently ; the candle's light trembles. You discover your palms to be sweating once you unclench them, your eyes dart to as much space as it could considering the clasp you're in. Bastard, cornering you in such a situation where he has you in the palm of his hands. Even a wrong twitch could annihilate months worth of progress.
There is nothing in the Scribe's table capable of momentary distractions but then again, there is a very thick book an arm's length away. Should you hit his ridiculously smart head with it and make a run for the window? Alhaitham's hand squeezes the side of your waist, a beckoning for you to answer and answer plausibly (you're half spooked as the thought of him sensing your motives crosses by).
“...Yes,”
Alhaitham leans back from his ministrations but you're not given the reprieve of relief.
“You're so tense, [y/n]. If I did not know any better, I would've assumed you were planning to take a leap and run from me now.” there's an uncharacteristic teasing lilt hanging by those words, relative to the context, at least. The quirk of the Scribe's lips send your nerves in a greater frenzy, although. Throughout the lone time you've spent with him, you've found the once-in-a-blue-moon smiles to be nothing but premonitions. His gaze pins you from even breathing properly, there's an inclining for you to deny his claim regardless of the truth to it.
“Why would I want to run from you? I'm pleased by your side.” you lie through your teeth and the Scribe proceeds like he's halfway to victory.
“Of course, my wife is intelligent enough to...”
Alhaitham's hand frees its grip from you waist to gingerly take ahold of you wrist, his thumb caresses the skin in a circular motion with mock absentmindedness and finally presses it against your pulse point.
“...not want the chains to be back.”
Thump. You accidentally make the mistake of flinching, the Scribe tightens his hold in reflex and you're reminded again of his persistence. No matter how many door locks you temper with, how many windows you break and how many glass shards you hide — he'd always, always be one step ahead ; after all, it's not you who fixes every bit of your ‘mess’ and clears out the surroundings of any threats every day. And he'd inflict guilt and remind who you belong to again and again, he'll break you a thousand times if necessary until you finally learn.
You know, you know very well that freedom has long bid you farewell, the hopeless rationality in you begs for you to give up but the stubborn part insists and clings to the faint silver of hope. It tries to reason that, for now, you need to appease him, take his mind off of your blunder so you're given the time to think ; you give in to its desperate plea and fall to his grasp farther and that desperation comforts back — for now.
Alhaitham is taken aback for a millisecond as you lean on his torso a little too eagerly. His mind blanks for that fraction of time though that state is too transient, it's still something new, you note. The fatigue that had been flung in the span of a few moments crashes onto you again as Alhaitham's hand reaches to comb through your locks.
“Good girl.”
You suppress your revolt and close your eyes shut, welcoming sleep for the first time in his working presence and entering the dreamscapes to weave a better scheme for escapade.
well that escalated quickly.
#reposting due to some issues with the previous post#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere alhaitham x reader#yandere al haitham x reader#al haitham x female reader#alhaitham x female reader#genshin impact x female reader#yandere alhaitham#yandere al haitham#genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact x female reader#genshin x you#yandere x you#al haitham x you#alhaitham x you#yandere drabbles#yandere genshin drabbles#yandere imagines#genshin imagines#genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin x reader#yandere x darling#male yandere#female darling#al haitham agenda
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“Are you in the shower?”
[description] Fem Reader x Rafe Cameron
[summary] After a long day at work your boyfriend helps you relieve stress
[cw + tw] 18+ CONTENT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, smut, strong language
[authors note] feedback & requests are always welcome
‼️WARNING: ADULT CONTENT AHEAD‼️
Enjoy 🖤
_____________________________________________
“babe?” i yell out from the bathroom after hearing a door shut
“yeah, it’s me” Rafe answers “are you in the shower?”
“i’m getting in now” i reply
i step in and stand under the shower head basking in the warmth letting the water roll over my entire body
i snap out of my day dream when i hear clothes heaping onto the floor
the shower door slides open, Rafe is standing there completely nude with a devilish smirk, i can’t help but notice he’s fully erect
he steps in and wraps his arms around me from behind nuzzling his face into my neck
i allow myself to melt into his strength, it’s been a long day, i close my eyes and indulge in this connection between us
“how was your day baby?” he asks softly
“it was alright” i say unconvincingly
“just alright?” the tone in his voice shifts “what can i do to make it better, hmm?” he presses his soft lips to my neck, leaving a trail of love down to my shoulder
his touch sends shivers down my spine “i guess i could think of one thing” i say teasingly while pushing myself against his manhood
i can feel him smile against my skin and that’s when his hands begin to search for their next victim, he grabs hold of both of my breasts and rolls my nipples in between his fingers
i take a deep breath in and lean my my head back on his shoulder, Rafe licks and sucks on my neck, i let out a sweet soft moan into his ear
the water is pounding on my hard nipples causing a tingling sensation between my thighs, i squeeze my legs together to enhance the feeling
one of his hands slides down the front of my body in search of my sweet spot, he runs a finger down my slit causing me to buck my hips into him “you want me?” he asks kissing my cheek
“mmhmm” i mumble, i reach my hand down to guide him and i push 2 of his fingers into my cunt, “fffuck-“
he slightly curls his long fingers while pumping them in and out of me, i can feel an orgasm building in my stomach
“right there Rafe” i whimper
“that feel good baby?” he growls in my ear
“don’t stop” i beg
he pulls his fingers out of me and sticks them in his mouth sucking off every last bit of my nectar
“Rafe please-“ i sigh, disappointed i was just deprived of an orgasm
he reaches in front of me grabbing the shower hose off the mount “put your leg up on the tub” he demands, i do as he says
he switches the shower head to the jet setting and places it directly on my clit, my body jumps at the sensation
“oh- fuck -“ i lose my breath
“how does that feel pretty girl?” he asks
i let out guttural moans in response, my legs begin to quiver as the jet relentlessly pounds my pussy
“cum for me” Rafe pressures me
my breaths become rapid, sharp inhales and exhales, “i’m cumming” i warn him
my body releases me into a state of euphoria, i lose all control
“that’a girl let it out” he groans, while holding up my limp body “that’s it baby”
he replaces the shower head and holds me until i’m steady on my feet again, rubbing his hands up and down my recovering body
i grab hold of his hands, pulling them up and kissing them
“pass me your shampoo” Rafe says “let’s get you cleaned up so we can go to bed”
#obx fanfiction#outer banks#fem reader#obx smut#smut#fanfic#rafe cameron#drew starkey#rafe smut#obx rafe cameron#drew starkey smut
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Arcade Love- Choi Beomgyu
Pairing: Beomgyu x Afab reader
Genre: smut, fluff, MDNI, 18+!
CW: NSFW, smut, mature language, public setting (arcade photo booth), fingering & head (f!receiving), unprotected sex (use protection guys)
Synopsis: You go to an arcade with your boyfriend Beomgyu. You have some innocent fun playing a few games and taking a few photos, before the tension becomes too much and you decide to have a different kind of fun...
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The lights of the arcade glistened around you, flickering in time with the music that could barely be heard underneath the noise of the crowd. You stood with Beomgyu at the entrance, his expression unable to mask the childlike excitement he was feeling. Seeing the arcade lights reflect in his eyes seemed to match his excited smile so well. You let your thumb run across the hand you were holding while you admired him softly.
Before you could comment on how cute you thought he was, Gyu's excitement shot into action as he gripped your hand tighter and bolted toward the center of the arcade, practically dragging you. He dropped your hand momentarily to motion to the Dance Dance Revolution platform that stood in front of the two of you. With how proudly he held his arms up toward it, you'd think the game was created by Choi Beomgyu himself.
"I hope you came prepared to lose today," Beomgyu declared with loud confidence, lowering one arm to rest on the bar handle while the other swiped his long black hair away from his face. His sweet smile became a playful smirk as he subconsciously raised an eyebrow at you. You only had time to chuckle at him before he practically jumped over to be directly in front of you. He widened his eyes as large as he could make them and instantly put his face closer to yours. His hair jumped along with him as he hopped up and down slightly, keeping the distance between your faces minimal. "Not going to say anything? Are you scared to challenge me?" He taunted you.
You chuckled at the sheer energy that was so closely bound with everything he said. "Gyu... I'm not scared to challenge you because there's no doubt who's winning". You calmly stated this as a fact, deeply contrasting his rapid enthusiasm.
If you shook Beomgyu's confidence at all, he didn't let it show. The smirk he had plastered on his face earlier still remained as his brown eyes flickered down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "If you say so," he shrugged before sending a quick wink your way. It was subtle, but still felt dramatic coming from him. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to distract you.
He couldn't even keep himself focused on his own tactics, because within a second he was already focused on choosing the perfect song to dance to. In Beomgyu's concentrated state, you found yourself admiring him again. His eyebrows were furrowed as he squinted his eyes ever so slightly, and his tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth. He looked so serious, and it attracted you to him more than you already were. A loving sigh escaped your mouth and, like a switch had been flipped, he whipped his head around and donned his most innocent expression. His face had instantly softened and his mouth was now slightly agape. You were always amazed at how quickly his entire demeanor could change.
"Is something wrong?" He asked, concern filling his voice. You shook your head and smiled as a way to tell him not to worry. His posture softened, revealing how tense he had been when he had mistaken your sigh for one of discomfort. "Good. I just get worried when I think you could be upset about anything".
Before you could thank Beomgyu for caring about you, he quickly changed the subject and blurted, "But now its time for me to kick your ass!"
He pulled you to the platform by your arm and gave you no time to prepare. You quickly tried to get lost in the music, beginning to get perfect scores on each step, when Beomgyu noticed how well you were doing. He immediately came up with a plan of action.
Your perfect scores were interrupted by two familar hands pushing you off the short platform. You stumbled and glared at Gyu with a look of betrayal as he glanced at you briefly to make sure you weren’t hurt. "Looks like you need to work on your coordination!" He erupted with laugher. Despite his amusement, he didn't let his focus shift away from beating you.
When the song came to an end, Beomgyu looked at you with a prideful smile. "I beat you without even trying," He panted, chuckling in between heavy breaths. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and hopped off of the platform.
"You're evil, you know that?" You mumbled, giving him a playful punch to the shoulder. "Its what I do," he grinned, already prepared to move on to the next thing. You shook your head and laughed silently as you wondered what he would drag you toward next.
Beomgyu's eyes lit up once again and turned to you with the excitement of a small puppy. "Y/n!! You know we have to...."
You followed his gaze and noticed a photo booth in the back of the arcade. Your eyes lit up to match the enthusiasm that were in his; Gyu always loved taking photos with you. He always felt the need to display them in his wallet, in his car, in frames at home...
Your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tug on your arm, and you looked down to see Beomgyu holding onto it with both hands. You looked up to meet his soft eyes, giving him a nod to satisfy that questioning gaze.
He took the gesture as approval to race toward the booth, keeping his grasp on your arm. He was a few steps ahead of you so you couldn’t see his face, but you knew that the biggest smile was plastered across his lips. Beomgyu was practically skipping across the arcade at this point, and his happiness was radiant.
He pulled you behind the curtain, eager to start taking photos. You sat down next to him as he excitedly suggests, “I think it would be cute if we made a heart!” He held up half of one, waiting for you to complete it. You couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. He was so cute, so eager to make memories with you. You put your heart-shaped hand next to his and smiled.
After the flash went off, he quickly moved on the next pose he could think of. He held up a peace sign with his left hand, as the other made its way around your back to rest gently on your waist. You put up a peace sign to match his, trying not to pay attention to his hand placement. He was being cute and sentimental, just wanting to take photos with you. Surely it’s not the time to think about how commanding his delicate fingers were on your body. Especially not in a public place like this.
Noticing you tense up under his touch, he glanced over at you for a moment. It made his sweet smile lose its innocence for a fraction of a second, although he didn’t want you to notice.
The flash of the photo booth distracted Beomgyu from his fleeting thoughts about you. It startled him slightly, causing him to involuntarily tighten his grip on your waist. You inhaled sharply at the sudden movement. Usually he would have asked you if you were okay, but his mind was preoccupied. Even though he was silent, the look in his eyes gave him away.
Neither of you could say anything as you sat there, both trying to ignore the heavy air around you. You almost felt frozen until you let out a deep exhale from the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. The sound of your breathing made Gyu close his eyes in an automatic response, changing the pressure of his hand on your waist. It’s like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to let go, or grip you tighter.
He brought himself to meet your gaze again, giving away the desperation that had settled in his eyes. His held his lower lip in his teeth ever so subtly as he fought the urge to break eye contact. You fought this urge as well, knowing his lips were practically inviting you.
Maybe the photos were over at this point, maybe they weren’t. All you knew was that time was stopped and you two were alone. You shifted in your seat, your movement breaking the trance Beomgyu was in as he freed your waist from his grip. You looked at the ground to distract yourself from the things you were thinking about him. The relief you felt was short lived, because when you met his eyes once more, he cautiously moved his hand to your thigh instead.
His fingers ghosted over the skin on your thighs, making your breathing unsteady. He maintained eye contact with you during this, with brief moments of his gaze flickering down to his own hands. He couldn’t help but think about what he could do with them as he lingered around the hem of your skirt.
When he looked back up, you were greeted once again by his lustful expression. You opened your mouth to break the silence that neither of you could bear anymore.
“Beomgyu…” was all you could mutter through your shaky breathing. He was barely touching you, but it was sending lightning waves up your spine. He put his finger to his lips to signal you to whisper, you had forgotten you were in public. It was an innocent gesture. Despite that, it made you shift in your seat once more as you focused on it.
Without thinking, you took the finger away from his mouth and guided it to your own face, gently tracing it along your pouted lips. You kept eye contact with him as you put it in your mouth. His eyes widened. He loved when you did this, although usually it was behind closed doors. He wondered whether the curtain they were sitting behind could provide the same privacy. A heavy exhale left Beomgyu’s lips as he removed his finger from your mouth to place it on your waist again. This time it didn’t stay there. He moved his hand down your side until it met the end of your skirt. He made sure you were looking at him as he trailed his fingers delicately along your panties, driving you crazy with the gentle touch. He liked watching you react to his movements, knowing you were squirming at the thought of him. You were so pretty in this vulnerable state, and he liked to be reminded that you were his.
You were painfully aware of how his fingers were barely touching you, teasing you with every gentle movement. Beomgyu must have been waiting for a verbal cue, or any kind of approval, as he looked up at you with a soft and questioning expression. He was unsure whether or not to take the risk. Only having the curtain to separate you from the crowd of the arcade made it even more of a rush to you, and soon you couldn't take the anticipation.
"Please... I'll be quiet." You swallowed. You hadn't noticed that you were practically drooling over the thought of him. Beomgyu exhaled with what seemed to be a sigh of relief as he impatiently moved your panties to the side. The sudden rush of cool air on your now exposed area caused you to breathe in, almost in surprise. He popped his fingers into his mouth and then traced them where your panties used to be, the warmth giving you another feeling of shock and pleasure. He then brought his lips to your neck and kissed you softly, swirling his tongue on the tender skin. You shivered at the feeling, needing him more and more every moment.
When he pulled his lips away from your neck, you pouted at him. He responded with a soft smirk. Keeping eye contact with you, Beomgyu lowered himself to the ground in front of you, his wet fingers still moving along your clit. He broke eye contact with you to swiftly replace his fingers with his tongue, and you held your breath as a wave of pleasure flooded your body. You nestled your hands in his hair and pressed your lips together as he pushed two fingers into you, curving them upwards to hit the spot he knew you liked.
As you felt his fingers move in and out of you, you squirmed and thought of how desperately you wanted all of him inside of you. He slowed down his pace and lifted his head to look at you with a loving expression that was full of craving. He always teased you like this before you had sex, and today you were more needy for him than usual.
You started getting impatient. You gave Beomgyu a pleading look, to which he answered by trailing his now wet fingers back up to your waist. Before you knew it he was back in the seat next to you, almost effortlessly lifting you to his lap.
As he sat you down to straddle him, and you gasped softly at his erection that pressed firmly against you. Instinctively you sat up higher, and Beomgyu responded by bucking his hips upwards to meet your body once again. The corner of his upper lip raised slightly when he did this, a breathy groan leaving his mouth. You were getting wetter by the second, surely leaving a mark on his pants already.
“Are you sure we should-“ you began to mutter, before being interrupted by a passionate kiss. You immediately melted into it, starting to slowly move your hips back and forth against him. The grip he had on your waist fell to your hips as he guided your movements. You bit his lower lip, letting a soft moan slip into his mouth. You knew this drove him crazy.
He pulled away from your kiss briefly to let out heavy breaths, unable to close his mouth. He looked down at your hips grinding against him. His hands tightened on your body, clinging onto you in desperation.
You stopped moving, causing Gyu’s gaze to quickly flicker back up to meet yours. He waited for you to say something, but instead you lifted yourself off of his lap. You stood up in front of him and kneeled down to hook your fingers in the waistband of his pants. His breath caught in his chest as he watched you pull both layers down, exposing himself entirely to you.
Despite seeing his dick many times before, your eyes still widened at what was in front of you. Beomgyu smirked softly at your reaction. He shook his head slightly to get his messy hair out of his face, so he could better admire you.
“You better be quiet, okay?” He spoke softly. You nodded, unable to speak. He placed his hand on your chin to lift you up to eye level, so he could look at you as he ran his hand up your skirt. He slipped your panties off gracefully and lifted you to sit on him once again.
Now you were sitting slightly above him as Beomgyu lined himself up with you, not breaking eye contact. He traced his dick back and forth along your wet center as you shuddered in response. You sunk down slowly and you let out a gasp as he entered you. Beomgyu let out a quiet groan. You matched each others rhythm as you bounced. Your breathing quickened, gasping every time you felt his dick fully inside of you. Beomgyu’s hands roamed your body desperately until one of his hands settled on your waist while the other nestled in your hair. You pressed your lips to his with a hunger, sucking on his lower lip.
He pulled away and used the hand on your waist to stop you from bouncing. "Just sit on it. Don't move." He teased through gritted teeth. Your body ached for movement, you ached for him. “Beomgyu… please-“
He interrupted your pleading by breathing into your ear, biting down on your earlobe and moaning softly. He couldn’t help himself but to buck his hips ever so slightly, the stillness killing him even more than it was killing you. He moved from your ear to trail kisses down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin. A moan escaped your lips, and he tightened his grip on your waist to tell you to be quiet.
At this point you were squirming on top of him, unable to stay still. Beomgyu gave in and held you firmly with both hands digging into your hips as he bucked into you. His pace quickly increased. The feeling was like fireworks in your stomach when he took over, it was almost impossible to stay quiet. You brought your face next to his ear so you could let quiet moans escape your lips, you wanted to let him know how he made you feel. You needed to make some sort of sound, even if it was restrained.
Beomgyu let out a low groan in response to your noises. He bit his lip to stop from making another sound, and tightened his grip on your body. You winced at the pressure change, and Gyu adjusted his hands to be more gentle. “Is that okay baby?” He panted, sweat dripping from his forehead. He didn’t stop his motions to ask you this.
All you could do was nod as he thrusted into you with more pressure. You were unable to close your mouth and let out a few more soft moans, squeezing your eyes shut. He kept thrusting in and out of you quickly, his mouth open as he moaned silently. He was penetrating you so hard that you could feel the buildup of excitement in your lower abdomen. “B-beom…” you whined. You placed a hand on his chest, signaling him to stop so you could take over. You werent ready to cum just yet. He panted as he came to a stop, where you picked back up almost immediately by bouncing on him. You lifted your shirt, exposing your bra-less chest. Beomgyu immediately placed his hands on your boobs, making sure he touched every inch of them. He then started toying with your nipples. He squeezed them, causing you to let out a gasp of pleasure.
“Quiet, or I’ll stop” he said between heavy breaths, his eyes full of lust. You closed your mouth immediately and shut your eyes, shuddering slightly at the pleasure that was flooding your body. You let out another unexpected gasp as you felt his tongue wrap around one of your nipples, Beomgyu's puffy lips sucking on it generously. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, as you lowered your bounce to start grinding on him instead. His teeth grazed you as he bit you softly. You couldn't help but let out a breathy moan, which caused Gyu to remove his mouth from your nipple so he could tell you to be quiet.
"Since you can't keep it down, I'll at least have to muffle the noises you make." Beomgyu pressed his needy lips to yours, and you took the opportunity to start bouncing on his dick again. This time it was Gyu who let a moan slip into your mouth as he gripped your hips. His grasp became commanding as he guided your movements, picking up the speed. You exhaled heavily onto his tongue, lightning waves striking every inch of your body as you felt the buildup in your stomach come back.
You let a soft "Yes" escape your lips. "Like that?" Beomgyu panted. Your only response was a moan, one that was a little bit louder than before.
He broke away from the kiss to throw his head back in pleasure, thrusting into you with more power. His sweaty state caused his hair to look wet now, making him look even sexier to you than he normally does.
The fire in your lower abdomen grew the harder he thrusted, and you moaned softly as you tried to fight it. "Beom.... Im.. Im close" you tried to whisper, but it came out like more of a whine. He replied with a desperate "mm-hmm," signaling that he was ready too. His thrusts got messier as he lifted his head back up to look at you with a flushed face. His eyebrows furrowed as he let out a restrained groan, and his fingers dug into your skin.
Your climax was coming to a high, the electric feeling becoming unbearable. You pressed your lips together and shut your eyes as you focused on each thrust into you, the pressure creating a feeling that felt like an ice cube and a fire were on your center simultaneously. You gasped as you reached your peak, throwing your face into Beomgyu's neck to muffle your moans.
As you did this, he bucked his hips into you one last time with power, hearing a groan of relief fill your ears. You twitched slightly at the warmth that flooded your insides from Beomgyu's pleasure.
You both relaxed and softened your posture, letting go of the tension in your bodies. The only thing you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeats in between your heavy exhales.
You lifted your head back to face him, admiring his sweaty hair and bright puffy lips. You smiled at his messy features, and he planted a soft kiss on your lips.
"You know I love you right?" He whispered in between heavy breaths, chuckling slightly as he moved some hair out of your face.
"I love you too." You grinned. You took another look at the state of him and giggled. "But maybe we should fix you up before we get out of here."
He gave you a playful punch to the shoulder, "Hey now, it's your fault isn't it?"
You rolled your eyes with a smile and started to adjust your hair and clothes, giving Beomgyu a soft kiss on the cheek.
"Maybe. But next time, I wont take the blame."
You gave him a loving sigh and grasped his hand, hoping nobody was waiting for their turn outside of the photo booth.
#choi beomgyu#beomgyu#txt#tomorrow by together#txt smut#beomgyu smut#choi beomgyu smut#tomorrow x together smut#tomorrow by together smut#smut#fanfiction#fanfic#txt hard hours#txt hard thoughts#beomgyu x female reader#beomgyu x y/n#beomgyu x reader#txt scenarios#kpop smut
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After playing both the campaign and warzone, I have come to the simple conclusion that there are two very different sides to Mr MacTavish. Something that I am lovingly referring to as...
The Highland Coin Toss
How he reacts and treats you is purely dependent on the relationship and what he's more comfortable with you calling him. And if you are lucky enough to gain access to both sides, flipping his coin turns into an all out 'spin the bottle', color me horny fuck fest. So, without further ado, let us begin....
18+ MDNI under the cut
CW: Just some personal headcanons sprinkled on a giant heap of smut. Sub/Dom Soap. P in V, Fem receiving.
AN: This is the first anything I have written in over 5 years, so apologies if it's absolute shit. Honestly, though, had so much fun with this double-sided Scottsman! Much Love 💛
'Heads' Johnny MacTavish
Walls? Yeah, he's got 'em. More to protect himself from those around him. But patience will prevail. Give it time, and you'll begin to see those barriers slowly crumble down.
Honesty goes a long way with Johnny. He can generally read people like a book (please don't bring up Graves, he's still sore after that traitorous bastard) If he does catch you being untruthful to him or any of the 141 or Voqueros, good luck getting back on his good graces. Book's closed, done.
Beneath that hardened exterior, Johnny is incredibly affectionate. And not just in a romantic aspect. He doesn't see 141 and Voqueros as soldiers or troops, they're his brothers.
Don't try to get in between him and his missions. Johnny is a military man through and through, and nothing is more important to him than the completion of the task at hand.
Loyal to a God damn fault.
Johnny is the fighter of the coin toss. Calculated, thorough and eyes on every detail, no matter how insignificant they may seem.
Once those walls are dust, this man will be nothing but putty in your hands.
Now, on to the fun stuff...
Johnny is 100% a switch! If you want him to be in control, he'll gladly take the reigns. But if you're feeling a bit more frisky and want to be in control, this man will be in absolute heaven (he won't deny it, Johnny loves watching you ride him)
Is absolutely obsessed with your body.
No matter the time, place, or scenario, he's going to have a hand on you (leg, thigh, arm, hand, neck, ass, foot, head...) And those hands like to wander...simple caresses turn into deliberate touches with one goal in mind.
And Johnny knows ALL of your pleasure zones. Will either focus his fingers on them or dance around them entirely just to drive you wild. Once his touch has been satiated, his mouth will go to work.
Kissing Johnny is an experience in sexual nirvana. His hands will cradle your head as his tongue explores and tastes you. Only when you're a breathless mess will he give you reprieve and move on. Every inch of you will be peppered in starving kisses. Loves your neck and inner thighs the most (mainly due to the reaction and moans you elicit in response)
But his main prize is the deliciously warm cavern between your thighs. Is nothing short of methodical when eating you out. Torturously so at times.
Starts with long, languid draws of his tongue along your folds. Quickly followed by precise and deliberate attention on your pulsing clit. Loves to oscillate between these two maneuvers, purely out of satisfaction as you all but lose your mind beneath his salacious mouth.
Johnny knows exactly where that special bundle of nerves is, he knows how much you can take and will push you to your limit. You'll be on the verge of insanity, and all you'll see between your legs is victorious glacial eyes beckoning you to break and come apart on his tongue.
He is so atuned to your body it almost makes you wonder if soul mates are a reality or just a long told fairy tale. This thought always creeps into your mind as he enters you. So slowly, you feel ever inch of him, and once he's fully seated, you swear you can feel his rapid heart beat within your welcoming cunt.
Slow and steady wins this race in his mind. Johnny is fully aware that it is not the pace that gets you off, and is willing to spend all night getting you to the ecstasy you both so desperately desire.
Don't count those determined hands out when he's thrusting balls deep within you. He'll find that pulsing bud and match his determined circling fingers with the pace of his hips.
Speaking of hands, Johnny never keeps them in one place for too long. His fingers will traverse and explore your curves like meandering, sexually driven pilgrim.
King of Priases! "Y'So beautiful hen." "Good bonnie. Feel so fucking good." "C'mon, I know ya can give me another one."
Will talk you through your orgasms.
"Keep your eyes on me, bonnie."
"That's it. Cum for me. Cum for me, hen."
His voice will be soft, slightly above a whipser with just enough strain in it to send you over the edge.
You'll know when Johnny's close. He'll hold you tight, desperately so, to the point you'll feel like he'll suffocate you. His pace will stammer and with one last thrust you'll feel him empty himself within you.
Johnny is in heaven when he cares for you post romp. He'll pepper you in soft kisses while his fingers dance across your still trembling skin. And he's always prepared; damp washcloth within arms reach because he knows you both can get quite messy.
You'll fall asleep first, because that's what he wants. Soft whispers of how beautiful you are, how good you make him feel will echo into your ears. The last thing you'll remember is strong arms wrapping around your waist and the slow beating of his heart as you let sleep take you over completely.
'Tails' Soap MacTavish
Walls? Yeah, no. Try fucking skyscrapers. Only way you're getting to this side of the Scot is by proving you're not a complete waste of time and flesh. Even if he has opened himself up to his more accepting side, don't push your luck trying to figure out what he hides behind closed doors. Soap will read through those lines within seconds and shut it down. And he'll be a locked vault from then on.
Assertive. Especially during and immediately following missions (it takes Soap a day or two to get back to civilian life).
Bit of a control freak, particularly when it comes to his routines. (Yes, he has a very specific hair regimen. So if you value your life, don't touch anything. And no, he's not going to talk about it)
Patience. Patience. Patience. Let Soap open himself up to you. It may take a few months, maybe even years. You may need some help from his brothers in arms to get to this man (Gaz especially, he's such a softie). They're truly the only ones that know Soap for who he really is.
Complete trust is necessary to gain access to Soap, and once that element has been reached, you'll have your own personal body guard at every beck and call.
Soap is the protector of this flip of the coin. Think of a 200lb, military trained pitbull. God forbid anyone looks at you the wrong way.
Smexy time!!
Soap can be a bit aggressive at times, especially if he's been without any release for a long period. But make no mistake, Soap is a pleasure Dom to the absolute max! He'll get off, no doubt about that. You on the other hand, depending his mood you'll have either one mind blowing orgasm or several. (Good luck trying to walk after those nights)
While Johnny has a routine while being intimate with you, Soap is all over the place. He may start by fucking you relentlessly for hours, followed by eating you out and finish with devouring your mouth. Then start all over again in a different rhythm, and will probably throw in some shower sex just for good measure. Soap's unpredictability is what drives you to insanity. You can't keep a handle on him, and in that, your mind goes blank and purely enjoys everything he gives to you.
Ultimate grabby hands. Can get a bit carried away at times. Don't scold him for leaving bruises, consider them ultimate fleshy love notes.
Formidable make-out extraordinaire. While Johnny is affectionate and somewhat desperate, Soap is aggressive and all-consuming. And he won't give you a break from his mouth until he's had his fill. (Cue your grabby hands so you don't fall to the floor)
Hickeys. Hickeys fucking everywhere. Obsessed with leaving them in the most random places. Your calf has become his new favorite, and you strangely enough can't get enough of it.
Three words: Teasing. Fucking. Bastard.
Loves to watch you squirm beneath him, whether it be to his mouth or to his hardened and precise cock. And his hands, God damn his hands! You've started calling him your 'Clitoral Beethoven" since he can make you sing by the sheer power of his fingers alone.
Soap is ravenous with his mouth on you. This fact is proven time and again when he is buried between your thighs. His vigorous workings are only magnified by his vibrating groans that tantalizingly work their way up your spine.
Soap is the epitome of messy when he's eating your pussy. He'll all but swallow you whole, covering his stubble and chin with your juices. Those gorgeous blue eyes disappear between your thighs, replaced by darkened orbs filled with needy hunger. Your breaking point is when he begins to seesaw his head from side to side, the friction of his mouth combined with his determined tongue will having you screaming his name within seconds.
No flat surface is safe with this man. Can and will bend you over at any moment, especially if you're alone. (If not, expect a fair amount of borrowing stares and even a firm grab of your ass if he's feeling extra horny, which is pretty much always)
Speaking of horny, Soap is so needy for your pussy he can't always wait for you. But this man is resourceful, and almost always prepared. You don't know where he keeps it, but somehow he's got lube in his hand and already stroking his cock and you've barely pushed your pants down for him. And there's nothing gradual about how Soap enters you, he's balls deep first thrust. But he does hold and let you get used to him, purely for the feel of your cunt quivering around his cock.
Loves, loves, LOVES doggie style! Not only does it give him the most perfect view of your ass, but let's him have complete control of the pace. And whoa mama you're gonna need to mentally and physically prepare yourself, cause Soap is gonna fuck you senseless!
Have a mattress warehouse on speed dial. Just do it!
Mentioned that Soap is assertive. That's an understatement when he's having his way with you. He's strong, Godlike when he so desperately wants to feel your pulsing cunt around him. So expect a fair amount of man handling and body contortions (cue you turning into a human pretzel fuck toy; yoga may become a necessity before any Soap sexathon)
And that Scottish accent will only thicken as he pounds himself in your molten core.
"Be a good lass and scream fer me. Want e'eryone to know yer MINE."
"Takin me so well, aren't ya?"
"Can't get enough, can ya bonnie? Always so fuckin hungry fer my cock."
"So fuckin wet fer me. Yer a dirty girl, aren't ya?"
You're going to either have a strong hold on him or anything with a firm base, because Soap is going to completely ruin you. The room will be a cacophony of skin slapping, pleading moans and reverberating growls. The sounds will tempt you to poke the bear, but do so at your own risk...
"Harder, Soap. Fuck me harder."
His calloused hand will firmly grib the back of your neck, and the other will give your ass a hardened smack. You'll feel his body weigh down against yours, hips contuing their assault as his mouth ghosts the cusp of your ear.
"Fuckin needy little thing, aren't ya lass?"
Consider the bear, poked.
Soap will undoubtedly fuck you through your orgasms. He may be talking, but it will probably be some overly gratified Scottish that you don't understand. It's the growl of his words that make you go over the edge, blissfully cock drunk as your body convulses around him and your mind goes completely white.
Aftercare with Soap will almost always end in a bath. One to clean the excessive amount of fluids, and two to help soothe your blissfully overused body. As rough as he can be during the act, Soap is incredibly tender and gentle afterwards. Only thing on your mind will be when he came during the deed. His repsonse is always the same...
"Non of that now, bonnie."
Want to give some massive kudos to @yeyinde, @irnbru32, and @mvtthewmurdvck for their inspiration to get me back to writing. Y'alls fics are so unbelievably well done and immersive, I honestly can't get enough! Glad to be back and part of the Soap Squad 🧼 💛
#the highland coin toss#what the fuck did i just do#was slightly drunk when i wrote most of this#wanna flip his coin#soap mactavish#johnny mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#soap mactavish smut#soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#cod soap#soap squad 🧼
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The Calm Before The Storm (Jujutsu Kaisen)
Heyo! I wrote this while thinking of these dummies (affectionate) so now I'm gonna share it with y'all :D I just love Gojo and Geto's dynamic, and Riko makes me happy- so naturally we're gonna get some fluff with them! I hope you like it!
CW: JJK anime spoilers (Season 2, Ep. 3); swearing
Cloud 9 (Taglist):
@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @chuuyahasdimples
Summary: In which Geto worries about Gojo, Riko becomes a GeJo shipper, and tickle wars commence.
“Hey.” A finger poked along Gojo’s ribs, making the teen shoot up with a grunt. “Take a break. You’re working too hard.”
“Oh yes- cause stretching out like a log is really straining me.” Gojo stuck his tongue out at Geto, rubbing at the spot his friend jabbed. “I’ll be sure to limit my time bathing in the sun going forward.”
“You know what I mean.” The finger moved upward, gently flicking him against his forehead- right between the eyes.
“So, are you two like- dating or something?” Riko asked from her spot on the nearest seat, leaning into her hands as she watched them. “Cause you act like a married couple.”
“We’re not-” Gojo began.
“He’s not my type.” Geto shrugged. Gojo gaped, glasses drooping in shock.
“The hell does that mean? I am SO your type!”
“Eh?”
“Well- you’re not my type either, so there.”
“Now hold up-”
“Definitely married.” Riko smiled against her hands, giggling when Gojo glared with a huff.
“He’s just being fussy. Don’t pay it any mind.” Geto poked Gojo once more, earning another huff and a bat to his hands. “Come on- stop glaring at the poor girl.”
“Would you get o-ohoff! Ugh, you’re so annoy-Eh!” Gojo yelped when Riko suddenly appeared, bouncing over to him with wiggling fingers. “Not you too, you bra-ahahaht! No dohoohohn’t!”
“Oh man- he’s ticklish!” She cried, delighted. Her cheers quickly turned to squeals of her own when he retaliated, digging into her ribs with rapid fingers. “Stahhahap it, you jeheheherk!”
“You fihihihihirst!”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Geto took a seat on Riko’s abandoned chair, stretching out his arms as the duo beside him battled it out. From the looks of it- Gojo was clearly winning, but Riko was nothing to sneeze at. He closed his eyes as he stretched, letting out a low hum of satisfaction.
He could fall asleep like this- and he probably would have had the room not suddenly grown quiet.
“I’ll go low, you go high.” Gojo whispered, the sound of footsteps approaching him came after. Riko was giggling softly, barely over a whisper as Gojo shushed her. How cute- they seemed to think they could get the jump on him.
They’d see how wrong they were very soon.
“Ready? One, Two, THREE~” Geto shot his eyes open, reaching up to find-
“HA!” Gojo cackled as he grabbed his wrists, pulling them up and over his head. “You fell for it! Riko, sit on him!”
“On it!” Within seconds he was pinned, the girl snug against his thighs while his best friend kept an iron grip on his wrists. “Now what?”
“Tickle him!”
“Okay!”
“Now wait just a moment-” Geto was about to argue his case when he snapped his lips shut, eyes widening as fingers skittered across his torso. Still dressed in his beach clothes, his bare chest was accessible, giving Riko plenty of surface area to work with. He forced himself to stiffen, hoping that would numb the ticklishness shooting up his nerve endings.
“Hm…are you sure he’s ticklish? He’s not even squirming.” Riko switched to pinching, then kneading- both methods that made his current predicament that much harder to deal with. “You were as wiggly as that sea cucumber!”
“Oh he’s ticklish alright- look at him; he’s barely holding it in!” Gojo’s voice was suddenly close to his ear- way too close. “Come on Suguru, you know you wanna laugh. Just let it out~ We won’t judge how you sound.”
Oh that tricky bastard! Geto cracked one eye open to glare, flexing one of his hands out to graze the skin on Gojo’s belly. The other boy jerked back with a huff, cheeks pink as he fumed. One point for Geto!
“Riko, go for the hips.” No! The consequences of his actions!
“Okay! Here I GO! Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!” She cried, dropping her hands to the specified spot before going to town. Geto almost threw her off with how hard he spasmed, his stoney expression cracking with each flick of her fingers. “It’s working! It’s working, he’s gonna laugh!”
“Keep going! Use your nails!” Gojo encouraged, readjusting his grip on Geto’s arms so he only needed one hand. With the other he dragged it down to his armpit, moving past his shirt so he could wiggle within. “Give in, Suguru. Laugh for us.”
That did it. Every defense in Geto’s book suddenly shattered as he sank in his seat, head thrown back and laughter flooding out. “Ah! Aheahhahhahahahhaha! Nohohohoohoho! Nohohoho doohohohohn’t you freahahhahaking dahhahahahhahre! Sahahhaatoruuhuhuhuhu!”
“Wow- he’s so loud!” Riko sounded amazed, sharing a grin with Gojo.
“Yeah! Let’s make him scream louder!” He mouthed a new word, and Riko nodded, wasting no time. Scooting down his legs, she latched onto his thighs.
“AHAHAHHA!” Geto all but shrieked, arching with a howl at the new feeling. His face was on fire, and tears were burning the back of his eyes as he thrashed and squirmed in his seat. He had to get out of this soon!
With a sudden burst of strength, he broke free of Gojo’s grip, grabbing him by the forearms and pulling the other down into the chair with him. Riko was just barely saved from Gojo’s flailing limbs when Geto jabbed her in the belly with his foot, making her scramble back with a giggle.
The chair was a warzone- fingers flying and limbs soaring. Gojo was switching between yells of triumph and mercy as Geto dug into his lower ribs, just barely avoiding the other’s vengeful fingers in return. Riko quickly joined the fray once more, trying to get Geto’s neck while swatting away Gojo’s retaliating fingers against her waist. The chair shook beneath them- still somewhat intact despite three teenagers going to town on it.
Before long, it was empty- three bodies spread before it as they gasped for air between wheezes and hiccups. Gojo’s glasses were missing alongside Riko’s bandana. Geto’s hair fell in long strands down his back, just as disheveled as the others. Someone’s foot was pressing into Geto’s hip, but he didn’t care.
“Sohoho…who wohohon?” He asked.
“Mehehe!” Gojo raised a tired peace sign, letting his arm flop over his eyes a second later. Riko twirled a finger in sleepy celebration. “Ugh, I’m so…tired.” He groaned through a yawn.
“Then sleep. We don’t have anywhere to go until morning.” Geto nudged him, barely fighting off his own yawn. “You do need rest, Satoru.”
“I’ll rest…when I’m..” Gojo didn’t finish his sentence, head drooping sideways as sleep took over.
“You really do care for him. Like you’re his husband.” Riko whispered against his calf, smiling up at him. “It’s sweet.”
“Still on that, are we?” Geto grinned with a fond eye roll, getting comfortable. “If that’s how you see it, then I guess it’s true.”
“Knew it.” She closed her eyes, face relaxing into a peaceful expression. “I’m gonna miss this…”
“Yeah. Me too.” Geto spoke to sleeping bodies, staring up at the ceiling with a heavy smile.
Thanks for reading!
#jjk#tickle#tickle fic#fluff#gojo satoru#geto suguru#riko amanai#jjk season 2 spoilers#jjk anime spoilers#jjk spoilers#They deserve it your honor#hell I need it akrjkajrekjarj
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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 3, The Cat Returns
After the incident with Mouse in the Alps, König is put into frontline insertions instead of wilderness patrol following his noticeable change in demeanor. Life without Mouse goes on, or does it?
CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care
Authors Note: Again, I am just beside myself with the amount of love and support this silly story of mine is receiving. I will probably update this author's note when it is not 01:00 my time after a date. This chapter is a little longer to make up for the fact that the next chapters may take longer, as we are getting to the end of my stockpiled hoard of writings. Expect shorter, drabble bursts between bigger chapters!
Small note: if you see a rapid switch between the use of Mouse and Maus, it is meant to show that König's sense of ownership and possession of Mouse. In his thoughts, she is distinctly separate from her role as a military contractor, he thinks of her as his. I am sure I messed it up a couple of times, but if you see both it is not a typo!
Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis
PREV | Pt. 3, The Cat Returns | 5k words | König POV | NEXT
It’s sometime in February, and the fighting has moved into a little town somewhere in Italy. They’re gathering intel on SpecGru, trying to figure out something or other.
König is not an intelligence officer. He is not subtle enough for that. Everyone knows this.
He’s a battering ram as a human, thick and tall and good at making closed doors open if they don’t fly off their fucking hinges when he hits them. He’s not stupid by any means, but he’s not stealthy the way the position would require.
He hasn’t seen her in three weeks. He hasn’t been on patrol at all, he’s been on frontline insertion. A place where his Maus is not.
He misses her voice in his ear. He misses the little things she leaves behind, the leaves she folds into animals, the rocks she arranges into shapes like smiles. His favorite was the piece of flint she knapped into sharp edges all around, into the vague shape of a heart- he reasons that was probably not on purpose but he’s distraught the second he gets it back to base and realizes the fragile thing broke to dust in his pocket. When he cuts himself on the flint shards and doesn’t patch them up, he thinks of it as penance.
He tries not to think too harshly about that. That she gave him her heart and he literally pulverized it. He's resolved that he won’t mention it in the comms. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings if she did intend to give him a heart-shaped stone. It was the latest thing she’d gifted him and he was starting to think that its destruction was some sort of terrible omen.
It’s that moment he realizes just how badly he’s had it. Having it. Wanting it. Needing her. Their silly little game is all he lives for these days. It’s pathetic but he can’t stop himself.
Slicing and dicing and scouting and barging and battering and shooting and whatever else-ing enemies are little consolation for the gap she’s left in his life. He begs and barters and borrows around base for the books she recommended to him. He’s hoarding terrible jokes to tell her when he sees her (hears her?) again. Whenever he gets halfway decent food the first thing he thinks is “I wish I could teach Maus how to make Austrian food.” He thinks about dancing around in the kitchen with her before sharing a hot meal. He sees a particularly sturdy tree and wonders how long it would take her to climb it. When he gets cuts and bruises he thinks about her small, agile, soft hands patching him up instead of the sterile medics. He thinks about laying his head down on her plush thighs as she sighs and reads a book. He thinks about going hiking with her back in Austria, holding her hand the whole way up, then down, the mountain. He thinks about camping with her, kissing the top of her head as they sit by the fire. He fucking aches to make her mewl around his length in a lover's embrace.
She’s all he thinks about during the day. How to make her happy. How to be closest to her. How to see her again. She’s all he thinks about at night, too. How she might want to be touched. How she’d taste. How to satisfy her so thoroughly she’d never try to find someone else. He cannot stop himself from thinking about her in these ways, and the realization that he simply does not want to either is just as disorienting.
He had been making good progress, inching his way closer and closer to her. Every time he would abandon his post while on patrol and wander around until he found her, she would allow him to get a little closer. He’s no fool, she is a sniper. If she didn’t want him any closer, she would just take him out from far away. But she doesn’t. At first, he thought he was hallucinating the slowly closing distances. It took a full 50 feet of gained ground over a month and four meetings for him to even consider that she was allowing him to get closer. As ridiculous as it is, he refuses to get any closer than first contact, except for… that morning.
He doesn’t like to think of himself as superstitious, he prefers to think of himself as logical. Perhaps too many head injuries, too many kills, and too much war has ruined his complete objectiveness. When he got the transmission about the agent running away with files in his direction, he got a feeling. An instinct? A calling? It was the auspicious nervousness of a near-death encounter, an intrinsic sort of rush that any soldier learns to obey if they want to survive in a war. But this one was different.
His stomach flipped more violently than he’s ever known it and he felt thick lightning throughout his entire body. His vision nearly blanked as he looked down at his peace offering, he knew at once the feeling was not for him.
He didn’t hesitate to take off running for her position when he got the transmission about a rogue soldier strapped with explosives.
“Keep moving and I shoot,” Maus had said. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the obsession he tried so valiantly to deny himself. Maybe it was the scratchiness of the radio feeding him pretty lies, but König couldn’t help but hear a sort of begging desperation in her voice. His heart lurches fast and heavy in his chest as he sprints, fearful energy enveloping his anxious mind. Something is very wrong here, he thinks but how the hell is he supposed to tell her that? Would she trust him? Would he even get there in time?
“It’s right under you, Liebling,” he rasped out through frantic breaths, so high on genuine concern for her that he could not help the blandishment that he offered her. If only she knew, maybe she’d just let him help her.
Somehow, miraculously, she listens (Good girl, Maus,) and turns her attention to the adversary gaining ground between the trees. The man is quick, but König is quicker, taking off through the snow like he did as a child. Running with reckless abandon, long legs carrying him faster and further than anyone else when he and his cousins would play capture the flag at his Oma’s house in Gauso. This prize, however, is much more important to him.
He feels an almost sick sense of vindication when her gun jams, but whatever positive emotion he felt for it is drowned out with a tidal wave of concern and fear when he sees her struggling with her rifle and the man beneath the trees taking aim at her.
Slicing that man clean between his ribs like a lion strikes a lamb was the second most satisfying experience of his life, greatly eclipsed by the settling of her weight against his chest when she trusted him enough to jump into his arms.
She looks so fearful beneath his stare and he shrinks away in an attempt to placate her nervousness, equally as fearful that he must have somehow damaged her by simply holding her. He has half the mind to berate himself about touching her, still bloody from the enemy and still a monster beneath it all.
He had never intended to actually give her the birchwood effigy. He originally started carving it on a restless night camping alone after a particularly suggestive series of flirtations over the radio.
(“Why did the bike fall over, Maus?”
“Tell me, König.”
“Because it was two tired.”
“HA! That’s terrible! You’re so tall, can you even fit on a bike?”
“Eh, sometimes, but the peddles are not so good.”
“What does that mean?”
“They are too small.”
“...oh. Big feet?”
“Ja.”
“You know what they say about big feet…”
“I do not.”
“Have trouble getting into pants in the morning, too?”
“Was?”
“You big, everywhere? I mean, with hips like those…”
“...” Fuck, bad time to get a boner.
“Oh come on, big guy, don’t get shy on me now~”)
The chunk of wood was too damp for kindling so he started gouging at its sides idly while waiting for his water to sterilize from boiling. He was just whittling with no real purpose until the absent image of a mouse started to appear in the pale material. From that moment of fireside recognition onwards, he’d been chasing a little prayer in her shape. He wouldn’t have considered it ‘done’ when he gave it to her but-
Her warmth was still in his fingers, her beautiful eyes trained on him, her fantastic form somehow devoid of his blood or his filth in his rescue attempt, well. He had been praying, hadn’t he? It’s only right to pay tithing to the thing you worship. He gave her the figure, and he did so with the only real regret being that he couldn’t give her more and that he almost sullied her perfection with his violence.
And to top it all off, when he wrenched himself away from her, heart heavy and entirely certain that she would never, could never, follow- she called him back and reciprocated. Like a siren’s call, he obeyed without prejudice, without regret, without even realizing he was turning backward to meet her. When he caught it in his hands he felt the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders in the shape of a little whetstone in the palm of his hand.
She gave him her lucky charm. She gave him a tool after recognizing his fondness for knives.
He simply does not have the words for the stringent emotion that thought invokes in him, the fire it ignites. When she apologizes for its quality or lack thereof (It is her charm, the thing that keeps her safe, and she gives it to me? And has to apologize for it? Just her charm? Silly little girl…) he bites back confusion and instead reassures her. The emotion in her eyes when he responds “All the more reason to treasure it,” is his favorite thing he’s ever seen. And yet, he knows he cannot take her with him. If he didn’t leave at that moment, he knows he would have starved to death on the spot waiting for her to follow him. When he turns away it is because his brain cannot comprehend a world in which she walks away with him.
He remembers walking off, dazed and in a trance with the whetstone in his hands, trudging off into some unknown heaven he had never anticipated escaping to. He walks all the way back to base and gets harsh stares and reprimands for returning a whole 5 hours earlier than he should have. He hears confused whispers and concerned words from the medics who give him the all-clear, and he has been placed on Frontline Insertion two patrols following this event as an attempt to cleanse his mind and body from whatever ‘walking sickness,’ Aksel called it, he picked up in the woods. (And in fairness, he would rather die than admit his treachery, not out of any misplaced moral but instead out of precaution for her safety.)
His days are miserably long without Maus and he kicks himself every night and day for unwittingly getting himself separated from her. Every time he gets back to base he cleans the whetstone and prays to see her again.
The KorTac base here is relatively large, he gets his own room in the barracks and he’s never been more thankful for it when on a snowy night, he dreams.
In the dream, it’s snowing and he wakes up in a car somewhere in the wilderness. The trees are bare but there are so many of them he just tastes cold and sees gray. Then the sudden urge to run overcomes him, and so he does. He sprints, to where? He doesn’t know. Familiarity laps at the corners of his mind, and his feet move on their own, like an animal stalking its way back home. He doesn’t need to be told where to go, he just does.
Then! He’s tracking the smallest prints in fresh powder snow, keeping up with the tracks as best he can as they get drowned out by new falling chunks of ice.
He’s burning. He’s burning. He’s burning. He doesn’t slow down.
Then, he follows the tracks beside a little creek cutting into limestone outcroppings until he sees some smoke in the distance, the tracks go into the creek and come out the other side towards the smoke.
Then he wades through the creek, it barely comes to his ankles and on the other side of the stream, the tracks are combat boots, not animal tracks. But they’re still small.
Then he starts running alongside the tracks as they disappear, the smoke gets further and further away until-
He finds a bright red, blood-toned shed. In the shed are recently discarded supplies mixed in with hay and various domestic and agricultural equipment. Something is nesting nearby, and his mouth waters at the prospect of a fresh meal. He rests his own packs there and goes to the house the shed is next to.
He nearly has to break down the door of the house, and the single room it leads to is impossibly small on the inside from how it looked outside. He looks around for any signs of humans, hostages, or hostiles, he’s got the thrum of battle in his ears. It’s one room, with a ladder leading to a loft space. There are a few cabinets, a sink, a counter, and a wood stove that pipes out to a small chimney. There are two windows, filtering in grey-cloud-toned twilight. That’s it.
Except- it’s not. The wood stove is burning. Someone’s home.
The ladder to the loft takes him no time at all to climb and on it, there’s a mattress without a bed frame with blankets piled high. Clothes are leading to the pile and a lit gas lamp is. It’s colder up here than down there.
There’s a lump on the mattress. It rises and falls, as though it breathes.
It gets up.
It turns.
It’s Mouse.
The blanket falls from her frame and he sees her in the light of a gas lamp at the foot of the blanket nest. Her neck cranes to look at him and she doesn’t seem surprised to see him. The lamp illuminates her form like a display light in a museum lights up a statue. Her soft skin pebbles into goose flesh and he smells smoke like the house is on fire. She’s naked from the column of her neck down to the exposed divet of her hip. She turns over to face him, breasts on full display, slightly falling into each other as her inviting lips part.
“I was worried you’d never come,” she says.
He’s on her in an instant, like a barbarian he doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes, he just kneels at the bed and lifts his hood enough to kiss her. At first, it’s only chaste lips in a fleeting embrace. Like everything, he waits until she signals for something more. When she timidly bites on his bottom lip, asking for more, he more than obliges. He complies with a fervency he chokes backward on in a futile attempt to control himself, terribly mindful that he may hurt her, or worse, scare her. The inside of her mouth is raw from chewing on it idly, she tastes like blood and rainwater and poppyseed. He wagers a guess that she’s twice as addicting as opium, though, when her fingers tangle into his hair underneath his hood and pull him closer, closer, impossibly closer…
Their breaths are hot as they mingle, he swears the line between her and him is fading by the moment and he gets an adrenaline rush to rival that of bloodlust. Her skin is soft and pliant beneath his large, steady hands. She is so small, so perfectly tailored to him, so soft to the rough bits of him that he cannot help but gasp in their embrace. The tantalizing curve of her smile melts into his lips as she giggles at his gasping.
She is everything like Modanifil, the second she is on his tongue she hits his veins faster and harder than any post-gunshot amphetamine-mimicking pharmaceutical. He hums and huffs into her as he notices that she really is tiny compared to him. She could fit snugly on top of him and not seep to the sheets beneath, he could toss her over a shoulder with ease and carry her miles across any terrain, he could protect the whole of her body with his own and not leave any weak spots. Like dovetail joints, a great carpenter must have made them to fit together. There must be a God, and he must have made her to perfectly fit beside (and dare he hope, inside?) her.
The only thing older than war to mankind is intimacy. You need soldiers for war, you need men for soldiers, and you need love to make those men. Battle is a cruel Rube-Goldberg machine of “if this, then that,” and it's all König has ever known. The rigid structure that bends and breaks for no one, the absolute rule of power and intellect even at a material disadvantage, the vain hope that you make a positive difference when in reality your life is worth a few millimeters of ballpoint pen ink as it scribbles out K and I and A.
War is all König has ever known, it's the only thing he has ever taken comfort in besides alienation and purposeful seclusion.
At this moment, he understands something older than war. He feels the most primal form of empathy and community and he fucking craves it. For the first time in his life, the hum of blood in his ears is welcome and he doesn’t mind the idea of surrender. War is nothing compared to this, compared to her. He is remembering how to be human, to be a man and not a soldier, and he smiles back into her mouth.
He spends a blissful eternity licking into her mouth, mapping the soft tissue with his tongue. He drinks the occasional squeak of surprise she lets out when he does something just right. Her exploration is reciprocal, careful, and agile just like she is on the field. Her hands grasp each other behind his head and he distantly hopes she never has to move them. One of his hands cradles the back of her neck and the other strokes her cheek. He pauses only long enough to bring her slender neck to his lips for a fleeting kiss— a silent signal that he wants more if she’ll give it— and he inhales like she is oxygen before continuing to worship her mouth with his. She smells like cinnamon and he’s desperate to get a taste.
He breaks away when she pushes him slightly. Before he can even think about having offended her, her thumb strokes the scar between his left nostril and the corner of his mouth like a honey salve in reassurance. She glances down to his hand on her cheek and he follows her implicit orders like a good little soldier attempting to impress his commanding officer. He raises his gloved hands to her mouth and she keeps them in her teeth to pull them off. Before his hands can go anywhere, as if she knows right where they’re going, she kisses his digits and suckles on his fingers. His unoccupied hand goes back to her cheek as she works at the other one. She hums and moans when he presses them in a little more, then a little more, then a little more, then-
She gently chokes and with tears in her eyes, she pants around them.
He could kill her. Now. He could slam her head back and choke her. Gut her with the knife in his waistband. Or worse, he could have his way with her. He could let feeble cries of God, no more! die on her tongue as he takes what he has wanted so badly. He could prove that he really is a monster.
The intrusive thought is ripped away by the overwhelming urge to do the exact opposite as her throat constricts around his fingers.
All this time, she hasn’t refused them. She doesn’t refuse them. She doesn’t refuse him.
She is giving him total control. Complete power and without hesitation. In her teary eyes, he sees a soldier’s trust, firm and unwavering. Ever faithful. Unquestioningly and genuinely she believes the man she’s at the mercy of will make her need no mercy.
She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He’s the one that takes the fingers out of her mouth. He is hellbent on rewarding this fidelity, his own pleasure be damned.
“König,” her eyes glaze over with worry. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing and they both know it. “Are you sure you want me?” She whispers, lips meeting the shell of his ear, he feels her fever pitch skin even through the fabric of his mask. His heart aches and he’s so angry with himself that she could even ask that. As if there were ever any questions. As if he has ever wanted anything else in his life like he wants this. As if there is anything else to want. As if there is anything else.
“Always, Maus,” he says instead of the million things he wants to because he cannot wait. She is right there. She has asked for him. This is all he wants. He kisses her perfect lips just once more and grunts once he tears their flesh apart. He’s too impatient to prove himself any longer to be bothered with waiting. He has nothing of worth for her, except the fragile hope that if he can keep her physically satisfied in ardent service this angel may let a pitiful man worship her a little longer.
Her desperate question and the obscene amount of her spit on his fingers are all the invitation he needs to dive between her thighs. He keeps one hand on her hip and the other at her left breast- and he sighs when his flesh meets and yields to his palm- and before he can latch onto her center and give her all the attention she so deserves-
“I knew you’d fall for it,” she says. Her thighs grab his head and twist.
His neck snaps.
When he wakes up in his cold barracks, decidedly alone and not in between her thighs, he pounds the bed in frustration. The bed that his Mäuschen isn’t in, the bed that’s not in the loft of some secret mountain hideaway, the bed that he sleeps in alone. The bed he considers leaving forever, leaving KorTac, running into the night, and taking her from her own quarters at SpecGru.
He’s thought about that. Long, long ago someone told him a story. In the story, spartan warriors would kidnap the women they wanted and have sex with them in the barracks. It was to claim their marriage rights because they couldn’t get married while in the military but had to be in the military. They were supposed to kidnap the women to prove they deserved them. It was just what they did. Not so dissimilar to the bride-stealing traditions his Oma had told him about as a boy.
He’s not sure if he believes that, but that night when he fucks his hand in frustration and bites his pillow to shreds, he lives in that fantasy.
Where he finds Maus sleeping in her barracks. He steals her away in the dead of night. In his fantasy, she’s willing. She whispers “I was worried you’d never come,” when he wakes her up. She throws her arms around his neck and he lifts her out of her bed and they run. They just run. Until they find a cabin. Or a tent. Or something. She lets him do whatever he wants to her and he asks for nothing in return. He’s waited for her for so long and he’d wait longer if he could just find the proving ground of the heat between her thighs and claim his rightful spot as the winner of her- then, and only then, he’d worry about his own satisfaction.
In the end, however, he cannot convince himself into escaping to her. The fantasy of her is potent and life-consuming, but he is also viscerally aware that it is just that. A fantasy.
It is not real and despite his choking desire to be with her, he is not entirely sure she wants him. In fact, he is quite assured of the opposite, that she would reject him without a second thought. That she does not want him, that there is nothing to want because he is just hulking gore covered in scars and a hood. He is less than human, maybe even less than animal, he enjoys war and his comrades consistently remind him that that is so far into abnormality he may as well not even be animate. His long etched scars and sins burn across his forehead, cheeks, and lips in a phantom pain when he pictures her own face. There is nothing for her in him and all the dreaming in the world isn’t going to change that innocent little mice don’t fall in love with things like him.
He wants so desperately to just be a fucking person for her. A person allowed weakness, a person allowed good-morning kisses, a person allowed terrible flirting, a person allowed to sit in the same room, a person allowed to touch and savor and make better another human. Allowed to heal, not harm. Allowed to save, not slaughter.
But he is a soldier, he’s not a person, and he’s not sure he ever really was a person in the first place.
He wants her. Wanting is an unusual sensation for him, long dormant and now suddenly hotter than hellfire. He wishes he could stop burning himself but every time he sees the flickering flame he gets a little closer, convinced this time he will walk away unscathed or better yet cleansed of original and perpetual sin. She could be his funeral pyre and most of what he’d think of that is “God, she’s pretty. I’m glad it was her.”
He could just take her, he is more than capable of it. If he really wanted to he could just reach out and sink his teeth in and have his way with her just like a Spartan King. But, then he would really and truly be a monster. He might not deserve better than ire and hate, but she certainly does.
The only thing he wants more than to have her is for her to want him. That hope is a delusion deeper than the ravine they met at, he’s sure. Even still, he cannot run the risk of scaring her off or going against her wishes.
So, König stays. In his cold bed, harsh snow beating against a rotting window sill, his only company the images of Maus he makes up in his mind and the perverse and shameful noise of wet-skin slapping.
He finishes twice in his hand that night, hot and pissed, and halfway to desertion when he finally falls into a dreamless sleep. He’s so exhausted and uncomfortable in his own skin and brain that he doesn’t even have the shame of being embarrassed about the ways he imagines her. His fantasy is punctuated by the all-consuming settle of her weight upon his chest somewhere warm and dry. He feels no shame when he wraps his arms around the bunched comforter on his chest, imagining it’s a slight body he faithfully cradles.
When he wakes up, however, that shame drowns him when he prepares to meet for orders in the morning. What kind of a man does that? Now he’s sure she will never want him. If she knew how obsessed he’s become that he cannot help himself from having dreams about her and cannot help himself from getting off to the idea that she killed him with her fucking thighs she would hate him and she would have every right to. He nearly claws his eyes out when he washes his face with cold water. He asks the mirror if he’s a monster, his clear and evident scarring from a lifetime of abuse and war does not need to answer in the affirmative for him to know it to be true.
Even more so than usual, those around him give him a wide enough berth that he does not need to do so much as walk in a straight line for others to scurry out of the way. He only half hears his orders in the morning briefing, he only glances at his map when he is sent out.
He tucks the whetstone into his right pocket when he goes on his patrol, beneath the familiar weight of his beloved field knife. His right hand burns from healing flint cuts and getting bucked into for hours, the rough whetstone doesn’t help but he still caresses it in his pocket like a prayer.
Once he’s in the woods his radio receives a message.
“I was worried you’d never come,” it calls to him, full like fresh dirt of relief over a buried urn of anxiety. His throat catches on the tone, the static hides none of its desperation.
He finds her in her tree.
He falls. He knows it’s fatal. He cannot recover.
There’s nothing he can do and nowhere he can go.
He’s in love.
“Always, Maus.” He says back.
He’s always in her sights.
Sometimes he wishes she would just pull the trigger.
taglist!
@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo
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cw. ⪩⪨ i'm horny, fem! reader, rough fucking, first time writing argenti hihi, unprotected sex, hitting it raw, cumming inside
argenti likes to force your gaze on his own while he fucks you like he wants to claim you— in fact, the man notices how his length was growing harder the moment he was able to admire the sinful switch on your beautiful face as it melts into something improper, and much more filthy.
but it's so fucking intoxicating and hot that it sets his loins on fire.
argenti can barely take it anymore and just wants to stuff you with his nasty whites until you're squealing out due to being so crowded— aside from that, his poor erection was starting to ache and burn inside of you, his red pubic hair since long soused of your arousal that the knight takes the only correct route and jams his hips into you with a sheer force that you can barely keep your eyes open, the loud hitches of rapid breathing drifting to his ears over the pounding of skin swelling on skin.
but argenti can only stare, eyes widening at the unmistakably flirtatious tone of your delicate whimpers as his erection fills you to the brim, fucking back your dripping wetness— your mouth opening wider under his own as he claims your lips, his wet muscle welcoming your tongue with a low and delirious sound echoing from deep inside your throat.
and there was nothing accidental about why he kissed you right about now— because argenti wanted to drink in your moans before you climax on his cock. and the way he batters your creamy cunt was almost too perfect, how he repeatedly planes the twitching veins into the softness of your walls before he grins at you through lusting eyes.
and easy now— because there was something akin of a challenge in the smile he choose to reveal to you, for once it was both captivating and otherworldly beautiful in its own rights, stirring up a disorienting rush of arousal, desire, and sheer longing in your gut that you sob out his name in ecstasy.
and it's constant, his rough thrusts and kisses, that your heart was hammering with repeated growing excitement as argenti at last, chokes on a string of deep groans that he easily slips past your plump lips as thick ropes of white plaster across your inflamed walls, making the man revel in the way your pussy squeezes him, spasms around his thick shaft, but most importantly swallows him into you so impossibly deep that he groans out your name, then whines it, so helplessly that the only thing bringing him back to reality was the sudden soft tune of your voice calling his darling name.
©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#argenti x reader#argenti smut#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you
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STOWAWAY: LUFFY x HIYORI
(cw: you are still the narrator, wano spoilers, hiyori gets sick from motion sickness, food/eating)
Songs: “Leader Of A New Regime” by Lorde
words: 1.4k
****
Luffy sits across from you, his legs spread and dangling from the wooden crate he’s straddling. He’s appraising you, his eyes hazy and his soft lips parted. He’s staring at your frame shamelessly. His crew is somewhere above deck, far away from this smuggled-into, tiny space.
Mugiwara no Luffy.
He’s sliding his strawberry tongue across his lower lip. A small, raspy breath leaves him as he kicks a sandaled heel against the wooden crate. He swings his leg, the dark hair shadowing his calf muscles.
“What’s your name, stowaway?”
He asks you, plainly.
His black coat sits heavy around his shoulders, his red cardigan left open over soft, strengthened abs. You shift, in the barrel he’d seen you pop out of after he’d spied you in this closet space. You lick your lips, switching between the lies in your mind you’ve studied like prayers.
“Hiyori.”
It’s your true name,
the one your father
gave you.
He smirks, pleased. “Nice to meetcha, Hiyori!” He says your name plainly, with an accent so different from your own dialect. He says it like—Hee-ya-or-ee—as he sounds it out. He seems to like its taste.
“Same,” you murmur.
He squats on the crate, his sandals firmly planted with his heels flat on the wood. You scratch the back of your neck, behind your satin collar.
“So, whatcha stowin’ away for?” He tilts his head, steady in balance even as the ship tips in rapid waves. Your own stomach is seasick, sweat beading cold along your face.
You swipe away the moisture on your soft upper lip. “Escaped,” You whisper, throat scratchy. You haven’t had fresh water in several days.
His expression scrunches, as he stares at you with a crooked head.
“Saw your wanted poster—in the News Coo,” You say, stepping out of the barrel on shaky feet. You’re wearing plum, pleated pants that billow out before tucking in at your ankles. Your kimono is a matching plum satin that’s embroidered with cream-silk cherry blossoms. Your wooden sandals clack on the storage room’s floor. You reach out to steady yourself on a nearby crate. “Sick—,” You warn, heavy-headed, before swallowing down the bile in your throat.
Strawhat Luffy suddenly hops down from his perch, his face stricken as he closes the short distance between you. His hands are warm and soothing as they cradle your face. “Hey…,” He whispers, worried, “Are you okay?”
You shake your head.
Your stomach churns.
Luffy sees you turn to wretch into the barrel you’d just been stowing away inside. It smells vile.
“Sorry…,” you rasp, swiping the back of your hand across your mouth.
Luffy is silent, before grabbing your hand and leading you upstairs.
****
It’s four days, before you’re allowed to leave the infirmary bed.
Sanji—chef with an even stranger accent than Luffy’s—is sitting next to you, spoon feeding you ginger soda.
“Slow sips,” he’s saying, his voice gentle and quiet. His flaxen hair is sifting over one eye.
“S’okay…,” You say, reaching for the bottle yourself. You’re sick of feeling sick. “I can drink the rest myself.”
Sanji scowls, but he hands you the green-glass bottle. You sip from it, gently. Eventually, your stomach settles.
“So…are you looking to join our crew?” He sits back in his chair, splayed out legs strong and lithe beneath his black slacks. The style is so strange here. So varied.
Searching the ceiling for answers, you suck your teeth as you decide what to say next. The spiderweb in the rafter isn’t helping you much at all.
“Sort of…,” you say, drawling out the words as slowly as syrup. They taste strange on your tongue, too.
“Is someone after you?”
You shake your head.
Sanji stares at you, his eyes burning hot coals into the side of your face.
You study the floor.
“So, what is it you want, Hiyori?”
You stare at the floorboards, your eyes focusing in on the glossy wood. There’s an acorn-shaped spot of knotted wood. It doesn’t help keep your head from spinning, and your saliva still tastes like ginger.
You sip the soda, and
speak:
“Freedom.”
****
So now you’re straddling the neck of the Going Merry’s goathead. Your hands steady yourself as you spill your stories to Strawhat Luffy.
He’s scrunching his eyebrows at you: drawn dark and serious over brown, sunlit eyes. He’s silently listening.
“…and I just wouldn’t. He said I had to, so I left. Escaped. Swam in a barrel until I somehow found my way to your ship. I need ya,” you sigh, swiping your hand across your face as you slurp up the sweet juice of the plums he’s feeding you.
“Need me?”
You nod, sinking your teeth into the plum’s scarlet flesh.
“Aren’t ya supposed to be the best, most dangerous pirate in the seas? News Coo says so much shit about ya,” You swallow, squishing the stone fruit between your forefinger and thumb. You steal another bite. “So you’re the person I want to have help me…find something. M’not sure what it is yet,” you sigh, seeing him perk up at your words. You stare at the plum’s stone heart. You scratch it with your thumbnail as you speak. “It’s silly, but…i have ambitions, y’know?”
“Dreams?”
Strawhat Luffy finishes your sentence. He regards you with softness: curious and honest.
You nod.
“What are your dreams, Hiyori?” He asks, sparkles in his eyes shot gold from the sun. He grins, radiant.
Fuck.
“Um…,” You stare at the side of the ship, at the sea’s choppy waves. The boat rocks still, but ginger and plums have settled your stomach—somewhat. You scrunch your nose. “I’m not sure…of the specifics. Yet. It’s something—with dreams. And…stars. And moonlight. But that’s it,” You say as you shake your head. Your thoughts are so scattered—so symbolic.
“It’s a song.”
Strawhat Luffy tilts his head. “A song?” He seems curious, intelligent. Interested. Chewing your lip, you respond.
“Yeah…a song. Something so—beautiful, that. Everyone else will listen to it and…say that they’re in love with me,” you trail off, swallowing the last of your plum piece.
Luffy scratches his head.
“Sounds like ya just kinda want someone to fall in love with ya,” he snickers. He sees your maddening blush and stops in his tracks. “S-sorry! I wasn’t meaning to be rude—,”
“No, it’s alright,” you snicker, scrunching your nose as you shrug in defeat. “That’s a way more honest way of saying it.”
“So,” he touches your knee, leaning in like he’s whispering you a secret, “What is it you actually dream about?”
“Sex,” you whisper, sedated by his chestnut eyes and sweet stone fruits.
“Sex?” He asks, tilting his head in earnest curiosity. You nod, far too risky with your own honesty.
“Sex is something I’ve dreamed about for a really, really long time. It’s something I really wanna start having, so that I know what it is and if it’s something I wanna keep doing. Y’know? So…for sex to start happening, I need…someone in my life. Who sees me. And…”
Here is where you turn sheepish.
“…falls in love with me.”
Silence.
Luffy is staring at you, his eyes tracing your features like he’s an artist studying a painting. His breath is sweet, as he speaks in whispers, “Is…sex something you need, from me?” He asks it curiously, appreciatively, as if he’s admiring you for saying such a secret thing.
You swallow.
“So…yeah,” you admit, fearsome blush staining your cheeks rosy. He smiles as you fidget with your fingers in your lap. They’re still sticky from the shared plums.
“Is that why ya liked my wanted poster?” He grins, all teeth.
You nod.
“Shishishi!” He snickers, hand on the back of his head to keep his sunny hat in place. He rocks back and forth, pleased. “Seriously?” He asks, wide grin only getting wider. He shrugs, delighted. “Me?”
You nod, sober as the sea breeze blows wispy turquoise hairs across your face. Your voice is steady.
“You.”
He smiles even wider now, as he slaps the back of his hand against your kneecap. He stands, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Welp!” He says as he helps you stand up, “We’d better get started,” he supports your elbow as he helps you stumble down from the Merry’s sheephead.
“Started on what?” You ask, flushed and rosy from the brief physical contact. He stares at you like he’s confused as to why you’re not getting it yet.
“Falling in love, duh!”
****
#dumpster dive#kitty speaks#my writing#one piece fanfic#luffy fanfic#luffy x reader#luffy x hiyori#hiyori#komurasaki#kozuki hiyori#luffy fluff
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O Captain, My Captain || 3.5
characters: zeke yeager x reader
cw: explicit smut (18+ only), degradation, non-consensual filming, large age gap, “coach” kink
“Why are you even doing all of this?” You ask, his fingers still grazing the surface of your lips. “This came out of nowhere.” As you finish speaking, he shoves his fingers inside your mouth without warning, which causes you to gag around the intrusion. The way he stares at you is a mixture of awe and pity, somewhere between a dog and a doll.
“I’m settling a personal score with my brother.”
It violates your morality, despite the off-handed comments and Petra’s gossip. Eren had never done much to you. It also stood that for that same reason- it makes almost no sense why Zeke would choose to sleep with you, of all people, even to get back at his younger brother. You were never a pushover or weak in the knees, but the older blonde man who stands in front of you seems almost too handsome to pass up. It might bite you in the ass, but fuck it.
You swirl your tongue around his rough fingers, which intrude into the space in your mouth, almost too thick for comfort. The taste of your essence spreads around your mouth as you suck, eye contact between the two of you almost suffocating.
“That’s right. Be a good girl and swallow my fingers like they’re the cock you want down your throat so bad.”
Rough fingers find solace on your clit, where they begin to rub harsh circles. Moans escape your lips and travel to his, not going unheard as his pace speeds up. He moves his fingers from your clit to his pants, where he unbuttons them with leisure, your eyes glued to the sight in front of you. You watch as he removes the last barrier, gaze dancing over his blond, trimmed bush before it settles on his length. He’s not long, but he is thick, causing you to swallow the spit in your throat at the thought of fitting him inside of you.
It doesn’t take long for him to align his cock up with your walls. As the first half goes in, you gasp with what dances the thin line between pleasure and pain. It was thicker than anything or anyone you’ve had inside you before. Your wetness eases the stretch and your body accommodates him as if his cock was designed to be there. He bottoms out, letting a loud groan bounce off the walls of his office.
“You feel so fucking good for a slut,” Zeke hisses out, “can’t believe you’re letting the other team’s coach rearrange your insides.” There’s not a response that comes to mind as he begins to hit the delicate spots that you craved to be touched for so long. Everything about what was happening was so fucked up, but yet, as the blond pounded into you with unrelenting resolve, every red flag dissipates before you. Instead, the addicting feeling of having him hit every single crevice making every single thought you had foggy.
Zeke flips you over onto your stomach, pushing down on your back so your ass is further into the air. There’s almost no time between the position switch and him re-entering you for you to catch your breath. The rapid pacing sends your tits back and forth at a rapid pace before he grabs them to help bury himself further inside until you cry out his name. You feel the all-too-familiar feeling in your gut begin to build as his fingers find themselves playing with your clit in an unexpectedly delicate manner.
“M’ gonna cum, Coach!” you cry out in ecstasy, making the slightest eye contact with Zeke as you turn your head to the side and glance behind. All you see is a cocky smirk, which leaves a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach. Maybe, just maybe, if you had glanced the other way, you would’ve seen the small red light in the corner of his office and realized his nefarious intentions. Instead, your cries carry throughout the night and into the vents where they find the consolation of nothingness.
“Did you get to see the game room?” Pieck asks you, sending you into a mild mental roundabout regarding if you should lie about the events of last night or not. You debate coming clean at first before vetoing it within your mind.
“I didn’t! Coach Zeke ended up just dropping off Coach Levi and I then heading off to his office, I think.” It doesn’t sit right with you to lie to someone who has never done anything wrong to you, but self-preservation prevails. “I passed out the second I got back to the dorm hall."
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𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 | 𝔩𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔡𝔶 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯
First dates are exciting, and oftentimes, in more ways than one. Especially so, when they lead to sex in an empty movie theater -- one playing a horror movie, at that.
a03 link
word count: ~1.6k
gender: fem! reader
cw: NSFW // re4r leon!, movie theater sex, sensory deprivation, biting, fingering, both of you are a switch! fighting for dominance // ktober
a/n: im so nervous for my midterms this week, wish me luck y'all !!
p.s. -- no black bar this time because it picks up like. literally right away
First dates are exciting, and oftentimes, in more ways than one. Especially so, when they lead to sex in an empty movie theater.
The screen flashed rapid-fire white lights, a woman’s alarmed screams vibrating throughout the dark room that the two of you had rented out for your date. Spurts of blood drowned in your ears, and the smell of thickly buttered popcorn wafted around the two of you as you licked a stripe up your date’s pantleg, eyeing him up with desire.
“Here?” he asked, raising a brow. Although you could see very little, you’d bet all your money, that despite his shadowed, stoic-seeming expression, he was fighting the best he could to push back the red-hot heat growing in his cheeks.
“Here.” you repeated, placing your hands on his knees, using them to push yourself up, leaning in with your chest close to his body, yet not touching. “I want you, Agent Kennedy.”
You felt him suck in a breath, turning his head quickly. His chest rose with a great deal of air filling his lungs, and you could practically feel his heartbeat thunder in his chest like a vial of bottled lightning. When he refused to meet your gaze after a couple of more seconds, you removed your hands from his knees, standing yourself up straight. Immediately after, you straddled his lap, using your dominant hand to yank his head towards you by his chin. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with silent anticipation, daring you to make another move.
“You don’t want to?” you asked slyly sweet, a purr dancing from your lips. Another scream escaped the glowing screen behind you, but neither of you entertained even a glance.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he spoke, and you could tell that one more move from you – one more move, and he would pounce.
But you were ready for his pounce, for his claws to dig into your skin. So you made your move – and thus the ‘game’ officially began.
Smiling at him, you placed your hands on his firm and wide shoulders, grinding your core down into his crotch in an upwards-hump motion. Within a second, you heard his breath hitch, his upper body lunging forward, one arm wrapping around your waist, while the other grabbed the area between your head and your neck. He practically drove himself into you, and you into him, kissing you with the fury of a man who’d never known desperation before now. But that was to be expected of your work partner, who had loved you for years and was only now able to exert his passions onto you.
You bit his lip in jest, smirking into the kiss. He flinched a little at first, your bite hard, but it didn’t take long for him to bite you back – although softer than you did unto him. Chuckling a little, you spoke in between the breaks of your hungry kisses. “That…was…a puppy…bite,”
He let out a low hum in response, acknowledging what you said before responding. “You wouldn’t be…able to handle…anything more.”
You laughed again, feeling the vibration in your throat as his softened lips eagerly devoured yours. “You’d make…a terrible vampire.”
“You’d make a great one,” he responded, your amusement reaching new levels.
“Oh yeah?” you said, breaking free from the kiss, him watching you with lidded eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Let’s see.”
You pushed his head aside, pulling the collar of his shirt in the opposite direction, biting down hard onto the crevice between his neck and shoulder. You felt his head shoot backward, inhaling deeply, groaning lowly, and his hand now clasping the leathery seat with distress trembling through his body. Despite all of this – yes, despite all of this – you also felt his cock under your body, twitching with arousal.
“Haha,” you breathed, removing your jaw from his skin before licking a stripe over the area you just ravaged. His body tremored again, a quiet moan barely exiting his mouth.
You felt the white glow of the screen behind you as you then pulled back, looking at his defeated, wincing, yet also excited form. “You don’t look like you can handle much more, huh big guy?”
Grimacing, his eyes met yours once again as he droned his head toward your direction. “No,” he huffed, “I can’t.”
Suddenly, you felt him roughly pulling the button out of your pants, unzipping them down so that your underwear peeped through slightly. It took you so off guard, that you were a little worried by the amount of force that he was using – any more, and it was likely he would’ve ripped the round placeholder from its seams.
“Step out of them.” He commanded, glaring at you with a mix of impatience and lust. You did as he commanded, leaving your underwear on. As you straddled him once again, he put two of his fingers into his mouth, wetting them completely before removing them and inserting one into your core slowly. You inhaled tremendously, your hands resting against the mounds of his chest. It felt firm and warm against your palms.
His fingers rubbed against your insides, massaging softly at first, before quickly picking up pace and pistoning into you in a constant motion. He stared at you the entire time as his fingers worked, his eyes tired, yet his mouth smirked with what seemed like admiration. Once he introduced a second finger, and the use of his other hand circling your clit, it didn’t take long for a juddering fire to course your veins, your orgasm building rapidly.
He kept the same pace throughout, only lightly pressing more into your sensitive spots as you got closer. As you pulled at his shirt, he laughed, speaking loudly enough only so that you could hear him over the seemingly tense movie in the background. “You gonna cum, bloodsucker?”
That just about did it for you, and with a gasp, his name leaving your lips, you came onto his pumping fingers. “Leon!”
After finishing, you slumped over onto him, but it was soon evident that his name exiting your mouth as you climaxed flipped a switch inside him, as he didn’t let you catch your breath for long.
Leon quickly undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and slid his bottoms as well as his underwear down enough to where his cock was now freed. He grabbed your hips, positioning you over him before slowly pushing himself into your core.
A pleasurable grumble shook in your throat, while as for Leon, he let out a heavy groan. It didn’t take long for you to get used to him, as you already had came once and had no trouble with wetness.
When you were both comfortable, in the midst of your lust, you felt Leon’s speed pick up, his hips jutting into you as he rocked you back and forth on his thrusts, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you were mumbling messes, murmuring things neither the other could hear well, as the movie drowned it out.
Eventually, another actor on the screen let out a howl of terror, and you felt Leon jump, his cock penetrating deeper than what he had been allowing it to go this entire time. You let out a gasp at the sudden force, eyeing Leon as he muttered what you figured was a quick ‘sorry.’
Slightly annoyed, you cupped your hands to his ears, forcing him to look at you as you did so. “Focus only on me,” you commanded, speaking with hitched breaths. Leon only nodded his head in return, his eyes not leaving yours for even a single second.
The two of you continued to get lost in the other's touch, Leon’s thick manhood pounding into you relentlessly, and your hands tugging, scratching, caressing, and pulling at whatever part of him that you could. It wouldn’t be long now until one of you, or both of you, were to cum.
That’s when you felt Leon pull you down by your neck, suddenly sinking his teeth into your skin – and it was much harder of a bite than the one he graced your lips with.
You moaned out a string of cusses, digging your nails into Leon’s arms as you held onto him for dear life, riding your hips into his dick that was pumping up into you. You felt your pulse quicken, an unexplainable heat taking over despite the chilly theater air, and soon enough, you were cumming onto Leon’s shaft, hard.
Immediately after, Leon followed suit and was pummeling himself into you, practically whining as he began to lose control. His thrusts were uncoordinated and unguided as his body trembled, and not long after, you felt his warm seed spurt up into you in large quantities. It was a thick fluid, and you could feel it fill up the sparing space that his cock had left, before slowly running out of you once he pulled himself from your core.
The two of you were panting desperately, clinging for oxygen as you had both finished. As you breathed, your hands dragged down from his ears, to his neck, to now rest on his shoulders. Once they laid there, your body fell against him, your head in his neck. He followed after your tired slump, his head plopping against yours.
“Damn,” he blurted out, his chest rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled. “Still think I’d make for a shitty bloodsucker?”
You couldn’t see his face, but you knew at this moment, he was smirking.
For the official and original Kinktober 23 prompts, check here. Credits to @kinktober2023 for the ideas!
#leon#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon smut#leon kennedy smut#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x fem reader#leon x you#leon x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy x reader#leon fanfic#leon kennedy fic#resident evil smut#resident evil fanfiction#resident evil fic#re4r leon#leon re4r#re4 remake#re smut#smut#leon kennedy oneshot#oneshot#resident evil oneshot#resident evil oneshots#fanfiction#fanfic#resident evil#leon resident evil#x reader
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Anything (Pt.21)
cw: smut, sa-trauma, teasing, fingering, oral (both), praise kink, dom-matty, p in v
Chapter 21
Matty must have carried me to his bed in the middle of the night after we'd fallen asleep on the couch together because I'd woken up tucked comfortably under his covers and surrounded by his warm embrace. He'd taken off my shorts, replacing them with a pair of his sweatpants, knowing I get cold when I sleep. I was so touched when I woke up.
I had woken up before the sun rose, my mind still spinning anxiously about this stupid exposé written about mine and Matty's sex life. I spent the first hour of being awake laying in bed brainstorming what to do about this article. By the time the sky first hinted at sunrise, I'd come up with something I felt really good about.
Too impatient to wait for him to wake up, I climbed on top of Matty, gently rolling him onto his back and peppering his face with kisses.
Without opening his eyes, he wrapped his arms around me tightly, then pulled my mouth to his, kissing me meaningfully. I melted into him.
"This is my favourite way to wake up," he said sleepily with a smile, opening his eyes slightly to look at me, his eyelids heavy with sleep.
I smiled back at him and we kissed again, this time deeper. Suddenly, I felt him getting hard underneath me. Caught off guard, a switch flipped in my mind and I went into panic mode, alarm bells ringing in my ears. Affection means sex. I have to have sex. He was kissing me because he wanted sex, and now I had to have sex and I had no choice in this. No say.
Before I said anything, Matty pulled his lips from mine. "Ignore him," he said frowning, referring to his erection, his eyes still closed. He reached down to adjust himself, still unaware of my panicked state.
I slowly climbed off of him, laying down along his side and nuzzling my face into his chest, trying to act casual while I tried to stave off my panic attack. Matty pulled my arm across his chest, stroking it lightly with his fingertips.
"Would you like to talk about it, or would you rather pretend it didn't happen?" Matty said gently.
I silently cursed my rapid heart for beating so loud. "What do you mean?" I played dumb, too frozen in my thoughts to think he wouldn't buy it.
"Darling..." he said knowingly.
"I'm sorry, I don't know why this is happening... I love having sex with you. I love you. I just... when I'm not prepared for it..."
"It feels like pressure. Like it's not your choice. Like I just kissed you to get you to have sex with me." Matty finished for me.
I looked up at him immediately, my voice full of worry, "That's not what I actually think about you!" I said, a different panic seeping in. "But... yes. That's the automatic reaction my body has. That's how it feels... Even though I know you're not pressuring me!" I quickly clarified.
"Hey," he said softly, stopping me in my tracks. "Let me just say first, I know our love. You don't have to worry about that." He moved his hand to my head, stroking my hair soothingly. "I just remember how you explained things when you were with... with that absolute piece of trash..." he finished angrily.
I nodded my head into his chest.
"I'm sorry I made you feel that way," he said. I opened my mouth to protest his apology but he stopped me. "I know I don't need to apologize. I know I haven't technically done anything wrong. But I'm still sorry. I don't ever want to make you feel unsafe with me."
I hung onto his every word, desperate to not feel the way I felt.
"I only want to have sex with you if that's what you want to do. Unfortunately, my... 'friend' down there sometimes has a mind of his own, especially in the mornings... but I promise you that just because he got a little excited does not mean I wanted or expected anything. At all," he said firmly. He paused, then tentatively added, "Do you believe me?"
My heart broke, pulling me from my panicked state immediately. I looked up at him, meeting his sad eyes, his brow creased. "Of course, I believe you," I said, reaching my hand to his face. "Oh Matty, I'm so sorry..." I said, whinging in frustration. "I would never actually think you would lie to me. Or trick me, or pressure me, or force me... You've only ever made me feel incredibly heard and safe. I want to- and love having sex with you. ...I just have to unlearn some trauma stuff, that's all..."
"No big deal, huh?" Matty said with a little half smile. "Just have to unlearn some trauma? Easy breezy."
I couldn't help but laugh. I tightened my arm around his chest, pulling myself in closer against him.
Matty rested his arm over mine, tracing circles on my shoulder. "If that happens again, or I do anything else to make you uncomfortable, what do you need from me to feel safe?" he asked gently, sincerity soaking his words.
I felt something crack deep within me. Whether it was my heart, or my shield, or what, I'm not sure, but with that crack came a feeling of release. It was overwhelming, almost too much, but it felt right. I took a moment to really think about my response.
"Maybe just to remind me that... that you don't want my body, you just want me, and that it's okay that I don't want sex sometimes... I think maybe a part of this all too is that I have guilt that I'm keeping this thing from you that you want. It feels selfish."
I heard Matty exhale a sound of sadness. He pulled me in even tighter. "You aren't keeping anything from me, darling. It's the opposite. You've given me everything. You are the greatest gift I could ever ask for. I don't need any more than that." He kissed my forehead and I let his comfort wash over me.
We lay there in silence holding each other as we watched the sunrise outside of Matty's window, the sky pink and gold. I looked up at Matty, his eyes meeting mine with patience and kindness. "Do you wanna go watch the sunrise with me?" I asked.
A big smile broke out on his face. "I'd love nothing more," he said, pulling me up to meet his lips, and kissing me softly.
He grabbed the duvet on our way out of his bedroom and as we stepped out onto the gold-soaked patio, he led us towards the iron staircase, which I'd never gone up before. We climbed to the top where I was met with the most beautiful sunrise staining all of London below us. It was such an incredible view, I let Matty guide me over to the patio set in a daze, not taking my eyes off the view once. He sat us down and wrapped us in the duvet, snuggling in tight against me. We sat there watching the sky turn various shades of gold, orange and pink, resting our heads against each other.
"I love you so much, Anna," he whispered, leaning into my ear.
My heart soared. "I love you too, Matty. So so much."
We watched the sun rise higher and higher, greeting us as it warmed our bodies.
"I'd like to make a formal request," Matty said after a few minutes of silence, "That you wake me up like that every morning, and we watch the sunrise together every day."
I couldn't help but giggle, "That means we'll have to start going to bed earlier, which you know won't happen." I was referring to how we'd tried going to bed earlier recently since we'd spent our first week together up all night almost every night, too stubborn to allow the day to end. Unfortunately, every time we tried to go to bed early this week, we'd just end up staying up late anyways, unable to stop talking.
"Well, then can I at least request that you wake me up like that every morning? I quite liked that," he said, pressing his forehead against my head, "and by liked I mean adored." I turned to smile at him and he kissed me meaningfully, our lips unwilling to part.
"Oh!" I exclaimed as I remembered why I'd woken him up so excitedly in the first place. "I had an idea this morning before you woke up. A way to take the power back a little in this whole article mess."
"Tell me," he said encouragingly.
I explained to him my plan, and by the time I finished, Matty was shaking his head in disbelief.
"My girlfriend is a genius," he said in awe.
"Well that feels like a bit of an exaggeration, but I can't say I hate the compliment," I said with a smile.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Matty said stubbornly, "Because my genius girlfriend and I need to get to work! We have a plan to hatch!" Matty stood up, wrapping me completely in the duvet and picking me up, placing a kiss on my cheek before walking us over to the staircase.
"Matty!" I blurted suddenly, my jaw dropping. "YOU HAVE A POOL UP HERE?" I shouted as I tried to clamour out of Matty's arms. I'd been so distracted by the sunrise I didn't even notice the giant pool until now.
"Yes, did I not tell you already?" he said, scratching the back of his head as he discarded the duvet on a chair, then laughing as I pulled him by the hand towards the edge, staring down at the crystal clear blue-green water.
"Let's swim for a bit!" I said enthusiastically, excited by the thought of Matty's naked chest glistening in the pool water.
"Really? First thing in the morning? Doesn't a nice cuddle in bed sound..." Matty trailed off as he saw me pull off my sweater.
I stepped towards him, looking him straight in the eye. "This doesn't look like fun to you?" I asked with a small pout as I slowly pulled down my sweatpants.
"Well- I-" he stammered as he watched me then pull off my bra.
I took another step towards him, my fingers finding his skin under his sweater. I ran my hands up his chest, savouring the feeling of his hard muscles under my fingertips.
"Did you, uh-" he coughed, "did you want me to- to put on a bathing suit?" He asked nervously, trying his best to be cautious while being very obviously turned on.
I pressed my hips against his, feeling his hardness grow once again. I looked him in the eyes and shook my head slowly with a small smile, unblinking. "I don't want you to put anything on." I kissed his neck slowly. Then I reached up on my tip toes to whisper in his ear, "I'd actually much prefer if you had nothing on," as I dragged my fingernails lightly down his back.
Matty groaned in response as I felt his cock twitch in his pants. As I settled back down from my tiptoes, his lips followed mine, his face lowering to kiss me. I turned around, taking a step toward the edge of the pool. Then I slowly pulled down my thong, bending over sensually, taking my time as I could feel Matty's eyes on me. I stood back up, then looked over my shoulder and said, "You coming?" before jumping directly into the pool.
The water wasn't nearly as cold as I thought it would be, the pool clearly heated. As I resurfaced, I turned to see Matty clamouring to the edge of the pool, ripping off his clothes eagerly. I dove back under the water, swimming further out to the other end of the pool. I savoured the feeling of the cool water against my skin as I heard a loud splash behind me. I came up for air and looked behind me to see Matty gone from the pool deck and the water rippling. I smiled to myself before diving back down and swimming away, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. It didn't last very long, as I felt a hand around my waist, shocked he was able to catch up so quickly. He pulled us up to the surface, putting both his arms around me. I wrapped my legs around him, feeling his hardness against my backside.
"You put on quite a show back there," he said, the tone changing from playful to serious. I felt my stomach flip flop as I looked up at his lust-filled face, his lips parted, water dripping from his bottom lip, as he looked down at me. My heartbeat quickened.
"How did you catch me so fast? I didn't know you were such a good swimmer," I said, my turn to be nervous.
"I swim laps regularly- don't change the subject," he ordered. My stomach flipped again, excited by his dominating tone. "You like parading yourself around like that for me?"
I hesitated to answer, undecided on whether I wanted to play innocent or provoke him a bit more. I didn't have to think long, remembering the fire in his eyes the last time I tried to be difficult. Just the memory made my nether region tingle in excitement.
"I was simply taking off my clothes, I don't know what you're talking about," I said stubbornly, digging my nails slightly into his shoulder blades which I gripped. I felt his cock twitch against my backside.
"I see..." he said quietly, moving one hand under my ass to hold me up, the other moving around to my stomach. "So we're being stubborn again, are we?" His hand travelled up my stomach, grazing my breasts. He stared at me with such intensity, I felt like my eyes were going to burn. "Do you like being a little brat?"
I ignored his question, looking up at the bright sky, then the chimney's in the distance, then the patio furniture- anywhere but those penetrating eyes.
His hand continued up to my neck, which he gripped firmly. I felt myself getting wet. "I asked you a question," he said, his voice dark.
"Hmmm?" I feigned distraction as I looked back into his eyes, pretending his hand wasn't around my neck. "What was your question?"
He shook his head slowly as one of the corners of his mouth upturned into an aggravated smirk. "Oh you really love pissing me off, don't you?"
"I would never..." I tried to say seriously, a smile escaping my lips.
He leaned in towards my ear, his breath against my skin giving me goosebumps, and whispered, "Is that because you think it'll make me fuck you harder later?"
My face flushed with heat. "Am I wrong?" I challenged him, a tone of sass in my voice.
He looked down at me, his brown eyes vibrant. He shook his head so slightly, I almost didn't catch it. Then, with his smile gone, very quietly he warned, "Careful."
I gulped.
"Open your mouth," he commanded. I obliged immediately. Turning his eyes down to my mouth, he looked at me, taking in the sight of me, his bratty little girlfriend following his orders with my mouth open, his hand still around my neck. His nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened, his eyes brighter than I'd ever seen them. I couldn't tell which one of us was more turned on. Then he pursed his lips, and spit into my open mouth. I moaned, and he quickly dove in to kiss me, pressing himself hard against my mouth. I kissed him back, desperate for more.
I adjusted myself down below so that I now had his cock pinned between me and his stomach. I began to rub myself against him, my cunt so wet, it glided over him swiftly. I heard him catch his breath, then kissed me even more fiercely. I ran my nails down his back like I knew he liked and he groaned into my mouth, sending flutters through my body.
His lips left mine, leaving me breathless, and he panted into my ear quietly, "You have two choices. You can either be a good girl and do as I say, or you can continue to be a little brat. But I have to warn you first," he took my earlobe between his teeth, sending a shiver down my neck. "Do you remember how we practiced your patience? And how long I made you wait?" I nodded nervously. He nodded back at me, "Yes, you do. Well, I promise you, that's only a fraction of what you'll have to wait if you choose to be difficult. Do you understand?" He moved his hand to cup my chin.
"Yes, daddy," I breathed, eyes hazy with lust.
"Are you going to be good for daddy?" he asked, eyebrows raised, lips hovering over mine.
I nodded my head once more, then kissed him eagerly. He kissed me back passionately as he moved his hands to hold me closer. Then, he walked us slowly over to the steps, carrying us out of the pool, water dripping from our naked bodies onto the pavement. He set me down on the ground and walked away from me, over towards a large daybed as I watched his perk ass.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Stand over here," he commanded. I quickly walked over to the spot in front of him, looking down at his towering cock which stood straight up, thick and hard. It looked so much bigger in the daylight. He leaned back on his hands, looking up and down my body lazily. "You've given me some mixed signals today, darling," he said, eyes landing on my breasts, still dripping with water from the pool. His eyes travelled lower, making me blush. "I'm not sure if I believe you. Do you really mean it? That you'll be good for me?" His eyes flickered up to mine, seeing my flushed face.
"Yes, of course," I said eagerly, "I meant it."
"Hmmm," he said, his eyes glancing at his cock, then back up to me as he said, "Then prove it."
I immediately dropped to my knees, taking the tip of his cock into my mouth, and swirling my tongue over it. I worked my way down his thick shaft, slowly taking in more and more. I looked up at him, his face screwed into one of pleasure. I took his balls in one hand, playing with them lightly as I started to reach the end of his cock, gagging on its length. As I gagged, I heard him whimper, looking up to see him biting his lip. I picked up my pace, moving faster as I heard him moan in response.
"You're gonna make me cum, Anna," he groaned. I continued to suck on his cock, then felt his hand on my head, taking a handful of my hair. "Stop."
Desperate to please him, I stopped right away, looking up at him with wide eyes.
He sat further back on the daybed, spreading his legs. "Sit down," he said, patting the cushion between his legs. Excitedly, I moved to straddle him, desperate to feel him inside of me, but he stopped me. "No. Face the pool."
I turned back around, lowering my eager pussy over his erect cock, but he put his hands on my waist, guiding me to sit in front of it. I looked back at him with a frown, confused and impatient. He answered me before I could ask.
"I want to play with you first before I fuck you," he said, his eyes dancing.
"You told me I wouldn't have to wait if I was good," I breathed desperately, my chest caving in frustration.
"I lied," he said with a smile.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he ran his fingertips along the inside of my thigh, shutting me up instantly.
"Mmm..." he groaned in my ear, running his fingers over my slit. "I love how wet you get for me," he said with a low voice in my ear, giving me goosebumps. His finger slid over my clit, making me gasp. "I can tell how desperate you are for my cock," he continued as he began to rub my clit slowly. He reached his other hand around to grab my breast. He pinched my nipple, making me moan. I was already so turned on, I could feel my orgasm building as I clenched my legs closed in pleasure.
Matty's hand left my breast, on my thigh a moment later, wrenching my legs open again. "Open your pretty legs for me, baby," he said, hooking his heels around mine, keeping my feet wide apart. He placed his lips on my neck, sucking on my skin, his touch driving me wild.
His hand moved up my thigh, teasing my entrance lightly before he placed two fingers inside of me, hooking up to stroke my G-spot perfectly. I whimpered.
"You just love parading yourself around for me, don't you? Getting naked and teasing me with that gorgeous body of yours. As if I can't have it. As if it's not completely and entirely mine," he said, his voice now gravelly as he fingered me faster, his other hand still rubbing my clit. I arched my back in pleasure, his lips landing on my cheek with a gentle kiss. "Do you like that baby?" he asked sweetly as I whimpered, wiggling under his touch. "Does that feel good?" he cooed.
I nodded, my eyes closed as I began to pant from pleasure. I stifled a loud moan, clasping my hand to my mouth.
"Don't hold back, baby. You can be as loud as you want here. Let it out," he encouraged gently in my ear.
I let out another loud moan as he fingered me even faster.
"That's it," he whispered in my ear. "There's a good girl."
His hands suddenly disappeared, leaving me dazed and desperate for his touch.
"Stand up," he commanded in my ear.
He stood up with me, slapping my ass, hard. I turned around, my eyes droopy with lust, kissing him as I ran my hands hungrily over his chest. "Slap me again," I said between kisses. "Please?" He smacked it again, then again, leaving my cheeks stinging with pleasure. Then without warning, he picked me up and tossed me on the day bed, crawling on top of me.
I smiled with excitement, his face unphased by mine, animalistic lust overruling everything within him. I needed him.
He cupped my chin with his hand. "Have you been a good girl for daddy?" he asked, eyes travelling all over my face. "Do you think you deserve to be pounded by his cock?" he asked innocently, his eye landing on mine, placing his thumb over my lips. I nodded my head vigorously as he slipped his thumb into my mouth. I eagerly sucked it, desperate for more of him. He gripped my jaw, pulling my face close to his, "I said, do you think you deserve my cock inside of you?" he repeated, his voice gravelly again, now teasing his cock against my entrance.
"Yes, I need it. It's all I want. Please daddy," I said desperately as I looked into his eyes, slurring my words with his thumb still in my mouth.
He pulled my jaw open, then spit in my mouth again, this time harder. Then, in one swift motion, he swooped down to kiss me ferociously as he thrust himself deep inside me, filling every inch of me. I screamed, and Matty grunted, pounding into me over and over with such power, I thought I might black out from pleasure. I scratched his back with my nails, desperately clutching him as he pounded me, my orgasm coiling so quickly, I didn't know how long I'd last.
Matty groaned into my ear, "You're so tight and wet, Anna." He snarled, fucking me even harder.
"Matty, you're going to make me cum," I said, my voice breaking, my body overwhelmed with pleasure.
"Cum for me. Cum all over my cock, baby," he grunted in my ear.
Just like that, my orgasm released, pleasure shooting through my entire body, from my toes to the tips of my fingers. My legs shook uncontrollably, and I shouted Matty's name into the sky. He bit down on my neck, his own orgasm hitting him as he thrust himself deep into me. My entire body tingled, my skin so sensitive that the light breeze in the air pushed my orgasm even further.
I held Matty tight as we came down from our collective orgasm together. Matty collapsed onto me, breathing hard as I ran my fingers along his back, kissing his neck gently. He raised his head to rest it against my forehead. With his eyes closed, he said, "I love you so much, Anna." Then he kissed me deeply. "I think any minute spent without you is a minute wasted," he said when he finished.
"I feel the same way... I think you're magic," I said wistfully, threading my fingers through his hair.
I opened my eyes to see him beaming at me, his smile big and goofy, his eyes crinkled in that way I love.
We lay there crisping together in the sun with our bodies intertwined, giddy with love, giggling like little children as we whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears.
#fanfic#lovers#fanfiction#matty healy#at their very best#matty the 1975#love#the 1975#bfiafl#tender#matty 1975#matty healy fanfiction#matty#the 1975 fanfic#smut#bd/sm kink#bd/sm daddy#daddy#daddy's good girl#sa mention#trauma#trumanblack#sa survivor
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its one of those days where i just want to state every bit of my life w you guys so here we go rapid fire instead of making a million posts about it
i have started a new workout and! my legs look and feel like jelly!!! ten/ten would recommend i'm gonna have such a booty!!!
i do not know if i actually enjoy working out or if i just enjoy going on tictock so much it distracts me from working out. about 2 years ago i gave myself the rule of "you cannot go on tik tok from the hours of 6-10 unless you are working out" because i was literally just sitting and scrolling for hours and! now i workout everyday.
i have discovered that the key to my productivity is literally just putting my phone out of sight, not even hiding it if i just can't see it from the vantage point of my computer i am so so so much more productive.
(cw: little space mention) i had pastries for breakfast!!! lots of choco ones! and its making me feel very small! i went through such a period of time where i wasn't going into little space? like my brain just wasn't letting go but the switch flipped back this week and now i just wanna be tiny all the time 😞
Hopefully! I will finish the rough draft of the bily chapter today! we're on track for another chapter this weekend!
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okay birthday hcs part 2 but now its reiners bday instead
still modern!au because otherwise shit would be anachronistic
honestly all credit to @mercifulmudkip because i was just gonna let my other hcs sit on their own but. truly they lit a fire under my ass.
i guess cw for a little bit of angst but it's pretty negligible
so fr fr reiner does Not celebrate his birthday unprompted. in canon he straight up wants to [demonetize] himself so even in the modern day he's not into it
last birthday he probably really enjoyed was as a kid. it was tmnt themed and he, bert, annie, and marcel were each a turtle. zeke, their babysitter, was splinter. porco was practically still in diapers but was already antagonizing them as shredder. reiner has fond memories of this but certainly sees it as all in the past
but after he made your birthday so special u are on a MISSION. rounding up the whole gang to make this truly The Number One Birthday Party
i wanna say surprise party because otherwise he would drag his feet about having a celebration so? he certainly can't know about it beforehand
u tell him on the weekend that ur going over to pieck and porcos shared teeny tiny house to celebrate piecks birthday (theyre literally 4 days apart) and honestly thats not really a lie! he just doesnt know its a Joint birthday party
pieck is also 100% in on the surprise even though its her party too. helps porco set up streamers, blow up balloons, etc.
pieck, porco, and annie try to hang stuff from the ceiling but can't reach. bertholdt just walks up behind all three of them with some tape and sticks everything up in rapid succession. annie "you really need to invest in a stepladder." pieck "why would i get a stepladder when i can just ask bert to do it :)?"
falco and gabi were originally enlisted to help but when they found porcos nerf guns they were sent to the backyard
everyone had played with the idea of hiding behind couches, turning lights off, doing the whole "Surprise Party" thing, but eventually decided against it in case it sent poor reiner into a full blown panic attack
instead, its more subtle. when you hop into reiners front seat with two presents, u tell him that u found something at the store that you just couldn't resist. also technically not a lie!
when u pull up to the party, porco is sitting on the front step vaping or something. ring of pineapple smoke around his head. "hey its the birthday bo- I mean, fuck -- wasn't your birthday a couple days ago? haha, weird." nice save, pock
the party is small and intimate, but by no means quiet. pieck has put on some hyperpop to try to keep awake while annie is absolutely dominating bert in smash bros. they always bring it as a party game but no one wants to play with annie because she absolutely wipes the floor every time. reiner has never picked up a switch controller and has, in fact, just discovered that his work computer has minesweeper
after some mingling u all gather around the table for Birthday Dinner. reiner walks in the kitchen and sees two small cakes but thinks its just got something to do with falcos peanut allergy and shrugs it off
everyone sings happy birthday to pieck and after she blows out the candles gabi waves her hands and says "one! more! time!" reiner is all raised eyebrows and confused expression as porco brings out the second cake and places it in front of him at the table
my boy literally starts tearing up as everyone starts a rousing encore of the birthday song. looks at u, eyes shiny, KNOWS u had a hand in this. whispers a soft 'thank you' to u before he blows out the candles and makes his wish
when its time for presents he finally puts two and two together about u bringing two gifts in the car. can practically see the lightbulb above his head. holds the small package in his hands like its going to break apart or disappear. "you didn't have to get me anything. this is more than enough."
it's a little digital camera, nothing fancy, maybe two different modes for landscape shots and close-ups. but it's perfect.
he sets it up to charge in the kitchen while everyone is cleaning up, then meets back in the living room to hang out. gabi and falco have joined annie and bertholdts game, and pieck is fading fast on porcos shoulder while he scrolls on his phone
reiner sits down next to you on the couch, and is not slow to take you into his arms, head resting on top of yours. "You had a hand in this, didn't you?" his voice is resonant and deep, and u can feel the vibration where his neck touches the side of ur head. u nod and look up at him. "a little."
he kisses the top of ur head, breathes in the scent of u. "remind me to take a picture before we leave. i don't ever want to forget today."
he lines everyone up for a photo but has no clue how to set a timer or anything, so he ends up poking his head in at the last moment. ends up looking like absolute shit, out of focus with a big blond blur right on the side of the frame. porco cant stop laughing at it. "babys first selfie" he calls it
but reiner loves it. to him, that blurry picture is like a trophy or a treasure. hed make it his desktop background if he had any clue how
he takes a couple more pictures and decides to experiment more with it later. just enjoys the evening, the company, the feeling of your hand in his
and if gabi steals the camera and takes a candid photo of you two sharing a kiss, well… he'll find out eventually
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