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sleepynoons · 3 months ago

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Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown.

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face.

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage.

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of.

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred.

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep.

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

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iovetecchou · 1 year ago

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Circumstances ⧸ Aki Hayakawa.𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary: Trapped inside the hotel that has been taken over by the eternity devil, your superior: Hayakawa Aki, is the only comfort you've found. As the days go by, you find yourself seeking more than just comfort from your usually stoic leader.

༞ Contains...! smut, porn with a slight plot, and a sprinkle of fluff, only one bed trope, virgin!aki, inexperienced!aki, touch starved!aki, consent, dry humping, handjob, pussyjob, no penetrative sex, pillow talk, confessions, overall very soft and clumsy, the reader lovingly teases aki throughout the entirety of this fic

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 3,064 words.

kinktober masterlist!

It had been days.

Days; since you first stepped foot inside this forsaken hotel with your unit. Your Captain, Aki, was the only individual keeping your crew from losing their minds. Although, Kobeni was way beyond saving at this point.

You tried to stay optimistic, putting your trust in your Captain. You had no reason to doubt him, anyway. You admired Aki. If he asked you to follow him blindly, you would.

Aki always made you feel safe; it would be a lie if you said you had not fallen for him.

You admired every version of Aki, but your favorite side of him was the one only you got to see. The Aki who helped you get stronger, never giving up on you even when you stumbled and screwed up. The Aki who would go out after a harsh mission and eat almond tofu with you. The Aki that allowed himself to smile when he was in your presence, letting himself forget about his trepidations. Even if it was briefly before you witnessed the sorrow creep back into his cerulean eyes.

You could not help but feel as though Aki might have a soft spot for you. He always requested to be stationed with you on assignments and spoke highly of you to Miss Makima when you did exemplary work.

So when you got paired up to share a room with the captain himself, you could hardly contain your excitement.

Arai and Kobeni were in shambles, so Power locked them in a room together. She laughed menacingly on the outside from the sounds of them wailing and shrieking. Power and Denji took the next room, unintentionally pairing themselves up. You could hear them bickering through the thin walls before it got quiet. Ultimately, assuming that Denji must have fallen asleep.

And then there was Aki and yourself.

You would be lying if you said the prospect of sleeping in the same bed as your crush didn’t excite you, just a little bit. You knew it was wrong, considering the situation was less than ideal. You secretly wished your first time sharing a bed with Aki would be under better circumstances, but there’s no time like the present.

You could’ve sworn you saw Aki's cheeks flush when he noticed there was only one bed before he blurted out,

“I’ll take the floor. You take the bed.“

A frown etched its way into your visage, coming up with a solution to change his mind on the spot.

“But, Mister Hayakawa, I think it would be safest if we stuck together and stayed as close as possible. Who knows what the eternity devil might do next? It might try to separate us, so we must have eyes on one another at all times. That’s why we all paired up in the first place, right?”

You watched as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs for a few beats before ultimately exhaling with a sigh. You could tell he was thinking over your proposition from the way his eyebrows knit together.

“Alright, you have a point. But only if you are comfortable with that.”

Your eyes lit up as he agreed to your proposal. You turned on your heel, making your way toward the messily made bed. Trying to conceal your grin from Aki.

“Of course I’m comfortable! You always make me feel safe, Mister Hayakawa.”

Aki's cheeks dusted a pretty pink from your words. With your back still turned, you kicked your shoes off. Shrugging off your blazer before rolling up the sleeves of your white button-down. He took another drag of his cigarette, making slow strides toward the bed. Aki propped his sword against the nightstand before unbuttoning his suit jacket. Trying his hardest not to overthink resting beside you.

“I will only need a few hours until I am back on patrol, but I want you to get as much rest as possible. I will try my best not to wake you when I leave.”

All you could do was nod in agreement as you lifted the covers, making yourself as cozy as you could; regarding the circumstances.

You turned on your side from beneath the sheets, observing Aki as he put his cigarette out. He slipped his shoes off, lifting his side of the duvet before crawling underneath. He was as stiff as a board as he rested flat against the bed. You could tell he was nervous, and you were not sure if it was because of the proximity or because of the devil, which was still at large.

“Mister Hayakawa, are you okay? You look a bit tense.”

Aki let out a deep sigh. He turned his head slightly so that he could glance at you before he spoke softly.

“It’s just… I want to make sure we all get out of here alive without having to sacrifice anyone. Defeating this devil, getting the gun devil chunk, and making sure you get out of here unharmed, are my top priorities.”

You felt your cheeks heat up from his words. To learn that Aki prioritized your well-being in such a way made your heart flutter.

“Don’t worry mister Hayakawa! With you being our captain, I have no doubts that we will succeed in all of those departments. Also, don’t feel like you need to bear the burden on your own. You can lean on me, I promise.”

Your words forced Aki’s chest to tighten. You put so much faith into him, and knowing that you believed in him to such an extent eased his mind. For the time being.

Aki took in a deep breath before sitting up swiftly. He reached over toward the lamp resting atop the night table, tugging on the copper string. Enveloping you both in complete darkness.

“Thank you… Now get some rest. I’m sure we have a long day ahead of us,”

Aki whispered, turning on his side to face you. A tight-lipped smile pulled at his lips before he finished his thought.

“And one more thing, you don’t need to call me Mister Hayakawa while we’re on the job. You can always call me Aki. You know that, right?”

You watched as he tucked a hand under his pillow for support, adjusting slightly to let himself slump further into the bed. A small giggle slipped past your lips from his words before you retorted,

“Of course, I know that! I just figured you liked it when I addressed you as Mister Hayakawa. I mean, considering how your ears turn a pretty shade of pink when I do.”

You teased. Inching yourself closer to your superior from where you lay atop the mattress. Practically sharing the same air at this point.

“Hey, cut that out.”

Was all Aki could blurt out before he turned his back toward you. He silently thanked the darkness for shrouding the room, concealing the rosiness that painted his face.

That didn’t stop you from shifting impossibly closer. You pressed your chest against the expanse of Aki's back, closing the distance between you two before letting your arm sling around his hip.

“I’m sorry, Mister Hayakawa… I didn’t mean to tease.”

Your voice laced with faux innocence. But Aki could hardly focus on the words you spoke only moments ago. The feeling of your arm wrapped around his midsection and your chest pressing into him had his brain short-circuiting.

Physical affection was not something Aki was used to by any means, and the fact that you were the one touching him made his head spin even further. Aki felt comfortable with you. He cherished the time you spent together, more than he let on.

“Yes, you did. Do you take me for one of those idiots over in the next room?”

Aki huffed, trying his hardest not to twitch when your fingertips trailed over his clothed abdomen. You scooted up the bed slightly; so you could rest your head atop Aki’s shoulder. Lips ghosting over the shell of his rosy ear before you whispered out,

“Of course not, Mister Hayakawa. You are clever, way better than the others. In every aspect.”

Your hand trailed lower, fumbling with the clasp of his belt. You heard Aki’s breath hitch as you pulled the leather out of the buckle.

“What are you—“

“Like I said earlier, you seem a bit tense. Let me help you, Mister Hayakawa.”

His heart was pounding against his sternum. Aki could feel his hands shaking as he remained silent. You could tell he was way beyond nervous.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop if you are uncomfortable.”

You whispered, slowly retracting your hands from around his waist. What you didn’t expect was for Aki to turn in his place, coming face to face with you once more.

“No it’s not that… i-it’s just…”

You could barely make out his expression in the darkness, but you could feel his hand trembling beside you. Your hand crept down to grasp his arm, placing his large palm atop your waist.

“Why are you shaking so much, Mister Hayakawa? It’s just us.”

The way that nickname rolled off your tongue made his head fuzzy. He could feel the warmth of your skin seeping through your shirt.

“Is this what you want?”

Aki took a shaky breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I…”

His voice was quivering as you two shared the same air. Another moment passed before you whispered,

“Do you want me to stop, Aki?”

His breath hitched. You said his name, finally. Aki’s heart was beating a mile a minute as you slowly started to pull away.

“N-No… don’t stop.”

That was all the conformation you needed. You could hardly contain your excitement as you pressed your chest flush against his in one swift motion. You hoisted your leg around his waist, pulling a low grunt from Aki.

Now you understood the reason behind Aki’s trembling; he was hard. You could feel his erection pressing up against your clothed core from the new position.

“Ah… I’m sorry—“

Before Aki could finish his sentence, your lips were on his. His cerulean eyes were blown wide at the sudden kiss, but he wasn’t complaining.

Aki thought about this moment countless times your lips colliding with his. But never in a million years did Aki think your first kiss together would be under these circumstances.

You deepened the kiss further, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. At first, Aki didn’t get the hint, but when your pelvis ground down against his aching cock, he couldn’t help but let out a whine.

The moment his lips parted against yours, you slipped your tongue past. Tangling with his appendage slowly, letting him get used to the newfound intimacy. Aki was still shaking, you noted, as your hand came up to unbuckle his belt; for good this time.

Aki only pulled away from your lips when he felt you unzip his pants, tugging on the waistband of his boxers.

“W-Wait… I’ve never…”

Aki could feel the perspiration trickling down the side of his neck as he swallowed the lump in his throat, adams apple bobbing in the process.

“I know, and it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, Aki. I want to make you feel good, and I promise I’ll go slow.”

You muttered against his lips, slipping your hand through the hole in his boxers. Aki gasped against your lips as you seized his needy cock. Gently pulling his length through the cut-out of his underwear.

“Is this okay?”

You asked, halting in your movements. You placed a small kiss on Aki's nose as you awaited his response, being as patient as ever with him. Aki nodded fervently before whispering,

“Yes… more— please…”

Aki’s plea sent heat rushing to your core. He was too precious, and who were you to deny him?”

Your hand slowly began rubbing his leaky cock. There was so much pre-cum coating the head of his dick; making it even easier to glide your palm along his twitching length.

“Does this feel good?”

You picked up the pace ever so slightly, letting your thumb circle around his ruddy tip.

“Fuck— yes, so… so good…”

Aki’s head fell forward, now resting his forehead against yours as you continued to stroke his cock.

“Better than when you do this to yourself?”

You asked earnestly, reveling in the little whines and whimpers that slipped past his lips.

“Mhm…”

That was all Aki could muster out. He was too drunk off the pleasure you granted him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Your hands worked him so carefully— so tenderly. For the first time in a long time; Aki allowed himself to forget his worries. He allowed himself to succumb to you entirely.

You could feel him throbbing in your hand. You knew he was nearing his end. Aki’s perspired forehead stuck to your own, his breath was warm against your lips. You couldn’t help but clench around nothing at his silent pleas of,

“Please, don’t stop… feels s-so— good…”

Quickly, you removed your hand from around his length. Your leg unhooked from around his waist for a brief moment as you fumbled with your belt. Swiftly pushing your pants and panties down your legs before kicking them off from underneath the covers.

“What are you—“

“Shh… don’t worry, I’m not stopping. I want to try something different, just trust me on this… okay?”

Your hand came back up to Aki’s waist. Slowly, you pushed his trousers and boxers down his thighs, letting his cock spring free. His length slapped against his tummy. Aki hissed at the friction, harshly swallowing once more as your leg came back up to wrap around his waist.

“O-Okay... I trust you, Y/N.”

With that, your chest came flush against his once more. Only this time, your slick pussy grazed along the underside of his throbbing length.

“S-Shit…”

Aki cursed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed; at the feeling of your essence coating his cock. You were so warm and wet. He could hardly contain his moans as you began grinding against him. You moved your hips slowly at first, rubbing the most sensitive parts of his length with your drooling slit.

“Does this feel good?”

You huffed. You began to feel dizzy from the intimacy Aki and yourself shared. You whined as your clit rubbed against him so perfectly. Your slick allowing you to glide against him with ease.

“T-Too good!”

Aki cried out. His hand around your waist tightened as he began aiding you in your movements. Thrusting you impossibly closer to him. Adding even more pressure against your puffy bud. You both moaned in unison. Grinding against each other with more intensity than before.

“I think… I’m…”

Aki could hardly finish his train of thought. Too wound up in the heat of the moment. You soothed your hand over the small of his back, continuing to hump into Aki before you whispered,

"I know, baby, let it all out."

Your tender words sent Aki spiraling. His release crashed down on him faster than he could process. Before you knew it, Aki was the one kissing you. He whimpered against your lips as his first ropes of cum shot out past his slit.

The feeling of his cock twitching and throbbing against your clit was enough for the coil within your tummy to snap. You gasped against his lips as you came. Your movements staggered, still trying to work Aki and yourself through your orgasms.

A few moments passed before Aki finally pulled away from your lips. He took in a deep breath as his hand clenched and unclenched around your waist. You assumed it was a form of self-soothing for Aki.

"Are you okay?"

You asked softly. You trailed your hand up Aki's frame, slotting to cup his face instead.

"Mhm… are you? Did you… enjoy that?"

Aki's words were hesitant. You could tell he was immensely unsure of what this now meant for the both of you.

"Of course I enjoyed it, Aki. I've been dreaming of a moment like this with you for ages now. I just… I'm sorry, I wanted to properly do things with you. But our lives are so complicated,"

You paused, caressing his cheek with your thumb softly before letting out a deep sigh.

"Aki… I truly adore you, I always have. So, now you know. I figured since there's a high possibility of us dying here, I might as well lay it all out on the table. I mean, we did just hump each other like a couple of dogs—"

"Ah, stop right there."

Aki's eyebrows scrunched up at your crude words. He felt embarrassed all over again.

You could not help the giggle that slipped past your lips. Aki was too adorable for his own good. He was such a gentleman, another thing to tack onto the list of 'things you love about Aki'.

"Sorry, sorry! I wish it wasn't so dark in here, I bet the look on your face was priceless."

You teased, bringing your hand back down to encompass Aki's waist before nestling your face into his chest. Your leg was still wrapped around his hips, pulling a small grunt from Aki when you closed the distance between you both for the last time tonight.

"Hey, at least let me get you a towel so I can clean you up. It's a… mess, down there— because of me."

You smiled against his chest before a yawn passed over you. You slipped your hand under his shirt, smoothing over the small of his back before you whispered,

"Aki, relax! It's okay… let's get a little bit of rest before it's back to patrolling. I wanna hold you like this, just a little while longer… Please?"

His heart ached at your words. Aki would give anything to stay in this moment with you forever. His hand tightened around your waist, keeping you snug against him before ultimately letting out a sigh.

It only took you a few moments to knock out. Aki smiled to himself as your little snores filled the room. He tried not to mind the sticky sensation coming from below as he placed a kiss atop your head. Finally, he allowed his droopy eyelids to close before whispering,

"You could be such a brat at times… you know that, right? But, that's just another thing I… love about you."

1K notes · View notes

ninibeingdelulu · 4 months ago

Text

Sicknesses

synopsis: you’re sick, so Toji take care of you

You woke, foggy-headed and more exhausted than when you'd tumbled into bed the night before. Your throat was raw and achy, like you'd spent the night swallowing razor blades by accident.

Cracking one eye open blearily, the weak morning light filtering through the curtains sent shooting pangs directly into your throbbing skull.

Ugh...yep, you knew that sickly feeling all too well. A nasty cold virus had burrowed its vicious claws into you overnight.

As you frantically tallied whether you were contagious enough to call off work for the day, the bedroom door suddenly creaked open.

Toji strode in already dressed for his missions, a black shirt and a grey sweatpants. Though he paused mid-stride, brows furrowing slightly at the disheveled pile of blankets where you huddled.

"You're still in bed?" His tone was clipped, bordering scolding - never a good sign from the notoriously blunt cursed speech user.

"That's unli-..."

Then Toji cocked his head ever so slightly, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over your undoubtedly pathetic, clammy visage peeking through the covers.

With narrowed eyes he zeroed in on your shallow breaths and glassy stare as the realization dawned.

"...Oh. You're sick."

Uttering a low huff, Toji abandoned his worm on the ground before crossing the room in several long strides.

You couldn't help flinching weakly as his broad form loomed over your cocoon, combat-calloused hands briskly yanking the sheets down to your chin.

Despite his constant barrage of eye-rolling impatience at your usual antics, Toji did possess one hugely redeeming quality. He'd always leap into action without hesitation when your welfare was genuinely at stake.

Sure enough, one thick palm was already pressing firmly yet gently against your clammy brow.

His flinty grey eyes roved critically over your pallid complexion, gauging for fever or any more concerning symptoms.

"Just a head cold from the looks of it," Toji muttered half to himself with a curt nod after assessing you thoroughly. "Nothing too serious yet."

Satisfied for the moment, he abruptly withdrew to stride from the room without another word.

You wilted back into the pillows, assuming he'd left for his job and feeling vaguely disappointed.

After all, what did you expect from such an efficiency-loving practicality machine?

Five minutes later though, your bleary eyes flew open as Toji reappeared brandishing supplies.

One by one, he deposited his armful onto your nightstand like a medic preparing a kit.

A fresh box of tissues. A bottle of Gatorade and throat lozenges. The thermometer along with various over-the-counter medications and decongestants.

You blinked up at him in mild surprise, chest feeling lighter already from his tender caretaking instead of being left to flounder alone in your misery. Typical Toji ruthlessness really...

Without prompting or complaints, your boyfriend then bent down and scooped your slumbered form straight up into his arms, muscles bulging through his fitted shirt.

You were swallowed in the comforting warmth and subtle pine-spice cologne clinging to his clothes.

Toji simply positioned you onto his broad lap with your head nestled in the crook of his neck, tucked safely against his steady pulse as he leaned back against the headboard.

There you remained cradled in his firm yet gentle embrace, occasionally feeling his strong chest rumble with gruff reminders to hydrate or take your temperature.

Not many words were exchanged - Toji didn't waste effort on frivolous sentimentality.

But you smiled contentedly against his skin regardless, knowing this relentlessly pragmatic man would remain your staunch bastion without fail until the last symptom faded away entirely.

384 notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 2

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Whoo! The darling @jackofallrabbits has all my thanks for the continuation of the DCA Hocus Pocus AU! The boys want every piece of the historian reader, and they have no time to lose! The sun is rising, and they must prepare the ceremony, and you realize that your dear friend Michael has arrived at the witches' home. Very poor timing, on his part. Enjoy the flirts and curses!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, disturbing imagery, and fear.

———

The witch carries you across the room, clasping you tightly within a cage of his claws. You’re frozen in his embrace. His towering height and lithe, long limbs make you feel incredibly small, like a mouse before a hungry cat. His extra set of arms disappears into the shadow of his dark cape. How did he summon them so effortlessly? You tilt your head back to gaze up at Eclipse’s face, the eldest brother of the hanged brothers. They should still be dead—they were for almost four hundred years.

His face is inhuman. The markings and color stain his visage in a midnight-red crescent, and a blackened shadow swallows it. His eyes, bright yellow and predatory, glance down at you. A grin splits his lower face with wicked teeth. He runs his tongue over his bone-white fangs.

Your stomach flip-flips within you.

Candlelight flickers ominous over the colonial home as the cauldron continues to bubble in the fireplace. The other two, Sun and Moon, watch you. Their wide eyes gleam in the firelight: one of pale pools of feverish desire and the other glint in scarlet, roiling with appetite.

You cling tighter to Eclipse’s shoulder. A childish desire to bury your face in the crook of his shoulder almost takes hold of you.

“Where are you taking me?” you whisper into Eclipse’s cape.

“To the parlor,” his voice is soft as dusk, and the vibrations through his chest sink into you with a gentle rumble. “The main hall is hardly a place to hold a ceremony.”

Your eyes widen. He strides past the tables with the many candles aflame in a thick, waxy cluster. His claws flex against your shoulder and around your thigh.

“What ceremony?” your voice climbs into a squeaky pitch.

A chuckle echoes behind Eclipse’s shoulder. You turn your head to catch Sun and Moon following behind, and the latter’s lips curl into a sinister smile as his shoulders shake with amusement—as if he finds you utterly adorable.

“Little mouse, there’s nothing to fear,” Moon soothes, almost in a sing-song voice.

“It will be wonderful,” Sun clasps his hands together. Eagerness streaks through his face like falling stars at sunrise. “You’ll see, sunshine.”

A thickness coats your throat. When Eclipse asked you to stay, did you agree to something far more sinister? Do they intend to use your soul or your life to grant them greater power or something else just as nefarious?

“Wait.” You tremble. “Wait.”

“Little comet, we still need you,” Eclipse says firmly but gently. His yellow eyes narrow in the slightest, glancing at the black ribbons on his wrists. “The bells will ring for us at dawn unless we perform the ceremony. You must be part of it. You must speak the vows.”

Your heart scampers within your rib cage.

“Wait,” you say again, panic slithering up your spine. He continues onward.

Eclipse easily unlatches an almost hidden door in the back of the main hall while balancing you in his arms. Cobwebs tear apart as it swings open and he enters a smaller but no less intricate room. A window overlooks part of the road cutting through the thick forest. A few shelves are covered in dusty bottles of glass and woven baskets. Ancient and dried fronds, stems, thorns, and petals are stored on wooden tables.

In the corner of your vision, the white rabbit darts inside the room. The one that spoke with a woman’s voice. She bounds across the space, knocking into a small stand that topples over a jar of powder. Sun curses, his voice growling demonically. The claws holding you tense as Eclipse glowers. You shiver under sharp talons pricking into your sweater.

Moon leaps forward and cuts the rabbit off in her destructive path. His eyes, glinting with bloodlust, follow her like a hound eager to tear apart a fox. He steps across the room, into her path, and forces her to correct her race. Her hind legs kick out. Her fluffy body arches smoothly through the air but she lands too close to the door and clips her front foreleg. She topples over, sliding across the hard floor and back into the main room.

With a flick of his wrist and a dark murmur, Moon casts the door shut without laying a finger upon it. It slams close, rattling the walls and causing you to jump in Eclipse’s arms.

“It’s alright, little comet,” Eclipse purrs.

“We now have privacy,” Moon declares with a rasp. He eyes the door with a branding glare as if daring the rabbit to intervene again.

A faint scratching is heard at the bottom of the door. You clutch your hands into small balls of anxiety.

“I’ll rid us of the little beast after the ceremony,” Sun promises as he steps closer, laying a hand upon your arm. “As for you, my little ray of sunshine, we must get you ready.”

“With haste,” Eclipse speaks, and his brothers listen. You snap your head from one witch to the other. Gently, Eclipse sets you back on your feet. You sway, clutching your chest and twisting your fingers into the knitwork of your sweater.

“This is all happening fast,” you say, breathless. The room spins slightly in your exhilarated state. You start to inch away, back to the door with the soft sound of claws gouging into it.

“We apologize, mouse,” Moon whispers as he steps to a black wood cabinet and pries open one low door. “But necessity calls for it.”

“When we have the luxury of time,” Eclipse speaks while approaching a small table where a stack of books resides. His black claws draw slowly down the spines, “We will have a proper ceremony, with all the decorations you desire and a feast that could gorge a village.”

A shudder falls down your back. The chill sinking into your bones is numbing, and fear creeps deeper into your mind, plucking at every wild and frantic thought. Are they going to cook you up and eat you? Are they going to cast a spell to turn you into a toad? This wasn’t part of the fabled story of their return, was it?

You’re not certain you want to find out any more. Are your questions worth your life? They’re being so cryptid, so rushed.

You shuffle further back, away from the focused witches and their enchantments. What are they capable of? If only you could make them stop for a moment and answer you.

“Sunshine, darling, where are you going?” Hands slip down your arms and over your wrists.

A gasp falls from your mouth, quiet and quick. The hands, pale and yellow, with scarlet ribbons tying golden bells to his wrists, lift your hands into the air. You’re not so different from a little ballerina figurine being posed, forced to dance endlessly in a music box.

“I’m not sure I want to stay,” you breathe, frightened. The rate of your heart picks up in tempo, banging like a drum against your sternum.

He leans over your shoulder. His wicked smile fills the corner of your vision. Eyes, pale and gray like mist, hold you captive.

“There’s so much we can show you,” he says. He trails the tips of his claws down your sleeves, and the layer of separation causes your eyelids to flutter. “There’s so much we can do for you. What would you like, my poppet?”

You’re locked in his spell. Did he cast magic or is it simply his touch? Your arms stay in the air as his hands fall down your sides, rubbing slowly over your ribcage before settling on your waist.

“I want to know.” You stare ahead at Eclipse and Moon as they set a blackwood altar in the center of the room, before the window. “I want to know everything about you and your lives.”

Sun’s teeth graze the curve of your shoulder. His breath is warm against the side of your neck, and the air rattles out of your throat.

“You will have it all,” he answers, and whisks you off your feet in a spin. The room blurs before he stops you, hands holding your own as you’re locked in a dance with the witch. His cape shifts over his shoulder, revealing the deep opening of his flowy, white shirt. Your cheeks burn. Flustered, you jerk your head up, tearing your eyes away, and almost become ablaze as you find his cheeky smile.

“I do mean all,” he winks, coquettish and wicked.

You balk.

He takes your hand and presses it to his chest, right above where his heart would be. His skin is smooth and pale, split into two colors of yellow and off-white down the middle of his torso. You feel a strange hum instead. Not a beat, but a constant buzz of energy. Magic, perhaps.

His footwork guides you around the room in a sweeping circle. As he twirls you, one hand on your waist and the other holding your arm above your head, you catch a glimpse of old and age-stained pages fluttering open. Eclipse sets the book on the altar. He bows over it, his eyes roaming over the archaic writings.

Beside him, Moon holds a silvery veil in his arms. He murmurs something to his elder brother, who dips his head in agreement.

You almost stumble as another shock of fright seizes you.

“What is that?” you ask as Sun reclaims you, pulling you flush against his torso—your middle bubbles at the contact.

He simpers with a low hum.

His mouth opens but before he can speak, bright headlights cut into the room from the window. The diamond-patterned panes slice the room into shapes of light and shadow, and you inhale sharply.

A car. Who’s here? The owner of the property?

“What is that?” Moon hisses, his hood falling deeper over his face as he slinks into an alcove of shadows.

“It’s like the sun.” Eclipse lifts his arm to shield his eyes, peering around the blinding high beams.

“No.” Sun’s brow narrows. His arms lower around you, tightening around your waist until you gasp. “It’s unnatural.”

You peek over Sun’s shoulder, pushing up on your tiptoes to see a familiar build of the vehicle just behind the lights. Michael’s car.

What is he doing here? Did he suspect you would come here alone, against his advice?

What will the witches do when they realize your friend is here?

Your gut clenches. You have to warn him. He has to stay away before they try to throw him into their cauldron or turn him into a fox.

A shiver falls down your back and down to your toes. You turn your head to find Eclipse’s wide eyes cutting into you, and you freeze. He couldn’t know it’s your friend, could he?

“We have an unwelcome visitor,” Eclipse declares. The corners of his mouth tug downwards and he promptly slaps the book close with a heavy, dusty thud. “Brothers, what shall we do with him?”

“Let’s cast him into a carrot and feed him to the rabbit,” Moon suggests.

“No, no, I was of the mind that we could make a new rug out of his skin,” Sun muses, his fingers stroking the small of your back, much to your terror.

Michael’s voice rips through the house. Muffled by the door, his shouts turn quick, frantic. You clamp your mouth shut. A horror so cold slips into your veins, and you tremble. He can’t be here.

Eclipse lifts his hand, a hum filling his throat as he stares down the door. You cry out a soft, “Please, don’t!”

His wide yellow eyes turn back to you, surprised. The next moment, the jarring thud hits the wood of the door and cracks it by the wrought-iron handle. Splinters fly outwards.

Michael shouts your name, then commands, “Don’t make any vows!”

Your mind turns blank. What?

A snarl rips from Moon’s mouth. You flinch, the sound right at your shoulder as you realize the hooded brother has joined you and Sun. His clawed hand falls to your shoulder, talons almost digging into your collarbone.

“Who is that?” Moon’s scarlet eyes flash in demand. “How does he know?”

Another kick flies into the door. The entire house shudders as the wood buckles and a boot chops through it. Immediately, you watch a familiar hand snake its way inside and throw open the mangled frame of the door. In the threshold stands your friend.

“Michael!” You stare, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes widened upon the scene. His dark jacket catches splinters of wood and his unruly hair is extra ruffled from the effort of breaking the door down. Immediately, a white rabbit darts inside. Michael lands on the witches and their snarling, teeth-bared expressions before finding you. His fists clench at his sides.

“Get away!” He dips a hand into his jacket pocket and hurls a handful of small, dried lavender petals.

As if struck with a blade or bullet, the witches all recoil as the flowers rain down. Sun’s and Moon’s hands disappear from you. Backing away, Eclipse almost stumbles into the altar before he rights himself. A hiss, furious and demonic, roll off his tongue. You flinch. Lavender flowers litter the floor.

The white rabbit rushes for you, stopping only to stand on her hind legs and press a foot to your shin. Her green eyes shine with desperation. “Stop standing there and run!”

There’s no thought but of terror. You reach down and scoop up the rabbit just as Michael steps towards you. He grabs your arm and half dragging, half guiding you through the witch’s house, the three of you rush for the exit.

“Little comet!” Eclipse cries. His voice tugs on your heart, but you twist and refuse to be pulled back into his orbit.

A growl follows from Moon, and a mumbling of something wicked and furious slips from Sun’s mouth, but you can’t look back. Through the candlelit main room and out the door, Michael races. His grip almost crushes your elbow.

“I told you not to come here! I told you not to come here without me!” Michael boils. You shrink slightly as he reaches for the passenger side door, uncaring for the rabbit you clutch against your sweater.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” you say quietly, defenselessly.

The rest of your rebuttal doesn’t leave your mouth before a familiar and haunting voice shouts, amplified like a poltergeist screeching into your ear. Michael immediately forces you to duck, pushing your shoulder down until you’re crouched behind the car, him protecting you with his own body. Gravel shifts underneath your shoes.

Michael’s car begins to groan. You lift your head tentatively, then gape. The frame of the vehicle begins to twist and rust, curling at the edges and darkening with burnt-orange marks. You hear a strange, hissing sound, then realize the tire you’re hunched beside is leaking air. As the car withers, glass cracks then pops. You yelp under a shower of shards but Michael’s jacket shields you from the sharp edges. The rabbit in your arms struggles for a moment.

“We have to keep moving! Go to the cemetery,” she demands.

“Right,” Michael mutters. His eyes land on the rabbit you shield in your arms, and his expression only shifts in the slightest at the human voice emerging from the rabbit’s mouth.

Likewise, she stares back at Michael. You pet her fluffy white fur as your fingers tremble. Her hide is soft and her body is warm and comforting.

“You’re an Afton, aren’t you?” she says softly, almost as if she were seeing an old friend.

Your brow furrows. How could she possibly know his last name? Is she a witch too?

“I am.” Michael stares down at her, his grip shifting as he looks forlorn to his car and then back to the house. His mouth twists in a grimace. “I read about you in my ancestor’s journal. You’re Vanessa. I thought… I hoped it wasn’t true.”

“Vanessa?” you echo in your whiplash confusion.

The rabbit’s white ear flops back slightly before she presses a foot to your chest.

“We can’t linger.” Her green eyes flash to you, scathing as she remarks. “The witches want the virgin for their ceremony. We can’t let them complete it.”

Michael’s grip tightens upon you, and you make a sound of discomfort. His nostrils flare, his breath running harsh and heated. You’ve never seen Michael so upset, so close to violence.

“What is going on?” you gasp, clutching Vanessa tighter to your pounding heart.

“I’ll explain later.” Michael moves away, shaking glass from his jacket and jumping to his feet. He surveys the house. You can hear footsteps, curses, and something sweeping the floor. “Follow me. Run as fast as you can.”

“Michael—” you start but he’s already pulling you back to your feet. Vanessa leaps from your arms. She bounds across the road and into the tree line. Michael follows the white rabbit, and you try to catch your breath as the darkness becomes absolute as you try to keep pace.

You have to trust him. He and the talking rabbit. You follow, your feet pounding over pavement and then dirt and leaves. Branches scratch at your sleeves; you’ve long forsaken your poor sweater to being snagged and ruined.

Laughter cracks overhead like black lightning. The echo isn’t too far away, and you shudder at the thought of what spells will allow them to catch you. Witchy howls of both amusement and anger snake through the half-dead canopy of trees. The midnight air hangs heavy. Michael bursts through the treeline to an open field of dead grass with you hot on his heels before you spy what he’s running you toward.

An old wrought fence spans the length of a reclusive cemetery. It’s ancient, by the shape and crumbling aspect of a few of the headstones you spy on within the space. Your mind races to date the burial ground but Michael urges you forward just as a breeze cuts overhead.

You turn your eyes skywards just as Michael finds the corner of the overgrown and neglected corner of the graveyard property. A streak of movement interrupts the constellations of the night sky, and you almost stumble in dawning horror.

Flying just above the near leafless and dark trees are the witches. Brooms, elegantly carved and sleek, carry them effortlessly in the air. Their capes and cloaks billow like black manes to dark beasts behind them, and claws clutch tightly at their flying vessels. Teeth sharp, eyes glinting, their gazes meet yours. Eclipse. Sun. Moon.

Under their harrowing eyes, you feel no more than a mouse running from a cat’s pounce.

“Keep going,” Vanessa urges. Her white form dashes onwards, but she comes to a sharp halt and turns back, ears pricked.

Two stone pillars, cracked and faded from years of standing as sentinels mark the entrance to the burial ground. Michael ushers you into the cemetery. For one desperate moment, you wish you could study the history of this place, find out its name, who lies here, but you are torn from your brief musings.

“I know you.” Eclipse’s voice carries over the field. His black cap settles onto his shoulders as he sinks in the air to hover just above the threshold of the graveyard. “Your kind are all the same, witch hunter.”

Michael stands between you and the witch. His gaze is hard, unyielding. You clutch at his jacket, fearing the lack of barriers.

“What did he call you?” you breathe out. “Michael.”

He huffs at Eclipse as Sun and Moon settle on his flanks. Moon turns his hungry eyes upon you, glinting like blood. Sun strums the staff of his broom. His claws catch on starlight.

Eclipse tilts his head and bares his fangs in a taunting smile. “Do you really think you can keep our lovely little virgin from us?”

You shiver violently. What do they want?

“I’ll watch all three of you return to dust and ashes,” he promises. Vanessa slips against your ankle, pressing close as if she were a guard dog instead of a rabbit.

All three of the witches burst into laughter, wicked and harsh before they rise and fly over the gate, deeper into the cemetery.

Michael pushes you further down an unmarked and overgrown path. “It’s alright. They can’t set foot here. I’ll take care of them.”

“Wait,” you gasp. You stumble as Michael urges you onward. “Wait, don’t hurt them!”

“They’re witches,” he snarls so viciously, it makes you jump. He stops, finding a row of headstones with tall and web-cracked faces. “You have no idea how dangerous they truly are. I will explain everything once they’re gone. Stay here. Vanessa?”

The rabbit hops up beside you. Michael again pushes you down by the shoulders until you curl up in the shadow of a colonial headstone. He stands over you, glancing this way and that to the sky. A few large and overgrown trees cut into the skyline through the burial grounds.

Vanessa noses her way onto your lap. You open your arms and she hops on, her small feet pressing on your jeans.

“Listen to him,” she speaks sternly. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“But—how? Michael? Where are you going?” you call, your voice cracking, but he’s already rushing away from the grave you’re hunkered near. He rushes into a flat, open plot of land filled with weeds and dead grass. Michael looks to the midnight sky.

You peer over the headstone. Vanessa hits your shoulder until you slink back down, but you catch a glimpse of Eclipse emerging from behind a black, dead tree and sailing through the air. He bows low upon his broom, eagerly stalking Michael. Your friend withdraws a cylinder from his jacket pocket. Popping it open, Michael quickly sprinkles something white around him—salt.

Your heart climbs into your throat. You long to call out, to beg Eclipse to spare him, but Michael whips out what appears to be an old charm made of leather. Upon it are scratched archaic symbols you have never once glimpsed before in your historical studies. A few small bones dangle from where the leather is tied with cord.

Your eyes widen as Michael holds it high. Eclipse stops, leaning back and tilting the broom away until he comes to hover. Then, he laughs. Michael remains unmoved, though his brow furrows in the slightest.

A disgusted sound leaves Vanessa’s voice.

With a point of Eclipse’s finger, the charm ignites into flames. Michael yelps, dropping it to the ground and clutching at his hand, no doubt burned by the spontaneous combustion.

“Little mouse, where are you hiding?” A low voice calls, rasping out like a lover searching through the dark. Moon.

You stiffen. Vanessa’s ears pin flat against her skull. You press your back against the headstone, hiding yourself in its shadow. A soft breeze touches your hair, tugging strands across your face.

“We can play so many games when it’s only us.” Moon’s broom appears just a row down, scanning the fallen leaves and grave markers. He perches low, his shoulders shifting under his cloak like a tiger ready to leap upon prey. “Come on out. Let me take you home.”

Your blood runs cold. The ghost of his hands is still upon you, and you wonder if it would be so terrible to return with them. They would leave Michael and Vanessa alone, wouldn’t they?

Moon slips slowly through the air, his broom black as night and silent, and his head lifts. He inhales deeply. Under the brim of his hood, his eyelids flutter.

Then his entire head snaps to where you hide. You squeak in fright.

“There you are.” His jaws split into a ravenous grin as he reaches out a hand, flying over a gravestone just to where you kneel on the ground.

“No!” Michael shouts. “Get back!”

You jerk your head to him and watch as he steps away from the salt he just spilled.

“Michael, don’t!” Vanessa warns a moment too late.

Eclipse sneers. Extending his hand, he speaks. His voice becomes of tongues, lapping and overtaking, but mostly devilish. The air turns sharp and tangy, and the wind picks up, twisting leaves around Michael’s feet. His eyes widened at his mistake.

A flash of horror cuts through you just as Eclipse hurls out a curse.

Michael drops to the ground and begins writhing. You can only catch glimpses of him between rocky headstones, his body twisting and his flesh turning dark and rancid. His body convulses.

A scream tears out of your lungs. You jump to your feet, clutching a hand over your mouth as you witness Michael suffer. Eclipse’s eyes immediately snap at you. Close beside you, a hand brushes your sleeve, cool and blue. Moon. You can’t move.

“Oh, how I’ve yearned to curse your ancestor.” Eclipse leans low, lording over Michael’s writhing form with little more than a delighted glint in his gaze. “He forced my brothers and I upon the gallows. He let us hang slowly. We convulsed and gagged for air, and then we died.”

Eclipse leans closer, hanging over Michael in a taunt. “This is the least I can bestow upon you. Never fear, there is far more punishment to be delivered.”

You’re rooted to the spot. Ice water flows in your veins.

“Come here,” Moon murmurs close beside you. His hand begins to circle your wrist.

“Don’t let him take you!” Vanessa’s voice cuts through the hazy terror fogging your mind, and you jerk back to alertness. You shake off Moon’s hand. His sharp breath of frustration follows as you take off over the graveyard towards Michael.

“Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, stop!” you cry out, reaching one hand out. You’re not sure who—Eclipse or Michael.

Eclipse straightens upon his broom. His expression brightens into a pleased, unholy smile.

“Little comet,” he purrs, opening his arms.

“Eclipse, please—gah!” Arms grab you from behind. You hear Vanessa’s voice calling out, furious and demanding, but your feet leave the ground and in a heartbeat, you’re airborne.

“Sunshine, there you are!” The cheerful voice falls over you. Sun continues, “The wretched rabbit is getting her fur all over you! I never did like her, not even as a vermin.”

Large hands maneuver over you, pulling you onto his lap and balancing you in his hold while the broom rides faster, racing over the cemetery and away from everyone else. You gasp. You immediately twist and cling tightly to his shoulders. His hands surround you. His palms rub slowly along your back.

“I’ve got you now,” he declares. His breath, warm and misty, tickles your cheek. “One would think a person would be lonely and bored watching our home for all of these years, but that was what she did when she was mortal at her master’s request. So really, isn’t our curse just a lovely gift for her?”

“Sun!” You tremble. The wind tears at your clothes. You watch the ground become a blur underneath you, and a sickness stirs. “Please, set me down.”

“Not yet, sunshine.” The air changes, and the broom gains speed, pressing you deeper against his chest. “I want you for only a moment. You can say ‘I do’ can’t you? I’ll do the rest.”

“What—wait, wait,” your fingernails dig into the fabric of his cape hanging over his shoulders. The flight is far too fast and you feel far too vulnerable, seated upon his legs as your only insurance you won’t fall to your death.

“Although,” Sun’s fingertips slip under your chin and tilt your face up, “it’s not fair that Eclipse kissed you and I haven’t. We can steal one before the ceremony, can’t we?”

Your tongue becomes heavy in your mouth. You can say little, caught in the torrent of the breakneck speed of the broom as well as the Sun’s sultry eyes devouring you whole. He lowers his mouth to your neck. His other hand caresses your thigh, fingertips touching your flesh with reverent want. Heat waterfalls into your middle. He lowers himself to your shoulder and grazes his teeth against your neck.

You inhale, your breath rattling at the touch of a warm and wet tongue dragging over the tips of your collarbones in the hollow of your throat.

“One kiss,” he half pleads, half demands. His lips brush your jawline in their climb upwards.

“Too fast,” you utter. The world spins and blackness swoops in on your vision.

“I can go slow,” he assures, but when he lifts his head, his smile drops from his lips. “Sunshine!”

The world tilts, and you think of very little as hands grasp at you, but the broom rocks and you slide out of Sun’s hold as a curse rips from his throat. A wretched call rattles your darkening visible, and then, you’re falling.

Your eyelids flutter, and you hardly have a second to scream before a second pair of arms catch you and pull you against a cool chest.

“You buffoon!” Moon snarls right beside your ear. “You dropped our virgin!”

A numbness clings to your limbs. You’re still reeling, slumped in his lap as he rides on his broom at a much safer speed.

“I would not have let death take away our chance at happiness and life and love,” Sun shoots back, not unlike a sibling retort in an argument.

“Go help Eclipse deal with the vermin!” Moon demands in a low growl. Sun snarls something back, but his voice fades in the distance.

You feel the wind shift, slowing down until you’re left to hover in the air. Eyes closed against Moon’s chest, you breathe rapidly. Your shaking hands press tight to his white shirt.

“I will keep you safe,” he murmurs softly into your air. “Step here, little mouse. This mausoleum wasn’t blessed, and it lies outside of the cemetery's boundaries.”

“Okay,” you murmur listlessly. You lift your head, trying to stop the spinning from within. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn but you feel dead grass underneath your shoes as Moon holds you up on your feet. His broom lowers gently to the ground and falls still as if there were no magic to the black wood staff at all.

“Breathe.” He moves you slowly, carefully pressing your back to the solid brick of a small, gray mausoleum. “Apologies for my brother. He is eager to make you our bride.”

Perhaps it only houses a small family. What is their history? Your brain churns over senselessly while the oxygen returns to your head.

Did he say bride?

His hands find your shoulders and pin you in place. Chest heaving, you gaze up at the witch now hovering over you. There is no escape. You smell midnight and something herbal and sharp upon him.

“The vows,” he says. His eyes hold you captive. “You can say the vows to marry us.”

“Marry?” You’re breathless, but you ask all the same, “Why am I marrying you?”

“To have us,” he says, low and husky. He presses closer, caging you with his body and holding you hostage against the cool stones at your back. “You will know everything soon. There is so little time—the witch hunter and the rabbit are trying to spoil everything. Little mouse, look at me.”

You try to avert your gaze, turning your cheek, but his command causes you to buckle.

“I will begin the vows.” Moon presses in closely. His chest is flush with your own, and you fear he can sense the wild fluttering of your heartbeat. You are not cool and suave, and you are still falling, falling, falling.

“Will you take me to be your husband?”

“Moon,” you whisper. “I… I… I…”

His teeth flash. Then, he leans in, pressing close to your ear. A soft flick of his tongue against your cheek draws out a breath from you, just before he begins nibbling on the soft flesh of your earlobe. You gasp. Your hands find him, clinging tightly as flutters begin in your middle.

He releases your ear from his teeth but his mouth remains pressed close to the shell of it.

“Will you take me, so I will obey, serve, love, honor, and keep you in sickness and in health?”

Your knees sink deeper but he refuses to let you slip out of his grasp. His claw hooks the collar of your sweater and stretches it, exposing your shoulder to the starlight.

His mouth lowers there. The press of his lips is soft and cool like a stone smoothed by a river. Your stomach burns with a flame you cannot name. He slowly opens his jaws, first licking your sensitive flesh until goosebumps run down your arms, then ever so delicately pressing his teeth into your shoulder. The tease of fang marks. The promise of more. He does not break the skin, but you mewl under his controlled bite.

He releases you. His hand cups your cheek as he straightens.

“And forsaking all others,” he rasps, “keep you only unto me and my brothers, so long as we both shall live?”

Your bottom lips tremble from emotion. Confusion spins you.

Can you say ‘I do?’ Should you?

Moon softly caresses your cheek with his thumb. His eyes are gentle like pools in the starlight.

“I swear to love and cherish you,” his voice softens.

Your fingers curl around his wrists. He lowers himself to you, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush against yours—

“Get away, witch!”

Your eyes flash open. Moon’s gaze narrows into slits as he turns his head, pressing harder against you and trapping you against the mausoleum until you squirm.

“Michael?” you gasp, peering over Moon’s shoulder, only to choke on your breath.

Over the slight hill from the true cemetery, a creature shambles. Purple flesh clings to bones, arms extended. Shuffling over the gnarled, dead grass, you watch as flesh splits and hangs by threads across his cheeks, exposing his molars. His nose is little more than a nasal bridge and two dark holes. His hair is dark and greasy, and his eyes are sunken, barely left save for black orbs and a single pinprick of light in each, like a lone flame of candlelight.

“What did Eclipse do to you?” You feel faint. “No, no, no, change him back! Moon, please!”

“No need,” Moon steps forward to face your zombified friend. You almost drop to the ground when Moon’s hands leave you. A cold fury radiates around the witch’s cloak.

Bounding over the top of the hill, Vanessa appears. Her white fur is now smeared with dirt and her breaths are sharp and quick. She hops over to you.

“Get up! Michael’s lavenders won’t keep the other two back for long!” Vanessa pushes against your leg, her tiny bunny body doing little to bring strength back to your limbs.

“Michael,” you whisper, clutching your mouth where the witch almost kissed you. “Eclipse has to take away the curse. He has to.”

“He won’t.” Vanessa’s eyes are dark, and hard. “We have to go.”

Your chest is hollow and your head swims. You watch Moon approach Michael in swift, sure steps. Michael’s arms are stiff and crooked, but his rotten fingers curl into a fist. Moon strikes and gouges his claws into Michael’s throat. You watch in muted horror as Moon rips away purple flesh and sinew. A rancid smell spills into the air. You gag, then scream out Michael’s name. The pale, bony column of his throat is exposed.

“You’re interrupting my wedding,” Moon hisses slowly at Michael before lifting his other hand.

Unphased, Michael throws a punch at the witch, and it hits with a burst of lavender petals. A screech drawls out of Moon. He falls backward. You hear the faintest sounds of Moon’s wretched snarls as Michael then awkwardly runs. His leg drags at the shin as if it were broken. You realize it is. Moon howls, clawing at the petals and trying to remove them from his person.

The witch calls out your name. You look back. His red eyes are furious, then desperate as Michael cuts in between the two of you. He brings his good foot down hard on Moon’s broomstick, and it snaps.

Moon screeches and writhes on the dried grass.

“Go,” Michael croaks. You stare at his gaping open neck but he takes you by the arms and hauls you back up to your feet. The scent of death is thick. “Now!”

You stumble, tears filling your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make them change you back.”

“Just run,” Michael huffs, half decayed and struggling. “We have to get to town. We have to lose them. They only have until sunrise.”

Sunrise.

And a ceremony they wish to perform.

#naff's writing commissions #hehe i had so much writing these witchy boys being just their best (worse) selves!#they just want to do a ceremony :)))#hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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eelnoise · 2 months ago

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something for two (nsfw!)

week 1 of small kinktober!

catboy!zoro x fem!reader

>your plan to wear that little dress to the bar works way better than you think.

cw: catboy going feral, biting, bleeding, breeding, zoro is a little rough with you, use of the nickname 'princess' an: with this fic I have officially been posting for a year! and to celebrate i'm going to attempt a few more this month in honor of the season changing. thank you all for being on this little journey with me! wc: 2.3k

The bar thrums with loud music and echoed chatter; easy distractions after the last several days of straying off the wayward marine skiffs that always seem to be chasing along after them.

Maybe it’s the handful of whiskey he’s already downed, but Zoro finds it easy to dismiss the hustle and bustle of the dance floor or the crowded bartender. He’s sated where he’s seated, quite content on minding his business while the other Strawhats enjoy themselves with whatever they’re busy doing.

He keeps a sharp eye out, though, for despite his light inebriation Zoro’s guard remains up. There isn’t any way to tell if any of these patrons are up to no good, and frankly somebody needs to keep the peace if something breaks out. That, and, someone very important to him has yet to show up.

Back on the ship, you had insisted on waiting and walking with Nami – who famously takes a while to get ready for a night out – and knowing that you can defend yourself if necessary on the short walk from the dock to the town, Zoro shrugs and heads off with the others, thinking nothing of it.

But you haven’t turned up yet.

Part of him thinks to go searching for you, but each time he considers standing up your voice echoes in his mind, scolding him for getting lost or losing his way.

With a sigh, Zoro’s ears flatten and his tail twitches in annoyance as he finishes off another mug of whiskey.

When you walk into the bustling bar, it’s hard to find anyone you’re familiar with over the masses of people within. So you stick close to Nami, inching your way through sweaty, booze-scented bodies to find the bar for a much needed drink.

You had donned a short black, hip hugging dress at the behest of the navigator and – while it's easy to pretend that you had agreed in innocence, you, and a certain brooding catboy that you’re fond of, definitely know better.

Spotting Zoro at the far reaches of the establishment, you make a beeline toward the side of the bar where he’ll certainly get a good look at all of you. Wrangling Nami along, you squeeze between a few patrons and order a round of drinks for the two of you, making quite sure to bend over the wooden bar enough for the swordsman to see just a glimpse of your panties – his favorite pair – on display.

You aren’t playing dumb – you know exactly what you’re asking for – and the short of it is: you’re ovulating, and he can smell it.

Zoro's ears perk up at the familiar scent that hits his nose as you enter the bar. The sweet, musky aroma of your arousal wafts through the air, igniting a primal hunger deep within him. His eyes narrow as they lock onto you, drinking in the sight of your curves hugged by that sinfully short dress.

A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest as you bend over the bar, putting yourself on lewd display. The urge to claim you, to rut into your heat and fill you with his seed, surges through his veins. His tail lashes behind him, betraying the cool, collected visage that he was trying to maintain.

In one fluid motion, he rises from his seat and stalks towards you, his movements predatory and purposeful. The crowd parts before him, sensing the dangerous aura rolling off the swordsman in waves – the same aura that has you smirking into your drink.

Zoro's breath hitches as your scent grows stronger, the feral need to breed you consuming his every thought. His stride is long and purposeful as he approaches, the hungry look in his eyes promising wicked things.

He crowds into your space, one hand coming to rest possessively on your shoulder as he leans in close as he raises his lips to your ear. "Nice dress," he rumbles, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Shame about what's about to happen to it."

The swordsman's hand slides from your hip to hook an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his firm body. You can feel the heat of him even through your clothes, his scent enveloping you and making your head swim with desire.

"Someone's feeling bold tonight," you purr, feeling his sharp nails nip along the fabric of your dress.

Zoro's grip on your hip tightens, his hardening length pressing insistently against your lower back. "You know exactly what you're doing," he grumbles, his hot breath fanning across your neck. His free hand slides up your side, skimming the curve of your breast before cupping the back of your neck. "Well, two can play at that game, princess."

In a flash, Zoro spins you around and over his shoulder, making you squeal in sudden excitement. His strong arms wrap around you as he carries you away, picking the first door he sees, beyond which you're a bit relieved to see a single stalled bathroom.

Zoro kicks the door shut behind him before setting you down on the edge of the sink, never breaking eye contact. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them apart as he steps between them.

One hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt up around your waist as he leans in to nip at your neck. "I'm going to make you scream my name until everyone in this bar knows who you belong to," he promises darkly. A claw slides up your thigh, and in an instant your dress is sliced down the sides and the fabric of your panties is cut through.

"So needy, huh?" You coo, reaching up to scratch behind the moss green tuft of his ear with sickeningly sweet abandon. “All over one little dress?”

Zoro replies with something between a scoff and growl – like he isn't in the mood for your teasing anymore and that he's going to do something about it. His eye flashes with a dangerous glint. "You're the one who decided to parade around looking like a snack," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Don't act surprised when I decide to take a bite."

He means it, too – because a large, clawed hand tightens around the underside of your thigh and presses it to your chest as the other hastily rustles his cock free. There's no patience in his actions, as soon as the tip of his dick throbs at your entrance, Zoro is shoving it past your folds and deep into your soaked pussy.

Your mouth falls open and your toes curl, a sharp moan of arousal leaving your lips as he sheathes himself within you so hungrily. Zoro releases your thigh places his hands firmly on the wall either side of your head as his hips piston into you at a rhythm of his own, trapping you between them.

Zoro's hips snap forward, driving his thick cock deeper into your tight heat. “Gonna fuck a runt or two into ya’, since thats what ya seem to want." he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Otherwise you wouldn’t be walkin’ around with your ass out.”

It feels like you're getting the wind knocked out of you, each stroke along your walls pulling enough of a hedonistic tune from your lungs to leave you breathless.

"F-fuck...," you gasp out and reach to grab hold onto his wrists, desperate for anything to keep you grounded.

"Shit, you're so tight," he groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy. "Gonna fill you up so good, make you feel so fucking full." Zoro's tail wraps around your thigh, the soft fur tickling your skin as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. His claws dig into your thighs, leaving deep, crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as his hips continue their relentless assault. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as he fucks you senseless. His hips never stop moving, driving into you with a force that rattles the sink beneath you with each powerful thrust, the sound of your bodies slamming together drowning out the distant noise of the bar beyond.

You fidget a hand between the sweat of your bodies to find your clit, desperate but unable to keep up with Zoro's stamina. You gasp when he suddenly smacks your hand away with a feral growl down your throat before leaving your lips to nibble down your neck.

Zoro's teeth graze your skin, his sharp canines leaving a trail of stinging bites in their wake. "No touching," he barks, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "I'll take care of you."

He reaches between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "Gonna make you cum on my cock," he pants, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Gonna feel so good when you squeeze around me."

Zoro works your clit with expert precision, the rough pads of his fingers sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. He can feel your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, your body tensing as you climb higher and higher towards your peak.

“Fuck – I know it feels good, doesn’t it princess?" he growls, his hot breath fanning over your neck. "Made for my fucking cock, aren't you? Want me to give you a brat to prove it, right?"

"Yes!" You cry out, rolling your head back into his palm, "Show everyone I'm yours, Zoro, please!"

You feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as the pressure mounts. Zoro's fingers on your clit are relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, Zoro, I'm–", your nails dig into his shoulders as your climax crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around his cock, your walls ripple and squeeze him into blind ecstasy, and the sound of you chanting – screaming his name takes him down with you.

He groans as your walls clamp down around him, your orgasm milking his cock. He bites down hard on your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh. Zoro's hips stutter as the taste of your blood fills his mouth, the coppery tang mixing with the musky scent of your arousal. It's intoxicating, driving him to fuck into you with renewed vigor.

He pounds into you with wild ferocity, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your fluttering walls. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his cock twitching as he floods your womb.

Zoro's body shudders as he empties himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt of cum. He releases your shoulder from his teeth, licking the excess blood from his lips before he collapses against you.

His chest heaves as he catches his breath, his softening cock still buried inside your cum-filled pussy. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of your arousal mixed with his own.

As Zoro's breathing calms, he slowly pulls out of your still quivering pussy. Zoro leans back slightly, admiring his handiwork for a moment as he watches his seed drip from your well-used hole and with a wicked grin, he scoops up the excess cum from your thighs and pushes it back inside, making sure every last drop is accounted for.

Can't waste that.

"There, that's better," he says with a satisfied smirk. "Now you're nice and full, just like I promised."

He helps you off the sink, steadying you on your wobbly legs. His hands roam over your curves, caressing your skin as he takes in the sight of you - disheveled, full, but stunning. You're a sight to behold - rosy cheeks, swollen lips, and a satisfied glow that radiates from within. With a final, possessive squeeze to your ass, Zoro steps back.

"Should get you cleaned up, huh?"

Zoro reaches for some paper towels, wetting them under the sink before turning back to you. With a gentle touch that belies his earlier ferocity, he carefully cleans the wound on your shoulder, wiping away the remaining droplets of crimson that lay dry on down your chest.

Once you're cleaned up, Zoro helps you with your dress and lends you his robe, tying it tightly around you, his hands lingering perhaps a bit longer than necessary. He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss before pulling slightly with another satisfied grin.

"Let's get out of here before someone comes looking for us," Zoro says, his voice low and husky. He takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he leads you out of the bathroom.

As you step out into the dimly lit hallway, Zoro pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your waist possessively. He guides you in search of an exit through the still very much crowded bar, his grip on your waist firm and possessive. He keeps you close, as if afraid someone might try to steal you away.

Finally, you emerge into the cool night air, the bustle of the bar's patrons a distant memory. Zoro takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air. He turns to you, his eye gleaming in the moonlight.

"Come on, let's get you back to the ship. Gotta put a real bandage on that bite." He leans down and scoops you into his arms. One of your hands comes to scratch behind his ears again lovingly, and he can’t resist leaning into more of your touch.

"Sorry about that, by the way." He adds as he follows your pointed finger in the direction of the docks. His voice, rough with exhaustion and satisfaction, comes with a soft purr in his chest that threatens to lull you to sleep there and then.

"Like you said," You reply, sleepily looking up at him with a smile and a small kiss to his shoulder. "It's what I wanted, right?"

#one piece x reader #x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro smut #one piece smut #op x reader #zoro x you #one piece imagine #kinktober 2024

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slutforsilverfoxes · 1 year ago

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What Happens in New York…

You took in a deep breath as soon as you crossed through the back door of the restaurant and into the parking lot, arms outstretched while you enjoyed the brisk New York air, and declared, “I gotta get me a new job.”

“What?” Sean, your best friend and roommate of several years, taunted from behind you, making up for your head start in a few long strides. “Waiting on rich people not cutting it for you anymore?”

“Waiting on rich, crusty old white men and their wives who seem to drop in age each year isn’t cutting it anymore,” you corrected his statement. “Now gimme that helmet,” you demanded with grabby fingers. “I wanna go home, watch Marvel movies, and finish that bottle of wine we opened on Monday.”

“Speaking of old white men,” the blonde started with a laugh, tossing you your helmet before sitting astride his motorcycle and strapping his own on, “my brother’s in town. Mind if I stop by to say hi?”

“Ah, yes, the G-man,” you nodded all-knowingly, tucking your legs up under you and getting settled behind Sean’s lithe body. “Is he seeing anyone?” Sean purposefully revved the bike and pretended like he couldn’t hear you, so you tapped aggressively on his visor until he turned to give you the stink eye. “I said is he seeing anyone, you dick?”

“What’s it to you, huh?”

“Well, the way you describe him, he’s probably got a nice pension and benefits going with all the hours he works. I could make a cute housewife!”

“Funny,” your best friend deadpanned. He used his foot to raise the kickstand before guiding the bike out to the main road. “Too bad for him, ‘cause you’re my cute housewife.”

“Gross.”

His ensuing laughter got lost in the New York traffic.

—————

“Do you wanna come in with me?” Sean asked as you hopped off the bike and stretched your legs outside of the precinct.

“Nah,” you shook your head in response and pulled out your phone. “You go ahead and see big bro. I’m taking full advantage of my allotted yard time.”

The blonde rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re a riot. Be back soon.”

“Don’t get in a fight,” you called out lazily amid a yawn, breathing in the cold winter air to ward off your exhaustion.

Several minutes later, you were scrolling idly through your phone while you waited for your friend, leaning against his bike for support and stifling yet another yawn when the hairs at the nape of your neck stood at attention, and you suddenly felt the clarity of alertness.

“Hey there,” a voice called out from nearby, and you studiously ignored the lackluster greeting. It was followed by a whistle that was evidently supposed to woo you, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, stuffing one hand into your pocket and letting out a disgruntled noise when you weren’t rewarded by your headphones. “This your bike, little lady?”

“Why, you in the market?” you barked back, finally raising your gaze to meet that of an NYPD officer.

“Maybe I am,” he responded with a smile that set you even more on edge. “Wanna take me for a test ride?” His buddy behind him laughed at the innuendo, and this time you did roll your eyes.

“Hard pass.”

“C’mon, baby, you look like you could use some fun in your life,” he continued, and when he took a step closer, your hackles rose. Deciding that my best friend’s brother is an FBI agent wasn’t going to cut it, you answered coolly, “My boyfriend’s an FBI agent working in your office up there, and I don’t think he’d take kindly to you propositioning me outside your precinct. Honor and integrity and all that, right?” You forced your mouth into a smile that dropped when the officer removed the badge pinned to his jacket.

“I’m off the clock, sweetheart. And I don’t see your boyfriend anywhere.”

“Turn around.”

The rumble of an unfamiliar voice had you looking over the officer’s head to find the frowning visage of a handsome brunette with striking features. Sean came to your side protectively, murmuring, “Hey, you okay?” as the officer turned to look up at the imposing older Hotchner and stammered, “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was with you.”

The brunette tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, and the air around him positively crackled with power. Quietly, he challenged, “And why should that matter?” As the officer opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, he took a step closer and dropped his voice even lower. “Go home to your wife, Officer-” His eyes darted over to the name tag before continuing, “-McNally, and be ready for a disciplinary hearing at some point this week, because I will be speaking to your supervisor directly.”

He nodded deferentially, refusing to make eye contact, and tried to scurry away, but Sean’s older brother barked, “Officer McNally! Isn’t there something you’d like to say to my girlfriend?”

“Sorry!” he called sheepishly, heat rising to his cheeks despite the chill outside. “Sorry, ma’am, won’t happen again.”

Sean and his brother watched until the officer and his friend had turned the corner, then directed their attention to you. “I hope that wasn’t your introduction to New York’s finest,” the older Hotchner remarked with a frown, holding his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron. Your boyfriend, apparently,” he tacked on, lips twitching to fight a smile.

A blush crept across your cheeks as you took his hand. “Y/N, Sean’s best friend. Sorry about all…that,” you said through a laugh, gesturing broadly at the scene that had just taken place.

“Please don’t apologize. It’s nice to be name dropped for a good reason,” Aaron responded warmly, this time allowing his mouth to turn upward in a genuine smile. Sean coughed pointedly beside you and you hurried to pull your hand from his brother’s grip, your face growing even warmer at the realization you’d been standing there holding his hand for several seconds like an absolute buffoon.

“Home, Sean- we should- gotta go,” you stammered out, wincing at your brain literally short circuiting from a single touch.

“Wow,” Sean breathed out through a laugh. “You actually broke her, Aaron.” Turning to you, he faux-whispered, “So you really do have a thing for older guys?”

“Woah, hey!” You yell to be heard through laughter in the present. “You did not say that,” you call your best friend on his bullshit, pointing a fork threateningly in his direction. Aaron gently lowers your wrist as you continue, “And I wasn’t that awestruck, okay? He was handsome, but I wasn’t like, drooling, guys, c’mon-”

“Maybe just a little,” your fiancé teases, eyes widening playfully when you turn the silverware on him next.

“Derek.” You turn to Aaron’s friend and declare, “You’re getting upgraded to best man and young Hotchner over there is being relegated to flower girl.”

Sean winks at you from his temporary spot on the floor where he’s regaling your friends and families with the story of how he introduced you two- at least, his version of the story. “Just so you know, I happen to look cute in a dress.”

“Have some more champagne, honey,” Aaron instructs with a smile as he refills your flute. You dutifully take a sip and mumble around the glass, “You’re not giving this speech tomorrow, Sean.”

“Speech?” Your best friend barks out a laugh, and you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. “Baby girl, I’ve got a whole PowerPoint documenting your journey into the family, don’t you worry. Pictures and everything.”

“Aaron,” you whine. “Make it stop.”

“You really know how to pick ‘em,” Aaron laughs before pressing a kiss to your pouting lips.

“Clearly,” you grumble. “You Hotchner men will be the death of me.”

—————

[A/N: Why did I write this? Who’s to say? I love a lil brother vibe, might have to explore more of Sean’s bff as Aaron’s girl 👀 Hope somebody enjoyed this crack]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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theredofoctober · 3 months ago

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER TWENTY: PUMPKIN SOUP

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions

Read after the cut

---

For two days you persist in your begging for a hospital stay, seizing feebly at the improbable chance of liberty through that once feared institution.

You’ve read of women escaping their keepers through a word in the ear of some sympathetic doctor or neighbouring patient, fantasising at length that you might mimic such simple ingenuity.

The obsidian eyes of cameras in their probing fleets, your blood family surging forth to embrace you, weeping in regret at their heartless desertion— in want of it you indulge in an even greater exaggeration of illness to the extremes of near losing your voice to the performance.

Yet for all that you moan and cough and writhe in the clutches of muscle cramps and drenching fever Hannibal rejects your pleas with minimal reply.

He works shifts at the office around your care, bathing you and changing sodden bedsheets twice daily by duteous hand.

You’re fed medicine and light stews when you’re too frail to take the spoon yourself, and scarcely hungry enough to swallow, have throbbing joints chafed between his palms at your slightest complaint of suffering.

All your favourite music and filmography is set up on a timer so that you need not leave the bed at the end of each recording; like a slovenly youth you loll, watching Hammer Horror pictures back-to-back, and think your captor’s house far more lush than even those lurid sets.

When you waver between frigid and overheated your jailer adapts the room to either need, exchanging one thickness of blanket for another, training a fan upon you until you cannot help but squirm luxuriously in the breeze.

It’s on the third day, held through an attack of coughing in Hannibal’s arms, that you disintegrate and softly weep with the shame of your gratitude towards him.

He lifts your chin up in his palm, his eyes moist with empathy.

“Dear one,” he says. “What is it? Are you in pain?”

“I just don’t understand,” you say, rubbing a tear from the stinging corner of your eye. “How can you be what you are and still be so kind to me?”

Hannibal smiles, all fatherly goodwill, unruffled by the gauche enquiry.

“I am many men, and one. You knew this from the moment you sat before me in my office, kicking your foot in dislike of what you saw there. With you I’ve always been open with that aspect of myself. Some among us in society define themselves primarily by the sport they favour; I, however, embrace my multitudes, as should you, Little One.”

He strides across to your window, letting in a rope of umber light like the hair of a tower-bound princess.

“Yeah,” you say. “I get that. We’re different people with everybody. That’s how we survive: by being who they want so that they’ll like us. But what I mean is— this is real. Not just a costume, or a trick. You’re good to me because you’re choosing to be. But why do you want to do all this for me when I’m not like you?”

"I have faith that you'll come around,” says Hannibal, easily. “You don't wholly detest this life as you did in the beginning. Even what you consider the most unsavoury aspects of it will soon appeal to you, if only for the briefest moment."

You scent the inference behind his words and shake your head.

"I don't want to eat Uncle Lee. Even if I was like you, Daddy, I really don’t think I could.”

Hannibal’s visage, previously neutral, lightens with the solemn interest you recognise from therapy.

“Why is that?" he asks. “What would prevent you if you shared my tastes?”

“It’d feel... dirty."

You tense up, anticipating an airy dismissal, and are surprised when Hannibal appears to digest the answer quite as seriously as any debate.

“You equate the concept of eating flesh with sex,” he says. “A fellatio of sorts.”

Recouping from a startled coughing fit, you rasp, “I mean, not always, or that’d be super weird, but in this case— maybe? But even if I saw it as just degrading him the way he did to me, eating him would make me sick. Leland’s basically diseased."

Hannibal’s brows arch.

"If he were then I wouldn't suggest such a feast."

With a weak groan you shift to face the wall.

"You know what I mean. I just don't want to eat someone so disgusting. I mean, I don't want to eat anyone."

“Or anything, for that matter,” Hannibal comments; the quickness of his answer puts you in mind of Will.

“This isn't about that.”

"Yet it isn't entirely divorced from your illness, either."

You don’t reply, wishing he’d cut you free of the conversation and leave you to the consoling darkness of your chosen music to softly decay. He will never convince you to be what he is; you’ll only ever pretend until you’re loose of this house, or under the earth. You were not built to eat.

“What if someone else were to consume Leland Frost?" asks Hannibal suddenly.

Rolling onto your back again you find that he is the one now turned away, allowing you an enigmatic angle of cheek, the dash of his jawline, a noble in stasis.

“You'd do that for me?" you ask. “You’d eat Leland Frost?”

“Without question. It would be a token of my love."

A bashfulness comes over you, your heart stuttering in blighted rejoice that you, of all women, he would not have die in a doll.

Alana he would kill, you feel, though only through some necessity to silence or remove some object in her; Hannibal enjoys her too much to otherwise let her go, as possessive of his human toys as of the treasure box of life he has built about him.

You, the daughter-pet of the man that is his lover in all but the physical, are too vital to discard. This you have over Alana, the iron guard that is to be the favoured concubine of kings.

"I know I'm not the one you love,” you mutter, keen to pretend you hadn't heard Hannibal's wistful ruminations on the matter. “Will is.”

Hannibal sits down at your bedside, making the chair rather more elegant for his arrangement within it. You cannot help but glance at his crossed legs, feeling by memory the weight resting between them.

“I'm capable of ardour for more than one being simultaneously,” says Hannibal. “Would I have invited you into my home if I were not?"

Your mouth opens, then seals again without comment.

Once, you would have stridently declared you’d rather be detested by a cannibal than held in any regard, but being that such a claim is no longer honest you can only look at the ceiling and will yourself away from that coward’s longing to be loved.

"Do you still think that you’re unworthy?” asks Hannibal, with a certain sadness. “I selected you above others because upon reading your files and the many unhappy confessions made in private sectors of your online existence I saw your resilient heart, your keen perception of unspoken truths, and a compassion for those you hold close, few though they were, at that time.

“I saw, too, a proximity to darkness that bore a forbidden allure to you, that which you resisted through an oppressed certainty that you should.

“Your passion for it, your torment in the stranglehold of conformity— you were enamoured with your own illness and its extremes: the minimum you could consume, the lengths of time you could abstain from sustenance. The symptoms, even the most repugnant of them delighted you in the provision of security they brought to an unstable universe. That craving for discipline and your adherence to it I admired.”

Hannibal pauses, watching you take in his confession with a continuing want of acceptance.

“Ultimately you recoil from my habits as you do from all eating,” he says. “In you, the consumption of human flesh is made equal to that of all animals.”

With a jolt you stare at him, wondering if he is aware that you've come to so similar a realisation about him.

"I’ll never be a cannibal,” you say. “You get that, right? I don’t want to disappoint you, Daddy, but I would never eat a human being. Not by choice."

Your captor leans into your cheek, his breath stirring a tremble of horrid pleasure down your neck almost to your breast like the venom of an asp.

"Precisely,” he murmurs. “You’ll submit in the knowledge that you must."

The quilt shifts as his arm slides beneath it with a gentle cunning. You fasten your fevered thighs against him, aware that you have not bathed since the previous night and are ripe from your bedbound decay.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “I’m sick and dirty.”

“Then when I’m finished I’ll wash you and change the sheets,” says Hannibal, looking warmly down at you under lowered lids. “You’re taut from lack of release. I will unwind you from that knot; this, too, is care for you.”

His fingers form the simulacrum of a key, your entrance the lock he means to open for his amusement. You release a shivering gasp as he pushes into you, putrescent with the guilt that this deathmonger finds no resistance in the soaking welcome of you.

He touches you where the moonlight of forbidden nerve song waxes into silver life, and he does not release you until the phantasmagoric wilds of it reform at some mad height.

Twice he walks you there on well-trained fingertips, his face in the cave of your shoulder and neck, kissing the raised presence of a vein.

You feel his temptation to bite the flesh from that junction, and there is something erotic in his restraint, the tension in him as his breath smokes your throat. His teeth raise grooves there, flirting with the meat beneath your skin, his warm tongue taking the measure of your flavour.

You catch at him, push at him, feeble and defenceless. How kindly he absorbs this little violence, pressing your fists to his pursed mouth to soften them with his forgiveness.

He will not punish you for this, allows you this instinct to resist the hunter’s dominance. That he does not fuck you with his phallus is another proof of his strength; that form of sex he might have when you’re well, and a more even match against him.

His fingers in you curl like the neck of the swan over Leda, and you hear your tears fall upon the quilt, an errant rainfall.

“So beautiful,” says Hannibal, as you croak in hopeless admission of pleasure. “It’s a pity you’re unwell. Your voice is a joy to listen to at times like this.”

You think he’d like your death screams as much, the keen blackness of his eyes glistening with the satiation of the knife. He would study you, tanned head aside, considering how he might depict your agonies in graphite to commemorate their aesthetic peak.

What painting would serve as the base of this image? The Death of Marat? Saturn Eating His Son? You’re not educated enough to anticipate where so cruelly intellectual a mind would take root for inspiration. Hannibal has never conducted a human experiment quite like the one in which you are subject, this from the subtleties of his behaviour you feel, the satisfaction he takes from a new evil.

Killing and eating those that stain his world with imperfection is no sexual act to Hannibal as it is for others of his monstrous guild, but it may become sensual in recollection of what you once were to him. Should he slaughter you he’d stroke himself afterwards into religious ecstasies, a eulogy to all the hours emptied within you.

Even as he plays the scales of your bleak rapture in the present you are sure he pictures it, the murder that has not been. His hand, in thought, around your heart, letting it beat against his wrist like the lapping tongue of a wolfess dying in the snow.

You are beautiful to him in two realms: the real and parallel, the living and the dead. He would channel his love through your body, display you like the tortured beauty of some vanquished clan, whatever wound he’d killed you by presented like a brooch, some bright red gem.

After your death, what would become of you then?

Young people of the same morbid leanings you’d once indulged in would admire the images of the crime scene as they might some rare exhibition, unaware that the man that had posed you with such elaborate direction had fucked you with that same drive.

Yet perhaps they would learn of it, your organs examined for such sadistic tampering, and would pity you for your miserable life.

If only you were not so afraid to die: you must be his breathing art for all your days, and that may well be worse.

Your expression must glaze with this dark musing, for Hannibal takes back his arm from the quilt and slips noiselessly into the bathroom to wash his hands of your sour delight.

Later, when you’re washed under crisp plum and ebony sheets he comes to you once more with a glass of water and a pill in his hand.

“What’s that?” you ask, straightening against the mountainous stack of pillows. “I already had ibuprofen.”

“It’s a sleeping aid,” says Hannibal. “You were coughing through the night. This will assure you rest undisturbed.”

Miserably you contemplate the calories in the little capsule before you take it, hoping it will at least grant a dreamless sleep.

In this you are disappointed; your mind walks a road of memory, revisiting a September afternoon you’d watched Leland Frost work on your father’s car, his muscled body rolling under his shirt like an orca beneath a wave.

In the dream he whistles at a passing woman, a dimple creasing his grin.

“Ah, I need a girl like you, me.”

His blond head snaps up to look at you as you shrink back towards the house.

“No, no, cher. Stay. There somebody been asking about me?”

You scuff a white sneaker against the sidewalk, dirtying the sole.

“No, Uncle Lee.”

Leland wipes his hands on stained blue jeans and rises into a crouch, his smile like the coil of an eel in rivers deep.

“Aw, come on,” he says, cajoling. “I seen her runnin’ after you the other day. That lil, lil girl that live at the end of the street.”

“She’s just in my class, that’s all,” you insist. “She’s just a friend.”

Leland spits a brown liquid under the car and laughs.

“You got no friends but me. That girl, Hannah. She don’t like you. Still she come after you. I wanna know what she wanted.”

You look at your shoes, counting the eyelets. Leland’s eyes brand your bowed temple with their questioning.

“She asked about you,” you mumble. “And I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s good,” says Lee. “But you better tell me what she asked.”

“If I knew you were a bad man. And I said I don’t know what she’s talking about, just like you said.”

Leland winks, a conspiratorial gesture.

“That’s my girl.”

You’ve had worse dreams, yet you spring from this one as though from the top stair of hell, wishing with a sickened wrench of innards that Hannibal was in the room to calm you from its frightful squall.

Angered by your own wallowing terror, you get out of bed and force yourself to stand in front of the mirror in penance. You examine your body from all perspectives, fancying you see it narrowed by your lack of appetite while simultaneously convinced that it hasn’t changed at all.

Were that you were unwell always: you’d waste to the littleness of a Frozen Charlotte, a frail perfect thing, not the child darling lumped from clay in a killer’s hands. Neither Will nor Hannibal quite understand your fervent tenacity to achieve the quality of air, nor will either help you to achieve it.

There are limits to their madness, immune as they are to any folie à deux but their own. You are a soldier of one in your aim, ground down to lose faith in the war.

In a malaise you attempt a slow lap of the room, made pathetic by your coughing and quivering progress from one end of it to the next.

Hannibal’s car sends a lasso of auburn leaves up from the wet road as he rides in under your window; hampered by time, you return to the mirror to body check again, pulling up your nightdress in the hope your stomach has by the devil’s miracle become concave, your ribs closed in like praying hands.

Disappointed, you get back into bed and arrange yourself in a believable pose of just waking for Hannibal to find.

“How did you sleep, Little One?” he asks, setting a bowl of pumpkin soup down on a tray before you.

“Not too well,” you admit. “I had a dream about Uncle Lee again. Well, a memory, I guess.”

“You’ve remembered something new,” says Hannibal. “What have you retrieved from the galleries of time?”

It relieves you that he's so attune to your need to confess, seated at your bedside with such swiftness it is as if he never left.

“There really were other girls,” you say. “I know that for sure, now. There was this one girl, Hannah— I guess she wanted my help, and I told her to go away and that I didn’t know anything. I was scared, but still. It was wrong of me to do that to her when she needed a friend.”

“You were a child,” says Hannibal, soberly. “I’ll remind you as many times as is required of me. Leland may have hurt you had you struck out against him.”

You bow your head in rejection of his comfort.

“There were other girls that asked me for help when I got older, and I never said a word. I don’t deserve forgiveness for that, and honestly, I don’t want it, either. That wouldn’t help anybody. I just wish... well, it’s stupid, but I wish I could turn back time and do it all again.”

“The past cannot be reversed, as tempted as one might be to take it upon oneself to calculate some process of correcting one’s mistakes. You are not alone in that desire, however. I, too, have considered how it might be done. Alas, it is an impossible fantasy. There’s no benefit to ruminating on such things.”

You consider Hannibal in a kind of awe. What could such a being regret if not the act of murder?

A telephone knells in the gut of the house.

“Drink your soup,” says Hannibal, getting to his feet. “I hope to see at least half of it absent on my return.”

Resisting the compulsion to roll your eyes at him you say, with a falsely placid air, “Okay, Daddy. Sure thing.”

You make reluctant scrapes with your spoon about the bowl, swilling each mouthful about your teeth ten times before you swallow.

In five minutes Hannibal comes back to you with the telephone in his hand. There is animation to his face you’ve noticed absent since his companion left to sink himself into the case again.

“It’s Will,” says Hannibal, the expected answer. “He wants to talk to you.”

“He does?” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Wow. He’s a changed man.”

You take the receiver, waiting until Hannibal leaves to return your soup tray to the kitchen before you speak into it.

“Hi, Daddy,” you say.

It’s loathsome how eagerly the words spill from your lips, a breathless young girl’s gladness to hear from the object of a summer pash.

“Hey,” says Will. “How are you feeling? Hannibal told me you were laid up.”

“Yep. Chest infection. Listen to me.”

You cough to demonstrate, and Will laughs gently.

“That’s rough. Has Dr Lecter been taking good care of you?”

“Yeah. Sure. Just like he always does. When are you coming home? It’s Halloween in two days. It’ll be weird without you. It’s my favourite holiday.”

Will chuckles again.

“I’ll bet it is. I’ll try to get away. Jack’s got me pretty tied up, but I’ll do my best.”

You imagine Will in the mystery of his house, his free hand tousling the miscellaneous heads of many dogs. That home would smell of hair, and old books, of Will, the hermit fisherman; its scent is in your throat as if you were there, upon his lap again.

Certainly you seem able to do nothing else, your form enraptured with what once merely hurt.

“Have you missed me, Will?” you ask, coyly, and just as coyly he answers.

“Some of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, wriggling under your quilt.

The night Will had covered your mouth as he fucked his irritation up into you is like a sunrise of the womb, a burning, desirous giant. It is horrible what these men do, but like the snarling ache of starving you must love it against all that you know to be true and good.

“Just kidding,” says Will, a grin in his voice. “I do miss you. But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Something serious.”

The solemn shift in Will’s voice nips the smirk from your lips at once.

“What is it?” you ask. “What do you mean?”

“I got an MRI the other day. Figured it was time to get to the bottom of those seizures I’ve been having. Alana hooked me up; I guess somebody owed her a favour. Turns out I have encephalitis. I’ve been in the hospital for a couple of days. Probably going to be on medication for a while now.”

The hand gripping the receiver seems to run with fire over blood.

“Oh, God,” you say, breathless with nerves. “Is everything okay? Are you?”

“Okay isn’t the word I’d use,” says Will grimly. “You knew about this already, One. I want to know how.”

Panic drills you through with such adrenaline that you feel as though you’re above the bed rather than within it. If you expose the truth you’ll be punished severely, perhaps even lethally should it drive the two men apart.

You’d made a mistake in taunting Will over their friendship; you should have left well alone, endured their union in unstirring quiet as you’d done under Leland Frost.

“Um,” you mumble. “I know a lot of stuff before it happens. I just feel like it’s true, or guess, like you said. Or I dream about it.”

“This wasn’t out of any dream. The details were too specific. You said something about the food. Somebody told you what was going on, and what was triggering my encephalitis, because they were purposefully making it worse.”

Will pauses, and when he speaks again his tone is clipped, all controlled rage.

“It was Hannibal, and you covered for him. Not very well, but you did.”

“I didn’t know he was doing it on purpose!” you squeak. “He seemed worried about you, Will, I thought—”

“Don’t say anything else. Just listen to me.”

You chew at a loose whisker of skin on your lip, the same you’ve gnawed to the blood beneath a thousand times in conflict.

“I’m going to come home in a couple of days,” says Will. “I’m going to talk to Hannibal and you’re going to stay out of it, just like I asked you to. This is between me and him. Not you. Please don’t disrespect me by getting in the way.”

“He’ll be so mad at me,” you croak. “Oh, God. Please don’t say anything to him, Will. Just leave it. What if I’ve ruined everything?”

There is a protracted silence into which you both breathe like the winds at the end of the world.

“If anything’s ruined just know that it isn’t you that’s to blame,” says Will, at last. “Goodbye, Little One. I’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead, leaving the phone a chill corpse in your hand.

#hannibal fic #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanfiction #tw noncon #tw rape #tw daddy kink #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #will graham x reader

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jjelleefsh · 3 months ago

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;; honey cherry and my lover’s sun sipped wine

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ notes: i woke up and this just appeared in front of me. cw: reader is sort of simping for zhongli? zhongli is a beautiful beautiful man , gn! reader I think (if I used a gendered pronoun please just tell me k thx) also I couldn't find the readmore thing to put or I swear I wouldve put it in here. I hate longposts.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

It was blasphemous almost, to see a visage as such on a mundane day like today. It should be considered sacrilegious really. The sunlight at the break of golden hour, filtering through the gaps between the curtains glazing his skin in the most nostalgic hue of yellow.

The back locks of his hair, still uncombed, draped over his shoulders, reminding you of aged ebony, falling like ribbons of water from ornamental rocks. The mirror he stood in front of, reflected the sunlight to his face, giving him the most sublime countenance. Deft hands shuffle closer to his face, as he leans into the mirror, lithe fingers focus on lining eyes of molten gold with a red eyeliner in hand. An amalgamation of all these observations coming together to make a scene that would make the romantic artists of Fontaine cry out in envy.

“my god...”

Aureate eyes met yours and you just know their shade was the inspiration when a cor lapis decided to take on its colour. The slight crinkle of his eyes when he smiled, the gentle click of the brush as he set down the eyeliner. All about him, everything about him was so lovely,

“You called, dearest?”

Zhongli, although his tone sounded curious, knew full well the meaning of the reverent gaze you were looking at him with.

“Mr. Zhongli, I think I might be in love with you.”

“Well, I’d certainly hope so. It would be rather awkward if the person I chose to take my vows with did not reciprocate my affections.”

Vows. You repeated in your head, yes, this breathtaking man, with a face that would have had wars fought for his hand, was yours. Yours as in you married him, stood on the altar, took your vows, bowed to each other and you married him.

A giddy grin creeps its way up to your face, the kind that will not go away no matter how much effort you put into trying to stop it. Oh Celestia above, you are so terribly, infallibly in love with this man, it is sickening.

A hopeless devotee you are; someone who simply had the luck of having their affections reciprocated by a man— by a god, but you’d argue, it is just as romantic, even if it was before you found outabout his divinity.

“Well, you need not worry about that, I can assure you, your spouse returns your affections wholeheartedly. I was told so by them personally.”

“They said that now, did they? Very well, I hope you relay my gratitude to them.”

“ah, but it will take reimbursement, Mr. Zhongli.” you chirp out, fully intending on cashing out as much as you can out of this conversation.

“Is that so? Very well, what might your charges be?”

You didn’t know it was possible to smile wider, Wordlessly you pointed to your forehead. Zhongli takes your action in stride, walking over but instead resting his lips upon yours. Cradling his face, you have found home in a chaste kiss. As he pulls away, now standing upright again, you look up at him.

“A tip for your hardwork, yes? I hope my message reaches my lover soon.”

—

Zhongli looks at your smiling face, grinning with teeth and all. The mirror reflects the sunrays on your head, covering you in a heavenly halo-like lighting; a scene that would make heaven fall to its knees, to that he can attest.

Its mundane mornings like these, he thinks, that make him realise a god too, can turn devotee in the presence of his lover.

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dont ask me what this is bc idk either. "but esha didn't you write this?" yes and I blanked out and poof this appeared. also I kinda would not read this but like bleh. i don't like how it came out.

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12:41 pm ; 14/9/2024

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#;; file type : genshin #;; file subtype : Zhongli #;; file two : fnfctn #genuinely idk what this is #i just saw this beautiful man and i went #'mamma mia'#and then bam this just appeared #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #genshin zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #zhongli fluff #genshin zhongli fluff #why are there so many tags

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silentmoths · 1 year ago

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Quick-Relief

slides in like I havent not written anything for *squints* several fucking months.

the 'morax horny stick' decided to bonk me out of the blue today and so this was born, its quick, its dirty, take it or leave it, heathens.

Morax x Adeptus! Reader (fem anatomy)

NSFW

Smut, Semi public, mentions of war, Morax is a lil on the rougher side, honestly this is just Porn without Plot.

How long had you been in the field now? Two months? Three? You’d honestly lost count.

There was real keeping of time during the archon war, at least not for you; you were an adeptus, here to fight for your archon, Morax.

And yet, you can't help but miss the times… before.

When you would wander the halls of his domain, only for a strong, darkened arm to reach out from his study or his chambers, catching your waist, your sleeve, the sash of your hafu, and dragging you in.

You were…unsure what you were exactly to Morax, a lover maybe? Or perhaps simple stress relief? You did not know, and you did not dare to ask. In the end you were one of his Adepti, and you would fight, serve or fall into his embrace, as he commanded.

Rain pelts against your skin as you slowly trudge up the mountain path towards the nearest encampment, carrying an injured comrade with you. Somewhere in the distance, you see Alatus flit past and you wonder just how he manages to maintain such energy, you don't think you’d seen the general stop for a breather the entire time, at least not until he was somewhat gravely injured…and even then he would only rest as little as he had to.

You pass your comrade off to a more capable healer than yourself before going off in search of food. A bath probably should have been first on the agenda but you just…didn’t have the energy in you for it yet, food first, then bath…and maybe if you were lucky, some sleep.

Yeah things don’t go the way you planned. When do they ever?

As you shovel away a quick meal of rice and vegetables, you cant help but feel eyes on you, but between being too tired to look around, and knowing everyone else sitting around you were just as busy shovelling food into your faces, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. That same feeling lingers as you shamble towards a bathing spring, no time to soak, if you wanted a chance at getting some sleep before you were called to action again, you needed to scrub and go, which is exactly what you do. Violently scrubbed clean of dirt, debris and blood, as much as you want to remain, you force yourself from the warm waters, quickly drying off before making for a tent, you didn't care who was in there, you just wanted somewhere sheltered to rest your head.

A hand, warm, familiar and strong, rests upon your shoulder, but in your tired stupor, you swing, intending on hitting away whomever had approached so quietly until your wrist is grabbed.

You knew the glow of these hands anywhere, the geo resonating softly through his veins, and you look up to be met with smouldering amber.

“Morax…” you whisper.

He’s caught somewhere between dragon and man, he has the human visage you are used to, the one he used most often to interact with mortals, but his horns and tail were also visible; his horns glowing a faint golden in the low light of the chilly mountainside.

You feel his grip tighten on you, his pupils restricting into slits for a mere moment before blowing wide and you can feel the anticipation beginning to run up your spine. Yeah you weren't sleeping tonight.

A beat passes between you both before he turns, tugging you along, out of sight of anyone, out of the encampment entirely, and all you can do is stumble along as his massive hand grips your wrist. He walks these mountains like a flat road, he knew them better than the back of his own hand, his strides are wide, and quick as he leads you further from camp, down a slippery cliff and before you know it, into a cave, only to be pressed against the cool stone wall as he practically hikes you up it, your legs coming to rest around his waist as he holds you there effortlessly.

“My lord-”

“Shut up.” Morax all but growls back before his lips crash into yours, long, serpentine tongue invading your mouth in a very quickly lost battle of dominance. His hands claw at your robe, tugging the offending garment apart so he can get at your naked body with ease, your own arms moving to wrap around his neck.

gods, you hadn’t realised just how much you needed this.

The longer you spend pressed between your archon’s warm flesh, and the cold stone of the wall, the more the churning arousal in your gut becomes apparent. You’d been fighting for so long you’d absolutely disregarded your body and it’s signals, and judging by how rough Morax was being, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave bruises whilst the other shoves his own pants down to his knees, he must have been feeling the same.

“My lord-” you try again, your own hands shifting up to his horns, grabbing hold to at least try and pull him away for a moment so you can breathe.”Take a moment-” “No.” He growls, one hand gripping your hips as a pair of fingers push inside your already embarrassingly wet cunt. “The moment I saw you walk into camp, I couldn’t withhold anymore.” he rumbles, smirking dangerously as he watches your face twist with a mix of pleasure and pain as he splays those long, devilish fingers, after so long, you’re glad he at least had the forwithall to stretch you and take some of the inevitable sting off.

“Your body has toned up some more.” He muses as he continues the rough thrust of his fingers, his own body weight keeping you pressed against the wall as his free hand roams the expanse of your body revealed beneath the robe “and yet, despite all the fighting, your skin still feels like silk.” You can feel your cheeks heating at his surprisingly tender words; there was no small amount of pent up lust edging his tone, and yet he still found time to leave a compliment as his lips descend upon your neck, biting and suckling, leaving a small trail of blooming bruises from your jaw to your collarbone, all while he revels in the breathy gasps and muffled moans he draws from your lips.

That same tenderness doesn’t last long though; the moment he begins to feel you clench around his fingers, hear the way your voice pitches higher, he knew you were close, and instead of simply letting you come, he pulls his fingers out and you whine at him, looking to his face desperately, only to be met with a dark smirk before he quickly, harshly shoves his cock into you, burying all the way to the hilt in one single, harsh thrust that has you screaming, the sudden intrusion enough to send you over that edge as you orgasm around him.

“That's it.” he rumbles at you, his voice caught somewhere between a growl and a purr as his draconic tail lashes behind him, he doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath, his hips setting a brutal pace that has any breath you manage to catch leaving your body just as quickly as you moan into his shoulder. You feel it, every ridge of his inhuman cock, rutting inside of you, a dull aching pain mixed with pure, overwhelming pleasure as Morax growls into your throat, his teeth pressing against your skin, but not quite biting down.

His hands grab your waist, shifting your legs until they’re locked around his hips, just so he can get a better grip on you and take a step back, pulling you from the wall so he can all but bounce you on his cock like you were nothing more than a toy for him. He watches as your eyes roll back, and feels your hands, clinging desperately around his shoulders, one of your fingers finally catching in his hair tie and yanking, you did so love seeing his silky hair free and cascading down his back and shoulders.

Usually, before the war, when he’d pull you in for a night of intimacy, it was a slow affair; he liked to take his time, methodical in every one of his actions.

That was not the case today.

This was a man pent up, stressed, pulled to the very limits and in desperate need of release, and he knew that just as well as you did. His pace was brutal, ruthless, and you cry for it because you needed this just as much as him, something to take your mind off of all the fighting, all the death and destruction, a moment to feel… mortal.

You only vaguely remember the moment he cums inside you, it’s hot, searingly so and it shoves you right off the edge into your second orgasm as your world turns white, a stark contrast to the drizzly grey day.

You wake, the next morning in a tent, re-clothed, rugged up amongst blankets and pillows, your muscles ached, but when had they not lately? Just some…new kinds of ache that made you realise last night had definitely not been a dream.

As if the impressive amount of hickeys you now had to find a way to hide weren't proof enough of your quick foray with the geo archon himself.

You just hoped the de-stressing had helped clear his head a little, after all, you were there to serve him.

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmothwrites #finally #Zhongli genshin #Zhongli x reader #Zhongli x reader smut

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sixxeyes · 1 year ago

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redamancy.

(n.) - a love returned in full feat. childe w.c. : 5.2 k warnings : nsfw , f!reader , entirely self-indulgent lol , very very soft. like excruciatingly soft. note : hbd to the literal love of my life :salute: i was going to write something out of pocket, but i'm a big baby and need lots of fluff so lol enjoy being loved by tartag three years in a row

Throughout the time dating your boyfriend, Childe has always been one hell of a lover to you. He has been nothing but understanding and kind; whenever you told him to give you some space while you pondered your own feelings for him or needed time to yourself, he had always nodded his head and promised you that he would be there for you should you ever called him.

And Childe always came through when you did call for him.

He was patient with you as you figured out what you wanted in your relationship with him and how you felt specifically for him, never rushing you when you took some time to finally tell him that you loved him and only began to get clingy with you when you finally reciprocated his feelings.

He loved you so much and you could feel it with every action he showed you.

And you wanted to show him how much you appreciate him with a cake made with love just for him. Your idea was big and grand; a heart cake with a cute whale on top decorated with cute stars and a moncerous caeli, his constellation, hidden somewhere on the cake.

However, due to your lack of baking ability and patience, your frosting wasn’t working correctly and… well.

Your heart beats rapidly against your chest seeing the lump of blue frosting melting ontop of your cake. The base was decently done, the light blue frosting wasn’t perfectly even but it was smooth enough and that was all that you needed. However, the decorative blue frosting for the whale had not set properly and Childe was due to visit any time soon.

With a knife, you carefully scoop off the blue lump and try again in hopes of the frosting understanding your panic but your heart breaks once more seeing the blob fall onto your base. Just as you begin to try again, the sound of your door unlocking and opening sends your heart to your stomach. As the door closes and you hear rustling as your guest enters your home, you quickly stand in front of your mess of a cake in a state of panic.

He was visiting way earlier than usual.

“Sweetheart?” Childe’s voice calls out for you. “Are you home?”

A head of orange curls pokes out from the doorway of your kitchen and immediately a bright smile grows on his face. With quick strides, you’re enveloped into a warm hug; the comforting scent of citrus and the salty breeze of the ocean surrounds you and it was like all of your worries for today just melt away as soon as his arms wrap around you. Childe’s scent, his entire presence, was something you found yourself easily melting into.

The deep ocean stares back at you, the dark seas twinkling lightly as they reflect their affections for you. It’s a rare sight to see such light in his eyes according to most others, like his short grumpy coworker who always picks a fight with your lover, but you’re glad that the stars reflected in his eyes are a sight reserved only for you to see.

“You’re wearing my shirt…” he murmurs quietly as he takes in the sight of you. Rough fingers fiddle with the edge of the maroon shirt over your form and he smiles sweetly. A soft kiss is pressed onto your cheek, gentle lips tickling your skin and you fight back a smile as more are firmly pressed along your face. If they had left marks, there would be a freckle of kisses along your visage.

“What’s all this?” Childe asks. His chin rests on your shoulder as he peeks over your body, but you reflexively shift your shoulders to shield the mess from his field of view. He attempts again and your head tilts in his way. A soft chuckle is heard beside your ear before his arms hold your body still and he successfully gets a view of the cake behind you, much to your dismay.

“I was trying to make you a cake, but the decorating isn’t going as planned…” You murmur softly, eyes averting his gaze when he glances back to you. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes knowing the state of his cake. “Don’t laugh, I know it’s ugly right now.”

You’re fully expecting your boyfriend to tease you for the misshapen cake you decided to dedicate to him; it’s not unusual for the two of you to bicker and poke fun at one another. It was something that you loved about your relationship, but this was something you really tried your hardest on and if he made fun of you for this you were sure to start crying in front of him.

A burning sensation begins to build in your eyes as you prepare for your lover’s remark.

“Oh, my beloved,” Childe coos. A gentle hand cups your jaw and guides your face in his direction; your eyes hesitantly meet his gaze and you want to cry even more with the way he looks at you. There’s nothing but affectionate warmth in his gaze as he takes in your gift before glancing back at you. “Why would I laugh at something you gifted me?”

You shrug and he softly chuckles beside you. You feel his lips press firmly onto the side of your cheek and your skin burns at the act.

“You worked hard to make me a gift even if you didn’t need to, which is more than I could ever ask for,” Childe whispers lovingly into your ear. With another fond kiss to your head, your lover pulls away from your shared embrace.

“Can I kiss you?”

Childe’s voice is soft, a contrast from your usual confident lover. The strong, powerful honed soldier fit to serve the Tsaritsa and the Tsaritsa only was now hesitantly asking you to do something intimate. You exhale softly at how you’ve gotten this powerful weapon of war wrapped around your finger and you wonder just what it was about you that he loved so much.

You couldn’t even get a proper answer out; as soon as you nod your head a pair of lightly chapped lips press onto yours. The kiss was very gentle and sweet. So many words of love and affection were poured into that simple kiss, every tender movement causing your heart to soar in your chest. His hand gently squeezes your hand, a small reminder that he was experiencing this intimate moment with you, and you sigh from his touch.

You love him so much.

As you pull away from him, your eyes immediately meet his gaze and it only sends your nerves into more of a frazzled mess. If you’ve never been swept away by a heavy tide and pulled underneath the unforgiving undertow to be engulfed in the ocean, you might as well have experienced that now with the way your boyfriend was staring at you. Love was evident in his gaze, but with the dark blue engulfing his irises you knew there was something more brewing.

With a short glance to your lips, Childe leans forward again to press his lips on yours. However, this time his kiss conveyed a different emotion than the previous one. Compared to the innocence of the other one, this one screamed of desperation and need. As his lips move hungrily over yours, you groan and grip onto the kitchen counter as he pushes into you. However, your boyfriend pulls away when you suddenly wince from the tile digging into your back.

You don’t get a chance to question his motives before strong arms lift you from the ground and onto the counter. The cool temperature of the kitchen tiles contrast to the heat of the moment and you shudder in excitement, which only causes Childe to smile at your reaction.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, slipping between your legs and once more leaning into your body. As if on instinct, your arms loosely wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer to you. You shrug and avert your eyes playfully to the side as he leans in to press a kiss at the juncture of your neck beneath your ear.

“Nothing much, just how much I love you,” you respond with a small laugh. Childe hums beside you before pulling away to stare into your eyes again. There’s a playful sparkle in his eyes, but it’s dwarfed by the amount of the warmest, most serene ocean blue that lull you in a comfort that you can only find with the man in front of you.

“I would argue that that’s a bigger deal than you’re making it out to be.” He chuckles, rough and calloused hands resting on your waist as he pulls you into him. His lips find yours again, the same desire to love you and show his affections for you clear as day the more he kisses you. With a gentle prod at your bottom lip, his tongue slips into your mouth and explores everything that he can touch. Your hand runs through his orange curls and lightly grip his hair, groaning as his tongue slips over your own.

This only excites Childe further; it’s not his fault that you’re so sweet to him and have the cutest reactions when he’s giving his love to you. He wants to show you what you mean to him after going out of your comfort zone just for his sake.

Childe pulls away from the kiss, but his lips never stray from you. They trail kisses along your neck as his fingers undo the buttons of his maroon shirt draping over your body. A sigh escapes your lips and your own fingers play with the ginger curls at the base of his neck. His tongue gently laps at your skin as his lips gently caress the area after and-

“Childe!” you yelp as you as his teeth playfully nip your skin. His lips curl into a smile that you most definitely can feel as he gently kisses your neck as an apology.

“Sorry, dear,” Childe murmurs, but he certainly doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse. Calloused fingers slide the maroon shirt off of your shoulders and the cooler temperature of the kitchen surrounds your entire being. Blue eyes are taking in your appearance, and you know there’s something brewing in the deep blue abyss as his eyes slowly stare down your body.

Soon after, you can feel his hands explore the expanse of your exposed torso, running over your skin and curvature of your body. It’s like he’s mapping out the way your body feels from the way he’s touching you; there’s no inch of skin left untouched. Childe’s lips find yours again as he kisses you ardor, pouring every bit of love he has for you in the movement of his lips.

“W-wait,” you stammer breathlessly, pulling away from your lover when you feel his rough fingers slip under your bra strap. He’s fiddling with the clasp as his eyes meet your gaze. You can tell he was close to just letting his desires take control of him from the way he’s looking at you.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Childe asks. He tilts his head forward to press a kiss along your jaw.

“Shouldn’t I be the one kissing you?” You ask him, gently pushing away so that your eyes can meet once more. You give him a small smile as your fingers gently tickle the back of his neck. “It’s not fair for you to be in charge on your birthday; why don’t you relax while I love you?”

Childe can feel his heart soaring from the mere suggestion. Of course, he would never turn down any request from you, especially if it was a request to have your lips all over his body and hopefully around his dick. But, as much as he loved the idea, he had other plans in mind that he needed to do to you.

It’s not his fault that you made it so easy to love you.

With a shake of his head and a quick movement from his fingers, your bra is unclasped and slipped off of your shoulders. A gasp escapes your lips as your chest is bare in front of your lover, though you know he is very much enjoying the view in front of him.

“Not tonight,” Childe responds with an amused smile. His lips trail down your skin, soft kisses leading to your chest as rough hands gently run over your breasts. “Let me enjoy you as my gift tonight, darling.”

He doesn’t even let you respond to him as his lips press a gentle kiss at your nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub while his hand gropes at the breast left unattended. Your body shivers at his touch and you can’t help the blood rising to your face at his affections. Of course, you’re slightly embarrassed at having all of his attention on you on his special day even after making a mess of a cake for him. It should be you kissing him, trailing kisses down his body and worshiping him until all he could see were the galaxy of stars that shone the brightest the minute he was born.

You breathe out his name in a soft whisper before Childe detaches himself from your chest. His thumbs brush over your nipples as his hands cup and squeeze your breasts. He smiles, licking his lips in a manner that sends a pleasant shudder down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” Childe murmurs before leaning forward once more to kiss you. You hum in his kiss, groaning softly as his tongue parts your lips once more as he takes in your taste again and again. His hands slide down your body and his fingers find their way to the button of your shorts. With deft fingers, your button is swiftly undone and you lift your hips to help slide them off.

“You’re one to talk, ‘Jax,” you quip back at him when he finally pulls away from the kiss, but your slightly playful demeanor when you feel his fingers brush past your clothed core. Your breath hitches and you can feel the smile on his lips when he kisses at the juncture of your neck. His name leaves your mouth in a soft whisper and your fingers cling to his shoulders.

“Hm, what was that?” Childe chuckles softly when your body twitches as his finger presses into your clothed clit. Your huff of air clearly entertaining your boyfriend as he gently massages your sensitive bud through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your body shudders again as you close your eyes to his touch, your fingers burying themselves into his orange sea of curls as you try to ground yourself.

“Sh-shut up,” you stammer out with a gentle yank of his hair. He only laughs softly in response and gently kisses your neck. Your breathing gets heavier with each movement of his fingers as he gently teases and prods at your clit and you can feel the pleasure building up. Your hips squirm on the kitchen counter as you try to grind up into his fingers for a bit more pressure; you needed a bit more stimulation than he was currently giving you.

Childe hums beside your ear, gently nipping your earlobe as he feels you shift your hips underneath him. “Do you need some more excitement, dear?” he muses. His fingers, however, slowly stop their pleasurable massage on your clit and your eyes widen at the cease of movement. He pulls away from you, his deep blue eyes an abyss of desire as he stares into your eyes. There’s a playful smirk on his lips as he glances at your lips and then meets your gaze once more. “There’s no need to rush; we have all day to enjoy the moment, and I want to take my time enjoying my birthday gift.”

He presses a tantalizing kiss at the crook of your neck before trailing slow, agonizing kisses down your body. You want to tell him to hurry up, but your voice fails you. Can anyone blame you when your lover was purposefully teasing you in the best way possible?

Your breath hitches when his lips finally meet the band of your underwear and it suddenly dawns on you what he’s going to do. Instinctively, your knees attempt to close so he doesn’t get a view of you down there, but, much to your dismay, his hands firmly hold your legs open.

“Childe,” you begin, but your words get caught in your throat when his eager fingers slip underneath the band of your panties and slide them down your legs. You don’t even get a chance to protest before you feel his lips kissing lower and lower until-

Your hips twitch and you let out a sweet noise when Childe kisses your clit. Your hand automatically comes up to cover your mouth knowing what he was about to do. With your fingers clinging to the kitchen counter and your mouth muffled, you moan softly as his tongue laps at your sensitive bud. The wet muscle swirls around the nub, lips kissing and sucking on it as you try your best to hang onto whatever amount of sanity you had left. The pleasure was building in your stomach and throughout your nerves as it washes over your body in gentle waves.

A breathy cry leaves your lips when you feel him move even lower; his tongue licks a stripe up your folds and you can feel his mouth vibrate at your core as he savors your taste. You can only say his name once before his tongue delves into your pussy. Immediately, your hands fly to his head, fingers burying themselves into his ginger curls and your thighs squish around his head.

You can feel him chuckle against you and then rough, calloused fingers firmly grip your thighs and pry your legs apart. The wet, soppy sound of his mouth suctioned to your cunt as his tongue thrusts into you is all you can hear while he eats you out. There’s the occasional groan from your boyfriend as your hand pushes his face deeper into your hips or when your hips grind up to meet his tongue, but regardless of what you hear your head is spinning as his stimulation overwhelms you.

Childe pulls away from your pussy only to press a kiss onto your clit again, one of his hands lets go of your plush thighs as he slips a finger into you. You’re panting heavily at this point and your grip on his hair tightens. The burning white pleasure is building even more as his finger thrusts inside your cunt; he’s building a steady rhythm with his meanwhile sucking and kissing your sensitive bud and your head is spinning. You are not going to last any longer if he keeps this up.

Another finger slips in and you throw your head back. It’s hard to keep your mind from going insane with the way he brushes against that sweet spot. You can’t see him, but you can feel him smiling from underneath you and his fingers brush that spot again and again, massaging it until the heat in your body nearly explodes.

He’s so mean, but you can’t bring it in you to tell him to stop. Not when it feels so excruciatingly good.

“Ch-Childe,” you stammer out in between moans, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Your boyfriend’s thumb gently rubs your thigh while the fingers that were pressing into your sweet spot over and over increase in intensity. The sloppy sound of his mouth sucking on your clit and the gentle rake of his teeth over the sensitive skin is enough to send you over the edge. The pleasure is building up so fast and your fingers bury deep into his hair as you practically shove him into your pussy.

Were you suffocating him? Could he even breathe?

You didn’t care. All that was on your mind was the overwhelming white pleasure that burns through your body, crashing over your entire being as your hips ride into his face. His free hand grips your thighs as your legs tighten around his neck to pull him closer to your body while his fingers buried deep inside your walls help you ride out your orgasm.

His name is the only word that spills out of your lips in a slurred and breathy mantra as the waves of your orgasm wash over your nerves.

As you cool down from the high of your climax, Childe gently slips his fingers out of your sensitive pussy. His hands pry open your shaking legs and you can see the twinkle of his eyes as he watches you, completely breathless, on the kitchen counter.

You nearly cum again when your boyfriend locks eyes with you and licks his fingers clean.

“You taste so sweet, love,” Childe coos, turning his head and pressing his lips against your inner thigh. He showers small kisses against your skin gently and your body shivers underneath his touch. “If I could, I would spend all day just eating you out until all I can taste is your pussy on my tongue for the rest of my life.”

You can feel your ears burning at his dirty words, but you can’t deny that it made your stomach somersault at the mere thought.

“But, there are other, more urgent matters that I want to deal with. So, we’ll save that idea for next time, okay?” Childe whispers playfully. He presses a final kiss on your thigh before standing up once more. He leans into you; his hands firmly grab at your waist as he pulls you into his body. Your lover’s lips find yours in a kiss as his lips move against yours in fervor.

The taste of your cum on his lips melts into your own mouth as his tongue slips into yours, and you groan as Childe presses more into you. His kisses are hungry and rough, almost as if his lust and desire to have you was taking full control of his body at this point. Your fingers cling onto his shoulders as you hold him close to you, savoring the heat of the moment and the passion shared between you two.

Childe whispers your name as he pulls away only for his lips to go straight for your neck. He’s kissing the skin of your neck, lips suctioning to areas of your skin as his tongue scrapes over the area trapped in his mouth. You sigh breathily, feeling his mouth caress and suck at your skin. You only wince when his teeth graze your skin and bite you once more.

But you don’t stop him as he leaves love bites onto the expanse of your skin.

Lost in your own bliss and the kisses pressed into your skin, you don’t realize what Childe’s doing until you feel something hard press against your pussy. Your eyes slowly open as your turn your head to face your lover; a head of ginger curls is all you see as he’s too busy kissing your neck and fisting his dick as he prepares himself to fuck you.

Your stomach flutters in excitement and your hand slowly reaches down to touch his cock. When your fingers brush against his, you can feel your smile growing seeing his body flinch at your touch.

“Babe?” Childe asks. He pulls away from the crook of your neck and you can feel your pussy moisten from the sight of him.

He’s an absolute, horny wreck. His blue eyes are dark, darker than you’ve ever seen them and you fear he may have jumped too deep into the pits of the ocean from the way he’s looking at you. There’s a glaze over his eyes and his cheeks are flushed from not only eating you out earlier, but from pumping his dick in his hand and the excitement of having your cunt around him.

Your heart swells in pride knowing that he’s like this because of you.

“Let me do it for you,” you tell him softly, gently removing his hand from his cock as your fingers wrap around it in his stead. “It’s your birthday, at least let me treat you with this.”

Childe lets out a strained groan at your touch, but he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he buries his face back into the crook of your neck along with a few kisses sprinkled onto your skin.

Immediately, you get to work. Your thumb swipes at the head of his dick and he shivers from the touch; you can feel your smile growing from his reactions to your touch. Your thumb gently massages the tip of his cock, gently coaxing as much precum as you could over the head before your hand begins to slowly pump his dick. It’s a slow and steady rhythm at first and Childe moans softly into your neck. His hips meet your hand in its pace and you can feel him get harder with each stroke.

Childe whispers out your name in a soft moan when you playfully let your finger trail along the shaft of his cock before your hand grasps him once more to line him up at the entrance of your pussy. Your body shudders feeling the tip slip through your folds, the mixture of his precum and your wet pussy making the sensation all the more pleasurable.

“Are you ready?” you whisper to your boyfriend. Your free hand gently runs through Childe’s hair as he pulls away from your neck. His eyes meet yours and your pussy throbs at the pure lust and love in his eyes. A rough hand reaches up to grab yours, bringing it to his lips as he presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m always ready for you, my beloved.”

Childe kisses you again, muffling both of your moans as he presses his hips into yours. His dick slides into your pussy; it brushes up against your walls in the best way possible, each inch digging into you sends waves of pleasure through your body. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his hips as you help push him deeper into your cunt. Your boyfriend laughs softly at your eagerness, pulling away from your lips with an amused smile.

“Already?”

You roll your eyes and yank your hand away from his, but he quickly catches it once more. He intertwines your fingers with a gentle squeeze and a twinkle in his ocean eyes.

“Just shut up and fuck me, ‘Jax.”

Your lover does not need to be told what to do twice. With a quiet ‘yes, ma’am,’ Childe’s hips begin a slow and steady rhythm as he grinds into you. As the pleasant sensation of his dick rubbing inside your pussy, you sigh and let your eyes flutter shut; each movement is absolute bliss for you and you don’t doubt that Childe feels the same way from the way he’s groaning and panting in your ear.

Whispers of praise and love are whispered into your ear the more the pressure builds up between the both of you. There’s no rush, no race for the end of the finish line as the both of you revel in the ecstasy shared as your hips meet again and again. Childe gently grabs your chin to tilt your face towards him and his lips hungrily capture your own once more in a heated kiss. Your moans are swallowed by him as he pushes you onto the kitchen counter.

The cool tile presses against your back and you shiver, though it doesn’t distract you much considering the gradual increasing intensity of Childe’s hips thrusting into your own. His fingers, still intertwined with yours, squeeze your hand against the kitchen tile as he pulls away from your mouth. His eyes are beautiful as he stares down at you, gaze in a lust-filled haze and lips parted as the most beautiful, sweet moans leave his lips.

“You feel so good; your pussy was made for me,” Childe groans out. He leans forward once more but buries his face back into the crook of your neck. It’s hard to focus on anything when his hips are slapping against your own, the noises getting louder and wetter the more he pulls his dick out only to slam back into your pussy, and his whines right beside your ear as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

His free hand roughly grabs a hold of your thigh, pulling your body closer to the edge of the counter before pushing your leg up. It’s a bit of a stretch for you, but god does the angle that he’s hitting you from feel so good. A strangled moan leaves your lips as Childe roughly fucks you, sparks of pleasure rapidly building up in your stomach the more he hits that special, sweet spot that makes you see stars.

“Childe, I-I’m…!” you cry out, fingers grasping the back of his head. You feel him kiss the base of your neck.

“Go on, I’m close too. Don’t hold back now.”

It doesn’t take long for you to cum, your second orgasm crashes over you in a huge wave; pleasure engulfs your entire being as your body spasms. Your leg tightly curls around his hip, your head thrown back and back arching. You can hear Childe grunt from beside you as your pussy clenches around his dick as he helps you ride out your orgasm with gentle praise.

You feel his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder as his hips messily thrust into your own before you feel his movements still and his pelvis buried deep into your own followed by a muffled moan. Both of your chests are heaving and the sound of heavy breathing echoes throughout the kitchen while you both desperately try to catch your breath.

After a few quiet moments, Childe pulls away from your neck and gently tilts your head towards him to take a look at you. You’re sure you’re a mess, but you don’t care as you admire your boyfriend as he hovers above you. His hair is a mess, worse than usual from your fingers constantly burying themselves into his ginger sea of curls, and his cute cheeks are flushed from the throes of passion shared just moments prior. His lips are parted as he pants, the corners lifted slightly upwards as his ocean eyes take in your own messy, fucked out expression.

Childe kisses you, peppering soft kisses on your lips and gently around your face.

“I love you. I love you so, so much,” he murmurs quietly against your skin and you don’t ever doubt what he truly means. His lips press into yours again, causing your heart to flutter in your chest at the simple, yet sweet act of affection.

Your heart doesn’t stop swelling with the love you held specifically for Childe even as he pulls out of you and helps clean up the mess you made, not even when he playfully asks for another round as you head to the shower to wash up after already going at it just moments before.

You love him, too, and you thank the gods for guiding him to you so that you can love him just as much as he loves you.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe fluff #tartaglia fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #tartaglia smut #genshin smut #didi writes

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littlefireball · 3 months ago

Note

Can you make a Werewolf Yeosang too?

Yah of course 😎 sub yeosang is here btw 😗

ʏꜱ|ꜱᴇx ꜱʟᴀᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴍ)

ʙᴇᴛᴀ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ꜱᴜʙ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5ᴋ

Masterlist

Had it not been for the poisoning incident, you would have never found yourself caught up in this questionable contest. Now, standing toe to toe with your rival, you pace anxiously, battling the discontent bubbling inside you and the "toxins" wreaking havoc on your system.

A wave of regret washes over you as you think back to your adventurous spirit that led you to sample such strange concoctions—a glass of wine laced with aphrodisiacs. With no known cure for these powerful agents, the only path back to normalcy lies in having sex with others.

A searing heat envelops your body, your heart pounds wildly in your chest, and every breath feels like a struggle. At first, you tried to withstand the agony, but the toll on your body becomes too much to bear, drastically affecting your everyday existence. In a fit of desperation, you find yourself wandering into the grim world of the slave market.

Whether it's the intoxicating haze clouding your mind or amplifying your cravings, the sight of the prized "championship trophy" stirs a fire within you that demands to be unleashed.

Yeosang—renowned as the finest sex slave in the shadowy underbelly of the black market. To be more specific, he is a werewolf slave. How unfortunate for him, as he was forsaken by his own kind. The tale is straightforward. The mate of the wolf pack's leader became infatuated with him, yet he refused to yield to her advances, leading to her slandering him. Naturally, he stood no chance against the alpha; after all, he is merely a beta.

Clad in a sleek black silk suit, he kneels within the confines of a cage, his hands and feet ensnared by heavy chains, reminiscent of a peacock deprived of its liberty. His striking beauty feels utterly misplaced in this grim reality, with his youthful visage starkly contrasting the violent chaos that surrounds him.

Yet, he remains indifferent to the impending clash, for he is merely a "trophy," and the value he offers will remain unchanged, no matter who emerges victorious.

"Oh damn, what's wrong with me…" Your gaze is irresistibly drawn to him. Yeosang bows his head, his eyes fixating on the handcuffs encircling his wrists, a look of sorrow washing over his face as he gently traces the angry red marks left by the bindings. You take in this poignant scene, but soon redirect your attention to the looming battle.

Ho, you must be crazy because of that fucking alcohol. Why do you feel pity when you kill people for a living? Why do you have to compete in person when you can obviously solve the problem with money?

Just fuck it.

You inhale deeply, centering your thoughts back on the game. Both of you stand poised, hearts racing, waiting for your foes to make the first move.

Your eyes lock in a fierce stare, each of you radiating intensity. In your mind, you strategize, plotting the perfect moment to strike and finish the duel with a single, decisive blow.

Yet, the crowd's restlessness grows, their thirst for blood palpable.

"Just fight already! Quit stalling! You two idiots!"

A voice cuts through the tension, a man shouting in frustration at the drawn-out standoff. The knights halt their fidgeting, turning their fierce gazes toward the impatient onlookers.

Seizing the moment while your adversary is momentarily distracted, you launch yourself forward, driving your sword with all your strength!

He attempts to defend himself with crossed arms, but your blow is too powerful, sending him crashing to the ground, his trident skittering away.

You stride over him, looking down at the defeated figure, and raise your gleaming blade.

In a heartbeat, his head tumbles away like a ball kicked across the field, blood erupting like a geyser, splattering your armor and weapon.

Thus, the clash concludes—an outcome devoid of tension or buildup. The audience stands in stunned silence, unable to comprehend how this "epic battle" could be resolved in mere moments.

Even Yeosang stands in shock, having never encountered such raw power in any battle he has witnessed before. A wave of terror washes over him. Panic surges in his chest, gripping his nerves and rendering him motionless. His eyes, wide with fear, lock onto yours, as if he might crumble at any moment.

You step closer to Yeosang, your face devoid of expression, unlock the cage, and reach out your hand to him. "You belong to me now," you deliberately lower your voice, ensuring that your words remain unheard by others. After a tense pause, he finally responds, trembling as he takes hold of your hand.

You draw him out of the cage, your hand resting firmly on the back of his neck, and once more you lower your voice, whispering, "You understand what you need to do, don't you?" "Yes, Sir."

You both step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. He reaches for your armor, but you halt his hand. Confused, he tilts his head, yet you ignore his puzzled expression and pull him onto the bed.

"Listen, I'm poisoned. I just need your help to detox, and I promise I don't have any strange habits."

"But… how can I assist you?"

"You're amusing. Did you forget your role?" Leaning down, you gently lift his chin with one finger while your other hand rests on his thigh.

"What's your safe word? I don't want to cause you any harm." He blinks in surprise, having never been posed such a question, but quickly gathers himself and replies, "Gr… Green."

"Good," you say with a smile, removing your mask and letting your hair cascade down. It's then he realizes you are a woman.

Taken aback, he stares in disbelief, struggling to grasp the reality. In all the slave competitions he's been part of, it's predominantly men who compete, with only a handful of women.

"You are staring."

"You are stunning"

He can't hold back any longer, his words spilling out in a rush as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your heart swells with affection at his charming confession, and you can't help but chuckle. You gently cradle his face in your hands, leaning in to press your lips against his.

This kiss is unlike any he has known; it's soft and tender, wrapping him in a blissful haze. There's no urgency, no nibbles—just the delicate dance of your lips, occasionally brushing against each other in sweet little pecks. You soon break the kiss, tracing your finger over his lips and softly ask, "Wanna feel good?" Confused, he nods his head.

"Words." you remind him. "Yes, sir… master." You stand up and remove your armor, leaving only your bra and underwear, then kneel in front of him.

Your hands caress his thighs as you kiss his sensuous lips again. With a hint of aggression, your tongue slides into his mouth while dancing with his and taking control. He can't help but moan shyly. The vibrations from each moan he releases gradually pushes you over the edge that makes you desire more.

"Oh fuck, your voice is so beautiful." You say between the kisses. The heat within your body burns like a flame, urging you to have sex with him. "Damn it…"

Your lips part once more as you settle onto his lap, rhythmically swaying your body back and forth, intentionally pressing against his member. The friction between your thighs sends shivers through you both, igniting a warmth that spreads rapidly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing nearer, occasionally brushing against his growing arousal.

Even through the fabric, the friction sends waves of excitement coursing through Yeosang. He can feel himself growing harder as the tip of his cock brushes against your lower core. A rush of heat envelops him, concentrating on his manhood, while the pre-cum seeps out, dampening his underwear, leaving him with a chill from the wetness.

With a firm grip, you pin him down, and he submits willingly to the bed, your lips locked together, creating an embarrassingly wet sound with each kiss. Breaking away from his lips, you begin to suck and lick at his neck, expertly targeting his sensitive spots. Your playful teasing elicits deep, satisfied moans from him.

"I have never used the word beautiful to describe a man." You whisper in his ears before planting a kiss on his lips. "Oh… gosh…" Yeosang has never experienced such pleasure before. For him, sex is always about service rather than enjoyment.

"Sounds good" Smiling, your hand trails down to the hem of his panties, pulling down enough to free his cock. You hold his member, feeling his hardness beneath your palm. Moving up and down slowly, you make sure he feels every move of your fingers. "Goodness…" The itchy feeling sends shivers down his spine, especially your finger rubs against his tip while giving it a hard press.

He never thought he could be so eager to have sex with anyone. Even you can say, he hates it. But you are different. Each of your movements sends a thrill through him, his desire rising like a tide of ecstasy. He craves you deeply, yearning to feel your warmth wrap around him, guiding him to the ultimate climax.

"Hmmm… I wanna enter you. Please." His beg makes you let out a low chuckle. "You're more impatient than me. Are you the one who was poisoned?" You release his handcuffs and pull him towards the headboard, where he clasps his hands onto it. Taking off all his clothes, his semi-hardened cock is revealed with precum covered on it.

"So horny, aren't you?" "Yes, yes. Please let me have you, master." You are hesitant from his words, wondering if it is education in the black market. He is supposed to be strong, brave, but not beg from others. 'What they did for him.' You think, an inexplicable anger ignites in your heart.

You will kill for him after this encounter ends. You promise.

"Be patient, little wolf." You kneel down before sinking down your face between his thighs. "Let me have a taste first." Gripping his cock, you guide it to your mouth and lick it from the bottom to the top. "Oh god." He arches his back as the numbness and the pleasure crush within his body, a long-throaty moan leaving his lips as you continue to please him with your tongue.

"Open your legs wide or I will stop," you command. "Yes, master. I am sorry." His legs wide open again as you prop against his thigh as support, moving up and down quickly while teasing his ball. Your tongue circled the head of his shaft, sucking hard, leaving a reddish mark. He rolls his hip to thrust deeper; his cock twitches each time the tip reaches your throat, and you know he is about to reach his peak. But you pull out before he comes undone in your mouth.

"Why…master…I want to cum." He cries out, tears dripping down because of delightful. "Only a good boy can cum. Will you promise? Little wolf." "Yes! I will! I promise." His begging satisfies your ego and makes it grow. Maybe the beast called desire inside you is finally breaking out of its cage.

"Then help me." Removing your panties, you throw it away before aiming at his erection, sinking down slowly. You can feel every vein of his cock as your wall tightens around it, making you carve for more. "Master, it feels so good!" "Yah, fuck!" His sperm keeps flowing out, wetting your velvet wall.

"Tell me if you can't bear it." He remains in disbelief at the words that reached his ears. You actually care for him? Is that true? What could possibly motivate that? Even if he's merely a means for your own cleansing, there's no obligation for you to feel anything for him. Yet, before he can delve deeper into his thoughts, you begin to bounce, rhythmically rising and falling after adjusting his size and the sensation of being enveloped.

Your hands press firmly on his shoulders, your nails piercing his skin just a touch too deeply, drawing blood and inflicting a sting. But he feels excited instead of painful. Your breasts bounce up and down from your movements, making him lost in this alluring sight. God, he can just watch how you bounce on him for an hour.

"Ahhh…master…gosh!!" Each time you descend, his tip brushes against your tender skin, eliciting a symphony of moans from both of you. Your rhythm accelerates, and the power behind your thrusts grows stronger. It feels as though you've drained every ounce of energy, leaving a hollow sensation in your lower body that is increasingly uncomfortable.

He yearns to explore your body, to savor every curve and contour of your skin. However, he remains immobilized, his hands bound at the head of the bed. The relentless tugging creates faint red lines on his wrists, while his palms grow slick with sweat from the tension of his clenched fists, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Your right hand finds its way to his throat, applying pressure that steals his breath and brings dark spots to his vision. He attempts to lift his head for a gasp of air, but you have no intention of granting him a moment's relief. Your rapid up-and-down movements force him to hold his breath. The overwhelming stimulation leaves him dizzy and pushes him to the limit.

"Ahh! Ahh!! Green!!" The moment he speaks the safe word, you instantly cease all movement, loosening your hold on his throat. "Are you alright? Is there any pain?" you inquire gently, a trace of worry lacing your tone. He hesitates, words escaping him as he simply gazes into your caring eyes. You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers gliding over his delicate skin until they rest on the vivid red birthmark.

Throughout his life as a slave, comfort has been a foreign concept, with no one ever caring for his well-being. In stark contrast to your indifference towards life in the heat of battle, you show genuine concern for him, striving to bring him joy. How could he possibly resist falling for you? Perhaps he's been ensnared by a different kind of poison, one known as "love at first sight." You lean closer, brushing your lips against his, captivated by the magic in his eyes.

"I can stop if you want." You remark. "No, please. I want you, master. I want my cock deep inside you again. I want to touch you. And has your poison been cured?"

Responding to his beg, you pull out from his body and free him from his bindings. Your gaze falls upon the bruises encircling his wrists, and you gently stroke them with your thumb.

"It appears my poison still lingers. Come and help me."

In an instant, he straightens up, his hands finding their way to your shoulders as he leans over you, pinning you down. Shock flickers in your eyes at his abrupt action, but you swiftly gather your calmness and align yourself with his intentions.

"Let me serve you, my lord." His face falls into your neck, sucking and biting your skin to leave a crystal clear red mark. He is really skilled at turning others on harder;the wet muscle trails down to your breast, licking your left nipple while squeezing another with his hand. His thumb circles it along the curve, giving a hard press to make you moan and throw your head at the back.

Guiding his cock to rub against your clit, he thrusts your cunt once again, hitting your sweet dead on. "Here, right?" He smirks with a sense of pride. "Ye..yah!" Not waiting for you to finish your words, his tip hits the same place once again. The waves of numbness make you squirm, and your screams are not as high-pitched as before, but with a shy feeling.

"I love your moaning, master." You let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a surge of warmth envelop you completely. Yeosang leans in, planting soft kisses along your neck while maintaining a steady rhythm. His shaft glides against your slick walls, creating a sound reminiscent of flowing water. With each thrust, he quickens his pace, closing the gaps between each tantalizing connection to your G-spot.

Your breath becomes shallow, and your heart pounds wildly as he maps out every curve of your body with his lips and hands, as if he were intimately familiar with every secret you hold. You wrap your arms around him, your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of marks on his skin.

Yeosang buries his head in your chest, groaning against it. You are so perfect for him, from head to toes. Just everything. Although he doesn't even know your name, your personality, he ensures you are the one he is looking for. Someone who cares about him, someone with whom he can enjoy sex.

He loathes the idea of sex, viewing it as a repugnant transaction. He has grown weary of the way others have treated him, often rough and unkind. Each encounter left him battered to some extent, reduced to nothing more than a plaything. Yet, when he sees you, everything changes. You bring him joy and tenderness, showering him with genuine care.

It may seem almost humorous, but deep down, he realizes that you are the only one he desires, and his body confirms the truth of his feelings.

He places your leg on his shoulder and thrusts as fast as possible. "Ah!Fuck!" "Please say my name, my lord. I want to hear you say it." "Oh…yeosang ar…" Shit! He is unable to control himself anymore. He withdraws a bit and pushes into your cunt in a powerful motion over and over again.

"I'm cumming, master." He feels his cock twitches as you keep sucking him in. "Cum…cum inside me." Yeosang's thrusts become rushed and lose his rhythm; you grab his shoulders, making an "O" shape with your mouth, panting as if you are about to run out of oxygen.

"Oh! Oh! God!" After a few more thrusts, you both reach climax; your hot juices cover his cock and his sperm creams your wall. He thrusts forward twice before pulling out, lying down beside you. After a short rest, the hot feeling in your body has finally dissipated, you get up and put your clothes back on, ready to leave.

"My body is already healed, thanks." You say without noticing his sadness.

"Aren't you staying?" Yeosang asks with confusion.

"Staying? Why? Didn't I tell you that I'm just here to detoxify? Also, I have work." Yes, you have to 'deal with' those people who treated Yeosang badly.

"Will you come back then?"

"Nope." You observe him bow his head, gently stroking his wrist before hesitantly reaching to the nape of his neck. Even in his silence, you can sense the thoughts swirling in his mind. "No worries. I'm gonna kill those people who treated you badly and you can be free."

"What? No…I…"

"Isn't this what you wanted? To leave the cage and no longer be bound by anyone."

"But I don't know where to go or what to do…I'm just a reward…"

"Then go find out, go explore what you want to do."

He lowers his head in silence, deep in thought. Suddenly, he tightens his embrace around you.

He bows his head, enveloped in his thoughts, and then suddenly tightens his hold around you, as if fearing you might slip away.

"Will you stay…? That's all I want. Please… don't leave me alone. You're the only one who cares for me. I'm yours, and I'd do anything for you. Just don't go."

You can't help but giggle at his endearing gesture, stroking his hair softly as you respond, "Are you really sure? I'm a knight, and my profession is to take lives."

"Yah!I'm yours! Just let me stay with you. I'll even give you a written promise, if that's what you want!""

Maybe he sees you as a lifeline. Although you have never thought about buying a slave, it seems that if you reject him, he may feel sad. Also, you don't want him to serve anyone else.

"Umm…fine."

"Really?" A radiant smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You give a nod in response.

"Can I cuddle you?" It's the first time he's asked this as a servant, and he can hardly believe he's free to follow his heart's desire. You nod again, and he gently pulls you down onto the bed, nestling his face against your chest.

"Just like a little puppy."

"Perhaps I know your name? My lord."

"Y/N."

"It sounds like a name for a genuinely good person."

"You're being overly dramatic." You chuckle softly, allowing him to wrap his arms around you as you both drift into a peaceful slumber.

Well, maybe this aphrodisiac isn't so terrible after all. And of course, you make your promise ─ kill others for him, only.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x female reader #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez yeosang #yeosang #yeosang smut #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader

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kalmiaphlox · 7 months ago

Text

Crash Landing

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Astarion has never been a bat before. He's never wanted to be a bat before, but a little sneeze is all it took for him to be stuck as a disgusting rodent.

Wait- He can fly!

But maybe flying isn't all it's cracked up to be...

Main Tags: Batstarion, FLUFF!, Dadstarion, Established Relationship

Waking up next to Astarion is a new experience every time, and this morning is no exception.

The moment she opens her eyes with a yawn, his head looms above hers, ruby eyes boring holes into her face as if she might dissolve into nothing if he looked away for even a moment.

“Any particular reason for being a weirdo this early?” Kalmia asks while placing a hand over his eyes, but he leans forward to nip at her fingers instead and once she pulls away, Astarion bares his teeth. “Ah, so no reason.”

“Do I need a reason when I'm with you, little wyrm?” He holds her wrist and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. “I just want to see every side of you, even when you snore louder than a dragon… Oh, wait…!”

She pinches his nose. “Awe, the vampire has learned comedy this morning. How fun.”

“I'll show you fu-” Astarion rears back, blinking in bewilderment. His nose scrunches up, sniffling before sneezing - violently.

She didn't even know vampires could sneeze.

Gone is the dastardly man with the killer good looks though. Just… gone from her sight. Kalmia sits up swiftly and an alarmed squeak brings her eyes down to the emerald green duvet. A fluffy white bat with overly large ears and a short, pink snout stares up at her with confused red eyes.

Well, isn't this something?

“My, oh my, irthiski, seems I'm not the only shape changer around.” She rubs at his fuzzy head with a finger, and in typical Astarion-fashion, he bares teensy fangs that shimmer like pearls. “What a cutie pie! I could eat you right up!”

That raises another squeak from him, though she can hear the rage burning behind it. How mighty it is, but a dragon does not cower from such things.

“You should be able to speak normally, come on, use your words.” Kalmia nudges him a bit too hard, knocking him over on the sheets. “Oops, sorry!”

There's little grumbling noises that sound suspiciously like speaking, he must be getting a grasp of this new body, it'll take time. Astarion is wobbling around best he can, using his wings as crutches to stand up, the little hook at the end catching on the bedding so he gets stuck, letting out more angry squeaks.

Oh gods, her heart might explode from the cuteness.

“I'm going to pick you up, can't have you tearing all the bedding.” Gingerly, Kalmia wraps her hand around his fuzzy body, picking him up and offering her other hand as support beneath his legs.

The grunting finally becomes audible, “You- What have you…” His lungs aren't at their usual capacity, a full sentence is a struggle. “What have you done, you witch?!”

“Oh, I turn you into a cat once and now it's my fault?”

“What in the…" He gasps, "hells am I?” His small head is angling around to get a look at himself, but she'll do him one better.

The Truesight mirror, its shiny reflection and lacquered wood encasing reveals all.

They stand now in front of it, holding her hands out so Astarion can gaze upon his visage - his favorite activity, but definitely not hers. “You're a bat, irthiski. I've heard vampires can do this sometimes, but maybe you're a late bloomer.”

“Late bloomer-!” He erupts into more enraged squeaks and growls, almost completely falling off her hand before his grabby feet latch onto her finger on instinct, dangling precariously upside down. “A damned bat! I don't want to be this! Where's my beautiful body?!”

Ignoring his dramatics and pressing a smooch to his head, she smiles widely. “I know someone who would be very excited to see this sight.” And they depart from their room, striding into Izmezine's where the girl is just waking up. “Good morning, anon ! Who do you think this is?”

Izzy sits up, blinking her bleary eyes and rubbing them with a big yawn, before scrunching her button nose to inspect the white ball of fluff in Kalmia's hands. Her lips form into a frown, turning her head away in disgust. “It's ugly.”

That was not the reaction I anticipated.

The wail of anguish that leaves his tiny bat body is very impressive, if not over-reactive. Setting Astarion down on the bed, Izzy pulls away slightly, what a terrible start but Kalmia will fix this. “Izmezine, sweetie, please, this is your father. He's turned into a bat by accident. Let's be nice.”

That gets Izzy to take a peek again, and she looks to Kalmia for confirmation. “T-Th-That’s my papa?”

“Yes.”

Poor Astarion is trembling against the bed, the words of his daughter like a stake straight through his heart, but at least he's stopped crying. Izzy reaches forward hesitantly, brushing a finger against his fur and she gasps, “He's s-soft!” She goes back in for a more gentle pet, “W-Why is papa a-a baby?”

Finally finding his words again, Astarion speaks up, “I don't know, I just turned into a bat, but kitten, you think I'm ugly ?” That last word barely makes it out as a squeak. Gods, he's going to be hung up on that for ages.

Izzy scrutinizes him further, golden eyes narrowing and appraising the bat before her. “Uhm, a l-little ugly?” Kids are always so blunt, Astarion should feel lucky that Izzy has enough sense to walk her statement back. The gold eyes turn up to her now, “Kalli, I'm hungry.”

“Me too, let's go have breakfast. What would you like?” Kalmia scoops up the whinging bat and places him on her shoulder, then holds Izzy against her hip.

“Cake!” Is Izzy's first breakfast suggestion.

“Normally I'd agree, but a cake takes a long time to make, how about we make one later and we can have some scones and jam now?”

The dhampir thankfully concedes to that idea and they settle in for an easy breakfast while bat-Astarion clumsily scrabbles along the counter, whining, “I'm hungry too, you know.”

Seems Kalmia isn't the only one that becomes ravenous when changed. “I'll get you food in a bit. Let me take care of my anon first.”

He collapses into a sad pile, crying endlessly, “My daughter thinks I'm ugly, my lizard is starving me. Where is the love?!”

Kalmia slathers some jam onto a scone, ignoring him, “Izzy, what would you like to do today?”

“Can p-papa go in my h-house?” She asks around a mouthful of food.

“Hmm,” Kalmia eyes the worming creature before her, the image of Astarion being stuffed into the doll house is hysterical, but… “I don't think he would like that. Bats are supposed to be able to fly, maybe we can help him learn.”

Both Izzy and Astarion perk up at that, their eyes shining with new possibilities. “You really think I can?” Astarion seems apprehensive at the prospect.

“I don't see why not, irthiski. We can try it out once you get some food.” With breakfast finished, Kalmia takes the bat downstairs, leaving Izzy with the task of gathering pillows and blankets. “What blood do you want?”

“Yours.”

She brings the bat in her hands close to her face, “If you have it now, you can't have it later.”

More grumbling follows, “Fine, get me a glass of the boar.”

Filling a goblet to the top, Kalmia rests them both on their desk. Astarion's little wing hooks grab onto the lip and he shimmies his little body up the length of it, long tongue lapping up the blood. She watches quietly with her head tucked between her hands as a red stain begins to bloom along his snout and neck as he drinks.

“Kalli! The-The blankies and p-pi-pillows are ready!” Izmezine shouts down the stairs.

Astarion pulls away, flopping down to the desk, “I'm full.” The goblet's halfway empty now, she's impressed by his apetite. They return upstairs now after a cleanup, finding the sitting room absolutely covered in blankets and pillows.

Setting her bat on the couch, Kalmia gives Izzy a big kiss on her cheek and squeezes her into a tight hug, “I knew I could count on you to go above and beyond! Wow, look at all this coziness!”

The girl giggles in her arms and Astarion pouts, crossing his wings in a pitiful stance, “What about me? ”

“I didn't forget you, irthiski!” Kalmia showers his tiny head in kisses and Izmezine does the same. He melts at their love. “I don't know how different it is from being a dragon, but my first time flying was… a little wild, you know? I think my mother just threw me off a cliff a few times until I got it. Be thankful for our care, Astarion.”

Izzy nods like she completely understands the lengths they are going to take care of him and he scoffs, “Your mother is a brute.” Kalmia only remembers those days with fondness, he wouldnt understand.

“No! Nafl i-is nice!” Izzy corrects him with a tap to the snout.

“I turn into a rodent and you both gang up against me? Where is the-”

Kalmia interrupts, “Enough. This should come somewhat naturally to you, but we'll start here on the couch and move up in height, ok? Now get to flapping.”

His beady little eyes glare at her and she just smiles sharply back. He's testy, big or small. With a despondent huff, Astarion shuffles along to the edge of the couch, stretching his leathery wings and shaking them out.

The first few attempts end with an immediate face plant to the ground, and while he may not admit it, Astarion is very thankful for the pillows now. The fifth attempt though? His wings find the right rhythm and angle, so he glides down to the end of their makeshift protections. More tries are made, his gliding and flapping now consistent.

Kalmia and Izzy erupt into applause, and she isn't quite sure if she imagines the blush on those little bat cheeks. “Higher now, Astarion?”

“Yes, yes!” He's glowing with pride at his newfound capabilities. Raising him up to the fireplace ledge, he huddles on the ledge peering down to the blanket laden ground. “Alright, I can do this.”

Izzy cheers from the sidelines, “Papa can f-fly!”

With one step, Astarion dives over the edge, flapping vigorously to maintain his height, and it sticks. He's flitting about excitedly, if not a little haphazardly, cackling gleefully. Kalmia, while very happy for Astarion, is concerned he's being too reckless. “ Irthiski, you should slow down and watch where you're going!”

His head whips to her, “Never! Nothing can sto-!” and he smashes head first into a wall, crumbling to a heap of bat limbs on the floor. Izzy shrieks, running over to his still form.

The downside to an undead partner? Can't really tell what kind of damage they've sustained because they don't breath or exhibit any of the normal symptoms.

Astarion is probably fine though.

I hope.

“Don't worry, Izzy, your father will be ok. He'll just need to… sleep that off.” Kalmia strokes the girl's head, whose eyes are welling with large tears. “We should find him somewhere to rest.” She is concerned that he's not changing back… but vampires don't die that easily, no matter how small they are.

Izzy zips downstairs and returns with two doll-sized beds, laying them down by the fireplace with extra bedding so it's very cozy. Kalmia assists in putting his bat-self onto the bed and covering him with blankets. “Kalli, m-ma-make a f-fire! Papa’s c-cold!” Stacking some logs, Kalmia breathes fire onto them, stoking the flames until the room is toasty. With a sniffle, Izzy lays out next to her father and rests her hand on him, “I take c-care of papa.”

“I know you will. You watch over him so I can get lunch started, ok? We can eat here.” Kalmia kisses her forehead before setting off to the kitchen.

It's always an adventure with them.

++++

Over an hour later, Izzy has fallen asleep looking after Astarion's limp body, which hasn't even twitched all this time.

Maybe it's time to take matters into her own hands.

Or fingers.

Pricking the tip of her index finger, Kalmia places it up against Astarion's bat snout, hoping the pooling blood will work like vampire smelling salts.

And of course it does, she should have thought of this earlier.

His snout wiggles side to side, seeking out the delicious scent before him, and begins licking at the drop the moment he makes contact. Red eyes blink open, looking haggard, “What- What happened?”

Kalmia picks up her sad bat, cradling him in her arms, “You crashed into the wall going much too fast. Izmezine took very good care of you, so you should thank her once she's up.”

“How do I change back? If I spend another moment like this, I'm going to become quite cross with-”

“Hush, you're always angry. I normally just think about being me, so maybe try that?”

Astarion goes silent for a while, so he must be trying anything to be himself again. Nothing happens though and he grumbles unhappily, “This is stupid. I don't want to be stuck as a flying rodent for the rest of my life. How will Izmezine be able to introduce me to people? ‘ Oh, come meet my father! The bat? Yes, that's him!’ Kalmia, I can't stay like this!”

“Shall I tickle your nose? A sneeze seemed to set it off the first time.”

His bat face goes through a range of emotions, before settling on sadness, “This is so unbecoming, but fine. Do it.”

Kalmia locates a feather pretty quickly, Gale has quills laying out everywhere, and lightly shuffles the tip across Astarion's nose. His nose wrinkles but nothing happens, and he folds in on himself in defeat.

“I'm sorry, irthiski. We'll figure something out.” She does feel terribly for him, nothing is worse than being stuck in a form at the wrong time. She knows it well.

“Mmm, papa?” Izzy’s sleep laden voice pulls their attention as she starts grabbing at the doll beds, but realizes nothing is there, so she shoots up, alarmed. “Papa?! Wh-Where are y-you?”

“I have him, anon, it's ok.”

Crawling over, Izzy pets her father, also seeming sad that he's still stuck like this. Who's going to read the bedtime story for them?

But if Astarion continues to be a bat, might as well take advantage of this opportunity. “You know, Izzy, I think he's kind of dirty. We should bathe him.”

The girl's eyes light up, “Yes!”

“What?! What do you think-” Astarion begins to shout.

Kalmia presses a finger against his snout. “You've been outvoted. Accept your fate.”

He whines and complains all the way downstairs, and once the bath is filled a few inches deep, she settles the little bat in. Izzy gets to work swiftly, wetting his fur and carefully working in the shampoo. Kalmia assists from the sidelines, but Izzy has it handled.

Astarion's taking this with as much grace as possible, letting Izmezine do as she pleases, because there is never a world in which he would deny her.

But this time must come to an end, it seems.

He makes a strange noise, like a sharp intake of breath, and sneezes, splashing water everywhere when a vampire reappears where a bat once sat.

His resting clothes are soaked and Astarion is absolutely covered in soap, hair flattened against his head as he sneers at the two of them. ‘You two have had a lot of fun today. I think daddy needs some payback.” Izzy and Kalmia both shriek with laughter as they attempt to run, but Astarion grabs them both, dragging them into the tub, turning the water on. “If I had to suffer, then so should you!”

Once they're all soaking wet and giggling, they climb out of the bathtub, drying off, Kalmia has a new idea. “Ready to make a cake, Izzy?”

The girl jumps up and down in excitement, “I w-want pink frosting!”

“Any requests, irthiski?”

He runs a towel over Izzy's curls, “One of Gale's nice bottles of wine. I'm just… going to lie down, my body hurts.”

Kalmia laughs, “You'll get used to it.”

“Ugh, I sure hope not. If I never turn into a rodent again, it will still be too soon.”

++++

Notes:-anon = flower (draconic) -nafl (short for nafldask) = grandmother (draconic)

#astarion #bg3 #dadstarion #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fic #ao3 #astarion ancunin #batstarion

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lillian-gallows · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 2: Roleplay with Din Djarin

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader. Word Count: 2620 Warnings: Roleplay, little bit of hunter/prey (She leads him on a chase, and he calls her prey at the end), Oral (M receiving), P in V sex, Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), Lil bit of dirty talk, Fluff (These bitches in love). Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

The Cantina seat was almost annoying solid under the plush of your rear as you sipped at the cheap cocktail you’d gotten a bit ago. The low chattering of the other patrons echoed in your ears right alongside the music that had been playing, seemingly the same song on a loop given how long you’d been there.

The drink was half gone now, though that didn’t serve to tell anyone how long you’d been seated there at the bar. The almost room temperature liquid however might give that away, should someone look close enough.

Every so often you would scan the crowd, trying to be as discreet as possible as you looked for your quarry, a small voice in the back of your mind wondering what was taking him so long before it was overshadowed by the persona that you’d taken on for the night.

Then, just as you were considering ordering a new drink, there it was. The silver glint of beskar from between the other patrons’ heads. You stayed still just long enough for him to have a chance to see you before slipping from the seat, your boots thumping softly to the floor beneath you as you left a small pile of credits on the counter to pay for the drink before you disappeared between a pair of Rodians, who let out annoyed huffs at your rudeness, but with the heat of dark eyes on your back you couldn’t care less.

Slipping out the back door was easy, unlocked and little noticed, you knew he wouldn’t be far behind you.

You made it halfway down the alley before you heard a voice behind you. “Stop.” The modulation did nothing to hide the depth of his voice, the subtle growl in the word.

“Mando.” You greeted with a sly smile. “What brings you to this part of town.” You turned to face him, though you continued to take slow steps backwards, ready to lead him on a chase at any moment.

“I think you know exactly what brings me here.” He answered, holding up a pair of mag-cuffs. “You have a debt to pay, and I have a bounty to collect.” He started making his way closer, a step forward for every step back you took.

“Can’t we work something out? I’m sure I have something that might interest you.” You offered, gaze heated and smile sultry.

If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d have missed the way his breath hitched, the only give away being the way his chest moved with the aborted breath. His blood was already running hot, yours was doing the same.

He tilted his head as if in thought before slowly shaking it, and you knew there was a slow smirk under that shiny metal. “I don’t think so.” He said as he continued to his strides closer.

“Then how about a wager. You can take me in.” You shrugged as if you didn’t care. “If you can catch me.” Before he could agree or disagree, or react at all, you spun on your toes and bolted down the alley to the next street.

There was the sound of his modulated voice behind you, probably cursing that he hadn’t seen that coming, before you heard his heavy footfalls, but that was quickly drowned out by the cacophony of the crowded street.

You bobbed and weaved through the people, checking behind you every so often for his shinny visage as you followed your mentally mapped path, ducking into allies and down side-streets every so often to give him a run for his money.

You’d just turned a corner, looking over your shoulder to see if he was still on your tail, when you ran into something solid, sending you to the ground with an ungraceful “Oof!”

Looking up gave you a rather pleasing view of the beskar clad Mandalorian, arms crossed and mag-cuffs in one hand, head tilted down toward you.

Rather than give you a chance to get up and run again, or say anything sly, he descended on you, and before you could tell up from down, he had the cuffs on your wrists and your body thrown over his shoulder.

Given the decent distance you’d managed to run, the rest of the trek to the ship port was short, and he didn’t say a word the whole way, not a peep as you did your best to appeal to him, making offer after offer to the stoic man.

“C’mon, Mando, I know there’s something-” You started as the ramp lowered, cutting off with a soft grunt when he put you back on your feet to close it behind you. “Something I can offer…” You purred as you pressed close to him, eyes half lidded and heated.

The helmet turned to the side in thought for a moment before facing you again. “You owe quite a debt, that makes the bounty on you high…Can you make it worth it?” He asked as a gloved hand trailed up your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin.

A slow smirk stretched over your lips. “I can make it more than worth it…” You answered low and slow, raising your cuffed hands to his chest, curling over the top edge of the chest plate to tug him further into the ship.

He let you lead him, hand punching the button for the larger lights, dimming the whole hold to just the smaller more sparce lights that line the ceiling.

You watched him as you moved, every move of his was so sure and calculated, it made a shock of heat shoot through you.

Feet before reaching the back wall, his hand shot out to grip the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair as his forehead met yours, both of you rocking slightly as he reached past you with his other hand to press a button that opened the small chamber than made up his bunk.

“On your knees.” He ordered lowly before moving around you to sit on the edge of the cot.

Once he was seated, you sank down between his legs, then waited patiently for what he wanted you to do next. “Show me how worth it you can be.”

That was all the prompting you needed to set to work opening the front of his pants, fumbling slightly with the mag-cuffs but you were determined not to let that deter you.

He was half hard already when you pulled him free of his confines, tanned skin slowly flushing from your attention.

Making eye contact through your lashes you leaned down and ran your tongue from root to tip before taking the tip onto your mouth, even at only half mast he was big, so you knew you’d need to pace yourself a little, but you were nothing if not tenacious, and fuck he smelled good.

You felt the muscles of his thighs twitch as his breathing hitched from the stimulation, and you craved the sound of his whimpering.

Pushing the thought from your head you sank further down on his cock, bobbing slowly as you went, feeling him grow harder and harder, the salty taste starting to find your tongue as precum started to leak ever so slowly from his tip.

Soon you had as much of him in your mouth, and almost down your throat, as you could manage, and had to use your hands for the rest.

He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, and you could feel his eyes on you through the visor of the helm, it made heat pool between your legs.

Your eyes never strayed from where they looked up at him, though it would be a lie to say that they hadn’t gone a little hazy, your brain fogging up as you bobbed away, swallowing down his cock over and over again, oxygen be damned.

“Fuck…Cyar…” He breathed so quietly the modulator in his helm almost wasn’t able to pick it up. “Just like that…” One of his hands came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing or pulling, just curling into your hair.

The smallest smirk curled on the corners of your mouth at his slip, but rather than call attention to it, you reached down past his cock to fondle his balls gently while simultaneously swallowing around him, causing him to buck up into your mouth with a grunt.

“Fuck!” He gasped, grip on your hair getting tighter. “Cheeky…” He growled softly before pulling you off him. “Get on the bed.” He ordered, voice breathy and heavy.

“Yes, Sir.” You said, voice rough but no less sensual as you watched him get up and move out of your way. You crawled up onto the bed slowly, swaying your hips enticingly, teasingly, as you went, but it seemed he wasn’t having any of it as he took you by the hips and all but tossed you the rest of the way on the bed.

He wasted no time, manhandling you to get your pants and underwear off, rucking your shirt up over your breasts to bunch under your armpits, it was rushed and messy, but it sent a rush of heat over your skin that made you ache for him even more than you already did.

“So wet, just from sucking my cock, such a dirty girl…” He said in what you were sure would be a purr if not for the modulator. You watched as he tugged his gloves off and tossed them to the side, putting just a little more tanned skin on display, it made you feel like some ancient noble lady, swooning over slivers of skin.

You watched him stroke himself a couple times before he climbed onto the bed and settled over you, one hand guiding his cock to rest against your weeping pussy while the other took the connector of the mag-cuffs in hand, pinning your hands above your head, an action that would have been effortless even if you hadn’t been more than happy to do as directed.

Your legs wrapped around him on autopilot, urging him forward, but he was so solid that you knew he wouldn’t budge till he was ready.

“Beg.” He ordered and it made your lust muddled brain skip a beat.

“What?” You managed, bleary eyes fighting to focus on his visor.

“Beg me nicely.” You could hear his smirk as clear as if you saw it with your own eyes and let out a frustrated grunt and you knew you were pouting a little.

“Please...Please I need you…Fuck me, please.” You said, lifting your hips up to meet his as best you could, but couldn’t do much more than that with the solid press of his body against yours.

But it seemed to be enough as he sank into you, spearing you on his cock so torturously slowly, but he didn’t stop till he was buried to the hilt, tip pressed firmly against your cervix, and hand gripping your hip.

He settled there for a few moments, and you could feel his chest move as he tried to catch his breath. You wished you could see his blissed-out expression, were his eyes closed? His mouth open just a little as he tried to steady his breathing? Or was he clenching his jaw?

You didn’t get to dwell on these thoughts for long as he pulled back out to the tip, then thrust back in, hard and fast, a sharp roll of his hips and that had him dragging against the sweet spot inside, and his pelvis grinding against your clit over and over.

You immediately started to tug at his hold on your wrists unconsciously, but his steadfast hold never wavered, instead he held you firmer, a low chuckle warbling from his helm inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, spreading goosebumps over your flushed skin.

The hard impacts of his hips made the beskar plates on his thighs rub and slam against your plush thighs and you knew they would be bruised tomorrow, but you couldn’t find it in you to care, too lost in the mounting pleasure building low in your belly.

“Maker, you take me so perfectly…” He panted. “So tight and wet…” You could hear the threadiness in his voice, his waning control.

“Din…Fuck…” You whimpered, so lost in the feeling of him that the façade slipped away.

You hadn’t thought it possible, but you felt him somehow get harder at the sound of his name falling breathlessly from your lips.

He shifted his hands slightly, grip tightening on the chain connecting your wrists, and his free hand came to wrap around your throat, applying just the smallest bit of pressure to the sides to give you that wonderful lightheaded feeling without cutting off your air.

And oh, how wonderful it was. As it served to heighten every sensation, from the weight of his body pressing on you, to the way his thick length stretched you to your limits with every thrust.

All too soon that knot that had been building in your belly came crashing down, sending you spasming around him, cries and whimpers spilling from your lips like water from a river as your back arched to press your chest to his, cold Beskar against heated flesh.

Your end proved to be his own as you felt heat flood your insides, wet sounds filling the air right next to your panting as he rutted into you to chase the last dregs of both your pleasure.

He settled against you a little as you both fought to catch your breaths, and bask in the afterglow a little, before reaching his free hand up to unclasp the cuffs, tossing them to the floor noisily, before sitting up a little and carefully pulling out of you.

A gentle gloved hand brushed the side of your face sweetly. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” He said softly before standing from the bed.

You nodded in response and even if you had wanted to, you didn’t think you had the energy to move.

The sounds of metal softly being set down, water running, and then quiet footsteps echoed off the hull of the ship before he came back into view, a wet rag in hand, and sans helm and armor, his olive skin still flushed under the scruff of his unshaved face.

Without a word he settled back in the bed and delicately used the rag to clean both your spend from your skin, giving you an apologetic look with those brown puppy dog eyes when you let out a quiet hiss at the stimulation of sensitive flesh.

Once he was done, he helped you finish removing your shirt before settling onto the bed with you curled half into his side and half on his chest, arms wrapped around you.

“Was it everything you hoped?” He asked, sounding like he was doing his best not to sound insecure in his performance, and not the one he gave in bed.

You smiled sleepily against his skin. “It was perfect…” You answered before looking up at him. “Thank you for indulging me, Riduur.” You said, hand cradling his scruffy cheek.

A soft smile spread over his face. “It was my pleasure…” He said, turning to press a kiss to your palm before letting out a soft laugh. You lifted a curious brow and his smile widened. “I see the appeal now; you make very good prey…” His already dark eyes grew even more so as the softest growl entered his voice.

It seemed you wouldn’t have to worry about this being a one-time thing…

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #kinktober 2023 #Kinktober #Kinktober day 2

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arabaka · 2 years ago

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ uzui tengen x fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! written with the intention of being canon-divergent: tengen is in his early 20s when you marry and either you will be the only wife or the first (so no mention of the 3 wives here). term "bride" is used. virginity loss (and mention of sex hurting). unprotected sex. creampie. AUTHOR'S NOTE: tbh, i'm not a huge fan of this but i didn't work for hours not to post this lol so pls be nice... WORD COUNT: 3.1K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ

Marriage, it’s a means to an end for the women in your clan; how useful can you be if you’re not bearing children, and lots of them, to ensure that the livelihood of your bloodline (or rather, your husband’s) stands the test of your time? Affection is hardly guaranteed, intimacy only a factor when you’re underneath the man you’re promised to. You know this, were raised with this idea in mind. The very notion of love is an afterthought.

You aren’t expecting it. Did not think it would come to you, no matter who you were to wed. So as you’re seated, posture nice and proper, with your treasured koto lying in front of you as evidence of your many talents, you expect your heart to be tame when your betrothed walks through those doors.

So imagine your surprise when your heart betrays you, thumping at a rate you’ve only experienced during your harsh and diligent kunoichi training, when a certain Uzui Tengen, strongest of his family, strides in your line of vision with an aura unlike anything you’ve ever sensed before.

You feel silly, fingers trembling for a man you know only by his name on your tongue. It’s a sickly sensation, your stomach folding in on itself with nerves you didn’t count on. You nearly forget to bow, not wanting to tear your eyes away from the magnetism the man exudes for even a second but your mother is kind enough to press a firm palm to your back. You always thought she would want this more than you, but now you’re not so sure after coming face to face with someone the likes of him.

Tengen grew up largely the same, if we are on the topic of principle alone. Children in the Uzui household are raised to care for aptitude and strength, not each other. Bloodshed is more common than a kind word. But while his father tried to hammer away the notion that wives are only good for childrearing and nothing else, Tengen couldn’t help but feel that his heart would sing for a woman to call his own.

A hope that comes to fruition the moment his eyes land on you, that very song he always longed for reaching a crescendo when you bless him with the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

So the questions the faction head goes through end up mattering little in comparison to your answers. Every word, Tengen clings to. Even when you play the koto, fingers daintily and precisely plucking the strings to orchestrate a tune Tengen wants as his personal lullaby, all he can keep his eyes on is you.

The attraction between the two of you is as sudden as it is all encompassing. You have never entertained the thought of love, much less love at first sight, yet here you are, completely and totally enamored with a man you hardly know.

You didn’t think you would get swept up like this, didn’t think this passion would overtake your heart so easily and so strongly but you suppose this is fate and you aren’t about to question the gift it’s plopped onto your lap.

The clan leader is just about to take back the reins on the meeting, declare that a further review would take place, when Tengen pipes up loud and clear, with a fire in his eyes you would soon grow accustomed to.

“No need! This will be my bride!”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and it is throbbing. He sounds so sure, looks even more so with his brawny arms crossed over his puffed out chest and you can feel your vision wobble, his entire visage and the intention of his declaration striking you right where you sit. And with that, you refuse to allow any moment of silence to cross the room, for fear even a second could cost you the marriage. Your volume is on par with Tengen’s as you cry, “It would be my honor! Please,” You bow before the man, forehead kissing the tatami mat below when you continue, “bless me with the privilege to live alongside you for as long as either of us shall live.”

Those words… You mean them, can feel your tongue fanning the flames of your soul, embers burning bright for the man you are determined to make your husband. And it’s a role he is just as eager to take, having resolved to claim you since the moment your eyes met.

And he tells you as much when the two of you are finally alone, after the arrangement is all said and done.

“Come here.” Unlike your first meeting, Tengen’s voice here is tender and soft, a hand of his outstretched as he beckons you to come into the room the two of you will now share as husband and wife. Dressed in a nighttime garment with his hair down and face clean of any distractions, it’s no wonder you hesitate, in awe of the beauty of your spouse. You catch yourself staring, cheeks basking in newfound feverish warmth but your husband simply laughs. Not at you, not at your expense, but because you’re just too damn cute.

Your intention is to sit beside him, but Tengen has other plans. Not content with the idea of being apart from you any longer, he captures your hands in his and pulls, guiding you onto his lap. He feels your legs buckle and squirm until you’ve adjusted to the thick muscle just underneath his robe. This may be as foreign to him as it is to you, but it sure doesn’t seem like it. Must be the confidence that seems to come with everything Tengen does, like the grin he’s giving you right at this moment.

“Comfortable?” He asks, just as he runs a large palm down your spine until resting firmly on the small of your back. He cocks his head then, white tresses framing his strong jawline and you feel your heart rattling from his effortless charm. And to think, you have this man now and forever. It’s supposed to be daunting to a degree but this climate is nothing like the arranged marriages you’ve heard about in the district. Where you’re supposed to feel constrained, you feel cradled. Where you’re supposed to feel obligation, you feel true desire.

“Mmhm,” Your hands travel from your body to his, walking up his torso and stifling a breath when you feel the firmness of his pecs waiting underneath his garb, “Very.” You notice the slight quiver in his chest on an inhale; it would be indiscernible to anyone else but to someone of your caliber, someone trained to analyze even the most minute changes in another person’s body, it’s all too apparent. “And you?” You feel called to touch more of him, fingertips trailing towards his center and dipping beneath the hemline of his clothing.

He revels in your touch, craves more of it actually but Tengen is also enjoying the simplicity of this initial contact. You’ve inspired him to explore more of you, letting his other hand wander up your arm until it sweeps over your clavicle. He’s thoughtful in the way his thumb brushes strokes along the bone, admiring the finer details of your form. “Very.” He repeats, crimson eyes flitting to meet yours and you swear, you lose even the most basic skill of breathing just then.

You realize then, just how close the two of you are. It should scare you, the intensity of this position but you can only think of wanting more when you look at Tengen’s strong features, the flare burning and circulating his pupils.

“Tengen,” You breathe, “Do you believe in fate?”

He offers up a smile before moving his fingers up from your neckline until he has his thumb pressing down on the surface of your chin, the rest of his fingers crooked underneath to gingerly move your head, allowing him to admire your features from every angle. “Of course.” He sounds so certain, “How else would we have met?”

His words, they’re so sweet they litter goosebumps on your skin. But he doesn’t stop there. The pad of his thumb is now at your bottom lip, squishing the skin so he can watch the delightful way color drains from it. Your teeth poke out just a tad and you hear a soft rumble in the base of his throat, a groan he’s barely able to restrain at how delicious you look. “You need to know, I don’t do anything half-assed. I don’t take anything that’s beneath me.” You follow his direction, your head tilting to the side and god, he could just eat you up. Looking as disheveled as you do, hair flowing in the same direction with the collar of your garment starting to slide down the slope of your shoulder.

You notice the pivot in his gaze, feel a tremble in your bones when he starts to speak again, “And what I do take…” You feel pressure on your back, Tengen working to close the gap between you two at last and all you can do is follow, desperately craving the same thing. “Is what I treasure.”

And at long last, your lips touch, the hand at your face now withdrawing only for it to land squarely on your thigh, squeezing the supple flesh that awaits him there. You sigh, following suit and finally letting your fingers curl and grip knots into Tengen’s robe. You’ve never kissed, never known it could feel this good and it’s a high your brain won’t soon forget, even if your movements are naive and at times, clunky.

When you part, it’s only for a breath. Tengen milks the opportunity though, drinking in the dazed look in your eyes, the gap between your lips as you try to find satisfaction apart from him. He knows what he wants, knows what he needs and that is to kiss you more.

You desire the same, knees at either side of Tengen’s body starting to cave in as the urge for more, more, more starts to overwhelm your very soul. You swoop in, kissing Tengen and stealing a glance at just the right moment so you can watch those pretty eyes of his flutter shut. His lips, they’re as firm as the rest of him but when he kisses you, it’s with a fondness you’ve never felt in your life. A care you’ll only ever want from him.

One kiss turns to two, then three until it’s like you’ve only known how to kiss him your whole life. The moment, it starts to feel so good that you unknowingly start to sink deeper into his lap, squeezing a throat groan from the man that you part your lips to swallow. You have to have more so your tongue crosses the threshold, sliding along his until the spit starts to trickle out the corner of your mouth and coat your lips in a glossy sheen.

Do you know what you’re doing to him? Do you understand that you’re reducing a man as strong as he into a melted mess? You feel his nails start to dig into your back, mimicking what you’re doing to his chest and you whimper. Not from pain, but from pleasure.

You don’t know when it happened, but you’ve stopped rubbing yourself on his meaty thighs and started grinding on the very prominent outline of his hardened cock. And now that you’ve started, you don’t want to stop. So you keep bumping yourself against his girth, keep winding yourself up and down, up and down over its thick weight because it sparks to life a tingling pleasure you’ve never imagined.

Tengen tries to grin into the kiss but he surprises himself when all he can offer up is a needy groan. What a little minx you’ve become, he should have expected this show of force but the surprise only quickens the blood flow to his shaft and you feel it, experience the twitch bouncing between your folds. He reminds you of the hold he has on you, one hand deepening the arch in your back while the other at your thigh starts to direct the rhythm of your hips. “Let me have you. Let me have all of you, my bride.” He growls so intently into your mouth that all you can do is nod your head and let his hands get to work.

“Need to see you, hold on.” Tengen’s back to the floor and you on top, he ushers you to come to a seat under his shaft so he can see how far up his long and heavy cock will go inside you. The sight is beautiful, perfect even as he bends his knees so you have something to recline on. The way he starts to pivot his pelvis, running the length of his shaft up your tummy is driving you mad. You’re so wet, it’s dripping onto the base of his member and he trembles once the droplets start to run down his fat and full sac. “Shit, you’re this wet for me? Come on, show me that you’re made for me.”

With that, you pick yourself up, giving yourself enough space to position his leaking tip at your entrance. The head of his dick is wide and swollen. Driblets of his pre-cum start to slather along your folds and as you start to lower yourself, you learn that his length, his width, is going to be a challenge.

But when have you ever turned down a challenge?

“Come on, that’s it.” Tengen’s hands find themselves latched onto your hips, the veins running down his knuckles making themselves known as his grip grows tighter and tighter. He watches your expression, takes note of how your twist and your brows furrow as you stretch for him and he starts to whisper gentle praises, telling you that you’re doing so good, doing so well for your husband.

And it’s like a cork pops when he finally gets the tip in. A whimper escapes you, as does a pant as you struggle to take him. You’ve known pain, trained for it even but this… He’s just massive, you feel like he could split you in two if either of you aren’t careful. Your gummy walls convulse, trying to adopt to the intrusion as best it can as you start to lower yourself inch by inch.

“S-Shit. You could keep it there and I’d– Fuck.” Tengen throws his head back, crown digging into the mat while he stills himself inside you. Even though you’re clenched around him so firmly, you’re still dribbling your juices onto him, slathering him in your essence and he’s only a little past his glans inside you. “You’re so damn tight.”

When did you start drooling? When did tears start to prick at your waterline? The sensation of Tengen filling you out is all you can think about and even though it hurts, you want to work through the strain. “Is– s-so big, T-Tengen.” You whine and it shocks you, the frailty in your voice.

His head picked back up, Tengen can’t believe what he’s seeing. A bump is starting to take shape the more you sink down his cock, the evidence that he’s well inside you on a beautiful display for him. “You’re doing great. Taking me so fucking well.” You have him hissing, incapable of taking on a tone any louder than that– a true feat for the man with a voice that can command a room.

So he watches you with bated breath and the edge of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you take him right to the end, your ass coming to a snugly rest on his upper thighs. Neither of you move just then, wishing to enjoy the moment as it is.

You’re shaking, your entire body rocking on Tengen’s burly muscles and even though all he is doing is flexing his cock inside you, you paw incessantly on his chest. “T-Tengen…”

He coaxes you to lower yourself, draw close to him so you’re chest to chest. Close enough to kiss, so he does. “Gonna move a little.” Accenting his words is the slow roll of his hips, the rigidity of his member expanding further into your core and while it still aches, you’re starting to weed out the bits and pieces of dizzying pleasure within. “This is all I need tonight, baby. Just this.” Tengen nibbles on your bottom lip, narrowed eyes still on you even as you kiss.

The nod you give is lazy, all your energy drained by every tremor, every squeeze of your cunt. “T-Tengen, t-touch me– t-touch me here.” You mewl, saliva dripping into your husband’s mouth as one of your hands shakily takes his. You mold his hand, direct it to cup your sopping heat. “P-Please, please, please.”

You’ve never begged. But for him? You’ll do anything.

Huffing because every exhale turns into a stifled grunt, Tengen’s thick fingers start to run motions along your little bundle of nerves until he gets to a routine of toying with your clit. He follows your moans like a song, paying attention to what movement makes you sing the prettiest. He kneads your sweet muscle, swiping some of your slick and coating your clit until it too is drenched.

Lashes kissing and eyes rolling back, you begin to meet Tengen’s ruts as if it comes to you naturally. That’s what it feels like anyways, because you keep driving your hips back so expertly it must be instinctual. You continue at this pace for a while, your motions languid and his penetration deep.

“Gonna cum,” Tengen suddenly grunts, rocking you forward so your forehead ends up docking against his, “and it’s gonna be inside.” This isn’t a question. This isn’t up for debate.

And you’re okay with that.

“Y-Yes, plea-please.”

Pressure builds in his thrusts, he’s fucking into you with more strength but with the same speed and that’s just what he needs before you feel him emptying his hot and heavy load into you. It’s passionate, the kiss he gives you as he fills you up and makes you nice and wet for him to pump the remaining spurts of his seed. “Hnnghh, fuckkkkk.” The thunderous moan has you trembling, your hole spasming around your husband’s cock as you too start to feel an overwhelming wave of bliss wash over you. It’s amazing how gentle this boisterous, big man can be as he helps you off his cock, so much of him leaking out of you almost instantly as he does so. And it’s amazing, how he massages your stomach afterwards, soothing your various muscles for all their hard work. And it’s amazing, how at home you feel, in his arms and against his chest, falling asleep to the chorus of his heartbeat after a long, long night.

#uzui tengen #uzui x you #uzui x reader #uzui tengen x reader #uzui tengen x you #kny smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #kny x you #⋆ ˚｡⋆✄˚ ┆ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ marie writes! ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ┆

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