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flowerandblood · 7 months

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Rip my heart, heal my soul

[ Jack the Ripper • modern!Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, stalking, violence, mention of murder and body mutilation, manipulation, obsession ]

[ description: Driven by his hatred of women, who in his opinion are mere whores, Aemond delights in killing them when they least expect it - during their rapture with him. He meets a girl whom he chooses as his next target, but it turns out that this time he is the victim of a feeling he has never known before in his life. Murder, mutilation of his victims, obsessive, poetic, dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

Aemond Inside Alphabet

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

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He hated how two-faced women could be. With what ease they pretended to be sweet, innocent, warm, looking at him with dreamy eyes, only to fuck him a few hours later like common whores in their flat, moaning loudly like butchered animals.

He loved to see their expressions of surprise when they suddenly felt a fishing lines tighten around their neck as he fucked them from behind, choking them while smiling broadly, pleased to hear them stop making those sickening sounds, trying helplessly to grab air in their lungs and only then did he cum with a sigh of relief.

He loathed them.

He abhorred them.

Women like them laughed at him when he was in highschool, when he lost his left eye. They avoided him, calling him a cyclop, a monster, considering themselves superior, beautiful inside and out.

He knew how simple their mechanism of action was − all they had to do was meet a well-built, mysterious, charismatic man and they were all wet, suddenly forgetting about his artificial eye, ready for him to fuck them anywhere and any way.

They wanted to be the unique ones, the special ones.

They kept repeating to him that they weren't like other girls and he looked at them with a smile, nodding.

He'd gouge their eyeballs out of their eye sockets, grinning to find that it suited them to look like this − suddenly they seemed to be some kind of terrifying beasts, demons from the innermost abysses of darkness that had come to devour him.

He quartered their bodies with cleavers, packed them in great black sacks into which he placed stones and drove many hours ahead, finding some lake into which he threw their remains, their empty shell, as he liked to think of them.

His first target was his schoolmate who mocked him, but then he began to observe women and girls outside clubs, hunting down those who behaved similarly, pretending to be inaccessible, hard to get.

He knew this was nonsense, a cover for a guy to want to try harder.

Because of what he did, he changed his address frequently, catching light seasonal jobs. Mostly he was employed in cafés, because there he could observe people, often finding new targets. Women would frequently pretend to come to work there with their laptops, but would glance at him surreptitiously, checking if he was looking at them.

One day he heard the ringing of a bell hanging over the door and felt hot in his chest at the thought that this girl was perfect.

She was wearing an oversized pastel jumper, light-coloured shorts and mid-thigh-length woollen socks, her hair partly pinned back − a typical sweet pastel girl making big eyes, thinking he didn't know who she really was.

She smiled warmly at him as she approached the counter, but he didn't reciprocate the gesture and looked at her expectantly, throwing a cloth over his shoulder in a gesture of impatience.

"Good morning. A large hot chocolate, please." She said softly, pulling her small rucksack off her back, searching in it for her wallet.

As she opened it, looking in it for banknotes, he saw out of the corner of his eye a student card from a university an hour away from their town and pressed his lips together, thinking it was a perfect match. He scooped her order onto the till and glanced down at her − she reached his shoulder height.

"Anything else?" He asked indifferently and she shook her head, undeterred by his coolness she was still smiling.

Stupid bitch.

"No, thank you." She said calmly, and he told her the amount she had to pay. She placed in front of him exactly as much as he had said, and he walked over to the machine and busied himself filling her order.

"Did you come here on holiday?" He asked her, standing with his back to her. He felt her move uncomfortably, surprised by his question.

"In a way." She said lightly, but added nothing more. He handed her a cup and she took it from him − she looked him in the eye and thanked him, then sat down by the window, setting down her chocolate, pulling a laptop from her backpack.

He wandered between tables cleaning them and collecting orders from other guests, glancing at her screen out of the corner of his eye each time, wanting to find something that might give him a clue as to who she was, what she was doing.

He saw that she was constantly typing something in an open text document with quick, sure movements, clicking loudly on the keyboard, taking a sip of chocolate once in a while. When their gazes met she smiled slightly at him, but immediately went back to work again.

Despite his hopes that she would order something else, after half an hour she packed up and left, wiping her table with her handkerchief beforehand and bringing him her empty cup, throwing over her shoulder to wish him a good day.

He felt all tense and bit his lower lip, knowing exactly how he would spend the evening.

As soon as he entered his flat he opened the internet browser on his laptop and typed in the name of her university − it was a private institution of higher learning, so she either had to have an outstanding academic record or a great deal of money.

Another fucking nepotistic child, he thought with amusement and mockery.

He started browsing the university's website, her Facebook page and Instagram hoping to see her somewhere, but found nothing. The only thing he found out was that the university specialised in the humanities, psychology, history, literature.

That would explain why she wrote so much.

He felt impatience and frustration when she didn't come for days, unable to concentrate, thinking only of her. Standing outside the clubs, smoking a cigarette, he caught himself not observing what was going on around him at all, replaying for the hundredth time her visit to the café, her smile, her cordiality, the fact that she had cleaned up after herself so he wouldn't have to.

He knew it was all just a shell, underneath which there was only disgusting meat.

He couldn't hide the gleam in his eye, the grimace of satisfaction that ascended suddenly on his face and disappeared a moment later when he saw her again in the doorway of the café − this time she was wearing a summer blue dress, her hair tied up in a braid. She walked up to the counter and ordered the same hot chocolate again with a smile.

He felt he needed to start any light conversation.

"Wouldn't you prefer something cooler for such a hot day? We have freshly squeezed juices." He suggested, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She cocked her head, curious, and hesitated, involuntarily pressing her lips together.

He looked at them, at their pink, fleshy, moist texture, at her slender, long neck, and swallowed loudly, feeling his trousers pulsing at the thought of tightening the noose on her.

"Do you also have orange juice?" She asked softly and he nodded.

"Of course." He replied lowly.

"In that case, I'll have the juice." She said, taking out her wallet again − this time his attention was caught by the small photos she had slipped into a translucent pocket, a picture of some boy, a dog and an older man.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend and furrowed his eyebrows as he pressed half an orange to the juice squeezer, recognising in his mind that this would complicate things a lot.

He set the glass in front of her and took the banknote she handed him.

"Thank you very much for your suggestion." She said lightly, with a wide, warm smile and satisfaction in her eyes. She moved ahead to the same table as before and took out her laptop again, starting to type something.

He circled around her for half an hour until he finally decided he couldn't stand it.

He walked over to her table with a cloth and spray, pretending he had to wipe the top, and she picked up her laptop, wanting to help him and make some space.

"Do you work even on holidays?" He asked her indifferently, and she blinked, surprised by his question. She grunted quietly, correcting herself in her seat.

"I have to publish academic articles if I want to keep my place at university. But I like doing it." She said, shrugging her shoulders, not even a trace of displeasure on her face. She put her laptop back on the table when he had finished, and he analysed quickly what she had said.

So it was a scholarship after all, she wasn't paying tuition fees.

"What are you writing about this time?" He asked feeling that this was his only chance, glancing at her nervously, wondering if he was crossing the line or being too persistent. She lifted her gaze to him and cocked her head.

"I'm writing an article on the prose of Edgar Allan Poe. Do you know him?" She asked lightly, and he involuntarily bit his lower lip at her question.

Prose in which men cut out their beloveds' entrails, collected their teeth, confessed poems over their cadaverous faces, professing infinite love for them, raging with desire, with despair, with the darkness that was tearing them apart.

Of course he fucking knew him.

"Yeah. It's a pretty dark choice." He admitted, looking at her, recognising with surprise that it didn't match either her clothes, her manner or her personality. She giggled at his words, placing her elbows on the tabletop, not taking her bright gaze off him.

"It is true, however, there is something captivating about him. His darkness is filled with pain, his inner struggle, as if he still lived in agony even when he loved, even when he seemed happy. Each of his poems, each of his stories, is a dark work of art that I could analyse endlessly. He is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for me." She finished her explanation and he stared at her with his lips pressed together, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen and the pulsing in his trousers at her words, thinking that he was about to throw himself at her like an animal.

She was perfect.

"Which of his stories do you like the most?" He asked finally, feeling with surprise that his voice trembled slightly, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was looking at her as if something possessed him.

She thought about his question, lifting her gaze upwards and hummed under her breath.

"Black Cat. This is his first story I've read. I couldn't get over it, had trouble sleeping afterwards. I promised myself I'd never go back to it again, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and ended up reading the whole book." She said with a smile and some kind of excitement.

"And yours?" She asked, continuing their exchange, and he felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that he had succeeded, that he had intrigued her.

"The Fall of the House of Usher." He whispered, thinking of the woman locked in the coffin alive, unable to get out, whose moans were heard by her own brother, but he chose not to help her, horrified by what he had done.

He thought that perhaps he too could lock her up like this, keep her to himself, only not underground, not in a coffin, but in his arms.

He shuddered when an impatient customer called out to him if he was going to serve her, and he gave her a furious look.

"Of course." He said lowly, walking up to her, asking what he could help with.

Usually if someone frustrated him so much, spoke to him in the way she did when she paid him, complaining about his tone of voice, the way he looked at her, he would find her and do to her what he did to everyone else.

However, now that he had met her, he didn't want to have to change his residence again and decided to hold back.

He saw with a squeeze in his heart that she had closed her laptop and started packing.

He didn't want her to leave.

She approached the counter and he felt a squeeze in his throat, his whole body tense.

"I'm very sorry this woman treated you this way. I worked as a waitress last year too and I know what a thankless job it is. Don't worry about it. See you later." She said lightly and waved at him. He led her away with his eyes, watching as she disappeared around the corner throwing him another happy smile.

From that moment on, he felt that he was completely crazy about her.

He stopped going under the clubs and stalking other women, decided he didn't need to waste his time with whores when he found her, his Berniece, Morella, Eleonora, his muse, his dark inspiration, his elusive lover, the object of his desire and desperate, hot affection, his obsession.

Never before in his life had he felt so wonderful; he felt as if his insides were filled with fire.

After what she had told him, he realised that she must have been studying fiction, and he searched for academic works published on the internet about Poe's poetry, hoping to come across her name by chance.

He was not mistaken.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip as he typed another name into the browser and her Facebook profile picture came up.

He bit his lip as he entered her profile, seeing that apart from basic information as he wasn't friends with her he couldn't see much else. However, he already knew that she was three years younger than him and that she was in fact studying fiction.

He went back to her article, starting to read curiously, wanting to see if she really was that good, if her words weren't just haughty, populist feminine gibberish.

The Black Cat is the story not of a madman who murdered his cat in an act of rage. It is the story of a progressive illness and trauma, a proceeding inner agony and schizophrenia that the main character is unable to cope with, his mind and his feelings measured against his animal aggression, his desire to vent his urges and frustrations purely physically. He begins to lose his memory, able to wake up suddenly in a different place, not knowing what he was doing a few days before, losing his grip on reality completely. It is very likely that the other cat he sees does not exist at all, is merely a figment of his imagination, his remorse, his progressive illness. The protagonist, falling into a spiral of his own madness, is unable to distinguish between his imagination and reality, terrified and filled with aggression like a feral animal he collapses into himself, eventually leading to tragedy, in his madness walling up his beloved wife. We observe a phenomenon of slow dehumanisation, the protagonist discarding piece by piece all sorts of brakes that on a daily basis stop us from sudden, brutal, cruel acts, leaving only pure reactions, filled with anger and frustration. Despite his actions, the reader, being inside the protagonist's head, involuntarily sympathises with him, understanding that he cannot control how his own mind, that he cannot stop the inevitable, that he is doomed to fall apart completely.

He swallowed loudly, feeling the dryness in his throat, stroking his chin with a nervous, anxious hand gesture, wondering why his heart was pounding so much, why he was so tense.

He thought he felt as if she had written about him, as if she had looked into the depths of his inner emptiness and described with tenderness and care what was happening to him.

He bit his thumb thinking that he felt understood, not judged, that there was warmth emanating from her text and what she wrote.

He thought with horror that he might have fallen in love with her.

He waited for her every day, taking more shifts at work than he had to, afraid that he wouldn't be there that day when she came again.

He felt a tickle in his fingers at the thought of seeing her again, of talking to her again, of looking at her soft, happy face.

When, a few days later, she walked into the café in a black top and shorts, he felt immediately what he saw in his trousers, ready to fuck her in his back room.

He thought he couldn't treat her that way − she hadn't done anything through which he should show her such disrespect, treat her so objectively.

She approached him with a light, pleased smile, her eyes shining. He thought, feeling heat in his chest, that she was glad to see him.

"Good morning. I'll have the same delicious juice as last time, please." She said in a soft, warm voice and he swallowed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile, which didn't escape her notice.

"Coming right up, ma'am." He said softly, and she blinked, shifting from foot to foot, he had the impression she was blushing. She lowered her eyelids meekly, her eyes covered by a veil of her lashes, looking down at her hands.

He tried to focus on his task and prepared her juice, handing it to her and she gave him a banknote.

"Further article writing today?" He asked her in a calm, light tone and she nodded.

"Yes. Would you like to read it? I like to hear other people's opinions, maybe give me some advice, or hint at your observations." She said softly, no undertone or attempt at flirtation could be heard in her tone of voice.

This turned him on even more.

"I would love to. Unfortunately, working here, I won't have as much time to sit down and read everything at once." He said uncertainly and she waved her hand, smiling broadly.

"I don't mean to disturb you while you're working. Give me your email if you want, I'll send you my file." She said with a smile and he nodded, pulling a piece of paper from a drawer and quickly writing down his address, feeling his hands tremble.

He couldn't find the words with what excitement he was waiting to hear from her.

He paced around his flat taking deep sips of coffee, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding like crazy.

He refreshed his messages once in a while, and when he finally saw a message from her he sat down rapidly at his laptop, opening it quickly.

Hi, thank you very much for deciding to devote your free time to me and reading what I have written. Feel free to write me what you think, perhaps you have some comments or suggestions. I am sending a PDF of the article as an attachment. Greetings!

He swallowed loudly, immediately opened the document she had sent him and began to read − this time she was dwelling on Poe's love literature and he felt hot at the thought.

She wrote about how he describes women in his prose, seeing them as phantoms, statues, demigoddesses, elusive to him, being his constant object of boundless adoration bordering on madness.

He agreed with everything she wrote, but one thing caught his attention. He thought for a long time how to put his thoughts into words so as not to scare her away.

Hi, you've done a wonderful job, I'm very impressed. It's great to read what you write and I agree with almost everything you've written. However, I am puzzled by the wording you used when you question the sincerity of his feelings, assuming that what the protagonist felt towards his women was not in fact love, but only an obsession for an unmatched ideal, that he did not see human form in her. I disagree with this statement looking at the fact that when she ceased to be this ideal, when she died his interest in her did not diminish, his feelings did not fade and his despair only widened. I think his obsession stemmed from his emotionality, from loving her too much, from not being able to draw a line, sinking into his feeling instead of taming it. I hope you don't find what I've written upsetting and don't take it as criticism. Once again, very well done. Greetings.

He sent it at last and stood up, walking around his living room as if in a trance, on the one hand filled with euphoria that he had had contact with her, that he had been able to talk to her, on the other terrified by what he had written, that he had evinced in those words a hint of who he himself was, that he had shown her too much.

He started to feel anxious when he didn't get any reply for half an hour and literally threw himself at his laptop when suddenly an unread message from her appeared glowing white in his inbox.

He clicked on it quickly and began to read, licking his lips.

Your observation is quite interesting and I partially agree with your statement. I think it is true that a feeling on the part of the protagonist cannot be ruled out, as his inner dilemmas often concern matters of beauty, his remarks on the smallest details of their appearance or behaviour that rejoice him every day. Indeed, perhaps my assessment was too harsh. What I mean is that I believe − but this is my subjective opinion − that when it comes to true love, even when it is wrapped in obsession, the safety of the beloved should be the overriding thought, the priority, and yet sometimes the protagonist chooses his desire, his psychosis at the expense of the object of his adoration, who, after all, he supposedly loved. If I were to be loved I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me whispering that he loves me.

He felt a shudder seeing her last sentence, reading what she had written again and again, feeling the heat in his chest, his heart pounding like crazy, feeling the tension in his trousers, his cock pulsing hard.

If I were to be loved I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me whispering that he loves me.

He thought that he would never hurt her.

That he would make her feel safe, kissing every inch of her beautiful, soft body with adoration every day, enclosing her in the embrace of his arms, protecting her from the darkness of the whole world, including his own.

He didn't know what he should answer − what she had written seemed so private, intimate, his hands hovered over the keyboard in uncertainty.

If he could he would find her, go to her and not fuck her, but make love to her all night.

He would have cuddled her close and whispered reassuringly to her with each deep, peaceful thrust of his hips, stroking her soft, warm skin, sinking his hands into her hair, drawing in her scent with his nose.

He quickly unbuckled his belt from his trousers and unzipped them, put his hand under the material of his boxers, grasping his throbbing, hard manhood, the tip of which was already leaking his wetness.

He began to jerk himself off with quick aggressive strokes, panting hard, closing his eyes, thinking about what he would do to her, how tender he would be, how much he wanted to be affectionate, for her, just for her.

He came with a low, helpless moan, panting loudly, resting his forehead against the top of the desk he was sitting at and swallowed loudly, concluding that he had never felt anything like this before in his life.

He took a quick shower afterwards, thinking hard about his answer. He sat down in front of his laptop in only his trousers, his hair still wet, opening the window beforehand and lighting a cigarette, taking a drag thoughtfully, then began to write.

In this case, too, I have to agree with you. You don't really love someone if you can't protect them from themselves. The protagonists fight each other and fail, but does that mean that they didn't really love, or however, is it simply madness that prevails, the fear that fate will take their beloved away from them, so in order not to feel that fear anymore, they end their life first? Whatever it is, they are driven by despair.

He finally wrote and sent the message, letting the smoke out loudly with his mouth, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray standing by his computer. He received a reply from her after about fifteen minutes and managed to make himself a cup of tea in the meantime.

I think that's the key word in understanding their dilemma. Despair. Their beauty, their wonderfulness frightens them, they can't bear how much they love them. They are despairing that while their affection may be eternal, their bodies are not so, cruelly destroyed by time, that every second brings them closer to their death. This realisation seems unbearable to them. I will amend this paragraph and expand on what we have been talking about. Thank you very much. Will you be at work tomorrow?

He blinked, reading the last sentence, tightening his lips, writing back quickly.

You're welcome, it's been a pleasure. Yes, I will.

She wrote him back after a moment.

In that case, I'm glad. See you tomorrow!

According to what she wrote she came the next day. This time it was he who smiled at her first, and she reciprocated the gesture, walking up to the counter with a light step.

"The article has been sent. Thanks to you I think it's perfect. If you don't mind, I would like to invite you to a temporary exhibition at the museum as a token of my gratitude. It concerns neo-Gothic illustrations for horror novels, including Poe's, and I thought it might interest you." She said, lowering her gaze with a kind of embarrassment, playing with her fingers, and he felt a shiver go through him, his legs suddenly as soft as cotton wool.

Was she asking him out?

He swallowed loudly at the thought feeling like his heart would rip out of his chest.

"When?" He asked absentmindedly, glancing down at the glass he had just poured her juice into, his hands trembling. He saw that she lifted her gaze to him, hearing with hope that he hadn't declined her offer.

"And when do you have the day off?" She asked softly − he could see from the corner of his eye that she was smiling, embarrassed and happy at the same time. He felt a squeeze in his stomach at the thought and a heat in his lower abdomen.

"Tomorrow."

Women often invited him to meetings and he came to them with relish, braiding them into his web, but this time he was terrified and flustered inwardly, outwardly maintaining his icy mask.

He combed his fair hair back, put a black turtleneck, black trousers and a watch, and decided he looked good enough − elegant but at the same time not pompous.

When he arrived at the agreed place she was already waiting for him in front of the entrance, waving at him − she was wearing a light summer strapless dress, a small rucksack on her back, part of her hair braided at the back of her head.

She ran up to him with a smile and they stood in front of each other, unsure of how to greet.

"Hi. Here, this one is for you." She said, handing him his ticket without suggesting a hug or a handshake.

Her approach was very open, but physically she kept her distance.

The fact that he couldn't touch her was driving him crazy.

They both entered a beautiful neo-baroque building that must once have been a small noble residence and followed the signs. They stepped across the creaky wooden floor into a black room lit only by spotlights set on each of the works on exhibiton.

For the most part, they were etchings and lithographs with depictions of agony, death, loving embraces, figures full of anxiety, ghosts, symbolic scenes, executed with great precision and care. They both bent over each work, looking at it carefully, not rushing anywhere, wanting to analyse exactly what they were seeing.

"Amazing how artists can capture the spirit of prose, isn't it? Looking at it I immediately feel what the author wrote about, the same anxiety even though I don't have the text in front of me." She said quietly with some kind of admiration.

He listened to her but had trouble concentrating, smelling the pleasant scent of her girlish, floral perfume.

"Mmm." He hummed under his breath and nodded in agreement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He saw that she was looking at him too and they both turned away, embarrassed.

He couldn't help himself − his hand involuntarily burshed hers as they moved on to the next piece of work − he felt her flinch, but she didn't move away.

He heard her quietly draw in air as his fingers tentatively intertwined with hers, he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He pressed his lips together as he felt her fingers spread, allowing him to grab hold and they watched further.

He didn't let go of her hand then or when they left the building, talking about what they'd seen, pretending that nothing had happened between them, that it was a simple friendly gesture.

He saw that her face was all flushed, her gaze lowered, a gentle, warm smile of happiness on her face. He felt a squeeze in his heart at the sight, at the thought that he was not repelling her, that she was not disgusted by him.

He walked her to the tenement where she rented a room and immediately memorised the number, knowing in the back of his mind that he would surely be passing this way often over the next few weeks. They looked at each other and he wondered if she would want him to kiss her, to go inside.

He wanted it and didn't want it at the same time.

"I hope you had a nice time. Thank you for everything." She said softly looking at him at last, her eyes big and filled with something that made him hot, their fingers still entwined in a light, non-committal embrace.

"Very nice." He murmured, looking down at her thoughtfully, at her soft, pleasant face, at her pink lips and red cheeks. She swallowed loudly and let go of his hand, embarrassed.

"Goodnight." She whispered and opened the wicket, closing it behind her.

"Goodnight." He replied and led her away with his eyes, watching as she opened the door and disappeared behind it. He stood and waited to see where the light would turn on, and after a moment the warm glow of the night light illuminated a room on the second floor of the house.

From that day onwards, she spent long hours every day in his café, not knowing that every evening he arranged to walk around her townhouse, watching her window from afar, sometimes seeing her silhouette as she walked from place to place, or as she opened the window to let in some cool, fresh air.

Since he met her he has not killed anyone.

Since he met her he had felt no need to kill anyone.

She filled his every thought, his every breath, the vision of her and her face brought him sweet relief, the touch of her hands, their entwined fingers kept him awake.

He felt that they had formed a bond, that she reciprocated his affect − he could see it in her gaze, in the way she smiled at him as she crossed the café door and spotted him behind the counter.

One day, he couldn't stand it and such a direct proposal came out of his mouth that he felt embarrassed for himself.

"I need to spend an evening with you or I'll go crazy." He said standing over her table and she looked at him surprised, her cheeks lit up with a hot blush.

She lowered her gaze, knowing exactly what he wanted, what he was implying, and swallowed loudly while he looked at her helplessly thinking only of the fact that he was an impatient idiot.

"I need that too." She confessed and he tightened his lips at the words.

That same evening he found himself at her door.

When she opened it for him he clung to her lips as if starved, enclosing her cheeks in the tender embrace of his hands. He pulled away pressing his forehead to hers, her gaze at once fearful and thirsty, warm and dreamy, her lips twitching slightly in uncertainty.

"− I know −" He whispered, kissing her again, capturing her lower lip between his own, releasing it with a loud click, her fingertips running through his hair. "− I know − I won't hurt you − God, I would never hurt you −"

He was delighted by her sweet, innocent sounds as he placed slow, tender kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he laid her down on her bed, running his fingers over her body, taking his time, letting her calm down, letting her feel that he would not take her by force, that he would wait as long as she needed.

"− it's okay − it's okay −" He whispered soothingly, running his hot lips, swollen with desire, over her soft skin, laying between her thighs, letting her feel how hard he was, how much he needed her.

"− oh −" Rippled out of her mouth when she felt it, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted by her reaction. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her face, running the tip of his nose over hers.

"Will you let me kiss you down there?" He cooed, lowering his hand to her bare thigh, running his fingertips over it, feeling goosebumps forming where he touched her. She nodded, and he hummed before kissing her again.

They undressed slowly, unhurriedly − as he lowered the straps of her dress and exposed one of her breasts he began to place tender, light, butterfly kisses on her skin, barely brushing her with his breath, feeling her breathing fast, her lips parted in delight.

She helped him pull off his black t-shirt and his trousers, and after a moment they were both wonderfully naked, like Adam and Eve in paradise before they picked the forbidden fruit.

He looked at her adoringly and kissed her deeply, passionately − she reciprocated his gesture, weaving her delicate hands into his hair, drawing him close, his chest pressed against her breasts.

He began to slide his lips down her sternum, to her navel all the way down, leaving a moist, sticky trail of his saliva, feeling her writhing beneath him with arousal.

With a gentle, slow movement, he spread her thighs in front of him and noticed her glowing, sticky folds from with her moisture dripping onto the sheets beneath them.

He didn't hesitate for a moment − with a groan of pleasure he pressed his lips to her heat, running his nose over her puffy clit, his tongue slipped tentatively between her fleshy walss and tasted in a circular motion what was between them. Her wetness and her taste spilled over his palate, her whole body trembled, her hand tightened on his hair, a shy cry came from her throat.

"− shhh −" He hushed her tenderly, sinking deeper into her hot flesh, his tongue with sure, intense flicks began to invade between her slick folds, licking and rubbing her upper wall just at her entrance, feeling her hidden, spongy spot from which her thighs trembled in his hands.

"− please −" She mumbled, but he shushed her again, knowing exactly what she needed, how he should caress her.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks.

He let her come on his face, felt her body lean back with a loud, pleading whine, trying to push him away − a purr of satisfaction escaped his throat when he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her and he licked it all off with devotion, teasing her over-stimulated, throbbing walls.

"− such a good girl − you did so well −" He praised her with admiration and heard her sigh of pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thigh rising up, wiping his face, placing his hands on either side of her head.

"− I need to feel you − alright? − I will take it slow −" He breathed out and she nodded, allowing him to grasp her hips in his hands and entwine her legs around his waist.

When he guided the fat head of his cock against her opening she moaned helplessly, trying to fit it in. He kissed her tenderly, pushing against her, stretching her throbbing wet walls with himself.

"− that's it − ah − I know, baby − I know −" He muttered, hearing her moan of effort, trying hard to take in what he was sliding into her, pushing her insides to their limits − her body tensed like a string, one of his hands on her hip, the other holding her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers, her hands entwined around his neck.

They both sighed loudly when he finally filled her fully, feeling her core clench hungrily against him on all sides. He slipped his tongue between her lips as he slid out of her slowly, only to fill her to the brim again with the buck of his hips, their hands clenched tightly on their hot, naked bodies.

"− yes −" She gasped and he groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock pulsate inside her hungrily at her words, his thrusts faster but still calm, deep, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a sticky slaps.

"− just like that − oh, baby −" He groaned loudly losing control, slamming into her faster and more aggressively, her head tilted back, her eyes clenched shut, her mouth wide open trying to catch air loudly, her breasts bouncing up and down with each of his thrusts.

He felt her hands tighten on his hips, her body reaching out and literally impaling herself on him, her walls clenching against him driving him crazy.

"− yes − please −" She sobbed pleadingly, as if she was going to cry, as if she was going to die if she didn't experience fulfilment with him.

He slipped his tongue between her lips, their kisses sticky, greedy, the tips of their tongues teasing and licking as his cock pounded into her brutally with every sure, deep thrust of his hips.

"− fuck − m' close −" He uttered, and she stroked his hair, reciprocating his kisses with tenderness and devotion, clamping her hand on his buttock, directing him deep inside her, as if that was where he belonged, as if the fact that he was taking her would be the most natural thing in the world.

"− yes − please − inside me −" She mewled, and he growled loudly at her words, letting go at last and coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes. Their bodies were still moving towards each other in involuntary motions when his warm cum spilled into her hot core, giving him a feeling of fulfilment and peace.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at her face, finding to his surprise that she was still alive, that he had not strangled her, her breasts rising and falling in accelerated breaths, her gaze warm and hot, her lips trembling slightly. She lifted her hand and touched his scarred cheek, running her fingers over it.

"− you are so beautiful −" She whispered, and he felt a tightness in his throat at her words, unable to get the phrase out, enchanted by the sight of her, so he merely breathed loudly, letting himself be touched by her.

He couldn't find the right term, the right confession to describe what he felt for her.

He kissed her all night, finally feeling accepted, beautiful, loved, her tender hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his body all night, praising him, telling him how good he was, how tender he was.

He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that she was his Eleonora, Ophelia, Helena, that he would never hurt her, that she would always be safe with him.

When he returned the next day to his flat, he packed his knives, his fishing lines, his photographs, his mementos of the murders into a big box and drove for hours, finally turning into the woods.

He poured everything he had into a big hole − dozens of blank white eyes, photos of women, their documents, phones − and doused it all with petrol, then threw a light inside and watched his past burn.

Finally, he buried it all back, covering it with mulch and moss and drove back the way he came, promising himself that he was done with it, that he would change for her.

That he would protect her.

From the world.

From himself.

_____

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

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anguilliforme · 1 year

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eel evening (eelvening)

#personal #eelposting #the lack of sleep and stupid work schedule is finally getting to me I think #my mind is saying sleep my body is saying writhe #they havent even put eels on banknotes yet whats up with that #where's my fucking eel banknote

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circulating-eel · 2 months

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got fifteen new banknotes for my birthday, including a b-pengő and this set of mozambican hyperinflation notes!!!

#my banknotes #banknote collecting #numismatics #hyperinflation

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chalkscene · 2 years

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tokyo revengers ⇢ YOU CALL THEM “FRIEND”

ft. ken “draken” ryuguji, shinichiro sano, rindou haitani, ran haitani & shuji hanma

warnings: none but also tr 268 got me fucked up so i guess i’ll start writing for shin too

“yeah, i’m with a friend.” DRAKEN never eavesdrops but when he hears you refer to him as a friend, he immediately stops whatever he’s doing and throws you a glance over his shoulder to check if you’re serious—there you are, still propped up on his worktable as you carry on with the conversation on your phone. he barely catches a word you say as your voice has now dropped inaudibly but there’s a smile on your face. a smile. some goddamn nerve you have, he thinks. soon you hang up, hopping off the table before walking over to him. “baby, can you drive me home?” “can’t. i’m closing the shop tonight,” he answers curtly. “but you promised.” draken can detect the pout in your voice but right now, he’s not sure if it’s endearing or annoying. “too bad. why don’t you call inupi, your other friend? maybe he can give you a ride.” “wh-“ you don’t get the chance to convince your boyfriend as he abruptly turns away, forcing you to put an end to your stupid prank—you did not expect him to be this pissed off about it. “oh my god, ken. i was joking!”

SHINICHIRO loves casual intimacy. a huge sucker for it, even. but when he hears you on a call with someone talking about him—your friend, apparently, he’s too cautious to even hold your hand. “are we not supposed to tell people about us?” he hesitantly asks the instant you hang up the phone, “cause i may have told some of my friends…” despite your heart being sent aflutter, you try to stay in character but it quickly becomes unbearable when your boyfriend looks at you with clear guilt in his eyes. “but it’s okay,” shinichiro adds, “they can keep a secret... i think.” you’re mentally forming consoling words to tell him when he continues to ramble, a frown now creasing his eyebrows as he curses to himself. “fuck. i’m sorry, i should’ve asked-” “shin, i was kidding.” “huh?” “it was a prank.” “oh.” you giggle at his dumbfounded expression but he doesn’t return the sentiment. instead, he pouts, “that wasn’t funny.” taking his face in your hands, you smoothen the wrinkle on his forehead with a kiss before pressing your lips against his. “don’t worry. my friends know about you, too.”

“i’m on my way home… yeah... my friend’s driving me… okay. love you. bye.” RINDOU remains quiet as he listens to your words but had it been broad daylight, you would’ve seen the way his knuckles are almost white from how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel. as soon as he pulls up in front of your house, he shifts the gear to park rather harshly which catches you off guard. “rin?” “what the hell was that?” his voice is low but there’s an obvious bite to it, “calling me friend then saying you love someone else?“ “yeah. my mom.” he simply blinks at your response. “what?” “that was my mom,” you reiterate. “then why did you call me friend? i thought she knows about us.” “she does,” you say with a chuckle in spite of your very evidently unamused boyfriend, “i was just messing with you. i didn’t think you’d be mad.” you reach over the console, gently taking his hand. “if it makes you feel better, i’ll tell her it was a joke and you were the friend. she loves you.” “at least one of you does,” he mutters, making you flick his forehead. “i loved you first.”

RAN is requesting for the tab when he hears you refer to him as friend to whoever it is you’re on the phone with. two can play at that game, he smugly thinks. so he pretends to not have heard you, reading over the receipt once it’s been placed on your table. he’s just inserted the bills into the holder when you put your phone away and as you count the banknotes, you realize they only cover his order. “i wouldn’t have ordered so much if i knew i was paying for myself,” you mumble as you rummage through your purse for your wallet. “i don’t even pay for rindou’s dinner,” ran shrugs, “let alone a friend.” your boyfriend doesn’t say anything else but a smirk begins to curl on his lips when you only gape at him. “it was a prank, ran.” “that’s what i thought.” you shoot him a scowl which he returns with a wink, grinning at you in self-satisfaction as he puts his money back into his wallet and takes out his black card.

“if by boyfriend, you mean my friend who’s a boy then yes, i’m with my boyfriend.” from the corner of your eye, you see HANMA snap his head in your direction and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to contain your laughter. as soon as you pull your phone away from your ear, your boyfriend sidles up to you. “so i’ve been demoted to ‘friend who’s a boy’? baby, you’re breaking my heart.” “you have a heart?” you say with a mock expression of surprise on your face before cracking a smile which hanma reciprocates. “i’m just teasing. i love you, shuji.” you’re about to reach for his hand when he beats you to it, curling your fingers until they form a fist and he bumps it with his own. “love you too brah!”

#tokrev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokrev x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #ken ryuguji #draken x reader #shinichiro sano #shinichiro x reader #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #ran haitani #ran x reader #hanma shuji #hanma x reader

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s4no · 9 months

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+ feat: ken ryuuguji x fem!reader

+ cw: sex work (draken is an escort), virginity loss, oral (r), ptv, size difference

+ summary: after years of failed attempts at losing your virginity, you decide to take matters into your own hands and buy a night with the most expensive male escort tokyo has to offer. (5.4k words)

+ a/n: i decided to rewrite one of my old fics so if you recognize the title and/or plot, it's from my archived account; written in the adult timeline

Your nerves are in shambles as you approach the unfamiliar building. Your legs feel weak and your fingers clutch your wallet tightly, as if you suspect someone may try to mug you and steal it. For all that you know, it's possible. You’ve never been in this part of town before and you're grateful you haven't run into anybody you know. You’d definitely get questioned if someone saw you walking down the main street of Tokyo's Red Light District. Or more specifically, into a brothel.

It isn’t like you're out here on a whim. You’d thought about this for a long time, pondered over it many nights after hours of tossing and turning, and after five very long— and equally as frustrating years, you’d made your decision. You wanted to lose your virginity and you’d use all the resources at your disposal.

You didn’t have much luck out on the dating scene, which mainly consisted of Tinder and a couple of the local bars out in Roppongi. You’d tried it all: blind dates, speed dates, double dates. None of them ever resulted in a relationship— or even a one night stand— so you’d been forced back to square one each time. After five years of trying and failing, you’d given up on finding love for the time being.

But… not pleasure.

That’s how you find yourself walking into the luxurious lobby of the most popular brothel in the city. The smell of jasmine invades your nose and the sound of smooth jazz drifts into your ears, immediately creating a sensuous atmosphere that leaves you gawking. Red velvet couches line the walls, some accompanied by golden side tables where clients can sit their drinks while they wait to be called back.

At the front of the room sits a large mahogany desk with a woman seated behind it, tapping away at a computer. Swallowing, you timidly approach the front desk and lean in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello, I’d like to… Um, book a room.”

The woman doesn’t even bother sparing you a glance, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Male or female bodied?”

“Male, please. I’d like… the male with the best rating, if possible.”

Your cheeks flush when the woman stops typing, her eyes glancing you over before responding. “I’m sure you would,” condescension colors her tone, “but I’m afraid there are premium rates for our top-tier employees.” Ones that are out of your price range, she suspects.

“I’m prepared to pay as much as it takes.” Unzipping your wallet, you spread it open to reveal a thick stack of crisp ten thousand yen banknotes. You’ve been saving up for this since Christmas, working a full-time job along with attending classes at the university nearby. It’d been stressful and you'd worked yourself ragged, pinching pennies for the last few months, but tonight is going to make it all worth it.

Her eyes flicker between you and your stuffed wallet for a moment before she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “I see. Well, I’ll have to check if he’s available. How long did you want to book him for?”

“…Three hours.”

Her eyebrows raise at that but she otherwise remains professional, nodding and picking up the phone on her desk. She quickly dials a number, sighing as she waits for someone to answer. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if you’d like to accept a three-hour appointment.” She pauses for a second. “Yes, she’s here in the lobby right now and prepared to pay the fees upfront.” Another pause. “Okay. Thank you, Draken. Bye.”

Putting the phone down, she turns back to you. “He should be down shortly to take you back. That’ll be ¥120,000.”

— ღ —

After handing over the wad of cash, you take a seat on one of the velvet couches and run a hand through your hair. The room feels significantly warmer than it had when you first walked in and you realize it's because your heart is racing. It's happening. This is actually happening.

You'd almost chickened out this afternoon— considered using the money to take a nice little trip to Okinawa. You could swim with the fish and read out on the beach, eat some good seafood, blow off some steam. You'd definitely enjoy yourself but what happened once you came back? You'd find yourself back at square one, a hundred thousand yen poorer and filled with regret and immense sexual frustration.

There had been a couple of times you'd come close to achieving your goal. You'd gone to a frat party a few weeks ago, drank and danced your heart out. Even wore a pair of jean shorts that barely managed to cover your ass. When you ended up getting hot and heavy with one of the brothers, he took you back to his room only for you to walk in on his roommate having a threesome with two very talented blondes.

In March, when you first created a Tinder profile, you'd matched with a cute grad student who wanted to take you out to dinner. He drove you to a hotpot restaurant and halfway through the date, you two retreated to the bathroom to have a quickie. Your panties were around your ankles when you realized you didn't want your first time to be in a restroom stall beside a grimy toilet. You didn't want it to be a five-minute escapade that would leave you disappointed and unfulfilled. It's obvious to say the drive home had been awkward.

You're so deep in thought that you don't notice when a man walks out from behind the beaded curtain and approaches the front desk. You don't notice him at all— not until he's standing in front of you with a small smile playing on his lips. Onyx eyes roll over you slowly, long hair of the same color tied back in a braid. There's a black dragon tattooed across the left side of his head, and you have the oddest urge to reach out and trace your fingers atop it.

“You must be my client for tonight.” His voice is deep and smooth like molasses and a trill runs down your spine as he wets his lips, “I’m Draken.”

“Hi… I’m (y/n).” You offer, extending your hand out to which he lifts a brow.

He repeats your name back to you, drawing it out like he savors the taste of it on his tongue, and then takes your hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he interlaces his fingers through yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “C’mon princess, ’m on the top floor.”

Nodding weakly, you’re practically in a daze as he leads you back through the curtain of sparkling beads and into an elevator that’s every bit as fancy as the room you were just in. He fishes out a silver key from his pocket before turning it into the lock beside the button labeled seven, and up you go.

The enclosed area only emphasizes how large he is compared to you, how much space he takes up. He’s well above six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that bulge inside the sleeves of his silk button-down. You can feel him watching you as you ascend but you don’t have the courage to meet his gaze. Tension bleeds into the air, and coupled with the stark silence, it’s nearly suffocating. You have to make a conscious effort to take deep breaths as you will your heart to calm down.

When the dinging of the elevator sounds like church bells, you aren’t surprised. You’re pretty sure heaven awaits you on the other side of these doors.

You find that heaven looks a lot like a bachelor’s pad. Filled with dark wood and sleek furniture, it’s a mini-paradise; complete with a fully stocked bar, a king-sized bed, and a balcony leading out to a hot tub. Music plays softly from the surround sound system and you breathe in the faint aroma of juniper and tobacco as you walk inside.

“I hope R&B is alright.” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go of it, kicking off his slippers and making his way over to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water?”

His brow lifts again but he nods, “Sure.”

“Thank you.” You look around while he pours out your drinks, taking in the scenic view of the city below. “You have a very nice place.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” When you turn around, he’s standing behind you, holding out a glass of water with a shot of sake in his other hand. “Be so formal.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You quickly accept the drink, muttering out a quiet apology. You’d done so much in preparation for this moment, but not once had you ever thought about how awkward it would be in the beginning. You hadn’t thought to look into the… ‘etiquette’ of brothels. You settle on giving him an honest answer. “I’m not entirely sure how to act.”

There’s a knowing smile on his face as he reaches out and tilts your chin up. His thumb glides lightly across your cheek, the calloused fingertip burning where it touches your skin. “Just relax. I promise you, you’re in good hands. I’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

You know the gesture is meant to help reassure you and lessen your nerves, but all it succeeds in doing is sending your pulse skyrocketing. Apprehension bubbles low in your stomach and your voice wobbles when you respond. “O-Okay..”

“Let me ask you a question.” His thumb moves from your cheek to your mouth, feather-light as it ghosts over the curve of your lips. “You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flare at his question, eyes widening in shock. Is it that obvious? “No, I haven’t.” You admit reluctantly, “I just— Well, I’m tired of waiting. I know the first time is supposed to be special, but… this is special in a way, right?” You watch as the comforting smile falls right off his face. His eyebrows furrow and you mimic the action, worrying what you’d said to elicit this type of reaction. “What? What’s wrong?”

He blinks at you as he processes the information and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. “First time?” His expression turns serious, his hand dropping from your cheek. “I was talkin’ about coming to a brothel, not having sex.” He shakes his head, “Look, I’ll take you back downstairs. Sana will get you a full refund—”

“No!” You cringe when you blurt it out, interrupting him. “Please, you don’t understand. I want to do this. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not a matter of if you’re sure or not.” His voice is stern now, taking on an edge that slices right through your pounding heart. “It’s a personal preference. I don’t sleep with virgins, not at work.”

“I— I can pay you more money, however much you want!” You know you sound desperate but that’s because you are. You’ve worked your ass off to get here, to have this experience, and now you’re grasping for straws as you feel it slipping through your fingers. “You don’t even have to accommodate me, just do your thing and—”

It’s his turn to interrupt you. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” You can hear the anger in his voice, it’s almost palpable. “You can’t just go around tellin’ people they can have their way with you. It’s your first time. You should be accommodated. Now, follow me. I’m walking you back down to the lobby.”

You don’t move when he walks back toward the elevator, keeping your feet planted on the hardwood floor. “If I should be catered to, then why don’t you do it yourself? Because if you take me back down to the lobby, I won’t be getting a refund. I’ll just ask for someone different.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers as it clenches, his eyes narrowing down at you as if that will help him discern whether you’re bluffing or not. But as you hold his gaze, unwavering and earnest, he realizes you’re telling the truth. Heaving a sigh, he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should be calling security right now, have you escorted out of the building. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of conceding to your demands.

Yet, there’s something in your eyes as you stare up at him— a certain innocence that has him willing to break his rules. Just once. He’d indulge you this once, if only because he doesn’t trust anybody else here to treat you right. “…Fine, but we’re doing this my way.”

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. “Thank you, Draken. It… that means a lot to me.”

“I know it does.” Normally, he isn’t so forgiving toward people who threaten him but he can recognize the desperation in your voice. And desperation can lead to dangerous things. Other men would take advantage of that, and for some reason, he hates the thought of some old sleazebag taking your first time. At least with him, he’d make sure you’re satisfied. “Here, let’s sit down.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Should we… take off our clothes?”

Your heart flutters when a chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You’re as awkward as you are stubborn and he finds it strangely endearing. “No, not yet. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, m’kay?” He scoots closer, turning to face you. “But I am going to kiss you.” He raises a hand to your cheek, his thumb resuming its stroking. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

He waits until you nod before beginning to lean in, slowly so you still have every chance to change your mind. But when his lips press against yours, claiming them with a tender kiss, you know there’s no going back.

His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours, and you kiss him back— albeit clumsily because of how nervous you are. He doesn’t seem to mind though, more than willing to take the lead and pick the pace. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the exchange, and you allow it, humming contently as the taste of spearmint and tobacco fills your mouth.

His hand moves to grip your jaw as the other trails up and down your side, and despite the shivers that ensue, it helps ground you in the moment, brings you back down to earth just in time for him to draw away. You’re left breathless, sucking in deep gulps of air to clear the dizziness that’s muddled your mind.

“You still want to do this?” Warm breath fans across your face, obsidian eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. He doesn’t find any.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “I meant it when I said I want to do this.”

That’s all the consent he needs before he captures your lips again, this time with an intensity that makes your head spin. His hands move to unbutton your blouse, slowly working their way down to the bottom and slipping it off your shoulders. He doesn’t break the kiss as he starts palming your breasts, massaging them over your bra, and you can’t help the whimper that rises up from your throat in response. His tongue continues to explore your mouth, tangling with yours until your core is throbbing with need.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He murmurs against your lips, palms splayed across your chest. One of them snakes behind you and nimbly unclasps your bra, letting it fall forward just enough to give him a peek at what lies underneath. “Lay back.”

Your body responds naturally, following his order without hesitation. You pull away and lean back until you’re pressed against the mattress with him looming over you, his eyes drinking you in as he slips the garment off your shoulders. “Fuck…” He mutters, “Look at you.”

Your nipples pebble beneath his gaze, pretty and pert and begging to be played with. He licks his licks lustfully, rough hands coming down to cup and squeeze them. Your head turns to the side when he starts to pinch the peaks, rubbing them between his fingers and forcing another whimper to escape.

He maintains eye contact as he lowers down, plush lips wrapping around one only to flick his tongue over the bud. “Draken…”

“There you go,” he breathes out, pulling back to admire the view. “Just relax, baby.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugs it off, discarding it with the rest of your clothes before turning his attention back to you. “Don’t be afraid to touch me.” He leans forward and grabs your hands, moving to press them against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate, the rhythmic thumping beneath your palm. It’s a sharp contrast to yours which beats wildly against your ribcage, threatening to burst out of your chest.

With the sight before you, who can blame you?

His body is built and toned, corded muscles rippling across his torso and leading down to a delicious set of prominent v-lines. Your mouth waters as they flex and you drag your hands down to feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, a trail of dark hair descending down from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You’re all but mesmerized.

“Like what you see?” He teases, his head dipping down to the curve of your neck. Straight white teeth graze across the tender flesh before suckling on your pulse point. All you can do is nod, your breathing shallow and uneven as his fingers continue tweaking your hardened nipples.

He knows the pace he’s setting is slow— deliberate— but he wants you more aroused than you’ve ever been, dripping wet for him when he finally takes you.

With soft pants falling from your lips, one of his hands slides down to your waist, his index finger dipping into the hem of your skirt. He could very well just pull it up, sneak his hand underneath it, but he resists the temptation, determined to make you squirm in anticipation.

And you do, every purposeful touch kindling the fire within you until it’s a blazing inferno. Your blood boils in your veins, your skin beautifully flushed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re in danger of overheating.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” He mutters, letting the waistband of your skirt snap back against your skin. Your hips eagerly buck at the small sting, making it easy for him to tug it off and toss it onto the floor, and then he spreads your thighs apart to reveal a large damp spot in the middle of your panties. “Shit, so fuckin’ wet…” He curses, his eyes getting impossibly darker.

You nearly clamp your legs together as his eyes rove over you but the adoration in his expression bolsters you, gives you the confidence you need so badly. You stay still and let him look, trying to memorize the image of him between your thighs as he does.

Time seems to slow down. Seconds tick by and with each one that passes, you grow more and more uncomfortable. Your pussy aches, the desire he’s so carefully cultivated inside you becoming almost unbearable. But he either doesn’t notice the need swimming in your eyes, or he doesn’t care. He remains hovering over you, gaze zeroed in on your clothed cunt.

“Touch me,” the plea escapes you before you can stop it, and the corners of his lips tilt up into a small smirk. “Please.”

He hums as if he has to think about it. You’re about to start begging when his fingers press against you, applying enough pressure to make you mewl. “Don’t get greedy, princess.” He chastises gruffly, “You’ll take what I give you, remember?”

You nod obediently so he rewards you, circling your panty-clad clit until your hips are shifting back and forth. Moans fall freely from your lips but it still isn’t enough. You need more.

“Please,” you whine, eyebrows cinching together as you gaze up at him. “Draken, please…”

He hums again and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties before dragging them down to your ankles. “Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” Completely bared to him, apprehension saturates the air, your stomach doing backflips as he leans down and blows out a puff of air against your folds. When you clench at the sensation, a growl sounds. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

The pink flesh glistens in the dim lighting of the room, every inch soaked with arousal that drips down the inside of your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. If you weren’t a virgin, he doesn’t think he’d even need to prep you.

Calloused fingers rub between your puffy folds, collecting your slick until his fingers are covered, and then one of his digits prods at your entrance, easing inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as he curves it in a come hither motion, your hands flying out to grip his shoulders. “Fuck..!”

You should be embarrassed at the deep laughter that leaves him but you can only focus on the way he’s knuckle deep inside of you, adding a second finger and beginning to thrust them both in and out. “Your reactions are s’cute. What if I were to just…” He trails off as he lowers down until he’s face-to-face with your pussy, and your hands strike out to grab his cheeks so you can hold him back.

“W-Wait..” You stammer before swallowing thickly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no… I just… No one’s ever…” Your blush spreads to the tips of your ears.

He cocks a brow up at you. “No one’s ever eaten you out?” But he already knows the answer. Your mortified expression is as good as any verbal indication. Shock flickers across his face, but he takes the new piece of information in stride, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh. “Lemme taste you, baby. You don’t need to be shy.”

Your insecurities melt away under his encouragement but when you merely nod, he nips at your skin. “No, use your words.”

“O-Okay.” You breathe out shakily, “Go ahead.”

The words have barely left your mouth when you feel his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue expertly swirling around the sensitive bud and tearing a gasp from your throat. His fingers resume their curling motions, and suddenly a familiar sensation begins building in your stomach. It reminds you of all the times you’ve touched yourself, all of the times you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy chasing your orgasm. You’d rut against your pillow only for your legs to start trembling, too weak to climb the last few inches to the peak.

Admittedly, your legs do start to shake, your body tense and on the verge of locking up. It’s like you’ve conditioned it to expect the worst, that you’ll get close enough to taste the high and then be denied like all of the other times you’ve attempted to pleasure yourself.

“Draken,” you moan, the sound so depraved you don’t recognize your own voice, “Don’t stop— p-please, don’t stop..!”

A groan erupts from his chest as your walls tighten around his fingers and the vibrations of it cause another wave of heat to wash over you, threatening to pull you out to sea and drown you in its depths. You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been before.

It’s when his mouth suctions around your clit that you’re flung off the precipice. Pleasure blooms out from between your thighs, shooting through your limbs and out to the tips of your fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut as it consumes you, bleeds into all your senses until you’re writhing around in the sheets, hands blindly grasping for something— anything— to ground you.

Even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking, keeps licking, long fingers thrusting inside of you to prolong the orgasm for as long as possible. “Good girl.” He praises, drawing away when you finally come to. You’re panting from the physical exertion, pupils blown with desire as you slowly lift your head to look down at him. His lips, cheeks, and chin are shiny with your slick, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so lightheaded.

“Thank you… that was amazing..” And even that was a gross understatement.

Rising up from between your legs, there’s a smug expression on his face. “Save the thank-you’s for later, princess. We’re not done yet.” As if to emphasize his point, his hands drop down to start unbuckling his belt, your eyes following suit and widening into saucers when you see the bulge in the front of his pants.

“Oh my god.”

It’s… he’s huge.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his pants and lets them drop around his ankles, your eyes boring holes into him when he pulls down his boxers and reveals both the prettiest and thickest cock you’ve ever seen. The shaft is long and curved, the tip flushed and leaking. A large vein runs down the entirety of the length and you swear if you look hard enough, you can see it pulsing.

He grips the base of it, stroking it a couple of times before prowling forward. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “Worried ‘s not gonna fit?”

“…Yes.” You squeak.

He chuckles at your candor, opening up a drawer on the bedside table and fishing out a small plastic square— a condom, you realize. It only takes him a moment to tear it open and slip it on, the action effortless from years of practice. “Don’t be scared. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word if nothing else.”

Crawling onto the bed, he captures your lips in a kiss that can only be described as comforting. It’s slow and gentle, even when his tongue dips into your mouth, and his hands come up to cup your cheeks, holding you in such a way that you can’t help but feel cherished.

“I’m gonna start now,” he murmurs against your lips, “Remember, if you want me to stop, just say the word.” You nod in acknowledgment, and with that, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock prodding at your center. “Squeeze me as tightly as you need.”

Your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders right as he starts to push inside of you and your nails bite into his skin at the stretch, leaving crescent indents behind. A strangled noise bubbles up from your throat when pain takes hold of you, burning bright like the sun in the middle of summer.

“I know,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over the edge of your jaw, “I know it hurts. But it’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Tears prick at your eyes as he pushes deeper inside you, but soon his fingers are circling over your clit, blending the pleasure and pain until one is indiscernible from the other. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His movements are so controlled, it’s impressive— even as the slew of foreign sensations threatens to overwhelm you, you’re able to recognize that much. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his breaths coming out in hot puffs that skate across your heated skin. And ever so slowly, he works you open, sinking into you inch by inch. By the time he’s bottomed out, a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his voice strained when he says, “You did so well, baby, ‘m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

You only whimper in response, turning your head to the side so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. You feel so full, inhumanely full. So much so that you’re genuinely surprised you haven’t been split in half because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what it’d felt like. Your only saving grace is the way he hasn’t stopped rubbing your clit, hasn’t stopped praising you for taking him so well.

It’s a testament to his self-restraint the way he manages to remain still, buried deep inside you, while he patiently waits for your walls to adjust to his size. If he were a lesser man, he’d push aside your comfort, neglect your needs and pound into you to relieve his aching cock. But he waits, waits until your pained whimpers morph into soft moans, until you start to squirm beneath him as your body tries to create the friction it needs so badly.

“Move,” you beg, your hands sliding down from his shoulder to grab onto his hips, attempting to move them yourself. “Please… need you to move..”

A pair of large hands tug yours away from his waist before they pin them down on either side of your head. There’s no real force behind the maneuver but you don’t fight him off as he threads your fingers between his, just like he did earlier this evening. “Look at me, (y/n). I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

Tentatively, you turn your head so you’re staring up at him. You’re not sure what he sees but approval shines in his eyes and a sincere smile graces his lips. “Good girl.”

With your eyes glued on his, he finally starts to move, drawing his hips back and pushing into you in small, shallow thrusts. Your lips part into a gasp, your breath hitching every time he’s fully hilted inside of you. Tears line your lashes but this time, they aren’t from pain. They’re from pure, unadulterated pleasure— the all-encompassing kind that leaves you in tatters on the floor.

“Feels s’good.. So fuckin’ tight.” He groans, his pace speeding up as more moans pour from your lips. The sound of skin slapping skin ensues and you cry out when he shifts his angle, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll.

Your pleasure heightens and you think that this must be euphoria as your tears overflow, spilling down your cheeks and dropping onto the pillow beneath your head. Yet, you don’t look away from him. You don’t dare shy away from his gaze, not even when the coil inside you begins winding tight, warning you of your impending orgasm.

He squeezes your hands as your body goes taut. You’re panting now— sucking in breath after breath as your bodies collide— but you can’t seem to get enough air. Up you climb, higher and higher until you begin to tremble beneath him, your hands holding onto his like they’re a lifeline.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks through gritted teeth, “Gonna cream on my cock?” He curses when you nod, dropping his forehead down so it rests against yours. “Well, go on then, princess. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

As if on command, the cord inside you abruptly snaps. A violent shudder wracks through your body, bliss clouding every single one of your five senses. It’s enough to wrench a deafening sob out of you, your back arching up off the bed so your chest is pressed firmly against his. He continues to drive into you as your walls pulsate around him and a growl reverberates up from his throat at the same time you feel his length twitch inside of you.

He stops after a few more thrusts, slowly pulling out of you and turning over to lie on his back. You whine quietly at the loss, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to complain.

“Shit…” He says, his head turning to look at you after a couple of minutes of silence, “How do you feel?”

Somehow, you summon up enough energy to smile through the exhaustion that’s seeped into your bones. “Definitely not like a virgin.”

He lets out a laugh at that, flashing you a brilliant white smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Well, we’ve still got two hours left, sweetheart. Don’t go tappin’ out on me yet.”

#♡⃕ tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers #draken #ken ryuuguji #draken x reader #ken ryuuguji x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #i wrote this in a fever dream

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lasirenatarot · 10 months

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💫🌟WHAT BLESSINGS ARE COMING YOUR WAY? 💫 timeless pick-a-card reading.

- SIDE NOTE: some days my intuition is craaaazy (today 23.07.2023 is one of those days😂), so I decided to do this very random reading. It may be disorganized and totally not resonating for some, but it may help others, as Im writing all that I get without a clear topic, so enjoyyy!!

Piles:

1->2

3->4

Photos: Magdalena Frackowiak for Harper’s Bazaar USA, september 2009

PILE 1

Okayy so possible blessings coming your way, those who chose pile 1:

Short term luck; possible salary raise/ bonus/ promotion; for some it may be a sum of money you didn’t have to work much for or somebody simply just gave to you, money you won from the lotery or gambling; giveaway wins; finding a banknote on the street; finding lost jewelry/items; for some it may be more sales of your products that certain month if you’re a business owner etc. - the main point is you will get sth bc of luck (money/present/item..), not much hard work.

More $€x, pl€asure, parties, celebrations (carefree times basically) coming your way.

You may go on a holiday where you celebrate sth, have pl€asurable experiences. All this may be after time in which you have been waiting on for a loooong time. Prior to that you may have been « isolating » yourself a bit so you can work on yourself, your mental health, cleanse yourself spiritually from bad energy you’ve had in you from the past & heal from sth.

Tip for this pile: don’t go into excesses; do everything in moderation - drinking,partying, $£x, don’t take unnecessary risks, don’t be greedy or careless with your money; going against that may lead to an unpleasant a-ddiction of some sort.

PILE 2

Hope after tough time. You may get good news about a situation you’ve been worried about; You may find a solution to a problem, the truth about sth which may later lead you to the solution..

Someone might have lied to you/ did you wrong, bc of that you felt like your « life » was falling apart but it was actually a blessing; Learning who was a fake person in your life and who was actually faithful was the blessing;

You will have new beginnings in your life- might be a new job/new relationship/new friends/even new home or area where you live;

some may start new important friendships, change in social circle is sth prominent in this pile; you might feel way more valued and happy in this new social circle;

Some might have found out about infidelities /lots of lies, which may be the reason for all these changes; the situation may look bad at first sight but it will free you from a burden that was never yours ro carry in the first place.

Changes might happen very quickly;

You will get on a new journey to find your true happiness

PILE 3

Okay the first thing I got may not resonate for many but if you’ve been wishing for a child/pregnancy, or to start a family, it may be coming soon.

Those who are not looking to start a family it may mean that you may have some carefree days coming ahead, you will live your life like a baby, without that much responsibilities;

Some may get some sort of inheritance;

Money

Moving to a new house;

A lot of you may cut ties with their past, get rid of their past bad habits, toxic people and situations; you have to leave your past experience behind in order to live your ‘dream’

A dream of yours you tought was impossible to get may come into fruition during this time you’re reading this/near future. You just have to be strong and keep the faith.

Love for many of you!!!!

You may get help from a female figure or your intuition on sth that is bothering you;

PILE 4

Healing;

GOOD HEALTH ( for me that is the biggest blessing that’s why I wrote it in all caps )

Huuuuuuuge changes in your love life!!!! I cannot stress this enough, so many signs here in the cards.

If you’re single, the love interest you meet might be VERY masculine, career oriented, might look cold on the outside (won’t be true when you get to know that person tho, they seem like a sweetheart, u just have to get them out of their shell..); might be a foreigner or you may simply meet them away from home/abroads;

Your « cup » will be overflowing with love and emotions, but you don’t have to lose yourself completely. Boundaries and everything in moderation are important things to have in relationships😄

If you were mistreated in previous relationships - you will get your justice.

Those who are in a relationship might get proposed to or move in together; become official if you haven’t already, sth like that => getting to the next level.

Glow up, confidence boost; end of melancholy;

You will get things you’ve even have not let yourself dream about bc it seemed delusional at the time, what u get will exceed all your expectations;

Off topic but, Pile 4, be careful of envy, gossips&lies. Get rid of your subconcious limitations.

As always, leave a comment if resonated & follow for more.

- La Sirena.💋

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bisexualhomelander · 3 months

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F O R C E D F E M I N I S A T I O N | B U T C H L A N D E R

Billy runs his mouth.

Part of Billy should have known the joke would come back to bite him in the arse sooner than later. He shouldn't have invited the supe in at all, but definitely not with the offer of watching him have a wank. Homelander felt he had a foot in the door now, and if Billy had put that kind of depravity past him, he's probably dumber than he thought he was.

The sonic boom woke him up, and as much as he simply wanted to close the blinds on Homelander, curiosity did get the better of him eventually, and he opened the balcony door.

Before he had even asked to what he owed the pleasure of the late-night company, the supe had already pressed a few banknotes into his hand, and Billy instinctively tightened his fingers around them despite his bewilderment. "You said ten dollars to watch you jack off. What do I get for a hundred?"

Billy huffed in amusement, even if there was a bit of sound behind the huff. Shock that he couldn't quite conceal. Was he being propositioned?

Homelander had a smirk on his lips. "I'm serious. William. I can feel your blood pressure, you know? That includes knowing where your blood is, right now. Had I stayed last time, who knows how we'd have ended up."

Billy swallowed all the other choice words he had for the man and stared down at the money in his grip. "If you think you can buy me, cunt, think again."

"If it hurts your pride, fine." The supe plucked the dollars back out of Billy's fingers and threw them into the air. Billy watched them sail over the balcony and out of sight. That would make some lucky bastard's night. Not his problem. He didn't have to pay that out of his pocket.

Alright, supe wanted to play. He could have that, surely. Billy could almost feel the moment his brain turned itself off. He'd feel the consequences of his actions some later date; for now, he didn't want Homelander to think he won by flustering him. Sure, he was half-hard. Why not go all the way and hate himself for it once he was alone again? So he put on his most charming, shit-eating smile and replied: "Shitty pickup line there, luv."

Homelander's face was wiped blank for a moment before he could reign in his emotions at the sudden pet name. Point for Billy.

"See? That's how it's done. Now come in. Freezin' my bollocks off here, and I'm of no use to you if that happens, hm?"

Homelander had his bearings again and gave him an amiable smile, hiding his teeth. Why did the cunt always seem like he had something with an unpleasant taste in his mouth? Was that jaw ever slack?

"Not really that into cocks, if I'm honest."

Homelander chuckled. "And? Neither am I. Will that stop you?"

"Nah, it won't. But we're gonna do it my way."

"Fine by me." Homelander came inside and closed the door with his gloved hand. He even cleaned his boots on the door mat. "Bedroom's this way, I assume," he said and began to saunter off in the correct direction. Fucker had clearly x-rayed the apartment before, and Billy prayed it had been when he'd been here last and not right before he'd swept in to watch Billy sleep.

"We ain't goin' to the bedroom here, luv." It was likely impossible to actually surprise the supe. Last time, Billy had not even seen him fly off. Homelander moved at the speed of light, and so he must have seen the assault coming from a mile away, but it spoke to how much he wanted this that he let it happen anyway. Billy had him up against the wall in one smooth movement, and Homelander's legs were riding high on his waist like it was natural. "My way, remember?" Billy smeared the words against the supe's lips like spit and greedily drank down the answering whimper. "And if I say cock isn't what I'm looking for tonight, that's what goes, a'right?"

"You can fuck me if you want to," Homelander panted. He was lighter than Billy had imagined. Holding him up cost little energy, and Billy wasn't even properly awake. For a split-second, he wondered if he was still dreaming.

"Not into cocks, my arse. You're downright begging."

"I'm not begging for anything." The hand around Billy's throat had crept up so suddenly that it did shock him into silence for a second. "I won't beg on my knees for the right to see my son, and I will certainly not beg you to fuck me. I chose you for tonight because you are a disgustingly filthy excuse for a man who has no dignity left for his sorry life, and I knew I could get you if I wanted you. And here you are. So if you want me to leave your body intact, you better get your ass in gear and get me off."

With every ounce of willpower, Billy forced a swallow against the fingers pressing down. The grip loosened. They still held eye contact, and neither of them blinked first. Homelander was giving him a way to get his piece in. Well. Why not.

"You babble on like a woman, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Goin' on and on about things I don't wanna know. Gnawing my ear off here, mate." He leaned forward a bit, happy to see the supe's eyes dart to the left and right in an attempt to focus on both of his eyes. It made Homelander break the unblinking eye contact, lids fluttering rapidly. "Like a girl."

They were pressed together from the tips of their noses, to their chests, to their bellies, so it was easy to actually feel the way the cunt's cock throbbed at Billy's verbal abuse. "Yeah, that's right, hm? You wanna be my girl for the night? Daddy's girl?"

Up close like this, he saw the laser lights spring forth from Homelander's pupils first, slowly filling out the rest of his eyes. It looked fascinating from this perspective, even as the intense light immediately burned bright white spots into Billy's retina that he had to blink away. To anyone, it might have been threatening, but Billy was too worked up now, and he called the supe's bluff easily. "Bitching like you're PMSing, luv." He leaned his face into the heat emanating from Homelander's eyes to force his mouth open in a kiss. "Just from a bit of talking."

"Shut up-" The hand that landed over his mouth could have broken his jaw or taken it clean off, but Homelander knew how much pressure to use. Billy didn't think about how the supe had learned this. Or tried hard not to.

It wasn't difficult to pry the hand away and let the supe see his sly grin. "Gettin' shy already? Why you wanna shut me up so hard?"

"Nothing of value comes out of that mouth of yours," Homelander said.

"Oh, come now." Billy made certain to school his face into a disappointed frown. "You gonna lie to me? I can see you getting wet in that suit of yours."

It wasn’t wrong, exactly. There was a distinct dark spot where the head of Homelander's cock pressed into the fabric. Billy decided, however, that he liked the ambiguity of this game of his and wanted to see how much he could push the supe.

"Must be like a slip 'n slide between those legs."

"Don't-" Homelander began, but his body took over halfway into speaking, had him rub up against Billy like the mere mention of his arousal had reminded him of it. "Don't you ever shut up?"

Billy leaned forward to bite Homelander's ear. "You love it."

"I don't." Those baby-blue eyes tried to find Billy, and find him they did. Up close like this, he looked pretty. Innocent, somehow. The line of his mouth was still angry, but somewhere in the depths of those eyes lay something that wanted to give up and surrender to Billy. It was hypnotic.

Billy leaned forward and breathed his next word onto Homelander's mouth. "Liar."

Homelander whimpered when their mouths met, but he parted his lips readily and began to suck on Billy's tongue as soon as he had access, ashamed at his body's reaction and ready to shut Billy up. The supe tasted like absolutely nothing, not even toothpaste. It was almost unsettling, were it not for the wet warmth of his mouth that was like any other. What a weird thing to discover this fucker's humanity through.

Billy decided he'd had enough of the stalling and went to his knees. The supe's legs slipped from his waist in the movement; they were unsteady when holding up his weight.

Homelander willingly pushed his hips into Billy's hands as he began to open the belt holding the outfit together. He'd never seen the ins 'n outs of that. The suit wasn't one piece. It was a top and trousers that could be pulled down like leggins. Skin-tight and stuffed full of foam to give the impression of defined abs and pecs. Uncovering a bit of skin between the top half and the bottom half of the outfit felt like a forbidden pleasure, and Billy's mouth descended on an exposed hip bone before he even had time to plan out his move.

"Thought cock wasn't what you were looking to get," Homelander mumbled.

Billy huffed a laugh against the skin under his teeth and felt an almost nauseating flutter in his abdomen as shaky fingers held on to his shoulders. "Nah. I'm here for that pretty cunt you got hidden away." The fingers flexed and spasmed; Homelander's hips ground forward of their own accord.

Billy was so hard he felt dizzy with it, and he blinked to get his wits about him. He couldn't forget his mind completely. This was still none other than the monster who'd destroyed him - or the parts that were worth destroying anyway.

He pulled the ridiculous trousers of the outfit down to Homelander's knees and was met with...

"Red panties? You on the rag?"

"You're disgusting," Homelander commented, but he sounded so out of breath Billy considered the comment flattery.

"Gets you wet enough." The front of the supe's briefs was almost black with precum in the low light of Billy's living room. "Why give you pretty words when this gets the job done just fine, eh, bird?"

"Please." And oh, if that word didn't go straight to Billy's dick.

"Please what?"

Homelander squirmed, and Billy didn't help by blowing air on the wet spot where the cunt's cockhead was seen straining through the cotton. "Eat me-?" Shame clogged his throat, and now Billy did help out by leaning forward and rubbing his beard against an exposed thigh, earning something that came close to a mewl and finally got the answer he desired. "Eat me out. Daddy."

"Good girl." He pulled the briefs down to the rest of the way and went on to unzip the ridiculous red boots. The supe toed out of them so quickly he nearly tripped, and Billy made quick work of the rest of the clothes by pulling on them to let the cunt step out.

Half-naked, the masculinizing effects of the costume were visible. The clothed half of Homelander still looked imposing, but his naked legs were literal sticks. His ass round, but not nearly as firm as the outfit made it seem. Billy slid his hands up the back to cup the cheeks. "Leg on Daddy's shoulder, girl. Come on. Giddy up."

Homelander obeyed without complaint, like he was beyond words. Maybe Butcher had him where he wanted. And where was that even? In what universe did he want him? And was there still a remote chance he'd wake up hard and full of self-loathing?

Not much time to think about it when the current position spread the cunt's ass so deliciously and allowed Billy a good look at his hole. Fucker was shaved everywhere, it seemed, not a single hair more than necessary on him.

"Brazilian? Fine choice, princess."

"God, fuuuck." Homelander shivered, a foot pressing into Billy's shoulder blade with an amount of pressure that bordered on abusive. He'd get a bruise there. It drove him forward, though.

"Got the prettiest cunt I've seen." As if to prove a point, Billy lapped at the hole, huffing a laugh when he saw the muscle contract. "Look at that. Pinker than a virgin. Or is that it, huh? Anyone ever been where I am now?"

The silence was damning.

"Never had a man before." He held onto Homelander's thighs for leverage and pulled himself up again, shoving his face in for real this time.

Homelander's hand found his hair and pulled with surprising gentleness. It was an interesting contrast. Billy'd have sooner expected him to push him forward and not try to pull him backwards, but the cunt probably was lost to the pleasure and didn't remember how to move in any coordinated fashion. And they'd barely started.

He lapped at the furled muscle, relishing in the way it spasmed against his lips. As much as Homelander kept complaining, this he could hardly deny. This was his body talking.

No denying it; Billy'd always been an ass man. Something about getting his tongue in there had been appealing since a young age. The filth of it, sweat and musk. The embarrassment of his partners when they realized how much he loved inhaling all of it. Like a bloodhound.

Not with him. He was clean, no sweat, no smell. But aroused all the same and opening up to Billy's ministrations. The thighs around his face quivered. The hand in his hair went from insistent to demanding. Homelander's body was putting out heat like a furnace, and it drove sweat to Billy's brow.

"Fuck," he could hear a muffled voice from above. Was the cunt covering his mouth to keep in his noises? Afraid there were fans in the apartments around?

There was definitely movement happening, and Billy just knew without looking that Homelander meant to touch himself. He pulled back immediately, licked his lips where Homelander could see and looked up at him with disappointment.

Homelander's hand around his own cock went still, and his eyes were wide. He's scared he's been bad, Billy realized, and the thought made his neglected cock throb. Fuck, he'd have to get out of those trousers. The strain against the zipper was gonna kill him.

Billy gently pried the supe's hand away from his erection. "Pretty birds like you only come from getting their snatch eaten."

Homelander let out a wet sound that might have been a gasp or a sob. His eyes were teary, and- was that a red gleam or was Billy just suffering the first effects of hypoxia from spending minutes between those cheeks?

"You're close anyway. No reason to abuse that pretty lil' bean of yours."

"My-"

"Your clit, luv." Billy dove back in.

He tried not to get too smug at the gasp that Homelander let out when he managed to work his tongue in again. He knew it wouldn't do much for this one, but he rubbed his face sideways against an inner thigh anyway. At least give the notion of a notion of beard burn to a cunt with impenetrable skin. Felt soft to the touch, though. Real lifelike.

His own drool dripped down his chin and onto his sleep shirt, but he didn't plan on wiping it off. Half the fun was getting dirty and besides- "Fuckin' dripping, babygirl. Gonna squirt all over Daddy? Is that it? You gettin' close."

Homelander's head fell back against the wall; Billy could hear the small thud. How he still had enough of his wits to not slam it back so hard he went through the wall was beyond him. Cunt's self control was so ingrained it was a downright sad business. Though Billy really preferred to live, most days.

He gave it his all, tongue-punching the cunt's hole until his jaw ached because he needed to feel him break, he needed it more than he needed to come. He grinned when he could feel the first small contractions in the muscle, the way Homelander's body began to seize. His muscles started trembling where Billy was holding on.

"Come for Daddy."

"Fffuck!" The supe broke above him. Billy was wise to pull his tongue out before that happened, but did push his thumb into Homelander's perineum for some extra stimulation.

There was a hand in his hair again, but it felt downright weak, barely grasping.

Homelander's leg slipped off him tiredly, and the supe blinked at him with mild confusion, glassy-eyed and dopey, but apprehensive. Billy was almost sure he mirrored the expression.

He hadn't even orgasmed himself, but there was a sort of mental clarity barreling towards him like a train, and he really, really wanted to close his eyes before the headlights of that thing hit him.

Homelander took the decision from him because when Billy did blink, the pile of clothes on the floor and the entire supe had vanished into thin air.

He sat on the floor for a good half an hour before his aching knees forced him to get up and he managed to wipe his mouth with fingers that were just a bit too unsteady.

#billy butcher #homelander #butchlander #my writing

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