#taking my brain out of my skull and turning it over in my hands like a geologist
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one thing I've tried to do the last few years is REALLY pick apart WHY certain, mainly harmless fun things don't jive with me, or even downright annoy me. Like, just shutting my mouth and not being a hater is good, no reason to yuck other people's yum and all.
But often times when you actually dig in and figure out the root of shit, it tends to annoy you a bit less. And in my case with many things they just become background static I ignore, as opposed to a glaring annoyance that stabs my brain every time I encounter it.
Lately both the Abbies on my dash reminded me how oh, so many harmless things that annoy me can be boiled down to infantilization.
Like, "No Talk Me I Angy" was super cute the first time I saw it, like yeah! A grumpy lil kitten the size of a pea would say it like that, how correct!
Then a few months later I saw it on a sticker on someone's travel mug, marking it as a thing that resonated with their personality, and internally I eye-rolled so hard I saw the back of my skull. Which is my same reaction to "choccy milk" and adults unironically saying "my tummy hurts D:" and yeah, SQUIDGE.
These are harmless fun things people enjoy and say. And I am an adult woman whose desk is covered in pre-FIM My Little Ponies.
But I was also infantilized a LOT growing up. I was bright for my age (now I know, also undiagnosed), buuuuut my intelligence and fact-retaining were kinda seen as a party trick, esp as I was the only person my age at family gatherings (big age gap between my nearest youngest and oldest siblings). My ideas and solutions were rarely taken seriously, and oh boy that lasted in my family uh, until I came back to Vermont as a 30 year old woman, lol.
My mother STILL has times of catching herself going "that can't be ri-..." before remembering hi, it's me, AND I'm almost 40 now. I'm not always right, but I usually am. Cause I got that brain that drives her crazy cause it remembers EVERYTHING.
My first serious conversation about boundaries with a coworker was with a woman in her 60s who baby-talked at EVERYONE (customers loved her, go figure). And while 90% of my coworkers were annoyed by it too, they just shrugged it off. But it seriously affected my mood, and ability to work really, as her desk was right next to mine.
So one day during lunch when she said something along the lines of "Awwww you're still a kid! You have lots of time to worry about ---!"
And I politely but firmly said, "I know you mean it kindly, but when you say things like 'I'm a kid' and so on, it kind of gives the impression that you don't see me as a peer, or mature enough for this job." And it was fine, she apologized, and shared HER point of view which was basically, she WISHES she were still a kid, cause she associated that time of her life with being carefree, and oh man.
Lots of annoyances in life can also be traced to a touch of envy: I envy people that find solace in not just childhood things (again, see: ponies and barbies all over my desk rn), but a childhood mindset. That going there is a way a lot of us are processing a world that is so, so impossibly tiring and expensive and yeah good god it'd feel nice to get tucked in and read Laura Ingalls before sleeps.
Buuuuut a childhood mindset for me was full of anxiety, lol. It was not being taken seriously, and wishing for challenges, or a portal to open up and swallow me and take me to my home planet where I'm a scholar-princess. So yeah naw, no thanks, there was lots of great fun stuff in my childhood, I had a loving home and all, but the anxiety and 'tism have been there too, making me the weird kid who knew stuff.
So yeah anyway. Knowing it and typing it out really DOES make me have less of an asshole reaction in the day to day. I might have a little envy for choccy milk people, but I do prefer being the 10 Obnoxious Facts About Chocolate You Didn't Ask For person.
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She blinked in her drunken haze at the bartender who nudged a glass of water towards her; her brows drew in confusion, and he said, “Look if you want to keep paying, I’ll keep serving, but you look like you need a ride home rather than more drinks. Drink some water and find a ride.”
Throwing a poor thumbs up, she watched as he walked off and she pulled out her phone, thumbing her password in so she could go to her contacts; his was one of the first and she managed to press call, laying the phone down on the bar, her head laying atop it. They picked up on the second ring.
What.
“Lt,” she slurred. “Will you come get me?”
You’re drunk, aren’t you?
It was rhetorical, she knew that, but she responded anyway. “Yeah, drank too much.” She closed her eyes. “Will you please come get me?” she smiled when she heard the annoyed sigh come across the line. “Pleeeeeeeeeeease,” she whined.
Pay your tab and I’ll be there in a few minutes.
“You’re not going to pay it for me?”
You’re pushing your luck much farther than how much you think I actually tolerate you.
“You tolerate me more than most.”
Whatever.
The line went dead, and she fished around in her pocket for a few bills, laying them on the counter as she lifted herself up and headed for the door. As she stepped out into the night, she drifted to an enclosed corner and sat down on one of the paved bricks that extended from the outside wall, shutting her eyes as she rested her head on the cold stone. She listened as people walked past her, taking in the laughter, the random bits of conversation, sometimes arguments, and breathed deeply as her brain rolled around in her skull.
It wasn’t until she felt the shift of the moonlight from her face to shadow that she cracked an eye open and gazed up at the masked man glaring back at her. “Hi, Lt,” she murmured, and he didn’t even blink.
“C’mon.”
He turned and started walking towards the parking lot when she whined and said, “You aren’t even going to help me up?”
His feet stopped on the pavement, shoulders lifting up and down before he spun around and walked back over, holding out his hand.
“Thank you,” she chirped and took it, letting him pull her up; she didn’t let go of his hand as they walked and at one point in her drunken stumbling, he stopped and let out a tired sigh, bending his knees to kneel beside her. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Get on,” he retorted, and she looked between his face and his back.
“You mean on your—”
“Get. On.” He growled and she hurriedly draped herself on his back, letting out a startled noise as he stood up suddenly, large hands clasped on the bottoms of her thighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
She blinked as she rested her head on his shoulder and murmured, “Wow, the air is so clear up here.” She heard it, the slight snort and she couldn’t help but smile as he carried her. “Lt?”
“What.”
“Thank you for coming to get me. I know I’m a pain in the ass.”
“At least you’re self-aware of how much a major pain in my arse you are. Bigger than Soap is on his worst days.”
“Now that’s just plain mean,” she mumbled, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped again and turned his head, looking at her. “I’d rather you be a pain in my arse than be nothing to me at all.”
She gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to stop her mouth from flopping open and he looked down then back to her eyes. “Really?” she asked in disbelief.
“You might be the biggest pain I’ve ever had the displeasure of having, but you’re my pain and I intend for it to stay that way.”
Her mouth shut and she melted against his back as he continued walking, gingerly snuggling closer to him, knees hugging his hips, arms tighter around him as she joked, “I love you too, Lt.”
“Nope, we’re not there yet.”
She paused, then wondered aloud, “You think we’ll ever be there one day?”
It was a long moment before he finally murmured back, “…yeah, maybe one day, pet.”
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader imagines#simon ghost riley x reader imagine#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader imagines#simon riley x reader imagine#simon riley imagines#simon riley imagine#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost x reader imagines#ghost x reader imagine#ghost imagines#ghost imagine#ghost#cod imagine#cod imagines#cod#call of duty imagines#call of duty imagine#call of duty
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Ghost rushes to your aid, only this time, it's to help with a pickle jar.
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“C’mere.” He orders, motioning with his hand.
You roll your eyes at him, although a slight grin forms on your lips.
“No!” you retort as you turn your back to him.
He sighs, leans back into the kitchen chair, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Although he still wears his skull mask, you can imagine a smug expression on his face as he observes your failed attempts at opening that pickle jar.
You wipe your hand on your trousers, then grasp the lid, using your other hand to stabilise the jar. You take a deep breath and hold it in as you squeeze and twist with all your might. But the darn thing doesn’t budge—an oddity since you opened that jar fairly easily yesterday.
“You look like you’re about to fart.”
“Shut up, Ghost.” You snap through gritted teeth.
“What you do clearly doesn’t work,” he states firmly. “Just give me the fucking jar.”
You exhale, relax your grip and shoot him a threatening look.
“No,” you snap again, pointing at him with the jar. “I got this.”
He lifts the fingers that are resting on his bicep and shakes his head.
“It’s too tight, love.”
“It’s not tight,” You reply and knock on the jar’s lid twice. “It’s stuck.”
“Knocking on the bloody lid?” He chuckles softly. “What’s next? Asking the pickles to open up from the inside?”
“Stop making fun of me!”
“I’m not,” he replies softly. “It just needs...”
“-a knife.” You interject.
He follows you with his eyes as you march over to the utensil drawer. You slide it open and pull a knife out.
“That’s a bread knife.” He states.
“So what?” You say, waving the knife, “Bread knives are still knives.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replies. “There are other ways to open that jar.”
“I’ve tried other ways.”
“You haven’t tried mine.” He murmurs, seemingly unmoved, brushing lint from his thigh.
You roll your eyes again and place the jar on the kitchen counter. Ghost leans further back in his chair to get a better visual of what you’re about to do.
“You’re going to get hurt.” He warns you.
You brush his statement off and focus on the jar. You stabilise it with one hand and put the bread knife between the glass and the lid with the other. You pull on the knife, trying to pry open a small opening. However, the knife loses grip and comes flying dangerously close to your ear.
Ghost pushes the chair with the back of his legs and mutters a sharp “fuckin’ hell” as he rushes towards you.
“You alright?” He asks and grasps your wrist.
“I’m fine,” You reply, defeated.
His hand lets go of your wrist and travels up to your neck. He inspects your ear, making sure you’re not hurt, then grasps your shoulder.
“Why won’t you let me try?” He asks softly.
You sigh, grasp the jar, and slam it on the counter.
“Because you’ll make fun of me just like the others,” you murmur.
“They make fun of you,” He says, pointing at the jar, “for this?”
“For my strength!” You elaborate. “Why do you think this jar is so tight? They’re doing it on purpose, so I ask for their help.”
He chuckles and tightens the grip on your shoulder.
“Nobody is doing that to the lids.” He comforts you. “The refrigerator cools the container and makes the lid shrink.”
You shoot him a threatening side-eye.
“Don’t gaslight me, Lieutenant.”
He throws his head back and sighs.
“Alright, alright,” he concedes, “even if they’re purposely tightening the lids, there’s always a better way to unscrew it than hurting yourself.”
“Let me guess,” you sneer, “the solution is to ask you to do it for me instead?”
“No,” he replies, turning the faucet to the hot water. “If you don’t have the muscle—”
“Hey!”
“If you don’t have the grip,” he corrects himself, “you should use your brain instead. As a matter of fact, you should always use your brain first.”
He removes his glove and puts his hand under the faucet. He takes the jar and places the lid under the tap, allowing the water to run on it for a few seconds. Finally, he turns the faucet off, wipes the cap with a towel, and hands it to you.
“Here,” he says, “try now.”
You take the jar and place your hand on the warm lid. You twist it, and it pops right open. You look at the loosened cap and throw it on the counter.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
“No need to thank me,” he replies softly. “You did it.”
You study his eyes behind his mask; they’re smiling. You extend that pickle jar to him.
“Want a pickle?” You ask and shrug one of your shoulders.
He shakes his head. “You can have ’em,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I need to start the induction for the recruits.”
You nod as you watch him gather his belongings. He is one of the most ruthless operators on base, and you’ve experienced the violence he is capable of causing on the battlefield. Yet, here he is, offering gentle guidance, advising you to ‘use your brain’ instead of brute force. Not only that, but once he managed to work his way into the jar—clearly twisting the cap with that towel and loosening it—he praised your ‘efforts’, claiming that ‘you did it.’
You take a pickle from the container and put it in your mouth.
How many times has he assisted you behind the scenes, making things easier for you and rushing to your aid, only to later praise your work and efforts, even though he was the orchestrator behind it all? Is that the reason the other soldiers make fun of you?
You take another pickle from the jar and drive it to your mouth, only to stop midway.
The question you’re trying to answer is not how often he acted chivalrous towards you, but...
“Why?” You shout as he walks towards the door, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He stops and turns to you, gripping the door frame. His eyes still smile, but another emotion is lingering behind them this time. He lifts his hand and points to the side of his head.
“Use your brain,” he replies before returning to the door and leaving the kitchen.
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#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x f!reader#call of duty#simon ghost riley#modern warfare 2#simon riley#cod mwii#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley fic#simon riley fluff#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x f!reader#cod ghost#ghost cod#ghost cod mwii#ghost cod mw2
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Mage Hand
Fem!Reader x Gale
Masterlist
Art commissions
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A/N - This one is a lil more adventurous than my last. I’m getting more confident with my writing, so… expect degeneracy.
Word count - 3.2K
Warnings - NSFW, MDNI, established relationship (Gale proposal route), Vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, exhibition, spell sex??, creampie, biting, Unprotected sex, dirty talk, hidden sex, public-ish sex, typical Gale corniness
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“You might want to dampen those pretty little moans unless you want someone else to hear.”
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“How is this next bookshop going to be anything different than the last ten we’ve been to?” You whined, trudging after the brown haired wizard.
Gale had dragged you across the entire town, popping shop to shop to find more spell books. You tried your best not to be annoyed, but this was supposed to be your week.
”Last one, sweetest, promise!” He called back, not even turning to face you as he continued down the street.
”You owe me.” You grumbled. This is the last time you let Gale plan a date. Who would think that leaving just one day of your honeymoon to him would end with the two of you searching every street for anyone who had even so much as a picture book on spells.
Thankfully, this next shop had to be the last book store in the town. Hopefully, at least.
Gale walked through the doors of the building, a rather rundown sort of place. Vines ran their way in and out of the cracked wood siding, ending in blooms of tiny purple flowers. You might have even found the place adorable if it didn’t smell like mildew and unaccomplished sorcerers.
“Welcome to Lichen, Lizards, and Library!” A voice yelled out further in the room. You had to squint to see them, the “library” being much darker inside than the bright and bustling street beyond.
The voice belonged to a tiny dragonborn woman, much of her height hunched over a gnarled cane. You suddenly felt bad about your previous opinions of the place. By the way the elderly she-dragon hobbled towards you, you doubted the woman could stack more than a couple of books, much less manage the upkeep of the shop.
“Good day to you, m’lady.” Gale replied warmly, taking a step further into the ill-lit interior. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spell books for sale, would you, madam?”
“Spell books!” The she-dragon chucked, nodding her head. “We’ve got all the beginner books you could manage between the two of you! Last shelf on the right, dearie.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the woman. Customers probably came back to this shop time and time again just to see this grandmotherly Dragonborn.
”Well, you see…” Gale sighed, gesturing towards himself. ”I’m not exactly a beginner. Do you happen to have anything with a greater difficulty?” He asked with a hopeful smile.
The dragonborn narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the man.
”Wizard?” She prodded.
”Y-yes, in fact, I am.”
”How good are you?”
Gale scoffed, clearly taken aback by this line of interrogation, “Good enough to defeat an Elder Brain!”
The elderly woman narrowed her eyes even further. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had demanded the wizard cast ’wish’ just to prove it to her.
She finally nodded, her decision apparently made. “Follow me, then.”
You gave Gale a confused look, the man only answering with a shrug as he followed the she-dragon.
”I don’t usually show customers our more unusual books, but it seems like you’re up for the challenge.” The shopkeeper called over her shoulder.
The both of you followed as she hobbled her way to a door at the end of the room. You passed by shelves filled with all sorts of oddities, stacked with books, various skulls and jars. It was almost eerie, this little woman’s collection.
She opened the door, holding her hand out in invitation, “If you need anything, I’ll be in front. Yell loud, the old ears aren’t what they used to be.”
“Thank you.” You smiled politely, stepping into the smaller room with Gale, the door swinging shut softly.
This room was much more well-kept than the shop outside of it. The shelves were free of dust, books organized neatly by letter. You couldn’t help but marvel as your hand trailed over the spine of a crimson red book. It had to be expensive, the lettering of the title glinting a beautiful gold.
“This place is incredible.” Gale murmured, his eyes trailing over the shelves before throwing a smile your way. “Told you the last one would be the one.”
You rolled your eyes, pressing your lips into a tight line.
“Oh, not the silent treatment, darling.” He chided, pulling you closer to him. “What could I have done to deserve the lonely absence of your voice?”
“Maybe dragging me through town looking at shops during our honeymoon?” You scoffed. “Looking for spell books of all things! What else could you possibly learn?”
You bit back your tone, seeing how his expression immediately faltered.
“You’re right, in truth, I didn’t really think it would take all day to find a shop with books that had more in them than… well… firebolt.” He smiled.
You couldn’t help but relax your glare, knowing he didn’t truly waste the day on purpose.
“Fine. Then I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me.” You grinned.
”You must be careful with such threats, darling. It is our honeymoon after all. Wouldn’t want to get a man’s hopes soaring.” He teased, kissing your nose. “But yes, I will make it up to you at my earliest convenience”
You sighed with a nod, stepping back out of his arms. “Go ahead then.” You gave in, shooing him towards the bookshelves.
You turned your attention back to the red book, pulling out to leaf through idly. “What do you even think you’ll find in these?”
“Who knows.” He responded. “There’s not many spells I don’t have at least an idea of. But these books may have new ones. Or even advanced versions of spells I already can do.”
“Like what?” You questioned, reading further into the book. Apparently, this one was about a more practical way to summon a mephit.
“Like here,” He said, pointing to his own book. “Advanced Mage Hand. Instead of only lasting for a minute, this one lasts for ten.”
You were barely registering the words, engrossed in the science behind the summoning magic written in the pages before you. “Why would you need Mage Hand for ten minutes?” You asked, distractedly.
“Guess you would have to use your imagination. Endless possibilities.” Gale replied.
“Uh-huh.” You murmured, not really listening to your wizard. This book was just too fascinating. Who knew there was so much more knowledge out there about the construction and anatomy of a mephit?
It took Gale murmuring under his breath in a strange language to grab your attention.
“What was that?” You asked, your gaze flitting up to him.
He looked back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What was ‘what’?”
“Oh, I thought you said something.” You shrugged, turning your eyes back to your book.
You were a couple more sentences in, comfortable silence falling over the room when you felt something on your ankle.
You couldn’t even begin to guess whatever it was that had touched you. It was feather light and cool, barely whispering over your skin. There one moment and gone within the split of another.
You looked down, trying to see what had brushed over you, only to see absolutely nothing.
Strange, must have been a breeze. There were many cracks in the walls I saw on the outside, you thought to yourself.
That is, until the cool touch grazed against your knee.
You froze, your skin erupting in goosebumps. You looked back towards Gale, questioningly, only to see him seemingly engrossed in the book he was reading. Your eyebrows furrowed, looking back to your legs.
No, still nothing there. Am I crazy? Have I been cursed?
The touch rose further, icy invisible fingertips racing along your thigh. Your breath caught in your throat, a slight sense of panic rising in your chest.
Gale cleared his throat casually beside you, your attention shooting up to him again. At first glance, he was being completely normal, but at closer inspection, you saw the way his ears flushed a barely perceptible pink.
Aha!
“It’s you!” You whisper shouted, pointing at him accusingly.
He faced you, eyebrows raised. “What are you talking about?”
As he spoke, the ghostly touch rose higher, much too close to your center than you cared to focus on.
”Play as innocent as you want.” You seethed, your cheeks beginning to heat. “Something is touching me, and it better be you.”
Gale couldn’t keep up the act, finally giving you a sly smile. “I wanted to see how useful this advanced Mage Hand really is.”
You gasped softly as the touch became firmer, pressing a single spectral finger against your clothed cunt.
“I couldn’t see it.” You managed to say, trying to hold on to at least a bit of dignity. In truth, you couldn’t deny that the feeling was… interesting.
”Another feature of its advancement.” Gale smiled, keeping his eyes trained on yours.
Another finger pressed against you, adding a delicious sense of pressure to your heat. You should’ve been embarrassed of how much you enjoyed this touch, how it made your mind cloud with lust. The fingers shifted slightly, barely brushing against your clit.
You covered your mouth quickly to suppress a whine, trying your best to give Gale a half-hearted glare. “Stop that. Someone will hear.”
Gale took a step closer, tilting your chin up with his hand. “Who? The she-dragon? As long as you aren’t too loud, the old bat won’t hear a thing.” He murmured, his gaze trailing down to your lips.
You couldn’t even give him a response, the mage hand shifting to part your panties to the side.
God’s above.
The touch was even more incredible now that there wasn’t fabric between you. A finger ran feather-light over your folds, spreading your wetness almost painfully slow. You let out a strained whimper, craving more friction than it gave you.
Gale closed the distance between you, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand pulled your chin up to him, swallowing your moan with his lips. You melted against his touch, rocking your hips slightly against the Mage Hand.
Gale chucked slightly, his other hand resting on the curve of your back. “So eager.” He whispered, parting from your kiss only just.
The fingers spread apart the petals of your flower, rubbing wide circles around your entrance, tracing figure eights everywhere but where you needed it.
“Please, Gale.” You choked out, eyes scrunching shut in desperation.
“Please what, dearest?” He responded, his voice low and teasing.
“Please, just touch me!” You said louder, pressing your hips against him, opening your eyes to beg with even your gaze.
He pressed a finger over your lips, warning you to control your volume. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown out with need. His lips were ever so slightly puffy, swollen with the heat of your earlier kiss.
She-dragon be damned, all you wanted was to hear a moan fall from those plump lips.
The spectral hand finally gave you what you wanted, dipping into your cunt slowly. You sighed in relief, letting your forehead fall to rest on Gale’s chest. What you imagined was the ghostly hand’s thumb traced small circles around your clit, a single finger pushing in and out of your sex.
You couldn’t help letting out another soft moan as another finger joined the first, thankfully the sound being muffled by Gale’s hand.
“Shhht.” Gale tutted quietly, his voice raspy in your ear. His hand moved from the small of your back, coming up to cup your breast. “You might want to dampen those pretty little moans unless you want someone to hear.”
You bit your lip, putting all of your focus into being quiet. What a losing battle you were fighting, however, Gale’s hand beginning to knead the soft flesh under it. Your nipple hardened under his touch, pushing through the fabric of your shirt. Gale smiled devilishly, fingertips grazing over the nub.
“If I had only known such magic existed before our honeymoon started.” He murmured. “We never would have left the inn.”
You bit back a moan as the fingers started pumping faster, arousal coiling tighter in your lower belly. Your legs began to feel heavy, your arms clutching at Gale for balance. The molten fire in your veins grew hotter and hotter, your muffled moans whispering out closer together. You were right on the edge, you knew your orgasm was close.
Suddenly, the touch disappeared.
You whined angrily, your eyes coming up to glare at Gale. He wasn’t usually one for orgasm denial.
Gale only chuckled, planting a soft kiss on your lips. “Apparently, ten minutes seemed to have been a bit of a stretch.”
You looked away, pouting. “Or maybe you lost concentration.”
Gale leaned in, kissing the shell of your ear before his teeth grazed against the skin gently. “Shall I replace the absence?” He nipped.
You nodded, not trusting your traitor mouth to answer with anything other than a shameful moan and string of begging words.
With a slight rustling of your heavy skirt, Gale cupped his hand against your sex. You whimpered a breathless moan, His middle finger delving between your folds.
He groaned in your ear, raising goosebumps along your arms. “So wet for me already, my love.”
You couldn’t respond, your hips having a mind of their own as they pressed further against his touch. You needed more. More pressure, more friction, more him.
“I can’t.” You whimpered, your legs felt as if they may give out at any moment.
Gale seemed to know exactly what you needed, hands hooking below your ass to pick you up. You couldn’t help but notice the hard length that pressed against your stomach as he carried you to the table in the corner. You ground against his cock helplessly, much too… well… much separating the two of you for your liking.
Gale let out a strained moan at your movements, setting you on the rough wood as softly as possible. It took mere moments for the two of you to remove those pesky barriers, Gale unlacing his trousers and you hiking up your dress. Your underwear were all but ruined, your cunt practically dripping with arousal.
Gale pulled you into a kiss, his member finally free against your soaked core. Moans mingled between both of your lips, Gale grinding against you in slow controlled thrusts.
You pulled away slightly, looking into his eyes. His tousled hair and lust crazed gaze almost had you coming on the spot.
“Gale” You whispered softly, pushing your fingertips through his soft brown locks. “I need you.”
”Your wish is my command.” He chuckled darkly, pushing his length inside you.
His hand shot over your mouth, anticipating the moan that ripped from your throat. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.
“By Mystra’s Light.” He strained out, grinding deeper against you. “You’re so tight around me.”
You cunt clenched at his words, earning another groan from his parted lips. You knew you wouldn't last long. Especially not after being deprived of your orgasm earlier. Even now, you felt the desire burning red hot in your lower stomach, the tightness in your muscles.
“Gale I-“ You whispered, voice desperate.
“Shht, dearest, I know.” He assured, beginning to push short, shallow thrusts within you.
“More!” You whined into his hand, nails digging softly into the man’s scalp. “Gods above, just fuck me!”
That’s all it took to snap the cord in Gale.
He thrusted into you savagely, heavy breaths panting in your ear. His spare hand held your hips close, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze was passionate, communicating all the words you weren’t able to say through his palm. You might’ve been worried about the shopkeeper hearing the raw wet sounds of Gale thrusting to the hilt, but the delicious stretch of his cock inside of you had you distracted from such trivial things.
It didn’t take but moments for the spring to pull tight in your mind, pleasure pulling you to the brink of snapping. Gale seemed to be close to the same, his brows furrowing and his grasp on your hips becoming tighter.
“Darling, ‘M close.” He warned, his voice worn and teeth gritted tight.
All you could do was moan into his touch, your heat clenching helplessly around him. His thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming deeper and desperate.
You felt a shiver before the world went white, every muscle in your body tightening as your orgasm hit you. Every nerve felt as if it were kissed by fire, all sound drowning out to the background. Your pleasure only intensified as you felt Gale’s warmth flood into you. He clutched you close as you both worked your way through your highs, Gale’s hips grinding raggedly.
When both of you had returned to the world of the living, Gale let out a chuckle. “Say what you will, but I’m glad I dragged you through every bookstore in this town. It ended quite well for me.”
You scoffed, feigning annoyance as you hit his chest softly. “You just wanted to bed me in a bookstore. Admit it.”
He held his hands up, pulling away from you with a groan, “You’re right. Guilty as charged.” He teased. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, ever so gently cleaning the two of you off.
“Well, I suppose we should find our way back to the Inn. Few more spells in here I have theories for.” He smiled, helping you off the table.
You blushed, smoothing out your dress, hoping no one would correctly assume why it had been wrinkled. “We better go pay for it then.” You quipped.
The two of you walked out hand in hand, Gale carrying your new find. Thankfully, the elderly dragonborn didn’t seem as if she knew what had happened in the back room of her own shop. She was perched upon a stool behind a desk, snoring loudly. It gave you some comfort. If you couldn’t hear the snoring from the other room… then hopefully…
“Ahem.” Gale cleared his throat as you approached the desk. “We’d like to purchase this one.
The Dragonborn awoke with a snort, smacking her lips together after a yawn. “Well let me see here.” She replied, taking the book.
She raised her eyebrows, nodding approvingly as she read the title. “A good find.”
Gale brought out his coin purse, paying for the book as the she-dragon and wizard made idle conversation. Your mind wandered to whatever other spells could be in the book. If one single entry could end this well…
The she-dragon took the coin happily, giving the book to Gale with a wave. You smiled at the woman, saying a soft goodbye as you began to exit the shop with your wizard love.
”Akra!” The woman croaked out, just as you had just almost passed through the doorway. Gale looked questioningly back at the woman.
“Uh, I’m sorry, madam. What was that?” He called out.
“It’s my name.” The elderly she-dragon yelled back, grinning from ear to ear. “The name you can call your little one in nine months!”
Your cheeks went beet red as Gale laughed out an awkward goodbye.
“Be sure to visit Lichen, Lizard, and Library again!”
You swatted at Gale’s arm, the man practically snorting back laughter as you made your way further into the streets. Not even the fires of Avernus could burn brighter than your flushed cheeks in this moment.
“Tomorrow, you’re staying in the Inn while I go to town.” You seethed, not even able to look at the wizard.
All gale did was chuckle back in response, taking your hand in his.
“I question the wisdom of that decision.”
#bg3 gale#baldurs gate gale#gale x reader#gale x you#gale x tav#gale smut#bg3 smut#baldurs gate 3 smut#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldurs gate x reader#bg3 x reader#tav x gale#gale x reader smut#this one is a wild one folks
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hiiiii ive been brainrotting abt sunday and his triple face god thing abababah thinking abt him handcuffing reader and interrogating them with the truth thing he does to aventurine ARGHH omg questioning abt who they were with cos hes jealousssss AUGH you dont have to write anything off of this i just hope this inspires you ily
oh you have read my MIND. I’m currently in the middle of writing a fic with dr ratio interrogating reader like he did with mx. stellaron…but now imagining that with sunday?? wow.
i’m totally normal about this man. i swear.
Yan!Sunday x Gn!Reader
Fingers drum on the table, the only break in the suffocating silence engulfing the room.
“I’ll ask you one. Last. Time.” Sunday punctuates each word with another tap of his finger, and you gasp as you feel the Harmony sink its influence another inch further into your skull.
Despite the futility, despite knowing you’ve been trying the same thing over and over again for the past half an hour, you pull at your restraints. The metal chain of the handcuffs skitters along the table, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, but it does not budge from its steel attachment. You’re firmly and inescapably chained to the table in Sunday’s office, with said perpetrator sitting opposite.
He appears calm, but you’ve learned to notice the slight twitch of his eye, the falter in his normal smirk. His patience is one wrong answer away from shattering.
At your silence, he leans back in his chair, shaking his head. His golden gaze is chastising, almost disappointed. “Angel, you know I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me who you were with.”
You only glare at him in response. Bullshit. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s forced truths out of you or affections upon you through the Harmony. The psychedelic pest in your brain is almost the norm by now, a poison he has slowly been feeding you.
Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that they will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.
Those words are branded into the flesh of your brain, your soul. And tonight, if you tell him what he wants, even more blood will be spilled.
Sunday’s jealously is as calculating as he is. It’s a knife poised at the right angle to spear you, to pin you with accusations that you can’t talk your way out of.
Like in this instance, where he has deluded himself into thinking you are trying to leave him. He’s finally let you out of Dewlight Pavilion (you’ve learned that trying to escape the dreamscape is pointless, so you’ll take your freedoms when you can), and this is the first reaction you’re met with? Being dragged to his office as soon as you returned and invaded, prodded, and violated by the Harmony?
The pressure around your temples tightens another fraction, and you cannot stop the pained cry that escapes you. Rainbow streaks cloud your vision and practically pull the words from your mouth. “I was with friends! We were at the Dreamjolt Hosterly for a couple drinks, that’s it!”
Sunday merely hums as he stands and pads towards you, taking a position at your back. You’re unable to turn around to face him, but you can feel the weight of his presence, the promise of his power, as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck.
His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in and whispers, “Liar.”
One word chills your blood to ice. “I’m not!”
The grip around your neck tightens in tandem with the pressure in your head. “Do you really think you can evade me, (Y/n)? My gales are perched in every region of Penacony, and THEY are by my side. THEY see all, hear all, know all.”
As if on cue, the Harmony rips through your consciousness, and it takes all your willpower not to pass out. Exhausted, you involuntarily lean back into Sunday’s hand, which seems to please him. “Now, tell me the name of the man who dared to touch what is mine.”
Clenching your eyes shut, you shake your head. You’re out of breath and stumbling along your words. “He was just being friendly, and he was drunk, we all were, and all he did was kiss my cheek; it was a dare, and I swear to you, Sunday, we’re just friends—”
“(Y/n),” Sunday interrupts. “His name.”
The finality in the Family head’s words sends your heart plummeting. You feel your resolve slip as the Harmony tightens its grip and goes in for the kill. You speak the name aloud, barely a whisper, and know that you’ve just delivered the man’s fate.
In your half-conscious state, you barely register Sunday removing your cuffs and scooping you into his arms. He tucks you into his chest bridal-style, his wings fluttering across your face. “You did well, my angel.”
“Please,” you breathe, your voice wobbly with tears, even as you feel the Harmony retreat from your senses—for now. “Don’t hurt him.”
Sunday merely leans his head down to place a kiss along your temple. “Enough of that,” he scolds. “The only man you should be thinking about is me. After all, it is an angel’s duty to obey their god without question.”
And Sunday is, if anything, a vengeful god.
For that night was the last that you ever saw your friend. Death in dreams was your only reality.
#yandere sunday#yandere hsr#yandere honkai star rail#yandere#yandere headcanons#yanderecore#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere male#sunday hsr#hsr sunday#sunday#honkai star rail imagines#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#honkai sr#hsr
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Fake Boyfriend - p2
Pairings - soft!Rafe Cameron x virgin! Fem reader
Summary - You lie to your best friend about having a boyfriend.
Warnings - none
Part one if you missed it
You're aroused from your sleep by the piercing bright light seeping through the curtains, hitting you directly between the eyes. You let out a groan and press your face into the pillow, it feels as though you're on a boat. Your stomach churns as your brain sways within your skull. “Jesus” you mumble, pushing yourself up from the bed slightly.
Panic sets in when you don’t recognise anything in the room, your hands flying under the cover to check you were still clothed.
“God you move a lot for someone with a hangover” a voice grumbles beside you, you sit up so fast your stomach lurches and the growing headache pounds behind your eyes. “Here”.
Your eyes fall to Rafe, he lay next to you, still dressed in the clothes from last night. He has 2 pills in the palm of his hand and a bottle of water, you accept gratefully and lay back down.
Silence falls over the two of you only to be interrupted with his phone ringing, he ignores it and sits up to look at you. “I’m sorry about yesterday, my friend wouldn’t shut up about me not having a boyfriend. The lie just slipped” you speak, he nods his head but stays silent. Your eyes wander over his face trying to pick up on an emotion but it’s unreadable, his blue eyes stare back at you.
“Never had a boyfriend huh?” He smirks, his left eyebrow raises in question. Redness spreads across your cheeks, spinning your body until it hides under the blanket. “So does that mean..”.
“Oh god, this is so damn embarrassing” you exclaim, you feel sick to the stomach. Thankfully you're both pulled away when his phone rings for the second time, he answers it with a huff and pulls himself from the bed.
You peek your head out of the blanket and watch him close the bathroom door behind him, you take this moment to step out of bed. Wobbling slightly on the plush carpet, thankfully the nausea had subsided and you were just left with a headache.
You grabbed your phone from the bedside table and made a dash for it, no way were you going to wait for him knowing he had follow up questions.
You're so close to the front door when Kelsie rounds the corner, she throws her arms around you in delight. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, didn’t want to wake you up myself in case I walked in on something” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You nervously laughed, you probably shouldn’t let her think you were having sex. You know she’d ask for details later and you weren’t sure you could lie about that.
“Hey!” She exclaims, waving behind you. You turn to see Rafe walking towards you with a smirk on his lips, looking away quickly you nudge your friend towards the door. “We should get going” you mumble, gripping her bicep roughly. She shakes her head though just as Rafe’s arm wraps around your shoulder, he brings your back flush against his front.
Your body tingles, well aware that your bum was pressed against where his cock was tucked away. “You can’t leave yet babe, have coffee first”.
Your breath catches in your throat from the nickname, your limbs feel like jelly as you let him push you towards the kitchen. He maneuvers around the kitchen effortlessly and in silence, Kelsie sits on the stool watching him get the coffee machine ready, he turns to look at you and holds out a mug. “Thanks” you manage a smile and step over to help him, he looks down at you for a split second and then over at Kelsie who is tapping on her phone.
“Play along” he whispers, your eyes go wide when his thumb and forefinger trap your chin. Tilting your head up so he can duck down and kiss you.
You can’t stop the swarm of butterflies that are let loose in your stomach, your fingers grip the front of his white shirt. His hand pulls you in by your waist, you're trying to remind yourself this is fake. He’s just helping you out, helping you put on a show for your best friend.
“Gross! You’ve been doing god knows what all morning, let me get to know your boyfriend y/n” Kelsie cringes from her seat, dramatically covering her eyes in disgust. But the curve of her lips shows how damn excited she was for you. “What do you want to know?” Rafe questions, placing a mug down in front of her and then handing you yours.
“Everything! How long have you guys been together first?” Her eyes move between the two of you, your mouth opens but no words follow. Slamming your lips closed quickly before she notices. “Only 3 weeks, I’ve known about y/n since she came to the island 2 years ago. Just never had the courage to speak to her”.
Your brows crease together In the middle, was what he was saying true? If it wasn’t, how did he know you moved here 2 years ago?.
“That’s so sweet! Oh y/n I’m so damn happy for you! Anyway you gave me all the goss last night about the two of you, so Rafe what do you do for work?”
You sit in silence while your best friend interrogates Rafe Cameron, you hang onto every last word of his. Making mental notes about everything he was saying, you didn’t know much about Rafe Cameron.
You just knew he was rich and practically owned half the island, you heard a few things about problems with drugs when he was younger but that he got clean. He didn’t bring any of that up though and of course why would he, this whole situation was just to help you out.
“You got yourself a good one y/n! You better keep good care of her, I leave in a few days and I need to know my bestie is well looked after” she says but wiggles her eyebrows at the last part, nudging you in the ribs. You laugh with her and give him a tight smile.
“Of course, I’ll take real good care of her” he winks at you and you're so grateful for the chair that kept you from falling to the ground, one simple movement from him and you were weak at the knees. “Anyway we should get going, I promised you a trip to Charleston” you said, you made your way to the sink to wash the mug but large hands stop you as you reach for the cloth. “I got it”.
“Oh yes! I’m so excited, okay let’s go! Will see you later, yeah Rafe?” You suppress a groan, squeezing your eyes shut at your insistent friend. You open your mouth to tell her he’s got plans with friends but he’s agreeing with her and saying he’ll see you both later.
“I’ll let you say goodbye in private” she winks, skipping around the corner. When you hear the front door lock you turn to him, he’s staring at you again with his bright blue eyes.
“Thank you so much for playing along and helping me out but honestly I’ll tell her you have plans, she’ll be gone in a few days and we can pretend none of this happened”. You state, he doesn’t move from his spot or acknowledge what you’ve said for a few moments, you stare in silence.
“I’ll play your fake boyfriend y/n” he says, placing his mug into the sink and stepping towards you. “You really don’t need to, I’m apparently really good at lying” you reply, you give him an awkward thank you hug and dart out the door.
Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, rushing towards the Uber waiting for you. You couldn’t believe you had gotten away with it, one little lie worked and now you no longer had your best friend in your ear about finding a man.
The two of you went home to shower and change, spending your day over in Charleston. Showing Kelsie around the town and shopping. Your feet were on fire by the time you stepped through your front door, you dropped your bags to the floor. “I need to lay down!” You announce, walking straight to your bedroom and dropping onto the bed.
You must have passed out because you're waking up in a dark room, your shoes have been taken off and a blanket draped over you. Your ears prick up to the sound of music, what was Kelsie doing?
You threw the blanket off you and stepped into your bathroom, you grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned up the mascara that had smudged under your eyes. Racking a comb through your hair and stepping back out of the bathroom.
The moment you open your bedroom door you are hit with loud music and the smell of tequila, you follow the noise towards the living room. “There she is!” Your best friend screams, she comes charging at you wrapping her arms around your neck.
Your eyes land on Rafe who sits on the one seater velvet chair, legs spread wide. He sends a smirk your way and raises his glass as a hello. “What is happening?” You question, noticing Rafe’s friends lounge on the couch and your friends looking at you in confusion. Oh god.
Your lie was about to unravel, you hadn’t thought about Kelsie meeting them. “I grabbed your phone while you were sleeping and organized a little get together! But you missy need to stop deleting messages it was very hard to figure out who your friends where”.
You were more concerned about how she got Rafes number, it would have been suspicious for you not to have messages with him. “Luckily everyone was saved in your favorites” she says handing you your phone, when she isn’t looking you search your phone. Rafes name pops up under favorite number 1, he must have put it in there last night? He was a lot better at this fake dating than you had expected.
“Hi” his voice whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your neck sending familiar shivers down your spine. His fingers dance around your hip stopping at your stomach, flattening his hand against you he pulled you back against him. “Hey” you managed, you say, he could tell you were flustered from the pink creeping up your neck until it made home on the apple of your cheeks. “You were asleep when she texted, I’m not as good of a liar as you” he joked, his eyes looking behind you for a moment and then his lips were on yours. You had now been kissed by 3 boys in your our lifetime, his lips were your favorite so far.
“Get a room!” Kelsie shouted, she poured tequila into shot glasses and began passing them around. “Let’s get this party started!”.
An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach, Kelsie never usually drank this much when she was around you. She knew you weren’t much of a drinker, especially since your dad was an alcoholic.
You stared down at the shot in your hand, you really didn’t want to drink tonight. Before you could even bring it to your lips Rafe was swapping his empty shot glass with yours and throwing it back. “You didn’t have to do that” you whispered, his hand still laying upon your stomach. You could feel him breathing against your back. “You didn’t want it”.
He gives you another soft smile and looks back at everyone in the room, Kelsie has turned the music up louder and pulled everyone into the middle of the lounge. “I just need to talk to my friends quickly” he nods his head and drops his hand from you. He watched you make your way to your friends and took a seat back on the seat he once occupied.
“Girl! You didn’t tell us you were seeing Rafe!” Sam exclaimed, she was in pure shock. Your three outer banks friends had lived here all their lives, they had known Rafe since school. “I’m sorry, it’s so recent I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it yet”.
“That’s okay, totally understand! It’s Rafe Cameron for crying out loud, I never thought I’d see the day he settles down” Grace says, she looks over at Rafe who is still watching you. They send him a smile and look back at you, an uneasy feeling in your stomach again.
“Yeah who knew” you laughed, you stood with them for a bit longer until the feeling of his eyes on you made you squirm. Walking back over to him, he pulled you to sit on his lap.
Your legs sat between his open ones, body nuzzled into his side. His arm around your shoulder, it was surprisingly comfortable and not weird. “We should probably discuss this fake boyfriend thing” he whisperedMy, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “You really don’t have to pretend after today”.
He chuckles and moves in his seat a little bit, your thighs rubbing against his groin. The redness once again painted on your cheeks. “You underestimate your friend”.
You look over at Kelsie who’s dancing away with Topper, both of them look like they escaped the mental hospital.
“You might be right” you agreed, unsure why you feel so content against him. You’d sat on boys' laps before and cuddled, it usually made you feel uncomfortable and you’d run off before they got the wrong idea.
“She's here for 3 days, so if you were possibly free over the next few days I’d be forever in your debt” you say, turning slightly to look up at him. He tilts his chin to look down at you, something flashes behind his eyes but you can’t quite place what it is. His smile is intoxicating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the perfectly straight teeth could kill me. “I can be free BUT I need a favour from you”.
“Yeah?” Your heart beats a bit faster and harder in your chest, what could Rafe Cameron possibly want from you? “I’ll need you to come to an event, I need a plus one”.
“Oh sure thing” you answer a bit too quickly, earning a smirk from the man under you. “Let’s talk about rules then?”
“Rules?”
“Yeah, you’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by doing anything you don’t want” he states, his tone is serious and his smile has vanished. “Oh” is all you manage to say to him, he moves again sitting up more straight so you both face each other.
“If I touch you anywhere you don’t like or want, or if I kiss you and you don’t want it, you just tell me. I won’t be hurt”
You nod your head, his hand cups your face and his lips touch yours for only a brief moment. “Sorry… they were watching”.
You turn your head and every snap their head back to what they were doing, a soft chuckle leaves your mouth and you look back at Rafe.
“Okay, and if you're busy or no longer want to be my fake boyfriend you just tell me. No hard feelings”
“Okay”
“Shall we kiss on it?”
You're the one to press your lips to his this time, it’s not quick like the last one. It’s more intense, his tongue snakes between your lips and you're moving in sync. This was a lot better than any of the other kisses you shared with someone.
“Sorry, I thought we’d give them a show”.
“Right” you breath, clearing the back of your throat and laying against him again. Was it normal to enjoy a kiss from a fake boyfriend that much?
Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting
Part 3
#drew starkey smut#rafe cameron smut#outerbanks smut#rafe cameron#drew starkey#outerbanks fic#rafe cameron fic#outerbanks x reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe angst#rafe fluff#rafe x oc#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe smut#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x smut#drew starkey x reader
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Inhale, Exhale
Stoner!Ellie Williams x Reader
Synopsis: It's your first time smoking, luckily you have a super hot stoner girlfriend to guide you
tags/Warnings: Established relationship, modern/college au, weed usage, Dom!Ellie (casually), might be slightly inaccurate, oopsies
The week had been brutal, a relentless onslaught of exams and assessments left you mere moments away from a breakdown. Each word you read is in one ear, out the other. Entirely incomprehensible. Your head hurts, your eyes hurt and your motivation is dwindling. Ah, the joys of college…
A knock on your dorm room door jolts you out of the complete disarray inside your head, which would've been a relief if the sound didn't reverberate around your skull. Okay, maybe it was time for a break.
You stand on legs that are weak from hours of sitting idly at your cramped desk. Reaching for the door handle, you swear you could almost start crying at the sight of your girlfriend. How did you get so lucky.
“I texted earlier to let you know I was coming but you never replied…” She starts as she squeezes past you, walking into your dorm room as if it was her second home (which - to be fair - it absolutely is). Her eyes scan the textbooks scattered on your desk as you sit on the edge of your bed. “"You okay?" she inquires softly at your silence, her eyebrows knitting together in worry. With a weary groan, you slump back onto your bed, “I never want to look at another textbook again”. Ellie chuckles affectionately, sitting next to you on the bed.
“How about you go shower and get comfy for me angel, I’ll pack all this shit up and we can just relax for a bit. You look all tense" "But ellie my exa-" "Your exams will go great. Just for tonight, kay? Even just for a few hours” Her tone is firm and reassuring.
You sigh with contemplation. I mean, she’s right. Your body is tense, your head is pounding, and you feel as if any more information might just cause your brain to shut down entirely. So you nod, pick out some pyjamas and make your way to the bathrooms. The idea of a warm shower, fresh clothes and the comfort of your nightly skincare routine is already easing all the built up pressure.
—------------------------------------
When you return to your dorm room feeling clean (and like you can actually think again) Ellie is sitting on your bed, textbooks packed away, her music playing softly from your speaker and a rolled blunt sitting between her fingers. She smiles at you softly when you step inside, patting the bed next to her “c’mere”.
You settle beside her, then flop over into her lap, head resting on her thighs. You turn over to look up at her, admiring the way she tilts her head back to exhale the earthy smoke away from you. She looks ethereal.
“Mmm… Ellie?”
“Yeah, baby?” she responds, her tone gentle and attentive.
“Do you think I could… try?” you ask tentatively, feeling a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling inside you.
She seems momentarily surprised, before a soft laugh escapes her lips. “This?” she clarifies, holding the blunt out to you. You nod your head timidly. She knows you've never smoked before, it’s not that you think it's bad or are uncomfortable by it, you’ve just always been a little nervous about it.
Her auburn hair falls in front of her face as she looks down at you, hand caressing the supple skin of your cheeks, “Alright, sit up f’ me baby”
You sit on your knees, legs tucked neatly beneath you, watching as she takes another hit of the joint before moving all of her attention to you.
“You’re sure you wanna do this?” She checks, “Yeah, ‘m sure,” you reassure with a soft smile. You’d mentioned wanting to smoke with Ellie for a while now, and now is a better time than any, right?
“Open,” She taps your lips softly with her thumb and you part them as she places the edge of the blunt between them, “breathe in nice and slowly for me, bring the smoke into your mouth”. You take a steady breath in. You wonder if it's the first time you've taken a proper moment to breathe all day. It is. The warm smoke fills your mouth, swirling around your senses, and you hold it there for a beat before Ellie directs you again. “Good, breathe it into your lungs ‘nd then breathe it out, nice and slow”.
The smoke fills your lungs and for a moment you think you are going to cough, but manage to slowly breathe it out, watching as the smoke swirls around your small dorm room. You look back over at Ellie to see her watching you, eyes starting to glaze over and all filled with endearment.
She brings the blunt back to her own lips, inhaling deeply before her hand gently grasps your jaw. Instinctively, you part your lips, anticipation tingling through you as she exhales the smoke between you. "Breathe in," she softly commands, her lips hovering close to yours, her touch sending shivers down your spine. As her lips meet yours, she places gentle hands on the sides of your face. You can feel yourself relaxing, body easing up and thoughts becoming quieter, more gentle, more sluggish. You let her take the lead, it's soft and intimate.
As she pulls away, she shifts to lay on her back against your soft comforter, her arms opening invitingly to you. You crawl over, resting your head against her chest, finding solace in the tired ache permeating your bones. Ellie offers you another puff of the blunt and you gladly take it, letting the comforting scent soothe your exhausted mind. Ellie takes a last hit before ashing it out, rubbing your back with one arm while the other rests beneath her head.
“Get some sleep, okay?” she hums softly. Between your dazed mind, the gentle rhythm of your girlfriend's hands running up and down your spine, and the combined scent of her and the pot enveloping your senses, you don’t think you'd be able to stay awake even if you tried.
#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#tlou ellie#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x female reader
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a/n- nanami has always been my favorite jjk man but BRO, he was something else in the new episode, they were definitely animating with one hand
warnings- doggy pos
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“just.. just stay still,” nanami’s voice rasped against the shell of your ear, his muscly thighs slamming into the backs of your own, your spine pressed down into an impossible arch by his large hands, all tenderness flying out the window, a stark contrast to the usual sweet, love-making the two of you would have.
“why won’t you tell me what’s wro- mmhp!” your words were cut off by a particularly rough snap of his hips, his thick cock jamming against your cervix, releasing a barrel of electricity to shoot through your muscles. he was never usually like this, always making sure to treat you with the utmost respect and care, his actions and words tied by a boundary of love, never crossing into rough waters, said boundary apparently not strong enough to withstand an irritant, something causing his brain to turn muddled, his lack of speaking and animalistic thrusts just more proof along with the pure anger radiating off of him.
strong legs bracketed your lower half, his tall frame towering over you even while kneeling, his chest snug against your back as the top of your skull fit directly under the dip of his collarbones. nanami hadn’t really said anything since he’d gotten home, the only form of communication he deigned to use being grunts and huffs of pleasure.
you’d barely even had time to greet him when he’d opened the front door of your shared home, loud footsteps trudging toward you before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder, your worried questions doing nothing to quell his anger or silent treatment, his only apparent goal being to get you to the bedroom. and that’s how you found yourself being stripped bare and fucked in such a humiliating pose, his long fingers fisting the headboard, white knuckles so tight you swore you could hear the wood splintering.
you were like medicine to him, your doting personality so sweet whenever he needed someone to vent to. not only was your character comforting, but your body too, sex being another way for him to let out his anger which you knew and you let him, not stopping him from plowing your cunt raw, just to get whatever was eating at him out.
“i- just let me have you… please,” he practically begged in the crook of your neck, lips ghosting your flushed skin as he continued to push in and out of you, clearly not ready to talk about whatever had pissed him off. taking his request to heart, you nuzzled your ass back into his hips, your cunt squeezing him as if in answer to his plea, to use you however he wanted. nanami groaned at this, one hand coming down to hold your waist, pulling you back onto his cock languidly, the two of you lost in each other as you let your bodies do the talking.
he leaned down to leave kisses along the top of your spine and shoulders, your pants higher-pitched from the stretch and burn of his cock, that renowned gentle character returning even while he was fucking you like an animal, still concerned over your comfort no matter how troubled he was mentally. “you’re too good to me,” he murmured into your hair, hips lazily rolling against your ass, your bodies pressed so close you actually felt the way goosebumps riddled his skin, and how rapid his heartbeat was against your back.
yes, you loved when he didn’t hold back with you, when he was rough and manhandled you into whatever position he could think of, but there was something about his kind-hearted, gentle persona that could never be topped, even if getting bent in half did feel incredibly good.
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#since day one#nanami kento smut#jjk x fem!reader#nanami smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami x reader#jjk shibuya arc#nanamin
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𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨
𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝘚𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘚 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛
𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (potential for nsfw continuations) / jjk manga spoilers / this is my version of "came back wrong" gojo inspired by recent events, but it turned out somewhat softer than i expected / what happens when satoru is brought back and suddenly finds himself deeply attached to you of all people?
yandere!gojo / he's also slightly higher-needs disabled coded… idk i tried to approach it as best as i could. it's an unfamiliar thing for reader and they're trying to process it / i very well may try to continue this because it is rotting my brain!! / 1.7k words
“Satoru… you need to eat.”
A full bowl of soup sits on the table before him untouched, his hands resting unoccupied in his lap and eyes trained on your figure as you circle around to stand near him. That piercing blue gaze is ridden with innocence, lips parted like those of a quizzical child, but they turn upwards into a pleased grin when you take a seat in the chair next to him.
You’d prepared a rather simple dish, something you figured might be easy for him to consume and digest given his… peculiar state, but Satoru apparently had yet to pay any interest to it. He instead sat obediently in his chair just as you had commanded several minutes ago, unable to initiate the task of feeding himself, for he was much more intrigued from afar by your every move as you tidied the kitchen. It was as though he couldn’t find the drive to function unless you were within an overwhelmingly short distance of him.
Satoru’s heart thumps now that you’re close, a burst of satisfaction rushing through his brain. Dopey yet stimulating chemicals. You are Pavlov’s ringing bell.
He is reminiscent of a child picked up from school by their beloved parent, or a puppy being reunited with its owner after a day at the vet, overcome with joy and unable to properly contain it. He leans forward and presses his lips to your neck as though that is the appropriate response to his elation, the crossed wires in his brain telling him that this is the sort of affection that will please you and is therefore the sort of affection he most desperately wants to give.
His condition was difficult to understand, and you wouldn’t call yourself properly equipped to deal with it, but there was simply no other option but to try; Gojo wouldn’t let anyone else try, the horrible rattling in his skull consuming him when deprived of your presence for too long. Yuuta had described the look in his eyes as “frenzied and lost.” You were told that the infirmary still needed repairs.
Once he returned to this world, Satoru had been stripped down to his essence, bare bones, a creature of instinct, reduced to something quite simple yet difficult for the average person to understand. But you had to understand, or try at the very least. This was the new burden placed upon your shoulders; it was either soothe this new version of Satoru Gojo for the sake of the world, or find a way to send him back into the icy arms of death. You were often caught between which option sounded worse.
However, when met with the sweetest and most earnest of his smiles, your bones were frosted with guilt, and you regretted ever entertaining the idea of letting him go again.
You stumble over getting him to perform necessary tasks and be further than 5 feet away from you at any given time, because it seems that, upon his revival, Satoru equates you and only you with everything of importance in his life. It’s more than a little unnerving given the fact that you’d never so much as even kissed prior to the loss of him, and now his neurons only fire off every happy memory he’s ever had of you, every positive thing he’s ever felt, no matter how stifled. You are his entire world now, and he can’t even verbalize it, but as each day passes following his awakening, you’re starting to gather that much on your own. You can’t be frustrated for long, however, because his cheerfulness is contagious, his enthusiasm making you feel loved even if it is somewhat smothering.
Is this selfish of you?
The man's lips travel slowly across your skin, pacified by your presence, your taste, and ignoring the grumble in his stomach. How does one differentiate the types of hunger? You don’t attempt to fight him off, but rather exhale a defeated sigh in response. It hasn’t been long since you’ve been tasked with this responsibility, but it feels as though you’re frequently fighting a losing battle and failing him all the same. It’s so peculiar, so very unnatural… but still, you have to try.
“Satoru, please…” you beg, voice light in his ear and a hand settling at his nape. His nerve endings come alive every time his name leaves your lips. The bell. “Just one bite? For me?”
That seems to do the trick, as you’ve gathered. Satoru pulls himself back, hyper-aware of the tone in your voice and suddenly willing to comply. He’s more than eager to accept the spoon into his mouth when you offer it, placing your fingers beneath his chin and carefully bringing the soup up to his lips. He swallows it with ease, the task literally more palatable now that you’ve reminded him of how badly you would like him to complete it. Anything for you.
“There,” you say, satisfied and offering a faint, exhausted smile. He grins widely in response and hums, no longer capable of words of his own, but his simple noise expresses his glee with efficacy. Satoru decides to punctuate it by pressing the tip of his nose to yours for good measure.
It feels wrong to enjoy these subtle moments of intimacy with someone who doesn’t appear to be in his right mind, but who are you to say whether he is or not? There’s still an agency he possesses, a heart full of emotions, and a mind teeming with thoughts that you wish you could be privy to. He might be different now, but part of you wants to say with certainty that the old Satoru is still here with you somehow—you can sense it. He chuckles at particular images that flash across the TV and still gets a kick out of teasing you to some degree. To diminish that seems like a disservice to him.
You’re unable to deprive him of the happiness your closeness provides nonetheless; in fact, it’s obviously rather dangerous for you to even try and do so. Satoru’s conscious recollections are filled primarily with you, but his body is still more or less the same as it always was—the vessel of his clan’s power, the strongest sorcerer on earth. You’re not sure to what extent he remembers how to control these abilities, but part of you doesn’t wish to find out. For now, you care for him, placate him, re-learn him. Nothing is certain about the situation other than the fact that he apparently needs you now more than ever.
Your eyes soften at the warmth he exudes, and you wonder if he really remembers who you even are—or were—to him. It’s not worth pondering over for now, however. He needs to eat.
“Another?” you ask, testing to see how willing he is to fulfill your wishes. Satoru often easily complies once you’ve expressed satisfaction in him doing so, but all of this is still so new and experimental; you never know when he might decide to switch gears.
However, still smiling, he nods, and you bring another spoonful of soup up to his lips for him to swallow. It pleases you to see him finally getting something into his stomach, and he can sense it, taking it upon himself to further your agenda and simultaneously realizing just how gratifying it is to fill his belly.
“Good,” you say, and he feels rewarded. He is crowned by your praise. Exalted. You take him to the greatest heights with the simplest of words.
You place the spoon back in the bowl and Satoru takes it in his grasp, feeding himself without quarrel while you observe. Most of his motor skills appear to be intact as far as you’ve seen despite the cognitive and behavioral changes, and if someone were to look upon him from afar, you’re fairly certain they would never know the difference. But you’re still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together little by little, deciphering each bit of information and also determining just how deep his severe attachment to you really goes.
Why did it end up being you? Why do you suddenly seem to be the only thing that makes sense to him in this entire universe?
You can’t answer that, he can’t answer that, it’s just the way it is. Satoru doesn’t need to know why you nearly consume his every thought, he just knows that you make him happy, and that’s truly all that counts in his version of the world. He’ll chase it on instinct until death decides to take him again; he’ll tear down anything that stands in his or your way, for you alone are all that he thinks he has left to cling to. Never matter the others that show concern for him—they’re nice enough, earning a small smile or even the privilege to touch before he shakes them off and seeks you out again. It’s nothing personal. It’s simply pathological.
Leaning an elbow on the table, you turn the possibilities over in your mind as you silently watch him eat. A life has been restored, but yours has been turned upside down, and you have to figure out just exactly what you’re going to do about it. You suppose that taking baby steps ought to be the best way to make progress, but how do you make space for someone like this out of the blue? You’ll have to give it your best shot.
Satoru finishes drinking down the remaining broth of his soup, and you pose a question. “Would you like to go for a walk with me today?”
He sits the bowl down and looks over at you, eyes assessing your features and mind processing what you’ve asked. He hasn’t been out much in the days following his return, but you don’t see any reason to keep him cooped up inside if he happens to respond well to a casual outing with you. Taking him for a stroll outside seems like a decent way to test the waters.
Satoru smiles and nods, recalling memories of how your hair looked when touched by the wind. He’d be glad to accompany you outside if it meant he could see you glow in the sun, radiant and warm. The center of his universe.
“I think it’ll be nice,” you remark with a grin, an ounce or two of weight being lifted from your shoulders at the positive shift in outlook. Baby steps.
Reaching out to take your hand, Satoru squeezes it in his own to convey his agreement. It’s as if he’s trying to say, “everything is nice when I’m with you.”
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You’re so fucked out.
You two haven’t seen each other for almost a week thanks to Levi, once again, being on a perilous mission. That week felt like a year when you make love almost every day. So, in his mind, you two have lots of time to make up for. He’s been pounding into you for hours. You’ve came several times already, your voice is fried, and your mind is entirely blank.
Your heart, mind, and pussy, are all so, so full of him.
You are barely conscious as you register the distinct sound of skin slapping together while in missionary. Despite this, broken moans and gasps leave your lips as your legs are over Levi’s shoulders. Eyes closed. One of his toned forearms is on one side of you to prop himself up while the other hand is gripping the bed frame to get more leverage and strength to pound into you. His balls slap lightly against your ass.
“Fuck, taking it so well…” he almost whines, reveling in your warm, wet pussy. He’s been ready to cum for hours but he’s forced himself to hold off each and every time he’s gotten close. He studies how beautiful you look: your cheeks flushed a light pink, a little drool at the side of your mouth, and your long eyelashes.
Then he looks down at his cock going in and out, and the sight alone makes him twitch.
His hand hastily leaves the bedframe and buries itself at the back of your skull, gripping the roots of the hair there. He gently forces your head downward.
“Watch it, sweetheart, watch.”
Your eyes open to obey his request. Your labia is so red and puffy. His dick is wet and sparkling, absolutely coated in you, and the blue-tinted veins of his length bulge. He pulls almost entirely out then plunges right back in and doesn’t stop until his pelvic bone meets yours. In and out. In and out. In and out. Watching it disappear into you is hypnotizing. You can no longer utter coherent words, just sounds of pleasure.
You both continue to watch until his hand lets go of your hair. His lips press into your hairline softly when he asks a barely audible question.
“Where do you want it?”
You know precisely what he means when you notice his thrusts becoming harder and faster and he gets quiet. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s almost like you can feel him in your stomach. He’s so deep and going so ruthlessly that it’s hard to register. The thought of him using you like a toy to stroke his cock with turns you on to an endless degree.
“Need you to talk to me, baby. Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you barely manage to rasp. “Inside.”
“You want me to cum inside you? Fill this pretty pussy up?”
“Yes, please.”
“Say it,” he pleads.
“Please, Levi. I want… I need you to cum inside me.”
Your words echo in his brain on repeat. Even though Levi finishes inside you almost every time, to both of you, it never gets old.
“I’m gonna cum, oh, I’m gonna—”
You wrap your arms around his neck to pull his body closer to yours. And with that, Levi’s dick twitches inside you with rope after rope of cum. He milks his cock so deep inside you, pushing it deeper with each pump. To him, it feels impossibly wetter than before and slippery.
He stills for a couple of moments then pulls out. He pushes your legs apart and gazes at your pussy. You bear down, making some cum come out. Seeing him drip out of you nearly always makes his eyes roll back into his head. He leans down, gathers some of it on his thumb, and pops it into his mouth. Once it’s sucked clean, he kisses you with an open mouth, making you taste.
Once satisfied, he withdraws from the kiss. He grabs your chin and gently wiggles it back and forth.
“You’ve never looked prettier when you’re full of my cum.”
#levi ackerman#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi aot#levi attack on titan#levi ackerman x female reader#levi x reader#levi x you#levi heichou#levi ackerman x y/n smut#smut#aot smut#aot fanfiction#aot x reader#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan#snk#snk x y/n#snk x reader#snk x you#aot x female reader#aot x y/n#aot x you#aot levi#snk smut#snk levi#snk fanfiction#aot#attack on titan smut#attack on titan x reader
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[Commissioned] Rave-Up: Hyunjin LOOSSEMBLE
Tags: Non-con, Drugs, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, A Lot Of Squirting, A Little Fingering, Thigh Fucking, Face Fucking, Cum Swallowing, Creampie (kind of mentioned breeding)
Character(s): M!Reader × Kim Hyunjin
Word Count: 4,836
The music blasted through your ears, pumping up the thrill within you. This was no ordinary party. It was a crazy-ass rave with zero rules and zero inhibitions. Neon lights lit up the joint, shining on a sea of people lost in the moment. You took a swig of your drink, savoring the sweet kick of alcohol mixed with the party's wild energy.
A bunch of tipsy women couldn't take their eyes off you. Even though they didn't really tickle your fancy, you played along, soaking up their attention. You danced, flirted, and ran your hands all over their hot bodies, riding that adrenaline rush.
But as the night rolled on, boredom started creeping in. The once mind-blowing activities had turned into a snoozefest, and the chicks who were once smoking hot seemed like dime a dozen. Just when you thought the night couldn't get any more dull, you saw her.
She was drop-dead gorgeous, hotter than most babes in this rave. Her long, messy black hair and that smooth midriff peeking out between her top and fitting jeans had you hooked. She was straight-up dancing like she didn't give a buck about the world. Her flushed face let you know she was in some higher state than normal.
Well, everyone here practically snorted or swallowed something before the lights went wild and the music deafened their ears. It all came down to what kinda crazy mix of drugs they popped with Molly to either stay aware or get lost in a cloud of bliss.
You maneuvered through the crowd, dodging the blinding lights and thunderous beats. You stood right in front of her as she grooved and jumped to the music. Her messy hair didn't seem to bother her, but her icy stare and the way she swiped her hair back told you everything.
"Come on, just back off. I'm not interested in whatever you're after," she poked your chest once and giggled like a half-drunk person. "Got it? So, move it." With that, she stepped down from the dance platform and headed towards the chill-out zone.
You were the one who scoped out this warehouse for the organizer, who happened to be your best friend's senior. The layout of this place was etched in your freaking brain. There was no way she could escape you. Whoever the hell she was, you were hell-bent on finding out.
Jumping down, you followed her into the hallway, checking her out as she held the wall and turned the corner. Nobody was around. They were all busy getting their minds blown by the sick DJ and performers on stage. Not that anybody would care.
Feeling the heat and looking for someone to play with, you figured it wasn't so bad for being sober. Tagging along behind her, you saw her messing around with the vending machine outside the resting area. The booming beats from the main area turned into a distant background buzz.
She didn't waste time noticing your presence and rolling her eyes. "Oh my god... Can't you get it through your thick skull that I'm not into you? Don't you understand Korean?"
"Yeah, I get Korean just fine. What I don't get is why you gotta be so rude. I just wanna be friends and have a blast together. Isn't that what this event is all about?" You tried to keep it cool as you watched her bend down, her round ass was firm. "No need to be a total bitch about it."
She scoffed, grabbing the canned drink from the pickup box. "Friends? Hilarious." Then she giggled, sneaking a peek at your crotch and spotting your boner. "You're not exactly subtle, are you?" She tiptoed closer and whispered in your ear. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you won't find that kind of action from this Kim Hyunjin bitch, okay?”
Hyunjin stepped back, almost tripping, feeling extra pleased in teasing you, clueless that she was starting to get on your nerves. The fact that she got all wild at this rave but acted all prude and shit was a total contradiction. It pissed you off.
Besides, it wasn't up to Hyunjin to decide what you could or couldn't get. It was the other way around. "A pretty name," you said, snatching the canned drink from her hand and cracking it open. "Too bad you won't be so pretty after I'm done with your sorry cunt." You poured the liquid over her head.
Hyunjin flinched when the cold drink hit her hair, drops dripping down onto her bare shoulders. "Hey! What the fuck!? You're crazy!" She shot you a glare.
"That's what you get for being a rude bitch, Kim Hyunjin." You laughed and splashed the rest of the juice on her dumbstruck face, making her gasp and cough before she wiped the liquid away from her closed eyes.
As you yanked on Hyunjin's hair, the can slipped from your grasp and clattered onto the hard concrete floor. She squirmed and struggled, trying to pry your hand away, but her efforts were in vain. With a firm push, you propelled her into the storage room, causing her to land on her ass, and swiftly shut the door behind you. Her voice filled the air, laced with anger and confusion.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Hyunjin shouted, regaining her footing. But before she could take any further action, you swiftly delivered a stinging slap to her face, causing her to stumble backward.
"Don't play the innocent act, you pretentious bitch. You sniffed those candies, didn't you? What else would you do it for if not to have some fun?" The room was dimmer compared to the outside, yet you could still make out the glimmer of tears in her eyes and the sharpness of her glare.
Through clenched teeth, Hyunjin yelled, "That's none of your fucking business!" She rushed towards you, shoving your solid chest, attempting to slip past you towards the door.
You allowed Hyunjin to dart past you, her hand nearly grazing the door handle. Seizing the opportunity, you wrapped your arms around her from behind, dragging her towards the left side of the wall where shelves and cabinets were filled with spare beverages and snacks.
In the corner of the room, a table adorned with empty flat boxes caught your attention. You took your time, relishing the sensation of her soft ass inadvertently brushing against your clothed erection.
"Let me go! Uhh!" Hyunjin thrashed harder, desperate to break free, only to be thrown against the table, her front colliding with the boxes. "Fuck!"
She had no chance to turn around as you bent her over the table, applying pressure to her back to prevent her from getting up. "You're quite vulgar for such a cute girl," you chuckled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her neck. Her eyelids shut tight in response.
Given your height advantage, accessing every part of her body was effortless. Taking advantage of this, you slipped your hand between her legs, feeling the fabric that covered her pussy, and began rubbing it roughly.
"Quit fucking touching me! Let go!" Hyunjin's hands instinctively went for yours, trying to yank them away from her sensitive lady bits, even though you hadn't even made direct contact yet. She knew right away that it was because of the damn MDMA she had tried out. Struggling for a hot sec had her already breathless.
"I know you're getting all wet from just having your pussy rubbed like this. No need to be shy," you said, pressing your palm harder against her groin.
"Fuck off, you asshole! You—You can't do shit to me!" Hyunjin's voice wavered a bit as she fought back, attempting to push herself off the table, hoping to break free from your grip.
"Really? You think I'm just messing around, Kim Hyunjin?" You eased up on pressing her back and pulled her straight up, wrapping your arm around her neck. "Curse at me one more time, I dare you."
"What the—"
You clamped your hand over Hyunjin's mouth, and she struggled to pry it off. Meanwhile, your other hand cheekily unbuttoned her jeans, giving her a clear idea of what was in store.
"Mmph!!!" Hyunjin thrashed harder, kicking the floor and twisting her body, but it didn't do jack shit for her.
You pressed your hand against her mouth even harder, tasting her sweat as you licked up her neck, all the way to her earlobe. Once the button was undone, you moved on to the zipper, slowly pulling it down. You could feel her heavy breaths against your hand while you gripped the waistband of her jeans.
With your arm straightened, her panties were on full display, along with those juicy inner thighs that you eagerly grabbed hold of, loving how plump and soft they felt.
"Damn, you're kinda thick, huh. Why were you hiding these goodies?"
Because she didn't deserve to be treated like this. Inside her head, she screamed about how wrong it was. But unfortunately, there was nothing she could do. Her body responded to your touches, weakening her resistance. You gave her thigh a hard squeeze, leaving a red mark on her skin, then delivered a slap to the other side, causing it to jiggle as she instinctively closed her legs.
Hyunjin's voice muffled against your hand. You assumed she was hurling vulgar curses at you as she grabbed your hand on her pussy. Her pulse raced with a mix of panic and fear. What you were about to do would leave a lasting impact on her, both physically and mentally.
Your fingers glided over her clothed pussy. You pressed your palm against it, feeling the wetness already seeping through her panties. Hyunjin's breath hitched as she felt your touch, her body arching.
"Let's see what kind of slut you really are now." You ran a finger along her slit, chuckling at the dampness despite her desperate resistance. "See? Just a phony slut, nothing more."
You ripped off her panties, the sound reverberating in the room. Hyunjin gasped as the cool air greeted her exposed core. Without wasting a moment, you plunged two fingers into her, feeling her tight walls clench around them.
Hyunjin's body trembled under your touch, her moans muffled against your hand. Her wetness coated your fingers as her body eagerly responded to your actions.
With each thrust of your fingers, she squirmed against you, her sensitivity escalating. Her inner walls tightened around your fingers, her satisfied moans growing louder as you picked up the pace. And that's when you felt it— her squirting, her juices drenching your hand as she screamed.
You continued prodding her insides, her body shaking as she rode out her orgasm. Her legs quivered as she struggled to stand, but you held her steady, refusing to let her escape your grasp.
"You're nothing but a filthy little slut," you growled in her ear. "Look at you, squirting all over my hand like a dirty whore."
Hyunjin could only whimper in response, the pleasure and humiliation merging in her mind. She felt a tingling surge coursing through her body, biting her lip in the hope that you would stop. But you didn't. Her body tensed once more, her inner walls tightening around your fingers as she neared her second orgasm.
You persisted, probing her depths without mercy as she cried out. And when she finally came undone again, the satisfaction of her scream and the intensity of her climax made you chuckle.
Her pussy was dripping, her arousal evident as it coated your fingers while you pumped them in and out of her with increased speed. Her body teetered on the brink of ecstasy. Then you curled your fingers inside her, hitting that sweet spot that made Hyunjin's vision go blank.
Another muffled scream escaped her as her body trembled, releasing her essence all over your hand and the floor. Withdrawing your fingers, you licked them clean, savoring her taste, as you observed Hyunjin collapsing against the table, her legs shaking from the overwhelming sensations.
"You've had your fun, so now it's time to return the favor like a bitch with manners, alright?" you quipped, casually undoing your pants. With a nonchalant gesture, you slid them down along with your boxers and even kicked off your shoes, stepping out of the jumbled mess of clothes.
Before the brunette had any chance of turning around or making a run for it, you wrapped your arms around her tummy and slipped your veiny cock between her supple thighs, giving her pussy a teasing rub. The pure bliss you felt made it all worth it, finally finding something worthwhile in the midst of this wild rave party.
Hyunjin then gasped as you roughly pulled her cropped vest off her arms and tore her flimsy white top in half, exposing her perky tits to the cool air. Wasting no time, you fondled and mauled her mounds. Her nipples instantly hardened under your palms.
She whimpered, trying to move her ass away while the upperside of your rock-hard cock sliding back and forth through her soaked pussy lips. Hyunjin trembled, her back arched and her ass involuntarily grinding back to meet your thrusts.
You pulled her against your chest, burying your nose in the crook of her neck. Her sweet floral scent filled your nostrils as you squeezed her thighs, pushing them together to fuck her harder. Wet smacking sounds filled the air with each slam of your hips.
"You like that?" you growled in her ear. "You like my thick cock splitting those pretty, needy pussy lips?"
Hyunjin whimpered and shook her head frantically, her hands clawing at the boxes on the table. You reached around to rub tight circles over her clit, and she cried out. Her pussy clenched and quivered on top of your cock as another orgasm ripped through her petite frame.
"Fuck! Oh God— Please stop!" she wailed, and hot juices gushed over your shaft and balls.
This girl's smooth thighs were next-level amazing. They had you on the edge of blowing your load right then and there. But there was so much more she had to offer, and you weren't about to let that go to waste. Your primal instincts were in full control, driven purely by raw lust.
You grabbed Hyunjin's hair and yanked her head back roughly, trapping her against the table before you flipped Hyunjin over onto her back, her ass at the edge and spread her trembling thighs wide. She stared up at you with horror as you lined your cock up with her swollen, squirting pussy.
"Please, no..." she begged, but you ignored her protests.
Pinning her down with your weight, you gripped her thick thighs and spread them apart. Your hard cock slid between her pussy lips, already slick with her juices. You didn't give a fuck if she was ready or not. With one harsh thrust, you hilted yourself inside her tight cunt. Hyunjin screamed into her own hand as you stretched her open, not giving her time to adjust.
"Shut up, you little slut," you growled, burying your nose in her hair. "This pussy belongs to me now."
You set a speedy pace, your hips slamming against her ass cheeks with every stroke. Hyunjin sobbed and squirmed beneath you, but you squeezed her thighs tighter, using them as handles to fuck her harder.
"You're fucking dripping for it, you dirty whore," you sneered, feeling her arousal wetting your shaft. "I knew you wanted this cock."
Reaching down, you rubbed her sensitive clit using your thumb. Hyunjin cried out as her pussy clenched and gushed more of her juices. But you didn't let up, pounding into her spasming cunt with animalistic force until she fell limp.
"No, please...I can't take any more! Ahh! Shit—" she begged, gripping the edges of the table.
Ignoring her pleas, you slammed your hips forward, burying youself to the hilt inside her abused cunt. "Shut your fucking mouth, slut," you bellowed, starting to pound into her harder, her tightness took your breath away. "This pussy is mine to use however I want, ugh!!!”
"No! Let me go, you fucker– Hng! I can't take it! you're too big!" she cried.
You backhanded her hard across the face, making her yelp. "I didn't ask for your opinion, whore. This pussy belongs to me!"
You gripped Hyunjin's hair in a tight fist, holding her head still as you ravaged her mouth with bruising kisses. She whimpered against your lips as if you care, biting and sucking until you tasted copper.
"Fucking look at me when I'm using you," you snarled, giving her hair a harsh yank.
Hyunjin's eyes flew open, dark pools of fear and arousal staring up at you as you rutted against her. She was completely spent, her frame trembling with overstimulation, but her abused pussy was still convulsing and squirting weakly with each grind of your hips.
"Please...I can't..." she gasped out, but her words were cut off by a guttural moan as you roughed up her tits.
You squeezed and kneaded the soft mounds, pinching her hard nipples between calloused fingers until they were red and swollen. Hyunjin arched her back, pushing her chest further into your cruel grip as you toyed with her sensitive flesh.
"Slut doesn't get to decide when it's over and when it's not," you said, giving her nipples a vicious twist.
Hyunjin yelped, and a fresh gush of liquid flooded over your cock, still buried to the base inside her. You pulled out slowly until just the bulbous head remained inside her swollen lips, then slammed your hips forward again. The sudden intrusion made Hyunjin's whole body jolt, her eyes rolling back as she took your punishing length.
Gripping her slim waist tightly, you set a ruthless pace, hilting yourself over and over again into her ruined, squirting hole. Wet, filthy noises filled the air as you ruined her pussy, using her as nothing more than a set of useless holes.
"F-fuck! Too much!" Hyunjin sobbed, her nails raking down your arms as she clung to you.
You didn't slow, couldn't slow, not with how perfectly her squirming insides hugged your cock. Each thrust made her silky walls ripple and flutter around you, milking your shaft for every drop. You could feel her juices pouring out, drenching your balls and legs.
"Do you feel how fucking soaked you are for this dick?" you panted against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. "This sloppy cunt was made to take my cock."
Tilted her pelvis up to take you even deeper, Hyunjin howled as you bottomed out, the bulge of your cock clearly visible moving beneath her taut stomach with each motion. Her legs shook with the strain of being spread so wide, her toes curling and back arching almost painfully.
"That's it, let me hear you scream," you growled, giving a sharp thrust that made her whole body twist and turn. "Let the whole fucking world know what a desperate little cumdump you are."
Hyunjin’s mouth opened in a silent wail as another intense orgasm crashed over her, squirting hard around your pistoning meat as she came apart. Reaching down, you rubbed her engorged clit using your thumb, her back bowing even further off the table as you assaulted her sensitive bud.
Your own orgasm rapidly approaching as Hyunjin's spasming pussy milked your needy cock, so you pulled out of her pussy, strings of stickiness connecting your shaft to her reddened entrance. Grabbing a fistful of Hyunjin's hair, you dragged the sobbing girl off the table and down to her knees in front of you. She shook her head weakly, but you paid her no mind, guiding the thick head of your cock to her plump lips.
"Open up for me, slut," you ordered, giving her hair a yank. "This load's going right down your throat. Must be thirty, right? Cumming so much like a broken whore.”
Hyunjin had no choice but to part her lips as you shoved forward into the wet heat of her mouth. She immediately started choking and gagging, her throat wrenching around your girth as you buried it as deep as it could get.
"Oh, fuck… Take it all you pretentious bitch of a whore," you groaned, feeling her nose pressed against your pelvis.
You didn't give Hyunjin a chance to breathe, immediately fucking in and out of her throat with rough strokes. Her mascara ran in thick rivers down her face as she choked and drooled around your nailing rod, but you didn't care, couldn't care about anything except the intense pleasure.
Gripping the back of her head tightly, used her mouth as a fuckhole, slamming in deep until she gagged and sputtered. You could feel her throat spasming, desperate for air, but you refused to let up, because her discomfort gave extra stimulation to you so kept fucking her pretty face.
"You were made for this, Kim Hyunjin. That's what you really are," you belittle her lower, heavy balls slapping against her chin, splattering her spit everywhere.
Hyunjin's eyes rolled back as she started to go limp, her jaw hanging open limply as you used her. Tears and drool streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the mess of makeup and sweat already overlaying her face.
A harsh grunt, grinding your hips against her face, you started to unload. You could feel Hyunjin's throat struggling and pulsing as you pumped thick ropes of cum straight down into her belly, filling her up until it leaked out around your girth.
"Swallow it all like a good little cumslut," you panted, giving a few more shallow thrusts to wring out the last few spurts.
Hyunjin choked and struggled to breathe around the flood of seed pouring down her gullet. A few moments later when you were completely drained, you pulled out, letting the last few drops splatter across her wrecked face.
Hyunjin slumped forward, coughing and gasping for air, a mess of makeup, drool, and your fresh cum all the while her ravaged pussy was still visibly leaking, her thighs soaked with the evidence of how thoroughly you had used her.
You took a step back and admired the utter wreck you had made of Hyunjin. She was sprawled on the floor, panting with ragged breaths. Thick ropes of your seed coated her face and dripped from her pale lips. Her makeup was smeared in streaks, mixing with tears and drool to leave her looking like a cheap whore. Her cunt was a puffy, inflamed mess, the lips swollen. You could see her gaping entrance fluttering weakly, as if her body was already craving more abuse.
Chuckling, you swiped a can of beer from a nearby cabinet and cracked it open, taking a long pull. May as well give this little slut a break and let her think she had a moment of respite. As you drank, you watched Hyunjin's chest heaving, her pert tits rising and falling rapidly with each shuddering breath. Her nipples were red, the dark peaks begging to be abused further.
You felt your cock stiffening once more at the sight of her pitiful, ruined state. Seems the whore's body was just made to be used, no matter how thoroughly you wrecked her.
Downing the last of your beer, you stalked over and hauled Hyunjin up by her hair. She immediately started sniveling and thrashing weakly, trying in vain to escape your grasp. But she could barely support her own weight, her legs like jelly after her overpowering orgasms.
You bent over and lifted her hips. Hyunjin screamed hoarsely as you lined your thick cock up with her battered slit and slammed forward, impaling her once again. Her raw, overstimulated walls embraced your invading cock like a vice.
"Please...no more… I'm sorry…" she sobbed brokenly, drool escaping the corners of her mouth as you started pounding away.
However, her body betrayed her as her ass unconsciously grinding back to meet your constant thrusts. You could feel more of her cum wrapping your busy cock once more as you pleasured yourself with her pussy, her silken walls massaging your cock.
"That's it, whore, milk this cock with your tight stupid pussy. It feels fucking nice, isn't it? You almost missed out on all this fun… Huu, ugh!" you grunted, giving her ass a couple of slaps.
Hyunjin moaned and clenched down hard, a fresh flow of her juices splattering out around your disappearing cock. Her muscles coiled with each stretching of her canal, her back arched sharply as she took your ruthless assertion. The battered girl’s body was completely overwhelmed, a slave to the intense sensations wracking her limp vessel.
You grabbed Hyunjin's arms and wrenched them back behind her, using them as makeshift handles to yank her onto your rougher thrust. She screeched incoherently as the bulbous head of your cock punched up into her cervix with each forceful thrust.
"That's it, take it all the way up into your fucking womb.” You offered her slender arms a vicious tug.
Hyunjin's stiff legs bent back, her toes not even touching the floor as you railed upward into the depth of her core. Her raw, overstimulated walls wrung erratically around your pulsing cock, her moisture pouring out in waves to pool on floor
It was all too much for her weakened body to endure. Hyunjin’s cries descended into guttural, animalistic screams as you used her like a personal onahole. Tears and drool streamed down her blotchy face, mixing into a smeared, filthy mess.
"Please...stop! You can't— Oughhh!" she howled, her voice cracking from the sheer intensity of the sensations overwhelming her.
Regardless, her traitorous cunt just kept leaking and squeezing around your cock, begging to be filled again and again, desperately milking your cock as if starved for your seed. You could feel your heavy balls tightening, signaling the impending explosion.
Spun Hyunjin around and slammed her down onto her back, never breaking the seal of her velvety vice. You immediately sank back into her hole, burying your entire cock in one brutal shove. Pinning her down with your weight, you wrapped one arm around her slender neck, squeezing just enough to make her eyes bulge. Hyunjin gurgled and thrashed beneath you.
Sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder, you started snapping your hips in short quick motion. Hyunjin groaned and clawed at your restraining arm as you ruthlessly plundered her spasming depths until you finally unloaded, cords of thick cum flooding into her womb, draining every drop as you pumped her full of your seed.
By the time you finished pulling up your pants, Hyunjin was a slack mess on the floor, her eyes glued tight and mouth hanging open. You took a step back and admired the utter wreck you had turned Hyunjin into. Her broken body was splayed, covered in a thick coating of your cum and her own juices, her once silky hair a tangled mess.
Reaching down, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head up, exposing the deep bite mark you had left on her shoulder. Hyunjin's eyes fluttered open weakly, glassy and unfocused from the sheer depravity you had subjected her to.
"Why so sad? That's a good look for you, Kim Hyunjin," you smirked, giving her head a harsh shake. "All fucked out and bred like the useless cumdump you are."
Letting her head drop back to the floor, you fished out your phone and snapped a few degrading photos of her filthy tainted leaking form. Hyunjin didn't even react, just laid there motionless save for the occasional twitch of her thighs.
You brought your hand back and delivered a slap across her already messy face. A thin trickle of blood started from the corner of her swollen lips, but still she gave no response, no cry of pain. Just the slow blink of her vacant eyes as she stared up at you unseeingly.
"You're my slut now, you hear me?" you stated, gripping her jaw and shaking her head again. "You better come running with your cunt ready whenever I call." You shot her one last disdainful look up and down her soiled, abused body.
With that, you turned and left the storage room, leaving Hyunjin a broken, defiled mess on the floor. She didn't move, couldn't move, could barely even think through the haze of overstimulation and degradation. All she could feel was the dull, throbbing ache between her trembling legs. Her entire body felt numb, used up and discarded like a piece of trash after you had taken your fill.
More than the physical pain, Hyunjin felt utterly disgusted with herself. Disgusted at how her body had betrayed her, cumming again and again despite the filthy violation she received. Curling in on herself, Hyunjin let out a low, keening whimper as the first sobs started to wrack her shattered frame.
#kpop smut#male reader#kpop gg#kpop girls#non con smut#girl group smut#loona smut#loossemble smut#kim hyunjin#Hyunjin smut#loossemble hyunjin#girl group imagines#commissioned work
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ony is the best baby daddy like he just has that energyyy 😫
rightttttt like he gets the kids on time and if he’s late he will always let you know. he knows how to do his daughters hair and always makes sure his son has a haircut. his kids are always dressed nice and he always makes sure they’re taking care of each other as well as taking care of their beautiful mother.
he still finds himself looking out for you too, always telling the kids to “order sum for mommy” when he takes them out to eat or to “always make sure mommy’s not working too hard”. even on days he isn’t supposed to have them he’d gladly take them if you were feeling overwhelmed. if you’re feeling sick he’ll literally sleep at your house, soup and medicine sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch as he slept just incase you were to wake up in the middle of the night.
he’d constantly “forget” money at your house after he leaves too, telling you to “just get yourself sum nice”. if you give the money back anyways he’d give it to his oldest child, telling them to put it in your wallet for him.
when it’s his weekend with the kids he’d call you every couple of hours to let you know he has everything under control since he knows how worried you could get when you haven’t heard from him i awhile.
he always speaks highly of you to the kids, telling his daughters stories of when the two of you were young and in love and telling his sons stories of how strong you were for him when he couldn’t be strong for himself. your kids would honestly be what got the two of you back together. they’d constantly tell you the stories their father would tell them, reminding you of how happy the two of you used to be and making you realize that you didn’t even know why the two of you called it quits in the first place.
as soon as you called ony he’d answer on the first ring, throwing millions of questions at you since you never really called unless he had the kids. you’d shut him up by asking if he could come over to talk for a little in which he replied almost instantly with a yes. he’d be over there in less than fifteen minutes letting you lead him to your bedroom to talk just incase your kids came downstairs for some water or a late night snack.
of course the two of you didn’t get to talk for more than ten minutes, his dick shoved deep into you as he held his hand over your mouth. “shhh mama you gotta be quiet. ion want you t’wake the kids” he’d whisper, fucking into you deeper as he watched your teary eyes roll to the back of your skull. you’d mumble back a muffled “mhm” as you felt the pad of his thumb begin to circle your clit. you’d whine and moan for him loader and loader, turning him on to the point where his grunts and groans began to come out at a higher volume as well. soon enough the both of you were deep in bliss, fucking on each other just like you used to. you’d tell him how much you missed him and how you’ve never stopped loving him and he’d gladly say it back, deepening his stroke as he left passionate kisses on your lips.
as the two of you finished ony would lay you back down, letting sleep claim you as he moved towards the door to check on his little angels. as soon as he turned the doorknob loud shuffles could he heard from the hallway, the sound of a bunch of feet running towards one of the bedrooms and little whispers of “sh sh shh” and “be quiet” coming from it as he made his way down the hall to check on his “sleeping” children. he couldn’t help but smile when he seen them cuddled up together on a large blanket of the floor, some of the smaller ones in bed with the oldest. they had different rooms, but chose to sleep together often since they were all so close.
ony couldn’t help but notice the small smiles on each of their faces, nothing but excitement and joy rushing through them as they thought about how happy much happier their parents will be now that they’re together again.
i didn’t even mean to write this i just let my brain leak all over the place…
#aot x black reader#onyankopon x black reader#onyankopon x reader#onyankopon x black!reader#aot onyankopon#onyankopon smut#aot onyankopon x black reader#onyankopon x black y/n#aot onyankopon x black y/n#aot onyankopon x black!reader#aot onyankopon smut
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Everyone involved in this FICTIONAL NSFW drabble is aged up/18+, if this bothers you just block me or keep scrolling
Note; just a reminder this is NSFW & it involves consensual drunk sex, ALSO I may be a bit buzzed while writing this, I’m writing it to get it out of my head so —enjoy & happy holidays
•••
I bet drunk sex with Megumi just hits the fucking spot.
It’s late Christmas Eve—well technically it’s really early Christmas morning. About 2:00 am as you & Megumi stumble in through your front door. A bit too loud, giggling at any of the bullshit that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth.
You’re flushed, it’s too warm in your home and as soon as Megumi can get the front door shut & locked with his wobbly fingers, you peel off your coat. Tossing it on the back of your couch as you try to keep one foot in front of the other on the way to your bedroom. Hand braced on the wall for balance.
Your cheeks are on fire, sweat beading on your forehead & a dull throbbing has started up behind your eyes. It hurts, not to mention your limbs like they’re lagging in a video game and you have to squint to see anything.
You can vaguely hear Megumi trip behind you, slamming against the door frame on his way in to the room. He lets out a whiny “ow” & you can’t help but giggle.
“Careful Gumi,” you tease, words only slightly mumbled as you flip the light on. He giggles in response, sounding like a little kid.
“Oops,” he whispers cutely—you’re not sure why he is, he was obnoxiously loud 10 minutes ago.
Your mind is only focused on one thing though, getting your suffocating ass clothes off right now. So you do, even taking off your panties because why the fuck is it so hot in here?
Either way, you get completely naked & fall face first into your soft sheets. Slowly crawling up to your pillow and flopping down ungraciously.
You let out a soft moan of relief into the blanket as the coolness of the air soothes some of your burning flesh. You try not to feel nauseous as you twist your neck to look at Megumi, curious as to what he’s doing.
You watch him pop out from under his crew neck sweatshirt, finally only in his boxer briefs now. The statement “Gumi is pretty”, completely fills the space in your brain. Pushing at your skull until it’s the only thing left in there.
“Gumi, c’mere,” you request, words slightly muffled by the pillow. His eyes widen when they finally refocus on your naked frame. You watch him stare at your ass for a beat too long before he holds your gaze again.
His cheeks are pink, eyes hazy, but he gives you a dopey smile & nods. He barely remembers to turn the light off as he walks towards the bed.
You can’t tell what he’s doing in the dark but then he slips under the blanket, lets you do the same and presses his entirely too warm frame against yours. His arms settles around your waist, hooking a leg between your thighs and then digging his toes under your knee.
You moan lowly when you notice he’s naked now too. Fuck he’s so warm, so soft & you just really want him inside you right fucking now. You’re burning again, but not just from the last shot you took earlier.
Your heart beats harshly against your rib cage and you tug on his wrist urgently.
“Gumi,” you murmur. “Want you so bad, need to have sex with you, please,” you plead, pussy already clenching out of nowhere at the thought of his pretty cock dragging in & out of you.
“Mm? Y’sure sweetheart?” He whispers, voice low in your ear, warm breath tickling the side of your face. Still, he slides a hand down to your pussy, placing two fingers on your clit. He rubs tight, slow circles.
“Yeah, c’mon Gumi,” you reply, choking on a moan. Your back arches as his fingers send a wave of warm tingles down to your toes.
He doesn’t hesitate though, sliding in between your legs & settling there. His cock is hot & hard as it drags over your thigh as he gets situated—you almost wish you could suck it instead, but maybe tomorrow.
You grab onto his shaft as he plants his hands by your head, dragging the tip through the lips of your slick pussy. You both moan desperately & Megumi apparently can’t help himself either—because he pushes his cock all the way in at once.
“Fuck Megumi, your cock—nngh!” you whimper, feeling the sburn of being stretched so intensely. Either way, it sets your nerve endings on fire as the sting blends with pleasure.
“Baby,” Megumi whines, voice high pitched & breathy. He’s only slightly more coherent than you are. He’s lowered his body weight onto you, face buried in your neck, arms snaked under your back & over your shoulders so he can grip them.
“I know Gumi, I know,” you murmur, voice soft & desperate as he starts to pull his hips back halfway, forcing a gasp out of you. You lace your fingers into his soft, black hair—holding his face securely to your throat.
Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, brain mushy as you let Megumi roll his sinful hips into you again & again. You wrap one leg around his waist to give him more wiggle room. He takes it, nails digging into your skin as he holds your shoulders tighter. Soft lips pressed against your neck.
Megumi moves fluidly, tilting his hips up so he can drag his cock over your sweet spot with each thrust. Warm tingles race up your spine, into your brain as he fills you over & over.
Megumi is huffing into your throat, warming your skin and you tug on his hair making him hiss. He’s moving roughly, not quickly, but it’s more than enough get you even more drunk on his cock.l than you were.
“Baby,” Megumi pants brokenly. “Need you to cum, your pussy’s so good, I’m gonna cum soon,” he all but whines. You shiver & nod. He takes it & runs, pushing the pace of his hips the best he can in this tight position—making your eyes roll back in your skull.
You’re both slick with sweat, sticky & warm. The added sensation of your nipples sliding against his chest is overwhelming as he pushes you higher & higher. He’s punching wet hiccups out of you, whispering how much loves you, how sweet your pussy is & you can’t fucking take it.
“Megumi, please,” you frantically choke out the words. He holds you even tighter, making sure to curl his hips up even harsher this time. Your pussy flutters, knot winding up tight in your lower belly. It snaps violently. Your moans are watery & thick as you cum, arms around his neck holding him tight as he works you through it. Almost choking him.
“Oh, oh my god,” Megumi groans lowly as you clench tightly around his cock. You melt into a puddle of goo as you return to earth, eyes blinking slowly & heavily as Megumi finds his release. Filling you with sticky, warm cum in shallow thrusts.
You both lay there, Megumi’s forehead on your chest as the two of you catch your breath. Your heads fuzzy, his head’s still fuzzy & you’re pretty sure you’ll fall asleep like this.
You’re reminded again just how much you love Megumi when he at least tries to be coherent enough to turn you both until you’re on your sides, facing each other. Megumi pulls your soft blanket up to cover your waists.
Neither of you make a move to clean up. Instead you lazily slip a leg over his waist & his warm palm meets your thigh. Megumi kisses your forehead softly & you hang on just long enough for the two of you to exchange I love you’s before passing out.
You’ll deal with the mess in the morning.
#fushiguro megumi x reader#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi smut#megumi smut#fushiguro smut#jjk megumi#jjk smut#jjk x reader#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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Calling for Dad
um.. so i saw this post a while back about how the Robins all call for bruce on patrol and i unfortunately cannot find it to reblog off of, but uh yeah. i wrote it so-
this post-
Dick breathed deeply through his nose and whirled, sending his foot flying into a nearby henchman's side. The man went flying back, cursing up a storm that ended quickly as his head connected with the wall. Out cold. Dick brushed his hands off in satisfaction. They were almost done, and he could see bruce tying up and fighting a few extra henchmen only a few feet away, at the same time. Dick turned, planning on tying up the ones he had finished, when something cold and hard slammed into his cheek. Dick reeled backwards, landing hard on the ground. He looked up. A henchman was standing over him, a nasty smile on his face, brass knuckles glinting. Dick could feel tears pooling in his eyes. “Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry’ dick chanted in his head. But his lower lip was trembling. And, maybe it was just some survival instinct, maybe it was just some primal knowledge in dicks little gecko brain, but before he could stop himself, his mouth was open and he was crying. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” All he spotted was the pale face of the henchman, before a black blur went flying into it. Bruce was at his side a second later, a soft hand on his cheek, a tender brush of fingers across his forehead, a gentle kiss to his head. Dick didn't even feel the injury anymore, it had been more of a shock than anything else, but Bruce didn't finish patrol that day. And dick stayed wrapped up safe and warm in his fathers cape the rest of the night.
Jason yawned, sending his right fist into the gut in front of him. He had an exam tomorrow, and Bruce had told him to stay home, but Two Face and Penguin had decided to strike a deal in the warehouse, so they had had to show up. Jason knew B regretted bringing him. And would blame himself if jason failed, but honestly, jason just enjoyed spending time with his dad. Whether it was fighting crime or not. He would take the bruises over passing his exam any day. Jason yawned again. The gut was suddenly back on its feet in front of him. Jason startled back, but too late. He hit the ground. Hard. Boots scraped the floor in front of him and Jason could no longer see Bruce. His heartbeat started to accelerate. There was a hand on his ankle and he was being turned, dragged forward. Jason opened his mouth, and screamed. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!” The hand on his ankle froze. Then was ripped away. Jason couldn't hold back his sniffle of fear and suddenly bruce was there, a protective hand on his back, an arm under his butt as bruce lifted him and pressed jason's face against his chest, holding him close and whispering sweet nothings into his boys ear and jason lapped them up like a starving kitten, mewling and pushing closer to his dad, safe with the knowledge his father would always have his back.
Tim knew he shouldn't have been out alone. But he was doing some reconnaissance on the bane and it couldn't be that bad. Right? Wrong. Next thing he knew the young Drake heir was face to face with the dangerous villain, with nothing but a bo staff in his hands. “Ooh.” cooed bane. “Little robin, flown too far from your nest have you?” He snickered, and the sound sent a cold chill down tims spine. “Well well well. Lets have some funnsie shall we?” And before tim could move the bane had grabbed his staff and snapped it over his leg, tossing the remains aside. Tim stared at him open mouthed. Fear. Fear was coursing through his veins like sharp ice. Tim was scared. And there was a crack and Tim guessed it was either his ribs or skull as hot fiery pain swept through his body and he screamed, head colliding with the wall. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe couldn't breathe. But he managed to gasp just enough air into his lungs to muster up one single word. “DAAAAAAAAD!” Bane was on the ground faster than tim could blink. And he started to apologize, begging for forgiveness, to stay robin, please, ‘please bruce don't send me back to the Drake estate’ but bruce lifted him gently and carried him slowly and when tim awoke he was still at the manor, not on the doorstep of the Drakes and Bruce was sitting at his side, holding his hand. And when he started to speak tim felt fear clutch him immediately. But the man wasn't telling him to leave. He wasn't kicking him out. He was telling him about the other Robins who had called dad before him. It was the first time Tim heard bruce speak about Jason so plainly. Without anger or guilt or regret. But rather with warmth. “You are my son Timmy.” bruce whispered quietly. “My son.”
Stephanie knew she wasn't as experienced as she needed to be to be robin, but bruce had still let her on the streets with him, and she would be damned if she disappointed him. After all, it was just Black Mask. What harm could he do? “Apparently a lot.” Steph thought dryly as she leapt around the man who was swinging wildly at her. She was bleeding from a gash in her thigh, and was pretty certain she had at least two broken ribs. They were really slowing her down but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Wasn't handling. Except. Except she couldn't handle it. Black Mask swung his bat, and Steph didn't make it out of the way in time. The metal connect full force with her side and steph went flying, slamming hard into the concrete wall. She wheezed. Now there was definitely some internal bleeding. Her nose was running and before she could get up, a boot connected with her face. Now it was running with blood. Her teeth felt lose. Stephanie's mouth was so dry. Black Masks taunting face appeared above her and Steph could do nothing more than whimper as pain wracked through her body as he started to beat her. She could taste the throw up in her mouth. Could smell the overpowering stench of iron, from her own blood. Her heart was battering so loudly in her ears from fright if she hadn't heard it she might've thought she was dead. But she wasn't. Dead. She was definitely afraid. She and Bruce had never discussed what they were. She had a dad. He had kids. A daughter. They had never broached the subject of adoption, or even being anything more than slight friends. It didn't matter that she saw him as a father figure. A better one than she had ever actually had. It was this thought, above all others, that rose to the front of stephanie's mind while black mask bloodied her. And it was this thought, above all others, that made her lick her dry lips and scream, with all the air she had left in her lings. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” Black Mask laughed at her. “Authur ain't gonna save you!” he sneered. Arthur Brown had never even crossed Stephanie's mind. Black Mask lifted his fist, ready to bring it crashing down on her head. But it never connected. Not with stephanie at least. But rather with a very large, very angry, Batman. She had never seen Bruce throw anyone. Much less through two walls. But here they were. Hands touched her. Warm hands. Kind hands. The same hands that had cradled her after nightmares. The same hands that had handed her snacks and wordlessly pulled her into a hug when she had shown up on his doorstep, wistful and ashed, slightly bedraggled, begging for sanctuary. The warm hands of her father. “Dad.” She choked. “Shhh.” bruce soothed softly, stroking her hair as he lifted her, like a newborn calf, into his arms and carried her home. “Its alright sweetheart. I've got you.”
Damian had never called Bruce dad. It just wasn't done. Mother was Mother, Grandfather was Grandfather, and so naturally, Father was Father. He knew other kids didn't agree. Had heard his classmates shriek with joy and cries of “DAD!” And “papa!” when greeting their fathers. Even his siblings did so, whether Cassandra threw herself at him with a cheerful “daddy!” or jason tossed an arm around his shoulders with a heartfelt “hey pops” or tim and dick, who had no issues with plopping themselves into his lap and purring “daddio.’ when they needed something. Even Barbara had taken to calling Bruce ‘dad 2.0’ from time to time. Damian had never even considered calling his father dad. Much less on patrol. Except. Except he had heard his brothers chatting about it. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But they hadn’t exactly tried to be quiet either. “B don’t love me!” Jason had shouted, plopping with an over dramatic sigh onto the couch. Dick didn’t even look up from whatever he was working on, just laughed. “Sure jason. Remember that time you called for him on patrol?” Tim chuckled, walking in as well and sitting on the couch opposite his brother. “Oh yeah.” He let out a high pitched scream and imitated a young Jason. “Dad!” They all laughed. Jason couldn’t contain his smile. “Yeah yeah. I know. He loves all of us. It would be nice if he showed it differently than just arriving when we need him, but it’s sweet all the same.” “Aw.” Dick cooed. Jason threw a pillow at him. Tim laughed. “Robin calling for his Dad is still the scariest thing a villain can hear.” The others chimed their agreement. Damian filed the information away carefully, planning on testing that. To see if father reacted with the same rage his brothers had described for him as he had for them. Damian had never seen his father snap. Had never seen his ruthless side. According to his siblings that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Damian huffed, throwing a quick and effortless punch to the man in front of him. He hit the dirt without even managing a sound of pain. Damian smirked in triumph, but the man was up again. Damian flinched as the foot connected with his face. He went flying back, slamming into the chimney of the roof he was on. The man stalked towards him, grinning evilly. Damian scrambled back. For the first time, fear coursed through him. “BABAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” damian screamed. His brothers hadn't been lying. The mans face paled in fear a split second before an angry bruce slammed into him, fists flying. Damian wasn't entirely certain his father had stuck with his no killing rule. But that didn't matter. Because Father was here now, holding him close, snuggling damian into bed, kissing his head. And Damian started calling Father Baba.
#robin#batman and robin#bruce wayne#batman#good dad bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#stephanie brown#tim drake#damian wayne#im tempted to redo it but with all of the kids#like add cass and babs and duke and yknow#maybe#we'll see#batfam
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THE SOUND OF SILENT GRAVES (X)
NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI
PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)
WORDCOUNT: 15.5k
WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, broody/stubborn Nikto, brief smut, etc. (Series 18+)
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
Your mind doesn’t remember the first time you looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of the flaws. Perhaps your nose was a bit too strange—lips a bit too…there the second you turned thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Fifteen. You know it started slow, like all poison does; the point to where you actually begin to pay attention to the chains around your neck.
Your eyes hadn’t left where Nikto’s sweatpants sat so well over your hips for at least five minutes. Usually, you’d pick at those flaws here, on the cold bathroom tile with the black and white wash of nothingness. But this is distraction enough to block it out, at least for now.
You smell like him.
You’d noticed after you had woken up for the second time and had found Nikto gone—his thigh no longer the firm pillow to your skull. It startled you, admittingly, and you thought it was unlike him, but then your ears had picked up on the barked Russian sentences outside the bedroom door, drifting in from under the wood as your haze cleared. Best guess? He was on the phone with someone while you kept getting the rest he said you needed; you could only speculate how he got out from under you without making your eyes snap open. But, yes, it was undeniable that every ounce of your skin was bathed in his scent; marked, branded as if a sheep.
Rotting wood coated in gunpowder, and gnawing metal that peels back flesh.
It’s stuck in your nostrils as you itch at the side of your nose, blinking away from your reflected visage as if it’s on fire.
Focus, you plead, and you don’t even know to whom.
So much had happened, that the thought of your brain calming down was impossible. Nikto knew. He knew about the purpose of the parties, he knew about your doubts and fears, he knew your body.
As you exit the bathroom, your mind slips into a dark thought—maybe learning to care about someone turns you into a bit of a stalker of your own. No one else could say they knew you as well as Nikto now does: your fears and your hopes. Not even Alyona, you flatten your lips at the realization, and you consider her your best friend.
“Jesus,” you groan quietly after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes with a heavy sigh.
It can’t be past noon now, and you can’t run from this forever.
The phone on your nightstand is taken up, and, sitting back on the bed, your eyes dart and skate past the tossed party dress on the floor, wishing someone would go out and burn it already. As the visible tear in the lace catches your attention, along with the slashed corset, there’s an unmistakable twitch at your lips, that only makes your chest tighten immediately after.
Clearing your throat, you turn back on the device and try to give it your undivided, though anxious, attention. The sound of sharp Russian beyond the door gives a sliver of comfort.
But still…why hadn’t he woken you up? There’s a sliver of confusion that takes place in your mind, but you push it back softly.
The first wave of notifications is expected, and exactly the same as it had been before breakfast.
Kliment Fedorov, Alyona, your Mom, even the investigators—texts and calls, ranging from clipped sentences to long paragraphs. Thumb hovering over the screen, you raise your opposite hand and rub at the base of your skull, a low sound in the back of your throat. There was so much, you didn’t even know where to begin. You should be worrying about the stalker, not your job.
But…when had you not been worried about your job?
Just another thing to make me lose my mind faster, you think. God, this is getting to a point where I’m starting to not care if they get rid of me—at least then I’d be able to make my own decisions.
You start with Aly, and you quickly slap the call icon just to ease your shaky fingers of the stuttered typing they would have had to do otherwise. Phone to ear, the ringing only persists for two seconds before there’s the hurried panic of static and a frantic voice.
“Seraph!”
“Aly—” You try to quickly calm her down, mouth open with the half-formation of speech.
“Bastard! Why did you not call me?!” The woman snaps, and your ears twitch, your body flinching at the guilt that grows. “I have been up all night and worried most of the morning—damn you. Everyone at AMA is silent and Fedorov won’t let me into his office.”
That’s right, you had told her you’d call her after the party—when you’d talked to her after seeing Nikto’s back tattoo.
After you’d touched his ravaged flesh.
Your face heats slowly, head tilting to the floor as you clear your throat. It was all wrapped in tissue paper, those memories. The storage room, the way those pale eyes had dug into your form in that damned dress, wanting to try and compliment you in his own strange way but being unable when you degraded yourself so consistently—unsure of himself. It was addictive seeing such a frenzied and numb man walking on cracking ice.
But that doesn’t make you any more sure of yourself.
“I meant to,” you hurry into your explanation, waving a hand even if she can’t see it. “You know I wouldn’t leave you wondering unless I had a good reason.”
Alyona huffs over the line, silence falling as her anger tapers into a line. “...I need to put a bell on you, Солнышко.”
You close your eyes and sigh, fingers moving to push into your nose bridge.
“Yeah,” your mouth utters. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea, Aly.”
It isn’t long before there’s the low plea—that heavy insinuation. You know she’s still now, waiting for you to begin. “Tell me, then.”
Face tightening, you pause and listen for Nikto. You still hear the muted conversation, and occasionally, the stomp of heavy boots along the floors. He’s pacing.
What’s going on out there? Who was he talking to? You wonder silently, perplexed. Nikto had made many phone calls before, and while he preferred to be in a nearby area and speak in his mother tongue, they hadn’t been as long as this—nor as snappy. Shaking your head, you suppose it’s a problem for later, and in the back of your mind, every word that he’d ever spoken to you rattles like rocks.
You were nervous around Nikto now, and that doesn’t make any sense to you.
Doesn’t the nervous part come before getting touched in the back of some dark storage room?
You grunt under your breath, clenching your jaw; becoming more and more like Nikto as the days pass, it seemed.
“I didn’t sleep with Tarkovsky,” your words are breathy and low. Trying to hide. “...Nikto stopped it.” The heavy pause is enough to make your palms sweat. “Aly?”
“Perhaps I judged the beast of man too early.” You blink, tilting your head as your eyebrows draw in. “Christ, Seraph. I’m relieved, of course I am, but what will Fedorov do once he finds out?”
“He already knows,” you relay. “Nikto wasn’t…subtle about his refusal to let me go.”
“Blood?” Aly asks.
“And bone,” you sigh.
“Shit,” the woman over the line grumbles. “Do you…” she trails off slowly. “Do you think AMA will keep you on?”
“This hasn’t happened before,” you shrug to yourself, hearing Nikto speaking louder. Your eyes dart to the door, and as you blink, your fingers run your thigh in a self-soothing motion. “I don’t know. Right now I’m debating if it’s even worth it.” A painful chuckle. “Any advice?”
“Keep the bastard around long enough to break someone else's bones.” Aly’s laugh is sharp and smooth. “Show them what happens when they do anything he doesn’t like.”
“The night wasn’t all bad,” you try to defend his personality a smidge. “He’s not some monster, Aly.”
“I wasn’t implying that,” there’s the sound of moving fabric from over the call, and Alyona is most likely in a fitting room herself, taking up your call as she rushed out of a photographer’s shoot at light speed. “...You like him, then? Truly? Or are you just enamored by his capacity for violence?”
Your body slows at the obvious jest, taking it seriously. Face stilling, you blink at the wall across from you. Everything else blurs for a moment, memories slashing to every opened car door and meal made with expert hands. Organized magazines on your tables and cleaned dishes. There was something funny about the way you enjoyed the stretch of his sin coating you like blood over the visible flesh of a masked face.
Nikto wasn’t a good person. You knew that.
“Yes,” you whisper regardless, feet shifting below you. “How can I spend so much time with someone and not like them?” Your words try to reason.
“Very easily,” the Russian woman scoffs, not wasting time. “You know what I mean, Little Seraph. Don’t try to push me off like I am stupid.” A low hum. “When you talk about him, your breath goes light.”
“It does not,” your voice tightens.
“Denial,” Aly sighs. “The first sign.”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” you groan, standing up and beginning to walk the room casually. You enjoyed the banter—the teasing: you two were good at that.
As soft chuckles waft around, your lips twitch into a smile. “He’s not horrible. That’s all I’ll say.”
“No beast?”
“No, no beast. A stubborn brute of a dogish ex-soldier?” You roll your eyes, and the commotion outside of the door takes on a different tone. You pay it no mind. “One hundred percent.”
“You like strays, yes, Seraph?” Alyona’s line crackles.
“I was burdened with a good heart,” you joke with a chuckle, nodding. As the second of silence draws, you reluctantly push out, “I need to check in with everything else.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” is the easy reply. The next sentence is troubled. “...If you’re kept, will you have to go to the rest of the parties?”
You don’t get to reply, because there isn’t a moment to think above the sinking in your gut and the sudden shove of the door. Head snapping up, the phone is tilted from your face as your eyes bug wildly.
Iakov makes it three steps into the room, searching for you, before a growled shout and a ruthless hand connected with his suit’s collar. Watching wide-eyed, you see the way the pale-haired man is dragged out with a loud call of alarm.
Mouth agape, all you utter is a quick, “I’ll call you later,” before rapidly hanging up and moving as fast as you can to the door.
Shoulder hitting the frame, you stutter as you right yourself swiftly. “Nikto?”
“Go back to bed,” the black void grunts, gloved hand releasing Iakov with a violent shove. The two men are in the living room, your guard glaring with venom at your media coordinator as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor.
“She can’t!” Iakov meets that fire with fire, strengthening himself. His face is a tone darker—eyes sharply snapping. “Fedorov has been waiting all day to have a meeting, and I won’t have my job on the line because of some entitled bra—!”
Nikto’s hand re-wraps itself around the man’s collar, jerking the fabric, and in turn, the smaller body forward until the rough fabric of the lower half of his mask is nearly brushing Iakov’s nose.
“I will cut out your tongue,” Nikto eases out far smoother than you’d heard thus far in your many days together.
Your heart skips a beat.
“...Okay,” you say under your breath, face on fire as your coordinator freezes like a bird under a cat, a flash of rage simmering in his expression. The tension was palpable.
Truth be told, you’d never seen Iakov so unmanaged before—hair this way and that, suit ruffled not only from Nikto but from the apparent running of hands. He was always so put together. You swallow down your shaky worry.
You’d never known him to be anything but respectful. It was like a knife to the chest to see such a rabid switch of emotions—of personality. Christ, it was damn near wrong.
“Nikto,” you say quickly, and the brute only tilts his head your way, not looking at you as his fingers tighten. Your tongue darts to wet your lips. “Please.”
Iakov is pushed back once more, and your guard grunts, light gaze unwavering as he backs up only a half-step nearer to you, widening his shoulders as the trunks of his arms cross his chest. Suddenly, thoughts of sex, power, and a stalker boil down to the sight in front of you instead, and the great confusion gets larger still.
Nikto is back in full gear, and here you are in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When had your Russian bear managed to change? Had he left the bedroom far sooner than you’d thought? And…why? Keeping the Russian in the side of your narrowed eye, you take a breath and quickly address the greater problem.
I thought Nikto was only on a phone call.
“How did you get in here?” Your voice is low, riddled with exasperation and a tinge of stiffness. Would Nikto even have let someone in without talking to you first? It seemed unlikely.
Iakov sneers, clenching his jaw—the void beside you is silent.
“Key.” Long fingers disappear into his suit, peeling out the gray face of a hotel room key and holding it between two fingers. Eyes pierce you, narrowed with a wave of horrible anger and swirling contempt that makes your breath hitch as if under the scrutiny of a wolf.
Your lungs hold themselves in your ribs like prisoners at the confession; eyes widening.
Key?
Nikto levels out slowly, shifting with canid-like movements. “Walked in when we were speaking to the investigators over call.” He breathes out a rumble. “Nearly shot his head off.”
“You would have had a harder time than that, Хуй,” Iakov barks, dress shoes clicking as he slaps a foot forward.
Heart hammering, your anxiety dances—questions muddling. Paranoia. Why would Iakov be allowed to have a key to your room? Had he always had one when you were sent out to parties?
What if he’d walked in before….?
Shaking your head at the implication, you step in before Nikto has a chance to jump the man, snapping out in a fashion that was unlike you, but came from both a place of desperation and nervousness. Your face pulls into a sharp display of panicked anger.
“Both of you shut up and listen!” Nikto freezes, eyes flashing instantly to shock. After a moment, any discernible emotion vanishes from his pale eyes, and he blinks down to you; shoulders lowering as if a display of submission.
While you can’t see it, Nikto’s heart sputters. He hadn’t expected that from you.
Even back in Yekaterinburg, you were more prone to letting the course go calm—letting others lay themselves over you to avoid confrontation. You were still like that, of course; that was plainly seen in your unwillingness to explain before the party what was going on, but an outburst like that Nikto had never seen before.
He watches you closely but remains mute even if his throat cages in a grunt of surprise.
Iakov freezes as well, neck snapping over like a fish on a hook. He was rageful and arrogant, you could now see it plainly. Even if he was always composed, you weren’t blind to the looks he would give you when he passed you in AMA—the discreet touches to the back of your shoulders or arms when you’d be given schedules face-to-face.
You were stuck in a circle of distrust and lustful eyes, and the only reprieve was a man with more blood on his hands than a butcher holding a pig’s heart.
Trying to calm yourself, you shake your head softly.
“Iakov,” you utter at the glaring face, hate and disgust stuck behind pupils. “Explain it to me.”
“You fucked it all up,” he growls, and Nikto’s gaze snaps to return to a pale face. Yet he still doesn’t interfere, hanging around like a puppy lacking his needle teeth. Muzzled. It doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking, however. “There is no deal with Tarkovsky! You know what that means, Seraph?” His hair is flattened down by a fast hand, tongue licking at his lips. “No money. Fedorov is wringing my neck! Why have you not answered the phone?!”
“I was resting,” you mutter stiffly, face a tension-ridden mess. Glancing at Nikto and his tight pupils, the Russian doesn’t look over, only his hips moving in a small shuffle. You clear your throat with a small ache starting to form at the base of your skull. “Just got up.”
“It is past noon,” the shorter man barks. “This is absurd!”
“Lower your tone,” Nikto utters.
“I will speak what I will,” Iakov’s expression is like a knife as you stuff your shaky hands into your pockets. “Seraph needs to listen to what I tell her to do before—”
“Before what,” your guard interrupts, tilting his head. Around him is a false calm that somehow seems more violent than if he was yowling like a mutt. Your lips thin into a line. “Hm? Speak. You were doing it not a second ago.”
Your coordinator stills and he wisely keeps his tongue from flapping.
“We will say it only once more,” you watch Nikto from the corner of your eye, breath trapped in your throat as his hips tighten and arms slip to hang by them; gloved hand flexing where the lack of a digit is glaring at you. “Watch your tongue.”
“I’ll call him,” you comply to Iakov’s complaints after a moment of heavy silence, face on fire and your chest being hit by every palpitation of your heart. Your mind is airy, and that scent of rotten wood is back as your legs push in on themselves. “I’ll explain what I can and—”
“Too late,” is the hissed answer. “He already gave me my workload. You’re going out tonight if you still want your job.” Your spine goes rail-straight. “This is the last chance, Seraph,” the pale-haired man spits. “This is it—you’ll put on what I have for you to wear, you’ll give yourself to the man who wants to invest into AMA, and you’ll keep doing what I tell you to. Your dog,” Iakov stares at Nikto for a long while, opening and closing his hands like he wants to say more, but only growls, “will do as he is ordered.”
Nikto is about to punch him, you can tell by the roll and shake of his wrist. In an instant, you have your hand grabbing at his bicep, barely applying pressure beyond the initial grasp and yank. It does the trick though.
Nikto’s body halts.
“Give me the key and get out,” you say in a monotone to the raging coordinator.
Iakov looks like he’s going to fight on that, and your unease at his presence gets larger. The knowledge that he had access to your hotel room the entire time makes your muscles writhe with something dangerous—alarm bells. But the stalker isn’t here with you, is he? He’s back in Yekaterinburg unless there’s something you don’t know about.
Before you can pull on your guard’s arm again, Nikto pounces and slaps the key to the floor, which skids along the white tile as you gasp softly. Great hand connecting with a shouting Iakov’s collar, Nikto doesn’t let go as he begins dragging the man away like a toddler with ease, dress shoes scuffing the floor.
Face loose, your eyes follow as the Russian grasps the door handle, yanks the barrier open, and tosses the coordinator out with a snarl.
“You need to obey what I tell you—!” The scream is cut off as the door is slammed shut in Iakov’s face ruthlessly. A lock clicks in place, and that’s the end of it.
Nikto stays to stare through the peephole, eyes beady and chest heaving with heavy breaths. Under the mask, his skin is taut with feral tension.
In his youth, the Russian had been unswayable in his anger—a fact that resulted in many a school fight and bloodied faces, usually not only his own. It’s what brought him to the military, to be completely honest with himself. A lust for something he could control like a pocket knife in his hand, but bigger than two teenagers wailing on each other in some field while a gaggle cheered them on. Split knuckles and cut lips. One thing never got any easier, though.
That damn spark of animalistic loyalty.
He’d formed some bond with you, that was certain. Mutual gain? Who knows. Bodily need? Maybe. Actual care? …Curse him, but perhaps. Yet, hold his toes over a fire if he didn’t feel a horrific rage at some man he could break over his thigh speaking to you like that.
He feels your gaze on the back of his head even now, as he watches that media coordinator scurry off like a rat, and he flashes to the ongoing gag the two of you had formed.
Looks like a Shrew. Little rodent.
Nikto sighs under his breath, fingers coming up to rub at his covered chin, scraping gloves against the thick canvas. He backs up with a scoff and stalks away.
“The man is weak,” Nikto says to you, keeping a tight side-eye. “Get a better one before we dispose of him.”
You strangle down a quick laugh, mouth slowly opening as you think over your words. The comment, said in that rough and sandpaper-like accent, flows through you like water. You should be put off by it, you think to yourself in the back of your brain, especially after the explosion in the bakery and the death of your three previous guards; of Yefim.
Yet…
Your throat tightens. “You think he was being serious?” You ask. “About the party tonight? My job?”
“You are not going.” It’s immediate.
“Nikto,” you frown, stepping forward as he brushes past you to grab his phone that was sitting on the coffee table. “There are parts that I won’t be a part of again, but I know that you know, that I need to keep my position at AMA. With any hope, showing up will be enough—I can speak, persuade, the person who—”
“Why?” he spits, shoving the device away as his pale eyes glare, head tilting.
If you knew any better, you’d compare this to a boy pouting. Just perhaps a bit more serious.
“Oh,” you vaguely motion with a hand, sarcastically uttering as your heart slows now that it’s only the two of you. “I don’t know—food, rent, the ability to live comfortably. You know, the usual.”
Nikto huffs, taking out his baretta and placing it on the table before the cleaning rag is slipped from his belt. He sits down near the neatly folded blanket and perfect pillows, silent. You’d have to keep this conversation going later, there was a low curiosity in your stomach. His phone—the speaking you’d heard from the bedroom.
“Who were you talking to before I came out?” Walking forward, you listen to the click of dark metal as Nikto takes apart his gun piece by piece, setting them all down in a well-thought-out order. He glances up, and you see his lashes dip in a blink. As usual, his expression is unreadable while behind that mask. You almost missed the balaclava—at least you could see the outline of his lips that way.
“Anything important?”
“Investigators,” Nikto grumbles. “They have taken Sergi into custody, but can get nothing out of him,” he pauses, troubled though you can’t see it as your eyes widen, body going to sit beside his own before intently listening.
“That’s perfect!” You speak, a smile overtaking your lips. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten any more texts from the stalker. Do you think that they’ll keep him there?”
“No,” you still, smile freezing. “They cannot.” Pale eyes stare into your own smoothly before they break away. Nikto clears his throat, fingers twitching as more bits and bobs are polished. “DNA does not match those found on the letters from your lockbox. It is illegal to falsely detain someone for over forty-eight hours. He will be released unless further evidence is discovered.”
It’s a slow moment before you swallow down the sharp disappointment in your gut, attention darting from the silent Russian to the table.
“Oh.”
Nikto’s muscles tense the longer this silence permeates, eyes unconsciously darting back from his gun to you. After a long while, he sighs aggressively, dropping the rag and the slide he had been polishing without thought as it thumps to the table.
“Птичка,” he turns, and you blink back to him just to notice the instant tension as your eyes lock.
Such grays and blacks make up his being, that you wonder if color even mattered when it came to him—you already know those shades of in-between things, and Nikto could certainly be described as in-between. The activities of the storage room flash behind your vision, and your lips part softly.
But something isn’t right.
You’d thought that maybe Nikto would always be something of a blank slate to you—obviously, you could tell when he was frustrated and such, but anything beyond that was still up to your imagination. But it’s especially telling when you can understand the way he hesitates to touch you when his hand rises.
The limb moves to your bicep before the Russian drops it back down, turning back to his rag, and gets back to work with the lines beside his eyes visible as if grimacing. Beyond the anxiety, and the paranoia, you find the hurt burns sharper than those two ever could.
Not to mention the uncertainty.
You stare openly for upwards of three minutes, hesitant with the white noise in your brain overtaking your thoughts.
Nikto’s head is thumping—attacking every ounce of common sense to be found. The picture on his phone; the implications. The stalker wasn’t Sergi, because Sergi was at this very moment still detained and had been since last night…how could he tell you that? A man who was already horrible with words, so used to barking out his true feelings to soldiers and civilians alike. He can’t be that with you. Not anymore. He doesn’t want to be. But he’s stubborn—he’s prideful. Arrogant. It’s easier for him to figure it out himself than burden you, and in many ways, you were the same beast.
Mutt, mutt, mutt. Golden chains around supple flesh.
Nikto opens and closes his mouth many times, not knowing how your heart is cracking piece by piece; so averse to speaking about yourself. He’d left while you were still asleep to make the phone call himself to your investigators, not able to stare at your face any longer or feel your flesh. It had made his attention slip, and his focus fail.
The lack of control where he already had so little. He couldn’t take it, and in that, he felt dirty. Tainted.
The knowledge that someone had a picture of you in perhaps the most vulnerable moment he’d ever seen you in was worse, still. Like the blood on his hands was smearing itself over you, dipping along your waist and hips; sinking its dripping knuckles into the tight clutch of your welcoming walls. Fingerprint marks over your navel, clawing.
Nikto flinches subtly in his seat, a low sound echoing in the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never known the color of blood if only to not be able to imagine it along your pretty skin.
The Russian had only been thinking about it when you were sleeping, a slow infection seeping in as it always did—the stalker had been just behind him and he hadn’t heard a thing. The thought was enough to nearly make him vomit.
It was an utter disgrace to his skills.
He can’t be distracted anymore; not now. Not when he feels the fingers digging into his scars, the cuts, the drags of knives, and the burn of fire. He needs that control back. Some semblance of stability.
You try not to show how much you’re taken aback—how much Nikto’s sudden distance is a physical pain to you. The dead air settles, and you feel your pulse through your skin like a wound.
“...Anything else, Nikto?” Your voice is deathly still. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you had pushed something too far.
“...Нет.” The Russian’s fingers are hovering over the pieces of his gun, dismantled and laid bare to the overhead light of the blinding hotel. This place is cold; sterile. You’d said it before and you’d say it again—this was not a place you’d want to live. Now…even less so. Nikto clears his throat as you stand jerkily, sending a glance that lands on your throat and not your eyes. “There is nothing.”
You nod quickly.
“Good. I’m, uh,” your tongue wets your lips, and pale eyes try not to follow the motion even as he finds it like a siren call. Control. “I’m glad. I’ll figure out the details about the party tonight and get back to you.”
Nikto’s shoulders froze, but by the time his damaged brain had caught up with his mouth, you were already back in the bedroom and shutting the door with a soft hand.
A blue gaze sticks to the barrier, but not a single sound creates so much of an echo as the seconds draw into minutes.
“Enough,” Nikto orders himself, turning back to the table. Lips shifting into a deep frown, there’s little in the way of understanding his own actions, but wasn’t that the norm? Distance lets him think—thinking means solutions. Solutions for you; solutions for him.
But the feeling of your warm flesh is addictive, and there are moments in between the flashes of bloodshed that circulate when your brushing fingertips scrape down his back—a bear to a deer, but now he’s not too sure which is which. There’s a need to consume and eat down sustenance until his face is bloody and raw again, that half of a Glasgow smile ripped open and hanging, brutality ingrained into his psyche by way of pain and pleasure.
You touching him was both.
Being near you was both.
Knowing about that picture he’d been sent was worse than the former.
Nikto had thought to tell you, he’d been getting better with that, but then he’d truly thought it over and in his own way wanted you to be safe from just one more violation. It was how he was—a silent, brutish, mutt-like hired gun. He was smart, though.
And, damn him, he liked it when you smiled.
“Focus on the task,” he grunts, his knuckles under his gloves surely white from how hard he handles the metal of his beretta, stress cleaning even if he doesn’t know it—doesn’t acknowledge it.
His tight-pupiled eyes keep dragging themselves back to the door.
—
The hotel stayed in a suffocating silence even as the stylists came and went. They didn’t say a word as the hours lengthened—nervous, if you had to guess. The story of ‘the guard who snapped a man’s wrist in one motion’ had made its rounds quickly; gossip always on loose tongues.
You’d had a call with Fedorov. You think you had only gotten through it because you’d dug your nails so hard into your hand, that the initial scrape of cartilage had distracted you from the threat of being fired. The beady-eyed CEO had been less than pleased, and that was all you wanted to comment on; to even think about.
“I’ve heard troubling things, Seraph. Very troubling. What is this about your guard? I had thought we had come to an understanding about it. Tight leash, yes?”
Your fingers skate the smooth front of the newest dress you’ve been given, and you play with the dangle of cold metal around your fingers. Rings. You don’t know if they’re gold or silver, nor the gems set into them, but you know they’re elegant—just as the fabric you wear is.
There’s no great slit here, not in this form-fitting sleeve of white. Two pieces of fabric move up to cover your breasts and meet at a collar around your neck of the same silk, the train extending from the back of that collar that trails the ground. Lace, of course. Your shoulders are bare, just as a good ninety percent of your back is; only stopping at the small of your back where the fabric is once more tight to you. Pearls and feathers create a beaded version of a corset, tantalizingly caressing your bare flesh.
Your first thought is that you’ll freeze in this, but the second is how you’re going to walk in the heels—a silk strap looping your ankle before a big bow meets your eyes.
And the third is even worse.
“I think I’m losing my job tonight,” you whisper, blank-faced and knowledgeable of Nikto once more waiting where he had been before. A vicious repeat, a hopeless deja vu.
A pawn in someone else's game.
Your fingers tap your abdomen in broken intervals. There had to be a way out of this, you try to tell yourself.
Think.
But your mind always drifts back to the damn ex-soldier that’s in the living room. His attitude today—his distance from you was like taking a bullet to the gut. You should be celebrating the detainment of Sergi, of possible breakthroughs even if the DNA didn’t match.
The baker’s boy knew something, that was a fact.
But nothing. No joy—no jokes or sarcasm.
As you look at yourself now, you can only now recognize the expression of utter defeat you wear so plainly like a burial shroud. This was a cruel game. But there was something truly frightening about how close you and Nikto had become in such a relatively short period. Akin to soulmates finding one another, except for the simple fact you didn’t believe that was what the two of you were anymore.
It had been a brief hope, truly. But one that you’d wanted more than anything, and you don’t know why. You don’t know why you let him touch you; let him be so near—it runs around your brain to speak itself in tongues just like the rest. Problem after problem.
One at a time, you turn and exit the room, not looking at yourself longer than you have to.
Nikto stands stiff by the door, already in his suit and balaclava—M13 and Beretta back where they belong respectively. The knife, you have no clue, though you know it’s somewhere.
There are no compliments from the two of you. No speaking. So quickly something flipped on its head. Pale eyes dart, but when they meet yours, drip and drag away to the coat rack as you grab for your jacket. As your attention tries not to linger, you see him momentarily peel back his eyelids at the sight of your elegant dress but say nothing beyond a garbled sigh.
The air was so thick, that it was nearly enough to display how idiotic and childish the two of you were for acting like this.
You open your mouth and push out, “Ready to go?”
In the hours you’d taken to get ready, the Russian had come up with a plan.
He nods to you now and opens the door, allowing you out as he stays behind, making sure the lock clicks as you glance over your shoulder. Beginning to walk with him just a foot away, Nikto runs over his idea once more.
With any hope, the stalker now had a personal vendetta against him for getting physically involved with you—he’d been looking up studies in his spare time while you were getting dressed; tapping his fingers along his phone stiffly.
Only one sentence stood out to him, and it still stands out now as you go to wait in the elevator ahead of his looming form, eyes to the ground and hand massaging the back of your head.
‘Stalkers like to get their target isolated; they’re selfish. They want the person all to themselves and dislike anyone who can possibly get in the way of that. Whether it’s a romantic partner, family, or friends, if they pose a roadblock for the stalker it can result in added stress or an urgency to act.’
Nikto moves to stand beside you, shoving a firm finger to the ground floor button and glaring at the wall, lips stiff from under fabric.
If the man would come after him, then it would get you out of the spotlight at least for a short amount of time—perhaps it would even be enough to catch him.
Maybe tonight, Nikto wonders silently, eyes narrowing as his feet settle. He will be there. We need to be ready.
Your lungs breathe down a slow breath, taking in oxygen until your chest rises with the swell like a bag in the wind. This feeling is something you don’t know if you’ve experienced before beyond the sensation of having to relearn your limbs after your accident; an expectation and a draw, something just there but out of sight.
Inebriating instability.
Instead of your hands being shaky, now your mind was.
Nikto is so close—so there beside you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hang off of his arm. To be something. It was pathetic of you, especially after he’d already assured you that you both would deal with the uncomfortableness of your prior affair.
Was this his way of dealing with it? Avoidance? He didn’t seem the type, and you’d already known that he wasn’t.
So it’s bigger, your face pulls in. But what? Why this…hesitation?
Your eyes spark.
Hesitation, no. In the elevator, your arms tense as the small sound of the metal box meeting the ground floor echoes; Nikto also darts his head up, deep in his thoughts. You both share an unexpected side-eye, before the doors open and you hurry out on unstable feet as your face burns. This is fear.
“What are you afraid of?” You whisper to yourself, hearing those boots behind you.
At the Russian’s unease, you find your own doubling just as simply.
Who could make a bear afraid of the forest?
—
As you enter the party, you go about business and try not to stay on the fact that you have just gone through one of the most uncomfortable car rides you’ve ever experienced.
Passing off your jacket and hearing the doors close behind you, your curated smile dims to an imitation of happiness, shoulders drooping.
Nikto had only touched your arm to guide you along the sidewalk to this more humble residence—not at all like the previous party you’d been to. Every step and click off your heels had welcomed the same nervousness, however.
You still didn’t know what you were going to do, but right now, it was more important to just calm yourself to a state of taking it moment by moment. If it all came down to it, would you need Nikto to guard you again? Order him to break more bones? Welcome the spray of black fluid and gray meat?
“Nikto,” you address the Russian as he blinks over, fixing his hold on his M13. He doesn’t like this either—he doesn’t understand why you don’t listen to him and go to events like this. Nonetheless, he’ll follow and steer you clear of any situations you shouldn’t be in. It was his job to watch you, not force your hand.
Pale eyes level with you before they go to survey the foyer. “What is it?”
“When all of this is over,” you utter, walking forward. “What will you do?”
The Russian pauses, heart stuttering. What would he do? That wasn’t the question he thought you were going to ask, but it’s a welcome distraction from the mess of his head.
“Go back to KorTac,” he breathes, elbow brushing yours with his voice like rocks. “The contract will be over. I will not be needed anymore, да?”
You tilt your head, licking at the corner of your lips to push back the bead of fear that had settled into your stomach. “That makes sense,” your mind pulls a flat-falling tease. “But who will tell me what color of the paintings on the wall?”
Nikto’s hidden face is a stiff reflection of your own, scars tight. It’s a strange thing, he understands, the pressure on his chest that grows stronger. He’s so used to keeping secrets…why was this so hard for him?
“The blonde woman will be at your side, no doubt,” he grumbles, looking away from the image of your beauty and the silk of your dress. “She will tell you. I am not the only one able to understand the need for it.” Those feathers and pearls make a strung corset of utter angelic purity.
Blood on my hands.
He’d already tainted you enough, hadn’t he? When did sex suddenly become important to him? Weighted with…with care. There were so many times he could carelessly get his fill and leave with nothing mattering to him—just another way to get off and forget the formalities of waking up next to someone and making breakfast.
But wasn’t that exactly what Nikto had willingly done with you? Willingly sat near you for breakfast, willingly allowed you to coax him into bed to be a pillow, willingly touched you? Like a loyal beast, he had. He had.
You were a horrible creature. A beautiful, lovely, creature. Disgusting. Awe-inducing. As holy and as blasphemous as all of the monsters that sit on his shoulders; the ones he cannot name.
Nikto’s fingers pull into soft fists, and his gloves stretch. He grunts as your face falls a bit at his reply, your head nodding as he clenches his jaw until his molars scream.
You were messing with his head again. It wasn’t like he wanted you to not understand his motives—he needed to focus.
“I didn’t think Iakov was like that,” you change the subject as you both awkwardly move into the party, voices moving along the airwaves as you enter the large living room. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”
“Men like that care about money and power,” Nikto answers, keeping your body nearest to the wall as he sticks to your right. “He will never forgive you for letting him lose it.” Pale eyes jump from one set of curious gazes to another. “It is not in his nature. Waste of skill.”
“Isn’t money what everyone wants?” You mutter, staying close to him and nodding politely at those who look your way with digging gazes. “That's why I’m here.”
“You are not the same,” is the swift answer, shifting vision stilling on a man with blond hair that moves through the crowd, camera sitting around his neck as dark eyes meet Nikto’s own. The guard blinks, and the individual is lost to the crowd.
Looking at you, the Russian’s eyes narrow. “You are not selfish, did we not explain ourselves enough earlier?”
“You said I was good,” you explain slowly. Not good enough to keep?
“I did,” Nikto grunts. “I say what I mean. We do not lie.”
“Too prideful for that,” your mouth pulls into a smile. “Aren’t you, Big Guy?”
His eyes swirl, low amusements littering the pale orbs like a sly cat. “Да, вот именно.”
You huff, not understanding the words, but knowing they’re agreeing with you. It’s as if a glass wall is dissecting the space between your bodies. You can see Nikto—hear him and feel his presence, but you can’t touch him; can’t get the smudges off without a rag. A blurry mess of black and white, not a slash of color to be understood.
This separation was thin but still there.
“What aren’t you telling me?” You have to finally push as you stop near the back of the room, as far away from anyone as possible, but it isn’t at all private. Eyes turn and fingers shift over wine glasses. It was quieter here, too. Not so blatant in its display of choking wealth, but still rich if decor was anything to go off of.
Nikto’s amusement vanishes instantly, and he’s back to a careful blankness.
Stopping as well, he only waits a second before uttering, “I do not tell you many things, Seraph.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” you bounce off of him, hands moving up to motion softly as your face twists. Shame hits you in the chest, and you take a shaking breath. “...I knew it would end up being like this if you found out about all of it. All your job stated was a simple protection contract, not some—”
You stop yourself.
Pale eyes don’t blink once as they keep themselves tight to you. Nikto lets his mind calm before he speaks. “Why are we here?”
Your brows shift, and you open and close your mouth. “I don’t know. I’m hoping my boss might give me some credit for just showing up and not—”
“Then we are going now,” he growls, attention flying from one prying person to the next. There are too many eyes here—too many ears. Nikto knows who might be lurking.
“Why,” you lightly push back, chuckling sarcastically. “I’m not in any danger, Nikto. At every turn, there aren’t any stop signs at the side of the road—at least here I have a grab at good wine and company that doesn’t hide the truth from me.”
Pale eyes flare. People start to turn your way. There’s a pause as if there’s something the Russian wants to state, but it fails on lips that you barely see rise from under his balaclava.
“I told you I do not lie, woman,” Nikto grunts, stature ridgid from where it spreads like a steady corruption; a shadow lengthening.
You had always avoided confrontation—always. You hated it, and, currently, you hated this as well. But the stress was getting to you, the threat of losing everything on top of your own life. Nikto had become a lifeline, and now he was trying to pull back.
Why?
Your face turns, and you stalk away. “Then do me a favor and stop telling me half-truths.”
—
If steam were able to come out of your ears, you would have filled the room with that heavy layer of your anger. Nikto was still stapled to you—unable to leave after what he now understood might come to fruition at these events if he did.
So, you both stood.
Silent.
Stoic.
Unsatisfied.
A dog without a bone left longingly glancing as if its eyes could speak all the words that needed to be explained on a human tongue.
Your hands push at the base of your skull, massaging the forming headache that had grown from when Iakov had let himself into your hotel. You can’t wait until these parties are over—until you can get another call from the investigators saying that your stalker has been apprehended with Sergi’s statements. There needed to be a happy ending to this; needed.
This can’t be all your life is meant to be.
You didn’t come here thinking that you would be sleeping with someone. Currently, as you’re sipping down the second glass of wine brought to you, you can see the head of the man you’re supposed to be attending to.
Borya Belov, or something close to that. Your coordinator had sent a text, but you’d barely looked at it and the picture attached. Large and middle-aged, he was up and coming in the city, generating impressive amounts of money and influence through his iron and steel plants. He knew your CEO, too—old family friends.
Your eyes tear themselves away before he can look in your direction, frowning heavily. A rock and a hard place.
You were foolish if you thought that by you being here it would allow you to keep your job without handing yourself over. It seems you’ve been foolish a lot lately. Your gaze sneaks to look at Nikto and only finds a rigid pole in his place. No under-the-breath jokes or knowing glances. No indecipherable emotions. It was just blank.
Shaking your head lightly, you bring the wine glass to your lips and take a large sip, letting the swell of it fill your mouth before it slips into your throat; tasting the bitter edge. With all of the blatant mess of emotions, it wasn’t any wonder why anyone hadn’t come over to talk to you.
“All of these things are the same,” you speak to yourself quietly, trying not to sweat as Nikto’s body shifts closer when Iakov walks past the two of you stiffly. The pale-haired man sends you a dark look and you bite your tongue, eyelids narrowing with unease.
Get dressed, speak gossip, get used, repeat.
Already the trap had settled, routine following like a pet.
Your fingers run over the glass in your hand, nails dragging as Nikto’s eyes stare from the side, thighs tightening before he rips his attention back to the party. He grunts and tilts his head, shoulders rolling.
Focus.
It’s in the atmosphere of a taut rope that you hear the thin conversation from not that far away.
“Look at him.”
Your ears quirk, but you don’t think of it much as you drink down the last dredges of your wine, licking at the corner of your mouth—careful of the lipstick. It was a group of women all turned into one another, muttering quickly and giggling even more so.
“Which one?”
“The big bastard, obviously. How much do you think he eats, hm? I’m betting an entire kitchens worth a day.”
Pausing, your spine slowly begins to straighten up, face stuck staring into the wall far across the room.
“I bet he’s hideous under all of that. Look at the mask—see?”
The round of muffled laughter behind silken gloves makes your heart jerk inside of your ribs as one of the photographers passes by Nikto and you, fiddling with his camera in his hands.
Beside you, the Russian either hears what’s going on and ignores it, or can’t and is simply not moving because he found someone in the crowd to pay attention to.
Looking over now, you’d place your bet on the first.
Nikto’s eyes are void, tiny pupils stuck in on themselves as he stares at nothing—his M13 is strangled under the grip of black gloves, and that little sliver of skin you see from his wrist has visible tension in it. He cracks his neck silently, sets his feet, and pretends.
Watching as he’s so apt to do to you, your anger-ridden face steadily freezes the longer your ears strain themselves to hear above the clink of glasses and useless chatter. Work and pleasure are zapped from your mind.
“You think so?”
“I am willing to bet on it—a thing like that is hiding its face because it has to. No soulmate, either. Go up and speak to him; I want to see.”
“But…what if he does have a soulmate? That woman beside him, isn’t that the one from Yekaterinburg? They could be—”
Nikto’s fingers twitch, eyes flashing.
“If I had a soulmate that had to hide his face from me, I would think he was a beast. No one would want to be within five feet of that.”
Few things made you angry.
Liars, cruelty, and the rest of the normal points that were on the list everyone keeps. But there was something particularly special about how you hated someone talking about Nikto like that. Forget him hiding something from you, forget his distance and his inability to speak about his emotions—you still cared about him deeply. The words he’d said to you, how he carries himself; his blunt honesty.
Your heels are hitting the ground before you can remember you’re here to not make a scene.
“Excuse me,” you say, slipping into an easy smile as you nearly trip over your own feet as you settle near the group. All of their eyes widen, some turning around to lock gazes with the sudden arrival. “Could you repeat yourself for me?” You chuckle without humor. “I swear I had thought I heard you talking about my guard over here.”
Your chin moves to allow your eyes to settle over your shoulder, looking back at Nikto who had walked two steps after you initially before seeing where it was you were stomping to. His wide eyelids are snapped back like book covers, darting from you to the women as if utterly confused.
“That one,” you point casually before turning back. “The, uh,” your body leans a bit closer, hand coming up to your grinning mouth, “beast.”
The gray shade on some of their faces darkened, a few stuttering through a Russian and English jumble of words.
You blink at them as a familiar shadow begins to sit over you, heavy boots connecting to the floor. Your face burns, but there’s truth in your words—in your conviction.
“Seraph,” Nikto says quietly in warning.
“One moment,” is the response he gets. Pale eyes are stuck to the back of your head. He doesn’t know what to do, but in his throat, there’s an airy feeling stuck there that he can’t describe. It swells in his chest first, spreading through his veins.
Nikto was always used to being the one to stand in front of you.
His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know how to tell you to stop—that it doesn’t matter. The bigger question he should be asking is if he wants you to. The man wasn’t unused to comments. He can take it. But that fire behind your eyes rendered him speechless.
“His name is Nikto,” you say firmly. “Not that I expect you to remember it,” you tilt your head, looking them up and down. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”
Huffing, you’re acutely aware of everyone watching, and your previous anxiety over your work is null. Disgust breeds like death flies.
None of this was worth it.
“Nikto,” you utter purposefully, setting your glass down on a side table and stepping behind. One of the Russian’s hands hovers over your back, the weapon resting on his chest clicking as it shifts. “We’re leaving. I don’t know why we came in the first place. There are more important things to worry about.”
“...Understood,” he levels, voice deep. Nikto blinks a few times, face under his mask layered with heat. There was no focusing when it came to you—his iron will was being smoothed down like a rock in water.
You push past Borya Belov without a glance, looking to the side to see a shock-stricken Iakov burning you with his orbs. There was nothing for you here.
Heels clicking over the floor, your dress ripples out behind you, unable to think beyond the deep insult you had taken on Nikto’s behalf. What gave those women the right to say anything? Especially about his appearance.
When physical looks meant so much to you, you dreaded that being placed on someone else as well. Even if it was apparently obvious that Nikto suffered just as you did.
“You did not have to do that, Птичка.” A hand grasps your upper arm and guides you away from the table you were about to run into as you both enter the hallway stiffly. “It does not affect us. Useless opinions—they do not reflect my character.” Jumping only slightly from being ripped from your thoughts, your head darts over.
You frown into a hidden face, Nikto stuck on the site of your pulled expression.
Cute, he silently thinks in that jumbled mess of a brain before his memories flash to the sight of that picture on his phone. The hand leaves you in an instant, moving back to his M13.
“I know I didn’t,” you breathe sharply, shaking your head. Closing your eyes, your shoes halt as you stop.
Nikto follows suit, pausing before turning back with a furrow of his brows.
It’s a special thing, the way your desperation bleeds into your sentence. “Will you tell me what’s going on with you, or not?”
He stares, body pausing under your attention.
“Nikto,” you breathe, far enough away from the main living room to indulge in a bit of horrific truth. “I like being with you,” your words slip. “I mean with you, with you. Y’know? I like you near me—watching over me. I don’t want this to become something that jeopardizes what we’ve built up. I’m not asking for a relationship, or even for you to tell me that you care about me, I just…” you fail to finish, eyes breaking off to glare at the floor; fighting against the sting. “You’re making my head spin,” your words dip lower, and Nikto flinches. “Just…tell me what’s wrong. You’re not acting right, and you’re worrying me.”
You don’t think you’ve been looked at this intently before now. Not by boyfriends, not by flings, or crushes. It’s a bare thing, Nikto’s eyes. A landscape of pale gray tundras and white snow—you don’t know what he’s thinking as he stands there like some Greek statue; Aries personified and dropped right in front of you.
You want that blood of his, that malice and incurable damage. Not to fix it—not to change what’s already scored into flesh—but just to see those eyes soften as they had a handful of times before.
A war god and a white bird.
Nikto’s throat bobs in a slow swallow as you finish, pulse hammering as his gloves suddenly constrict his hands far too much. He doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want to explain why his distance is more for his benefit than yours.
You push once more.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“You.” He grunts stoic-like, and all of it falls into a swift silence thereafter. Your breath is taken on one great rapturous theft. Nikto stares as your jaw slackens, mind going blank.
He darts his eyes away and tilts his head.
“...Come. We do not want to be here any longer.” The Russian’s body is next to yours and in a fast movement, you find yourself being gently prodded along to the front door, jacket grabbed from the side of it and settled over your shoulders.
Grasping at the corners, this moment is verging on irreparable—you’ve never found yourself so thrown off course besides when the inevitable advances from the stalker had come to you.
Your hands shake in unsteady intervals as you blankly stare ahead.
Me?
The car is cold when you get into it, pulling your jacket closer as you slip across the seat—Nikto grabbing the long trail of your dress and making sure it stays inside. The man sits next to you, grabbing and slamming the door with a fist thumping the window twice.
Under you both, the engine starts up and the tires push against the concrete.
Your eyes ogle Nikto, and not once do they leave them even as the Russian pointedly ignores you by keeping his head locked forward. His body moves to the turning of the car, and your phone in your jacket pocket is going wild with call after call as his feet shift to steady himself unconsciously. It’s all a blur of needless sound and emotion.
“Me?” Your voice finally finds itself; breathless.
Nikto doesn’t react, spine so straight, the seats of the vehicle don’t touch anything. His fingers over his gun twitch before he grasps the cold metal harder to stop them.
The Russian tries to halt the way his eyes want to gravitate to meet yours, trying to think over every face from the party and who had made any attempts to get near to you; just in case something pops up tonight. Yet, the hitting pain in his ribs is akin to something ripping them open with a fork, mutilating an entrance to his heart just to take and grasp it in soft hands.
He was never taught gentle love. Nikto was taught to grab and rip at it, to claw into it with fangs until there was blood on his face, seeping down his throat to settle in his stomach—hoping it might find a way to spread to his soul.
Iakov had a key, the man catalogs, trying to fight his quivering fingers as you just can’t seem to look away from him with those eyes of yours. Does he have motive? Perhaps. We need to add him to the list regardless. I did not see any repeating faces from last night here unless they were in another room or waiting outside.
Pale attention briefly pauses to the driver of the car, strong jaw clenching.
Drivers? Stylists? Who else could be here and not be noticed even by me?
Eyes flash to the previous party again, back to the crunch of bone under his grip. Hands trailing flesh, ripped lace, and silk that pools at his dress shoes. The feral rubbing of a gun between two panting bodies. It should have been enough stress relief for the both of you—Nikto wasn’t lying when he equated the affair to something he could look past. He wasn’t new to flings; he considered himself a master of them in his youth. It wouldn’t have made him think any differently about the job, except for that one pin-pointed problem:
He was right behind us.
Nikto’s mouth goes dry, anger brewing. He blinks to stare out the window, and your gaze is still present as if a knife to his throat.
It doesn’t leave once.
—
The hotel room is seeped in an eerie level of silence.
You’d long since called Iakov—said a firm and swift answer of, “I’m done with the parties,” and hung up before the yelling could start again.
You’re not even sure if you still have your job at AMA, but that’s for a later date, it seems. Not having an income was worse than the emotional turmoil that had settled right on your chest.
Leaning in the window seat of the bedroom, you keep your legs tucked in close to you with the curtain stuck at your back, head resting against the glass. White lights twinkle, but the places that aren’t illuminated are too dark to focus on—an amalgamation of shadows like a veil. The night was always difficult for you and your sight, but right now you think it’s best to just sit here and stare, even if it’s at nothing.
Your eyes drag slowly along the thin view of the street below, feeling the cold seep in through the glass, softly easing the headache that pulses at your temple.
“He’s…afraid of me?” The door to the room is slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the living room making its way in. Your face twists. “What does that mean?”
You pose no threat to him without something like a gun, so it couldn’t be that. And what had changed since this morning? He’d let you lay next to him—see a part of his face. You’d traced his tattoo with willing fingers; Nikto hadn’t pushed you away then.
What had happened?
There’s a small squeak of the metal hinges of the bedroom door, and your head rises quickly.
Nikto stands there, in only a white button-down shirt and his dress pants; normal mask re-stiuated. Blinking gently, a thick pause emanates before you glance down at his hands and see a soft display of an olive branch.
The gruff hired gun holds a tiny, white, tea-cup.
“Magnolia,” he huffs, not moving an inch as he motions with his hand, the ceramic material clinking.
You stare, oversized shirt all to cover you besides your undergarments. You’d long since lost the sense of embarrassment of bare skin—particularly yours.
Pale eyes slip to caress the image of your flesh bathed in the sliver of warm light, your curious eyes stuck on him as his feet re-situated themselves.
“You remembered?” You ask, trying to sound casual beyond the surprise.
Nikto blinks, voice muffled. “I do not forget when it comes to you,” he hums, accent thick. “Drink.”
Softly standing, your bare feet hit the coldness of the floor, yet you feel it little. Walking over to stand in front of him, your hand reaches only to bounce off the small tea plate instead, fingers flinching back lightly from the miscalculation. Your face heats, and you’re about to utter a quick apology before Nikto’s hand captures yours.
Gasping under your breath, the warmth that seeps through his glove goes bone-deep as he manually wraps your digits around the handle. Nikto grunts in satisfaction and lets you take it to you, keeping the plate which he lowers his hand with.
After a moment, you clear your throat and say while staring down at the liquid, “Where did you get this?”
“Bag.” Your brows tighten.
He sighs gently. “We packed it. You forgot, yes?”
“Oh,” you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t even realize I had left it behind. Thank you, Nikto.”
The Russian nods once, and then pivots to walk back to the living room, leaving you standing there as the sound of rummaging items in the kitchen echoes. Holding the mug, the tea rippling under your unsteady grasp, your head shakes itself in slow exasperation. The man wouldn’t talk about this unless you pushed him…but would that break the unsteady relationship you’d been trying to build?
“All of this is so confusing,” your lips mutter before your body follows after Nikto, slipping out into the light of the room as you blink rapidly in response.
Locking sights on Nikto as he cleans up the counter, your form is wracked with an impending sense of nervousness. Damn him and his mask—you didn’t have something you could hide your emotions behind.
It was times like these when you wished your mother was warm enough to ask advice from, that your father wasn’t back in the USA with limited involvement due to the peaceful contact order. You were alone here, except for Aly. But this was something that only a parent could help you with, and you were fresh out of those. You doubted that your mom knew everything going on—you weren’t about to tell her you’d allowed a ruthless killer to get you off in a storage room after you’d seen him snap a man's wrist back.
Nor that you enjoyed it.
It falls on me, your breath is thin as you breathe it down, steadily moving to set the teacup to one of the many tables holding useless decorations. You scowl at the boring interior design unconsciously before your focus locks in.
What you had to do was bring up your points clearly and smoothly—
“Why are you standing there doing nothing,” your eyes widen as Nikto fluidly turns to look over his shoulder directly at you. His gaze narrows behind Kevlar and canvas. “If you want to say something, speak.”
“I want you to tell me what’s gotten you acting like a constipated bear,” you blurt out.
It’s almost funny the way his eyes flinch.
Nitko grinds out, “We do not understand.”
“You do,” you huff, crossing your arms as your voice bounces off the walls. “I don’t have infinite patience, believe it or not.” Inside of your sockets, you feel your gaze soften; voice lowering to the level you’d raised it. “I think I’ve been honest with you, Nikto. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. You know that. I need an explanation,” you take a breath, “and you’re going to give it to me.”
Pale eyes move to the side, and you visibly see the large Russian’s body fighting itself both internally and externally. You had noticed a few things from the time you’d come under his protection, some obvious—Nikto valued cooking and a clean place to rest; he liked reading, and a silence built on mutual respect. Nikto’s fingers twitched when he was either nervous or trying to focus. He tilted his head when he needed to think.
You liked to think that you knew him quite well, despite it all. You especially knew his fraying patience.
Nikto’s shoulders roll, bones cracking from under the button-up. His masked face is the only thing he feels gives him protection. A cover.
“It is not something,” the man begins slowly, trying to convince you, “that you need to concern yourself with.”
Your lips thin out, feet taking you forward as you shiver from the cold of the hotel.
“Nikto,” you utter again, softly knocking your side into the counter before you can stand in front of him yourself. He looks down at you, chest moving up and down in slow breaths.
You know the horrors that live under that fabric. The great scars—the burns that had slipped into your dreams as you’d laid on his thigh like a child afraid of the dark. You can remember the dips of them under your fingertips; the trauma that bleeds still.
You’d called him beautiful, and of course you had, but the very base of it still left you cold with a betraying sense of sickness. Same with the lower half of his face, which you’d only chosen to see a glance of. It was a deep rolling of your stomach. You cared more for the marks he had put on, willingly, himself; the tattoos. Dark ink.
But that didn’t stop you from reaching out to him—responding to that addictive pull that had always seemed to be there from the moment you’d first met him in the Consulate Building.
Your fingers hover over Nikto’s pec, right above his heart as you swallow saliva and stare with parted lips. Piercing eyes give way to nothing, but there’s a knowledge in the heart that beats above your waiting touch.
You tilt your head and wait silently.
Nikto’s pulse moves his flesh, and he can feel every drop of blood under his skin.
“It does not need to be explained to you,” he tries again, his firm words now only comparable to the sensation of rocks thrown along the sand. Salt-stained throat raw as your fingers brush his shirt. “Seraph,” Nikto attempts a tone of authority.
“Call me by the other one,” you mutter, and it’s pathetic the way he responds to your request in that hotel kitchen. Like a soldier following an order. A whining little dog beholden to a white-lace collar.
“Птичка.”
Your smile makes him want to rip himself away from you and take a cold shower, maybe stare at his scars; even break his mind again before it slips away to thoughts of your curling lips and your shining eyes.
“That’s it,” you whisper, and your hand flattens over his heart as his gaze breaks away to the simple contact, blinking in confusion as his flesh pulls tight. “That’s the one.”
But he was more surprised when he didn’t flinch rather than when he shivered.
It’s only after a small moment of nothing that he lets himself bathe in the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume as it slips under his mask. A mask that has seen far too much death for you to bear. Then he’d want you to bear.
Your words make his bones ache.
“Tell me,” you urge, as perfect as a bird’s dew-coated feathers.
Nikto’s vision is stuck only to you, and his greatest fear is that this is all it will ever be bound to—not by honor, the man had no such thing, but by utter devotion. There was no lying about it now as his lips parted, those cut and torn-up things like a ragged jigsaw puzzle of pain. He cares not about soulmates or brain trauma. Blood or bile.
He cares about the sound a silent grave will make when his bones are the ones that chain themselves to rest beside yours.
Mutt.
Now that, maybe, would seem an honor-coated title to carve into his corpse, but only if it was in reference to his affection for you.
“Picture,” Nikto grinds out, fighting to step closer to the addictive sensation of your touch. The warmth. The pound of blood. You listen silently, and not once do those eyes separate.
“Sent to my phone.” He pauses, and suddenly his voice is very low—you can feel it in your chest as it rumbles the walls, the floors; the bedroom door. It’s difficult to say how you feel when he explains it to you, there’s something relieving in knowing, though. Yet, it still makes your throat close in on itself. “Of us.”
“From the stalker?” You ask, already knowing the answer but hoping it might have just been a fluke.
Pale eyes don’t blink.
“Да. From him.”
You take a large breath, nodding as your fingers quiver over Nikto’s dress shirt, creasing the fabric slightly. He takes a quick glance down at them again, and his own twitch at his sides.
“...Don’t tell me the details?”
“Never,” the Russian sighs, clenching his jaw. “Я бы этого не сделал. We did not want to explain, regardless.”
You shrug as well as you’re able, hand beginning to slowly slide off of him. “Still,” your lips pull into a steady smirk, though it lacks enough amusement to make it convincing. “I’m glad you told me—I was getting worried that it might have been by fault you were acting strange.”
“My emotions are,” Nikto struggles for the correct word in English, grunting as his mouth closes under his mask. He glares at the wall behind you as if a toddler without a snack.
You tilt your skull, tiny chuckles wafting out of your mouth.
“Stuck, Big Guy?”
“Enough,” he grumbles, feet re-situating themselves from under him.
Your hand is only a millimeter away from his flesh before his grip finds your wrist and brings it back, digits caressing to press into your pulse. You blink quickly, air getting stalled in your nose.
Nikto’s eyes slowly dip to stare at your hand, and you notice the shades even more clearly now that you’re so close to him—though they’d always just be pale gray to you, there were moments when you wondered the true color. A silly dream, seeing as you wouldn’t know how that color would look anyway, but, still.
The Russian’s large fingers turn your wrist.
“Your heart is racing,” he mutters. If having your bodyguard check your pulse was something that you found attractive, now was only the realization of it.
Your face suddenly feels like you’re walking on the sun, and a small noise in the back of your throat makes Nikto’s attention leave the fast thump of your blood.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Your breathless question eases out past your lips like a soft flutter of wings.
“Hm,” Nikto hums, and you can also see his throat bobbing. His hold squeezes, his face looming just the tiniest bit closer to yours.
The Russian takes a chest-rising inhale and speaks.
“I am not good,” he mutters, eyes moving the dips and drags of your face—it feels like his gaze is touching you when he stares like that; studying your visage as if he’d be tested on it. “We are not…” He blinks, and his pupils are small voids of inky corruption. “Perfect.”
You wonder how often he’d found you in his mind, and feel both foolish and hopelessly lost in his shadow.
“I never said you were,” you murmur back, seeing the wickedness in his heart. Painted on his skin. “I think it’s lovely.”
Here is where this should end—you’d both had your fun previously. You’d been sipping your sugar water like a little hummingbird; reveling in the intimacy of that storage room. You should be thinking about the stalker, about your job, about what will happen tomorrow when you open your eyelids to light through the curtains.
Not about how Nikto’s fingers would feel digging into your hips. Not the panting of fast breaths. Not how the color of his eyes would be, perhaps, the most beautiful shade you could ever hope to imagine in your damaged brain.
“Nikto,” you breathe, body light. He’s as still as a statue above you, not saying a thing. “What color are your eyes?”
“Blue.”
And then you’re being picked up as if a doll by the back of your thighs and hefted up with a throaty huff akin to a boar. Your forehead connects with his, and your arms wrap his neck to hang off with crossed wrists.
“Blue?” Your legs tighten around his waist, squeezing as the man’s nose pushes into yours. Breath bounces off the mask, your eyes flutter at the firm press of fabric prodding at your underwear. You fight a small whine, bodies tight to one another. “Your hair?”
“Brown,” is the puff from under the mask, and tiny pupils dilate the longer you hold eye contact.
Your hips roll, and Nikto’s strained grunt reverberates against your chest. “Tell me it in Russian.”
“Карие.” He growls, fingertips digging into your flesh like the teeth of a bear trap. Nikto thumps past the place where you’d set your tea, completely forgotten by everyone just like the previous tension was.
When the two of you were together, things managed to get out of hand quickly—at least, emotionally-wise. You both were utterly hopeless, just as the room was now far from the cold monochrome wash of white. It was bathed in spraying sparks lit behind your eyes when one of Nikto’s hands staples itself to the base of your back, just above the curve of your tailbone, and angles your core further into the growing prod of his erection.
You gasp as your pelvis jerks, face twisting up with your pulse impossibly increasing.
“You are curious,” Nikto pants, pushing past the bedroom door with a shoulder as the handle smashes into the wall. Not that you care. “You push me, Woman. Leave my head loose and my body aching.” You feel the way your core burns, aches, nearly, as your underwear gets wet with the anticipation of flesh.
Your lips sear Nikto’s soul when they push to the canvas of his mask—just as they had in the storage room though now it’s harder to feel.
“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Big Guy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, eyes half-lidded.
That pull between the two of you only seems to increase as you’re dropped back to the bed, head pointedly planned to slap a pillow as you involuntarily gasp. Your shirt is ruffled up to your breasts, and the sheets are around you like a cocoon of expensive finery—eyes darting to Nikto, you find his gaze easily standing beside the bed.
He stares at you like you’re the greatest meal ever placed in front of him. Forget the items he cooks, forget the things he’d eaten, even forget the way it satisfies him; nothing could compare to even the thought of what he now has.
You’re staring at a man with blood on his hands and wishing he would spread you open already.
Nikto’s chest bounces with a pleased noise, gaze shifting to study your bare legs and arms—the stain that coats your underwear, spreading by the second as your thighs tighten in on themselves to trap the chill. Your face is on fire, and your lungs heave.
His ravaged hand grasps at your knee, coaxing them back open as he says a simple order with a raw voice, “Keep them open.”
You’re not embarrassed with how you listen, letting the limbs be forced back to display your instinctual need to the large Russian. Your thin whine is choked back as his fingers run up and down your clothed core, teasing.
Nikto chuckles, and you shiver.
“We do like it,” he breathes out in response to your previous comment. Pale eyes dart to find and lock with yours—not leaving as his index and middle finger find your clit, pressing firmly and lightly rocking up and down. Your hips jerk as you bite on a shocked moan, relishing in the sudden ricochets of electricity that run your bones.
Head tilting back, you bite your lip and pant out, “Nikto, yes.”
His fingers leave just as quickly as the words do you, and your desperate eyes move with near pain until your hand darts to grapple onto Nikto’s wrist like a cat. He lets you try and guide him back firmly, to no avail, before you grit your teeth and glare at him, opening your mouth.
Yet, the Russian’s hidden face finds your ear with no trouble and leaves your upcoming words frozen.
“But we like it better when you are too choked on pleasure to think at all.”
Nikto moves back, taking his other hand and making yours release him before he steps away. He blinks, watching your aroused state as you stutter over your sentence; smirking to himself and tilting his head as if you’re an exhibit in a museum. The man grunts, now free grip able to slide to his belt slowly and fiddle with the buckle.
“Y-you’re horrible,” you grumble, eyes unable to stay on the image for long before you have to slash it away so you can breathe. The clinking of metal
“We did warn you,” Nikto pauses, his voice so laced with smugness that it seemed an insult. “Птичка.”
Your lower body shifts, trying to satiate the urge for stimulation.
Breathing heavily, you raise your forearm and put it over your eyes, expression tight as you try and focus. Your ears twitch to Nikto’s steady undressing, hearing the pull of dress pants and the unclipping of a thigh holster. Each sound sends a pulse directly to your weeping slit, and it becomes so strong that Nikto can only watch as your other hand slips under the elastic of your panties.
He stops himself instantly, his eyes pulling back as he pauses. Slipped out of everything besides his shirt, boxers, and obviously his mask, Nikto’s shoulders tense wildly at the sight in front of him.
Your body is tight as you begin to breathe heavier, lips slightly open as your fingers idly roll your bundle of nerves a bit harder. Hips jerking every so often, your fingers stretch the fabric of your garment as your toes curl.
“Fuck,” you breathe, jaw clenching and eyes closed from under your forearm.
Nikto is firmly planted, the firmness in his boxers now seemingly to a point of no return—his fingers twitched to dig into your skin, his eyes stuck to how you were playing with yourself. Clothed in only a large shirt that was bunching up further to allow a glimpse of your breasts and hearing those tiny little noises escape your mouth…
“Harder,” Nikto grunts, his own hand slipping into his boxers as he hisses in pleasure at the state of himself. Firm in his grip as he wraps his fingers around the hot pulse of his cock, groaning when his thumb slips along his tip to collect the beads of pre-cum.
Your breath hitches and through your soft pants, you sigh as your arm slides, “I think I know how to—”
Your fingers twitch harshly as your eyes flutter open to lock onto the scene in front of you, causing you to moan before it strangles off with a quick noise in your throat. Eyes wide, you watch Nikto begin jerking himself off one slow stroke at a time, his thighs tense as his other hand moves to unbutton his shirt one at a time.
There was something so inherently intimate about seeing the other in the throws of self-pleasure, half-clothed and desperate for something that can’t be named. The chain of events was building, and some concerns needed to be addressed, but it isn’t fair to have to put your life on hold for them—necessary, yes, eventually. But Nikto’s eyes were so hellishly pale, and your hands were shaking, and the scent of sex was permeating inside of your nose. It’s different than the storage room, it’s hinged on the knowledge that this bear of a man is afraid of you, which in and of itself is unfathomable, and that he was in such a sour mood simply because he had been trying, once more, to spare you from the unseen threat.
He had done it with the birds in the box, he’d done it when you’d gotten the first pictures sent to you, and he did it every time he let you hang off of his arm.
You push your digits across your clit harder and whine out as Nikto’s open dress shirt slips to his waist, the cuffs rolled up as bare skin meets the darkness of the room. That sliver of light from the door was all that was needed, the barrier having slowly crawled its way back from where the Russian had shoved it, to witness the bulge and dip of scar tissue—the shades of hyperpigmentation.
And you wanted to drag your nails along all of them.
“Смотреть на себя,” Nikto’s chest heaves, the bulk of his frame just the same as when you’d touched along his back. His hand inside of his boxers stutters, and his eyes flinch closed for a moment, masked face tilted. “Хорошим слушателем. Good for us, hm?”
“Touch me,” you ask, unconsciously mirroring Nikto’s pace as the sensitivity of your core heightens, leaking out to stain your underwear to the point it’s no use to keep them after this. Your spine is tight—begging to be arched just as your cunt begs to be filled. It tightens over nothing, and you whimper with a push of thin breath. “Please, Nikto, you filled me so well last time.”
His eyes glint, that Russian pride bleeding to fill the cup in his abdomen. Nikto smirks, but you can’t see it above the large hand that goes to grip your face, angling it to him as his other hand continues with the wet slapping of his cock. You want to see it—you want to watch it. Damn him he’s making this into a game of cat and mouse.
“What is that? You like when we fill your tight cunt, Птичка?”
Your face burns, and your eyes study his own as your pace below increases—rotting wood taking root beside sweat and pheromones.
Nikto’s grip squeezes and you hear the rutting of flooded skin more clearly as he looms over your body, both fucking yourselves for no other reason than liking the sight and the sounds of the other.
“Answer.”
“Yes,” you stutter, unable to stop the thin noises from your mouth that follow—the cord in your abdomen pulling until taunt. “God, yes.”
“Not God,” the Russian chuckles before he groans, forehead connecting with yours as it rocks to the rabid abuse of his own hand, trying to imagine the sensation of your walls against them instead of his calloused fist. Your flesh would be softer than his ever could be, and the knowledge of that is enough to reduce him to a mindless beast. His breath hitches tightly, his hand moving rapidly, unconcerned about how fast his release is finding him just by hearing your little pleas. “No, Seraph, there is no God in this room.”
When he drinks down the sounds you give him he feels your body tense one final time, your lips flattening as your eyes flutter—only seconds away from your orgasm, perhaps.
Nikto’s hands leave your face, and so does his forehead. You barely notice, truth be told until it’s not a second later that fingers are gripping the hand down your panties and dragging it out just as your hips begin rising off the bed.
“No!” Your desperate keen echoes off the walls, eyes snapping open to rip your head down to the scene. Nikto was lacking his shirt, boxers are gone, and as he staples your arm beside your head, his body drags itself atop yours until his weight is as firm as stone. “Nikto, why did you—?”
“Hush,” he utters, knocking your leg up over his hip in a swift thrust that leaves the leaking tip of his dick prodding against your sopping cunt. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, painting only to have your breasts shove into a sweaty chest.
“So close,” you beg, the feeling of your release draining away, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied.
Your hips roll in a play to find friction, and the feeling of Nikto’s happy trail seems promising as you grind up into it, but there’s only so much you can do when the man’s other hand snags your waist and pushes you down.
You glare heatedly up into blown and smug eyes.
You know better than to ask him to remove the mask, and now that you look at it, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was something alluring in those eyes, set into the dark void around them, deadly and numb, yet showing more emotions than anyone else would be able to tell besides you.
“Let us help,” Nikto pushes himself up, grinding into your core as your glare breaks away into blown need. “I have something better than fingers. Show you how good it can be, yes? Show how you are supposed to be treated, Little Bird.”
Your hands slide up to his shoulder blades and he groans under his breath, taking in the sensation of nails along flesh, catching on the scars until they settle. Had he not imagined this before? Had he not fantasized? Desired? Sinful, yes, but he’d do it again if he could still feel the wet fluids of your arousal coating his abdomen. If this was the outcome of Nikto becoming locked in his own stoic emotions, there was a part of him that was greedy because of it.
There was no possible way that this was going to continue…right?
His ears twitch to your voice as your legs shift to wrap the top of his hips, dragging his pelvis ever closer until he’s fighting the wave of agony by not having your cunt pulse around him.
On your part, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.
“Then show me.”
It’s easy to slip the tip of himself inside of you—there’s enough fluid to render even the thought of dry friction impossible. Nikto's body shudders at the sensation, though it’s only a small portion of what you both need.
Your head rocks back, fingertips digging into the Russian’s shoulders as you both curse at the stretch of your folds. You hadn’t been able to gawk at the build of the man tonight—both too desperate for release—but thinking about how he gives small thrusts to help himself along, his eyes not moving from you unless to blink, you’d safely say he was well-endowed.
“Fuck,” your lips quiver, sweat at your brow. Through the whimper, you moan, a large thumb finding your clit and rolling as the sound of squelching echoes between the groans and whines. You’re both nothing but damn animals. “Could have,” you gasp, and Nikto stops before you shake your head and pull him closer. “Could have given a girl a warning, Big Guy.”
His strained chuckle only makes your core welcome him more, and the feeling of textured veins and warm flesh steadily driving itself home was addicting. Sex had never felt as fun as this. As safe.
Nikto made it safe.
“Apologies,” he grunts out, great form above you before you feel the nested base of his pelvis connect with yours.
You both shake and your face is open with a pleasure-driven emotion as the Russian slides his head to your shoulder, his breath echoing from under his mask into your ear. He licks his lips, grip on your waist and arm pulsing with steady intervals of—tense, release, tense, release…
“Are you—”
“Fucking hell, please start moving,” you gasp out, grinding into him as the string on Nikto’s caution flees like a loose animal.
His hand travels back from your waist to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, and as he staples his forehead to yours, he grinds out a quiet, “да,” and moves himself out of you nearly all the way as your eyes roll to the feeling.
When the bed starts knocking the wall, there’s little to the imagination as to what’s taking place, and the steadily rising sounds mean nothing as sheets rustle and skin slaps faster, both sensitive from such near releases earlier. There are mutters in Russian, fast, harsh things that hold no venom—slow mutters that make your legs go numb long after both of you had finished.
Nikto was right: for such a brute, he did know how to treat a woman. Well, maybe he just knew how to treat you right.
Multiple times.
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#ravishing allure#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#x female reader#call of duty x you#mwii nikto#nikto x reader#cod nikto#nikto#cod modern warfare#call of duty mw2#cod mw22#mw2 2022#mw2#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare 2#call of duty mwii#cod x female reader#x fem!reader#female reader
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Hi, I love your writing! Are you still taking requests? What about a villain finding out his fav hero is actually an robot?
The hero went missing briefly and in their reunion his systems start to panic, the villain attempt to help? And finds out there is grey metal under his mask? Not skin?
"Oh," the villain said, soft. "Oh, I see."
"See what?" The hero stayed turned away, head bowed, frantically trying to shield his face. "Don't look at me. Just - what are you doing here?"
"I came to rescue you."
"R-rescue me?"
The villain stepped closer into the hero's cell. Heat radiated off the hero's back and, well. The villain pressed a finger to the back of the hero's neck; where the skin had burnt away, revealing the cold grey of metal and circuitry.
The hero gasped and whirled.
His face was - well, it was fried from the few short days he'd spent missing, captured. Where his enemies had tried to bruise him, bleed him, there were caved in spaces that revealed yet more metal. The hint of a perfect silver skull. Veins which throbbed with electricity instead of blood. Even one of the hero's eyes were gone, replaced by the startling blue of a machine staring back. Well, they were always blue but...so muffled, before, compared to what the villain looked at then.
The two of them stared at each other.
"You can't tell anyone," the hero said.
"I always thought you were too impossibly good to be true," the villain replied. "Too flawless."
"Don't," the hero whispered.
The villain took the hero's jaw, carefully, tenderly, in their hands. "Look what a mess they've made of you. I'll kill them for it."
The hero closed the one eye that he could. He trembled, so exquisitely life-like, so exquisitely alive, in the villain's palms.
"They must have been so angry when they found out what you were," the villain said. He let his finger stroke over the ruined curve of the hero's cheek. "I'm glad I got here before they destroyed you completely."
"Why? What are you going to do with me?"
The hero took a step back.
The villain let him go, for now, studying him with fresh eyes. More and more puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Do with you?"
"I'm not human."
"You're beautiful."
"I'm not - if people know -"
"I've never heard you talk like that before. System overload?"
The hero shook his head. Something sparked. "You're d-dodging the question."
"Well," the villain said, evenly. "I was going to take you out of here. Clean up your wounds at my place. That sort of thing. I could probably makeshift the kind of specialist support you currently need in my lab, but I imagine you have a much better set up at home. So I guess I'm taking you home. If that's okay with you."
"Home," the hero echoed. He stood frozen.
"Home."
"You're not mad? Mad? Mad?" The hero managed to jerk to a halt. He heaved a ragged, shuddering breath.
"No."
"I'm not human. You came to rescue a human. Human." The hero shoved a hand over his mouth. The tremors were more forceful than before.
If the villain touched him again, he would be fever hot, wouldn't he?
The villain shrugged.
"I don't understand," the hero said.
"Unsurprising. You're not running at full capacity right now, are you? So shall we pick this up again when you're out of here? And feeling a bit better? It would be tragic if I came all this way just for you to overheat in front of me."
The hero stared some more. The blue eye contracted and expanded, whirring noiselessly. The villain wished he knew what kind of diagnostics the hero was running. How it all worked. He wanted to know everything.
His brain, such as it was, must surely be the most gorgeous thing.
He'd always wanted to know how the hero ticked but this...oh, this. He held out a hand and smiled.
"It's a relief, actually," the villain said. "I'm not mad. Now. Let's get you back in your mask, shall we?"
By the time the repairs were done, it was impossible to tell. It was extraordinary. Giddying. A love letter to the best that people could be.
And the hero looked shattered by the truth of it.
#villains and heroes#heroes and villains#writing#story#ficlet#robot#android#writeblr#villains#heroes#robot hero
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