#AO3 makes sense occasionally

[cepetriwrites]

Me: I’m going to get so much writing done tonight!

*ends up spending 40 minutes on the phone with my anthropologist sister assigning languages to the different free cities to give me a better reference when writing*

[early-sxnsets]

by fuck i WILL make my own AO3 wrapped this year

[sasheemo]

Long day, huh?

Pairing: Detective!Agatha (Agnes O'Connor) x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Agnes Agatha, lost to the Scarlet Witch’s spell, has no memory of you or the life you shared. But tonight, you have a daring plan to bring her back.

Tags: Smut, Established Relationship, Strap-ons (Rr), Car Sex

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: So, first Agatha smut! Hope it doesn't suck that bad - would love to hear your thoughts if you’re up for it 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s torture, seeing her like this. Agatha, your Agatha, right there yet completely out of reach, trapped under the Scarlet Witch’s spell.

You’ve been together for centuries, standing side by side through battles and blood, through the kind of love that’s spanned lifetimes. 

You were there when she first sensed something off in Westview, when she decided to investigate what was happening, and you offered to come along. But everything went south, and now she’s here, roaming around the streets of Westview every day as a ghost of herself, believing she’s someone else entirely. Every moment you see her as this rough, almost bitter stranger, this ‘Detective Agnes’, it drives a wedge through your heart. But tonight, desperation gives birth to a reckless idea: if she can’t remember who she is maybe you can make her remember.

It’a a Friday night, and the most popular bar in Westview is pretty packed, humming with a low murmur and the occasional clink of glass. 

You step inside, searching, and your gaze falls on her almost immediately. She’s right there, Detective Agnes, a rougher, possibly even quirkier version of the woman you’ve loved for centuries, sitting alone at the bar, absently nursing her drink. In the dim light, she looks as alluring as ever, though that familiar playfulness you knew is buried under layers of frustration and some sort of hard-earned dominance. And yet, you have to admit, part of you doesn’t mind it. In fact, you find yourself… intrigued. 

There’s something thrilling about this version of Agatha. Agnes is rough, unapologetically bossy, carrying that particular brand of perpetual irritation that somehow only makes her more magnetic. Not that your Agatha didn’t have these traits, but this… adaptation of her takes them to a whole new level.

You’ve always loved the way she embodied both her feminine and masculine sides so seamlessly, owning every part of herself with that perfect blend of charm, ambiguity, and raw sensuality that defies any simple definition. Agnes though, leans heavily into her masculine side, and you’re definitely not complaining. Not one bit.

You smooth down the short black dress hugging your figure, fingers adjusting the purple gemstone at your collarbone. With slow, intentional steps, you close the distance, sliding onto the stool beside her. The heavy air around her feels electric, an unspoken charge palpable even through her indifference. She’s flipping idly through a small notebook, likely filled with dead ends from whatever “case” has been haunting her lately.

You lean in, letting the bar’s low light and smoky scent curl around you both. “Long day, huh?”

She doesn’t look up right away. She lets out a sigh, flipping another page in her notebook before her gaze shifts in your direction, mildly annoyed. The moment her eyes meet yours, you feel a spark, realizing those mesmerizing blue eyes will always have the same effect on you, no matter what. 

“Would’ve liked to have a quiet drink.” she mutters, lifting her glass as if to punctuate her point. “Not exactly in the mood for small talk.”

“Good thing I’m not here for small talk, then.” You smile, tipping your head slightly, and you see her interest flicker, even if her eyes narrow.

There’s a beat of silence, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. She radiates that annoyed, no-nonsense attitude, but there’s something in the way she holds herself tonight that makes you wonder if there isn’t some part of her that still recognizes you, that feels the pull between you. You watch her expression, the rough angles of her face, the way she leans back, sizing you up with all the caution of a predator who’s just discovered someone bold enough to trespass.

“I don’t think I know you.” she says finally, a challenge in her voice.

Your smile doesn’t falter and you lean in just a little closer, enough to catch a whiff of her. Agnes carries this scent of cold air and something darkly earthy, stark and distant. It’s a sharp contrast to Agatha’s usual rich, heady fragrance, the kind that clings to your clothes and fills the room long after she’s gone. But somehow, this raw, unfamiliar scent only adds to her allure, drawing you in deeper. 

“Guess that depends on what you think you know.” your voice drops to a low, almost mocking purr, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. You hold her gaze, letting the challenge hang in the air between you, your eyes glinting with just enough mystery to keep her guessing.

She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, but something in her eyes shifts, something curious, as if you’ve stirred something in her she can’t quite place. She looks at you a beat too long before shaking her head and turning back to her drink, as if trying to ignore that spark.

You watch her for a moment, her fingers curling around the glass, her body language guarded, closed off. But there’s that trace of interest, the smallest crack in her armor. She’s intrigued, even if she won’t admit it.

She might be Agnes right now, but you still know how to push her buttons “Looks like you could use a distraction, Detective. I’ve heard it’s been nothing but dead ends for you lately.” you murmur with a sly smile.

Her hand pauses on the glass. The annoyed look is back, but this time it’s different, that reluctant curiosity now obvious on her face. She sets her glass down with a thud, meeting your gaze head-on. “Careful, doll. I don’t do well with strangers thinking they know more than they should.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You raise your hand, as if in surrender. “I just happen to know that sometimes the best way to clear a clouded mind is a little… fun.”

At that last word you can see her tense up, her shoulders straightening, gaze sharpening. A hint of a smirk crosses her face, but she quickly tamps it down. Agnes may be all business, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that’s raw, hungry.

“Dance with me.” you say softly, your fingers reaching out to brush the cool glass of her drink. “Who knows, might be exactly what need…”

She lets out a soft snort, like she’s about to dismiss you, but then she pushes back from the bar. Standing, she adjusts her flannel shirt, slipping the small notebook into the inner pocket with a quick, practiced motion as her dark eyes stay trained on you with an intensity that makes the air thicken. She’s a predator through and through, and for a moment, you feel the weight of her gaze like a physical thing, binding you in place.

She holds out a hand, and you take it, feeling her strong fingers and the roughness of her skin against your own. She pulls you toward a crowded corner of the bar where people are already moving to the low, steady beat thrumming through the room. Dim lights cast a warm, hazy glow, bodies swaying close around you, amplifying the charged atmosphere.

Agnes holds you with a firmness that’s almost possessive, both hands at your waist. Her gaze locks onto yours, and in this moment, she’s both a stranger and achingly recognizable, the rough edge of Agnes mingling with the soul of Agatha beneath. Every inch of her exudes assertiveness, her energy powerful and magnetic as her hands rest on your body with unbreakable certainty.

The dance starts slow, a sway more than anything else, but as the tension grows, she pulls you a little closer. Her gaze flickers down to the necklace at your collarbone, the deep violet stone a stark contrast against your skin. You catch the faintest twitch in her expression, her eyes darkening as she lifts her gaze to meet yours again. There’s a hunger there, a dangerous, simmering intensity that speaks of possession and intrigue.

“You’ve got a strange way of introducing yourself.” she murmurs, her voice low, carrying an edge of danger. “Most people don’t… walk up to me like this.”

You lean in, your voice a whisper against her ear “I’m not ‘most people’, Detective.”. You let that last word linger, savoring the irony of it, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you think of the illusion she’s wrapped up in.

She chuckles, a rough sound that vibrates through you, and her hold on your waist tightens, fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. “Maybe you’re just a little too bold for your own good.”

You don’t bother to reply, feeling the intensity between you coil tighter as her hand slips around to the small of your back, pulling you firmly against her. Her gaze holds yours, dark and fierce, that rough, predatory edge simmering into something more primal. The dance transforms, becoming less about the music and entirely about the electrifying connection between you, every look and touch stoking the fire higher.

You press closer, letting your hips grind against hers in slow, deliberate circles, matching the pulsing rhythm that fills the room. Each movement is calculated, provocative, testing the limits of her restraint. You can feel the tension radiate through her hands as they grip your waist, and her breath seems to hitch every time your body sways against hers.

In the dim light, shadows fall across her face, but her eyes glint with a deepening hunger. You reach up, one arm slipping around her neck as your fingers trace along her skin before threading into her hair. The contact is intimate, possessive, and she leans into it, visibly captivated by the press of your body and the brush of your fingers. With a mischievous smile, you let your other hand glide up her face, fingertips trailing along the line of her jaw as you bite your lip, savoring the spark of control you have over her. 

In an instant, something snaps. Agnes moves with a swift, unrestrained urgency, her hands locking onto your hips as she spins you around, pulling your back against her with a possessive force that steals your breath. Her body presses flush against yours, fitting perfectly, her grip on you strong and unyielding.

The rhythm of the music seems to fade as she matches your movements from behind, grinding into you in time with your slow, rolling pace. The friction between you is scorching, each press of her hips intensifying the heat building between you. Her hands slide along your waist, her fingers digging in as if anchoring herself to you, claiming every inch of space between you.

With Agnes pressed firmly against your back, one of your hands finds its way behind her neck once again, fingers weaving into her hair as your bodies move together, grinding in sync to the steady beat. The desire simmering between you is overwhelming, each movement intensifying the tension coiling in your core.

But as her grip stays firm on your hips, you become aware of something else, something hard pressing insistently against you. The firm, unmistakable pressure against your ass makes your breath catch in your throat, the perfect trigger for a molten rush to spread through your veins.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, voice low and teasing. “Is that what I think it is, Detective?”

The smug grin spread across her face makes it clear she was waiting for your reaction, every inch of her expression dripping with satisfaction. The look only fueling the heat pooling between your thighs. Her fingers travel up your sides, leaving a trail of sparks across your skin. She grazes just beneath your breasts, her touch light but deliberate, the fabric of your dress doing little to dull the fire she ignites. 

“Behave.” she whispers, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. There’s an edge to her voice, rough and commanding. “And maybe I’ll reward you.” she continues, a low purr full of promise.

But you’re here on a mission, not to behave. Definitely not to behave.

Letting the music and her warmth embolden you, you reach back with your free hand, fingers slipping between your bodies to trace a slow, tantalizing path downward. She doesn’t stop you, if anything, she presses in closer, her breath hot against your neck.

Your movements halt for a split second as your fingertips brush the cool metal of her belt buckle, a shiver running through you at the sensation. Biting your lip, you continue your descent, fingers tracing slowly along the rigid line of her zipper, feeling the unyielding heat straining against it. When your palm finally presses against her, you can feel the hard, thick bulge beneath the fabric, and the sensation sends a surge of desire straight to your core. A low, breathless moan threatens to escape, and you barely hold it back, relishing the sensation as the need builds, leaving you aching for more.

Your fingers trail along her length teasingly, taking your time, and you feel her body tense behind you, hear the soft, low growl in her throat. She drops her forehead to your shoulder, her breath rough as you continue your movements.

You tilt your head back, allowing her see the satisfaction in your eyes, a look you know will get to her. Her breath catches as your fingers continue to tease her mercilessly. “Mmm” you hum with deliberate appreciation. “I knew you’d be… impressive.” you murmur, voice low and dripping with praise.

The effect is immediate, and exactly what you’d hoped for. Her nails dig into your waist, her restraint slipping further as a husky sigh escapes her. She presses into you and raises her head to meet your gaze, the challenge in her eyes flaring, daring you to push her further. 

You’ve always loved how, deep down, Agatha is so desperate for praise. She always had that little spark of pride that flares with each admiring touch, each appreciative word. But with Agnes, that need seems to linger closer to the surface, raw and unapologetic. In this form, she practically soaks up every word, every look of admiration you give her, like she’s reveling in the attention.

She’s holding herself back, barely, and you can feel the restraint beginning to crack, the thrill of it washing over you as she takes one grounding breath. “Keep that up…” she mutters, her tone both a warning and an invitation, “and you’ll see just how impressive I can be.”

With her words still in the air, she thrusts her hips forward, grinding firmly against your hand so you feel the full, hard length of her strap straining through the fabric of her pants. Simultaneously, one of her hands moves to your throat, fingers curling possessively around it in a strong, yet gentle, grip. Instinctively, you arch into her touch, pressing closer, wanting to feel every inch of her as she is pushing against you. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back the moan that slips from your lips. 

Her body freezes at the sound, and for a heartbeat, everything is still. Then, without a word, she grabs your hand, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulls you toward the exit. You can barely keep up with her long strides as she navigates through the bar, her silence and focus only heightening the anticipation that’s been building between you. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you, sharp and bracing, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins.

Agnes doesn’t pause as she leads you across the dimly lit parking lot, her hold on your wrist commanding, purposeful. But just as you near the shadowy corner where her car is parked, she suddenly turns, and with a fierce intensity, she presses you against the rough brick wall of the bar. The shock of the cold surface behind you only fuels the fire inside, and before you can catch your breath, her mouth is on yours.

The kiss is raw, unrestrained, her lips claiming yours with an urgency that’s nothing short of devastating. Her tongue parts your lips, exploring with a fierce hunger that’s both intoxicating and overwhelming, each movement igniting something hotter, deeper. She moves against you with a possessive need, her hand tangling in your hair as she tilts your head back, deepening the kiss even further.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” she mutters against your lips, voice thick and dripping with need. Her other hand moves down to grab your ass, pulling you against her, her grip rough and unapologetic. You can’t hold back the gasp that escapes you, the thrill of it leaving you breathless.

Your hands find their way to her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as you pull her closer, every inch of her body pressed firmly against yours. She tastes like whiskey and something darker, something that only fuels your desire, making you want more, need more. 

“Teasing me like that all night… you knew exactly what you were doing.” her voice is almost a growl against your lips, her frustration and need laid bare, her words punctuated with another possessive press of her hips.

Your heart races, and you find yourself grinning through the haze of desire. “Maybe I did.” you whisper, a daring edge to your tone.

Her smirk deepens as she leans in, mouth brushing against your ear. “Good.” she breathes “Because now… you’re mine.”

The intensity of her words leaves you dizzy, every nerve lit up, aching, ready for more. She slides a leg between yours, pressing firmly against you in a way that makes your instantly whimper. The sudden pressure tugging at your last restraints, making it impossible to hold back. You pull her into a fierce, consuming kiss, your mouths crashing together, hot and unrestrained, her taste filling all of your senses.

With a deliberate move, you catch her bottom lip between your teeth, biting down just hard enough to pull a throaty moan from her. The sound makes something inside you snap, a fire igniting that feels like it’s burning you from the inside out. You let your tongue glide over the spot you just bit, slow and teasing, savoring the slight tremor that runs through her in response.

Your eyes meet hers, hooded and dark with lust, each breath mingling as you hold her gaze, refusing to look away. “I want you to ruin me.” your voice is barely a whisper against her lips, but every word is thick with hunger. You let the desire in your eyes say the rest, the intensity of your gaze leaves no room for doubt, a challenge and surrender all at once.

You watch the way her pupils dilate, her eyes flashing with something feral and ravenous. Without another word, she grabs your hand again, leading you the last few steps to her car, parked in the shadowed corner with only a few other cars nearby.

As you near the car, you instinctively move toward the passenger side, expecting her to get in and drive you to her place at speed light. But Agnes doesn’t head for the driver’s side. Instead, she stops just behind you, her presence looming as you reach for the passenger’s door handle.

“Other door, doll.” she murmurs, her voice dripping with intent. A shiver runs down your spine as the implication sinks in. You glance over your shoulder, finding her gaze steady, intense, and unmistakably clear. She’s not planning on taking you anywhere.

You release the handle, heart racing as you step to the rear door, her gaze burning into you with every move. Inside of the car, the familiar scent of leather mixed with something distinctly “her” fills the small, darkened space. Agnes follows, sliding in close beside you, shutting the door to enclose you both in a cocoon of shadows and anticipation.

The air is charged with an unspoken understanding as her hand finds your bare thigh, fingers pressing possessively as she leans close, breath warm against your cheek. There’s a pause, enough to let you savor what’s about to unfold, before she brings her mouth to yours, claiming you with the raw hunger that’s been simmering all night.

Her hand starts to move in a slow, tantalizing journey upward, fingers tracing your skin and slipping beneath the hem of your dress, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against her mouth as her touch becomes bolder.

As her fingers graze your inner thigh, both firm and unbearably light, a whimper slips out of your lips. She pulls back just enough, gaze momentarily dropping to where her hand is inching closer to where you need her most, her breathing heavy as she watches you unravel beneath her touch.

Each slow, deliberate movement seems meant to drive you wild, her smirk making it clear she’s relishing each shaky breath you take. Without breaking eye contact, her hand ventures further, until her fingertips reach your clothed core, brushing against the patch of wetness that is seeping through the fabric. Her touch sends a surge of pleasure through you, hips arching as you crave more. She lets out a low, pleased hum, leaning close as her mouth grazes your ear.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” she whispers, her voice dripping with mockery and satisfaction, every word laced with a condescending edge that leaves you trembling. One of your hands grips the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in as you brace yourself, as the other slips between your legs, pushing aside your panties in a bold, undeniable signal. Agnes’s gaze flickers with mischief, her lips curving in a smirk at your willingness, at the silent plea in your eyes.

“Look at you…” she murmurs in that low, almost scolding tone that makes you clench around nothing. “Such a needy pet.” Her fingers finally dip down to graze your drenched folds, now exposed to her touch. Her fingers glide up and down with ease, a deliberate slowness that leaves you panting, every movement igniting raw need within you.

“Mm, so wet for me.” she whispers to herself, pressing her fingers a little firmer, coaxing a soft moan from you. Your grip tightens on the seat as your breathing grows ragged, her touch leaving you helplessly craving more, every nerve under her control.

Her movements are teasingly, atrociously, slow. An impatient thrill rushes through you, impossible to ignore, and without a second thought you straddle her lap in one swift motion. As you settle onto her, your dress rides up around your hips, baring more skin as your legs fall on either side of hers, bracketing her firmly on the back seat. Agnes’s eyes widen in surprise, excitement unmistakable as her hands find your exposed thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as you begin to grind against her.

The angle presses her strap perfectly against your core, each movement sending a pulse of pleasure as you rock in her lap, the coil in your lower abdomen growing tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips. A low growl escapes her as she watches you take what you need, movements relentless and hungry.

Lost in the moment, you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a kiss that’s messy, unrestrained, moans spilling shamelessly between your mouths. “Fuck… I need you.” you murmur, hips rolling harder in her lap, grinding with a desperate rhythm that has your heartbeat racing. You feel her cock press on your clit through her pants, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if you might come just from this.

But Agnes has other plans.

Her hands slip from your waist, leaving you whining at the loss of contact as her fingers find the buckle of her belt. She undoes it with slow precision, followed by the button and zipper of her pants, her gaze locked with yours for the whole time, challenge flickering in her eyes as she smirks.

Her hand slips between your legs once more, sliding over your sensitive core, fingers teasing your hole as if to confirm just how ready you are for her. You bite your lip, completely unable to contain yourself. “Please.” you beg, voice low and trembling.

The smirk that crosses her face is dark, satisfied, as though she’s savoring every word, reveling in how desperate you are to have her inside of you. Desperation starts to kick in as your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers between your folds, desperate for the friction she’s barely giving you. You grind against her hand, each movement sending sparks through your body as you cling to the delicious, aching need building inside you. Your breathing is ragged, and you can barely focus, until you catch sight of her other hand moving down to her waist.

With a fluid motion, Agnes reaches into her boxers, freeing her strap. The anticipation and the sheer intensity of the moment making your breath catch in your throat. As she draws it out, you take in every inch, noticing how it’s bigger than what Agatha would normally choose, yet not the biggest she’s ever ruined you with. But there’s something about the way she holds it, about the way it fills her hand, that has a rush of arousal pooling low in your stomach.

You swallow hard, desire flaring in your eyes as you let yourself imagine how it will feel inside of you, stretching you, abusing your needy hole. Agnes doesn’t miss your reaction, her smirk deepens, that predatory, knowing look in her eyes as she catches you staring. She shifts her hips, letting the strap press against your inner thigh, teasing you with what’s coming.

Her voice drops to a murmur, gravelly and low. “Think that pretty pussy of yours is ready to take it, doll?” she asks, tone both a tease and a command, daring you to say otherwise.

Without hesitation, you meet her gaze, biting your lip, eyes blazing with need. “Yes.” you whisper, breathless. “Fuck yes.”

A shiver runs through you as Agnes aligns herself, the tip of her cock pressing teasingly at your entrance, one of her hand resting firmly on your hip, grounding you. Slowly and deliberately, she begins to sink into you, stretching you inch by inch. A soft, breathy moan escapes you as the fullness sets in. Your fingers dig into her shoulders, clinging to her, every nerve ending lighting up with raw pleasure.

Agnes watches every reaction with a possessive gaze, clearly enjoying the way your body responds to her. She pauses, just for a second, letting you adjust. “Just like that. Mm, I wish I could feel that tight cunt wrapping around me. I bet it would feel so good.” she murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction.

And then, with an agonizing slowness, she presses further, filling you completely until there’s nowhere left to go and she’s buried deep inside. The feeling of fullness settles within you, every inch of her stretching you in a way that leaves you teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. Your gaze drops instinctively to where your bodies connect, where her strap disappears into you, a sight that sends a deep, pulsing ache through your core.

But as you look down, your eyes catch on something else. The purple gemstone of your necklace, nestled against your skin, begins to glow, casting a soft, pulsing light in sync with the pounding rhythm of your heart. A slow smirk spreads across your lips, it’s almost time.

You teasingly wiggle your hips, signaling that you’re ready, craving the friction only she can provide. Agnes tightens her grip on your hips, nails digging into your skin. She meets your challenge, leaning forward just enough to capture your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. In the heated clash of tongues and teeth, her hips begin to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward, filling you again.

Her pace is torturously unhurried, letting you feel every second, watching the way your face reflects each wave of pleasure. After a few measured thrusts, her hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers kneading your skin before delivering a sharp, satisfying spank that sends a shock of pleasure through you. A gasp slips from your lips but, before you know it, her hips have stilled and she’s watching you with a provocative glint in her eyes.

It dawns on you that she wants you to move, to put on a show just for her. You hesitate, breath catching, and her voice drops to a low, rough murmur as she smirks. “Come on doll, you gotta work for it. Let’s see how you bounce for me.”

Her words ignite a fresh wave of arousal and, taking a steadying breath, you start rolling your hips. You move slowly at first, savoring the stretch but it doesn’t take long before you start lifting and sinking your full weight down onto her, each movement drawing a low hum of approval from her lips.

Lost in the rhythm, you quicken your pace, each bounce bringing you down harder, making the base of the strap pressing firmly against her clit. Her hands guide you, watching you arch and take her deeper and deeper, her gaze full of admiration and raw desire. 

The car fills with the wet, needy sounds of your arousal as she fills you completely. Your breaths turn to soft, broken moans, mingling with curses spilling from your lips. “F-fuck… Aggie…” you stammer, the familiar nickname slipping out before you can catch it. “Feels so… so good.” you murmur, half-lost in the haze, voice thick with need as you ride her harder, body pressing into her with abandon.

Agnes’s eyes flash, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s even noticed the slip or if she’s choosing to ignore it, letting it pass without breaking the intensity of the moment. Her grip tightens, voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends a shiver down your spine “Good girl… you’re taking me so well.” One of her hand slides up your back, nails scratching your skin and leaving red marks under your dress. “This is exactly what you were made for, isn’t it?”

Her words ignite something deep inside of you, urging you on as pleasure builds with each movement, your head tipping forward as you release a shameless moan. Your steady, rhythmic bouncing sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, each one stronger than the last, the friction inside you maddeningly perfect. You can feel your own wetness slickening each movement and dripping down your thighs, the glide of her strap effortless as she pushes deeper, unrelenting.

Agnes is utterly captivated, her gaze darting between the raw expressions of pleasure on your face and the sight of her strap disappearing into you. She drinks in every movement, every tremble, barely able to restrain herself.

As if sensing her focus, you open your eyes. You catch her gaze and stare right into her as you bite your lip, slowly and purposefully sinking down onto her cock, daring her. And that’s all she needs.

One hand wraps firmly around your throat, grip strong and commanding, while the other moves to your hip, pressing you down on her lap. For a moment, everything is suspended, you’re pinned under her gaze as the intensity of both the pressure at your throat and the deep ache within makes you shudder, caught between pleasure and anticipation.

Then, without warning, her hips snap up, driving into you with a devastating shove that forces every ounce of breath out of your lungs. She thrusts hard and deep, filling you completely, each movement unrelenting and precise, striking that spot that has you gasping and moaning uncontrollably.

Your hands clutch at her shoulders, desperate for some anchor as she pound into you without mercy, driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Your eyes flutter shut in overwhelming pleasure, but her grip tightens on your throat, pulling you back. “Eyes on me, pet.” she growls, voice low and commanding. “You begged me to ruin you. Now, look at me while I give you exactly what you asked for.”.

You force your eyes open, and the instant they lock onto hers, her pace quickens. The smirk on her face is a mix of dominance and admiration as she keeps pushing you further with every movement. The feeling is all-consuming and, as she continues, you feel yourself surrender completely, helpless under her control, barely holding on as pleasure engulfs you.

Her hips are snapping forward with an intensity bordering on devastating, her feet planted firmly on the car floor, adding force to each thrust. Her hand finds its way between your legs once more, fingers moving in practiced circles over your sensitive clit, coaxing you to the brink.

The purple stone around your neck pulses brighter as your orgasm builds, filling the car with an otherworldly glow that syncs with the rhythm of Agnes’s relentless movements. 

“Mmm, I missed this… I missed you.” the confession slips out you in a raw whisper. For a second, Agnes’ expression falters, something flickering in her eyes that seems to recognize the truth. Before she can react, the light from the stone intensifies, flooding the space between you with a bright, shimmering glow. Her gaze drops to the gemstone blazing against your skin, entranced as though the light itself is unraveling something within her.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you seize the moment and murmur the spell.

Ancient Latin words leave your lips like a quiet chant, each syllable carrying the force of longing and magic, woven with the raw passion building between you. The words wrap around you both, charging the moment, and as the final word slips from your mouth, she gasps like someone just knocked all the air out of her lungs. Agnes’s eyes meet yours, and in that instant, you know the veil has been lifted.

Agnes is gone and Agatha, your Agatha, is back. The full force of who she is, and who you are to her, rushes back all at once. For a moment, Agatha simply stares at you, the love of her life who broke her from that maddening spell… on her lap, strap buried deep inside you. The sight renders her speechless, her expression a mix of wonder and fierce devotion as she processes what’s happened.

Finally, her voice returns, smug and rough yet laden with emotion. “So, this is your idea of a rescue mission? Can’t say I mind, sweetheart.” She leans in, breath ghosting over your lips as her fingers trace your cheek, gaze softening though hunger remains.

You suppress a moan as her hips shift involuntarily, pushing deeper, and she gasps, realizing the full impact of the spell being lifted. She can feel you now, all of you. Every slick, heated movement as she fills you, every pulse of pleasure passing through you both in sync. The raw feeling of you, tight and warm, clenching around her cock, sends sudden jolts of pleasure through her. The boundary between you dissolved completely.

“Fuck… I can feel you again.” she murmurs, voice thick with awe and desire. Her voice drops, thick with satisfaction and yearning. “I’ve waited too long for this, and now… now you’re all mine again.”

Her breath catches, and her hands tighten on your hips, guiding you as she thrusts up with renewed purpose, as if proving to herself that this moment is real, savoring every second of this reconnection. Her eyes glint with pleasure as her nails dig into your skin, pulling you down harder with each thrust, her control slipping as she begins to feel herself approaching her own edge.

A ragged growl escapes her as she whispers against your ear, “You’re still so damn tight, sweetheart. Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Her breath shudders, and a smile plays on her lips as she admits, “I’m already close too… After all this time, I don’t think I can hold back.”

The rhythm between you intensifies as her hands roam over your body, holding you close as she loses herself in the feeling of being truly connected again. You’re nothing short of a moaning mess as her voice guides you closer to the edge with her, whispered praise and promises mingling with the tension building in both of you, pushing you both to the brink.

Agatha is fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, the intensity blurring everything else. Her gaze never leaves you, watching you come undone as you both reach the edge, every sensation building to a breathtaking crescendo.

Soon, her rhythm turns erratic, her restraint fully unraveled. Her eyes bore into yours, dark and fierce, filled with desire and something deeper—a yearning that transcends this moment alone.

“Mm fuck baby… yes, just like that…” she murmurs, breathless, almost reverent.

Your thighs start to shake, each movement pushing you closer, and you can barely form words as the pleasure tightens, an unbearable ache. “Ah fuck Agatha… d-don’t stop.” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck fuck fuck…” you stammer with each of her relentless thrusts until your voice breaks, overcome by waves of sensation crashing through you.

The car is filled by the sound of your low, breathy moans, mixing with Agatha’s rough, primal groans, all blending together as her hands slide up your back, possessive, grounding, bracing you for what’s to come.

You’re so close, and you know she is right there with you, her body tensing as she growls, “Come with me, now.” Her voice thick, dripping with desire, her words pushing you over the edge.

Your body arches instinctively as you shudder, every nerve aflame as waves of pleasure wash over you. Your head tips back, unable to hold back the cries escaping your lips. Your thighs twitch uncontrollably, your hips moving wildly on Agatha’s lap as your walls clench around her cock, releasing all that built-up tension in one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Agatha’s hips snap up one last time, her breath catching as she reaches her own release, her hands pressing you close as she gasps. “Mine… all mine…” her words, raw and filled with emotion, resonate through you, pulling you even deeper into the moment.

Your bodies tremble together, chests heaving, hearts racing as you slowly come down from your high. She holds you there, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her eyes softer but still burning as she meets your gaze. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, savoring the afterglow, feeling completely and utterly entwined.

Slowly, she leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one that holds all the love and longing she’s felt, buried beneath the spell, and everything you’ve both been waiting to express. Her mouth moves over yours with fervor, a silent promise in every brush of her lips. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as emotions overwhelm you, but Agatha notices, her thumb gently wiping it away as she smiles against your lips. Her expression is soft and filled with gratitude as she holds you close, her hands tracing over your skin as if trying to commit every inch of you to her memory.

“Thank you, my love.” she whispers, voice thick with feelings. Her hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as she finally, reluctantly, begins to pull out. The sudden emptiness leaves you gasping softly, a shiver running through you at the loss, but before you can fully react you’re wrapping your arms around her, holding her close, grounding yourself in her warmth and presence.

Agatha’s hand slides down your back, comforting, reassuring. She presses a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring “It’s okay. I’m here now.” She pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her features gentle yet fiercely protective. “Let’s go home.” she says, her tone pure tenderness “I won’t ever let anything take me away from you again, I promise.”.

She holds you close for one last intimate moment, while her words linger, solid and true. With a soft smile, she shifts and tucks away her strap before buttoning up her pants and fastening her belt, her eyes never leaving yours, filled with affection and satisfaction.

Once she’s ready she turns toward you, her hands moving to adjust your dress, her touch both careful and intimate as she smooths the fabric sliding it back into place around your waist and hips. Her hands linger, brushing along your sides in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Agatha opens the car door, stepping out first, leaning back to help you out of the car. She guides you with a steady hand as she opens the passenger door and, once you’re settled in the seat, she closes the door gently, making her way around the car and slipping into the driver’s seat beside you.

Agatha reaches over, her hand resting on your thigh as she leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. With a final squeeze of your thigh, she starts the car, guiding you both into the night. In the quiet space between you, there’s a shared understanding that this is the beginning of a new chapter, together, with nothing left to keep you apart.

[wibben]

Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall. 

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too. 

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti. 

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it. 

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead. 

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after. 

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you. 

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

[anantaru]

DAY 30 — hate sex

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, ayato, scaramouche, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, hate fucking, mild choking, they're assholes, exhibitionism, fingering, lots of teasing & they're meanies

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"i don't, fuck— even know if i told you this," you whine out through a clenched jaw, your trembling frame luxuriating in the feeling of wriothesley's thick cock rubbing against your spongy spots as the spreading warmth of his body fuses inside of your own.

nevertheless, you continue your taunting— truthfully, there was nothing better other than uttering out words that you knew, would drive him absolutely crazy, "but i really fucking hate you."

amusement swiftly settles on the duke's face when he notices something happening in front of his eyes, in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day.

that your sweet, angel face, combined with those lewd sounds and your pain in the ass, as well as bratty attitude, would ultimately make him lose his mind beyond salivation— right now, his face reminded of someone who was on the brink of leaning into this, the thought of stepping your relationship up and breaking free of this, occasional hook up scene between two people clearly harboring distaste for each other.

yet, instead of melting into those hidden emotions, wriothesley then, leaves one hand to fall against the headboard before jerking his hips back into you, this time much harder and in attempt to conceal the fact that you've evidently turned him on with your attitude, fuck, he'd never get tired of hearing you.

"oh, don't worry sweetheart," wriothesley grins, your body trembling when you hear him, and as always, he senses how you shiver under his large weight, your chest rising and falling when he wraps one hand around your throat, lightly, while the other remained on the headboard to steady himself and to not suddenly suffocate you with his figure.

"the feeling is very mutual," he winks, the only thing that seemed appropriate to you personally in this situation, was to punch him, especially due to that stupid, handsome, dumb smirk on his face. (you didn't punch him)

"oh fuck you," you spat angrily before feeling how he softly draws his fingers into your throat, mesmerized when you swallow the assembled saliva down and make him sense your pulse underneath his palm, ugh, it's so hot— and you're impossibly sensitive, constantly fluttering your hole around his girth, always so cutely reactive and moaning when his cock twitches through your walls.

your mess of a body was shaking, quivering and jerking up when he teases you once more, proudly showcasing his strength on your throat while never stopping the aching drags of his erection that was making your face twist in pleasure.

𖧡 — AYATO

ayato thinks you owe him, in fact, he believes you owe him a lot more than you're currently giving him— aside from that, the most unfortunate fact was that he secretly liked having you close to him, pretending that it's a way of paying him back for whatever reason, more so share your sweet company and yes, of course, it's a bit of a predicament taking into consideration that he literally cannot stand your guts and neither can you force yourself to like his.

it's a bit embarrassing and you're barely being able to grasp on how much you you were capable to hate another person, yet the second you hear his voice, it's a horrible sound, one that you eagerly wanted to choke right out of him.

well, if only ayato wouldn't be so adapt with your body— remembering every part of you, didn't matter to him if it's been a week or a month, he remembers and targets the spots he knew had to be taken care of.

because the yashiro commissioner knows how to fuck you, please you and make you sob out uncontrollably— you have clearly had the opportunity to experience it yourself and even now, while pressed down against his work desk, with both legs tightly shut around his waist, you almost forget about all the deep-rooted hatred that was growing inside of your heart.

every dip and curve, his hand would find when he drags his cock through your walls with each whimper of his name littering across his ear shells, his sensitive tip repeatedly pushing in and out of your soaked walls that the constant pressure of penetration was making your head spin, your shaking frame twitching under him as he curves ever so wonderfully into your warm cunt.

it's too good, too delicious to pass up on when you forget all circumstances and focus on the hate induced thrusts of his pelvis rutting against yours— both minds being drunk of lust and that sensual taste of sex and euphoria lingering across the room, your pussy convulsing as his lips melt against your own, shushing all your worries.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"look at that," scaramouche grinned down on you, excited from head to toe, his ego downright overflowing when his tip pushes and presses into your warm, pulsing spots as he stares down on where your bodies connected.

his cock was slipping in an embarrassingly easy pace that it's quite shameful now that you think back on it, well, almost— at least scaramouche knew what places to target in order to make your spine curve and quiver when he leans his weight over your body to split your cunt a little better as he bucks backward, driving the intruding force of his length deeper with one hand steady on your shoulder.

you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a warm, passionate kiss before he sloppily groans into your mouth, his tongue lapping across your own when repeated thrusts power through the tight ring of your hole, his pelvis continuously kicking against you and forcing your spine to bend into his chest, "hah, i can barely move," he smirks, "you're too tight— embarrassing," he drawls, your walls fluttering as he leans his sweaty forehead over your own.

"seems like you missed me," scaramouche urges, hovering on top of you with a toothy smile, despite that leaning in for more, his fastened breathing close to your flustered cheeks as he grinds his cock deeper, finer and better— a small, little shade of pink manifesting across his face, everything about it was so sensual, so exposed.

without a doubt, whenever you would cross paths it would always end in the same story playing on repeat, almost like a broken record— and despite the fact that you weren't fond of him, or, scrap that, despite the fact that you hated him, a lot, you did like it, like him, kind of— most definitely when he fucks you like he hates you, because he does, but kisses you like you're in possession of the most delicious and softest lips.

or, digging a little deeper, when he, sometimes, wraps his arm around your waist when he accidentally falls asleep right beside you, hiding his fatigued face against your neck, leaning into your touch as he intertwines one hand with yours to stroke his thumb over your knuckles.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

it's a hard punch in your gut when alhaitham first stated that he didn't like you, nope, wasn't a fan of yours at all— and the way he phrased it infuriated you the most, it was so arrogant, detached and almost like he wanted you to know and feel bad.

it's not like you were forcing him to like you or anything, but the fact that he thought it was appropriate to tell you out of the blue while disregarding any negative emotions such confession could cause— to say it made you loathe him, detest his being with every vein in your body, was an understatement, truly.

but now, suddenly it's anomalous, like the first bite out of a warm home-made pastry you have never tried before.

then, a sudden wave of pleasure hits you, strong enough that you whimper when he first places both hands on your figure, when you find yourself pressed against a cold wall, a new sensation that was laced in thrill and excitement lusting up from deep inside, aflame and alive through your flesh like liquid fire in your veins.

your bodies were moving while concealed beneath the darkness with the scribe's hand long since stored under your panties and rubbing slow, precise circles on your clit— and the thought of doing something so sinful in the midst of the night, not to mention outside, was almost enough to turn you on entirely, drench his palm with your slick when the boiling heat inside of you changes its shape, manifesting into something exceptional.

"that— that doesn't change anything!" you argue, scowling as you lean your head against his chest, "you're still a snob."

"huh, what?" alhaitham huffs in between a relatively normal breathing, as if he didn't just fuck two fingers into your hole and was the single reason for your legs turning to jelly, wantonly destroying your stability, "i think you don't know what that word means," he mutters before rolling his eyes at you.

archons, you're so annoying, alhaitham could honestly tell you those exact words over and over again until he'd get a headache— and it fucks him up, you do, you never fail to irritate him but also make him intrigued. ugh, it fucks him up so dearly and you destroy his rational thoughts, he wanted to do nothing more other than distance himself from you if only you wouldn't be so damn addicting, and soft, or reactive when he prods one finger against your hole.

awakening at the touch, your desire for him flares anew as you buck your hips forward, driving his finger deeper, his digit spilling right into you when you greet him with a broken cry, your hips rolling and needful for more— alhaitham's eyes never averting their gaze from you, your hips searching and clinging on his body, a slight tremble reaching your spine when you hold your gaze on him, all now feeling in different way.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[d-z20]

Not Like Before (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Witch Reader

Summary: You and Agatha go on a date, and when you return home, the evening intensifies as you both get more turned on and you try a new experience.

- OR -

Agatha fucks you with the strap for the first time and its magical

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, smut, top Agatha, enchanted strap, somewhat innocent reader, tiny bit of praise

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Requested fic :) In my head the strap is enchanted in the way she can cum from it being stimulated but like her orgasm is normal, not like gp orgasm if that makes sense?

AO3 | Master List

The night is alive with a quiet hum of energy. The small, upscale cocktail lounge you’ve chosen for tonight’s date thrums with an undercurrent of power that only those attuned to it can feel. It’s a haven for witches—neutral ground where enchantments and glamour are as commonplace as the expertly mixed drinks. The air shimmers faintly with unspoken spells and whispered charms, weaving through the soft candlelight that flickers on the polished wooden tables.

Agatha sits across from you, her presence as commanding as ever. Tonight, she is a vision of sharp elegance in a tailored black suit with a plunging neckline. Her hair is swept back into a sleek style, exposing her jawline and the glint of earrings that catch the dim light with every movement. She exudes control, a master of both her appearance and the simmering magic that radiates from her in subtle waves.

You’ve dressed to match her energy, knowing full well that anything less would pale beside her. Your outfit—a fitted, dark ensemble with just the right amount of daring to complement her sharp sophistication—keeps her eyes lingering on you just a moment too long every time she looks. Those glances, and the way her lips curl into a smirk as her gaze sweeps over you, leave your cheeks warm and your pulse racing.

The two of you play this game all evening. A brush of her fingers against yours as she hands you a drink. The faint spark of magic you send in response—a subtle flicker of warmth at her wrist that makes her eyebrow arch in interest. She teases you with her words, her tone low and syrupy, while you meet her challenge with coy smiles and the occasional playful hex—minor spells to warm her glass or dim the candlelight whenever her smirk grows too smug.

“You’re being particularly bold tonight,” she murmurs, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her blue eyes bore into yours, her lips curving into that slow, deliberate smile that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And you’re enjoying it,” you shoot back, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass idly. A soft pulse of magic flickers from your touch, making the ice cubes inside melt slightly faster than they should.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “Perhaps,” she allows, her voice rich with amusement. Under the table, her hand brushes up your thigh, the faint static of her magic dancing across your skin. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed your little tricks.”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, though you mask it well. “Oh, those?” you say casually, tilting your head as if bored. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

Her laugh is low and dangerous—the kind of laugh that makes your breath hitch. “Careful, darling,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “Keep this up, and I might forget to be gentle.”

The flicker of heat in her voice makes your control slip for just a moment. The candle on your table flares slightly before settling, its light casting flickering shadows that seem to dance to their own rhythm. Agatha notices, of course. She notices everything. Her smirk grows as she leans back in her chair, swirling her wine glass lazily as though savouring her victory.

The tension between you builds all night—an invisible thread pulling tighter with every lingering glance, every casual brush of magic exchanged between you. The air feels electric, charged with unspoken desire and the potent power both of you wield so effortlessly.

When the server comes by to ask if you want dessert, Agatha doesn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll take whatever’s at the top of the list to go,” she says smoothly, standing with a grace that’s almost otherworldly. She extends a hand toward you, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Shall we?”

—

The walk home is a blur. The cool night air does little to temper the heat between you, and every step feels like an eternity. You feel the subtle hum of her magic brushing against yours—a silent challenge you can’t help but answer with a flicker of your own. Her hand slides to the small of your back as she guides you up the steps to the door, and the moment you step over the threshold, all pretence of restraint vanishes.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Agatha’s lips are on yours—hungry, urgent, filled with the fire she’s been stoking all night. You barely have time to gasp before she pushes you back, your spine hitting the wall with a soft thud as her hands pin yours above your head. Her kiss is relentless, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as her nails dig lightly into your wrists. Your knees weaken under the sheer force of her need.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely mad, teasing me, pushing me..." she growls against your lips, her voice rough and breathless. “Did you think I’d let your little games go unanswered? You should know me better than that.”

Before you can respond, she sweeps you into her arms with effortless strength and carries you toward the bedroom. You let out a startled sound as she tosses you onto the bed with surprising roughness, her smirk wicked as she towers over you. Her magic swirls in the air, palpable and electric, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The fire in her eyes sends a thrill racing through your body.

Agatha wastes no time. With a wave of her hand, your clothes begin to peel away, each piece tugged free with deliberate precision. The fabric slides off your skin as though it has a mind of its own, her magic coaxing and caressing every inch of you it touches. You shiver under the sensation, your breath hitching as her power leaves you bare before her. Her smirk deepens as her eyes rake over you, dark with desire and satisfaction.

“You look absolutely devine like this,” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. Her hand grazes your cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way her magic wraps around you—tight, commanding, and impossible to resist. “Completely at my mercy.”

She climbs onto the bed with the grace of a predator, straddling you as her hands press firmly against your shoulders. Her lips crash down onto yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, her teeth scraping against your skin as her nails rake down your arms. The soft flicker of her magic tingles where her hands don’t reach, adding an intoxicating edge to every touch.

You arch beneath her, your own magic surging in response, flickering like fire across her back as your hands grip her waist. She lets out a low, guttural sound that sends heat straight to your core, her lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck. Her teeth nip at the sensitive skin there, and the faint spark of her magic sears against you, making you gasp and clutch her tighter.

“Getting bold again, are we?” She teases, her voice breathless but dripping with amusement as she presses her weight into you, pinning you firmly to the bed.

You barely manage a breathless laugh, your lips brushing against hers as you whisper, “Would you want it any other way?”

Her answering growl is all the warning you get before her lips claim yours again, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat, power, and the relentless pull of her touch. Every brush of Agatha’s lips against yours setting off sparks that race down your spine. Her hands roam freely now, trailing from your shoulders to your sides, exploring every curve and hollow with a possessive kind of hunger. Her lips find your neck again, and the sharp scrape of her teeth leaves you gasping, your fingers tangling in her hair to pull her closer.

“Such a tease,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with amusement. Her hands slide lower, her touch firm and deliberate, and the heat pooling in your core intensifies. You shiver as her fingertips trail over your thighs, brushing teasingly close to where you crave her most. When her hand finally cups you, the gasp that escapes your lips is enough to make her smirk against your skin.

Agatha doesn’t stop. Her fingers press just right, her magic thrumming faintly against you, adding an intoxicating edge to her touch. Your breaths come faster, your body arching into her as her lips return to yours in a kiss so heated it leaves you dizzy. She pulls back, hovering above you, her lips curled into a smug, satisfied smile as she brushes stray strands of hair from your face. Her own breathing is ragged; her normally pristine control frayed at the edges in a way that makes her look even more devastatingly beautiful.

You barely manage to form words between pants. "I... I want more tonight. I need more.”

Her eyes darken at your admission, a flicker of surprise mingling with the raw desire that’s already written across her face. She leans in closer, her lips ghosting over yours as she whispers, “Are you sure?” Her tone is soft, but the hunger beneath it is unmistakable. She’s been holding back, waiting until you were ready, but it’s clear how much she wants this.

Rather than answering with words, you pull her into another heated kiss, pouring every ounce of need and certainty into it. Her lips crush against yours, her hands sliding up your body as the kiss deepens, growing more fervent by the second. She groans into your mouth when your own hands begin to explore, trailing down her sides with deliberate curiosity. When your fingers brush between her legs and find a firm bulge beneath the fabric of her suit pants, you freeze.

Your wide-eyed gaze snaps to hers, startled by what you hadn’t expected. She pulls back slightly, her smirk widening as she takes in your reaction, her eyes glittering with amusement and pride. “Did you think I’d wait to put it on after the way you just kissed me?” She teases, her voice low and sultry.

“Oh,” you breathe, momentarily lost for words, “I love magic.”. Then curiosity takes over, your hand exploring the unfamiliar sensation, gently pressing and teasing. The way Agatha’s lips part, a soft moan escaping, sends a thrill through you. Her hips twitch under your touch, and it clicks—you realise she can feel everything.

Her moans grow sharper as your hand strokes the bulge through her pants, and her forehead falls to yours, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” she groans, her voice trembling with restraint.

You smirk, feeling emboldened by the way she’s unravelling under your touch. “I really, really love magic,” you murmur, your tone dripping with mischief.

Her answering laugh is low and guttural, a sound that sends heat racing through your veins. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her magic sparking faintly against your skin as her control slips.

When she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your skin burning with anticipation as she leans back and stands. Her eyes never leave yours; the promise in them is enough to make your pulse race. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she clicks her fingers, and in an instant, her body is engulfed in a swirling haze of purple smoke. It lingers for only a heartbeat before dissipating, leaving her standing before you completely bare—except for the deep violet strap now secured to her hips.

“Ready for more?” She asks, her voice low and velvet-smooth, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips as she steps toward you.

You nod, your breath catching as she climbs back onto the bed. Her hands glide over your thighs, parting them gently as she settles between your legs. The heat of her body against yours is electrifying, her magic humming faintly where her skin brushes yours.

Agatha’s hands find your hips, her grip firm yet tender as she lines herself up with practiced precision. Her gaze meets yours, her smirk softening into something darker, more intimate. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she murmurs, her voice a low purr.

Her fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you steady as she takes her time, letting the anticipation build as her body moves closer to yours. Agatha’s gaze never wavers as she presses forward, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you all the time you need to adjust. The initial stretch draws a gasp from your lips, and her grip on your hips tightens, grounding you with her steady touch. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “You’re doing so well.”

Her pace remains measured, her hips rocking in shallow, careful movements. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you feel the tension in her body as she fights to hold back, letting you catch your breath and find your rhythm.

But restraint has never been Agatha’s strong suit—not when it comes to you. It doesn’t take long before the careful control begins to slip. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and urging her on with breathless gasps and moans that spur her to move faster, deeper, and harder. The moment she senses you’re ready for more, any pretence of caution vanishes.

“Fuck, doll, you’re perfect,” she growls, her voice rough and thick with desire. Her hips snap against yours with a growing urgency, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat and movement. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with the symphony of gasps, moans, and her ragged breaths in your ear.

Her name tumbles from your lips like a prayer, and Agatha responds with a low, guttural sound, burying her face in the curve of your neck as she drives you higher. Her teeth graze your skin, her nails pressing into your thighs, and every thrust sends sparks racing down your spine. You lose yourself in her—her strength, her heat, the raw passion she pours into every movement.

“God,” she groans, her voice heavy with awe and lust. “You feel… incredible.”

Her pace grows erratic, and she moves like a woman possessed, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. When your hands clutch at her shoulders, your nails dragging across her back, she lets out a sharp gasp, her hips stuttering for a brief moment before resuming with even more intensity.

You can feel her magic surging, wild and untamed, spilling over in waves that leave you breathless. It’s all-consuming, pulling you under like a riptide. When the climax crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath her, her name a broken cry on your lips.

Agatha follows moments later, her hips slowing as her head falls to your shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.

When she finally lifts her head, her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she brushes a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “I told you teasing me was dangerous,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of smug amusement.

You laugh weakly, your hands still clutching her waist as you try to catch your breath. “And I’d do it all over again.”

Her laugh is low and rich, and she leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, her movements now gentle and languid. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her magic flickering faintly in her fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on your hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

With a sly smirk, she leans back, her fingers snapping once more. The faint glow of purple magic surrounds her, and in an instant, the strap is gone, replaced by an effortlessly regal floral robe that shimmers like liquid starlight. She stretches lazily, her eyes glinting with mischief as she looks down at you.

“Rest while you can,” she murmurs, her tone laced with promise. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

[twoflowers]

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees: Sanji x Reader

Read on AO3

Description: Sanji has been hard at work in the kitchen; you decide his stiff shoulders need a bit of attention. Predictably, Sanji is a mess. You didn't realize it would be quite this easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees. (SFW, suggestive)

Tags: Massage, nosebleeds (of course), light fdom, female reader, no use of Y/N, no description of reader, AND: (Sanji's constant need for validation of his cooking skills, Sanji's eternal need to be of use to the people around him, and Sanji's fantasy of being a fairytale knight kissing the hand of a beautiful queen he has pledged undying loyalty to. This man is a dork, people!)

Word count: 1276. Something short and sweet while I work on a longer fic based on a prompt by @mere-mortifer

Give this video a thumbs up if this man should actually get a massage in part 2!

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees

Sanji startles when you put a hand on his shoulder, not because he didn't sense you behind him (he could never fail to notice you entering a room, has been feeling pleasant, anticipatory prickling on his scalp and the back of his neck since you entered the kitchen), but because you've never touched him like this before. An occasional brush of arms, sure. A slightly more frequent brush of fingers, absolutely. He only seems to lose his grip on dishes when he's handing them to you, which is by complete coincidence. 

But your hand is firmly on his shoulder, fingers settling above his collarbone even when he turns to look at you.

“May I make anything for you?” He asks automatically. He carefully avoids looking at your hand in case you're touching him by accident - best not to remind you.

You smile fondly. “After tonight's dinner, I don't think I could eat anything else if I tried. It was excellent.”

Sanji can already feel his knees weakening. Excellent: now there's a good word, a perfect word, that he'll hold onto for later. 

“I'm so glad you think so. I thought of you especially while making it.”

“You say that to all the ladies.”

“It's true.”

Your hand is still on his shoulder. You tighten it a bit, perhaps appreciatively, perhaps condescendingly. He isn't sure which option he likes best.

“I brought my plates back down.” You gently set them in the sink with your other hand, and Sanji immediately picks up his sponge again. He doesn't know when he dropped it. 

“I'll get them done right away,” he stutters. “You're sure you don't want anything? A nightcap? Some tea? - I have a wonderful hibiscus from our last time on shore that would pair nicely with-”

“Sanji…” The quirk of your lip makes it certain: you are condescending him. A small shudder racks his shoulders.

“Mm?” His eyes flicker back and forth from you to the dishes. 

“You're working too hard,” you squeeze sharply at his shoulder, and he jumps at the pain. He's biting his lip when he finally makes eye contact, cheeks already starting to flush.

“See? Your muscles are so stiff.” You move behind Sanji, slipping your other hand up his back and to his opposite shoulder. You dig your thumbs into the muscles bracketing his spine, and he jerks forward toward the sink as if pulled by an invisible force. “Does that hurt?”

“You could never hurt me,” he breathes. 

“Oh?” You tighten your grip, thumbs poking deeply into his stiff back and stroking upwards to his neck. Hard, firm pressure. 

Sanji’s hands reach out to grip the edge of the sink. The sponge falls forgotten into soapy water. His knuckles are white, arms trembling. “Nothing… you do to me could ever hurt me.” His voice is wavering in a delicious way. “Even if it’s painful.”

You hum thoughtfully, dipping one of your thumbs under the collar of his shirt. Skin swipes against skin, and Sanji lets out a whine. 

“We can’t have our cook in anything less than peak condition, can we?” You mumble, still thumbing his soft skin. 

Sanji lets out something halfway between a gasp of pleasure and a laugh of disbelief, hands clenching still tighter.

“We need you healthy,” your hands move down his back, resting just under his shoulder blades. “I need your cooking.”

Somehow, that’s what breaks him. He arches forward with a groan, shoulders shaking.

“Let me help you relax,” you offer. “How about a massage?”

One of Sanji’s hands shoots from the sink to under his nose. He audibly swallows; blood dribbles down his fingers as he pulls his hand away. He nods weakly.

“What was that?” You can’t help but prod, not when he’s this vulnerable. Sometimes you feel like Sanji is a big bruise that you can’t help but poke at.

He nods again. Your hands instantly find his waist, thumbs stroking circles through his suit jacket.

“Use your words.”

“Please. Anything.”

“Such good manners,” you coo. You slip your hands away from Sanji, savoring the way his body freezes in anticipation. You take a lace handkerchief from the counter and gently cup his chin, turning his face towards you.

He looks so small, curling forward like he can’t trust his knees to hold him upright. His face is an impressive shade of red, almost as dark as the blood dripping over his plush, bitten lips. His eyes, surprisingly, aren’t as gleaming and heart-shaped as they usually are around you. 

You can’t help but grin at having finally caught him so off-guard. His eyes become wide, almost frantic, as you swipe a thumb over his chin. There you are. Finally, finally, I’ve reached underneath.

You hold his face more firmly and bring the towel up to clean him, but he flinches. Not away from you- you have a feeling he couldn’t move away if he tried.

“I don’t want to stain it,” he all but begs. “It was… I was planning on using it for plating your evening tea.”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” It’s blatant, obvious teasing, but Sanji’s eyes droop miserably nonetheless. 

“Here we go…” You wipe the handkerchief under his nose. Blood saturates lace, and Sanji’s eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

When you’re done, you pull away and fold the cloth carefully. Sanji watches in equal parts confusion, misery, and awe. When you tuck it into your pocket, Sanji gasps, another trickle of blood falling onto his lips.

“I just finished cleaning you up,” you scold. 

Sanji’s lip quivers from the humiliation, but you quickly lean forward and place your lips under his nose. It’s barely a kiss. You pull away shortly after, tongue darting out to taste his still-warm blood. 

Sanji drops to his knees so hard you hear bone hit wood. His shaking hands grasp one of yours, pulling it to his lips: no contact, just puffs of hot, frantic breath. One knee up, and he’d look like a soldier being knighted by his queen. 

“May I?” He’s trembling. He almost looks like he’s salivating. Your hand is small in his, but his are so much softer, skin scrubbed down from washing dishes, still red-tinged from the sink’s hot water.

You nod, and he gasps into the first kiss. His lips linger on the back of your hand, wet and bloody. You flip it over, and he moans, kissing your palm and trailing up your inner arm. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching for the faintest hint of displeasure. 

“Sanji?”

He immediately pulls away, breathing hard, still tentatively holding your hand. 

“Yes?” He looks ready for any command. Blood is smeared across his face and up your arm. You didn’t realize it would be quite so easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees, but you should have expected as much.

“The goal was to make you more comfortable. You look like you’re hurting your knees.”

Sanji shakes his head with enough ferocity that his bangs are knocked out of place, almost covering his other eye. “I could never complain about being allowed this.” 

He looks at your arm with some panic, then begins to wipe the blood away with his own shirtsleeve. 

“Sanji. Stand up.”

He obeys immediately.

“We are going to go to my quarters,” you say. 

He nods along dumbly. 

“And you are going to lie on my bed.”

His face flushes a brilliant red.

“And I’m going to give you an incredible massage.”

He swallows, swaying forward on his feet. You take the cue to grab him by his tie and lead him down the hallway, dishes long forgotten.

[dernier-mystere]

! SPOILER WARNING FOR 2.5 UPDATE! READ WITH CAUTION ! summary: the yaoqing trio returns back to the yaoqing, though things are a little different, being an alchemist in the alchemy commission, you receive the instructions and diagnosis from the cauldron master of the luofu, lingsha, about jiaoqiu's condition and what needs to be prepared for him and his treatment plan. despite being someone who worked a few times with the healer, you find yourself assigning treatments to him for once, despite his stubbornness and negligence when it came to his own health. pairing: jiaoqiu x alchemist!foxian!reader (afab) warnings: slight gore, injury descriptions word count: 3.4k a/n: how are we feeling jiaoqiu fans? a mess? :,) me too <3 so we need some comfort yes <3 the idea is based on an idea oc that was an alchemist and as the xianzhou yaoqing is mostly foxians, it makes sense right? hope you enjoy it <3 sorry for the medicinal rambling too! sorry if this may seem ooc, I feel so rusty with writing these days... ^^; I plan to write some proper fluff, I apologise this isn't lovey dovey, if anyone has suggestions please send them please support me by following or sharing! it's much appreciated! <3 twitter/x: @derniermystere ao3: Dernier_Mystere

The diagnosis was almost painful to read, you knew the trio was reckless, and a part of you thought it would be the Merlin’s Claw that would come back with the injuries, not Jiaoqiu. Even Moze who lingered in the shadow of the General had his incident report of injuries, most of the events that had occurred on the Luofu remained on the hush, so unfortunately, it left you and numerous other healers in great distress when the commission received the outpatient details and care instructions for the pink-haired foxian. Toxins in the wounds have caused surrounding flesh to decay and atrophy… acute shock from severe blood loss…? Disturbed blood circulation from Tumbledust results in disturbed blood circulation, massive internal bleeding, neurological atrophy and optic neuropathy, leading to… blindness. These were just a few lines written in his injury reports, you felt your eyelids flicker in concern at the words, each description made your lips crease further into a frown, your heart wavering as you could only imagine the pain he would’ve struggled with in that short period, not only ingesting a lethal amount of Tumbleweed but also baring the injuries sustained by the Borisin Warhead, Hoolay. Not to mention there were found traces of Lupotoxin still present in his bloodstream, in short, he danced on the thin line between life and death, a second too late, and he would have died an agonising death.

As you sat in the cool room of your examination office, the rhythmic ticker a counterpoint to the steady hum of the medical equipment in the room still trying to convince yourself how Jiaoqiu remained in such good spirits, and oddly with a good appetite despite his situation… his calmness and sly exterior made you fear the worse, after all, he hid a lot of his emotions, using his fox-like smile as a mask to pretend all was fine, even if inside he could have been begging for a semblance of hope. Your e/c gaze flickered up to the Foxian who hummed softly, sitting on the examination table with a Gaiwan* in his hands, as he curiously took in a whiff of the scent of the tea, swirling it occasionally in his hand as he tried to depict what herbs were in it. “Not much to say honestly, I feel quite fine besides the fact, I have been told not to eat spicy food… it’s truly a torturous treatment,” his voice was calm, yet the mention of not being allowed to eat his favourite food made him click his tongue, one of his long ears flicking in annoyance, “But, other than that, I am quite alright,” 

Your eyes squinted as you observed him talking to the pot plant in the corner of your examination room while you were seated on the other side of him, yet… you felt your insides soften that, he was still adjusting to his new condition after all. “Master Jiaoqiu, you know ingesting amounts of spicy food will only increase inflammation of your wounds.” You spoke softly, choosing not to comment further that he was talking to the plant rather than yourself. Jiaoqiu’s ears flicked in your direction rapidly, as he quickly adjusted himself to face the direction your voice came from, acting as if he knew the whole time you were seated there, it made you softly giggle in amusement as you slowly lit a stick of Dreambranch Incense in the office, in hopes of providing calmness to the mind during his routine follow up examination.  

“You always say you’re quite alright to avoid unnecessary long appointments, who dropped you off today? Was it the Merlin’s Claw or Moze?” You teased, prepping the small station beside him with all the necessary tools and treatment needs. Jiaoqiu’s tail flicked in annoyance as he crossed his arms, followed by a tiny pout on his lips, “I will have you know, no one dropped me off, Thank you.” His tone was almost childish and petty, “I came as instructed by the Cauldron Master of the Luofu, nothing more than a routine check-up.” He clarified, yet the creases in his brows seemed to convince you further that someone made him actually arrive at his scheduled appointment. “For a healer, Master Jiaoqiu… you should always look after yourself before treating others.” You commented, your fluffy tail swaying behind you in amusement as you spoke, enjoying the small amount of petty banter with the Foxian healer who had left the field a while ago now. Being a long-life species, a mere few years seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, but when one formed friendships or any kind of relationship when they left or moved on, it felt as if they had left for centuries, this was no different to Jiaoqiu. His sassy nature and his usual greeting with a cunning smile were oddly something you missed, but deep down, you knew the losses on the battlefield tore and ate away at his heart, leaving nothing but emptiness, a path of Nihility to creep in. Some days, you found yourself sitting on the stairs of the commission, looking at the fake night sky of the Yaoqing, wondering if your research and treatments meant really nothing in the end. Countless patients slipped between your fingers like sand, no matter how hard you tried to grab the delicate granules, it would still slip through. The many nights where you prayed to Lan or any aeon to hear your pleas and silent begs to help a young patient that was slowly succumbing to the effects of Mara, the way their limbs twisted un-naturally, root-like appendages growing from his body like a deformity as they slowly lost their mind day-by-day, yet none of them cast their gaze on you or your pleads… they always replied in a numbing silence. You felt his pain… you sympathised with his feelings for those who were lost in battle… You could treat a thousand patients, but what was the point if they returned to the battlefield and lost their lives in the end… was their sacrifice in vain? These were the many questions that went through your mind on a daily, and something you assumed most alchemists thought. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you shook your head to dismiss the darkening thoughts, you forced yourself to read over the letter submitted by Lingsha. As written in his treatment plan, you were to clean his wounds with Pathovore bugs, before applying liberal amounts of medication and dress them up firmly. As well as take a deeper examination of his blindness and relay any suggestions to her for possible treatments of his blindness. “Well, I know you want this to be done quickly, so I will start with the treatment of the wounds, Master Jiaoqiu, then if possible, I would like to examine your eyes…?” You asked hesitantly, your h/c ears pinning back against your head as you cautiously asked him, you honestly didn’t know why you were nervous, it was your job… but he had only recently just lost his vision, was it a touchy subject? Or maybe would flat-out refuse and say it was nothing.  

Jiaoqiu simply remained silent as he continued to hold on to the delicate clay cup, he gave the tea one last sip before he gently pressed the edge of his hand along the surface of the table to confirm he could safely place his cup upon it, “Why are you concerned, Y/N? it’s your job after all. Do what you need. For once, I am simply the patient, and you’re my healer now, are you not?” He spoke up, turning to face in your direction, though you could hear the slight hesitation laced in the last few syllables of his words but you slowly nodded in reply, not that he could see it. 

The initial examination was rather simple, you had to look over his wounds, the deep lacerations on his chest, the state of his collarbone, checking him for any signs of Lycanthropic symptoms which came in the forms of excessive hair growth, elongation of the canine teeth, hostility (namely to Foxians) and a heightened increase of Lupitoxin which are evident in a blood rage. Further examination of his red blood cell, Platelets and the protein count in his plasma, to gauge how well his blood would coagulate over time, while the effects of consuming Tumbledust has significantly lowered the count, he was slowly making progress as there were some improvements. While it wasn’t much, it was better than none… 

“So far, you seem to be on the road of recovering… slow, but I am sure we can get there eventually, there has been a minimal increase in your plasma counts, and platelets, but not much to say you can return to handling sharp objects… I am hoping you’re not, Master Jiaoqiu, and you have no signs of Lycanthropy so that rules out any further conclusion of you becoming a borisin.” You explained, all while scribbling on his patient forms that would be sent back to Cauldron master Lingsha, and further approval by Head Alchemist on the Yaoqing, Yingyue. “With this, I would like you to be placed on a higher dose of anti-inflammatories, to help reduce the swelling in your wounds. That, or need I remind you that you are not to ingest spicy foods, Master Jiaoqiu.” You slowly raised a brow at him as he turned to you, pulling out his fan that was underneath his alchemy commission uniform that he had removed so you could treat his injuries. He delicately fanned himself a few times, before hiding his lips behind the coloured feathers. 

“I would never betray the doctors’ words, no knives or spicy food here. Are you insinuating that your patient ingested spicy foods? Y/N you wound me… I would never,” He stated with a cunning smile pulling at his lips behind that fan, his tail swaying behind him as he took in the results of his examination. “But is it really my fault that Moze had hotpot, I couldn’t turn down such a request, even Feixiao was there.” He soon added, nodding his head innocently as his ears twitched in your direction. 

“So you did have Spicy food, is that what you're telling me?” You pressed, raising a brow as he kept fanning himself, concealing his smile. 

“I never said that, I just said that Moze might have offered it to me. But as such a good patient, I never touched a drop. I instead had to sit and watch my so-called friends enjoy a hotpot in front of me, it was quite cruel, really…” His fluffy ears drooped down, as he dramatically acted as if it had taken a toll on him that he couldn’t have some. Your expression fell into a deadpanned glare as he kept innocently fanning himself, humming all innocently, you knew that this sly foxian had made the hotpot himself and threw the blame at Moze to get off any kind of lecture. You feigned a sigh in defeat as you allowed him to win at his little game, “Alright, whatever the patient says… but know your slight increase of white blood cells, and redness on your laceration tells me otherwise,” You simply pointed out as you began working on removing the now loosened bandages around his shoulders and chest, you had seen your fair share of injuries and wounds, but the deep claw marks along his chest with lingering parts of decaying flesh seemed to leave a deep pang in your heart… reading about his injuries were bad enough, but seeing them in person was just as bad. 

The audacity he had as he simply hummed in reply and with a nonchalant shrug, “I have no idea what you’re insinuating here, doctor,” He added, placing his fan down to reveal that sly fox-like grin, as he lifted his head proudly, more so that you could work on his wounds better. But upon sensing your concern with his wounds, Jiaoqiu slowly fell into silence as he turned away, “This is nothing. I can handle this, there is no need to look at me with… pity.” 

You felt an all-familiar annoyance stir inside you as if small flicking flames lapped at the insides of your chest as your movements slowed down, “It isn’t pity… it was concern Jiaoqiu when the incident reports were handed to us, it was worrying… especially when there was no news or context from the Luofu. I knew something was covered up, and it involved Hoolay, something for sure went wrong… it may not be my place to ask what happened, but… You shouldn’t bare yourself to a wolf's fangs… and ingest Tumbleweed… even if you had a plan.” you whispered, gripping the bundle of bandages in your hands that you had removed, “You could have died, then what-” 

“I would have died fulfilled and content, Y/N.” He cut her off, a heavy sigh ruminating from his chest as he still refused to face you entirely, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he refused to accept your concern for him. 

“Would you really say that?” You pressed, your shoulders slouching as you continued to remove the last of the bandages to fully observe the wound in its entirety. Yet unlike before, you weren’t phased, instead, your heart simply felt like it was crumbling at his words. However, Jiaoqiu remained silent when you pressed him, his ears folding back a tad, it was a sign that you were right in some way. Despite the deafening silence, you continued to work on him, applying the Pathovore Bugs onto the rotting parts of his wounds, all while she delicately ran her scalpel over the unhealthy flesh to promote excess skin growth. Jiaoqiu grunted softly, leaning back onto his arms as he tried to push himself through the uncomfortable sensation, he didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, even though he was the one knocking on death's door. Yet his stubbornness to admit anything or the fact that for once he required treatment was unyielding, even when he was in pain. 

The silence continued to hover between them, once playful banter turned to a darkened cloud of tension, but, Jiaoqiu managed to face Y/N once more, parting his lips as he tried to find the words to say something, “Why do you care so much. Don’t they say laying your life out on the path of the hunt is a blessing…?” He managed to whisper out, his voice almost weak and one could even say vulnerable. Y/N glanced up, but unlike the look of annoyance or a frown, she offered him a compassionate gaze, “We are both healers, different kinds sure, but in the end, we are here to help those in need. I know you have lost many patients, as have I… I may not have been through or seen what you have on the Front Lines… but we share the same burdens of what we do is the right thing…” Your voice was soft, yet anyone could hear the way your words seemed to break through the ragged breaths you took in as you tried to formulate each word with sincerity, “But… we… no, you shouldn’t allow yourself to go through such measures… General Feixiao is already strong on her own, and your patient can only go as far as they can if their healer is also healthy, I have seen too many people die over nothing to claim they did so in the name of The Hunt… but it felt like they were throwing themselves away.” 

You gently removed the bugs, placing them in a glass beaker as you kept talking, “As I said… I don’t know what happened on the Luofu… but I know, you shouldn’t have risked yourself at such a high stake. There is always an alternative, another way to do things, picking the dangerous path isn’t always the right way.” You whispered, head now falling downwards as your ears drooped once more. You had seen so many soldiers come back from the battlefields injured and proclaiming proudly that if they died, they did so for The Aeon Lan, but, it more so felt like they were throwing themselves at the denizens of Abundance without another thought of a better strategy. Y/N slowly bit on her bottom lip as she continued with the treatment by applying liberal amounts of the ointment onto his wounds, before securely wrapping them up in bandages. 

During the quiet moment as Y/N worked, Jiaoqiu found himself sighing once more, shaking his head as his expression softened slightly to that of contentment. “You might have been right, I could have found another way… but I made it, did I not?” He replied in a lighter tone, even if you swatted his side with the flick of your fluffy tail, “You’re just as reckless as the Merlin’s Claw, she is rubbing off on you. You know… there would be a lot of people upset if you had died… I am sure even Moze would be upset in his way… you may have been fulfilled as you say, but what about the others that care for you?” you added, making sure that each one of his wounds was fully covered, before you soon sat back in your chair, your mind also wanted to add ‘what about me?’ yet, you didn’t. The Foxian offered you a sad smile, as he turned to the direction of the pot plant, “You’re not wrong, Y/N.” He reluctantly whispered, his voice holding a sense of vulnerability yet again, each word spoken like a prayer, with an ear twitch he turned back to you, this time with a more genuine smile.

“I am sure you would have been deeply hurt. To think during your training you said you hated me and my spicy food you could smell from a mile away…” His demeanour shifted to his usual self, sly and jabbing, which seemed to stir you up, evident as your tail swished around in annoyance as you finished up with his wounds, giving him the space he needed to change back into his clothes. “Stop being snarky… you seriously need to take better care of yourself.” You huffed as you turned to clean your instruments, all while he resumed fanning his delicate face once more, his soft pink hair flowing with each motion of his fan as he continued that same mocking smile. “I know. I can’t promise anything.” He hummed, for once he spoke truthfully, “But, I will do my best, I have no guarantees.” 

“That's all I wanted to hear, Jiaoqiu.” Your shoulders eased up and relaxed at his words, her heart feeling ever so lighter. 

“You know, you dropped the formalities halfway, this is quite intimate, Y/N, I am almost flattered, after many years and now you call me by my name and not Master Jiaoqiu,” As usual he tried his best to get under your skin, still calmly fanning himself. He expected you to retaliate or shoot back another snarky comment, yet you did something that surprised him… You gently hugged him, wrapping your arms around his lower torso to avoid touching his wound, as much as he wanted to open his eyes in surprise, the Foxian instead felt his expression melt into a soft fondness, one that wasn’t all that often seen. “You were that worried?” He finally admitted, moving one of his hands to delicately brush against your back soothingly. 

“Just promise me you will be more careful next time,” you whispered faintly, near one of his long ears that twitched at your words, his tail swaying side-to-side. 

“I can’t guarantee anything… but, if I get hugged like this, I might consider it.” He purred, still fanning the two of you with his fan, blissfully unaware of the edge of the fan catching a lit with the sizzling of fire lapping at the tips. Jiaoqiu quickly moved the fan to stop the fire from continuing with a silent huff of annoyance, “Maybe we could even go for some hotpot sometime?” 

You wanted to say he wasn’t allowed spicy food, but you were content from his words, you simply hoped that one day, he would take your words to heart, if not for your own sake, but maybe for those that were close to him…

[macabr3-barbi3]

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed. 

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh. 

Right over his head. 

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring. 

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you. 

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of. 

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him. 

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed  Val coming into a room. 

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants. 

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with. 

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“ 

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach. 

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 25]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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It is a beautiful Sunday morning at the Bronx Zoo - the sun is shining, the weather is warm, and there is hardly a crowd to speak of. Tourist season is over, and the school year has just started, so all the locals who would be here with their kids are otherwise preoccupied. Navigating through the pathways has been a breeze and there has been no one to block your view of the animals.

Another perk from the lack of patrons is the opportunity for a unique interaction at one of the exhibits Minnie was the most excited to visit.

“You has…you have very pretty fur,” Mouse whispers to the massive lowland gorilla that is mere inches from her face. There is a thick glass barrier between them, but you can’t help but feel a little bit nervous, especially with how the great ape has her full attention on your daughter. Large soulful eyes are focused on your little one as she gives compliment after toddler compliment. 

“It's a lot of colors and it looks really really soft,” Minnie continues on, nose practically smooshed flat against the glass. “I bets you gotta brush it lots. Mommy brushes my hair, but I can do it myself. Like a Big Girl.”

The gorilla responds by chewing on some leaves that she has in her hands. It is what she has been doing since she came down from the trees to sit right in front of you five minutes ago. This, of course, doesn’t deter Minnie at all and she asks, “Does your Mommy brush your hair, too?” 

As she has her imaginary conversation, you steal a glance at Matt.

After you learned about his senses, you thought joining you at the zoo would be torture for him. Even though the exhibits are kept clean, you know they must smell awful and there are loud birds screeching everywhere. It is completely different from the city noises he must be used to, and you even packed ear plugs and ibuprofen for if it became too much, but to your surprise, he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. 

Minnie has taken on her role as his Guide, excitedly explaining what each animal is and what they look like, to the best of her abilities - making you oh so proud. You’ve noticed that as your daughter takes in the sights, Matt will tilt his head minutely - his tell that he is intently listening to something. Occasionally, he’s asked a question - usually pointing to an animal Minnie did not describe and asking what it is. You’ve found lots of hidden creatures that way.

You cannot imagine what inputs he must be receiving from the gorilla in front of him. You know humans and great apes are closely related, but how does that come across to Matt? The smell must be different, but is he able to distinguish between her heartbeat and the heartbeat of someone observing her? Do her lungs sound human? 

Can he tell if she’s sick or well taken care of? Is that something he can determine in an animal he has no history with? 

He must sense you looking at him because he tilts his head towards you and grins. Your heart squeezes in your chest and your stomach does a sort of funny flip. 

He is so handsome and charming, and you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. You weren’t prepared to get into a physical relationship with Matt, but you don’t want to roll back on it. 

You like how touchy he has been all morning. It hasn’t been anything obscene or inappropriate, but his hand has found its way around your waist more than once. On the subway, standing in line, or even just watching the animals, if you were next to him, he’d wrap you up and pull you a little closer. His hand would rub up and down your side and each time you’d feel like a little picture-perfect family on an outing.

You haven’t kissed in front of Minnie, but you have both been sneaking them in - when you woke up, when you were making breakfast, when Mouse was preoccupied getting ready. 

You feel giddy and like you belong in a teen romance movie. This is something you haven’t had in such a long time - or ever really - and you don’t want to ruin it by overthinking.

You made a deal with yourself that morning - you were going to enjoy your trip to the zoo with your family and you were not going to overanalyze sleeping with Matt. It will be a tomorrow problem.  

Right now, you are going to soak in all the goodness that is happening - including the pleasant ache in your core from getting thoroughly fucked.

You break yourself out of your own head and take a small step, so you are properly beside Matt. You reach up and wrap your arm around his bicep, leaning into him a little as you ask, “Who would win in a fight - you or the gorilla?” 

“Oh, the gorilla,” he whispers back. “She’s all muscle and teeth. One good whack would easily break bone and even I’ve heard the stories about angry primates. I’m not that reckless.”

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling too much, then you lightly squeeze his arm and tease, “Exactly how reckless are you?”

You don’t realize the innuendo until the words leave your lips and then you can’t take it back. Matt’s grin only grows, and he ducks just slightly so he can nuzzle into your ear to purr, “would you like to find out?”

Your face heats up and you have to hide your face in his shoulder, so you don’t die from absolute embarrassment. He gently pulls his arm from your grasp so he can instead wrap it around you and hold you firm against him. He rocks you slightly and you conclude that yes, Matt is very much enjoying his time out at the zoo. 

In front of you, the gorilla stuffs the last of her leaves in her mouth, chewing slowly as Minnie babbles away about hair care. 

“..and if you braids it, it makes it super-duper wavy after,” she wisely tells her new friend, “You could be really poofy. Like a flower.” She pauses, then you watch her as she watches the great ape stand back up and start to walk away. You expect her to be sad, but instead, your sweet girl just calls out, “Okay, bye-bye, I love you!” before whirling around to beam up at you. 

“Can we go see the mices now?” she asks, all sunshine and rainbows. 

To your great amusement, Minnie is dead set on following the plan she made. She only wants to visit certain animals and she must see them in a certain sequence. She brought the map of the zoo you bought her all those months ago - the one she’s drawn all over and has practically memorized - and they are your marching orders. You and Matt are more than happy to follow her lead - especially because she does not want to see any of the birds, which saves you a lot of walking. 

“Let’s go to the Mouse House,” Matt agrees. 

You have to pull away from him to be able to walk and your little Mouse goes right for your hand so she can hold it. She has been extra good all day about holding your hand and staying by your side - loudly saying she’s a Big Girl and can follow all the rules. You’ve been very impressed with her determination and definitely plan to reward her for her behavior. 

Matt falls into line beside you as you begin to lead the way, lightly grabbing at your elbow. You feel a tad bad for taking up so much space on the path, but luckily there is no one around. 

“What did you think of the gorillas?” you ask as you make your way to the next exhibit. 

“They’re amazing!” Mouse says with the biggest little grin, “She was really big and pretty and soft and went…she went,” she proceeds to make soft little grunts like you imagine a monkey would make, but you didn’t hear the gorilla make any noises beyond chewing.

“She really liked you, huh?” Matt teases with a little hum, his own smile as large as his daughter’s. 

“She did!” Minnie absolutely preens, “She’s my favorite!” 

Every animal has been her favorite, but you do think, for the moment, the gorilla does take the cake. 

“You’re favorite, huh?” You muse, “I don’t know, I think the tiger was really cool.” The cat had been much larger and vibrantly colored than you expected, and you had been a little bit starstruck by the apex predator. You might just see if there are any tiger shirts in the gift shop.

“He was sleepy!” Minnie proclaims, and it is true - the tiger was enjoying a midmorning snooze.

“What about you, Matt, who has been your favorite?” 

He makes a show of tilting his head back and forth as he thinks, “My favorite? I liked the elephants - I didn’t expect them to be that large and using their noses like that is…unique.” 

“It’s called their trunk!” Mouse eagerly tells her father, repeating what the zookeeper told you. “They can use it…to… to …to… grab things and drink water!” To emphasize her point, she raises her free arm up to her face and mimics an elephant’s trunk waving around. 

“That is impressive,” he says, “can you do that with your nose?” 

Minnie halts, then screws up her face to try to wiggle her nose. She purses her lips and pushes them around, but she does not succeed in independently moving her cute little nose. She does not give up right away, proceeding with multiple attempts before declaring rather cheerily, “Nope!”

You both laugh at your daughter’s antics as you start walking again. As you get closer to your destination, your little one gets more and more excited - she takes bigger steps, and you can tell she wants to run towards the building. 

At first, she thought one giant mouse lived in the Mouse House, but you explained it held lots of little houses for different types of rodents. Now, you think, she is determined to make sure all her tiny brethren are happy in their homes. She takes her role as Mouse Princess very seriously, after all. 

Like the Congo Forest, the Mouse House has a scarce population of humans. You let go of your daughter’s hand once in the darkness of the building so she can run up to view the first set of new friends. Once she is thoroughly distracted and talking to the little creatures, Matt moves. 

He lets go of your arm to slip behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. You rub at his forearm as you pull your phone out - you don’t want to miss any cute moments of Minnie with her subjects. As you bring up the camera app, Matt nuzzles at your neck, placing a sweet kiss there. 

“Good day, so far?” He asks against you, and you can’t help but smile and duck your head a little. You aren’t used to affection, let alone public affection, and his attention makes you a bit dizzy. 

“So far, so good,” you whisper in response. To distract yourself from how solid Matt is against your back and how he’s practically wrapped around you, you start tapping at your phone to get it to focus in the low light. “Are you having a good time?”

He hums into your skin, then gives another kiss, “the best time. Doesn’t smell nearly as bad as I thought it would and the animals seem well taken care of.” 

“It’s AZA accredited,” you instantly chime, and he huffs against you. You did so much research about the zoo beforehand, so that you could answer any questions Minnie had. So far, she’s had zero. 

“I don’t know what that means.”

You angle your phone to get a picture of Minnie and the enclosure she’s looking into, and whisper back, “It’s like the board that makes sure the zoos are humane and everything is done properly.” 

He hums again, then buries his nose into the crook of your neck. You try to not shiver, but you do end up pressing back into his hold as you watch your daughter. You fall into a pleasant silence, swaying slightly in Matt’s arms, as Minnie moves between the different displays. She has no apparent interest in learning the types of animals she’s looking at - she goes right into talking to them. When she gets a little too far away, you gently guide Matt down the hallway, all while he stays wrapped around you. 

“I like your feetsies,” Mouse tells an elephant shrew, and you turn on your camera to record her interrogate the little creature. “How many toes do you have? I can…I see…I see three toes. Do you have three toes? I gots five. But they go in shoes. You don’t haves shoes. Where are your shoes?”

You and Matt follow Minnie all through the Mouse House for almost thirty minutes. You let her take her time - you are in no rush to go back out into the heat, and you want her to not only enjoy herself, but tire herself out. She’ll get a burst of energy after lunch, but by the time you leave for the day, you hope to be a zonked-out toddler. 

At the last of the exhibits, Matt gently nips at your throat before mumbling against it, “I have a surprise after this.”

You have no idea what he could possibly have up his sleeve, but whatever it is, it is making him start to grin and get a bit of cockiness to his voice. So, to tease him right back, you play dumb.

“After this?”

“After the Mouse House,” he confirms, squeezing you and rocking you in place. You start to smile at his teasing and let yourself enjoy it. 

You hum, then begin to trace your fingers over one of the hands on your hips as you question, “A surprise? After the Mouse House?”

“A surprise after the Mouse House.”

That, of course, gets Mouse’s attention. She whirls around, eyes going wide with toddler excitement as she asks, “A surprise?”

“After the Mouse House,” Matt repeats, a mix of pride and smugness in his words. You can tell he is enjoying this interaction and that funny feeling in your heart and stomach return. 

“Is it a pony?!”

You pull away from Matt just as he starts to laugh, and as you do Minnie hurries over to take your place. He scoops her up into her arms, and with all the fondness in the world, tells her, “No, it’s not a pony.”

She dramatically flops over his shoulders with a big pout, then, like it was all a joke, hurriedly moves to hug him around his neck and with pure toddler innocence tell him, “You’re better than a pony!” 

Always ready for their sweet moments, you snap multiple pictures as Matt hugs his daughter back tightly and you just barely hear him whisper back, “I think you’re better than a pony, too.”

As always, it takes him a few moments to release Minnie and set her back down. She instantly latches onto his hand and begins to shake it vigorously, “I wanna know the surprise!” 

Matt is quick to concede to her demands, “Okay, okay, sweetheart. Let’s go to the surprise.” 

You put your phone back into your purse so you can slip over to the pair and offer your arm to Matt. He takes it just above your elbow, and you start towards the exit of the Mouse House, Minnie skipping along on the other side of Matt.

You’ve not walked with Matt before where he is the one to lead you, but you are sure to be in step with him, so no one takes a second look. His cane is folded up and tucked into your purse, so you don’t think anyone would guess he is blind just by looking at him, but your anxiety tells you someone is always watching and one little slip up will have people questioning you. 

Once out in the sunshine, Matt directs you back towards the gorillas again. You are confused about what could possibly be back that way that you don’t already know about, but you trust him.

“For your surprise,” he says to Minnie as you walk, “you have to be quiet, okay? We can't be loud and attract other people because this surprise is a secret.”

That has you even more curious about what could possibly be going on, but you focus on your daughter’s reaction to the request. You know she knows what a secret is, but you don’t remember if you’ve ever asked her to keep a secret before.

Mouse’s free hand goes into her mouth as she thinks over Matt’s request, and you try to not gag. Her fingers must be covered in all sorts of germs, and you should have been more on top of sanitizing them. A nice lesson in hindsight.

Moments later, she drops her hand, and she looks up to Matt and squints suspiciously, “can Mommy know the secret?”

Pride streaks through you at her question and you might get a little bit teary eyed. She never fails to amaze you with how her mind works and what information she takes in. The fact she’s aware she shouldn’t keep secrets from you is probably the highlight of your week - Matt eating you out included.

“Of course, Mommy can know the secret,” Matt tells her instantly, “We should not keep any secrets from Mommy. It’s important she knows everything so she can keep us safe and happy.” 

As he says that, he squeezes your arm a little and you know he is talking about himself as well. You remember all the times he’s told you he doesn’t want to keep anything from you, and you know he’s telling the truth. He’s been very open with you about everything, even if it has taken some time for everything to rise to the surface. You don’t blame him for that at all - the things he keeps close to the chest are pretty important and you more than understand him not telling you on day one.

But he did tell you, and he has been honest about not being ready to divulge everything just yet, and that is what matters. 

“Mommy keeps us safe and happy,” Minnie mimics and you have a feeling that is going to be added to her repeated phrases.

“Mommy keeps us safe and happy,” Matt repeats, then adds, “Can we be quiet, though, so other people don’t know?” 

Mouse nods and you have a feeling that whatever Matt has planned is going to get her extremely worked up. 

You end up in a very secluded inlet, away from the main path, surrounded by trees, and part of you wonders if you are meant to be able to come to this spot. There is no one else around and you don’t know what sort of surprise Matt could possibly have that requires you to come here.

Your questions are answered only seconds later, when a friendly voice comes from above you.

“Hi, there!”

You jerk your head up, and hanging there upside down from a tree, is Spider-Man. 

Your daughter loses her fucking mind. 

It’s like it is in slow motion - Minnie gasps with her whole body before dropping Matt’s hand. She turns to latch onto his pants, instead, and begins to pull on them over and over with enough force you think she’ll rip them. You don’t know if she remembers that she’s supposed to be quiet or if she’s so excited she can no longer vocalize, but she starts to whisper-scream.

“Daddy, Daddy! It’s Spidey-Man! It’s Spidey-Man!!!”

You try to not go slack-jaw in your own amazement as the vigilante lets go of his web and drops to the ground right in front of your daughter, doing a backflip in the process. 

“That’s me!” Spider-Man declares, and he sounds way younger than you thought he would. “I heard it was your birthday, so I had to come and say ‘Hi’!” 

You rip your eyes away from the hero to stare at Matt and he looks like he is trying to not look smug as hell. You have no idea how he pulled this off - this is the real Spider-Man. The fake ones can’t hang from webs and sneak into zoos. 

Does he work with Spider-Man when he’s out as Daredevil? And did he actually request for the man to come say Happy Birthday to Minnie? Does that mean he knows who Spider-Man is behind the mask? And vice versa?

“It’s my birthday!” Minnie chokes out and she sounds like she is about to start crying. You know she loves the hero, but you did not think he would get such an intense reaction. You turn your gaze back to her, your own excitement growing in your belly.

“Happy Birthday, Minnie!” Spider-Man tells her in the cheeriest voice, before crouching down and throwing open his arms, “Do you want a hug?” 

He barely finishes getting the words out before Mouse is letting go of Matt to launch herself at him. He wraps her up in a hug and she just clings on. You want so badly to take a picture, but you respect that this is a secret meeting just for your baby. 

You’ll just have to commit every moment to memory.

Matt has let go of your arm, so you turn so you can grab onto his bicep again. You lean against him and let yourself grin like an idiot as you watch your daughter with her hero.

“Your Dad told me that you’re really smart and like to learn new things,” Spider-Man says to the top of Mouse’s head. You wonder exactly how much information about your family was exchanged, but that’s something you can review later. 

Minnie just barely nods against the man’s chest, and you can hear her start to talk, muffled against his suit, “I knows my ABCs and how to count ands I can do one plus one.” 

“You can do one plus one?!” 

“Elmo taughts me,” she explains in the sweetest and watery voice, “Its two.”

“That’s amazing,” Spider-Man tells her, “Keep watching Sesame Street, it has a lot of good lessons. Do you like Beaker and Dr. Honeydew from the Muppets? They were my favorites when I was little like you.” 

Minnie squirms against Spider-Man and you expect her to pull away, but apparently, she is just getting more comfortable, because she nuzzles back into him and goes, “Meep, Meep.” 

You laugh into Matt’s shoulder, overwhelmed with how sweet she is. Matt gently pulls his arm from you so he can yet again hold you close. You hand moves from his bicep to his chest, and you curl your fingers into his shirt, over his heart. You can’t tear your eyes away from your daughter to look at his expression, but you have a feeling it is a lot like yours.

“That’s right, ‘meep, meep, meep, MEEP,’” the vigilante does a good Beaker impression, causing a round of giggles. “Well, because you are so smart and your Dad is a pretty cool guy, I got you something I think Dr. Honeydew and Beaker would approve of.” 

Your eyes go wide at the statement, and you cannot believe what you heard - Spider-Man, the famous New York vigilante, got your daughter a birthday gift?

Apparently, Minnie can’t believe it either, as she pulls back just a little so she can look up at him, and asks in the tiniest voice, “A presents?”

“A present!” He explains, then, so fast you barely see him do it, he flicks out a hand and shoots a string of web up into the trees where he has been waiting. Then he pulls and a box comes flying back at him. He expertly catches it, and you can see it is wrapped in blue wrapping paper that has white sparkly snowflakes all over it - clearly Christmas themed. You don’t think Minnie cares at all, because when it is held out to her, her little brown eyes just get so big.

“For you! Happy Birthday!” 

Mouse looks back at you for permission and you quickly nod. She delicately takes the gift and once it is fully in her grasp, tears into it. As soon as it is free of its prison, she holds it up in triumph, “A mibo-scope!”

It is indeed a miniature microscope - at least that is the main picture on the box. You think it is one of those ‘Baby’s first science kit’ type things and you just know you are going to spend so much time over the next week hunched over it with Minnie. 

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Matt gently prompts and she instantly throws herself back into Spider-Man’s chest. She drops the box in the process, but the vigilante has lightning-fast reflexes and catches it before it hits the ground. He sets it aside before properly hugging your daughter again.

“Thank you, Spidey-Man! You’re…you’re the bestest! Bestest-bestest! I loves you!” 

“Aw, thank you! I love you, too!” 

There is a gentle pressure to the top of your head, and you realize Matt has turned his so he can press his lips there. You shuffle even closer to him, tightening your grip on his shirt. 

As you watch your daughter hug her favorite super-hero, you realize you have never been this happy before in your life. Everything in this moment is perfect. You would not change anything at all, and you do not think you would change anything that lead up to this moment of time. You wish and pray you could trap the day in a bottle and hold it in your heart forever. 

You and your precious Winifred Love are blessed that not only is Matthew Murdock a good man, but he is also a good father. 

---

a/n:

And that concludes Season 1 of 'and then I met you'!

Next, we are onto Season 2 and diving into the Sokovia Accords and how it will affect our perfect little family.

Special thanks to @ebathory997 for their help with information about the Bronx Zoo and special shout out to @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @she-likesorchids and @loveroftoomanyfandoms for all of their amazing support <3 You guys are amazing and I could not have written any of this without y'all.

--

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

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@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

[rexsjaigeyes]

A trio's tryst

Vax'ildan x female reader x Percy | NSFW, 18+

Words: 4k

Content: threesome, pegging, oral sex, slight voyeurism, overstimulation, cum swallowing (Percy does it), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, finger-fucking, multiple orgasms

A/N: just dropping this here while i'm still on hiatus 🙈 i'm not done with S2 yet, so this is more in-character for S1 Vax and Percy. also this is crossposted to AO3 if that tickles your fancy. enjoy 😌

You’re not sure how it came to this. In your foggy recollection, you believe it was a stupid little bet that started it all. But you’re not going to complain about the silver practically stolen from you due to your quick loss. Not when defeat means the slick slide of your strap-on inside Vax, and the heavy weight of Percy’s leer as he sits not too far away.

The inn Vox Machina chose for the night is not much better than the usual run-down, shithole joints the party has previously stayed at. With paper-thin walls and the reek of booze permeating nearly every hallway and room, it’s not the sexiest spot for a tryst like the one you’re having now. But even Percy doesn’t seem to mind the uncomfortable setting tonight. And Vax certainly has no complaints.

The half-elf’s tangled brown locks frame his head like a halo on the bed—the perfect complement to the way he holds your gaze, as if he’s unworthy of being touched by a deity like you. His face scrunches in pleasure, trying his hardest not to come undone already. Another steady thrust, and those breathy gasps of his that you adore so much start to grow in volume.

A smug chuckle snaps your attention to the stool on your left. The dim light of the room only illuminates the bed and one other wall. You only catch the glint of Percy’s glasses for a split second before his entire form disappears back into the shadows.

“Any louder, and the whole damn inn will know what we’re up to,” he says. Even with his face hidden from you, it’s clear Percy’s teasing words are only directed at you. He doesn’t bother to address Vax right now because he isn’t the one calling the shots tonight. “I suggest you keep him quiet, dear.” 

Faintly, Vax grumbles a curse beneath his breath, as if the gunslinger’s presence annoys him. But his frustration is only a charade. You all know how Vax occasionally enjoys the special brand of humiliation only Percy can dole out in his signature methodical fashion.

Percy didn’t mention how you should go about keeping Vax silent, but your mind already conjures various ways to do it. With a sly grin, you press one hand to Vax’s cheek, your thumb briefly brushing across his bottom lip.

“Open your mouth,” you whisper. He wastes no time in complying, his pupils somehow growing even larger as two of your fingers slide inside his mouth. “Now suck,” you demand.

Satisfaction takes root deep in your belly while Vax groans around your wet digits. With his immodest noises muffled now, your ears become more attuned to the sharp slap of skin on skin and the obscene slippery sound of Vax’s tight hole taking you deeper.

Percy’s clothes rustle nearby as he readjusts on the stool. You almost miss the soft grunt accompanied by a gruff “fuck” muttered from your left, but your senses feel hyper-aware now. Tingles run along your body with each measured thrust you make and the way Vax’s lean muscles begin to tense beneath you.

You’re getting tired—still slightly unaccustomed to the strength and stamina it takes to thrust a fake cock for this long. You slip your fingers from Vax’s mouth to make a determined path down his straining body. Sweeping past the hard planes of his chest, and then his stomach and hips, your fingers land along the base of his cock. Despite Percy’s previous instruction, he seems to revel in the choked cry that escapes Vax’s lips as you wrap your hand around his length.

“De Rolo,” Vax says through clenched teeth, “quit your giggling in the dark and come here.”

His words make both of you laugh, but you’re in silent agreement with Vax. If Percy doesn’t get his ass over to the bed and touch one of you soon, you’ll spend the rest of the night giving him the cold shoulder.

“As you wish, little bird,” Percy replies with a smirk while emerging from the darkness.

His slender frame towers over you from beside the bed, and he presses one hand to your hip, giving you the extra leverage you need to continue thrusting. Your stomach tightens when he wraps the other hand around Vax’s cock, mirroring the way you’re stroking it while his fingers slightly overlap yours in an intimate caress.

Vax rolls his eyes, although it’s hard to tell if it’s in annoyance or maybe from the pleasure coursing through him. “You know I hate when you call me that,” he argues with a less-than-convincing whine.

“Is that right?” Percy’s thumb lightly squeezes the head of Vax’s cock. Your breath hitches at the sight of his finger slowly swiping the precum beading from the tip. “It doesn't look like you hate it that much.”

Vax seems unable to respond, his fingers fisting the bedsheets and sweat starting to glisten across his chest. He writhes beneath you but still tries to meet your thrusts while bucking his hips up into the pair of hands on his length. Seeing him so vulnerable and desperate makes liquid heat pool between your thighs, and you briefly wonder if you could come from the sight of him alone.

Percy steals your attention, releasing your hip to grip the back of your neck and pull you into a bruising kiss. Your breath escapes your lungs in a whoosh, but you’re grateful for the rougher way he handles you. It’s a stark contrast to the way Vax usually worships you. But you know that Percy will only be as rough as you want him to be—and his calculating nature means he always knows exactly where you’ve drawn the line. 

He smiles against your lips when you pull away a little and gasp, trying to chase the breath he stole from your lungs. Between your thrusting and Percy’s wild affection, you’re sure you’ll suffocate before the night is over.

Percy hums in mocking contemplation as he looks back down at Vax. “He’s right on the edge,” he says, far too satisfied with each pathetically loud whine Vax makes as he tries to hold back his orgasm. “Let’s make him come, together.”

You nod, biting down on your lip as you thrust as deep as you can. It takes a decent amount of concentration to find the right combined rhythm of thrusting and stroking Vax’s cock at the same time. But you follow Percy’s lead, allowing him to guide your hand up and down Vax's shaft while you focus on thrusting a bit harder.

In your distracted state, you jolt when you feel Percy’s other hand slide up your body. You’re frankly jealous of how collected he seems right now, whereas you and Vax look like wild animals. But you also feel a fresh wave of arousal at how effortlessly he can affect both of you. Percy’s hand moves to gently massage your breasts. He takes his time to tease each nipple while Vax writhes with the force of his oncoming orgasm.

Without so much as a warning, Vax shudders and moans before spilling onto both pairs of knuckles and his own taut stomach. You mutter a curse under your breath at the sight of his pulsing cock, and you feel hypnotized as you spread a bit of his cum around his cock.

“Shit, Vax,” you say in slight disbelief, your voice breathy from how turned on you are. “You made quite the mess this time.”

A cute blush graces his cheeks in response, enticing a kiss from you before you carefully slide out of him. Rolling over on the bed, you undo the buckles of your strap-on and lazily throw it to the other end of the mattress. You expect the three of you to take a quick breather now, but a soft whimper draws your attention back to the pair of men. Percy hasn’t stopped touching Vax’s aching cock. He continues to stroke him at an even pace, causing Vax to tremble from the sensitivity.

“A-ah, please,” Vax cries out, his fingers gripping Percy’s wrist.

But you know that he secretly loves the overstimulation. That’s why he’s not using his strength to yank Percy’s hand away or scramble out of his reach. Instead, his comically pouty look gets directed at you, and Vax tries again to beg for something he hasn’t decided yet—either for mercy or for more.

“Use your words,” Percy snaps. His low growl sends shivers down your spine, even though the command is not for you. “What do you want, Vax’ildan?”

Vax gulps, closing his eyes and taking a second to collect himself before returning his needy gaze to you. There’s no mistaking who he’s speaking to when he whimpers, “I need more. Please let me taste you, darling.”

Anticipation lights a fire in your chest, and you’re itching to give Vax exactly what he wants. But you glance at Percy first, waiting to see if he’ll agree.

Percy grins at you, and you can see a devilish plan beginning to take shape in his mind. “You heard the man,” he says before giving you a nod of permission.

Eagerly, you crawl to the top of the bed and press a gentle kiss to Vax’s awaiting lips. He groans into your mouth, obviously desperate for the moment when your thighs settle along either side of his head. But as you begin to brace your hands against the headboard, Percy’s tut of disapproval cuts in.

“No, no,” he chides from behind you. “Turn around and face me instead.”

You turn above Vax’s increasingly impatient mouth, being careful not to accidentally kneel on his long hair, and wait to lock eyes with Percy before taking a proper seat. Vax’s slender fingers grip your hips near-painfully, but you feel satisfied knowing he’s looking forward to this as much as you are. Finally, Percy nods in approval, and it takes an insane amount of willpower to descend gently.

It’s ungodly how good Vax is at this. A shudder already racks through you as his tongue glides expertly along your clit. It’s when he gasps against your pussy that you realize why Percy wanted you in this position. Your eyes fly open—you barely even noticed how tight you had shut them seconds ago—and your stomach flips at the sight of Percy’s tongue tracing a leisurely path down Vax’s cock before fully taking him into his mouth.

Percy keeps eye contact with you while reducing Vax to a moaning mess against your cunt. He takes his time teasing and working Vax back up to a second orgasm. Vax, on the other hand, wastes no time devouring you. Even though he seems far too eager to make you unravel, his tongue still moves in measured strokes across your pussy. He knows exactly what pace and amount of pressure you prefer against your throbbing clit. And he relishes in the way your body reacts so easily for him.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, rocking your hips against his mouth with wild abandon. “Just like that…don’t stop, Vax.”

Your pleasure only seems to fuel the desperate whimpers and groans muffled against your cunt. If you hadn’t been in this same position with Vax before, you would have thought he’s only acting this way because of Percy’s skilled tongue. But you know how much Vax savors the taste and feel of you. More than that, he especially loves when you take control and grind down on his face however you like. He enjoys being used by you.

Percy slides his mouth off Vax’s length, using his hand to replace the sensation while he addresses you. “He’s going to come soon,” he says with a cocky grin, “and you’re close too. You better beat him to it.” His tongue and lips return to the tip of Vax’s flushed cock, resuming the unrelenting pace he set before.

Vax is immediately on the same page as Percy. He sets a laser-focus to your clit, sucking it into his mouth while holding your body down firm against him. He's determined to make you come first, and that thought alone causes you to writhe as the pleasure crests within you. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you watch Percy groan around Vax's cock, and it causes a chain reaction of moans and vibrations against each other's skin.

Your nails dig into Vax's chest, and your body shakes as your orgasm finally overtakes you like a tidal wave. It takes barely a second before Vax joins you, overwhelmed with the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head coupled with Percy practically deep-throating him. Vax grips you even tighter, and you almost feel bad that he's unable to see the delicious act of Percy swallowing every drop of cum that Vax gives him. He even makes a show of swiping any stray pearl beads and sucking it off his fingers.

You moan softly, going slightly limp against Vax before gathering your remaining strength to gently roll off him. Lying beside his quivering body, you run your fingers along his chest and snort in amusement when Percy does a few more teasing strokes of Vax's oversensitive cock.

“Oh, gods,” Vax whines. “Take it easy, Percival. I can’t take much more of your cruelty.”

“Alright,” Percy concedes, his voice sounding a little amused. “I'll have mercy on you.” He releases Vax and turns his attention to you, slowly crawling up the bed while pressing kisses all over your skin. He hums in delight before saying, “You both did so well.”

Percy continues caressing your thighs, moving higher to kiss your hips and then the soft swell of your belly. He remains below your chest, leaving ample room for Vax to kiss your neck while skimming feather-light touches across your breasts. They take turns whispering filthy praises to you, saying how beautiful you looked as you rode Vax's face.

They know exactly what they're doing with their honeyed words and reverent touches. Fortunately for them, it's working like a charm. Your body grows hotter under their affection, and soon you ache for so much more.

“Percy, please,” you murmur while lightly tugging on his hair. “Just fuck me already.” The two men chuckle, clearly enjoying how desperate you've become now.

“I guess we've kept her waiting long enough,” Vax tells Percy with a smile.

Percy tilts his head with a grin but stops his teasing kisses that skirt around where you need him most. Finally, he readjusts to kneel back on his heels before palming himself through his pants. You take the opportunity to drag your eyes down his body, appreciating the way he leisurely works to unzip his pants and then pull his throbbing cock out from beneath his boxers.

With how torturously slow he exposed himself, it surprises you how quickly he tugs you closer, gesturing for you to kneel in front of him. He guides your body, pressing your back to his chest so you’re still facing Vax at the head of the bed. The rough texture of his clothes against your naked skin feels a little odd, but you shiver at the thought of Percy still fully dressed and desperate to be inside you.

Your legs are slightly wobbly, still feeling a bit sore in the knees from fucking Vax, but Percy keeps your thighs pushed apart in the perfect position for him to slowly slide into you. The stretch feels amazing, and the two of you sigh in unison once he bottoms out.

You can’t tell if it’s your arousal or your tired body that’s causing you to shake a bit, but Vax immediately notices the way you tremble. He’s still recovering from his previous orgasms, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting up and leaning closer to you, an adorably dazed but concerned look on his face.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Vax whispers. “Just hold onto me.” He pulls your hands to rest on his shoulders, allowing you to use him as leverage while Percy begins to fuck you at an easy pace.

While you get lost in the feeling of Percy’s cock, Vax’s lips trace the curve of your breast before moving to your collarbone and neck. He keeps lavishing your body with kisses, treating you like glass while Percy’s hands grip your hips roughly. When you start rocking your hips back in between thrusts, Percy takes the cue to speed up a bit, pushing himself even deeper as you gasp.

Vax’s fingers tickle your sides, briefly skirting past Percy’s knuckles with a knowing grin before sliding down to your swollen clit. He takes his time to tease you, playing with your clit at a languid pace while Percy sets a steady rhythm that makes your moans grow louder. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll last with these two men determined to make you come as fast and hard as humanly possible. They both know exactly what buttons to press to get the reactions they want from you.

Vax’s teeth latch onto a sensitive spot on your neck, and that somehow pushes you over the edge. You crumple in his arms, crying out from how fierce your second orgasm is. Neither of the men are surprised you came so fast. It was inevitable with the way Vax circled your clit with the same precision as before. What’s really surprising is the way Percy moans your name, his voice strained while he grasps your hips harder.

Vax takes the opportunity to get some payback for Percy’s teasing. “Going to come so soon, Percival?” he taunts.

“Oh, fuck off,” Percy replies through gritted teeth. “You would too if you could feel her right now…”

You can feel your muscles still pulsing around him, and you can’t help but focus your concentration on clamping down just a bit more. You like to watch him suffer just a little bit—and so does Vax, of course.

Percy curses in response before frantically asking, “Where do you want me to–”

“Inside,” you respond quickly. You wrap one of your hands behind you to hold onto his hip, urging him to stay where he is. 

Percy doesn’t hold back any longer. He moans your name while spilling inside you. You gasp into Vax’s mouth as he pulls you into a kiss, allowing you and Percy some time to come down from the intensity of your orgasms. All three of you seem to sigh in post-coital bliss, and Vax helps you off of Percy’s cock before his cum starts dripping too far down your thighs.

They both help you lie down on the bed before Vax collapses beside you. But Percy looks like he’s not nearly done playing his little games. To be fair, you also still feel a little revved up, even after two orgasms. Regardless, that little glint in Percy’s eyes as he crawls back up the bed makes you shiver.

“Why do you look like you’re about to kidnap me, de Rolo?” you joke.

He cracks a smile but doesn’t stop advancing toward you until his face hovers over yours. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and says, “Just give us one more, dear.” It’s less of a command and more of a question. But he knows you’re not going to turn down another orgasm. Although you feel a bit fatigued, you’re greedy for one last round, so you nod your head.

Vax groans dramatically beside you. “Gods, really? The two of you are insatiable,” he teases, earning a sharp nudge of your elbow in his side.

“Don’t act like you aren’t either,” you argue.

“Touché.”

Your responding laugh gets cut off with a gasp while Percy coats his fingers in his remaining cum spilling past your puffy lips. He dips a soaked finger inside your cunt, testing your reactions before giving you a second one when you’re ready. He watches your face closely, mouth twitching in a smirk as his fingers curl at just the right spot.

Your back arches off the bed, and Vax slides a bit closer to gently kiss your body wherever he can reach. Without exchanging any more words with the other man, Vax already knows what to do to enhance the desire spreading throughout your body. He leans his head down to your breasts and sucks a nipple into his mouth. In tandem, one of his hands glides down your body. His fingers tease your clit, occasionally spreading out a bit to allow Percy to flick the needy bud with his tongue.

The two of them work wordlessly with one common goal. They barely need to communicate to reduce your limbs to jelly, and you secretly love how experienced they are with your body language to be able to pull this off so expertly. The only sounds between the two of them are Percy’s whispered praises and Vax’s soft moans muffled by the sloppy kisses he presses all over your tits. When Vax’s eyes meet yours again, you realize your nails are digging into his bicep. But he doesn’t let up, and neither does Percy.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry before you stutter, “I– I’m so close, please…”

Vax is the one to grant you permission this time. His lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Hm, then come for us, darling.”

The two of them continue their song and dance, watching every twitch and jolt of your body with bated breath. Vax’s eyelids flutter with desire, staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. And when you turn your head to Percy, you swear you see a hint of a sadistic grin before he bites down on your inner thigh, determined to leave marks as a reminder of tonight.

There’s no stopping your pleasure as it barrels into you with full force. Your chest heaves while you desperately try to catch your breath—although Percy is doing his damndest to prolong your orgasm just like he did with Vax. His fingers continue curling slowly a few more times, determined to wring every last drop of desire from your exhausted body.

Vax murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine with how the two of them take such care with bringing you down from your high. After Percy finally relents and pulls his fingers from your pussy, he flops down on the other side of your body, opposite from Vax.

Vax’s aftercare is always the best, but with Percy added in the mix, it’s like being pampered royalty. They take turns pressing tender kisses to your heated skin and brushing back the sweat-slicked strands of hair from your face. Percy dutifully pulls out a handkerchief to carefully wipe away the mess along yours and Vax’s lower halves, promising to draw a bath when you’re all ready for it. And Vax lets you play with his hair while he whispers how good you made him feel earlier. Percy takes a moment to check in with Vax too, making sure he didn’t do anything that made either of you uncomfortable.

After a beat of silence, Percy hums in quiet contemplation. “To think Scanlan was technically the reason for tonight…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you interrupt with a groan. “That little shit fleeced me!” You turn your look of playful annoyance to Vax. “We would have won that damn bet if you didn’t beg me to fuck you.”

“It’s not my fault,” Vax says defensively. Although there’s a smug look on his face that says he isn't sorry at all. “Three days without your touch is a long fucking time.”

“Vax,” you say through gritted teeth, “you barely lasted a few hours, let alone one day.”

He chuckles with a shrug. “At least I lasted longer than the nobleman just did.”

His jab at Percy earns him a light backhanded slap on the chest from the nobleman himself, and you can’t help but giggle at the way they try to play-fight around your body. Regardless of how much these two banter, you know they equally enjoy each other’s presence. And no matter how much hard-earned coin was lost in that annoying bet, you’ll remember to thank Scanlan for his antics this time.

~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! <3 if you enjoyed it, please reblog!

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[hornychristianprincess]

wasted (leehan x fem reader) pt 3

paring: leehan x fem reader genre: smut, fluff, angst, fuckboy!leehan word count: 15k bc i'm a slut for this man SRFKLHSDLK summary: everything in your life is affected as your relationship with leehan progresses. warnings: explicit sex scenes, oral (male and female receiving), expressions of insecurity and self-esteem issues should you wish to read on ao3, click HERE.

At the library on a Saturday night, you, Leehan, Riwoo, and Giselle sit at the same table, studying for your approaching midterms. 

“Y/N,” says Leehan. “Can you send me the pdf file you found for the English textbook?”

You nod, quickly finding the file on your phone and airdropping it to Leehan the Lion . “Just sent it.”

���Thanks,” he mutters, before returning to writing notes on his laptop. 

This is about as exciting as your interactions get with Leehan when you’re among your group of friends, studying or going to the caf or finding some event on campus to go to. 

It was the ultimate whiplash, then, to experience Leehan when you were alone. 

Because in the month or so that’s passed since the night of the lunar eclipse, every few days you could look forward to the what are you doing? text that usually led up to some of the most satisfying, passionate sex of your life.

The friends-with-benefits arrangement the two of you were in had quickly become the center of your life. It felt like you were always in limbo as you awaited his latest text, and when you got it, it didnt’t matter what you were doing – you were always ready to surrender to him, to surrender to pleasure that was beginning to feel like the only thing that made you excited to wake up some days.

You had sex sometimes three, sometimes five times a week. Where it happened didn’t really matter to either of you — in the bathroom at a party, the confines of your dorm room, in the backseat of his car. 

Everything in your life had been shrunken to make space for what was now your top priority. 

And whatever negative impacts were to come of such decision-making were yet to be seen when it felt like the high you received from his attention was blinding everything else.

It was always weird to have to face him in settings like this the next day, to hear him speak to you so casually as if his face wasn’t buried between your legs less than 24 hours ago. Still, you kept up your end of this unspoken bargain to pretend as if you weren’t anything but acquaintances.

“I have midterms for every class. I’m feel like I’m gonna die of stress,” said Giselle, throwing her long brown hair over her shoulders. Giselle was one of the people who rode with Jaehyun during the lunar eclipse, and although you didn’t get much time to speak with her then, you’ve since gotten close by hanging out more. 

“That’s why you need to find the right vice. Food…drugs… orgasms, ” replies Leehan playfully, quirking a teasing eyebrow in her direction. He chuckles as Giselle rolls her eyes at him, and as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t help but notice how his eyes linger on her even as she returns to her textbook.

Occasionally, you’ll observe the fact that the sense of humor and charm that made you fall for Leehan in the first place is not something that he reserves for only you, and it makes you just the tiniest bit sad. 

It’s nice to feel, even if it’s not true, like the moments you share alone in your bedroom are ones where he feels safe to show you things no one else gets to see. Like you hold the key to pieces of Leehan that no one else can access. 

So in times like these where you’re presented with evidence that says otherwise, it makes you feel like there is nothing special or significant about how you and Leehan got to where you were. Perhaps it was just a case of right place right time, like he could’ve met anyone – Giselle, even –  and done the same things he’s done with you.

Then again, the interaction you just observed could’ve been completely innocent and it’s you that’s overthinking it.

At the end of the day, if you were keeping score, the fact that you’re the first person with whom Leehan has offered up his body to on a regular basis feels like more than enough evidence that what you share is special.

In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gonna fuck you after this.

You know because in the hour or so later when the library is about to close and you’re wrapping up your study session, he says, “Y/N, you live near the mail center, right? I’ll walk with you; I need to drop something off before I head home.”

It takes every bit of self control you have to not break out into a smirk – he knows exactly where you live, and it’s because you fuck there almost every time. “Sure,” you reply, in the most neutral voice you can possible muster.

“See you guys later,” you’re saying to Riwoo and Giselle as you pack up your things and head out. 

It’s past midnight and almost completely dark outside by the time you and Leehan leave, save for the few street lights that illuminate the sidewalk. For no reason in particular, it’s silent between the two of you. You might’ve found such an atmosphere to be awkward if it weren’t for the fact that your dorm was only a 5 minute walk away. And, when it comes to Leehan, you can never be too presumptuous in trying to interpret his moods; being the person that he is, something you’d usually interpret as disinterest could actually mean a plethora of non-threatning things for him.

On the way there, you approach what’s essentially an alleyway, a narrow space between two dorms that is deserted and dark. You don’t think anything of it until suddenly, you’re tugged inside of it and everything in your line of sight goes dark.

And before you can ask questions or react, your senses are flooded by the feeling of Leehan’s lips pressed against yours.

It’s amazing how your body adapts to the sudden gesture before your mind does. While it takes you a moment to internally acknowledge that you’re not in danger, your skin ignites with electricity the moment his lips touch yours. 

If a bystander were to observe the passionate, needy, almost desperate way he’s kissing you, they’d think that you’re someone he hasn’t seen in years, someone who he’s eager to make up lost time with. 

He doesn’t stop at just dominating your mouth with his tongue. His hands, like calloused vines, wrap themselves around your body, setting fire to whatever pieces of exposed skin he can find. And when you whimper against him, he adds to the sound with a groan of his own.

But no, this isn’t a kiss of two lovers who have been separated by time, or location. Leehan is just a person who is steadfast in his commitment to doing everything in his life earnestly. And it’s one of the many reasons why you are enamored by him.

When he pulls away to look at you, you can see even in the dark the expression of relief on his face. It’s as if kissing you was an urge he has been suppressing until now, and having gotten his fix, he’s left in a state of contentment.

“What was that for?” you ask, adrenaline and arousal running through your veins in such an fiery combination that you find your voice comes out weaker than usual.

“Just had to get it out my system,” is what he says indifferently in reply, and with his lips curling into a smirk, he heads out of the alleyway and continues on the path to your dorm. You follow him, feeling like the arousal you had been suppressing the entire time you were at the library with your friends has now doubled in a way that makes your knees wobbly as you walk.

It’s silent between the two of again as you approach the building to your dorm, although now you feel confident in assuming that it had always been searing sexual tension that was keeping him from being his usual talkative, bubbly self. 

It could be confusing to someone else, then, why — even as you’re locking the door to your room with him inside of it – you still aren’t all over each other in the way your earlier interactions might’ve preluded. 

But it’s because you just have one more confirmation you need to make before you can truly let go of your inhibitions, and that’s the question of, “Is your roommate here?”

Your roommate, lovely girl, would usually be here in the dorm at this time. But already having a feeling what you’d be getting up to tonight, you transparently informed her through text that im so so sorry but i’m out with you know who and i could reallllyyy use some dick tonight. buy you food to make up for it? just before you left the library.

“No. She’s out studying,” you tell Leehan. 

When you meet each other’s gazes, Leehan’s eyes sparkling as if he’s just been told he’s won the lottery, you can sense the exact moment when the both of you realize there’s no longer a need to wait. And so, like animals excitedly tearing up freshly-killed prey, it’s in a messy, rushed flurry of movements that you both take each other’s clothes off. 

Before Leehan, you don’t think you ever experienced an attraction for someone so intense that it caused you to push furniture over in the process of trying to get to the bedroom. But with him, the sound of a glass vase breaking doesn’t feel so concerning when you’re too busy trying to make it to the bed, take off his clothes, and not break your kiss all at once. 

There’s something so humorous about your shared vigor, causing you to both smile into the kisses you share, remaining playful even among such intensity. 

“You’re roommate’s a lovely person, isn’t she?” he remarks as he backs you up into your bedroom doorframe, throwing the jacket you had been wearing on your rug in the process. “I’ve gotta apologize to her one day. Poor girl’s had to hear so many things.”

You hate how much his words ring true, because truthfully, tonight was one out of several rare occasions in which you’ve been given enough foresight to warn your roommate before Leehan comes over. Other times, things between you two have blossomed too spontaneously for a warning, or, your phone died while you were out together, giving you no means to let her know he was arriving. 

“ Ew . Don’t talk about her like that. It’ll make me think you have a thing for her,” you reply in reference to the lovely person and poor girl attributions, and although you’re mostly joking, the insecurity from before about his interest in other women still remains present in the forefront of your mind.

And it’s not at all helped when, even jokingly, he makes remarks like, “Hey — I’d never say no to inviting someone else into our activities.”

At this point, you’re standing in nothing but a bra and panties in front of him, preparing to give your body up for his pleasure, which is why you think it’s fairly reasonable that you reach out to swat him in response to such cheekiness. 

But he seizes your wrists before you can make contact, laughing at your reaction in that way that, as annoying as it is to acknowledge right now, makes him look so, so sexy. “I’m kidding, baby,” he chides apologetically. “I’d never share you. Want you too fucking badly to even think about it.”

It’s in moments like these that you can’t help but get butterflies from Leehan, especially when he leans in to kiss you languidly right after. This habit he’s taken of calling you all sorts of pet names, from princess to baby to sweet girl, is something that has made your attraction to him increase tenfold. 

How could you help it, when his deep voice by itself is like a weapon specifically designed to torture you?

“Are you needy, baby?” asks Leehan teasingly, as his hand is now stuffed in your underwear, and his forehead is pressed against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface of your dresser and fingers you expertly. “Was what we did two days ago not enough? Did I not fuck you good enough?”

It’s actually because the sex from two days ago – and the day before that and the day before that and the days since you met him – was too good that you find yourself needing little stimulation to get wet at the thought of fucking him again. But of course, you don’t admit this, not needing his ego to get any larger than it is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

But Leehan doesn’t pay your cheek any mind, reacting only with a scoff as he busies himself with getting on his knees in front of you. Pressing his face against the skin of your bare stomach, he remarks, “You smell like me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Leehan is the most wayward person you’ve ever met. But you can surely count on him in moments like these to make your entire body feel like it’s on fire, knowing exactly what buttons to push and places to touch to get a rise out of you. All he does is leave chaste, delicate kisses along the skin from your sternum to your belly button, but the fact that he maintains eye contact as he does it, and the implication that he makes when he says, “And I bet you taste like heaven, too,” makes you feel like you’re experiencing something so ethereal it’s as if you’re out of your own body.

You’re looking down at him as he kisses at the spot just above your pussy, and it’s at that moment that you decide you want him too badly to wait any longer. Fingers that had once laced themselves in his hair now tug on the strands, pulling him up and off of you. “Leehan. Inside of me. Now.”

You watch as his eyes scan your face to tell if you’re being serious or not, and if you could see yourself through his gaze, you know you’d be convincingly earnest in your desire to have him. Once he confirms this for himself, he pops up from his previous position kneeling on the ground, and looks at you with his head cocked to the side in a expression of challenge. Pushing you up onto the dresser, he quirks an eyebrow to say, “Have I ever told you that I find you sexiest when you’re telling me what to do?”

At this, you smile, playing into his confession by commanding, “Kiss me,” before leaning in to meet his lips. And when his hand travels between your legs, you know it’s not to touch you, but to reach into the top drawer of your dresser where you’ve allowed him to stash some condoms. It’s with excitment that you hear him tear open the package, sliding the latex onto his hardened cock.

There’s a moment just before he lines his cock up with your slit where he pulls away from your lips, reaching a hand out to hold your jaw in place so that your eyelines are level. And when he simply just stares at you silently, allowing his eyes to graze your features with an awe-stricken expression on his face, you can’t help but look away as the intensity of his admiration becomes overwhelming.

He chuckles at your obvious shyness, hand never leaving your jaw as he continues to view you like you’re a delicate statue he’s entranced by. “Don’t you think it’s too late to be shy after everything we’ve done together?” he says jokingly, and even though you feign disagreement with a roll of your eyes, you make no effort to suppress the smile that appears on your face as you bask in his teasing of you.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, comfortably meeting his gaze now. “You’re just really fucking handsome.”

You’re sure he’s heard these words hundreds of times in hundreds of ways, and yet you can see his eyes-widening as if you’ve said something sincerely touching. Perhaps the words hit differently when heard spontaneously, genuinely, without any pretense behind them.

It’s without any warning that Leehan pushes himself inside of you. Caught off guard by the feeling of his cock entering you inch by pleasurable inch, you can only make a mental note to apologize to him later as your fingernails dig into the skin of his back. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind, too focused on leaning his forehead against yours and watching with greedy eyes as his cock enters your pussy and leaves it with a creamy sheen. 

“Jesus fucking christ, Y/N,” he remarks in awe, managing the words through a shaky exhale as he moves to hook his arms underneath your thighs. He pulls your body closer to the edge of the dresser, bringing his cock even deeper inside of you. He hasn’t even started fucking you properly yet, and still you let out a series of elongated sighs and moans, wrapping your arms around his neck for a sense of comfort.

It’s when you’re completely pressed together in a skin-to-skin embrace that he finally begins to thrust inside of you at a pace that you’re used to. As clumsy and unsure as he can sometimes be, Leehan never fucks you erratically. It’s always with a controlled, focused pace that he pistons his hips into yours, knowing your body so well that you never have to tell him when to slow up or go faster. 

When you first met Leehan, you couldn’t understand the concept of kissing being considered an intimate act between two lovers. 

But now, as he leans in to press his mouth against yours, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, it’s with suprsing clarity that you realize why some people like to refrain from kissing entirely when they hook up with someone. 

You’re at your most smitten when being passionately tongue-kissed through an unforgiving onslaught of thrusts, a part of you wishing that this sex could become a permanent fixture in your life and not just a transactional, temporary high.  

It’s only when he slots a hand between your bodies to tweak at your clit that it becomes impossible for you to meet his kiss, feeling too much pleasure to hold back your open-mouthed cries. Leehan then moves to kissing your neck, and it’s some of the most sensual affection you've ever received as he allows his tongue to drag across your skin, suctioning his lips on sections of your shoulder where you’re sure he’s leaving hickies. 

He goes up your body in this sequence until he reaches your ear, mumbling, “You take care of my cock so well,” as he licks at the shell of your ear and sinks his teeth onto your earlobe. “It’s why I’m never coming off of you. It’s too fucking good for me to stop.”

Transfixed by the sound of his voice, the feel of his cock, and the stimulation you receive on your clit, you can feel that it’s only a matter of time before your pleasure reaches it’s crescending point. “Leehan,” you mumble out, grabbing onto fistfuls of his long hair as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Come with me.”

He denies this request with a click of his tongue, mumbling the words, “You first,” into your ear as his thrusts increase in impact. It’s in a sad attempt at a kiss that you press your mouth against his, feeling his intensity and passion just as the same even as you devolve into just grazing your tongue against his mouth. 

Your orgasm hits you in a feeling that’s akin to a bunch of puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together at once; the combination of his cock, his closeness, and his endless circling of your clit leaves your body seizing with what is surely one of the most pleasurable feelings of your life. 

And as you feel his movements becoming rapid and untethered, knowing that the feeling of your tighetning cunt will soon become too pleasurable for him to bear, it’s with satisfied foreboding that you watch him give you his last, hard thrust. 

There are a least of couple minutes that pass where neither of you move, the only sounds being your successive heavy breathing as you both come down from intense highs. Leehan makes the first move by carrying you your bed, where he plops you down on your back and makes a very sexy whimpering sound as he’s forced to pull out of you. 

Even once you’re separated, he still plops down on the bed to rest next to you. A forearm’s length apart, you long for him to touch you, even if just for a moment.

“Shit,” he mutters, an outburst that has you confused until you notice his eyes and their fixation with your bedside alarm clock. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I really don’t want to drive back to my apartment at this time.”

Then stay, is what you think to yourself, but these are words that you would never dare to actually vocalize. 

There was truthfully one instance just a month or so prior when you suggested he might leave a bookbag in your room so he didn’t have to walk home with it in the rain. Not too soon will you forget the way a usually upbeat Leehan turned cold on you within seconds, neglecting to say more than a see you later as he almost sprinted to leave your apartment.

You’d be lying if you said his eagerness to leave after the sex is finished wasn’t at least the slightest bit dismaying. 

The delusional part of you wishes he could at least pretend like he didn’t just come here to fuck you and nothing more. 

It would be nice to believe that the sheer enjoyment of your company would be enough to make him want to stay afterwards.  

And what’s worse is that every time, he comes up with some way to express how much he probably should stay. Like just now, how he mentioned how late it was. It frustrates you more than anything. 

Because no matter how much he says he doesn’t want to leave, he always does. 

And at this point, you wish he would just do it decisively instead of trying to soften the blow. 

“Did you hear about the party we’re having this weekend?” you hear him ask suddenly, his body in a sitting position as he gets up to put on his clothes. “Ha. We . Well, really Jaehyun.”

Though you find it difficult to have casual conversation with him when your mind is elsewhere, you indulge him with a truthful shake of your head. “No. What’s it for?”

“Halloween. He’s asking everyone to dress up,” says Leehan, having already made it to the other side of your room. If you were in more of a spirited mood, you might laugh at how he mentions dressing up for Halloween as if it’s something that’s beneath him. “Don’t worry that he didn’t tell you. He just came up with the idea yesterday. 

The fact that Jaehyun hadn’t mentioned the party to you wasn’t even a thought that occurred in your mind. You were more so concerned with the logistics of deciding to throw a party during midterms. Stressed beyond relief with your own course load, you couldn’t imagine deciding to attend anything extracurricular at this time of year.

But then, the idea of making such plans seems a lot more plausible when Leehan says, “Are you coming, pretty? I think it would be cute if we went with with matching costumes.”

It’s because of moments like these that your feelings for Leehan can be so conflicting. At the beginning of your day today, he sat around you with your other friends and acted as if you were nothing more than acquaintances. Followed you to your dorm and fucked you as sensually and passionately as a boyfriend would. Is getting dressed and preparing to leave within minutes of reaching his climax. And now, he calls you pet names in a non-sexual context and tells you he wants to wear a couple’s costume with you. Constantly affronted with gestures that are both hot and cold, you can never be too sure whether it’s you that’s delusional or him that’s sending mixed messages.

Nonetheless, you cannot help yourself from replying, “Sounds fun. I’ll be there,” even though you know you that you shouldn’t. Even though you know you have far too much on your plate academically to be going to a party on a school night. Even though you know your actions should not be so predated on his. Knowing all of this, you still find yourself not the least bit concerned, only excited, as you think about attending the party together.

“See you then, gorgeous. Have sweet, x-rated dreams about me,” is what he says as he finishes putting on his discarded clothes, standing in your bedroom doorway as he prepares to leave. His silhouette casts a shadow over your dimly lit room, covering your naked, vulnerable body. 

“Shut up,” you mumble weakly as you move to throw a pillow at him, a part of you wishing that all of your interactions felt as sweet as this one did.  

>you: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

Five minutes before you were planning to head out to Jaehyun’s party, you reread this text from two days ago over and over, the delivered in the corner almost taunting you. Just 13 words took you at least an half an hour to send because you couldn’t stop wondering if it was too vague or too forward or if you shouldn’t have even said anything all. 

And now, as you sit on the cold bench outside of your dorm waiting for your Uber to the party, wearing a cheap angel costume, you realize now what a mistake it was to send that text. 

You suppose the misunderstanding you’ve found yourself in started with your assumption – based on Leehan’s last words to you as he left your dorm just a few days ago – that you’d be shopping together to find matching costumes for Jaehyun’s party. 

But when the party was inching closer and he had yet to reach out, you ventured to a PartyCity on your own. It was then that you sent the text after much internal laboring, ultimatley thinking that maybe he was busy with midterms and would be grateful that you had taken the initiative on both your behalf's to buy the costumes.

Even as you were halfway through the checkout line and still nothing from Leehan, you bought a matching devil costume for him anyway, plastic red horns to match your sparkly halo. Maybe, when he was less busy, he’d eventually reach back out, still interested in going to the party with you and grateful you saved him the trouble of picking out a costume. 

In your mind, there were a billion rational possibilities for why he wasn’t responding that would still ultimately end in your original plans to attend the party and dress together.

It wasn’t until an hour before the party and still no response from Leehan that you were forced to accept you’d be going to this party yourself. A billion questions arose in your mind. Was something wrong, explaining why he had been M.I.A after making plans with you? Had he forgotten about the party entireley? 

Did he just…no longer want to go with you anymore?

As you stood up to enter your approaching Uber, you try to remind yourself that the party was being thrown at Leehan’s apartment – there was no way that he was oblivious to what today was. If he hadn’t responded to your text, it didn’t necessarily have to be for malicious reasons. Maybe he just genuinely forgot, or was one of the many people who went offline during midterm season.

Either way, you were beginning to think that you were worrying too much for no reason. After all, it isn’t the end of the world that you aren’t arriving together in matching costumes.

Or, maybe it’s the couple of shots you took while getting ready finally kicking in and causing your rationality to dissipate.

Arriving at Jaehyun’s apartment, you already knew that knocking on the door would be futile; without entering, you could hear the loud sounds of bass burning through a speaker that you could guess would make any outside noise intelligible. Instead, you took your chances at twisting the doorknob, and sure enough, it was unlocked. It seemed dangerous to you, but you walked in anyway to find a cacophony of purple, green, and orange strobe lights, illuminating the sizeable crowd of people filling the space. 

Decorations of cobwebs and skulls adored almost every surface, and as you walked further inside, you noticed the array of drink bowls spread out against a long table. 

You observe impressively that Jaehyun went as far as hiring a DJ, a guy dressed in a vampire costume who jerks his upper body back and forth to the rhythm of the music. 

It’s almost like a scene in a coming-of-age-film come to life, mountains of young adult bodies bouncing in a hypnotic fervor while drinks in red solo cups are sloshed up and down in the process.

Making your way through the crowd, you spot several of your newfound friends, plus others Jaehyun introduced you to at the lunar eclipse. You wave particularly to Riwoo, Giselle, and Sungho – dressed as an elf, cat, and fireman respectively – but really , who you’re looking for is Leehan. 

In the first five minutes or so of your search, you have no luck in finding him. You do, however, run into Jaehyun, whose sleeveless jean vest with no shirt underneath immediately gives away his costume as Ken from the Barbie movie. You giggle at the realization, taken aback even more when Jaehyun drapes an arm clumsily over your shoulder, bringing you in closer.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/N!” he shouts, competing with the loud music, and just barely – you almost want to drag him somewhere quieter, away from the DJ booth, but the longer you look at Jaehyun, taking in his wobbly, red-faced disposition, you realize he must be drunk. Trying to force him into any extended movement in his current condition would be futile.

“Thanks. Hey, have you seen Leehan?” you ask, skipping any pleasantries. You want to get an answer from his as quickly as possible before he becomes incoherent.

To your dismay, he shakes his head no. “He’s not coming. Told me he had a study date he was going to.”

You hope the absence of light outside from the shitty strobes obscures the expression of disappointment that is surely on your face right now, or even better that Jaehyun is too drunk to remember you asking this at all tomorrow morning. 

“You’re not still interested in him, are you?” asks Jaehyun, the smallest glimmer of rationality breaking through his drunken fervor as he seems to be sincere in asking. You force a smile, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible before he’s able to notice the difference.

“No, of course not,” you dismiss with a small laugh. You give Jaehyun a friendly pat on the arm before identifying where the drinks are so you can head there next. “Thanks for having me.”

Beelining for the punch table, you fill a red solo cup with a mixture of liquids from all three bowls and throw it down without investigating what you’ve just ingested. To your dismay, rather than dulling your emotions, the alcohol brings out your festering resentment. Towards Leehan, towards this entire situation.

Truthfully, with your own midterms looming and a mountain of late assignments you’ve allowed to pile up over the last few months as you prirotized sex with Leehan, it was against your every best interest to show up tonight. 

You had checked your assignment-board this morning to discover that two essays worth 40% of your grade were due at 11:59 tonight. 

A class you were already failing with a 60 was requiring you to submit revisions for a paper tonight, too.

And yet, you made the decision to come out tonight – promising yourself you’d make it home at a decent enough hour so that you could at least submit something – because of Leehan. 

You were encouraged to wake up this morning and the morning before this morning because of your excitement at the notion of coming to this party with him by your side, wearing matching costumes and sharing drinks and hopefully spit by the end of the night, too.

If you were being completely honest, all of your days were beginning to feel like that — like the only thing you had to continuously look forward to was seeing or experiencing Leehan in some way shape or form.

Experiencing his laugh and his weird habit of bringing up the most random topics at the drop of a dime. Seeing his dimples pop out when he smiles at you and feeling like it’s the cutest thing in the world.

It’s becoming clear to you now that his absence has just as big — no, a bigger emotional impact that his presence does.

You’re angry because you know you didn’t create this excitement out of nowhere: he told you he wanted you to come to this party. You went solely because he said he was going to. If he didn’t want to come tonight, if he had plans, he could have warned you.

You’re angry at yourself for believing him. 

Worst of all, you’re angry because he’s on a date and it confirms all of your biggest insecurities about you not being enough for him.

And it’s at this point that you acknowledge how woefully unequipped you were to say yes to the proposition he gave you the night of the lunar eclipse. Because if it means having to experience the profoundly soul-crushing reality of his disinterest in anything having to do with you other than quick, indulgent sex, you’d rather die a million times. 

You feel your phone buzzing and reach into your bag to grab it unfeelingly. It’s a notification from Leehan. And as if you needed one more reason to feel like shit tonight, the nofication reads, Leehan questioned your message: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

You’re so tired of trying to analyze Leehan’s every action and gesture in an effort to convince yourself that maybe there’s some large reasoning behind his indifference. Instead of searching for any additional explanation behind in the question mark, you simply decide that he’s an asshole who had no intention of going out with you tonight.

And it’s with that steely acknowledgement that suddenly, you feel like you’re about to throw up all of the liquor you’ve just consumed. Taking a deep breath to stop yourself from spilling your guts right then and there, you decide it’s time to go home.

In your haste to leave the party, you don’t bother to try and yell excuse me to the 20 or so people blocking your way to the exit. You simply squeeze past who you can and push past who you can’t, not even caring to look back at those you shoulder check until you’re turned around by a pull against your forearm.

Face-to-chest with a figure you don’t immediately recognize, you body seizes up in fear, a condition that’s only slightly alleviated when you recognize the person’s voice as they exclaim in a deep voice, “ Whoa, whoa whoa . Hey, Y/N.” 

It’s in slight annoyance that you look up to meet Leehan’s gaze, finding him staring down at you softly. It appears that he’s just walked into the party. In a space  full of people dressed as mythical creatures, he looks out of place in his leather jacket and jeans, but also oh so attractive. His hair gathers in front of his face messily, the dark brown locks in a rare state of curliness. He doesn’t have to wear plastic horns to look devilish. 

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask loudly over the sound of the music, his hand now resting on the apex of your arm. Feeling both defiant and embarrassed to tell him the true answer to his question – that no , you’re not okay because you foolishly thought you could count on him to be there for you when he said he would – you don’t answer. 

And in a move that only contributes to the growing feeling that all Leehan truly cares about when it comes to you is sex, he doesn’t even allow you the time to answer, even if you wanted to. “You look pretty, angel ,” he says only seconds after his last remark, using both of his hands to smoothe down pieces of your hair messed up by your headband. 

A compliment that would usually cause sparks to fly throughout your stomach now only annoys you, especially as you catch a whiff of fruity, feminine perfume on his body. 

“You smell like someone else,” you tell him plainly, too drunk to hide what it is you’re thinking. And you can see that the remark and the resentful tone in which you say it takes him aback, even as he chuckles in an attempt to remain composed. 

“Because I was driving for Uber, tonight, pretty,” he says, and before you have a chance to question his excuse, he continues by asking, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why does that matter?” you retort with a scoff, convinced he’s about to try and spin this on you by suggesting your valid anger is a result of your drinking. 

But then he puts on that signature smirk of his, those wretched dimples of his coming out as he leans down into your ear to say, “Because when I ask If I can take you to my room in about five minutes, I want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you.”

Yout hate that those words and the implication of sex have you immediately aroused and pliant, even as you grapple with the feeling of being just a physical object to him. 

Because as much as you dislike him right now for what he’s put you through emotionally, his renewed attention feels like the perfect solvent to your wounds.

“You wouldn’t be,” you reply softly, your voice coming out small and weak as you maintain unbroken eye contact with him.

“Yeah?” he replies almost mockingly, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “Why do I get the feeling that you want me to take advantage of you?”

It feels like your mind and heart are on two different accords as your face remains passive and unaffected yet what comes out of your mouth is, “Take me to your room and find out.”

It’s less a feeling of shame but more like acceptance that comes over you as you follow Leehan back into the throes of the party, his hand leading you through the crowd of people and towards his bedroom. 

Deep down, you know that the excuse he gave you earlier about his whereabouts was bullshit. Never once before has Leehan mentioned driving for Uber, and even if he did, it still wouldn’t justify his complete lack of regard for the plans you made and his lack of regard for you , refusing to notify you in advance that he wouldn’t be available.

But when faced with the proposition of sex, it seems foolish to deny it so that you can… what ? Continue to stew in feelings that will just leave you feeling empty, hurt, and worthless? Question him about being on a date when you know you have no right to?

Having sex will at least guarantee you a few moments of mind-numbing bliss, even if only a temporary high. Better that than have to face the reality of your own complicated nest of delusion.

As you’re let into Leehan’s room, hearing the sound of him closing the door shut behind you, you’re hit with the sudden realization that in the three months or so you’ve known him, you’ve never been in here before. 

His room has all the markers of a college boy’s sense of taste – dark colored furniture and bedsheets, posters scattered on the wall with no real order, random piles of mess occupying corners of the room. 

In a space that is otherwise unremarkable, your attention is piqued by a square, rectangular tank on top of his dresser.

“You have fish ,” you remark in a tone that is both matter-a-fact and questioning, something about your drunken state making you more curious than ever about the tank and it’s inhabitants. 

Throwing his jacket onto a random chair, Leehan comes up next to you and lets out a chuckle as he takes in your awe-stricken expression. “For some reason, I forgot you haven’t been in here before,” he observes, and when he watches you just continue to stand still, eyes transfixed on the fish but still remaining a few feet away from the tank, he gestures for you to follow him to it. “C’mon. Sit.”

You can’t help the way that your limbs move eagerly and excitedly towards the tank, where Leehan pulls up two extra chairs for you both to sit and view it together. 

Fish of all different sizes and shapes swim around in vibrant blurs of pink, orange and beige. You watch it all in awe, not sure if it’s because you’re tipsy or simply curious, and as Leehan explains what each type of fish is called, you hang onto every word.

“...this one is called a corydoras catfish. The rest of them are shrimp,” he explains, pressing his finger up against the tank as he points out each fish and the attributes that differentiate them from one another. 

In one corner of the tank, a group of fish swim frantically around each other, as if fighting.

“Usually they come right up against the tank when I sit in front of them like this. I think they’re mad because I haven’t given them any fish food.”

“Don’t you need to feed them?” you ask in genuine concern, turning to look at Leehan who only smirks.

“Are you trying to imply that I’m a negligent father, Y/N?” he retorts dramatically, his body tensing in mock offense before he relaxes and explains, “Don’t worry. They’re supposed to eat the algae on the rock. For some reason, they’re just being hesitant.”

“Maybe the algae isn’t what they want,” you chime in with a reasoning tilt to your quiet, contemplative voice.

“Just because the fish food is what they want doesn’t mean I should give it to them,” Leehan retorts simply, and maybe it’s the drunk, cynical part of you that thinks he’s making reference to your relationship. That you’re the fish who just can’t help but want something it can’t have, and he’s the sensible overseer that remains in control of what you will receive. 

But if Leehan is making some sort of larger, metaphorical reference to your relationship, he surely moves on from it quickly, becoming wistful and contemplative as he says, “I’ve been raising fishes all my life. Sometimes when I’m stressed I’ll just sit in front of the tank and talk to them.”

He presses his hand flat against the tank, his lips twitching into a prideful, paternal smile. “Because I know that unlike humans, they’ll never judge me.”

You find that your eyes never stray from the side of Leehan’s face as he talks, feeling almost like you’re a purveyor to this private, intimate moment he’s having. It feels like a privilege to be able to observe Leehan in moments like this where you’re given a genuine glimpse into his inner personhood.

But you’re pushed out just as quickly as you’re let in, watching as he promptly gets up from his seat by the tank and makes his way over to the bed. You turn your body in your chair to face him, and find that he’s now staring at you lustfully, gesturing for you to join him.

And as dismaying as it is to see him abandon the brief moment of emotional vulnerability just as quickly as it began, you stand up anyway, making your way to him.

Your movements toward him are slow, shy almost, and you can tell it pleases Leehan as you stand between his legs and are brought forward by his hands pushing at your lower back. He looks up at you, communicating wordlessly with just his sensual gaze how much he wants you. Your lingering anger from before stops you from making the first move, but even so, you don’t resist when he leans in to press a soft, steady kiss against your lips. Finding something almost apologetic about the innocent gesture, you put aside all of your inhibitions and decide to deepen the kiss, leaning your body fully into his and relishing in the groans he makes against your mouth. 

Passion quickly bleeds into the both of your movements until you’re kissing in a crazed, frantic manner. His hands that previously only looped your hips now wander across the expanse of your back, and with one forceful tug, your zipper comes down your dress. You’ve only just allowed the fabric to slide down your shoulders before he’s pulling the dress down himself, exposing your nipples to the cold air before covering them with his hot mouth. Tongue swirling around your hardened nubs, you nuzzle a hand in his hair and throw your head back in contentment. 

It’s with a wet pop that he pulls off of you, leaning upward to lock your lips once more. But because you're both incredibly and overwhelming horny, the kiss lasts for barely a few seconds before he’s pulling away to voice his plans for your body. 

“Want you to sit on my face,” he mumbles, voice gruff and deep and dripping with desire. “Wanna put that pretty pussy of yours in my mouth.”

Smirking in reply, you rest your head against his, eyes closed as you weather the currents of several shocks of arousal that travel up your body and make your legs feel like jelly. “I want that, too,” you confess, your voice sounding wispy as your body loses the strength to be assertive. “Also kinda want your dick in my mouth.”

His eyes light up at this, and with a hand on your chin that brings your face level with his, he says, “How about this: You hop on my face, and I’ll let you suck my cock. Sound good?”

Something about Leehan’s enduring leadership has the effect of making you feel intimidated, so much so that all you manage is a shy nod in response to his words, which he luckily accepts without any further prompting. You’re better at speaking with your actions, anyway, knowing that there’s a wordless understanding in the way that you kiss him hard and passionately while your hands push him onto his back.  

It’s with greedy, fast-moving hands that you strip him of his clothes, desperate for the instant bliss that is his mouth against your clit, the instant satisfaction that is his cum shooting down your throat. Once you have him fully naked, the fuzzy halo headband you’ve long forgotten about the only shared item of clothing between the two of you, you begin to adjust so that you may assume the required position. 

But your movements are suddenly halted when Leehan sits up suddenly, muttering the word “Wait,” as he maneuvers the both of your bodies so that you now lay on the complete opposite side of the bed. 

“That’s better,” he mumbles contentedly.

“What?”

“Just don’t want the fish to see what I’m about to do to you,” he replies, an answer so baffling that all you can do is laugh in reply. Your reaction barely phases him as he moves to drag your body onto his, and just like that, his kookiness is forgotten and your focus becomes tethered to the feeling of his breath against your awaiting pussy. 

He blows a few teasing, cool breaths against your dripping core, and before he has the chance to make you succumb to the pleasure of his mouth, you reach out to begin your own enjoyment of his heavy, hard cock. 

His member is veiny and substantial in your hands, reddened tip dripping with beads of precum that you lick away without thought of how it will impact Leehan. You feel his body seize with a jolt of pleasure from the direct contact with his most sensitive body part. 

And as if trying to get payback, he begins his assault on your pussy by sucking your clit into his warm, wet mouth.

From there, it becomes a competition of wills, a battle to see who can be least distracted by the pleasure they’re receiving in order to make the other fold, or at the very least, reach their climax. 

It’s a war you feel yourself pitifully losing as your drunken fervor somehow makes every casually overwhelming sensation feel 10x more heightened. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to release with each blissful flick of his tongue against your clit. 

Still, not forgetting about Leehan and his pleasure, you fight through the mental haze of your own gratification and concentrate on making slow, purposeful pumps of his cock within the ring of your hand. 

Sucking Leehan off is an activity you’ve gotten more than enough experience in to know what it takes to make him come. You gather all of the moisture in your mouth and wet his shaft with your spit. You press teasing, chaste kisses on his sensitive tip. You swirl your tongue in circles and continue stroking him with your hand. 

And then, when you can feel his thighs tensing as he grows tired of your teasing, you offer him relief in the form of taking him fully in your warm mouth.

Leehan’s self control is impeccable, even as you’re bobbing your head up and down his cock. He drags his tongue through your folds and finds himself at your hole, licking up the arousal there and fucking you open with his tongue. The only sign he shows of his own impending release are in the groans that he lets out against your mound. You can feel something overwhelming begining to build in your stomach, and though your body tries to squirm away from it, he holds you against his face.

You pitifully moan with his cock fully lodged in your mouth, and with a few final thrusts of his tongue, the knot in your stomach comes undone. As your orgasm overwhelms you, it’s difficult to continue moving your head. 

But Leehan’s too close to let his climax slip away from him, so it’s in desperation that he begins bucking his hips into your mouth at the same time he’s licking you through your orgasm. You just relax your jaw and let out restrained whimpers as Leehan fucks your mouth, not stopping until he finishes with a groan.

“My god, Y/N,” Leehan mutters breathily, turning you both on your sides, unraveling his limbs from yours until you’re no longer skin to skin. “We should do that position more often.”

You nod lazily in agreement, and with the little strength left in your limbs, you sit up to meet Leehan in the middle of the bed for a wet kiss. 

The position is slightly awkward, the two of you laying in opposite directions, twisting your bodies unnaturally, but kissing each other is a habit so addictive that even as you’re pulling away, he pulls at your hair to bring you back in for just a few seconds longer.

It’s comforting to fall back down onto the bed and feel Leehan’s fingers gently caressing the skin of your ankle. In your sleepy, post-orgasm haze, you’re filled with a sudden surge of contement in regards to your decision to come here tonight. 

You feel the fabric of a blanket kissing the sides of your body, and when you look over to find Leehan getting comfy in bed, it’s with satisfaction that you begin to do the same.

But then, the blanket you were just about to pull onto your body is snatched off of your skin, and when you look over at Leehan, you see him tucking himself in with a sleepy, content smile on his face. It’s just as you’re sitting up that he flutters his eyes closed, and with a sleepy tilt to his voice he says, “Hey, if you see Jaehyun on your way out, can you ask him to call me? I wanna know what time he plans on ending this.”

There’s a second after those words hit your ears where you’re not sure if you misheard him, slow to move from where you are in his bed. But as the implications of the statement hit you horrifically and all at once, it’s with a heavy feeling of shame weighing down your body that you reply, “Sure,” going to gather your discarded things from the floor.

The humiliating act of putting on your clothes after being dismissed so casually is almost instantaneously sobering. You catch a view of yourself in the display of your phone and notice that your plastic halo headband has been bent 90 degrees, likely from how rough you were. Your hair is strewn in every direction. Your mascara is smeared and ruined, running down your cheeks in squiggly, broken lines. 

You’re a mess. He made you a mess for the sake of his pleasure. And instead of cleaning you up, Leehan has essentially just kicked you out onto the street.

Only Leehan could cause such a dramatic shift between feeling like you were safe and desired to feeling like you’re just a worthless speck of nothing attached to the bottom of his shoe.

It’s just as you’re about to open the door to leave that you hear him call your name, and with your back turned to him, a hopeful part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say he changed his mind and wants you to stay.

But instead, as if to turn the knife in more, when you turn around, you find him staring boredly at his phone. 

Instead of regret on his face, you see neutrality. 

And instead of asking you to stay, he just says, “Thanks so much by the way. For the sex and the favor.”

It’s with a forced, robotic sense of calmness that you’re replying. “No problem, Leehan.”

And then you leave his room, never feeling so profoundly insignificant than you do in this moment.

There’s nothing quite worse than waking up with a terrible hangover, a panging feeling of emotional emptiness, and then having to send a string of desperate emails to your professors asking for deadline extensions. But that’s exactly what you do in the aftermath of the Halloween party, and by the grace of all things holy, you’re granted an extra few days to get your assignments in.

So grateful for the chance to resuscitate your failing GPA, you focus your efforts on finishing your assignments and almost forget about the cause of such misfortune, until you’re reminded when your phone suddenly buzzes with a text.

>leehan: what are you doing?

Messages of this sort usually have the effect of leaving you excited and giddy in anticipation of Leehan’s inevitable arrival to your doorstep. But now, all you feel is annoyance as you read the text and plague yourself over what to say. 

You type and delete several versions of a response that ultimately boils down to i’m too busy trying not to fail all of my classes which i wouldn’t be failing if it weren’t for all of the time i spend either thinking about you or fucking you , but in the end, you resolutely decide not to respond at all. 

In fact, in a move surely colored by the resentment you’ve allowed to grow for far too long now, you turn on read receipts so he knows you chose to disregard him on purpose.

You then continue typing away at one of the three essays that are past due, hoping you can forget about Leehan and return to the focus you had before receiving the message and being reminded of the past week’s events. You’re pleased when you look up after a few moments to see that an hour has passed and your attention hasn’t lingered. 

Just as you open a new tab to begin the reading for your second essay, the indistinguishable sound of a knock at your door stirs your attention otherwise.

You look around your shared dorm space. Your roommate went home for break already and hasn’t been here for the past few days. Assuming she communicated that to her friends, you know whoever’s on the other side of the door shouldn’t be for her. 

It could be an RA, though you couldn’t imagine why. 

Deciding to confront your curiosity head on, you get up to open the door and feel your eyes widen when it’s Leehan leaning against the doorframe.

Dressed comfortably in a hoodie and cargo pants, he looks up to greet you, smirking at the sight of your looming silhouette. “Hello,” he says casually, as if his sudden appearance was known to you before now.

There’s a strange mixture of excitement and dread that swirls inside of you the moment you see him. Because on one hand, just a look from him is something that gives you uncontrollable butterflies. You truly do like being around Leehan. But you feel like you have no control over the fact that you will let him in, even though you have every reason not to. 

He’ll fuck you, give you some of the best pleasure of your life, and will leave right afterwards, making you feel shitty. 

You’ll exerience the greatest high followed by the greatest low. 

And already in anticipation of how terrible you’ll feel in the aftermath of this inevitable scenario, it’s as if you’re body is already making space for the knife that will surely tear through your heart when this ends.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you already have a strong feeling what the answer will be. 

He’ll play coy, changing the subject by asking another question in response to your question.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” he says next, even though you both know the true reason why he’s come.

And because you like to feel like you have even the smallest semblance of control over the situation, you don’t give in to him easily, making a face of mock contemplation before replying, “Not if you don’t answer the question first.”

“Did you know that peppermint dwarf angelfish require a very specific type of fish food?” he asks, and because you’re so used to these divertive, weird diatribes he’s always so inclined to go on, all you can do is try and follow along. “I had to come all the way up here to find the only shop in Korea that sells it. And while I was already up here, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by your dorm and say hi.”

You tilt your head as you stare at him, considering bitterly whether he could be telling the truth or not. 

But of course, his serious expression quickly melts into a smirk as he explains himself. “I’m kidding, Y/N. Not about the fishes, but about why I’m here. I wanted to see you, so I came.”

There’s something that’s really disgustingly cocky and self-centered about him just showing up to your door without warning with the unsaid though obvious expectation of sex. 

And yet, would he be wrong to have that expectation, when so many times before you’ve let him for that exact purpose?

He must be able to see the conflicting thoughts you’re having reflected on your expression, because from behind his back, he reveals a bouquet of flowers. You don’t know how you didn’t notice he was holding them until now, a colorful array of peonies and roses with, upon further inspection, a bunch of cardboard fishes placed among the petals. 

You can’t help but smile as you take them from him.

“I brought flowers?” he says, his voice titled in an expression of this being an olive branch, his way of expressing apology, though for what you don’t know. For showing up here unannounced? For putting you through so much obvious emotional turmoil? You’re not sure. 

There is something at least a little romantic about him boldly showing up at your doorstep instead of waiting for you to respond to his text. Though, through another, more cynical lens, you could also call it kind of creepy. Should you go with the latter interpretation, you know you would be sending the worse kind of message by letting him in anyway. You’d essentially be confirming to him that this relationship is on his terms, that he can show up to your place whenever he wants to get his dick wet, regardless of if you’re busy like you are now.

But isn’t that what this has always been between the two of you? Once again, you feel helpless in the face of the unbounding energy his presence causes. You can only watch the rest of the nights events play out like a bad movie you’ve seen far too many times, like you’re a witness from outside your own body and life.

You walk away from Leehan, leaving your door open so he knows he can come in. You place the flowers neatly on the table next to the entrance. It’s when you face the kitchenette of your dorm that you realize just how cluttered the place is; too stressed about your schoolwork, you haven’t put any thought into keeping it clean.

“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly under your breath as you hear Leehan come in and close the door behind him. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”

He chuckles, as if to agree without having to say it plainly and hurt your feelings. You turn to face him and find that he’s already looking at you, a penetrating expression on his face as he asks, “Are you okay?”

You’ve never found that question as hard to answer as it is right now, especially when it’s his voice doing the questioning. 

Should you say that you’re on the verge of failing all of your classes, a circumstance you’ve never once had to worry about until he came into your life, causing a whirwhild of uncontainable emotions to take over your life? 

That you’ve been questioning everything when it comes to your own self-esteem and worthiness because it feels like you’re nothing if you’re not validated by the fleeting yet addicting warmth of his gaze and attention?

In the time that it takes you to think, you realize that Leehan has come closer, his body in front of you so that now you can’t escape from the kitchen counter against your back that blocks you in completely. Dazed by the proximity of him, you forget what you were asked, and are grateful when he doesn’t press you for an answer. It’s better for both of you if you don’t respond, anyway, because your honesty would surely kill the mood.

“You know what might make you feel better?” he asks, and you fight back a cynical giggle at the fact that he doesn’t even have to hear you say it to know that you need to be made better. “Fucking the shit out of me.”

As always, his moments of sudden candor simultaneously make you laugh and cringe because of how ill-fitting they are to the persona he occupies in your mind. You’ve always liked how awkward and strange Leehan is, which is why his fuckboy tendencies have always landed uneasily for you. 

It becomes too easy, then, to tease him by pretending you didn’t hear his outward expression of desire. “I don’t like the way you look at people,” you say, trying your hand at his usual divertive tactics. “It’s like you can see through them.”

You can always appreciate how even when you sidestep his advances, Leehan always plays into your banter, never pressuring you into action. “It’s because I can. BOO!” he exclaims, mouth open in an o shape as he childishly expresses fright. You muster a laugh at his playfulness.

After that, you’re both silent, and you know it’s because you’re both tired of playing games. You’re at the point now where it becomes obvious in both of your piercing gazes that you want to fuck, and now it’s just about who will make the move first. 

Suddenly conscious of Leehan’s long hair and how it hangs over the sides of his face, you reach your arms up to take pieces of it into your hands. There’s a rubber band on your wrist that you use to try and put it in a ponytail so you can see his features better, but before you can finish, he takes the opportunity of your increased closness to kiss you. 

The intensity of his kiss knocks the air out of your lungs, and you let go of his hair before you can finish tying it up. Because of your close proximity, it falls over the sides of your own face, obscuring the rest of the world from you so that it’s just him in your vision. 

His hands rest on the apex of your hips, and he pushes you slightly so that you’re completely backed up against the kitchen counter. You’d thought you’d feel more urgent, but your movements are leisurely as you bring your hands to his hoodie and begin to pull at the buttons holding it together. As the fabric begins to sag off his arms, he starts kissing at your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to accommodate him.

Once his shirt has fallen to the ground, you then work to release his cock from the confines of his pants, pushing at the thankfully loose waistband until it springs out against his naked stomach. You jerk him slowly and leisurely but it causes him to groan into your mouth just the same, and soon he’s moving to unbutton your own t-shirt until you’re both naked from the waist up.

“Leehan,” you whimper, as he cups your tits with both hands, “Bed.”

“Which one? I take it your roommate’s is empty?” he replies jokingly, and when you stare at him scathingly, he chuckles. “I’m kidding. Don’t look at me like that or I’ll come in my pants.”

You have no chance to scold Leehan for his teasing any further before he’s picking you up off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist and hands around his neck as he walks habitually to your bedroom. He’s still on top of you even as you feel yourself being lowered onto your bed, mouth on yours in a sloppy kiss while his hands rush to get your pants off. He sits up to kick his own off, and now the two of you are left completely naked. 

This would usually be the point where the two of you would become like animals and rush to fuck as soon as possible. But while standing above your body, you watch as Leehan just stares at your still figure on the bed, taking in every detail with his penetrative, admiring eyes.

“I find you so beautiful,” he softly confesses, caressing the skin on your hip before looking up to meet your shy gaze. “Do you know that?”

It’s unclear whether he’s asking if you know that you’re beautiful, or if you know that he finds you beautiful. Either way, it’s in a moment of sincere honesty that you reply, “Only sometimes.”

Because there are days when you look in the mirror or put on your clothes on your way to campus and feel like your body is less of a home, but a prison that you’re forever doomed to occupy.

And with the emotional rollercoaster that is having sex with Leehan only for him to completely ignore you afterward, you’ve naturally found yourself wondering if the only alluring thing about you is that you’ll let him fuck you with no questions asked. That in a school full of beautiful girls with actual self-esteem, he’s settled for you so long as you continue to provide him with pussy.

Leehan furrows his eyebrows at your response, and with a corrective tone of voice replies, “ Always .” In movements that are slow and gentle, he leans down to lay a chaste kiss on your forehead. Another on the top of your cheek. Another on your ear. And then on every single part of your face that you’d normally consider insignificant. And then slowly down your rising and falling torso. 

“Everything about you. I couldn’t pick a favorite thing because I love every single part of you,” he confesses in a whisper-like tone against your skin. Finally reaching your pussy, he places one last gentle kiss at the top of your mound, something about the gesture making your pussy clench, espeically as he says, “You’re my favorite girl.”

To be affirmed by Leehan in this way is something that causes both your heart to swell and your body to pulse with arousal. But it’s also with a surge of sadness that you wish these words didn’t affect you so monumentally. 

A part of you wants him to stop making remarks of this sort to you during sex because you can never be sure that he truly means them.

But if that’s the case, then why do they feel and sound so genuine?

It’s with shaky resoluteness in your voice that you sit up to look at Leehan, replying, “Then show me.”

And, as if spurred on by the challenge, you can see Leehan’s expression changing even with half of his face obscured by your pussy. “How?” he asks, leaning in to lick teasingly against your clit. “Like this?” 

When he doesn’t wait for your answer and continues sucking and licking against your clit, you throw your head back as you enjoy the physical manifestations of Leehan’s attraction to you. 

If there is any time when you feel most desired and liked by him, it’s when he’s in between your legs, devouring you whole like a man starved. 

He uses his mouth not to tell you sweet-nothings, but to give you some of the best pleasure of your life. And it’s in gestures like these where you can wordlessly understand his devotion to you. 

It’s in your desperation to reach your peak that you begin to buck your hips into his mouth, wanting more of him, but he stops it with both hands that snake up your body and press down on your boobs. He tweaks at your nipples in a way that makes your back arch, but in a gesture that surprises you, he also just rests his hand over your chest, right where your heart is. You wonder if he can feel the fluctuations of your pulse, how it speeds up when his tongue does. Dreamily, the thought of him being so in sync with you that he can feel the intimate beatings of your inner organ sends you into a spiral of heightened satisfaction.

“Leehan, I’m gonna come.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “My favorite four words in the world. Go ahead, baby. I’ve got you.”

Somehow, you think your body needed that permission, because it’s only moments later that your orgasm takes over your body. 

Your eyelids are covered with dancing spirals, your spine bends as you arch up into the air, and your body vibrates with a feeling so pleasurable it’s like an addiction, something you’d endure the greatest emotional lows to receive on a regular basis.

As you still, Leehan gets up to sit on his knees, looking over at your bedside dresser. “Still have the condoms where I left them?”

“Top drawer,” you confirm.

“Good girl,” he praises with a smile, reaching over you to rummage through the drawer and coming out of it with a silver packet between his fingers. 

It’s just as he’s finished putting it on and is about to slide in that you raise a hand to stop him, saying, “Leehan wait. I wanna ride you.”

His eyebrows raise at this, but he nonetheless maneuvers so that he’s in a criss-cross position, saying with a grin, “Woah. I feel lucky. You never get on top. Make me do all the work.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, making your way over to him and holding onto his shoulders as you hover over his hardened cock. But before you can take him, he roughly grabs your chin, squeezing your face in his hold in a way that forces your eyes on his.

“Make me,” he asserts, staring at you so intensely that it makes your stomach swoop. Reaching between your bodies, you grab hold of his pulsing erection and line it up with your hole, sinking down on him and loving the way it makes both of your mouths instantly open on impact.

It feels like you’re being split open in the most pleasurable way as you sit down fully on Leehan’s cock and allow the satisfcation of being filled by him to consume you. Driven by the pursuit of your own pleasure, you bounce, swivel, and thrust yourself against him. And when Leehan throws his head back, beautiful neck on display as he growls, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” you’re motivated to go even harder.

Sex with Leehan has never felt more intimate than it does now, when you’re above him and able to catch every small distortion in his gorgeous expression as he gets taken away by the gratification of this sex. Mantaining eye contact with him is nothing new to you now, but even so, you find yourself feeling like his eyes are admiring your soul more than they are your body or face as you bounce up and down for his viewing pleasure.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you’re skin to skin, heart to heart, and in a way you almost feel like the closeness grants you the telepathic ability to know what he’s feeling and thinking. If there were to be a physical manifestation of the word yearning , it would be this exact moment between the two of you. 

Your expression melts into a smirk as you continue to ride him, and you feel almost motivated to giggle as the pleasure you’re experiencing makes you feel deliriously satisfied and happy. Leehan, with his hands leisurely rested at his sides, scans your face as if trying to memorize every detail, saying, “You make the prettiest expressions when my dick is inside of you. I truly can’t – nphhh – get enough.”

It’s as you begin to set a pace that has the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every bounce that you yearn for him to touch you, to light your skin on fire with the warmth of his touch. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Leehan, touch me .”

And it’s because he’s come to know your body so well, know exactly what makes you tick and what places to touch that have you crying in pleasure, he brings his hand to your clit and starts rubbing incoherent shapes into your swelling bud. Your body feels like it’s on fire, so much so that you begin to lose strength in your trembling thighs, something Leehan picks up on as he says almost desperately, “Faster, Y/N. Take it.”

You have to fight through the strain in your legs and the building tension in your stomach in order to begin bouncing on Leehan so hard it’s as if your life depends on it. And though it feels like it’s taking all of the energy in your body, you do it because you want to make him feel good. 

You do it because you want him to continue thinking of you as his favorite girl, even though that statement in itself implies the existence of other girls. 

Even though it feels like every morsel of your self-esteem is shattered in the process, you do it because his attention means so much to you that it blurs everything else.

“ Fuck , I’m gonna come,” you cry out as the pleasure becomes too much, as it begins to feels like everything else in your vision is obscured except for Leehan.

“Open your mouth,” you hear him say, and although your sex-crazed mind can barely comprehend why he’s asking you that, you comply anyways and feel your arousal growing stronger when, to your surpise, he tips your head back with a hand on your jaw and spits into your mouth.

The gesture is dirty and lewd and yet a moan rips out of you just the same, and the closer that your orgasm inches, the less you feel like you’re in control of your body or your reactions. Every thought and will in your brain has been diluted so that your only objective is to reach your peak.

“You like that, pretty?” he asks teasingly, his own orgasm approaching in a way that causes his voice to come out strained and tight. “Let me see what a dirty girl you are. Come all over my cock.”

Whimpers of his name leave your mouth in broken succession, the robustness of your orgasm milking you until your body quite literally collapses against his. And it’s after giving everything that your body could give, your legs trembling and your body screaming out in exhaustion, that Leehan takes over by thrusting wildly up into you. In search of his own climax, you can only whimper weakly into the skin of his neck and allow him to manhandle your limp body up and down his cock.

“I know, I know,” he coos apolgetically in your ear, fucking up into you hard and firmly. “I”m close. Gonna come inside your pretty little pussy.”

With a last thrust so impactful that it resonates throughout your entire body, Leehan releases into his condom, twisting his hips inside of you before pulling out with a groan. You collapse onto the bed together, and even though you can barely feel anything in the bottom half of your body, even though you have the foreboding inclination that it’ll be hard to walk later, you still can’t help the foolish smile that appears automatically on your face. There is no greater high than basking in your post-orgasm haze.

The stillness of the moments you share after sex is something you cling onto every time, wishing that the universe would mercifully turn those seconds of blissful and intimate silence between the two of you into minutes. But like the distant sound of thunder that lets you know that it’s going to rain, you feel the bed dip with the weight of Leehan sitting up, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before he sees himself out.

“You made a mess,” you hear him say as he picks at the fabric of your sheets where, sure enough, the white sheets have been soiled grey. The comment gives you slight butterflies, and as you manage a weak smile, about to reply with something snarky, he says, “Want me to stay behind? Do your laundry?”

If only for a few seconds, you allow yourself to consider the possibility that he’s being serious. That for the first time since you met him, he’s actually going to stay behind and take care of you instead of leaving you wet and limp and naked and sad. You hate how good those few seconds of belief feel. That just the idea of how doing something as simple as your laundry could make you feel so fulfilled and wanted.

At first you’re not sure what to think when he leans down to gently caress the hair on top of your head. But then, with an almost pitying expression on his face, he replies, “I’m just joking. If I hang around for too long, how would you miss me?”

There have been lots of times when Leehan has shown his lack of regard for you in his actions, but never in his words.

So to hear him plainly confirm to you that this is all a game to him, that it’s always been his intention to leave you strung out and wanting more, that he knows the emotional impact his absence causes, hits you like a slap in the face.

He doesn’t have to hide how little he cares about you because he knows that no matter how he treats you, you’ll always come back.

Haven’t you proven that exact notion to him time and time again?

“See you later, Y/N,” he says as he’s leaving your bedroom, a statement that he can make with confidence because you’ve shown him time and time again that he can walk all over you and still be guaranteed access to your body, mind and soul.

And as the reality of the situation that you’ve found yourself in hits you all at once, it’s at the sound of your front door closing that you begin to cry on impact.

Tears that feel endless begin to pour out onto your cheeks until you’re open-mouthed sobbing, and because you’ve spent so long holding these emotions back, they wreck your body until you have no energy left and devolve into soundless heaves.

You fall asleep like this, so emotionally wrecked and confused that you forgot about the three essays you were supposed to submit. 

You’re on the verge of tears as you enter your advisor’s office, sitting down across from the older woman whose passive expression tells you everything you need to know about the sort of news she’s about to deliver to you. But it’s with surprising clarity that you react to her saying, “Y/N, you’ve failed almost every single one of your classes this term.”

You stare blankly at her, processing the emotions that come over you at this news. It’s suprsing to say that the immediate feeling that comes over you is relief, but you owe it to the fact that you’ve been struggling this entire semester, plagued with anxiety as to whether or not you’d fail. And so, to have it finally confirmed after months of stressing about it feels similarly to being in the eye of a storm. 

After struggling for so long, you’re at a vantage point where it feels more comforting to be able to say that all that’s left is for you to fight your way out of the storm entirely. 

“Typically, when students have such large and sudden drops in performance like this, it’s because of some significant life event,” she explains, tilting her head as she looks at you pitifully. “Given that you’re a transfer student, I’m wondering if the transition from your old school to this one had an impact on your performance. Are you finding the academic rigor here harder?”

“No, maam,” you say, shaking your head. Academically, this school has been everything you had been hoping for and more since deciding to transfer. You couldn’t have expected to meet someone who so greatly turned your life around within a matter of months. 

Not sure how to explain the unique set of circumstances leading up to this moment, you vaguely answer, “I’ve just…transparently had a lot going on this semester in my personal life. So I haven’t been as great at prioritizing my classes.”

Humming in understanding, your advisor moves to face her computer. “Well, I’m afraid the next steps are to put you on academic probation for the rest of this semester. Are you aware of what that all entails?”

You shake your head no. Your advisor goes on to explain it to you. “You’ll need to maintain at least a 2.5 grade point average moving forward. Additionally, you’ll be given a tutor – another student who you’ll be mandated to meet with at least once a week to get your grades up.”

There a few telltale clicking sounds from her computer before she’s speaking up again to say, “It looks like the only available tutor for this semester is a student named Han Taesan. Do you know him?”

Admittedly only familiar with the few people who Jaehyun’s introduced you to, you shake your head no. You then have to try and push off the dread that builds inside of you at the thought of having to meet with a stranger once a week for the next two or so months until the semester ends.

You perk up as you watch your advisor’s eyebrows lift in surprise at something on her computer “It looks like he actually has office hours open right now until three. So, after this, I recommend you go see him and introduce yourself. It’s important that you get started right away so that you can begin correcting this situation. The last thing we’d want is for your financial aid to be affected, which – I should mention – will happen if you fail your classes again, Y/N.”

It’s at this warning that the reality of the situation finally hits you. 

As stupid as it now sounds, all of the times when you allowed Leehan to take up so much of your time in lieu of submitting your assignments were aided by a blind faith on your part that everything would work out in the end. 

But it’s in grave realization that you see how much you were gambling with your future by making such poor decisions. 

And with that feeling of shame and embarrassment weighing down on you so heavily, you leave your advisor's office a few short moments later, heading to the library to meet Taesan. 

As you’re leaving, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket and unlock it to read a text that could not be more ill timed:

>leehan: what are you doing?

There couldn’t be any worse moment now than to receive such a message, after you’ve just been told that you could potentially lose your scholarship over your mindless decision making in regards to this man. And for perhaps the first time since you’ve met Leehan, you decide to let go of this manic-pixie-dream-girl image you’ve created for yourself, typing out a message that relays the completely honesty of your current situation.

>you: leehan, i failed my midterms. They’re putting me on academic probation and i might lose my scholarship. I don’t know that i’ll have much time for our “arrangement” anymore.

You stuff your phone back in your pocket right after sending it, caring little to know what Leehan will say in response. 

It’s in realization that you finally decide that making Leehan’s every thought, feeling and desire a priority in your life is a luxury you can no longer afford.

Arriving at the library a few minutes later, you wa;lw inside and observe how empty the place is. You suppose it makes sense given that most students have left for their fall break by now, not beholden to stay behind because of failing grades like you are. There’s a boy sitting by himself at one of the many tables in the library, a laptop and a few books surrounding him. You decide he’s the most likely to be the person you’re looking for and go up to approach him.

“Excuse me, are you Han Taesan?”

The boy, whose hair is uniquely marked by a streak of blonde in the back of it, looks up at you and nods.

“I’m not sure if you got the notification,” you say, pulling at your fingernails nervously. “But I’ve been assigned a tutor and you’re it. My advisor told me to meet with you today.”

Understanding finally dawning on the boy’s face, he puts down the screen of his laptop so he can fully pay attention to you and your presence. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and even though everything from his voice and manners should have you inclined to feel less nervous, there’s something about his facial features that have you feeling intimidated. 

He’s quite good looking, but in a way that makes him seem unapproachable. 

“If you’ve been assigned to meet with me, that means you’re on academic probation, correct?”

Something about hearing those words, the assignment of your name next to the phrase academic probation , feels like a knife to the stomach. Still, the only thing you can do is nod grimly, and without intending it, you launch defensively into an explanation. “It’s not something I’m in the habit of, if that’s what you’re wondering. This is my first time, truly, and it’s just because I had a lot going on this semester.”

You expect Taesan to appear annoyed with you, just as you are with yourself when you hear those words leave your mouth. But you’re surprised when instead, he smiles. And when he does, it’s like the intimidating persona you built of him in your head immediately shatters and in place of it, you’re introduced to someone that seems really sweet.

“Listen, I know you’re probably feeling like a total failure right now. I know cause I’ve been there. But you don’t have to explain yourself to me, Y/N. The last thing I want to do is make you feel judged for something that so many students go through,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders to further communicate how little of an issue this is for him. 

“Most of the time, the people I tutor don’t even need me. They’re not dumb, they just were going through something that made them deprioritize their classes. We’ve all been there before. I’m just here to be an accountability partner and help you manage the stress.”

Fighting against all the parts of you that have been feeling shame in response to today’s development, you allow Taesan’s reassurance to wash over you like a cold drink on a swelteringly hot day. 

“You’re…really nice, Taesan,” you reply, thinking of no better way to express your gratitude. “I really needed to hear that.”

“No problem. If you’re free, we can go somewhere else and begin working on those late assignments. I don’t really like staying at the library because we’ll be forced to whisper like this the whole time.”

It’s only at his observation that you become conscious of the fact that you have been indeed whispering this entire time, and it is in fact, very burdensome. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Are you cool with coming to my dorm? I live on campus, in Commons.”

Grabbing his things, he gets up to follow you, and it’s at that moment that you realize just how tall Taesan is. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

Just as you’re about to leave with Taesan, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket once more. And because you completely forgot about your earlier exchange with Leehan, you don’t even consider that the message could be from him until a picture that you’re immediately swiping out of lights up your phone screen.

>leehan: he misses you :((((( [img_6785]

The image in question is a dick pic, a full frontal image with Leehan’s smartly masked face just barely peeking out at the top as he angles his phone downward. 

You go from surprised to disgusted as you remember what the picture is in response to – a candid expression of anxiety about your academic probabtion – and suddenly, you couldn’t be more sure of the negative impact that Leehan has had on your life.

More sure that if you never heard from him after today, it would be the universe's greatest gift.

“Are you okay?” asks Taesan from beside you, and it’s with great gratitude that you observe his reaction is not that of someone who accidentally saw a dick pic on someone elses phone. Steeling yourself from the shock of the unexpected message, you hum an affirmative sounding noise in reply, and with that, you exit the library. 

You walk together to your dorm that’s only 5 minutes away from the library, and as you walk, you discuss a variety of things. How and why Taesan became a tutor, the circumstances which led to you transferring from your old school, and observations on how empty campus seems to be right now. Taesan, a music major, became a tutor once he learned he could get paid for what he already liked to do, which was teach people. The more you talk to him, the more assured you feel about this arraignment and your situation at large. 

More importantly, Taesan has the ability to do something you thought no man or object could be capable of – he takes your mind off of Leehan, and moreover the picture you just received from him.

Arriving at your front door, you can feel Taesan’s eyes on you as he says, “When I started my day today, I would’ve never guessed it would lead me to a girl’s dorm room.” You giggle at the genuinely funny joke, and now, you’re looking up at Taesan as if you’re fully seeing him for the first time. 

In just a short amount of time, you’re learned that Taesan is handsome, smart, nice, and funny. 

Perhaps something other than good grades could come of this time you’re about to spend together. 

In the time that you spend looking at Taesan, still smiling in the aftermath of his joke as you let him into your dorm room, you don’t notice the fact that Leehan is waiting for you down the hallway, armed once more with a bouquet of flowers. 

After last time, he figured surprise visits would be his thing now, especially since he knew your roommate wouldn’t be there to stop him. 

He wasn’t expecting, though, that there would be someone else who would act as a barrier between the two of you. 

Someone who causes unexplainable anger and resentment to blossom unusually in his chest. 

It’s in a blur of confusion – both at himself for reacting this way and at you for being with someone other than him – that Leehan turns around and rushes for the building’s exit before either of you can see him.

part 4 can be found HERE

taglist: @lailols @papichulomacy @0310s @softiwoon @gardenforwon @cherrytaesan @mryuyux @saintriots @lonelylandofan @cyber-tiny @keyywrld @isabellah29 @amarecerasus @cadidupped

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[agaypanic]

To Love a Monster (Emmett Cullen X Human!Reader)

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Request Something! | AO3

Kinktober Day 31: Monsterfucking

Summary: Emmett never thought that he’d fall in love with a human. It’s too dangerous, there’s so many things that could go wrong. But when you look at him with those pleading eyes of yours, how could he ever say no?

A/N: happy halloween!! i know today’s literally the last day of october but i swear ill get the other kinktober fics done and posted. im finally getting medicated so i think that’ll help with my procrastination/lack of inspiration lmao emmett cums inside but reader does NOT get pregnant with a hybrid freak like bella did

C/W: unprotected p in v sex, interspecies relationship (human and vampire), soft dom!emmett, emmett trying to not literally break you, slight pain kink

***

It was so wrong, being with Emmett. It was dangerous, the amount of power he had over you without even trying. He could kill you, drain you dry without a second thought.

But you didn’t care. You loved him, and he loved you. He made sure that was known by telling you a million times a day and by being extremely gentle with you. Sometimes, he treated you like you were glass, which annoyed you every now and then. But when you were with Emmett, who had extreme strength, you might as well be glass.

Sometimes, Emmett was scared to be with you. He didn’t want to hurt you, and he didn’t want to accidentally lose his resolve around you. But when you looked at him, eyes full of want and wandering hands somehow warming his stone-cold body, he could never refuse you.

“God, you feel so good, babe.” Emmett groaned as he stared up at your naked form bouncing on his cock. Although he liked to be in control, he’d occasionally let you take the lead. If he was feeling generous, he’d even let you tie him up like he was now. 

Emmett thrusted up into you, and your hips stuttered. “So big, Emmett.” You sighed, splaying your hands out on his broad chest to keep yourself steady as you kept riding him. “Makes me feel- ah! So full.”

Your boyfriend kept fucking into you, but it wasn’t enough for him. There was only so much he could do without his hands. 

“Wanna touch you.” He complained, tugging at his restraints half-heartedly, knowing they’d snap if he actually used force.

“Where, Em?” You asked teasingly. One of your warm hands left his chilled chest to grope your breast. “Here?” Or…” Slowly, your hand trailed down your stomach, inching closer to where you and Emmett met. Two fingers ghosted your clit, and you clenched around Emmett’s hard cock at the sensation. “Maybe here?”

While you continued riding and teasing yourself, Emmett’s eyes were glued to you. You looked so damn perfect, he wanted to be the one touching you and making you whine the way you were now. 

Sensing he was getting frustrated, you leaned close to Emmett. “Do you wish you could touch me, honey? Fuck me and tease me until I’m creaming all over your cock?” Emmett let out a moan so guttural it sounded like a growl. You smiled, knowing you were about to get what you were really wanting. “Is that what you want, Emmett?”

He answered by ripping the rope that was holding him to shreds, freeing his wrists so he could finally get his hands on you. Emmett grabbed your hips and flipped you so you were the one underneath him before thrusting in and out of you like a jackhammer.

Emmett half expected you to start yowling in pain from the force of his thrusts and his iron grip. But instead, you let out an endless string of moans and locked your legs around his vast body so he wouldn’t get away. 

“So -ah, so fucking, fuck, good!” You were quickly losing your sense, becoming overwhelmed by Emmett stretching your cunt and practically slamming into your cervix. It just hurt so good.

“You’re so tight.” He hissed, fangs coming out in the midst of his heavy lust. “And so wet for me.” He dipped his head down to rest in the crook of your neck. His lips ghosted over your pulse point, your pumping blood spurring him on. Very lightly, Emmett dragged his pointed teeth over your skin. Not enough to make you bleed, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. “And you smell…” He took a deep breath, sighing as he reluctantly pulled away from you and sped up his thrusts. “Fucking delicious.”

Feeling close, you reached down to rub your clit, but your hand was quickly smacked out of the way. Emmett wanted to be the one to make you come. 

He rubbed your clit in a fast circular motion, his other hand holding your hip with enough force to not end up breaking it. You’d likely have a bruise that he would surely baby you over.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm hit, and Emmett grinned down devilishly at you as your eyes rolled back. “That’s right, babe. Cream all over my cock.” 

You did just as he said, orgasm prolonging as Emmett continued his ministrations to reach his own peak. Soon enough, he was painting your walls with his cum, fucking it deeper and deeper into you. As you both came down from your highs, Emmett slowed his thrusts. But he didn’t stop them. Instead, he decided to keep fucking you at a snail’s pace until you were ready to get absolutely wrecked again.

“That was…” You took a deep breath to collect yourself, letting out an airy laugh. “Wow.”

Emmett smirked, leaning down to kiss you deeply. “If you thought that was good, wait until you become a vampire. We wouldn’t leave my room for a week.”

***

Twilight Taglist: @wedfan2 @natashamaximoff-69 @pink-hufflepuff

Emmett Cullen Taglist: @fuckshitslover

[leighsartworks216]

You Hate Me

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Sooooo I wrote this one morning when even just laying down had my knees hurting and I was like,, well what if Tav had that too? Also inspired by the fact I get to campus an hour early and still try to rush to the (empty) classroom instead of, ya know, taking advantage of the huge time buffer I give myself

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

Word Count: 1,545

Masterlist

AO3

Just a bit further. A little further and then you could rest. If you make it to that tree - make it to that tree and you can sit down. Just a bit left to go.

It started almost a week ago. Unable to cope with all the traveling, your right knee started bothering you. With every step you could feel your kneecap shifting back and forth with a dull click. Then, it started to hurt. Nothing serious. If you walked slow enough, you could avoid it. But now every step sent shocks of pain up your entire leg. Your left knee joined the party this morning, removing any sense of relief you had while walking. Even sitting down didn't remove the pain, but you couldn't afford a day off.

Your companions noticed the changes, despite your best effort not to show any outward discomfort. You moved slower, the occasional grimace slipped through, they weren't traveling quite as far. You consider asking Shadowheart for anything that could ease the pain, but you already knew there was little she could do to help. So you grit your teeth and kept going.

Your foot stepped on uneven ground and you nearly dropped from the agony that shot through your whole body. Karlach worried you might actually just collapse. But you kept going.

Astarion couldn't bear it. None of them could - they hated seeing their intrepid leader fight their own body just to go a few more feet - but your struggle settled like a boulder in his stomach. Every time your face scrunched up, every hiss of your sharp inhales, felt like someone had stabbed a knife in his chest and was twisting it ever deeper. He hated the feeling.

With only a few long strides, he slipped from the back of the group to the front, walking alongside you. He had to change his normal gait just so he didn't surpass you. "Darling," he hummed quietly, just loud enough to keep the conversation between you two, "you should rest."

You shook your head. You didn't even spare him a glance. Your eyes didn't shift from the tree. "We're almost there," you dismiss. It's slightly breathless. Despite needing to walk slow to avoid the pain, you were pushing to go faster.

He tsked. "And how far do we still have left to go?" He tilted his head as he looked at you, already knowing whatever distance you said would be too far.

You nodded to a tree dead ahead. "Once we reach that birch, we can rest."

"That birch?" He pointed. "The birch tree that's nearly half a mile away?"

He could feel you bristle with his incredulous tone, but you didn't say anything.

He scoffed. "My dear, I can be stubborn at the best of times, but this is ridiculous! You're barely staying upright as it is."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not," he sharply cuts you off. He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop, holding you there with enough force that you wouldn't slip out and keep going. You refuse to look at him even now. "You're wincing, your hands have been clenched for the last mile, and you keep stumbling. The tree will still be there if you just sit down for a minute."

The rest of the party watches from a distance. Far enough away they can just make out what Astarion's saying, especially as his voice rises in pitch the more frustrated he gets.

Standing still hurts. It's hard to say if it hurts more or less than walking; it just hurts. Your face is pinched as sharp jolts run up through your joints, like someone is poking you with a sewing needle. Walking, you decide, must be better than this.

"It's not that far," you insist, voice low. "And when we get there, we can-"

"Gods above, you're impossible! Fine. Fine! You want to get to that tree, fine." He lets go of your arm.

Before you can even take a step, he's sweeping you into his arms, supporting you with one arm under your back and the other hooked under your knees. The pressure hurts for a moment, but it quickly fades away. The lingering aches are from pushing yourself too hard. He begins marching once more toward your end goal.

You want to shout, to demand he put you down. But when you look up at his face, his eyes are sharper than usual, lips pulled into a tight frown and crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry.

He's angry with you.

The words die in your throat. You hate being so dependent. You were the leader - you needed to be strong and fearless and without weakness. To receive help feels like someone plunging their hand between your ribs and stealing away a chunk of your worth. But seeing Astarion upset, upset with you, that stings far worse.

You avoid looking over his shoulder. You could just imagine their faces. How Lae'zel would scowl at you for being weak. How Gale's face would turn somber when he realizes you're not as capable as he thought. You couldn't bear it. So you press your forehead to Astarion's neck and stare at your lap.

There's an unwelcome burn at the back of your eyes. Shame floods your chest and crawls up your throat until it chokes you. Water pools along your lower lids and blurs your vision. You can't walk and now you're going to cry. Just how fucking pathetic can you be?

Astarion's head shifts and you can tell he's trying to look down at you. He's trying to see your face. Because he can feel you shaking in his arms. He can hear your lungs quivering as your breaths become uneven and choppy. You press your closed eyes against his throat and he can feel the hot tears against his skin.

His frown softens, though you can't see it. He slows down to a stop and tells the others to go on ahead, to the birch tree just there, and start working on setting up camp, but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. Their faces become fraught with worry; Karlach is the last to go. She still looks back once or twice. Astarion finds a suitable rock and he sits.

"Shh, sweet thing," he cooes, voice no louder than a whisper. His arm around your back pulls you into his shoulder, hand tangling in your hair as he cradles you. His other hand rubs soothing circles along your thigh. You gasp around a sob, body curling further into itself, into him, as you release your emotions. "It's alright."

You strangle out an apology. It's wet and croaky and painful.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

"You're mad at me," you whimper.

He huffs. The frustration from before rises in him again just thinking about it. "Yes, I am."

He feels your breath catch in your throat, and the heaving breath you take after. "You hate me."

Astarion laughs, short and sharp. "Why would I hate you, dear? Because you're too stubborn for your own good?" You don't have a response for him. He kisses your head, wherever he can reach. "I'm mad because you put yourself out trying to solve all of our issues, but the moment you have one of your own, you refuse any help. You're going to tear yourself apart."

He sighs and rests his cheek atop your head. His fingers rub the nape of your neck, gently tugging at the hair there. You carry so much tension, it's a wonder your muscles haven't locked up from the stress.

Time passes slowly in his arms. It seems to take forever before you start to calm down, and even longer before your eyes have dried. He does nothing to speed the process aside from gently hush you when you try to choke out apologies.

You sniffle quietly. Your eyes are raw, and you're all too aware of the stain of water you've left on the vampire's neck. When you speak, it's a painful creak in your vocal chords. "You don't hate me?"

He presses another kiss to your head. "No, love, I don't hate you. Not unless you've done something truly horrific, like invite a clown to show up at camp in the middle of the night." You chuckle weakly. It's such sweet music. "Gods forbid you start donating to charity." You laugh this time, and Astarion's chuckle vibrates against your ear.

His fingers detangle themselves from your hair with one last gentle tug, and his arm wraps around your back once more. As though you weigh no more than one of his pillows, he stands once more with you in his safe grasp, and begins heading for camp. He can see Karlach up ahead light up when she sees you're finally on your way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I just feel so... useless, like this."

"Please, stop apologizing," he begs, dramatically. "Just say 'thank you' and we can move on."

You peel your face from his skin, dried tears sticking you together. You wince at how disgusting this must be for him. You lean up and kiss his cheek. He smiles at the affection. "Thank you."

Softer, he says, "Of course, my love."