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purplealmonds · 10 months

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This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.

The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.

I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!

DISCLAIMERS:

Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations!

—

OVERVIEW:

There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically.

The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.

Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.

Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.

All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.

The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.

—

SET DRESSING:

Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations. And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.

Foreground:

In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again.

I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life.

White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”. It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy.

Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways? I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later.

The Flood:

Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.

White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.

Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light.

Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel. But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.

And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it?

Furnishings from Home:

I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.

Gaming Setup:

The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing.

That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy.

Nostalgia Corner:

On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch. If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines.

This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by.

The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.

The Hanging Mobile:

Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.

This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space.

IV Stand:

Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.

Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence.

Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:

“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”

As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover.

Window:

Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below (the opacity was reduced so it looks less like bloodstains), this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.

Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together.

Coincidentally, the window frame itself somewhat resembles the kitchen window featured in Technoblade and Technodad's cooking videos. Completely unintentional on my end, but fitting in a way since in both those videos they're pulling back the metaphorical curtains for the audience to peer into a small aspect of their private lives.

To the right of the window is a nondescript clock, forever stopped at the 6:30 as a nod to the date when the "So Long, Nerds" video was published. The minute hand is accidentally left out removed to signify that time will no longer move forward for Technoblade. In contrast, the rest of the world - represented by this space - continues to grow and change around his absence.

A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief.

On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards. This idea came up rather organically during a VC session in the R/Technoblade Discord server. My handful of viewers and myself affectionately dubbed this doofy looking moth TechnoMoff!

Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story.

Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside.

Bed:

And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it.

In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.

The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him.

Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.

—

CONCLUSION:

There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die.

#technoblade #Technoblade never dies #Technoblade fanart #techno fanart #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot #qsmp chayanne #skeppy #dream #mcyt #mcyt fanart #fan art #purplealmonds #2023

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pseudowho · 2 months

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Deadly Nightshade

(help me find the Suguru artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

A Suguru Geto "sex pollen" fic.

Suguru swallows an aphrodisiac curse, and finds the reader when his entanglement becomes too much to bear.

Warnings: *MONSTERFUCKING*, Loss of control (Suguru), rough but consensual, throat-fucking, Suguru's cursed technique...but sexy, tentacle shibari, cum as cure

(AU!Adult Suguru who never left Jujutsu High timeline)

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"Will be late home. It's a big one. Go to sleep without me, baby. You'll be tired."

Suguru finished tapping, looking up to the abandoned industrial site with wary interest, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He felt beckoned into this concrete jungle in a way he found unsettling; the Curse was clearly disguising its true potential, hiding in plain sight...but calling in back-up (likely Nanami or Higuruma at this time of day) would only put them at risk. And, they were tired.

With an internal spiteful sting at having lost his evening with you, which Suguru suppressed, black eyes flat and expressionless, he stepped onwards into the plunging lush foliage and exposed steel beams.

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Suguru's apologetic text filled you with disappointed longing. Loneliness and worry quashed your appetite. All your hopes and plans for a soft, touch-filled evening curled up on the sofa with him, were wiped.

Sighing, lovelorn and resigned, you took yourself to bed, your face snuffled into Suguru's pillow and the soft-spiced smell of him, to lull you into sleep.

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Suguru staggered through the door, leaning back to close it, gasping, sweating, clawing his jacket and shirt off his body. He burned from within, like the nine circles of hell.

After swallowing the curse, the roiling forest had disappeared with it...but Suguru soon felt its many limbs stretching within him, caressing the deepest parts of him, blighting him with this ungodly pain--

--no...not pain, Suguru thought vaguely, now naked except for his hakama, beads of sweat dripping from chest to belly as he teetered towards the bathroom. White-knuckled hands clasped the sink-- Suguru caught himself in the mirror, ripples of desire thrumming through him with every frantic beat of his heart, his raven hair free of its tie and framing febrile eyes--

Suguru retched, his shoulders heaving with exertion, retching again, his rigid cock crushed against his thigh as he collapsed forwards, seeping pre-cum and shaking and moaning, thinking of you in your bed you in your bed you in your bed--

Out of control I'm out of control got to take it back got to--

Something in Suguru snapped.

The lights flickered out one by one, from bathroom to corridor, as an eldritch forest clawed its way back out of him.

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You awoke in a fever dream, your sigh condensing and hanging heavy and humid in the earthy hushhushhush of a tropical forest, teeming with life.

What a strange dream, you thought. You did not notice how this set you apart from true dreamers, who would not find anything unusual about waking on a bed of moss and monstera. The duvet felt warm and springy with foliage beneath your fingertips, your toes, your body.

You had slept, and these uncanny tropics had grown up around you. Not one surface was free of queerly animated vines, yawning tropical flowers, and thick verdant leaves. Unable to see where one room began and another ended, your little home suddenly stretched for miles and closed in on you all at once.

You stepped gingerly off the bed, your feet settling on dewy leaves, splitting the fine low mist that clouded there. As you stepped to the doorway, you did not feel the hissing black tendrils, more creature of the deep than plant, that reached longingly after your feet.

Led only by curious patches of bioluminescence, eerie and golden, you moved to the living room, blinking, certain you were ill. A familiar voice, soft and dangerous, came forth from the shadows.

"You're awake. Good. I'd have fucked you while you slept, but they wanted you squirming."

With a gasp and a cry, you felt yourself become intangibly bound and suspended, feeling the rush of smooth tendrils snaking around your chest and bare thighs, wrists and ankles. Wrists tied behind your back, and legs folded up until your heels touched the backs of your thighs, your legs spread, you hung at face level to Suguru, who stalked out from a patch of hazy light.

Suguru had always held a haunting grace, a soft, untouchable masculinity, an unwavering abstract sensitivity. But, approaching you now, his black eyes were flat, sharklike, predatory. He had not hunted you, but had, instead, waited for you on the outskirts of his web.

In only his hakama, fine black tendrils tattooed his skin, animating him as he panted, desperate and sweating. The tendrils seemed to be soothing him, stroking, constantly moving over his rigid cock, his chest, his throat. As your own tendrils began to offshoot from the black wet-velvet vines that bound you, creeping under your clothes, circling round your nipples and creeping towards your core, a whimper broke free from your throat.

"Shhhhh, shh, shh, I need you wet if you're gonna do this for me, sweetheart."

Suguru stepped to you as if you catch your voice in his hands, sliding one finger into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He shivered in contrary to the inferno inside him, gripping his weeping cock with a roughened moan. As Suguru stroked your tongue, he reached down to undo his hakama, letting the coiling vines pull them from his body.

Suguru pressed against you now, lifting your top so he could rut his weeping cock against your belly, still examining your mouth with his fingers. You felt them tremble against your tongue. The last shreds of your Suguru were the only thing holding him back from taking you with bruising force. The vines coiled through your top, your underwear, shredding, removing, until you were naked, suspended, entwined.

Suguru's black eyes feasted on you, one hand stroking his cock with an iron grip, pre-cum wetting his fingers, and the other hand grazing over you, stroking the peaks of your breasts, your ribs, slipping between your puffy lips to see how ready you were for him. Carnal instinct took over, and he pressed himself back against you, his cock leaping in his hand.

Suguru shivered again, skin to skin with you. He knew, instinctively, that the itch at the base of his skull would not-- could not-- become dormant until he had completely spent himself inside you.

"You know I wouldn't ask more of you than I know you can take," Suguru cooed, soft and persuasive against your lips. You felt a tendril slip over your mound, slipping between your wet folds and coiling snugly around your clit, massaging it, rolling it. You mewled into Suguru's mouth, and he swallowed it down hungrily, kissing your sighs and whimpers off your lips.

"Oh fuck, baby-- you feel so wet--"

With a jolt, you realised that Suguru's hands clasped you by the hips, nowhere near your core.

"You can't feel tha-- how can you--" Suguru bit your lip, punishingly hard and you squeaked as the tendril that pleasured you so tenderly squeezed your clit in reprimand, simultaneously.

"They're mine," Suguru hissed, "just like every godforsaken curse I swallow," and he pulled you lower so your core settled on his cockhead, the vines acting in symbiosis with him to drag your thighs apart, "just like you're mine. And you'll help me...won't you?"

You felt a thicker tendril snake up the inside of your thigh, ghosting at your entrance. With savage force and a growl of warning, Suguru ripped it aside, pressing his cockhead inside you just enough to prevent any other intrusions.

Suguru's orgasm hit him with obscene force and he collapsed into you, stuttering his hips just once, before cumming with a shout, his seed spattering into your entrance and puffy lips, dripping down your bound thighs in thick white streams. Suguru's moans elongated into staccato whimpers, before descending into a hiss of unbridled rage.

"That did fucking nothing," he growled, tangling his fingers into your hair, yanking your head to the side, sinking his sharp canines into the front of your throat. His cockhead still leapt just inside you, spurting weak trickles of cum, and Suguru almost cried to feel absolutely no relief from the burning need throbbing through his body.

You felt the vines squeeze around you, your nipples clamped and rolled until tears filled your eyes with ethereal blurred lights. Suguru reached his long arms behind you, grasping the tops of your shoulders to slam you down against him, impaling you, gasping and wildly overstimulated, onto his cum-lubricated cock.

The tendril rolling and flicking over your clit picked up speed, and you came, twisting against your restraints, crying Suguru's name. Suguru stared hungrily down to where he bottomed out in your pussy, watching and feeling it clench around his cock with shuddering bliss.

As the tendrils continued to work on your nipples and clit, your pleasure becoming frantic and painful, making you squirm and pull away from them, Suguru landed a stinging slap to your arse.

"Fucking take it. What good are you if you can't milk this thing out of me? More." Suguru lifted you just once, cruelly slamming you down again, warning you against your squirming, needing beyond need for you to clench around him again.

"Suguru-- please-- it's too much--" Your needy cries broke off into agonal gasps as you came again and Suguru's head dropped back, jaw slack as he felt your pussy clench and contract, sucking cum from him, surely enough to relieve him, surely--

"No, I-- no--" he panted, his eyes frantic, watching his seed leak out of you, now floppy and malleable in your corseting vines. Digging both hands into his hair, scratching at his own scalp, then moving his fingertips to his tongue to suck them with a ragged groan, Suguru grasped at straws for any stimulation to purge him of this monstrous need.

As he gripped himself, clutching and agonised, his eyes feverish, you could only moan stunted little moans as the vines around you lifted and dropped you, thrusting you savagely onto Suguru's length, still impossibly hard. You leaned forwards, kissing Suguru with urgency, trying to claw him back to you as his vines fucked you against him. He nipped at you, biting, no longer the gentle man you knew.

"Not hard enough-- shit, you can-- can do better than that--"

Finding some strength again, Suguru's hands dropped to your hips, kneading the plush fat there, trying to squeeze you around him, and he added to the strength of his vines, lifting and slamming you back onto him.

So lost were you both in chasing his release, neither of you noticed the forest around you gradually withering, fading and dying. The bioluminescence waxed and waned, throwing strange, marionette shadows around the room.

You were thankful for the embrace of the vines, unable to count how many times you had peaked from the constant stimulation of vines, masturbating you while Suguru kept your cunt and belly constantly filled. Suguru gasped and murmured into your neck, all unintelligible, unreasonable demands of you, and pleas for release.

As Suguru came with a ragged cry again, filling your aching pussy to the sound of wet, squelching thrusts, you felt the tendrils around your breasts and clit wither away, leaving your buds swollen and tender.

Suguru could barely stand, supported by a few remaining vines, still staring into you, so hungry but so spent. You felt him pull his cock out of you, dripping with his own seed, and you cried out to feel his cock replaced by a thick-tipped vine, pressing against your cervix, shunting his seed up into your belly.

Suguru's eyes rolled back to feel this bizarre vicarious pleasure, lazily letting the vine thrust his cum back into you, as the others twisted you, tilting so your back was parallel to the floor, your head tipped back, mouth level with his cock, still so red and aching.

"Is your throat tighter than your pussy?" Suguru pondered aloud, drunk and swaying with divine ecstasy as he fingered the sides of your jaw, slapping his cockhead against your lips and tongue. When you stuck out your tongue invitingly, swiping its tip across Suguru's slit, he gasped, shuddering and gritting his teeth.

"Let's find out," Suguru hissed, sliding his cock into your mouth, letting you taste your combined arousal, before thrusting with an injured moan into your throat, squeezing you, feeling the ridges of his cock move inside you as you gagged around him.

Pulling out enough to let you breathe, Suguru gripped you by the head and neck, grunting as he rutted into you, his pleasure doubled by his vine fucking his cum back into your pussy. Suguru's eyes fixed, fascinated, on the wet slip of this extra appendage inside you, how you reflexively humped against it as if it was his cock, how you mewled and whimpered at its intrusive tenderness.

As you twitched and shuddered, convulsing with overstimulation, Suguru came for the last time in a soundless gasp, his knees almost buckling beneath him as wave after wave of please rolled through him, washing away the dreadful, burning itch running through his brain and spine, leaving him exhausted, but finally un-fogged, finally in control.

With little warning, you were released from your bounds, and Suguru caught you, cradling you against him, and lowering you with a fractured groan to the floor. He sunk onto you, his mouth on your neck in prayer, kissing and soothing, blessing you with his relief.

"Would've died," he insisted, kissing your hair, your eyes, your nose, spooning you against him as the last remnants of this unwelcome forest embered away, rising like ashes on rising heat to fade into the night, "would've died-- died if you hadn't--"

You shushed Suguru, plaiting his fingers with yours across your chest as he shivered and heaved against you.

"Not...not your fault," you yawned, leaning into his kisses, "but like I keep telling you...you can't eat all of your problems away." Suguru laughed softly, nuzzling you.

"No...can fuck them away though, apparently."

Sticky and intertwined together on the floor, Suguru surveyed the cracked floorboards, the walls rended by vines, and trickles of damp running down from the ceiling. Lips puckering in dread against your neck, Suguru whispered.

"What, uhm...what do we tell the home insurance company?"

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By far the most unhinged thing I've ever written. I'll see myself out.

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malleleothreesome · 5 months

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Blindfolded Malleus

💚 summary: You edge Malleus while he's blindfolded ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, you go to TOWN on those horns of his, brief mention of Malleus wanting to breed you, blowjob, penis in [gender neutral hole] sex, creampie ༶༶༶ 💚 word count: 6.6k words ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: @creepysun-cpsunnhild's ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus sits patiently on his bed, hands clasped on his lap, buzzing with nervous excitement as he waits for you to join him. He is already stripped down to only his boxers, eager to begin the night's festivities.

"Are you nervous?" you ask him as you rummage around in your backpack before finally pulling out a silky black blindfold purchased from the secret backroom of Sam's shop.

Malleus blinks, mouth parting slightly in the way he does when surprised, "A little? This is rather... novel for me." His lips fall into a pout. "Being unable to see your face is strange. I won't get to enjoy your expression as you pleasure me..."

You zip up your backpack and saunter over to his bed where Malleus waits, boxers tented around the evidence that he is looking forward to this, despite his apprehensions. You flash him a mischievous smile as you crawl over to him on the bed, settling in a straddle across his thighs. "That will just force you to be more sensitive to my touch," you coo as you cup his soft, milky cheek in your hand, admiring the complete beauty of his face for a final moment before you blindfold him. As he returns your loving gaze, his slitted pupils start to widen from desire and you watch in awe as his verdant irises are completely swallowed by inky pools of hunger. “I promise you won't even miss my face in the heat of the moment,” you try to reassure him.

He scoffs before murmuring in a low, smoky voice, "You know me far better than that, child of man." And yet, despite his objections, he obediently tilts his chin down, lowering his lashes as he allows you to place the black silk over his face. Malleus inhales sharply as the light suddenly dims to complete darkness. He stills like a startled creature of the forest as his sight leaves him, his muscles tense and his eyelids twitch under the silk as he comes to terms with his new vulnerability. You stop straddling him, denying him the comforting warmth of your thighs against his as you crouch on your knees beside him. He growls as you refuse to indulge his lust, remaining perfectly still as he struggles to find his bearings. You want him to simmer with arousal before you ease his longing—a little frustration will make his eventual orgasm that much more satisfying.

His innate magical ability attempts to compensate for the obscuration of his eyes by granting him heightened senses that would guide him in a perilous situation. He finds himself hyper aware of the beating of your heart and the slow rhythmic cadence of your breathing. The tension between your still bodies grows palpable. Your heartbeats thrum synchronically with the silent yearning of two lovers desperate to press skin against skin. Malleus is so ethereally beautiful, your heart can’t help but leap every time you look at him. The black silk shrouding his vision only serves to emphasize the handsome cut of his jaw and his sharp, seductive lips, parted in breathless anticipation. The glossy fabric paints a dark tapestry against the snowy hues of his skin. A lock of his viridian hair slips along his forehead in a way that accentuates the graceful curve of his brow. Every fiber of his being drips with all the charms of an otherworldly prince, an untouchable enigma that transcends mortal understanding. Yet he sits there, completely bared to you, stripped of his power, a masterpiece defaced by a veil of cloth; a prize awaiting the taking.

Despite his lack of sight, he can feel your gaze on him like a physical caress, causing goosebumps to sprout across his alabaster skin and his ears and cheeks to bloom a flustered rose-red. He knows you are simply teasing him, but the sensation of being denied his favorite view of his beloved is utterly infuriating. Yet, something about being without your gaze stirs the desire within him. When your lovemaking has reached its peak in the past, the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed out expression has made his blood run hot and has left him in the throes of the most pleasurable high. Not being able to gaze upon you will allow him to focus his whole being upon the ecstasy he feels every time he is brought to climax. This denial will amplify the sensations he will feel in the midst of passion and he finds himself anxiously anticipating how overwhelming those emotions might be. His cock grows harder and twitches excitedly at the thought and he bites his lip to contain the groans of arousal rising up in the back of his throat. Your proximity, despite him being unable to see your form, is positively maddening. Now that sight is taken away, the darkness is acting like an aphrodisiac. He wants nothing more than to lose himself to desire, touch, scent, and sound—to bring both of your hearts racing and be subsumed in an orgasmic trance. And so, the anticipation of the evening ahead courses through Malleus' body in electric tremors, setting his soul on fire. For someone with the lifespan of a fae, a moment is but a speck of sand on a shore, yet every minute you make him wait seems to drag into torturous eternity. He wants—no, he craves to take you and bask in the throes of passionate euphoria... Yet, he sits there, at the mercy of you and the unfolding events.

His growing sexual frustration sends a surge of wicked mischief through your blood as you crouch on the plush duvet alongside him. Malleus feels the bed shift and your body moving ever closer, then the caress of your hot breath tickling against his neck, near his sensitive ears, just a whisper away. He shudders deliciously as the phantom sensation of your moist, parted lips nears his bare shoulder, sending a chill through his entire body that culminates in a tingling tightness that pulses through his dick, which has reached full mast and throbs painfully in his boxers. Just as he is beginning to move his mouth to admonish you for such cruel teasing, his body suddenly jerks in surprise as he is overcome by the wet and gentle pressure of your mouth suckling ever so gently against his sensitive nape, right in that one spot, the one you know makes his knees turn to jelly. Malleus can't help the startled gasp that falls from his mouth as his body surrenders entirely, arching slightly at the pleasurable sensation, head lulling back just a little. He shivers as your palms ghost across his bare chest in a featherlight graze, sighing as his muscles are soothed by the balmy smoothness of your hands. You seem intent on teasing his neck—tugging, suckling, kissing, licking—and the teasing wet heat and gentle suction against his throat drives him to near delirium. The muscles of his neck tense as he gulps down heavy breaths, and you revel in the sound of him fighting desperately to contain his lust, your mouth quirking up into a smirk against his throat. His head leans back further to grant you more access to his soft flesh, and he resists the urge to stroke himself, biting his lower lip as your kisses start to descend along his pectorals, your tongue teasing at a hardened nipple before continuing to worship him down his abdominal muscles to the dip of his hips and eventually stopping just short of where he really wants it. Malleus is panting, almost as if in time with his throbbing member as it demands attention, yet your fingers remain above the waistband, tempting him.

"Keep going," he commands quietly, craving more than your hesitant brushes, his heart quickening at the sound of your own racing pulse. You have found a delicious torment in delaying him, and his inability to see your next move has caused his whole body to come alive. Malleus bites his lower lip harder, nearly breaking skin to maintain his self control as your fingertips barely push at the elastic band of his underwear, your nails only teasing the thin trail of hair below his navel. The tiniest contact is overwhelming on his skin, leaving a blazing trail in the wake of the featherlight touch, and a trembling warmth deep within him as his desire crescendos. Every part of him is suddenly alert, drinking up the ambiance, the muffled silence only adding an ethereal atmosphere of mystique to his hazy world of arousal and delight. "My love, please give me more," he begs. The strained edge in his voice stirs the rising excitement within you and your core aches at his ardent need. A little hitch in your breath catches his attention. Without the ability to watch your expressions, his sharp ears have begun to strain to hear every indication of arousal from you.

A bratty whine escapes Malleus' pouting lips as you completely withdraw your hands, body heat disappearing as you leave him exposed. The void of your warmth leaves him cold, an abyss to match his own darkness, yet he is lost for words as your mouth finds his erect cock through the fabric of his boxers, swallowing his bulge, the friction of your dampened tongue against him shooting straight to his balls. Your saliva bleeds through the cloth in a thick stain as you use your mouth to slowly torture him, knowing this is driving him insane. A jumble of pants and unintelligible phrases fall from the normally reserved Malleus' mouth and his hands fist themselves in the bedsheets, threatening to rip them in his pent-up ecstasy, knuckles stark white in strain as he groans. Your relentless hot and wet pressure on his erection is turning him into a salacious mess, but it's not nearly enough—he's desperate to feel your skin and a feral growl rattles around in his throat. His instinctive need to seize control of the situation becomes clouded in the heady fog of the erotic pleasure that your touches instill within him, a thrall he's unfamiliar with but too far gone to resist. When he thinks he can't stand the sweetly agonizing tease any longer, your lips pull away, leaving him wanting for your moist, breathy heat to return to him. Malleus whines piteously, squirming in place in silent desperation, fists tightly balled.

Your heart soars when you hear him making these vulnerable little noises of absolute submission to his craving for your body—as much as you know his primal urges are telling him to toss you onto his lap and take you, his dedication to your sadistic game prevents his true lusts from prevailing. He wants to ravage you, to gorge himself on your flesh as you scream his name into his pillows, to bite down on the crook of your neck when he's plunging deep within your hot, aching depth. Instead, he endures his cock's ceaseless torment.

As you contemplate your next course of action, your eyes settle on the enigmatic vestigial holdover from his ancestors—his horns. Growing directly from his skull and twisting in two thick curves adorned with glowing flecks of opulent teal, they frame his beautiful visage with an unmistakable air of eerie mystique. Intrigued by the sharp, slender peaks, you straddle Malleus' lap once again, his aching need nudging up against your clothed sex and making him groan from the limited pleasure he finally receives. He never eluded to any sensuality about the pointed projections adoring his head, but your curious lust can't help but wonder if they're erogenous. It certainly wouldn't surprise you if the fearsome protrusions were a weakness for your beautiful and powerful lover. If they could invoke in him a tantalizing rush of decadent sensation, they would surely aid you in his titillation. His previous words of caution ring in your mind—"You're welcome to touch them… though I can't guarantee what would happen to you if you did."—yet your perversion yearns to test out your theory.

You slowly lean your bodyweight towards his head until he feels you looming over him, your body's warmth fanning over his face and giving a comforting presence to his empty, disoriented world. The hint of a smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he begins to tilt his face, wrongfully expecting a kiss. Malleus had suspected your lusts would soon get the better of you and would ultimately yield him the rapture he seeks. You don't even notice the way his mouth opens slightly, wet, plush lips eagerly awaiting yours. The air between you two is electric with a smoldering, simmering need, threatening to spark into something raging. However, you swerve his inviting kiss, instead placing both your hands firmly against each horn, beginning a gentle massage on the cool bone. You can’t help but grin in prideful victory when a yelp falls from Malleus' lips and he bucks upwards, his hips suddenly snapping with wild impulse in a carnal attempt to sheathe his engorged cock within the beckoning warmth of your tight hole. Malleus' shocked gasp shifts into a guttural, feral sound. His blood is filled with electricity and lust, the lewd sounds emanating from deep within him like a forbidden spell of obscene delight.

The rumble of his inhuman grumble rolls through his entire chest, and the vibration of the low, loud noise goes straight to your throbbing sex. His reaction to you is deliciously intense, and you begin to twist and rub your thumb and index finger around the ridges of the horns, tracing the shapes and sending tiny shivers down Malleus' spine. You watch him, holding your breath in captivated awe as his upper lip lifts into a snarl and his bottom lip falls, allowing another dirty, draconic growl to spill out. The blackness of his vision leaves his mind no choice but to sink deeper into carnal euphoria, his mouth hanging agape and eyes rolling behind his blindfold, the pale skin of his cheeks becoming flushed as he drowns in the overwhelming sensations that consume him entirely. You run your fingernail up and down the sides of his horns simultaneously with a tantalizing tickle, and Malleus' head jerks in your grasp, neck muscles tense with shock from how amazingly sensitive this area of him is. With a naughty grin you plant a messy, wet kiss on one horn, then drag your teeth along the slick surface while your fingers begin a slow, erotic massage where the base of his horn meets the tender skin of his scalp. A downright depraved string of nonsensical, fragmented curses of ecstasy tumble from Malleus' throat. As his primal urge to breed overrides any common sense, the harsh sting of claws dig into the delicate skin of your forearms.

Your caress on his horns is like having the tips of every nerve of his being stimulated at once. His hips start thrusting almost automatically, as though his brain no longer commands him with any sort of reason. His desires take full control, acting on instinct to rut against anything and everything, and a hot ache ripples through his nether regions. The undergarment that traps him from absolute nirvana becomes uncomfortably tight, as his manhood pushes the limits of what the cotton material can bear. A damp and translucent stain of precum has bled through onto the fabric. His mind is swirling with a heady cocktail of lust, love, and urgency—the absence of sight heightening every aspect, every molecule of physical joy, creating a searing, constant arousal deep within him. At last, you have coaxed your regal Prince to reach a whole new state of passion.

You can feel yourself becoming more aroused with each erotic sound you draw from Malleus' throat, as your love for him is mixed with your innate masochism to torture and tease, causing a molten heat to blossom within you. Unable to deny him any longer, you let your lips fall to his mouth and Malleus eagerly reciprocates without hesitation, the heat between the two of you almost unbearable. Teeth clash as he hungrily devours your lips and his arms fly to pull you close so he may sink himself into your flesh and keep you for an eternity, one arm slipping to your lower back and pressing you towards him, his other hand weaving itself through your soft locks. This is what Malleus longed for: the warmth, the wetness, and the sinful slide of your tongue against his. His heart is set ablaze as you grip onto his face, cradling the beloved contours in an almost desperate plea to be as near him as possible, wanting to hold your lover to your body until he melts within you. His deep, sonorous moans of lecherous longing resonate throughout your whole body, echoing in the cavern of your very soul until it makes your heart weep with an overwhelming love and passion. You realize now, more than ever, how dear this fae Prince is to you, how absolutely crucial he has become for your every living moment. As Malleus hungrily chases every ounce of physical sensation he can achieve through the one person that matters the most to him, he feels the exact same love and desperation well in him and pour into his kiss, transmitting his emotions back to you. The blindfold begins to dampen from his overflowing tears as the magnitude of your passion for him stirs a surge of affection and desire that nearly rips his beating heart out of his chest. He clutches you ever closer as a small sob rises up, overcome by his love for the beguiling little mortal whose unconditional acceptance and magical charms have entranced him since day one. You drink up his ardent devotion like a life-sustaining elixir.

Eventually, you break the kiss with a moan and slide off his body, and he mourns your warmth against him, a lonely tear absorbing into the silk. Malleus cannot contain a whimper, as his blood pulses so fiercely, a carnal and primal drive floods his being. It is beyond lust, beyond physical desire—you have reignited the very core of who he is as an eternal, draconic prince and have reminded him of the fire that beats within his breast. His body aches and throbs in equal amounts sexual and emotional passion, his need to release so intense that his breaths come in short, quick pants. His muscles spasm uncontrollably from the sensations running rampant in every extremity, and he sobs with pent-up desire, clawing at the duvet as though it would relieve the ceaseless, tortuous pressure that plagues him. His heart yearns, yet his libido aches, the girth of his dick straining against his waistband like a caged animal desperate to break free from its bindings and let the true beast emerge.

A relieved sigh escapes him when, a moment later, your cool, soft hands dip below the elastic of his boxers and gently slide them down and off. His erect cock slaps against his stomach, weeping pearls of precum and glistening from the prolonged sexual torture of the evening, standing at full attention. Its girthy length twitches with impatience. One teasing fingertip just barely grazes its tip, gathering the beads of lust and dragging them along his length. A strained yelp forces its way out of Malleus' parched and trembling lips, and his whole body tenses, toes curling. The sheets are being pulled in the violent vice grip of his fists, the sheer force of his magical grip threatening to rip them in half. You begin to languidly trace along his shaft at a tantalizingly slow and soft pace, driving him out of his mind. It's barely enough contact to get any satisfaction, yet far more than enough to make him jolt at the blissful sparks that you ignite within him. You ghost your breath across the length, blowing air on his heated flesh as a paltry reward to Malleus' plight. He cries your name in a pitchy, agonized tone as your hands pull away and he tries not to sob with frustration at the lack of touch. Before he can complain, a new, torturous sensation wracks his frame: the phantasmagoric feeling of soft, pillowy lips dragging against the tip of his shaft, eliciting a filthy whine and a throaty gasp. He feels more wet heat around his sensitive glans as your tongue bathes the area with hot saliva, savoring the briny taste of his essence, then leaving him abruptly. You're far too much of a tease, giving him just a sample before pulling away. His balls feel painfully swollen as he reaches his limit and his member seizes with another sharp throb of arousal.

And then, with a wet squelch, the heat of your mouth descends onto the entirety of his rock-hard erection, taking him all in to the hilt. Your cheeks hallow to create suction as your tongue swirls around his engorged tip and your throat relaxes as his length is buried down your throat, holding your breath and stifling your gag reflex for a brief moment before bobbing your head up and down, fucking his hard dick with your mouth and salivating profusely over his thick length. The sweetly sinful sensation of his throbbing erection buried deep down your esophagus causes his mind to shut off, his brain short-circuiting from the intensity of pleasure. Your talented tongue swirls and twirls around the mushroom tip while your hands massage up and down along his shaft, working his flesh in synchronous harmony, threatening to break him down into a quivering mess under the expertise of your skilled mouth. It's absolutely obscene, how willingly your jaw hangs wide for him, how you guzzle up every inch of his thick cock as though he's the best meal of your life.

Now that you have him back where you want him, you take your time torturing him by switching your rhythm every time his groans begin to sound too desperate, denying him the relief his poor aching cock so desperately craves. You gently guide his shaft upright with a tug of your hand, angling his thick cock directly into your mouth and ensuring you completely envelop his tip in your throat. Every time you hollow your cheeks and move his throbbing erection in and out of your mouth at a vigorous pace, Malleus is unable to hold his voice back. He tosses his head back, letting your tongue lavish the underside of his cock. The velvety heat of your tongue sweeps from the base all the way to his glans, lapping across his slit before wrapping your lips around his thick girth again. Your tongue meticulously teases and suckles on his sweet spots, knowing that because of his loss of vision he is acutely aware of every change in pressure, every shift in the path of your tongue, and every powerful stroke of your hand. You have successfully reduced the unshakeable Prince of Thorns into a mess of low moans and ragged, staccato breaths. Your name comes out in pleading pants, like he's calling to you to take his seed and give him the relief he desires so desperately. Your sucking and swirling heat pulls Malleus' balls up closer, tight and ready, his member starting to spasm as his end rushes ever nearer.

"Dearest..." Malleus murmurs as softly as possible, shuddering as pleasure lances through him like lightning, barely audible above the squelches and wet smacks, his hips bucking frantically now, "I beg of you... Please, do not be cruel. I cannot—please." You know how sensitive he is to touch, his every nerve is so over stimulated, and his blindness is making everything hit a whole new level.

"That's enough—hnnnng. This is far too much for me to handle... You're truly evil for using my body like this—oh, do not stop—" A litany of indecencies flow forth in an increasingly erratic rhythm to accompany the melodious cadence of his dulcet moans. Every time you push his length down your throat, he thinks you've given up playing around and finally decided to let him spill his hot load, only for you to relent at the last second and reduce your fervency. He curses your name, promising retaliation later in the form of the most passionate fucking of your entire life. The cruel torture begins anew with a playful kiss on his tip or a lewd slurp at the base of his cock as your hands fondle and caress him. It is almost inhuman the level of control his child of man has to be able to push him close to the edge and retreat with surgical precision, again and again, leaving him in complete anguish.

The hard tip of his cock slams the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate your breath and sending a deluge of saliva trickling down his swollen balls and slickening your lips. He cannot suppress the rough and rapid snapping of his hips against you, plunging his penis to the very end, every lunge making you gag. When you swallow and clench your throat around his length, Malleus' breaths dissolve into frantic wheezes, his chest heaving, unable to even finish his sentence before his lungs are sucked empty in ecstasy. Your hands cup the heavy, weighted balls beneath, fingers and nails digging in slightly before gripping onto his ass as you swallow around his entire girth, pumping his dick in rhythm with his thrusts as if to milk him and show no mercy. Your muffled squeals of encouragement spur Malleus on, the sounds you're making giving him permission to use your mouth like his own personal fuck-toy, his own filthy fantasy. His eyes squeeze shut behind the blindfold as the red, pulsing void suddenly fills with the vivid memory of the look on your face the last time he pounded your face so mercilessly, that wonderful face all covered in his seed, cheeks dripping with his creamy splatter. He moans brokenly as his fantasies meld with reality in the blinding darkness. The sheer act of being able to fully appreciate and wallow in the sense of absolute decadent delight his beloved grants him, as well as your own enthusiasm for him—all these sensations surge forth in a mighty torrent. Malleus knows you're preparing to build him up to a devastating peak of passion.

With a firm yet gentle grip, you dig the tips of your fingers into the ample flesh of your lover's thighs, feeling their toned rippling as you keep him in place. Your fingernails sink a little, creating faint, red trails in your wake, marking Malleus' flawless skin as evidence of your claim over his body. Without warning, his hard length slips out of your wet lips with an obscene pop, and the fae Prince whimpers once more from the cold drafts of the dorm room settling over his sopping, saliva-coated member.

Before he has any time to register the shock of the loss, the bedsheets shift again under your movements as you swiftly remove your underwear before returning to position on your knees outside of his open legs. He holds his breath, eagerly anticipating the impending penetration of his lover's deepest parts and the messy release of the tight knot of sexual desire within the pit of his stomach. A baritone, satisfied groan bursts from the depths of Malleus' lungs as your warmth encases his erection, sheathing his dick in an endless flow of slippery heat and the most luxurious pressure. It is one of his favorite pleasures to hold you close after having penetrated your deepest core and simply stay there to savor the ecstatic sensations. Nothing can replicate the pure feeling of euphoric fulfillment and unadulterated bliss when your lower half is connected as closely as it possibly can with his—both of your intimate zones smoldering in the ecstasy of total conjoining, bodies becoming one and unified, your souls entwined in a kiss. His toes curl and his muscles shudder, but before he can adjust, you start moving, using your hips to ride his lap.

Your thighs settle snugly around Malleus' hips, your weight rocking forward to penetrate your loins deeper on his member and envelop every inch of him until his hard cock reaches the deepest regions of your core. Malleus can barely comprehend what's going on, his mind drowning in an ocean of the purest pleasure, his hands searching desperately for yours as you place his palms on either side of your waist for a good grip. His lover's palms, made small by the bulk of his own, have only moments ago been manipulating his sensitive erection and granting him such euphoria. To touch the very appendages that have stimulated him, to hold you steady, to feel the love that flows through the both of you—the thrill of the experience sets Malleus' mind into overdrive, the preciousness of his time together with you compounding with his heightened physical sensations in a stunning synthesis. A symphony of sexy, wet noises of colliding bodies, creaking mattress, and throaty gasps and moans echo throughout his lonely, shadowy abyss, and Malleus feels as though his senses are being pleasurably overwhelmed. Malleus shoves his cock ever deeper within, nudging against the slick flesh with feverish abandon. He becomes desperate for an even tighter hold, urging your body to submit to him and drown in bliss. As his dick pumps into your sweet, greedy, and dripping hole with zealous thrusts, your combined rhythm becomes lost to the utter delirium of rapture as the fae's raw instincts to rut you senseless take over. The Prince of Darkness doesn't hold anything back— he thrusts up into your body with full and furious strokes, growls turning animalistic, cock pounding with merciless thrusts, and balls slapping against the juncture of your thighs.

You can barely handle the sheer thickness of Malleus' dick inside of you, its girth is massive. It stretches your walls and massages every part of you, the large ridge along his cock's underside scraping against your insides with every relentless slam. The slightest movement sends fireworks shooting through you and drives you insane, the heated passion causing a powerful buildup of pleasure already. Your gasps rise in volume, turning into shrieks as you give him your body entirely. One of his hands trails up from your waist, the rough and calloused fingertips ghost across your collarbone and up the curve of your neck. His head is tossed back from the carnal fucking but those elegant, sharp fingernails linger over your pulse, feeling the way blood beats under your skin and listening for the hitch of breath every time the angle of his cock rubs up against something magical inside of you.

Malleus is constantly shifting his position, driving his huge dick into the different angles with practiced efficiency as he listens intently for where to thrust harder, to where your breathing is quickest, and where he gets the loudest moans. The noise echoes back to him like the raunchiest opera. It leaves you shaking on him as he explores you with his cock, the sheer intensity of his frenzied ministrations threatening to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. Every single slam of his dick draws you to the edge of the pleasure-bound chasm, as waves of satisfaction ripple throughout every fiber of your being.

His large, sturdy hands have never left your form and cling possessively. When he lets go, it's to scrape his claws down the tops of your shoulders before seizing you tightly once more. With his thighs tense, his strong muscles drive up into you at a merciless speed, over and over. A throttled roar is building in the pit of Malleus' chest. At the top of your lungs, you scream out his name. There is no room for your thoughts, only the constant stream of the lust-drenched fog and the instinctive urge to reach your peak. Malleus' talons scratch down your back before grabbing onto the tops of your asscheeks and forcing your lower bodies impossibly closer together. Malleus bites your neck while simultaneously drilling his cock as deep as he can possibly go before pausing there, grinding into you and groaning. Your bodies move together in tandem, a wet dance that staves off your looming orgasms for a few more thrusts and moans.

Through the blinding white ecstasy, you can vaguely hear the haughty prince remarking how perfectly he fits and feels inside you. Between your moans and the slapping sound, his breathy laugh cuts through the room and brushes hot against the crook of your neck, teasing, "Your insides... tighten when I praise you..." Your walls immediately squeeze him on reflex at those words. This discovery of another weakness brings him closer, more ravenous, a little bit more wild with the need to take and claim. His face buries into your skin and his tongue flicks out against your neck, drinking up the salt of your sweat as he nips, bites, and sucks his mark there. Malleus wants to fill your greedy hole with his seed, mark his territory, make it absolutely clear that you are his forever by stuffing you full until his cum trickles from the very corners of you and soaks into the silken sheets of his bed. He pants and growls lewdly, plundering into you like a heathen and abandoning any sense of shame as he fully lets go of all composure. The guttural moans and bestial noises escaping his throat reverberate like music in your ears. They signal that the gorgeous prince is drawing dangerously near his edge. The primal urges you have summoned from him command his every thought and his body reacts instantaneously to all the stimulation you've given him thus far. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans now turning into shameless screaming. You match the intensity with which Malleus throws his entire body into the movements of fucking your hole. Malleus doesn't allow your body a single moment's rest as he thoroughly ruins you—each carnal rut and frenetic pound of his manhood into your core sets fire to your whole being, reducing your soul to ash in the passion's wake. His engorged, reddened tip abuses your g-spot to the point that your walls can't even tighten around him anymore due to being so utterly overwhelmed by his dick.

Malleus' heart jackhammers against his ribs and a sound that can only be described as a primal, draconic cry roars out. Thick, creamy spurts of his warm seed paint your inner walls white as his balls pulse and churn, filling you up so generously. The depth of your love and adoration has finally ripped the fae's last threads of restraint to shreds, unleashing his true self—wild, uncontrollable, feral—and the transcendent bliss leaves him howling your name in a voice more akin to a monster than a beautiful Prince. You throw your head back, feeling every muscle of your inner body clench in delicious contractions as you, too, reach the precipice, gushing all over him. All you can manage is to sink onto his thick, throbbing cock and just quake with the intense force of your orgasmic bliss, your legs spasming around him as you milk his twitching shaft.

Every wave of your orgasm sends him into his next. Your loud wails of pure pleasure are music to his ears. He growls and thrusts against you, eager to ensure you have been completely and utterly defiled with his load. The exhilaration and anticipation that was building all night finally peaks, and the intensity is just right to leave the both of you in an tangled afterglow of sweaty, quivering limbs. All he can see are swirling spots of magical color swimming in front of the blinding black of his blindfold. Every sense becomes a blurry haze. When he finds enough control over his quivering frame, Malleus holds you up and close to him, refusing to slip out from your body, letting you come to rest against his strong, tender embrace and gently stroking your hair as you nestle your forehead in the crook of his neck, nestled so comfortably between his head and shoulder. Malleus begins peppering your face and the exposed parts of your shoulder with butterfly kisses, his ragged breaths tickling your skin.

"My love..." the Prince purrs as you languidly snuggle into him, "You will never know what you've just done to me. I have felt so utterly and undeniably wanted, needed, desired." His strong arms embrace you, so gentle and loving and soft, it makes your heart beat a little bit faster and fills you up with an immense, powerful feeling. "You have made my existence feel absolutely perfect and wonderful, more so than I deserve." His voice grows thick and warm, full of tender affection as he adds, "Please, cherish me forever. I will pledge myself to you for as long as I live."

He pulls the blindfold over his head, his eyelids fluttering open to meet your soft gaze and reveal his magnificent, emerald hues and smoldering, lust-drunk slitted pupils. You fall in love with him all over again, smiling brightly as you are greeted by your beloved Prince's elation at seeing your beautiful face once more. Malleus lifts his palm and tucks a lock of your hair behind the lobe of your ear, leaving his knuckles there for a few extra moments as he enjoys the flush and shimmer on your features, admiring the love of his life with all the admiration in the world.

Malleus' eyes spark with renewed mischief and he chuckles mischievously, the deep, smooth sound rolling with velvet menace. "No mortal has ever had this sort of control over me before. The experience was rather... illicit, and strangely beguiling. A little unexpected, however, when you nearly choked me with my own horns." A single sharp claw tips your chin upwards. "How lucky, indeed, am I to be fortunate enough to have you, the first person I ever held my heart out to, be so wicked to me. You were quite merciless tonight." His lascivious grin twists devilishly, and you find yourself enthralled with a certain mix of terror and rapture, unable to keep a devilish smirk of your own from twitching your own lips.

You had known that taking him away from the world for a brief moment of darkness would make his whole body light up like a star and let him truly lose himself to you, but you never would have predicted how viscerally it would affect him. Even so, it pleases you to have fulfilled your fae Prince's perverse needs. You kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles his sharp smile. "Now that you've revealed such a sinful aspect of yourself to me, you'll be the one beneath my power next time we indulge."

The playful menace in his smile doesn't quite mask the serious note in his voice. Malleus is absolutely determined to reciprocate the things he enjoyed receiving in equal measure. It was almost like his own hidden, dangerous desires had awoken when you dragged him down the path of depravity, and a new wave of perversion courses through him at the thought of transforming you into his own plaything. Your throat goes dry, knowing his strength and his kinky side may finally have been unshackled from its cage, and the fae might devour you without the restraint and kindness of his moralities to hold him back. His handsome features betray nothing of his sadistic plans—all you can see are his glorious, flashing eyes glimmering with mischief, and the dangerous upturn of his mouth. There's no telling how much Malleus Draconia has planned for you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if perhaps you'd created a bit of a monster with tonight's exploration.

Let me know if you all enjoyed this! Some Fun Erica Lore™ is that I have total aphantasia—I can't visualize (images or sounds) at all. So, I think because of that, I tend to be very descriptive with my words, since I can't visualize the scene in my head. Also, because I don't have visual memory, I do not remember memories or daydreams in a visual way, instead, I remember them by the feeling I felt in that moment (or the feeling I would feel if a situation was happening to me). Because I feel things so deeply, I like to convey the power of emotions in my writing. I hope I was able to elicit a strong emotional response from you. As always, thank you for reading. Every day, I continue to be awestruck by the outpouring of love and support I've received from you all. Thank you for welcoming my writing into this lovely community. Until next time, 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #twst malleus draconia x reader smut #twst malleus draconia smut #twisted wonderland malleus x reader smut #malleus draconia x reader smut #twst malleus draconia #malleus draconia smut #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #my writing

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twisted-beez · 1 year

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I've seen sooooo many fics where Malleus is courting y/n and gives them his "greatest treasure" or the "heart of his treasury" as a courting thing, and it's always some fabulous expensive jewelry or glamorous gem of a family heirloom.

But y'all.

We all know his most prized possession is Gao-Gao Dragon.

---

Imagine Malleus Draconia earnestly gazing into your eyes as he presses his prized tamagotchi into your palm. Your hands cradle the little device. His own lithe fingers wrap around them.

"He is yours to care for."

Youre breathless. And bewildered. Once you've discovered air again, your gaze seeks Malleus's for answers. You find only a soft verdant in his eyes. Springtime, and hope, and blossoming things. Affection like a birds song and warmth like down feathers. A world you could waltz in forever.

It is clear this gaze is meant only for you.

"Why?" You think you know.

"It is Briar Valley tradition," he begins. The tenderness in his voice makes your heart swoop.

"To vie for the affection of one whose love and affection we ardently seek with a gift." Malleus's lips curl into a smile. His thin slitted eyes narrow to teasing half-lidded pleasure at the growing red on your cheeks. Earnest as he means this to be, he cannot help but be tempted by your bashful nature. "One's most precious belonging, to be precise. For that is the only thing that comes close to the heart of one's most beloved."

Your heart thrums too loudly to think and you pull Gao-Gao against your chest.

"He'll miss you, you know. I doubt I can care for him as well as you always have," you admit. "We'll have to schedule plenty of play-dates with...?" Come to think of it, you can't recall if Malleus ever gave a name to Gao-Gao's friend. He had always called it just that.

It appears he hadn't, because there's a pause and a solemn hum as Malleus thinks.

"Roaring Drago," he decides.

"That's practically the same thing!" You laugh in fond protest. Malleus feigns a pout in return.

"I quite like it though."

He can't hold it for long before a smile breaks through his guise. Silence settles between you both- comfortable, but a little shy- until you feel soft lips pressed against your forehead.

"My dearest beloved," he near-whispers against your skin, "I vow to bring you all of the happiness in the world, as you have brought me."

#malleusdraconia.imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #malleus #diasomnia #malleus x reader

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throwaway-yandere · 5 months

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𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

a/n: this was inspired by my favorite childhood TV show, House MD & Oedipus Rex. The plot was supposed to be something else but dingleaf happened one 4AM ago. Anyways, welcome to our first Throwaway-Thursday this End of Year Blues!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: Everyone held their breath when they heard ex-defense attorney (Y/n) say these words: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges."

CW: yandere themes, reader has so much spite I can fry an egg, hurt/NO COMFORT. Please prioritize your mental health if these CWs are triggering to you. (Note: The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ, so he doesn't know about what happened to Vautrin.)

“Why the pale expression? Has the trial last week caused you tremendous pain?”

"Such pallor is caused by pity, not grief.” Neuvilette made his fragile excuse to reassure Furina, but the words did not reach her ears. The ringing of raindrops outside was louder, more convincing. Fontaine is vexed with storms near-daily. The sad verdant earth will soon sponge and dry the hydro dragon’s tears as always, but every man hopes they won’t drown first.

At first, he was convinced what he harbored was pity. For the pessimists, Fontaine is a nation where virtuous pagans paraded themselves as rich and devoted ran amok. Absolute justice is a cartoonish ideal– lack of entertainment is the death sentence.

Lady Furina was starting to believe he lives his life by a certain suspect’s final envoi:

Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.

"Are you insane?!" Navia held your shoulders, eyes wide.

This was the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend.

"Maybe I am." You told her, chuckling slightly as your thumbs caressed the nerves behind her palms. Navia, as intimidating as her occupation was, never once gripped you this hard.

You wish you could hug her fully.

But these prison bars are holding you back.

"Can you blame me, Nav?"

"Don't." She glared. "Don't do this."

Navia trembled.

"Please, don't follow Dad..."

The blonde woman was reduced to a young, hopeless girl. You saw a reflection of the small Navia who lost Callas, and that short glimpse was stretched into a whole tragic spectacle.

"I'm begging you, (Y/n). Please… d-don't go away. Don't leave me too…"

This was the cruelest you've ever been to someone you love.

But also the kindest you've been to yourself.

"There's nothing else I can do, Nav."

"W-We can always do something! There must be a way!" She screamed gutturally. "We'll find a way to make that Chief Justice pay instead. If there's a will—"

"But there's none. There is no will in me left."

"Then hold on to mine, for Archon's sake! Depend on me!"

"What for? We both lack the means to grasp our Archon's hand." You shook your head, grinning without life.

You wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a small fraction of time, you trembled, showing a bit of soul.

"Our Goddess has abandoned me. Everyone and everything but you had." You said. "Dear Navia, don't make this harder for yourself. Let me go."

"(Y/n)..."

Her grip relaxed.

Navia finally let go.

But that was not the scene's last word.

Clorinde sprinted towards your cell, seething in electric rage. Navia stepped back. Their relationship might be less than cordial, but Clorinde was also your friend.

And after all these years of friendship, she never would've guessed you would elicit such melancholic frustration within her.

She knows she'll come out of this duel victorious.

She knows if she doesn't say a word, she'll be the one to bury you six feet under.

Clorinde's fists clenched and her breathing grew harsh and difficult, unable to accept your inhumane gaze.

"Is this your solution, (Y/n)?"

From the tone of her voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation. One wrong word, and you'll see a side of the Champion Duelist not even her court opponents knew.

You nodded.

"Yes."

"State your reason."

"Because this is the only way I'll die with dignity."

…

"Die… with dignity?"

Something inside her cracked.

"Yes." You nodded again, becoming uncertain. "At least with this, there would be something Neuvillette cannot decide for me. And (Y/n) (L/n) chooses a dignified death."

“DEATH HAS NO DIGNITY!!!”

You and Navia flinched at the sudden sound.

Clorinde screamed, feeling her eyes burn. Her veins became more prominent in her face and her skin reddish. The sheer force of her scream was enough to bring your full attention to her, yet to the duelist, her uncharacteristic outburst meant nothing.

“DEATH WILL ALWAYS BE UGLY!!! DEATH– DEATH IS NEVER BEAUTIFUL!!! IT IS ALWAYS SINISTER— LOATHSOME AND VILE.”

"Clor—"

She pulled you by your collar.

“There– there is only dignity in living.” She trembled, casting her gaze down. “You can live with dignity– but you can’t die with it.”

For a while, only her unsteady breathing could be heard.

Clorinde eventually calmed down, her heavy sighs and frantic pants slowing as the red hue of her face somewhat returned to its usual pale complexion. She couldn’t afford a second more to process her growing grief.

"Find another duelist."

As a successor to the Marechaussee Hunters, there's no one else you need but her.

"But I want you."

"(Y/n)."

"You've always been my idol, Clorinde." You told her solemnly. "I always thought you at least made my clients have a clean death under your blade."

Clorinde paused.

That, she cannot deny.

She did spare mercy to the people you defended. But she doesn't understand how you fail to comprehend why she couldn't bear to bring herself to enact the same reprieve for you.

"Retrieve your gloves. I don't and I won't accept your challenge." Clorinde closed her eyes. "Live your days in the Fortress instead. Death is not the solution."

You laughed. As if you'd let yourself be under Wriothesley's guidance when you can smell from miles away that he's one of Neuvillette's lap dogs.

"Isn't this suffering enough?" You spoke with a casual lack of self-preservation. "I don't want to live under Neuvillette's scrutinizing eyes. Not anymore."

You looked up.

That empty smile was no longer on your face.

And that was somehow more frightening than it should be.

"So do your job as a champion and end it all, just like what you've done to Uncle Callas and the others."

Your last conversation with the Duke was not as memorable as when he caught you spiking the Iudex’s cup, yet you’d give his personality credit where it is due. His was certainly a memorable one.

Wriothesley stood a few steps away from the bars while you purposefully cornered yourself. The distance was noticeable. It was clear that neither of you was close to each other. This was mere formality brought about by one of your should’ve-been victims.

“So, you sure don’t want to be roommates?” Wriothesley asked. "Or you know, see old friends and family down there?"

"I'd rather not disappoint them with my presence."

“So, you're a coward?" He asked, intending to provoke you.

"Maybe?" you answered, mimicking his tone. "Wouldn't know. Last time I checked, I was an honorable defense attorney. But suddenly, the Iudex had a change of heart."

"Neuvillette didn't have a change of heart. You are a terrorist."

You laughed sardonically, "suppose so."

You both weren't entirely wrong. Friends and foe alike know you've turned to rebellion after the justice system had failed you repeatedly. Neuvillette's lovestruck fixation was merely the final straw.

“You’re walking on a death sentence.”

“No shit,” you clicked your tongue and continued. “What else do you think this is for?”

“The Iudex was convinced that you’re acting out because you had a guilty conscience, and he’s very willing to drop those charges and forgive you.”

“Guilty conscience?! HA!!!” You laughed. “As if I felt guilty for what I’ve done. If anything, I’m rejoicing.”

Wriothesley smirked, but it faded quickly.

“I told him the same, but then he says if that were true, you’re probably just masking it to play the villain’s part.”

“Do you believe every word he says?”

“No,” Wriothesley did not hesitate to answer. “I know a criminal when I see one. And I also know when a criminal can get away with their mess.”

“The jury thinks otherwise– the oratrice cannot be wrong.” You snickered. “I’m as guilty as they come, hands filled with arsenic and all.”

"You can still get out of this. Sure, you'll get a stern talking-to— a lecture on the virtue of honor and respect. But in the end, he'd give you a second chance. He's still hoping that a mutual agreement will arise in the end."

You expressed your disinterest with a droopy-eyed “Blah, blah, blah…”

Wriothesley frowned.

“You’ll make him depressed.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And you think I care? Fontaine can flood next month. Just as long as I die tomorrow it’s none of my business.”

…

“Well, it’s your call,” Wriothesley said. “If you’re willing to throw your life away like that, then you probably wouldn’t survive a week underwater.”

He wrapped a hand around one of the bars.

“You know, (Y/n),” the Duke looked at you dead in the eye. “Marriage with the Iudex isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

You laughed.

“What makes you say that?” You smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you his second spouse?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You could’ve just lived a bit more silently.”

You glared.

“Are you saying I should live like a caged bird? That I should accept that our system here is rigged?”

“I’m saying you should’ve been more grateful with what you have.”

You scoffed.

“Wow.”

An awkward silence followed after. It wasn’t as if a quip was hard to form– but the historical context behind whom you were speaking to made weighing empathy over spite a challenge. You knew of his past, his name or lack thereof, and quiet allegiance to Neuvillette. Sigewinne had made sure you knew of it to glorify the adoptive “father” of the Melusines. Wriothesley owes him his survival.

But "Wriothesley" of all people should've known that those who know morbid truths cannot be silenced forever.

And Neuvillette owes you a peaceful death.

… The Duke sighed, noticing that his admiration for the Iudex did not align with his current morals.

“We’ll forever agree to disagree on this, won’t we?” He asked.

“Hopefully not forever, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

Wriothesley chuckled at your morbid joke. But before he could walk away with a less-than-heavy heart, you shifted from your corner.

“Hey, Wriothesley?”

He turned to look at you– your hand specifically.

It’s a letter.

“Mind handing these to the authorities?”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened.

“Is that–”

“It’s a written confession,” you chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I got a pen and paper. I know that damn bastard forbids anyone to lend me anything that’ll help me write a final will. Gotta say, at least his etiquette lessons had some use. At least my last words are in pretty cursive.”

He didn’t say another word.

…

The Duke left the room, empty-handed.

…

No one wants to see the Iudex more heartbroken than he already is now.

The interrogation room was small, but not to the point that there was a minimal budget for its construction. You sat on one end behind the glass divider after one of the guards took your letter. There were only plain walls and two lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the center of the room is a table with two chairs on either side, no pen or paper.

Nothing but an empty table.

But the quiet comfort was gone when the man of the hour closed the door behind him. As the ticking of the clock becomes more softer, the two individuals would be forced to sit for the duration of this “interrogation.”

It was none other than your husband, the Iudex, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and the bane of your existence.

Monsieur Neuvillette.

His back was straight; his eyes, “stern” and focused. He clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined. His gaze searched for something— regret, remorse, anything that could make the upcoming nightmare disappear.

Neuvillette's voice was “calm” and “collected.”

But you didn’t buy it. Not with his messy hair, his forlorn look, his frown. You rarely saw him cry. You had a gut feeling he hides it by standing amidst heavy rain, but this time the redness of his eyes and puffiness of his cheeks says it all.

It’s a heavy downpour outside.

He can’t be bothered to hide his tears from the public eye anymore.

"In your own words, please explain why you had attempted to poison me."

Your eyes lit up. He immediately wished he could take those words back.

So, he’s still in denial. Neuvillette seriously didn’t think you wrote the letter. He probably didn’t think it was your handwriting. It was almost insulting.

“Oh, Monsieur! You are as generous as they say, finally letting your spouse speak for themselves!” You grinned sarcastically. “And they say chivalry is dead! DEAD!!!”

He cringed at your pointed enthusiasm.

You recount the day you attempted to murder him, describing how you had slipped the poison into his favorite cup. How you didn’t really care to hope it wouldn’t be noticed since what mattered more to you was his death over your own freedom. The more detailed you became, the more it suffocated him.

“But, as you can see, you’re alive and I am behind this glass window,” you tapped the divider. “Away from you, at last.”

He bit his lip.

“(Y/n)—”

“I hate you.”

He breathed in shakily.

“I know.”

“And yet you still fell for it.” Your voice suddenly softened.

“Why?” You continued. “Why did you believe my act for the past month? I know you had your suspicions, so why? You knew I was just playing along to get your guard down– to act like some loving housewife so I can find the opportunity to smother you with a pillow– so… why?”

“Maybe…”

Neuvillette took a deep breath.

“Maybe it’s because dying by your hands would be a dignified way to go.”

Your eyes widened. The air turned to glue. Breathing became a challenge.

He looked up, meeting your gaze. Monsieur Neuvillette was serious. No shifting position can make you feel comfortable.

Because Neuvillette in his most sincere form of speech is the most brutal.

“I just wished to be loved by y-you,” his voice cracked. “Even for a moment, even for a lie, I would die to know I was loved by you.”

His face crumpled, tears flowing freely. He reached a hand out against the glass window, his palm marking the divider. Neuvillette was breathing erratically, desperate to hold you. The pain in his chest was getting heavier, much like the rain outside. You almost couldn’t hear him from all the background noise, and you wished that was what happened.��

This was the man who took your clients' happiness. The man who took Uncle Callas away with his rationale. The reason for your unhappiness.

And yet, you couldn't think of any other person who would love you as much as he does.

“Y-You know me for who I-I am,” he gasped out. “I am but a weak and beaten down man w-who couldn’t express himself like a human being. Y-You were there, you comforted me with not a smile, an umbrella, or thoughtless words of encouragement— you accepted me for who I was with a warm embrace.”

You hated it.

You hate how your heart ached for the man that made your life a living hell.

“I was the leader of the Revolution and I needed intel against you, nothing more.” You spat. This time, you were the least convincing one. “It was an act of kindness I shouldn’t have done.”

“Yet it has helped me more than you had accounted for.”

“And never before have I ever regretted playing savior.”

“I was merely attempting to reform your life,” Neuvillette breathlessly spoke. “I wished to set you on the right path. You were a gifted individual with great connections. Your peers had high expectations of you. For you to throw that away for nonsense activism— no— terrorism is heartbreaking. And I—”

Neuvillette gulped.

“I didn’t want to face you on the other side of the courtroom.”

You laughed.

“Some things are just fated to happen,” you said. “An old astrologist told me that. She told me I was bound to get myself in deep legal trouble. Growing up, I figured it might as well be a cause worth doing if it’ll lead me to that path eventually. Why else did I become a defense attorney in such a hellishly political land?”

He trembled, tears falling at a faster rate.

You almost wanted to reach out and wipe those tears away.

Almost.

“Must you treat your life as though it is disposable?” Neuvillette asked, choking slightly. “Why are you…”

You digressed. “You’re not going to retract those charges are you?”

“I did.”

You frowned.

“But Lady Furina would not allow it,” he shook, frustrated. “She found out about your past, your hatred for her so-called incompetences and published lese-majestes.”

“Good for her, good for her.”

Neuvillette’s hand slowly slid down.

“I can’t… I cannot watch this…”

You felt a surge of confidence, for Neuvillette was indeed devoid of hope. You've never seen him with his head hung low. What went through Neuvillette's mind remained uncertain. Perhaps, just a small piece of him knew you could never be his. Perhaps he knew that you were destined for a doomed fate.

But it doesn't matter.

All that mattered was that you were free.

That was a month ago.

The rain had been going on nonstop for thirty days, and the Hydro Archon had every right to worry.

“I can’t sleep…” Neuvillette thought he spoke out loud, but it was just a whisper. He’s growing weak, his sleep deprivation catching up to him.

“Then come lay your head down,” she yawned slightly, fanning her breath. “Such heavy thoughts need a place to rest.”

“An irresistible offer,” Neuvillette mused humorlessly. “But I must decline.”

“Oh Neuvillette, when will you relax from this role you carry?” The archon spoke rhetorically.

Neuvillette chuckled sadly.

The heavy downpour wouldn’t stop.

Perhaps…

Perhaps when the day comes and he is stripped of dignity.

Maybe then, he’ll have his rest.

Neuvillette had already forgotten why he was crying that fateful day. But in those memories, he recalls he was callow and unformed. Was it due to an unfavorable trial? The problem evades him. His recollection remains only in how the people reacted around him. Many asked if he was okay and he'd reply with a simple "I'm fine". And he was, until he could no longer convince himself with that lie. He was certain he was about to dip his toes in another cycle of nihilism.

And then you came.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?”

The rain was pouring out in the cemetery. You were there; your presence questionable. He knew that you arrived intending to probe whether or not he was a sovereign dragon, but he gave you the nod of acknowledgment.

“Greetings, Mx. (Y/n),” he answered, “I trust you’ve been well? Is there a person whom you’re visiting?”

He asked in sheer politeness despite knowing your motivations.

“...”

You frowned.

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been carrying that loneliness, Monsieur?” You asked, voice louder. “How long?”

His lip quivered.

“Centuries, perhaps,” the Iudex thought he could pass it off as a light joke to catch you off-guard, but it came off as too sincere. “I do not keep track.”

You cautiously and awkwardly approached Neuvillette, and without a word, wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Just like what Uncle Callas had done for you before.

Your existence here was anathema and your words were seditious. His initial reaction was to resist because he knew you were just like Vautrin. He knew you were secretly seeking vengeance because the oratrice unfavorably judged numerous friends and family.

But he needed it. He needed this badly.

It was then that the Iudex decided that he needed you. That he will keep you.

Neuvillette cannot handle another Vautrin— he can't handle another Carole. So, he'll do it right this time. He'll keep you safe, from your illegal associations and even from yourself.

And it was a selfish yet necessary need.

A lump formed in his throat as a tear fell, trickling down his cheek slowly. He allowed himself to melt in your hug, trembling.

“You’re going to need all the hugs you can get if you’re planning to stay as Iudex for centuries more,” you whispered. “You’re resilient, but in this world, that solitary resilience won’t be enough, won’t it?”

Unable to maintain his stoic facade any longer, Neuvillette gripped you tighter in that embrace, his vulnerability finally resurfacing physically rather than Fontaine's rains. Surprised by his sudden tirade of sobs, you embraced him with all the warmth you could muster. At that moment, you had an epiphany. Despite the enmity of their positions, they were the same. Both of you were victims of a nation that demanded more in your assigned roles than you could bear.

“If you'd let me, I'll be the person you’d come to if you ever need a hug.” You weren’t sure if you said it as a devious plan or an act of empathy. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

You've made yourself important to him now.

Neuvillette cannot lose you too.

As he clung to the solace you inadvertently provided, you can't help but wish you never extended that small comfort months later. Every inch given could be exploited, and when you offered him a shred of empathy, he had seized it and turned it into a mile-long advantage. The vulnerability shared in that hug was the dangerous crack in the sword you've worked so hard to maintain.

And so, when the time came you faced Champion Duelist Clorinde with it, the gaps broke the sword completely and with its death came soon the end of your life.

She was right. There is no dignity in dying with a broken hilt.

But there was peace.

And as much as you hated Neuvillette, you wish he’d have it too.

"I've made it this far, and all I've ever done was in accordance with what fate and others wanted of me. In my demise, let me do something for myself." “After all, I’ve learned from watching Uncle Callas when he fought Champion Duelist Clorinde— an encounter I’ll surely experience in the next few days— that there is beauty in the end. In his last moments, my much younger self saw what expression he wore.” “He was content. The most content I had ever seen in someone's face.” “It was then that I had an epiphany. One that I hope my “husband” Neuvillette will remember, and I care not if it will bring him comfort or pain.” “What I learned was simple:” “Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.”

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added on the other three fics!): @ayadikreino @kireeen, @pebblemacaroon, @thelostpanta, @vennnnn-diagram, @sagekun, @vadelma-yatta, @detectivei @sugarplumcutiepie @sunhareskies @dxprived4-starboys @unloadingdata @harmonysanreads (amen.) @atomicsoulhumanspy @sangoqueenkoko @pix-stuff @dilucragnidvr

#ansy-writes #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #yandere #male yandere #yanderecore #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scenarios

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niallsgoldhoop · 3 months

Text

CHANNING

a harry styles one shot seven thousand words cw - sexual content, alcohol, harsh language, spitting, spanking, choking,

“I can’t believe you almost missed this.” Looking over at me, the dark eyes of my closest friend shine under the overhead lights. “I mean, come on— It’s Harryween.”

Using my pinky to perfect the edge of the color as I look in the mirror, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Okay well I couldn’t let this costume go to waste.”

“Honestly.” Adjusting the straps of her angel wings, she laughs. “It’s perfect.”

Tucking a lock of wavy copper hair behind my ear, the green foliage sewed to the leather top last minute contrasts against my porcelain skin in the best way.

As soon as the decision was made— the costume just happens to fall into place.

It took me less than a day to buy the ivy from a local craft store along with the needle and thread. Deep in the back of my closet there was a black leather corset, the kind that fastened in a line of delicate hooks up the front, one that pushed my breasts up even higher than normal. Pairing that with the black leather skirt that hit the middle of my thighs seemed like the only option that made sense.

Less than two hours sitting on my couch and watching Succession later and all of the ivy had been sewn into place. After a little maneuvering I even managed to turn the broad, verdant colored leaves to a makeshift garter for each of my thighs.

Standing here in this bathroom and looking at my reflection, the extra ivy twisting from the top of the high topped canvas sneakers on my feet, I can’t help but smile at how good it looks snaking over my toned calves and thick thighs.

Poison Ivy.

“We better get down to the pit before it gets too crazy.” With a wide smile on her face, I laugh along with her as her fingers tangle with mine, pulling me along. “If we’re lucky we can get close to the barricade.”

Staying close behind her, the two of us manage to squeeze through the sea of people, finding a spot in the pit good enough that we would be able to get a decent view.

I’d been to plenty of shows before but it felt like nothing compared to the pit at a Harry Styles show.

Even as the show eventually starts, it’s clear that everyone got the memo to dress up and seeing the man of the hour— I’m so glad this is where I ended up.

The way he looks tonight should be illegal.

The way he’s looking at me?

Criminal.

Up on the stage, I make eye contact with him again as he passes by, my body heating under his gaze for what feels like the millionth time.

“God, he keeps looking at you!” The girl with two boas and a pink cowboy hat next to me says, her eyes wide. “What the fuck?!”

I feel my lips as they turn into a smirk, raising my eyes back to the stage to see him in front of me again.

Being so close to the barricade was an accident. Somehow, someway we managed to make out way closer and closer as the night went on. Dancing with everyone around us all night has been the best part of the show.

Well… That and seeing Harry dressed in the most delicate and detailed costume.

A clown with the prettiest cream fabrics and lace along with the most perfect moon and stars offsetting the lighter colors with their darkness. Even his cheeks have the rosiest hue— complete with little pearl drops along his cheeks and above his brows.

Nothing too scary, but something just sexy enough.

As he plays the song everyone longs to hear, this time when lyrics roll off of his heart shaped lips in front of me, there’s no mistaking it.

‘And when I sleep, I'm gonna dream of how you —‘

Eyes set on mine, he brings the tip of each finger to his flattened tongue, a tease of how he would certainly be able to please between the sheets.

Rolling my eyes as my best friend grabs my arm, her fingers pressing into the bare skin of my bicep, I find his gaze lingering before he moves on — deciding to entertain the other side of his stage before making his exit.

It feels like the scene of a documentary as the end of the show finally unfolds and people make their way from the stadium, a mass of people all looking for something to get them as high as the feeling Harry Styles gives them.

Laughing on the way out, I give the longest hugs that I can manage before slipping out into the night to find the small bar that has always welcomed me on a night like tonight.

A night when I’m not ready to dream quite yet.

Between the way the city never sleeps and the people out for their own version of tricks and treats, it feels like hours before I find what I’m looking for even if it’s not terribly far away from where I started.

Still dressed in the costume I threw together at the last minute, I don’t even find myself caring much about that. People from all across the city are dressed in various Halloween get ups— making it that much easier to blend in.

Even if the majority of my skin feels like it’s on display.

Smiling as I grip the door handle, it’s the large hand that covers mine that makes my heart race.

The anchor tattoo.

The mermaid.

The cross.

Turning on my heel, the same eyes that looked into mine in front of thirty thousand people trace over my face — over my freckles, over my cheekbones… Over my lips.

“It’s you.” Low and raspy, the accent drips off his lips as they turn into a sinister grin.

Rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek, I watch his eyes follow the movement as I press through the door and let him follow.

“It’s me.”

The bar is small and dimly lit, the best place to come if you don’t want to be found.

I’ve come here for years, a product of begging to be lost.

Turning my back on him, I make my way to the bar and sit on one of the stools, smiling as the bartender makes his way down to me. I can feel Harry’s presence as he slides onto the stool next to me, his thigh brushing against the skin of my thigh that my skirt doesn’t cover.

“Hey, babe.” Leaning over the bar and kissing my cheek, the familiar face behind the bar places a shot glass on the counter before filling it with tequila and placing a lime along the rim, sliding it to me. “How was your night?”

My face turns towards the man next to me, his features sharper in the low light as he studies me carefully before I look away from him with a shrug. “It was okay.”

A laugh falls from his lips as he leans into me, his lips brushing against my ear. “Okay? Is that all you have to say about me?”

“Maybe it is.” My shoulders lift in a shrug as I turn to face him, reaching for the shot and taking it, watching Harry as his eyes focus on my lips where I taste the lime. “Why? Are your feelings hurt?”

Catching the attention of the person behind the bar, those mossy eyes hold mine as he orders. “Can I please have four shots of tequila?”

“You alright with this guy, Chan?” Looking between the two of us, his eyes narrow in Harry’s direction.

I laugh. “We’re good. You can pull your best friend shit somewhere else.”

Rolling his eyes, he pours the shots out for the two of us. Leaving a small bowl of salt and limes before making his back to the other end of the bar.

“Chan?” Harry’s voice is rich and smooth, just like you always hear about. “Is that short for Chandler?”

I shake my head as I bring my hand up and flatten my tongue before running it across the back of my hand, eyes locked on his. “No, it’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Watching my every move, his green eyes watch as I pinch salt between my fingers and let it fall to my skin.

“Should I?” Once again, I flatten my tongue across the same spot and taste the salt before picking up the small glass of liquor, tipping it back and letting it burn down my throat. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

Tension unlike I’ve ever known settled between us.

Somewhere my brain tells me to be careful, but the reckless part of me says that sometimes things are just meant to happen.

The odds of running into a man like him are practically zero. Yet here I am with flushed skin from the warmth of his proximity.

I reach for the lime but Harry beats me to it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and pressing the acidic fruit to my bottom lip, eyes begging for me to open for him.

“Suck.”

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I flick my tongue across the broad side of the lime before wrapping my lips around it and following the simple instructions.

“So you do know how to listen.” Harry pulls his hand away from me before dropping the fruit back into the empty shot glass.

Tilting my head back, I laugh.

Pressing my hand on his thigh and leaning forward, this time my lips brush against his ear. “I only listen when I feel like it.”

“Hmm.” He hums as he leans back, eyes looking over my body. “Do you feel like listening tonight?”

I shake my head as he reaches for my hand and pulls me in close, his eyes burning through me as his tongue darts out and presses to my skin along my forearm. Holding me in place and using his other hand, he easily sprinkles the salt along my heated skin before flattening his tongue and tasting it.

My breath hitches in my throat as his fingers tip the glass back, taking the lime and holding it out for me. Taking the hint, I bite onto it and lean towards him letting him take it from me with a smug grin on his face. His lips brush against mine for only a moment before he leans away from me, sucking the juice out of the fruit to chase the bitter taste of the liquor. “Come on, tell me your name.”

“I’ll tell you on one condition.” Squeezing his thigh, I brush my lips against the base of his throat, smiling when I feel him swallow thickly.

“And what’s that?” Gripping my chin, Harry tilts my head backwards and grins at me, his notorious bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

I roll my tongue along my bottom lip, watching as his eyes drop to my mouth. “You keep staring at my lips like you want them to do something.”

“Yeah?” His grip on my chin tightens. “What if I want to put them to work?”

I lick my bottom lip as my breathing shallows, giving Harry the opportunity to press his thumb into the small bowl of salt and brush it along my bottom lip. “I’d say you talk a lot for someone who hasn’t made a move yet.”

Harry’s eyes darken as he leans in, flicking his tongue along my bottom lip and tasting the salt. Reaching for one of the last two shots that he ordered, I watch as he pours the liquid into his mouth before using his thumb to pull on my bottom lip in a silent request.

Running my tongue along my lower lip and opening my mouth for him, I can’t even be bothered to be surrounded by other people or the sound that comes from the back of my mouth when he spits the liquor onto my waiting tongue.

Grabbing the lime and holding it against the skin of my throat, I’m almost embarrassed by the whimper that falls from my lips when he squeezes the wedge and his warm tongue catches the juice as it rolls down the column of my throat as I swallow.

“That’s right… Swallow for me, pretty girl.”

I can barely register his words before his lips are on mine and I can taste the flavor on his tongue as it finds mine, one of his hands sliding back into the waves at the nape of my neck and the other slipping just under the hem of my skirt and past the dark leaves of my costume.

He kisses me hard and with no abandon, as if he wants nothing more than to devour me. Leaning closer to him and hooking my finger into the waistband of his pants, I moan lightly when his teeth drag across my bottom lip.

“I need to get you alone.” He mumbles, his hand sliding along the inside of my thigh as his fingertips dance across my skin. “Need you on your knees while I watch those lips wrap around me.

I gasp when he drops his lips to my neck, nipping and sucking my skin. “There’s a private bathroom in the office— fuck, down the hall.”

Leaving the last shot, Harry takes my hand and pulls me towards the hallway that leads us in the right direction. With his arms wrapping around my body from behind, once we stop just long enough for me to punch in the code for the keypad I can feel him hard and ready behind me.

“If you don’t hurry, I’m going to take you right fucking here.” Nipping my earlobe, Harry plays with the hem of my skirt as his hand grips my throat and turns my head to the side, giving him more access. “How many ways are you going to let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Fuck.” Punching the last number into the keypad, when it beeps twice and I turn the handle, it opens easily.

We barely make it into the room and slam the door before Harry turns on me, pressing my body into the door and pressing his thigh between my legs, pinning me in place.

His mouth is on mine in a messy and hungry kiss all while his hands take their time exploring my body. From my breasts to my ass, not one place goes unnoticed by his skilled hands.

“This fucking costume.” Bringing the skin at the base of my throat between his teeth only to soothe it with his tongue, I shiver when he drags his finger along the top of the ivy, digging behind it enough to trace my skin. “People think that it’s so bright on stage and that I can’t see, but I do — I fucking see everything.”

Kissing under my jaw, his hands work the hooks that line the front of the top, one by one. “Tell me what you saw, Harry.

“You want to know?” Dragging his tongue across the swell of my breasts, I reach up and run my nails across his scalp, making him moan. “I saw you, dressed in this—“ Releasing the last button and letting the top of the corset fall to the floor, Harry cups both of my breasts and squeezes them, pinching each nipple at the same time. “I watched you dance, seeing your perfect ass sway from side to side like you didn’t give a single fuck that I was on that stage.”

Dropping down, Harry runs his tongue across the sensitive peak a moment before taking it between his teeth, pulling back enough to make me gasp. “I didn’t— I was more of a Niall girl—”

“Beautiful and bratty, huh?” His fingers find my throat as I smile, pressing into my skin just enough that my lips part on an exhale from the rush. “The only name that's going to come off your lips tonight is mine.”

“You seem so—.” My thoughts all but disappear when I feel Harry reach down and slip his hand under the tight material of my skirt after tracing the edge of the garter along my thighs.

Taking my nipple back into his mouth and teasing, he pulls back to look at me as his knuckle presses into my clit over the fabric of my underwear. “I seem so what, Chan? You won’t even tell me your name yet here you are — dripping down the inside of your thighs for me.”

“So full of yourself.” I finally get out. “Maybe you really are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Pushing the fabric aside, Harry doesn’t even pace himself, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and making me cry out as his thumb circles my clit with so much pressure it borders pain. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Harry—“ I moan.

Curling his fingers, I feel like my body is on overdrive as he works an orgasm out of my body quicker than even I’ve been able to do it. . “Come on my fingers for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Reaching out and gripping his shoulders, I can see the dark evergreen of his eyes just on the rim of his blown out pupils under the lights as his breath comes out shallow, the muscles under his skin flexing as he works me even harder through my orgasm.

Once my body loses all of the tension I tip forward into Harry’s arms with a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah? That good?” He smirks as he wraps my hair around his fist. Once, twice. “Chan, I need to ask you something.”

I nod, my eyes the only things he’s focused on. “Now you want to ask questions?”

“I’m serious.” His nose brushes mine before he places a soft kiss to my lips, a complete contrast to the way he just coaxed a release from my body. “I need to know that if you don’t like something or you want me to stop that you’ll tell me, okay?”

I nod, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, taking my time to enjoy the way his tongue feels moving with mine. “I promise.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes burn into my features looking for any sign of hesitance.

“I’m sure.” Getting impatient, I nip his bottom lip. “Now, are you going to fuck me or stand here and be a gentleman all night? Which one is it?”

“Such a fucking mouth on you.” Flexing his hand in my hair and pulling tighter, there’s no option but for me to sink to my knees as Harry guides me. “I hope you know how to use it for more than just your attitude.”

Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips. “Only one way to find out.”

“Go on then.” Nodding towards his straining cock beneath the fabric of his pants, he waits for me to undo the button. “Let me watch you choke on my cock so that you can’t talk back to me.”

When my hands finally free him, I whimper at the same time Harry’s groan fills the small office. Leaking with precome, I flick the tip of my tongue to collect the pearly drops.

“Pinch my thigh if it gets to be too much, yeah?” Using his hand that doesn’t still have my hair wrapped around his fist, he cups my jaw and runs his thumb across my cheek as I nod. “Be a good girl and open your mouth for me.”

Taking Harry into my mouth, I wish I could take a picture of how he looks from this angle. His head tilts back as a moan curves around his lips, I swear to god I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life. Pushing his hips forward slowly, I hollow my cheeks as I use my tongue to feel every single ridge and vein he has to offer me. My hands rest on his thighs as he drops his head down and meets my gaze.

“I’m going to go harder, is that okay?” With his cock still in my mouth, I nod. “Good fucking girl, good girl.”

Harry pushes his thighs even deeper, groaning at the feeling of his cock sliding down the back of my throat and making the muscles constrict around him from the intrusion. It feels like so much pressure and not enough at the same time as he repeats the action. Tears form in my waterline as I choke over and over, the tears spilling out onto my cheeks.

“See how good you're taking my cock down your pretty little throat?” Sliding his hand from my cheek, I moan around him as his hand rests across my throat. “Fuck, are you going to swallow for me?”

I choke once more, nodding.

“Good.”

It’s one word that precedes his release, one that I make good on my promise and swallow every drop of.

Once Harry pulls back, I take a deep breath and look up to him for only a moment before he pulls me to my feet and spins us around. Lifting me up and sitting me onto the desk, stepping between my legs and tracing his fingers over the edges of the ivy still wrapped around me.

Instantly his lips are on mine, groaning at his own tastes as he reaches between my legs and pushes the material of the leather skirt up, his fingers finding the sensitive nerve at the apex of my thighs as my hips roll forward to meet the friction.

“Are you this wet for me?” Lips ghosting over mine, his fingers find my nipple, pinching. “Do you want a taste?”

“Yes, please.” I say, looking into his eyes as he brings his fingers up, smearing the arousal across my bottom lip before kissing me again.

It’s impossible not to feel crazed as his hands fall to my thighs and push up my skirt, watching as it bunches up around my hips. “Lay back for me.”

Placing his hand in the center of my chest, I fall back onto the desk and whimper when I feel his warm lips leaving lingering kisses along the inside of my thighs.

“Look at you, so willing to let me do whatever I want with you tonight. I don’t even want to unwrap this pretty package you’ve put on for me.” His breath ghost across my center, the anticipation making me feel like I could explode at any minute. “I guess I got lucky— finding you on a night where you want to listen. A night where you want to be told what to do. Am I right?”

Harry doesn’t give the time to formulate an answer, his tongue immediately pressing into my clit before sucking it into his mouth. The action takes me by surprise as my back arches off the desk and my hands search for anything to hold onto.

Dragging patterns across the nerve, I cry out his name as he devours me like he’s never done before. As he releases my clit, his tongue finds my entrance and makes a languid path through my arousal before reaching the place I want him the most.

Up and down.

Side to side.

The stimulation makes my thighs shake as he tugs my hips toward him until my ass hangs off the desk and he pulls my dripping cunt even further into his face.

“Harry, fuck.” My hands flip, nails digging into the wood of the desk no doubt leaving marks. “Right there, fuck. I’ve never— never been so close so fast—“

Pushing myself up to my elbows, I let my head roll back as Harry rolls my clit between his teeth before pulling back, delivering a harsh slap to my outer thigh.

“Do you want to come for me?” Pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, he raises a brow in my direction and smirks when I nod. “If you want to come for me— if you’re going to scream my name— you’re going to watch me as you do it. You’re going to watch me devour you like my last meal, do you understand?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod, resisting the urge to roll my head back when he immediately finds my clit and brings two fingers to my entrance, pushing them in and finding my g-spot.

“Harry.” His name falls off my lips like a prayer as he keeps his eyes on mine. “Please, please let me come. I need it, I—

I feel it as my body gives into the pleasure Harry so willingly gives.

My back arches, my breast pushing up into the air and not even a sound is able to pour from my mouth. Reaching out to grasp something and knocking a cup of pens onto the floor behind me, I cry out.

“Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” Standing up, Harry looks down at me as he fists his cock in his hand. “I need to be inside of you right fucking now.”

“Condom?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

Harry reaches behind him and grabs his wallet, pulling one out and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on his length. “Tell me what you want? Hard? Soft?”

“Give me what nobody else can, don’t fucking hold back.” I grit out, feeling him run his cock along my clit. “Prove to me that you can fuck as good as everyone thinks you can.”

Harry smiles down at me only a moment before thrusting his hips forward, burying himself as deep as possible, making me scream out for him. “How’s that for a start? You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Harry!” I cry. “I need it just like that, so deep.”

Pulling his hips back, Harry leans over to kiss me as he thrusts again, the power behind it pushing the desk forward an inch. “Yeah? You like feeling like this? Feeling so fucking full that you can’t stand it. Fuck, you take my cock so fucking well, so fucking well.”

“You’re so big, shit.” I moan, my head lolling to the side as his hands spread across my waist and grip me before slamming into me. “God. It feels so— so fucking good.”

“You can take it.” Harry moans above me, his eyes going back and forth between my face to where he disappears inside of me, watching as I take every inch of him. “It feels like this was made for me. So tight, so warm.”

“Please, I need more—“

At my words alone, Harry pulls out and pulls me off the desk and turns me around. Pressing his hand between my shoulder blades, he bends me over the desk before pushing my skirt back up around my waist and grips the waistband to hold me in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” Peering at him over my shoulder, I open my mouth on a breathless moan when his hand cracks across the left side of my ass — quickly followed by the right. “Did you need me to fuck you from behind so I could spank you like this? Huh?”

I feel Harry as he slowly pushes his hips forward, filling me. Listening to his moans as they bounce off the walls, my own whimpers mix with the sound. Gripping my hips, he takes his time as he works so slow — each inch more agonizing than the last before his hips press against my ass.

“Are you going soft on me back there?” Looking at him over my shoulder, I smirk when fire flashes behind his eyes. “Is the guy from the bar all of a sudden gone?”

Harry rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, shaking his head before raising his hand and delivering a harsh slap, one that’s sure to leave his handprint behind.

“I know you fucking like that, don’t you? You’re squeezing my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.” Fingers digging into my hips, I moan when he pulls me back onto his cock and buries himself even deeper. “Tell me — tell me I'm the best you’ve ever had.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, I try to ground myself as Harry brushes against my g-spot with every single thrust, the pull in the base of my spine getting so strong that I don’t know how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

“I’ve neve been fucked like this.” I cry. “Nobody has ever, ever made me feel so fucking good.”

My eyes roll back as Harry presses his fingers against my clit and works them in time with his trusts, making me push up onto the tips of my toes in search of the release that isn’t far off.

“Like that, oh my god.” Panting, I meet him thrust for thrust as he fucks me harder and harder. “I'm so close.”

“Come on pretty poison girl, soak my cock for me.” Gripping the back of my neck, Harry presses me into the desk and gives me everything he has until my body gives up, releasing around him. “Fuck. you feel so good when you come around me like that. So damn good.”

Slowing his rhythm, Harry sweeps my hair off of my back and leans over me, pressing kisses up the curve of my spine. “Harry.”

“Yes?” His voice is soft as he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You are incredible.”

“One more.” The words fall from my lips even though I know that I'm so fucked, that I know I won’t last much longer. “I want one more.”

Stopping his movements, I feel Harry chuckle. “You think you can handle me again?”

“I want to see you.” I say, my eyes darting toward the door of the bathroom. “Let me watch you come undone over me.”

Harry grins as he pulls out, the loss of him more than I expected. “I never would have guessed the woman in the crowd would be able to fuck me so well.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people, Harry.” I walk in front of him, listening to the way he moans when he sees my own release dripping down the inside of my thighs. “Do you like what you see?”

“Fuck.” Running his hand through his curls. He looks freshly fucked and I can’t wait to finish him. “Let me see you.”

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light, the sleek and modern design is perfect. Turning, Harry steps close and finds my lips with his, taking his time to kiss me as his hands once again wander my body.

When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I let my head tilt back. “Come on. Give me what I want.”

“So fucking needy.” Harry responds, turning me around and pinning me against the counter. “Bend over, you pretty slut.” Pressing my ass out and shaking it from side to side, I cry out when Harry strikes his palm across each cheek. “How many?”

The tone in his voice makes me moan. “Fuck.”

“I said—“ Cracking down his palm again, he steps up behind me, pushing just his tip inside of my throbbing center. “How many.”

“Until you think I’ve had enough.”

I arch my back when he thrusts forward, his hand connecting with my ass even harder. “What if I never get enough. huh?”

“Harry—“

“What if I'm starting to think one night isn’t enough for me?” He thrusts so deep and I’m so sensitive that it feels so good, I clench around him. “Fuck, when you grip my cock like that I never want to leave — I could fuck you all damn night.”

I moan as I meet his gaze in the mirror, looking at the tattoos on his arms as he slides his hands up my back, gripping my shoulders and pulling me back onto his cock. “Don’t say that.”

“What? Don’t say that I want you?” Bringing his palm against my skin, his gaze locks on mine. “This— fuck, this isn’t normal.”

“What?” I ask, biting my bottom lip and letting my head fall forward. “What isn’t—”

“Feeling like this after one night.” Thrusting into me so hard that I scream, I feel tears in my eyes over the way my body feels ready to give into him again. “I’ve never had sex like this, never fucked anyone this good.”

I let my head fall to the side as my cheek presses against the cool counter, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing through the small room. “That’s because you've never been with someone like me before.”

“Fuck—“ Harry is relentless as he searches for his release. “I need you to come for me again, please.”

Begging me, his eyes are hazy as he looks at me, gaze looking with mine until with one thrust, my body shatters around his. “Harry!”

“Oh, shit—“

I watch as his head rolls back and his body stills for just a moment before his hips slowly guide in and out of me, riding us through the orgasms we’ve given each other.

“There you go, pretty girl.” Running his hands up and down my back. I take a deep breath. “You’re so fucking good. So good, Chan.”

I take a deep breath as I try to center myself. “Harry, that was—“

Resting his forehead between my shoulder blades, his warm breath skates across my skin. “I didn’t know it would be like that when I saw you tonight, the woman dressed with ivy across her body— that the vines would wrap around me and pull me in.”

“I don’t know why you’re the surprised one.” I say, wetting my lips. “You’re the one that showed up here. How?”

Harry pulls out, a whimper falling from my lips at the loss of him. “I don’t know… I wanted to get a drink somewhere where I wouldn’t feel like Harry Styles — I wanted to go somewhere small and local.”

“And you ended up here?” I ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.

Grabbing a hand towel, Harry presses a kiss to my temple before running it under warm water and hoisting me onto the counter, laughing as I wince.

“I ended up here.” He smiles as he reaches his hand between my legs, kissing me when I gasp as he runs the warm cloth over my sensitive clit.

We both look at each other and it’s almost like Harry can’t help it when he leans down to kiss me, taking his time as his hands come up to cup my cheeks.

“Let’s get you dressed, okay?” He speaks the words against my lips but makes no move to let me off the counter to grab my top. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

I laugh. “Come on, we have to get out of here before someone comes in.”

“I hope they do.” kissing down the side of my neck, Harry rests his forehead against my collarbone. “I need everyone to know I was with you — that you’ve been fucked you harder than you ever have in your life.”

Resting my hand in the middle of his chest, I push him backwards and hop off the counter on shaky legs, Harry laughing as he rests his hands on my hips to guide me back into the office.

“Here, let me help you.” It’s a sweet gesture to see a man like him help me back into my top, watching as he uses all of his concentration to make sure every hook gets fastened properly while he doesn’t disturb the leaves.

“Thank you… For tonight.” I say, looking over his features. “I really had a good time.”

Harry smiles and brushes a lock of hair from off my face. “I did too.”

I give him one last smile, reaching for the door handle.

Before I turn it, Harry reaches for my hand, turning me and pressing me into the door one last time, finding my lips with his own.

Unlike most of the kisses tonight, this one is so slow, so gentle.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but I need to be able to see you again — I don't know what my brain is doing to me, but I just know that I need it.” The look in his eyes is so full of hope, so soft. “I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Here.” I hold my hand out, hoping he gets the hint.

When he does, he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. I easily put my name and number in before giving it back to him, watching his lips curl up with a grin.

“Channing?” Looking from his phone to me, I smile as my hand grips the doorknob and finally push it open.

I wink at him as I step out into the hall. “It’s me.”

He steps forward and grips my hip one last time. bringing his lips down to mine.

“It’s you.”

💖

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sillylittlefreakgirl · 4 months

Text

You awoke slowly. The heaviness of dreaming gradually lifted, little by little, but not fully. It was comfortable. Safe. You didn't want to open your eyes or move. You wanted to stay and dream a little more.

Despite yourself, you began to feel the sensations of the waking world. A warm breeze across bare skin. Soft grass beneath you. Light dancing across your face. Music in the distance. An odd smell in the air. It all felt so *good*.

A pretty voice rang like soft bells in your ears. "Oh poor pet. Are you lost?"

Your eyes opened just a crack. There was a tall, pale, red-haired man above you. Or, you thought it was a man. It was hard to tell. Everything was so fuzzy.

It took a moment before you realized you were supposed to respond, but at the same time, you realized you didn't know how to answer. Were you lost? You couldn't remember, but it didn't feel like you were supposed to be anywhere else. You felt at home.

Where was *here*? you wondered. Opening your eyes just a little more, you saw a sunlit clearing surrounded by odd trees. Colors danced in the air above you, and though it was midday with a bright sun, you saw stars share the blue sky. You couldn't find the source of the music, nor that strange smell.

Then, of course, there was the man. He wore clothes woven from autumnal leaves. You wore nothing, you realized. The man knelt down beside you, his face above yours. His breath smelled sweet, and your mind grew fuzzier.

"You must have stumbled through here," he murmured. "Poor thing. Your kind doesn't adapt well to this place." Hearing him speak filled you with such joy and wonder and *lust* that you couldn't hold back a giggle. His fingers traced your cheek in response. "I can't let you go back to your home, now, can I? You'll not be happy in your world now that you've sipped from mine. It'd be cruel."

You had no idea what your home was, but you didn't want to leave this place. You wanted to stay with this strange man and listen to his voice forever.

His fingers left your cheek and now run along your neck, your shoulders, down your side and around your thigh, and a small gasp escaped you. You wanted him to keep touching you, more than anything else. He stopped then, though, and as his hand left your skin you whined in disappointment.

"Sit up, dear," he said, and so you did. The fuzziness, the colors, the music, everything felt so muffled and blissful and you just *knew* that it would all feel so much better if you did what he said.

He opened his hand to reveal a slender chain, sparkling in every hue and more. He tenderly wrapped it around your neck, hidden clasps locking it tight. "Some choose to walk, some prefer to crawl," he whispered. "It's up to you."

As he walked, holding your chain, you crawled alongside him.

He led you through a sea of trees decorated in more alluring flowers. As you came close to them, the odd scent strengthened and it became harder to think. He led you through gloaming twilight and fiery autumn, until, together, you found a verdant glade ringed with stone columns. Within the circle were others like you, men and women alike, all naked save for a glittering, slender chain, the ends of which were fastened to the pillars. More tall, fair, red-haired creatures filled the ring too, serviced by the mortals within. The sounds of whimpers and gasps filled your mind and you wanted desperately to join them.

The creature behind you tied your chain to a pillar and patted your head. "Here we are, pet. Your new home. The world outside is dangerous, but you'll never feel anything but happiness again."

Your arrival was noticed by the many tall creatures, who paused their fucking and stepped away from their pets, who begged them to return. But the creature's eyes were fixed solely on you, the new addition. "Please," you whined, your first words spoken in this realm. You said nothing after, your mouth wide open as your new owners drew closer.

#monster fucker #monster smut #fae fucker #fae smut #intox kink

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

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

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option.

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen.

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over.

You shout above the whipping of the airways.

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him.

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full.

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go.

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes.

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet.

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!”

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin.

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment.

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again.

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow.

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down.

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?”

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy.

You hum, leaning into him and smirking.

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors.

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders.

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this.

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago.

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him.

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone.

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?”

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back.

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled.

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are.

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.”

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet.

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment.

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.”

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently.

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath.

“Getting there.”

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that.

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise.

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect.

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room.

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks.

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air.

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?”

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.”

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.”

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.”

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next.

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in.

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses.

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection.

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.”

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated.

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.”

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike.

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

“She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of.

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock.

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty.

Your sentence is whispered.

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.”

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes.

How could he be the one thing you were looking for?

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself.

Simon was an enigma.

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath.

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver.

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins.

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you.

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in.

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs.

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space.

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another.

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks.

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself.

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing.

You know it can’t have been good.

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.”

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should.

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.”

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver.

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm.

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh.

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear.

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.”

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard.

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together.

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white.

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.”

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree.

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering.

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him.

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy.

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you.

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth.

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway.

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward.

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers.

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better.

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals.

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants.

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down.

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices.

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of.

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen.

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive.

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes?

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently.

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation.

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?”

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.”

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck.

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.”

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely.

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?”

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes.

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole.

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge.

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall.

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it.

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street.

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers.

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly.

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order.

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless.

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air.

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand.

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement.

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips.

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?”

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago.

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better.

Simon presses a kiss into your temple.

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there.

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew.

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern.

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat.

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl.

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about.

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought.

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window.

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it.

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows.

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.”

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?”

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.”

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank.

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you.

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge.

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops.

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood.

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something.

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air.

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air.

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon.

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation.

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back.

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason.

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath.

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another.

How dare anyone do something like that to you.

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear.

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.”

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless.

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks.

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment.

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully.

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat.

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air.

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.”

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.”

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body.

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.”

You spare a strangled huff at that.

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory.

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.”

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble.

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath.

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub.

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done.

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different.

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint.

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.”

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent.

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief.

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.”

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin.

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more.

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism.

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!”

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath.

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.”

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.”

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.”

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in.

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.”

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing.

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare.

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash.

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.”

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer.

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering.

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

“What are you—?!”

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips.

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leclerc-hs · 28 days

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it's cool, we're just friends? - cl16

pairing: college!charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends with benefits!) summary: in which you and a guy in your class are friends with benefits OR you and your friends with benefits might be more? warnings: smut under the cut! thigh-riding, throat-fucking, p in v sex!, no condoms (bad!), badly translated french (pls correct me), angst, pining, NOT PROOFREAD!!!! word count: 4.8k! author's note: so i ALMOST scrapped this entire thing because i wasn't sure how i felt about it so if it sucks, i understand LOL. i had a lot of fun writing this and can see myself writing a lot of scenarios for them like before there was this many feelings involved? like maybe a spring break one shot for them, when they hooked up for first time ;) PLEASE let me hear your thoughts and any comments you have. I love hearing from you guys xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE WEIGHT OF his eyes bore into the back of your skull, a palpable presence as you immerse yourself in the lecture before you. It’s almost become a ritual at this point: a magnetic pull compels you to glance his way, and there he is, a smirk stretching wide across his face, as if he holds the upper hand.

In that fleeting moment where your eyes meet his verdant gaze, a fierce intensity ignites within you. It’s as if a wildfire unleashes, consuming you with an unbridled mix of desire and exasperation. Your stomach tightens with a fervent ache, betraying the absolute irritation you feel at his ability to rile you up with one look.

Internally, Charles wrestles with the urge to gaze at you as though you’ve strung the stars and moon just for him. Yet, outwardly, he remains steadfast, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability when it comes to you. Instead, he masks his emotions behind a practiced smirk—a façade. And the blushing reaction you give him almost every time, only enthuses him more.

“Arrête!” You half-shout, though it emerges more as a whispered urgency amidst the large lecture hall.

Charles leans in over his desk, his lips hovering dangerously close to the shell of your ear, a proximity that sets your heart racing with a rapid intensity.

“Est-ce que je te verra ice soir?” Will I see you tonight?

You kept your head straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warmth of him being so close, resisting the allure of his voice.

“Peut-être.” Maybe.

At the front of the lecture hall, Professor Bernard stands tall, his expression grave as he prepares his common ‘you guys are smarter than this’ speech about the recent exam grades. He highlights the alarming fact that more than half of the class received a 70% or lower. And true to his reputation as the kindest professor, he extends an olive branch by offering retakes to those who seek improvement before dismissing the lecture.

You gather your belongings, ready to make your exit, when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps around your shoulder just as you cross the threshold of the door.

You? Aced it. Charles? Not so aced it.

Which you knew meant you were helping him study as usual.

You watch as Charles runs his fingers through his disheveled locks, each movement betraying a hint of frustration and determination. His lips form a subtle pout as he fixates on the study material you laid out before him, his furrowed brows highlighting the depth of his concentration.

“Mon chou, je ne pensais pas que tu m’avais invite pour ça.” I didn’t think you invited me over for this.

With a gleam in his eyes, he wiggles his eyebrows playfully as he collapses on the many pillows of your bed behind him. The papers scattered across the bed threaten to take flight, but your swift reflexes saved them from soaring away into chaos.

You narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, but the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your amusement at the situation.

“Tu dois étudier.” You need to study.

Charles stares at the corners of your lips, his eyes not straying once from them even as you spoke.

“Embrasse-moi d’abord.” Kiss me first. He nearly begs; his face almost completely covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he laid on his back beside your cross-legged figure.

“Étudie.” Study. Your words were firm, yet you could feel your resolve slipping under the intensity of his gaze, as it traces a path from your lips to your eyes, igniting a warmth that stirred whenever he was near.

His arm reaches up behind your neck in a swift motion, too quick for you to even see it coming. His fingers grabbing the nape of your neck in a tight grip as he brings your face down to his, your body toppling over his in an unnatural position from his force. His lips collide with yours instantly, and the squeal you elicit gives him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He groans softly against your mouth, something about how sweet your mouth tastes. The moan that escapes your lips and melded into his mouth drove him absolutely crazy. The grip on the back of your neck didn’t loosen as he held you to him, giving you no opportunity to pull away from him.

Your tank top cladded chest was pressed against the side of his body, embracing you in his warmth. You press a hand to his chest, attempting to push yourself up, but he groans against your lips in detest before loosening his grip on your neck.

“Est-ce vraiment necessaire.” Do we have to? He begins to pepper kisses all around your face, his fingers dipping under the straps of your tank top, tracing intricate patterns of the soft skin beneath.

You slip your hand under the warmth of his hoodie, his toned muscles flexing under your cold fingertips as you trail your hand up his chest and slip one leg over him, straddling his thigh. His skin was so warm. Almost like a furnace.

He sucks in a breath, as if your touch hurt him, but really, he craved it. He wanted you everywhere. The tight leggings that adorned your body did little to prevent Charles from feeling the heat and arousal of your pussy against his thigh. A smirk widened on his lips almost instantly. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He could sense your contemplative thoughts by one glance at your eyes. As if you knew he needed to study, but you needed this more.

You could barely concentrate the minute Charles sprawled onto your bed earlier, his legs spread and shorts riding up to expose the muscles of his thighs. It was even harder to think with the way his soft green eyes look up at you, and the way his fingers felt on you.

His hand trails from beneath the strap of your tank top, your hardened nipples more than visible through the thin fabric of it, to the front of your breasts.

“No bra?” His thumb rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the fabric of your shirt. “Planning on getting fucked, hm?”

Your hips rut against his thigh almost instantly in response to his words. The feeling of his thigh against your clit, causing a soft moan to slip. It was then, that Charles seemed to lose all restraint as his hand grasped the side of your neck and squeezed lightly, his thumb resting in the center of your neck. He flexed his thigh, his eyes gleaming at the sight of your blown out pupils.

“Regarde-toi,” Look at you. He edged you on. “Just wanna ride m’thigh, yeah?”

Your hips move in their own rhythm, unable to stop. It just feels too good. You nodded repeatedly as you lean over, pressing your chest to his, as he claims your lips once again. His hot, tongue sliding against yours as the stubble of his facial hair scratches your chin.

You struggle, losing the rhythm of your hips until Charles slid his hands down to your waist, guiding your movements. “C’mon mon chou, tu dois travailler pour ça.” You have to work for it.

“We should study.” You mention, the pace of your hips not stopping. As if your body has a mind of its own.

“Nous sommes.” We are. He argues, his fingertips squeezing into the skin of your hips even more. “Now, keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on me.”

“Oh, what about her?” You point to the pretty brunette that was currently leaned against the wall, a red solo cup in her manicured hand, as she was deep in conversation with a few other girls that you haven’t seen before.

Charles sighs heavily, rolling his eyes just slightly. “Why are you pawning me off?” He cracks a smile, his elbows gently hitting your side.

You let out a small laugh before bringing your own cup to your lips. The liquid of your drink resting on the top of your lip as you finished a sip and turned to look at Charles. “M’not!” You shrug your shoulders. “Elle est jolie and keeps looking at you thinkin’ no one’s noticed.” She’s pretty.

He wouldn’t know about the ‘pretty brunette’ you claimed was there. He didn’t know about any other girl that was here. His eyes haven’t left your figure the entire night. Since you stepped in the entrance of the house he was by your side, it was like his body knew you arrived.

“Peu importe ça, m’gonna go dance.” Whatever. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a deep laugh, and saunter off to find one of your friends already on the makeshift dance floor in the living room of the house.

Charles leans casually against the wall, his eyes tracing the contours of your radiant smile from afar. Despite himself, a soft grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you sure you’re not together?” One of his friends, Alex, teases, leaning in close to Charles and handing him a red solo cup, its contents mostly frothy beer foam from an evidently lazy pour. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

Charles’s gaze drift from the frothy mess in his cup to Alex’s expectant face, a furrow forming on his brow. It wasn’t the foam that troubled him, rather, it was Alex’s words that unsettled him. How was he supposed to respond? We aren’t together but I think I’m in love with her?

Charles clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to speak his truth, as the words “have at it” slip past his lips with a forced nonchalance. With a hollow smile, he raises the cup to his lips, swallowing the acrid liquid with a newfound eagerness that masked the bitter taste of envy and longing festering in his chest. As Alex made his way towards you, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of anguish, knowing that he was relinquishing his chance to confess his feelings, drowning them instead in the depths of a cheap beer.

“Mmm, tu es tellement douée.” You’re so good.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this scenario. All you remember is being dragged away from a game of beer-pong with Alex, his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly it could’ve left marks, and shoving you onto your knees as soon as he shut the bathroom door.

Dwelling on the how’s and why’s seemed inconsequential now. Especially with his cock buried deep down your throat like it is right now, and especially with the praises that slip past his lips.

Charles lulls his head back with a loud groan as he flexes his hips into your mouth, giving you little to no opportunity to breathe. No opportunity to speak. But you didn’t care. You would do anything to please him.

“Tellement putain de jolie, mon dieu.” So fucking pretty, my God.

“Bet you’re soaked under that dress, hm?” His grip on your hair tightens. “Got you all wet without even touching you.” His laugh is deep and mocking. You feel your thighs clench, like it was an automatic response. “Only I get you like this, yeah?”

You press your face forward, not even needing his force as you take full enjoyment in the feeling of him in your mouth.

“So eager, mon chou.”

You moan at the feeling of his smooth cock against the walls of your throat. The vibrations of your moan, immediately sending him over the edge. His white, hot cum spills down your throat, filling you up, before he pulls out. A long string of saliva follows, your eyes completely teary.

He lifts you from your knees, the cool tile of the bathroom floor no longer your support, his thumb gently resting on your chin as he studies you for a mere second. Taking in the streaky tears under your eyes and your swollen lips. He could already feel the blood rushing back to his cock.

“Bet you’re leaking all over yourself, yeah?” You catch the smirk that pulls onto his lips before his lips crash down onto yours. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip for a brief second before he’s pulling away, pushing you up onto the bathroom sink counter as he stands in between your spread legs. “All achy?” He cocked his head to the side a little, like he knew something you didn’t.

It was so fast, you weren’t even able to ask questions before he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into the lace of your underwear, pushing them aside, and pressing his hot tongue to your soaked core.

You swore you’ve never moaned so loud in your life as you just did in this moment. At the feeling of the kitten licks on your clit, at the feeling of him shoving two fingers into you, finding that spot he knew you loved most almost instantly.

Your fingers franticly reached into his tousled locks, pulling his hair probably harder than necessary, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he moaned right into your pussy. Like he couldn’t ever get enough of you. Like he would stay licking you for forever if he could.

“Mon dieu,” My god. You squeal as your head lulls back against the cool mirror behind you and bite your lip trying to conceal the moans.

You look down at Charles, his eyes already staring at you, his green eyes completely darkened now. It makes your stomach do a multitude of flips. Your attempt to squeeze your legs shut from the pressure building in your stomach, but Charles grips his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding them open.

A series of knocks are heard on the bathroom door which sends you into a total panic to which Charles yells “Va te faire foutre!” Fuck off!

Your body squirms against Charles’ mouth and the granite of the countertop, but he holds you in place as if to say you’re not going anywhere until you soak my mouth.

He ate you out like a possessed man. Your chest is flushed red as the speed of his tongue picks up, sending you into overdrive. It wasn’t until he sucks harshly on your clit, the pressure of it, has you leaping over the edge into your orgasm. You came hard enough that your body arched, your fingers clenching his hair, pulling hard.

Charles doesn’t come up right away, he licks and licks until you’re pushing him off you. Both of your chests rose and fell in rhythm with each heavy breath, the lingering echoes of the lively party beyond the door gradually seeping back into your consciousness. It felt as though you had just descended from a faraway realm, returning to the bustling reality surrounding you.

His lips glistened, coated in you, as he stares at you completely fucked out on the bathroom counter. An unmistakable smugness in his expression.

His heart clenches as he drinks in the sight of you, so many emotions swirling in his chest. As you stretch your lips into that smile he loves so much, he feels a swell of warmth flood his senses, a tender ache stirring in the depths of his soul.

“Qu’est-ce qui te prend?” What’s gotten into you?

Not that you were complaining at what just happened. If anything, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted a repeat right now.

He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, one hand leisurely slipping into his pocket, while the other moved to grasp the door handle. With a patient stance, he awaited your readiness before even considering opening the door. “J’avais juste besoin de toi,” Just needed you. He whispers, his voice carrying a tender resonance, emphasizing the depth of longing.

And then he’s swinging the door open, guiding you both back to the party.

“Je pense que nous devrions arrêter.” I think we should stop.

The words felt heavy in your throat as you said them, your hand clasped in Charles’ hand as you sat across from one another in the campus coffee shop.

Charles chuckled softly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, but when be caught the seriousness in your expression, his laughter faded. His eyebrows knitted together, a pang of pain igniting in his chest and spreading like wildfire.

You watched as he leaned his head back against the booth, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if unable to meet your eyes.

“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? He met your eyes again, and you noticed a subtle shift in their hue—they were slightly darker than their usual shade of green.

“Je ne pense pas que ç ava marcher.” I don’t think this is going to work out. As you uttered the words, a queasy sensation churned in your stomach, making you feel like you were going to be sick. Similarly, Charles felt a wave of nausea wash over him upon hearing your words, his own stomach in knots.

Just looking at him had your eyes burning, but you refused to let the tears fall. Despite the overwhelming love you felt for this man, you couldn’t ignore the reality that it was unlikely to progress beyond the messy situation you found yourselves in. What were you supposed to do? Be friends that fuck for the rest of your lives?

You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. No, you’ve been thinking about this for so long, but cutting it off was just too hard. Cutting him off was too hard.

As you watched him slowly retract his fingers from yours, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose while he blinked, a fiery ache within your chest grew.

“We’re friends, always, right?” You asked, offering him a soft smile, though inside, your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You reminded yourself that this was necessary. You needed to go on dates. Not that he was exactly holding you back. It just felt wrong to go on dates while sleeping with another.

“Right,” he responded, his expression devoid of a smile. “Friends.” He nodded slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of the situation before him.

“Est-ce que je peux demander ce qui a déclencé cela?” Can I ask what brought this up? His fingers tapped restlessly along the edge of the table, betraying his impatience as he awaited your answer.

Meanwhile, you sat twiddling your thumbs in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at them. Why did this conversation feel so unbearably difficult?

“Quoi?” What?

“Est-ce que j’ai fait quelque chose?” Did I do something?

You shook your head instantly, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “I just,” You began, but felt flustered as you took a pause to look back down at your fingers and then him again. His eyes made you feel hot all over, the way they never strayed from your face whenever you spoke to him, the way they dropped to your lips every so often as if he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. He couldn’t.

“I just think I need to go on dates.” You nervously smiled.

“You think?” He scoffed, throwing one arm over the top of the booth, and resting it there as he fell into a relaxed position. His eye twitched slightly, as he flexed his hand and clenched it like he was holding himself back.

You’re not sure how to respond. You had anticipated this conversation to be brief, perhaps along the lines of “I think we should end this,” followed by his immediate agreement. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. You could feel yourself growing flustered the longer you sat here. Why couldn’t he just simply agree, no questions asked.

You nodded, with slight hesitance. Did you really want to end it with him? No.

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling a little smirk on his face as he usually did. “Très bien.” Fine.

And that was that.

Charles decided that he had it up to here when you strolled into the house party, lips shiny with gloss, and you hand held in none other than Alex’s. It was as if you were trying to torture him. Like you knew that he loved you and you just wanted to hurt him a little more.

He’s watching, you can feel his eyes burn into you as you turn your head, pretending to listen to Alex as he rambles on about some story. You don’t let yourself glance over to Charles until later in the night, when he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer bottle gripped in his hand, eyes already on you.

You felt your stomach do a multitude of flips from the eye-contact, that you even almost pulled your hand from Alex’s. Like you were caught doing something wrong.

You quickly realized that you had little to no self-control, especially when it came to Charles. With his hair pushed back and the linen shirt half-unbuttoned, allowing the toned and taut muscles of his stomach to peek through, it almost seemed as though he wanted to make it even harder for you to resist. Like he wanted to punish you for not choosing him.

He had you right where he wanted you, sort of.

“Shh,” Charles nips at your earlobe, eliciting a mewl from you as he presses you against the mattress of his bed. “You want everyone to hear what a whore you are, hm?”

Another string of moans leaves your lips as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers gripping the front of your neck tightly. His eyes fixed on yours, the pace of his hips was slow, but so deep.

“Tell me,” Charles began, his tongue trailing along your collarbones and up your neck until his mouth hovered over yours. “Still wanna play stupid games with me, jolie fille?” Pretty girl.

You whined as his hips picked up in pace. “Ouvrir.” Open. You did so without a second thought, only to be met with a string of saliva meeting your tongue. Charles groaned as you swallowed his spit, eagerly.

“Still wanna pretend we’re just friends?” He could feel your walls trembling as her hand snaked its way to the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. It was a tangle of tongues and moans.

“Does he fuck you as good as me?” You couldn’t handle the way he was talking to you, staring at you, touching you. “Gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

You shook your head repeatedly.

“That’s it,” His voice was gentle in your ear. “So good, mon chou.”

Your breaths were jagged and heavy as he took you harder and harder. “Rub your pretty little clit for me, yeah?”

Your body was shaking as you trailed your fingers down, fingers playing with your clit. Charles rested on his knees, his eyes staring at his cock being swallowed by your pussy, and the way your fingers toyed with your sensitive clit. He groaned at the sight of his cock coated in you.

It wasn’t long before you careening forward with a cry, your body arching off the bed, as you came around his cock. Charles fell forward over you, an arm on each side of your head, as he cocooned you. His hips didn’t let up as you sobbed out, your toes curling.

Charles could feel his resolve slipping at the feeling of your soaked walls clenching him. He threw his head into the crevice of your neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to thrust even deeper than before. He rolled his hips, pumping into you with such a fervent rush.

“Mon dieu,” His groans were soft in your ear. “You feel so good.”

It wasn’t until you moaned in his ear, begging for him to come in you, that he lost all control. A deep moan, pressing his hips down against yours as he held you down, pumping his cum deep into you.

For a few moments, it was silent. Just the sound of your heavy breaths as Charles collapsed to the side of you. You both felt oddly at peace, even with the thumping of the house party music heard from the other side of his bedroom door.

Charles stood up, grabbing a towel from his bathroom, before bringing it to you to help clean you up. Something primal filled his chest as he stared at you sprawled on his bed, his cum dripping out of you.

It was the last swipe of the towel when he finally spoke.

“We’re not friends.” He stated. He was sick of teetering around the topic. He was sick of seeing you with other guys at his house.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he held his hand up, essentially silencing you.

“Stop pretending you want any other guy’s cock.” He stood before you as you sat up on the edge of the bed still naked, hands clenched at his sides in a fist. You began to stand up, your face turning red with anger, not because of his words but because he was right.

You grabbed your dress that was in a pile on the floor, slipping it on in a hurry. “Je dois partir.” I need to go. You began, “Alex me cherche probablement.” Alex is probably looking for me.

It was then that Charles raised his voice, if it weren’t for the loud music, you could’ve sworn the entire house would’ve heard.

“J’en ai tellement marre de ça!” I’m so sick of this! He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing the room back and forth. You felt your words caught in your throat as you stood still, your eyes following his every movement until he stood before you, his hands gripping your waist.. “Je t’aime!” I love you! He laughs after he says it, like he’s so pathetically in love with you and you have no care in the world for it.

“I cannot handle seeing you with another man.” He rambles off. “I cannot handle seeing you showing up here, to my home, holding another man’s hand.” He seethes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathes in, attempting to calm himself down.

“I know you love me.” His fingers grab your hand, pulling it up to his chest and holding it where his heart beats. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, his eyes reflecting a wild intensity, his hair disheveled hair adding to his untamed allure. Sensing your vulnerability, he gently cupped your face with his other hand, offering you a tender touch. You leaned into his comforting embrace, as if seeking solace in his presence. With a silent nod, you pressed your head against his hand, a single tear escaping down your cheek, bearing witness to the depth of your emotions.

“I’m so sick of seeing people with what is mine.” He urged. “You can’t be someone else’s, not when you are already mine.”

“Charlie,” You drew in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, drowning in the depths of his green gaze. Every fiber of your being resonated with love for this man, an unshakeable devotion that consumed your soul.

“S’il te plait.” Please. His voice was a whispered hush as he begged. “Put me out of my misery.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but you didn’t let him. You stood on the tips of your toes, leaning forward to press your chest against his as you pressed your lips to him. His arms immediately wrapping around your waist as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you in his mouth again, his cock already hardening for you.

You pulled off him, “Really?” He let a small laugh escape his lips as he pulled your mouth back onto his for a small peck.

“I’m a man in love.” He grins, like he has nothing to be ashamed about.

“Je t’aime.” I love you.

Charles tenderly pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along the velvety skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Répète-le.” Say it again. He whispers, his voice husky with desire. As his lips continue down their intoxicating dance on your neck, his fingers trail the straps of your dress, gradually easing them down your shoulders with a tantalizing touch.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. He placed a small nip to your neck, eliciting a small squeal, as he lifted you up and carried you back to his bed.

“M’so in love with you,” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

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